Am I doing the right thing?

Self evaluation is a very positive skill to have. All good parents stop and think at times ‘am I doing the right thing’ right from the very moment their child is born. Decisions about wether to breast or bottle feed, what sort of clothes to put on your baby and where they will sleep are all everyday personal decisions all parents face. And there will always be others who feel you are doing it wrong.

But what if your children are not meeting milestones? Or they receive a diagnosis of any sort that makes ‘normal’ development more of a challenge? What should be a time of needing more support and encouragement often becomes not only the time when others judge and question you more, but it also brings with it an even greater level of self-doubt as a parent.

Did I do anything wrong when pregnant? Was my birth to blame? Did I feed my baby the wrong foods or give them inoculations that damaged them? Should I not have gone back to work so early? Did I not bond with them enoughh or sing to them the right songs?

So many of us have been there. I have too. And even though my twins are now 6 I am still asking myself almost daily ‘am I doing the right thing’?

It seems that at times I am controversial without even meaning to be. Even blogging publicly about my children seems to make some people feel I am damaging them. I am not naive. I am well aware that one day my children could read my blog. In fact I will be letting them both have a copy when the time is right. This is my journey but it is very much their journey too. I actually hope having a written record of how far they have come is helpful to them in their own way as they begin to understand more and question who they are and what their diagnosis means to them. Naomi aimagealready shows much more awareness and we talk together about her autism, her brothers autism and her brother’s neurofibromatosis. I don’t believe in hiding these issues from her and there is not one blog I would be embarrassed for my children to read one day.

Naomi has recently been assessed and approved for a wheelchair. I never really thought that would be controversial either. No-one seemed to question when her brother got one months ago but somehow because she can talk, she can walk and she attends mainstream school it seems that I am ‘making’ her disabled by putting her in a chair. Maybe I am more vocal about her brothers difficulties, maybe they are more obvious than hers, or maybe the fact he attends a special needs school seems to make it more ‘acceptable’ for him to use a wheelchair. But Naomi has her own struggles and I am not pushing her to use a wheelchair if she is not comfortable doing so. I have asked myself many times if I am doing the right thing pushing her around places where she may be seen by others in her school or community. I know the impact this could have on her far more than she understandimages at just 6. But her safety, her pain level and her comfort also must be taken into consideration. And whether she is in a wheelchair or walking she will sadly always come across people who will stare, laugh and bully. It is my job to help her cope with this as she grows and develops greater awareness.

My son loves lifts and hand dryers. He craves them much like a smoker craves a cigarette. And so I take him to them. And I let him press the button to turn the dryer on or call the lift for someone. It brings him huge delight. And the majority of people I meet are happy to let him have that pleasure. But the other side of this is that sometimes in life we go into a shop and we have no need to use the lift or the dryers and therefore his sensory craving can not be met. And that results in meltdown of epic proportion. And then I once again question myself ‘am I doing the right thing?’ Do I allow him to have his craving in small amounts to allow me to achieve other things I want, or do I insist on carrying on with my business and that he has to learn that life is not always about him? Everyone has their own opinion on this and people will judge the fact I have deliberately taken him to retail parks just to see lifts and not buy anything. It is a balancing act and I have to live with my son and my decision. So I do what is right for me and him and my family.

People may be shocked to know I have resorted to feeding my six-year-old baby food at times just to get her to eat. I have allowed both twins dummies way beyond an age where it is publicly acceptable, and I have seen to their personal hygiene needs from the back of a car many a time. And just yesterday I took my eyes off my son for a second and found him alone in a supermarket lift (he is non verbal and could have been anywhere!).

Everyday is a challenge. Everyday I am making decisions based on today’s needs and tomorrow’s future. I live for today but am very aware of the future repercussions that my actions may have on both my children.

And I know I may get it wrong. And so will you.

Because I am human. As as a mum I have the future of two very special children in my hands. I take that very seriously.

It is ok to disagree with me. It is ok to worry about how things I do now may affect my children’s future. It’s even ok to do something different with your own children.

Just know I love my children. And I am doing what I feel is best for them. Both now and in the future. And every single day without fail I am thinking to myself ‘am I doing the right thing here’ because my children never came with a manual. None of them do. And when they have extra support needs that makes things so much more complicated.

Am I doing the right thing? Time will tell I guess.

It’s all about me!

