Twelve little picture cards are placed sequentially down the wall. Each one in the green coloured section showing that they are still to happen.
I remember the process we went through to get to the full list of the day’s events. Initially I had placed them all on the wall and somehow expected Rhys to acknowledge the process – I was obviously delusional, or maybe just had a lot still to learn!
Three years ago we had mastered the first-then strategy. The use of two pictures to move Rhys between activities, communicating a clear sequence and managing the transition. Pictures became the basis of everything. I used them to communicate with him, reducing anxiety and avoiding meltdowns.
I would place little pictures onto a green card showing where we were going and what would happen next. Crouching down to Rhys’ eye level in carparks, shopping centres and play areas with my sequence of pictures got a number of stares from the passers by, but I didn’t see the on looking eyes, I saw my son and the need to do everything to communicate with him and avoid a meltdown due to confusion and frustration.
The miniature schedule worked extremely well, and I continued to use it in a portable fashion.
After a few months, I changed to a red and green card adding a few extra activities to the sequence. Hand-over-hand I helped Rhys move each activity card from the green section to the red section to signify its completion.
It didn’t take long for Rhys to master this second step.
Once comfortable, I implemented the final stage. I took the schedule card we had been using for a number of weeks and stuck it to the hallway wall. The perfect central location to communicate our plan. As the activities were completed, I would take Rhys to the wall for him to move the card to the red section.
He soon knew where to see his plan. Now consisting of over twelve activities per day.
As I finished making the dinner this evening, I spotted a mop of blonde hair walk up to the communication wall. The little hand reached for the dinner card and moved it across to the red, “All finished” he said. But he wasn’t finished, he kept going. Bath, pyjamas, brush teeth were moved across too, and then the hand tapped the last card, “Bedtime!” it said, and two little legs walked down the hallway and up the stairs.
Schedules can help communicate the events of the day, but they can do so much more, like communicating when your little one is done.
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Click here to get a step by step guide to schedules.
“Rhys wash hair” I state, holding the little toy watering can where he can see it. I use simple words to explain what I am about to do, so he wont be taken by surprise. “Ready, steady, go” I announce, and being careful to not get any water in his eyes, I lift the watering can up to his head, and start to count.
With every canful of water I count down, making Rhys aware of how long the activity is going to take. “Five” first canful of water weting the top of his head. “Four” the water running down the back of his head. “Three” making sure the left hand side is saturated. “Two” then the right. “One” pouring the last canful on the top.
“Well done, Rhys” I say excitedly, wiping his face clean from any stray droplets of water. I take some shampoo in my hand and lather his long hair into a Mohawk, more for my enjoyment than his!
I then begin the process again. “Rhys, wash hair” I say again, the watering can held high. “Five, four, three, two, one.” Lifting the towel to his face, I give Rhys a few seconds to breathe and reset. There is still a lot of shampoo in his hair, so when he is ready, I start the cycle again.
Washing Rhys’ hair use to be traumatic. Without any means to communicate with him at the time, it resulted in force and a close call to water boarding 😮 (or so it seemed). I had no way of getting him clean without a swift quick-as-I-could dunk in the bath. We both grew very quickly to hate an experience which was meant to be fun, engaging and relaxing.
“All finished” I announce. Lifting Rhys out the bath and wrapping him up in a large fluffy towel. His big blue eyes and contagious smile peep out from under the folds, confirmation that his bath had been fun.
I leave Rhys to put on his pyjamas, which I have laid out in order on his floor. Picking up the hair brush I wait for him to be ready. The brush is a pink anti-tangle one with unicorns on it, and actually his sisters, but it works a treat.
Kneeling down on the soft carpet and looking up at the dressed pyjamas I state, in the same way I did ten minutes earlier “Rhys, brush hair”. With each stroke I count “five, four, three, two, one”
Once I am done I scrunch Rhys’ hair into its natural curl, and give him a huge cuddle, breathing in the fresh fragrance of the bath.
I have used countdowns in so many ways to communicate time with Rhys and how long events are going to last. From hair washing, to brushing teeth and even during haircuts.
I use the Ready Steady Go technique to communicate the start of the activity, which is a great foundation for many other strategies. See more details here.
You can also add traffic lights to help with the length of the activity, and pictures or sequence cards to supplement the communication.
Be creative and combine strategies in ways that will be able to help you communicate and enjoy activities with your child.
Most importantly – sometimes things don’t always work first time, so assess what you are doing, keep trying and if needed, ask for help.
If you have missed any of the other strategies, find them all detailed here.
The chair is hard and uncomfortable, as I shift back and forward, crossing and uncrossing my legs in nervousness. There is a sickness in my stomach as I sit and listen to the comments being spoken to me from the other side of the table.
“A quiet environment will suit him better”
“He is not at the level expected for his age”
“We are not going to be able to meet his needs going into the future”
“We are not equipped to meet his requirements”
I sit silent, letting each word hit me, like small pellets being thrown at me, striking one by one. I don’t respond.
Every day that we had collected my son from school I had been met with positivity, and updates on how well he was settling in. His home book had details of tasks he has completed alongside paintings he had constructed. He had settled in.
I sat in shock at being thrown a curve ball, a switch from daily positive updates to an annual review where every update defined my son as not meeting the grade and in a school that could not accommodate him. There is nothing more hurtful than getting told that your child doesn’t belong and every comment cementing the fact that he is different.
An assessment had been done and the results were pushed across the table to us. I read the scale which defined the developmental age range, and then looked at the assessment for my son. It was separated into categories of social interaction, literacy, physical development, and mathematics. Every category placed him below his peers, which was not a surprise, but what struck me was that he had been assigned a developmental age of a year to eighteen months in many of the categories. Rhys was four years old.
The school couldn’t meet his needs!
I disagreed with the method of assessment, I believed that giving a minimal score for literacy, because he couldn’t read aloud was unacceptable, and that marking him down physically because he couldn’t jump when requested verbally, disadvantaged him due to the inability of him to understand perceptive language.
But I still sat silent.
I sat silent because I was using every ounce of strength to hold back the tears. I was not prepared for the bombshell they had just delivered with no positive comments of how amazing my son was and the progress he had made over the year. I had no response prepared, because I had been hit with something unexpected.
We left that day, and I cried. I ran through so many things in my head of what I should have said, about what I should have asked. But in the shock, I had just sat there and let the words hit me like rocks. The school was not right for my son, they couldn’t accommodate him, we should look at a different setting!
But although at the time I had started to construct a delayed list of words and comments I wanted to return, I am grateful for what they did. They forced us to make a decision that has changed the path for my son. His autism makes him different, it means things are approached differently, and they were right, that school was not the right fit.
We visited many schools and gathered feedback from different parents on their decisions and experience. I seeked professional guidance but received no help, just the response, “You know your son best” – but I didn’t! I knew nothing about what my son needed. I had no experience in the school system or the world of autism. It was a world I had experienced for less than a year. The truth, I believe, was that if the professionals did provide guidance a large percentage of children would be referred for specialist care, but the system just cannot accommodate it.
Within six months of that school meeting, Rhys moved to a new school. I fought every barrier and even found direct contacts within the education system to ensure he got the support he needed. Rhys joined a special needs base at the beginning of his second school year. They specialised in autism, with the additional advantage of still being within a mainstream school. He would have the professionals on site, moving at his pace and teaching him with methods suited to his development.
It was an emotional time where our expectations and future vision had been shattered. The pain of rejection towards your child is heart breaking and knocks you backwards, it hits a spot you don’t even knew exists. At the time I couldn’t make a decision with my heart, so did it with my head, detailing the factual reasons why a school move was the right thing to do.
Rhys changed schools eighteen months ago.
Last night my phone rang. Rhys’ teacher spoke on the other end of the line, she spoke positively about every aspect of Rhys and his development at school. His excitement when he arrives and all the end of year activities which are being planned. But the unexpected update was around his engagement. She spoke about how he interacts with the other children and the friendships he has formed. Coming from a school where he sat on the side-lines, trailing behind the level of his peers, and unintegrated in the classroom, to be told your child, with social challenges, has friends, is something I have no words to describe. He is part of a group, he is part of the class, he even has a best friend.
The right decision
The decision I made with my head over eighteen months ago was the right one, and I am grateful for that annual review that left me in tears. They did the right thing, because moving Rhys was the right thing to do for him, even if I found it difficult to accept at the time. And if it had not been the right decision, it was something we could have looked at again and changed.
Because a decision is for that moment with the information you have at that time. If over time those details change, you can always reassess and take a different path. But you will not know unless you take that leap and try.