Being positive is not being in denial. Posting highlights of your day on social media is not being fake. Trying to find hope in hopelessness is not wrong.

Attitude means everything.

And recently I have had to give myself a good shake.

Living with the daily challenges of two children who struggle can really get me down. Some days, more than I would like to publicly admit, I cry. I worry about the future. I struggle through everyday, often silently. And I feel alone.

But then I realised something important. I came to realise it was actually all about me!

I could look at things negative. Or I could try to see a positive.

imageFor example I could have wallowed in upset at the thought my daughter was so anxious she never made it to her first ever school trip. I could have become angry that she seemed to be excluding herself due to fear. But instead I chose to take her out for the day instead and shared a picture of her smiling face at a science centre rather than dwelling on her inability to join her peers at the zoo. School trip failing verses mummy and daughter quality time? Which would you have thought about more?

imageSame with sports day. I could shed many a tear over the fact my daughter was unable to join in many of the activities due to her difficulties. I could share pictures of an older girl having to take her hand and support her for even the simplest of races. Or I could take pride in the fact that on the tenth go at running around the cones my six-year-old finally had the confidence to say ‘can I try that myself?’. Those nine turns at needing support could have broken me but that final time doing it independently will make up for that every single time.
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And then there was her class assembly. I was hurt and devastated when my daughter came home to say she was the only child in the class who did not have a speaking part. Her teacher had asked her and she had told them she felt she could not do it. Though I admired her honestly I have to admit I also felt so sad. For her, and for me. But can I tell you something? There was not a dry eye in the house on the day of her assembly when she took centre stage and held the entire show together with the most crucial part in the play despite not saying a single word! In the words of my six-year-old, ‘We can’t all have speaking parts. Someone has to do the acting!’ There is so much wisdom in that.

I could think about the sadness of taking her to yet another appointment.Or I could look at her smile as she played innocently in the waiting room and her sheer delight at being given insoles to help turn her feet. I think as adults we too often set our minds on that appointment rather than the child-like look at it all.
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I could be angry at the fact I never get to sit in church with everyone else due to my children’s needs. Or I could take pride in the fact my children will sit outside the hall in their own little bubbles allowing me to at least be in the building. This is progress.

I could be embarrassed that I took my children to visit a friend and my son preferred to feel her garden bush than to be social. Or I could snap a picture of his happy face and be grateful my friend accepts us for who we are. And is happy for us to come back anytime.
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I could shed tears at the fact my daughter recently went to a party and spent two hours sitting at the side next to me on her own. Or I could be delighted she was invited in the first place and see this as progress that she stayed in the room and enjoyed watching.
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I could become frustrated at the fact everywhere we go my son is fixated with the elevators. Or I could ride with him, film him and discover on play back that he actually said the word ‘again’! Had we not been at that lift I would have missed that word! He hasn’t said it since but I have a video as proof and in time I may one day hear it once more!
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And finally I could despair at the fact that for almost two years now my son has refused to wear anything other than his beloved school jumper. I mean literally every day I only get to see him in red. It started off funny but then in time I somehow gave up hope. Then, just today, he let me put a t-shirt on him and he kept it on happily all day long! And after all those tears, hopelessness and feelings of despair, I found a reason to smile again.
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My children have some real struggles. I will never deny that. And everyday is a challenge. But sometimes it isn’t about them. It is about attitude: My attitude. Sometimes it is how I see things that makes a real difference to everyone else.

And now I realise that: it is all about me!

He is there

imageCompanies often have silent partners. Many businesses and charities do too. It is a highly successful strategy that brings stability, maturity, and grounding to an organisation.

Yet people are quick to judge when it seems a marriage has the same balance.

Sometimes I go to meetings for my children on my own. I send emails on my own and answer and make phone calls mostly on my own.

But that does not mean I am truly on my own. You may not see him, but my ‘silent partner’ is there. My children have a father. I have a husband.

And there is a reason why he is more ‘behind the scenes’ than some people would like.

Everyone copes differently. That does not mean that any one way is right. And we all have different strengths.