Head to my Facebook page and share your thoughts. What education solution has met your child’s needs? What was your experience? Are you struggling to make a decision?
“Shall we get some food?” asked my husband as we walked out of a successful bowling family outing. We were all on a bit of a high from a family activity that had gone to plan. I looked up to see what he was referring to and saw a burger restaurant was in front of us, it was a takeaway, sit-down-if-you-want type of establishment. I assumed we would grab some food to eat on the go, as we have not sat down as a family in a restaurant for many years, longer than I can remember.
Rhys doesn’t do sitting down, waiting for food and social norms like eating out, are not part of his agenda. He will shuttle run up and down between the tables, and if the opportunity presents itself, he will run out an open door. There was once a situation where he didn’t want to sit at the table with us and decided to sit down at a table with an old couple who were on a quiet meal out. They didn’t seem to mind, but probably wondered what was wrong with us!
We find eating out stressful, and have therefore discounted it from family activities, resorting to a quick take away, picnic or lunch at home.
Until now. We decided to give it another try!
We took a chance, and as the food got ordered, I ushered our family into a booth. We all sat across the table from each other, Rhys included, and I thought to a picture I had seen earlier on my Facebook feed. I thought of families who regularly go out for food together, they snap a shot of them all around the table, conversing and enjoying a meal.
Here we were sitting, just like that family in the photo I had seen earlier.
Happy
We were however naturally contingency planning, knowing that our food could just be packed up and taken with us if something went wrong.
As we dished out the food, Rhys wouldn’t touch his hotdog, and pushed away the chips, but he sat there with us. He was happy to sit calmly and watch us eat, and look around at the sights of the restaurant. We all took our time eating our burgers and shared a strawberry milkshake, passing it around letting the paper straw get soggier with every sip (not the best decision!).
The environment was calm and stress free. A feeling of achievement washed over us. Our whole family out having a meal together, without one of us jumping up every two seconds to retrieve Rhys or calm him down.
As we sat, we took a photo. A photo that means more to our family than any other family’s weekly breakfast meal out. The first photo of us having a meal out together. The first photo ever.
Our first restaurant meal together!
We sat as a family eating a meal. The first meal together in a restaurant in forever.
There are no more words to describe the feeling of achievement and success. We are all moving forward in this scary world, and goals are limitless. Who knows what we will achieve next!
What are your experiences of eating out? Head to Facebook and let me know your story.
“Red” he replies, and I help him hand-over-hand to lift the red bowling ball from the rack. We lift it together onto the guide, and after a joint chant of “Ready, steady, go” Rhys pushes the ball forward. It makes a perfect direct line forward to the central pin securing a strike.
Rhys’ calves demonstrate their power as he springs up and down in excitement. The movement of the ball as it speeds down the lane provides the best entertainment for a little boy. Rhys takes his second go, which is just as exciting as the first, leaving a few pins standing this time around.
“Rhys, its Jessie’s turn” I state and hold his hand we stand on the side as he watches his sister choose her coloured sphere. I look around at the lights that overpower the room, alongside the noise as the balls hit the lane and pins. It is a nightmare experience for a boy who struggles with sensory processing, but that is where this parenting game is complex.
The momentum of balls and thrill of the smash, trump any of the loud noise and bright lights. Rhys is in his element, this activity is everything he has dreamed of. We continue to take our turns, Rhys choosing different colours, vocalising the one he wants as he eagerly lifts it into his grasp. After his two throws, he waits at the side watching his siblings take their turns.
We took a chance a few months ago, and tried bowling. On the surface we took a risk on something that made no sense on paper. The noise, the lights, the multi-sensory input. But Rhys loved it, and it has turned into a family adventure that has guaranteed success. The thing is that we would never have known if we had not given it a go. The opportunities it has presented for development are amazing – from colour association, to turn taking, mathematics and sensory processing.
Always try what you believe to be the impossible. Try it with the expectation that you may not even get through the main doors, and you may be surprised. Our kids amaze us, and throw us curve balls all the time. The rules are constantly being rewritten and we will only work it all out by pushing the boundaries.
Rhys’ hell turned out to be his ecstasy. A place we can go as a family and have fun, just like everyone else.
Head to my Facebook page to tell me what activities you do as a family. What works for you? Is it something you would never have tried naturally?
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