I find social situations quite enjoyable. My ‘silent partner’ does not.
Meetings rarely make me nervous or intimidated. My soul mate finds them heavy, frustrating and stressful.
I find talking openly about my children’s difficulties fairly straightforward. Communication is one of my strong points. My husband finds this difficult and draining.
I quite enjoy form filling. For my partner this is like sticking pins in himself.
I find multi-tasking comes as second nature. For my lover this is confusing and he would much rather finish one task before moving onto the next. Interruptions like unexpected phone calls, cancelled meetings and children’s illness cause him to become anxious and flustered.
It is second nature to me to put the ‘right’ jumper on the right child, make sure the food is not touching on the plate, and do up the buttons on their coat in the ‘right’ order. But the stress of ensuring things are ‘just right’ for our autistic twins can become overwhelming for my husband. The slight change of detail can throw either one of our children into a screaming meltdown that lasts all night, so his fears are both real and understandable.
Homework is a mystery for my partner. He struggled though school and finds modern ways of doing things confusing.
Dealing with a screaming child who can not speak limits my partners patience. And I totally understand that. I am far from perfect and my patience runs thin at times too.

It doesn’t help that both our children have complex needs. They both thrive on routine and have rigid ways of doing things. They are more relaxed when the same person does the same thing everyday. They need the same words used, the same voice, the same physical touch and way of doing things. So they both cling to mum as if their life depended on it. In many ways it does.

But they know, just as much as I do, that dad is still there. He may seem in the background. But he is there.image

Some of you will be saying right now that my ‘silent partner’ is just a typical man. Some may be annoyed he is leaving more to me. Some of you may even wonder if he understands it all. A few may even feel he doesn’t care.

Let me tell you something: He cares. He loves. And he sees. He is very much here.

But there is something I feel people should know about this very important ‘silent partner’ in my life: My husband has neurofibromatosis type 1. The exact same genetic tumour producing condition our son has.

Some of his struggles are due to his upbringing, his personality, his age, or his lack of support in school. But some of it is because he has NF1. That affects his way of thinking, his behaviour, and his personality. It is part of him. It makes him less confident, means he struggles more with some academic things and he may seem less social. It is all too easy to judge his ‘silence’ as lack of caring or interest. That could not be further from the truth. I never knew he had NF when I married him. But even if I had it would not have affected my love for him.

Sometimes the most amazing support comes from someone just silently holding you, listening as you pour out your heart. Often that silent partner is the one with the wisdom, insight and calmness to hold it all together. Sometimes the most powerful thing anyone can do is just be there.

He has neurofibromatosis. He isn’t as ‘in your face’ as I am. He isn’t as known to all the professionals dealing with our children as I am. He doesn’t write in the home school diary, or read the bedtime story.

But he does something very important. For me. And for his children.

He is there.

And we all love him.

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Missing the bigger picture

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‘How will that impact on his sister?’, I asked at yet another meeting.
‘We are here to talk about Isaac’, was the reply.
This is the reality of life with more than one child.
In my case both my children have additional support needs, but even if my daughter was ‘typical’ developing she should still be considered when it comes to matters of her brother. The impact on her is just as big, and at times even bigger, than on her brother.
It is all too easy to say, for example, that we have to let one scream, harm himself and cry for hours on end as he tries to push boundaries and test limits. But how does that affect his sister? Or us? Would professionals be able to hear a sibling, or their own child, someone they love dearly, cry in distress for hours and not be effected?

I wish therapists would stop missing the bigger picture.

‘Sorry, we are not able to increase the allocation of supplies despite medical support.’
Another disappointing call updating us on an ongoing challenge we have been having.
People in an office, looking at limited facts on a screen, making a decision based on only the details of that one child with no thought to how this will affect an entire family, and beyond. My son is a number to them. To me he is a precious individual who deserves dignity, respect and to have his basic needs met.

I wish services would stop missing the bigger picture.

A recent visit to a medical practitioner with my children left me with some ‘projects’ to work on over the summer. The only problem is that both children have ‘projects’ that, while increasing their development and skills and helping their medical conditions, they will also both require huge amounts of time and support from me. I also need to be very mindful of the fact summer should be a time of fun, and making memories, and that my children will grow all too quickly. It is very easy for doctors and nurses to suggest health care plans, or developmental milestones to try to achieve, or even to give timetables to implement programmes of therapies. I smile, and leave with yet more literature while thinking all the time, ‘what about my other child?’. My time is not exclusive to one child, even if their needs would call for this, and I also have a house to run and a husband who needs me too. Seven weeks might seem a huge chunk of time to medical trained professionals but it can pass in the blink of an eye when I take into consideration hospital appointments, days out, quality time and household duties.

I wish professionals would stop missing the bigger picture.

End of term is bringing some challenges too, not least the fact my twins attend different schools with very different calendars of activities. The pressure to attend two different sports days, end of term assemblies and prize givings, services and summer fairs can seen rather overwhelming. How do you choose when dates clash? How do you fit in homework, or juggle after school activities with the extra needs that having a disabled child brings. A few times recently I have sent my daughter to school without her reading book, or her packed lunch, or her PE kit. And when school calls I am expected to leave everything to get these things to her, even in the midst of caring duties to her brother. Sometimes I am miles away in meetings, driving or simply changing a nappy. Each school sees one child. And they forget the family is much bigger than that one child.

I wish schools would stop missing the bigger picture.

It is easy for us all to see one thing in isolation: a child crying, a struggling mum, someone sitting alone in a cafe looking out the window. It is all too easy to hear noise from the house next door and come to the wrong conclusion, or berate someone for not keeping their garden tidy when the weather seems nice. Without realising we can be quick to judge or form an opinion, even when we have no knowledge of the background, or circumstances of someone else.

I have lost count the amount of comments I have had on my children because they ‘look fine’ or because they won’t reply to them or give eye contact. People are very quick to comment on the fact my children still use a dummy for bed, or wear nappies or carry a comfort cloth around. There is more going on than you think.

Let’s not be guilty of missing the bigger picture.

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Why is it so hard to hear what you already know?

imageSometimes you already know something. Your mind has already gathered all the facts and knowledge and came to its own conclusion. Circumstances have been leading up to things and you *think* you have it all worked out.

That is until someone else says what you have been thinking out loud. Then suddenly your world crumbles and you go to pieces, even though you kind of knew it anyway!

In one of our many meetings this last week a professional who has seen my children regularly for over six years voiced out loud my inner thoughts on the subject of my sons inability to speak. Isaac is now six and a half. And he still has no speech. He makes noises, he screams, he takes me by the hand to things he wants, and now he is older he sometimes just helps himself. He has only been pointing for around a year.

I swallowed hard and asked her for her honest opinion. “Will Isaac ever speak?” I *thought* I was ready for what she would say. I already know deep down that the older he gets the more unlikely it is he will talk. I live with his frustrations and anger everyday and hold him while he cries every night. I celebrate all his efforts at communication in every form yet still long to one day hear his voice. But the realist in me knows that time is passing and he still has yet to master the tiniest of words that babies less than a year say with ease. We haven’t had the ‘ta’ or ‘hiya’ or even the basic ‘goo’ and ‘gaaa’. We have no waving goodbye or clapping in glee. Eye contact and joint attention that comes naturally to the youngest of children is still a mystery to my six-year-old. I am not in denial.

Yet when she told me my boy is unlikely to ever speak to me it still broke me.

Why is it so hard to hear what you already know?

Next month marks the three-year anniversary of his first major diagnosis: Classic autism with global developmental delay and severe learning difficulties. He had only recently mastered walking at that point, had no language and was very much locked in his own world. We had been told he had autism since he was 21 months and had yet to meet any professionals who disagreed with this in any way.

Yet on the day we took him to that clinic assessment there was still a tiny part of me hoping everyone was wrong. My world fell apart when I left that appointment hearing what I already knew spoken back to me by someone else.

Isn’t it strange how hard it is to hear someone else say what you already know?

Maybe when no-one else confirms it we just try to somehow forget about it? Maybe we don’t really face our own worst thoughts? Maybe the reality of someone else saying it just makes us realise it is true after all. But then they add to the pain and harsh reality by sending it to you in writing. And we find ourselves mourning in our darkest moments all over again.

I sort of knew deep down there was more going on. He had other ‘symptoms’ children with autism didn’t really have. But I never wanted to hear someone mention that out loud. At least not to my face. Yet one day five months later we heard the doctor tell us our baby also had neurofibromatosis type 1. Combined with his other conditions (and we may yet hear more as we wait for full genetic blood results to come back) the future is not the brightest for my son.

I know he will need care throughout his life. I know it is unlikely he will ever drive, own a house, have a successful career or go to university. But am I still not quite ready for someone to voice those things to me.

Why is it so hard to hear what you already know? Because it means you have to finally face up to it. It means others know your worst fears and concerns. It makes you vulnerable. It brings emotions to the forefront you would rather others never got to see. It is like stealing away that tiny shred of hope you held on to for dear life.

Someone asked me how the meeting went. I told them we were just told some stuff we already knew. They looked at me in wonder as the tears ran down my face.

Why is it so hard to hear what you already know?

When everyone wants a piece of you

Another day. Another appointment. Another night of being woken through the night. More phone calls. More screaming. More bodily waste to clean up. More pressure. Never-ending stress.

Every parent gets stressed. Everyone needs a break at times from the 24-7 demands of raising children. But sometimes the added pressure of having children with additional support needs just becomes overwhelming when the days and nights become one, the paperwork piles up and everyone wants a piece of you.

What do you do when a professional calls you and you need to take the call yet your child needs your urgent attention at the same time (I could list any number of things they could be doing here like smearing faeces, climbing in a bath of water fully clothed, feeding the fish a tub of sudacream, eating frozen food from the freezer or escaping out of a window or door)? What do you do when you HAVE to find the time to complete urgent paperwork but your eyes can barely stay open and your mind can not focus due to exhaustion? How do you explain to a child with very limited understanding that their routine needs to change to go to yet another hospital or clinic appointment? What do you do when one professional says one thing and another disagrees and you are caught in the middle? How do you cope when mealtimes make you cry because your child just won’t eat and the other one just won’t stop eating? How do you remain at peace when your child comes home from school wearing clothes for the opposite sex because yet again he has gone through four pairs of trousers in a school day even whilst wearing nappies?

Everyone wants a piece of me.

I am expected to turn up at meetings and act professionally even when at times my heart is breaking. Crying is meant to be reserved for the privacy of your own home and only makes professionals question your mental stability if seen in public.

I am expected to follow through programmes designed by professionals who think they know my child better than me and who think I have nothing to do other than run with their latest plan.

I am expected to answer phone calls and emails in a timely, professional manner as if working in an office environment while the washing machine is spinning in the background, the children have technology at full blast (what other volume is there?) and the window cleaner is knocking my door asking for money.

I am expected to turn up to the right appointment, at the right day and time, with the right child, focussed, prepared and calm with a child who is alert, receptive and willing to participate in whatever therapy they are having today. And all this with a smile on my face and an enthusiasm for the programme.

I am expected to do homework with my children, take them to activities to ‘broaden their horizons and stimulate their interests’, give them a healthy diet and exercise, nurture their talents and spend quality time with them, when in reality we spend our evenings making chicken nuggets for tea again, watching the same programme on TV for the fiftieth time and coping with screaming children, toys and technology being thrown across the room and being physically attacked because I dared to run them a bath!

Schools expect me to jump at the first mention of ‘parent involvement’, hospitals expect me to fly my children to appointments (well they certainly don’t expect me to park given the lack of spaces they provide!), social workers expect to come to a house that is well run, clean, yet homely and comfortable, and my children need me to hold them, love them and help them all the time.

Yesterday I had one meal. It was one of those days. And the fact is I am not alone. There are so many parents in the same situation. Living with stress that is incredibly high, balancing meetings, appointments, therapies, professionals, children and the demands of running a home whist caring 24/7. Because despite the volume of people involved with my children it will still be me tonight who cooks them both tea, has clean clothes for them to wear to school tomorrow, reads them the bedtime story and kisses them goodnight. It will still be me who lies with them through the night while they cough or cry or scream.

It is me who knows them, protects them, loves them.

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Everyone wants a piece of me. But these two have a piece that no-one else can ever have. They have my heart. Every other piece of me can just wait while I take a moment to hold them. The phone can keep ringing, the post can wait a moment and the emails can stay unread just a little while longer. Whoever else wants or needs me these two always come first.

Ten reasons why I love my children’s obsessions

I imageam an autism parent. One of the things I have to cope with daily is my children’s obsessions. It sort of comes with the territory. There are times I could scream at the thought of watching another ten seconds of the same piece of video, or hearing the same script over and over again. Many times I would just love to pick up the endless rows of lined up toys to be able to just walk across my living room floor or have a meal without lines and lines of toys overtaking the dining room table. The compelling nature of my children’s obsessions has at times made me feel they hold Thomas tank Engine, lift doors or numbers in far higher regard than anything else in life, even me!

Their obsessions can have negative effects on them and others making them more socially excluded than they already are, or even making them the target of bullies. When they eat, sleep and breathe just one main thing it can be hard to live with and very exhausting. But when I look at these positives I have to admit, I really do love my children’s obsessions. Here is why:

1. It help them learn.
So many children with autism have learnt colours and numbers and words just by being obsessed with Thomas Tank Engine. Through my daughter’s previous obsession with Chuggington (trains are a definite theme here!) she learnt about turn taking (trains crash if on the same line at the same time), following instructions, helping others and working together; all concepts children with autism often really struggle with. Without her obsession such everyday basics would have been much more difficult to teach her as her brain was far more receptive while focussed on her current addiction.

2. It make them less anxious.
Like so many children with autism my daughter really struggles with anxiety. But while engrossed in her obsession or current trend she will happily escape into her own world giving her mind a chance to relax and settle from all the anxieties she carries around with her daily. It is often during play with her favourite toys that she will finally open up about something that has been troubling her. Everyone’s mind needs a rest once in a while and if escaping into her preoccupation helps her to ‘switch off’ then I love that she has that way of coping.image

3. It helps them communicate.
Naomi talks when she is relaxed. And she is most relaxed in her comfort zone of her current obsession, whatever that may be. We may only get scripted vocabulary at times but often this can be used to match feelings, fears or communicating a need. By tuning into her obsession and loving it with her I can interpret those means of communicating and help others to understand her too.

4. It allow others the honour of entering their world.
Naomi, like so many children on the spectrum, is happy to stay in her own little bubble. Social skills are not her strong point and she mostly relies on others to initiate interaction. So by having an obsession others have a way into this bubble that can help them reach her and help Naomi stretch her own world to include others. Sometimes she won’t allow this but without the obsession there is no key into her world at all.

5. It helps them socially.
Small talk is not her ‘thing’. But allow my daughter time to discuss her current interest and the start of a social interaction could begin. Even without knowledge of her specialist subject it is still possible to begin interaction with open questions about what she is holding, or lining up, or staring at endlessly from every angle.

6. It gives them control.
When she has had the demand of school to face all day and all the anxiety and stress this brings it is reassuring for her to come home to the security of her current fascination knowing she is in control of what will happen in her play. In an unpredictable and ever changing world this control helps her feel grounded and at peace. New toys do things she may not understand but when you know all there is to know about something and you are familiar with all the pieces and names you feel much more in control and happy. Where else could she get this control from?

7. It helps me to buy for them.
I hear so often around Christmas and birthday’s with families of special needs children that they have no idea what to buy for their children. Some children just don’t play with conventional toys (like Naomi’s twin brother who prefers watching lifts!) so the Argos catalogue and the Internet don’t help. When your child has a current obsession even if they have everything you can think of they will probably soon tell you of that missing train, or character, or whatever, that they need. And you can always have fun together making things related to the theme too. Every Christmas I am so thankful my children have some sort of obsession, even if it is only the number 2!image

8. It motivates them.
Recently Naomi was very ill with pneumonia and I struggled to give her a reason to get well. She had no obsession at the time so nothing motivated her to want to get off the couch and play or even eat. It is amazing how character spaghetti comes into its own when suddenly they want to eat just because it is Peppa Pig shaped! Use their interests to help get them to do things like get dressed, have a bath, and even walk to school. You will hear me say often ‘first teeth brush, then play with….’ Because it works!

9. It helps them transition from one thing to another.
Both my children struggle with moving from one thing or place to another. But using their current interest helps. We have had dinner with a line of Thomas tanks engines by her plate many times, and toy plastic food is a regular bath toy for my non verbal son. If it can go with them in a pocket…then it comes along with us. My daughter still takes a comfort toy to school in her pocket and it will always be related to her current obsession. It makes it easier for her to get from home to school and vice versa.

10. It makes them the interesting, unique, wonderful person people they are.image
Some obsessions have lasted years, others a few weeks or months. But each one get embraced as we go along on the ride with my children. Their interests are part of them.The same way everyone in life has a passion, a reason to get up in the morning, and something that gives them a ‘buzz’. It’s about accepting my children, using their loves in the best way I can and loving what they love…just because I respect them, accept them and embrace them for the wonderful unique individuals they are.

Am I Thomas Tank Engines biggest fan? Not really. Am I delighted to watch the same clip of lift doors opening and closing for hours on end? Not exactly. But these things interest my children so they interest me too. If I love them..then I love all that comes with them too.

Now I had better go. Apparently my son has found a different ten seconds of Peppa pig in Spanish he likes and he thinks I want to share that with him. I will love it of course…