Making Room for Play

Ben won a tiny toy shark from the treasure box at school the other day.  As soon as we got home, he announced that he wanted to play with it in the bathtub.  I convinced him to put the shark in a plastic container filled with water (aka “ the ocean”) instead so I could get going on dinner.  As I chopped vegetables, Ben wandered into the kitchen and asked if he could put a shark tooth in the water.  Absently, I said yes.  Then, in the background I heard a whole dialogue unfolding centering around the shark losing his teeth to the depths of the sea.  After many trips back and forth to his room, the tub quickly filled with a pile of shark teeth, other plastic ocean creatures, and some shells from the beach. 

“Did you know a shark is a fish?” he asked me during one of his many trips into the kitchen.  “Their teeth are very sharp.” 

And, later, I overheard, “Look- it floats.  What else can float on the water?”

As I glanced over, I suddenly realized that Ben had created his very own sensory bin.  Ben is seven now, so we haven’t had sensory bins around for quite awhile.  I used to make them for him when he was three and four years old, and he certainly had plenty of opportunities to explore these back during this preschool years. 

Ben is a first grader.  He attends a private school that offers more choice and creativity than most schools do these days.  However, I know that his day is still mainly filled with reading, writing, and math tasks.   He enjoys school and he loves to learn.  Sadly, this was not always the case.

We are currently living in an era that is pushing more rigorous academics on children at increasingly younger ages.  As an educator, I watch it happen every day.  I also watch many children’s after school hours fill with extra-curricular activities and additional tutoring to help them catch up and close the learning gap.  I've had parents requesting tutoring for their children starting as early as PreK.  In addition, kiddos like mine with special needs often spend their after school time in additional therapies, such as OT and speech.

There is a saying that play is the work of childhood.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the place in a child’s world for pure, unstructured, play. 

Play with no rules and no agenda. 

Play that is unhurried, simple, and pure.

Ben is the master at this type of play.  I protect this precious time in our day because, even though it may not appear academic or rigorous at first glance,  I know its value.

Who are we to say when a child (or adult, for that matter) is too old for play?  Ben may be learning to read, add, and subtract, but he still needs time to get messy, create, and explore…just like he did when he was four.  If anything, he needs it more now than ever. 

Here are five reasons why I believe in the power of play:

1)   Playing builds creativity

Tonight Ben and I blasted off into outer space on his bed.  Yesterday, his bed was a table at a five-star restaurant where he served me food from all over the world.  Play allows Ben to use his imagination and build flexible thinking.  Plus, it’s fun!

2)   Playing builds strong oral language skills

Ben's imaginary play adventures usually come with a story complete with impromptu dialogue for all participants.  Long before Ben was able to hold a pencil, I taught him how to tell stories.  We would weave tales together, “One day, Ben set sail on the high seas.  But then, a pack of huge, angry sharks attacked the ship….”  When I tell stories with Ben, I always try to use rich vocabulary.  He loves to use words like gargantuan instead of huge, and it makes our stories grander, more suspenseful, and just plain hilarious!

3)   Playing allows for creative problem solving

So often I hear Ben working through social issues through his play.  After reading “Charlotte’s Web” as our bedtime story, I overheard him pretend cooking “wild pigs”, while talking to his “pet pig”.  This was obviously helping him to come to terms with eating meat, an issue Ben worried about throughout the read aloud as Wilber grappled with the fate that pigs face.   Ben loved Wilber's character, but he also loves his bacon.  By distinguishing wild pigs from pet pigs, he was coming to terms with this concept in his own mind.

I’m grateful that play and exploration can take a front stage in his life.  I believe that these opportunities to play, without an agenda, and without direction from any grown-ups actually have huge academic and social benefits.

4)   Playing builds perseverance

Ben loves doing projects that he dreams up from his imagination.  His crayons, scissors, tape, paper, and other supplies are easily accessible on his writing table.  He uses these materials to create projects all the time, with no direction or prompting from me.  Often he gets an idea in his head, but making the idea become a reality can be a challenge.  Tonight he wanted to wrap a piece of paper into a tube shape and tape a quarter into the viewing area.  Then, he wanted to glue to tube so it projected from the paper in 3-D.  The finished product looked something like an elephant’s trunk with a quarter for a nose.  Ben used to get very frustrated when he couldn’t get things to work just the way he wanted them to (such as when his train tracks wouldn't connect just right), but these days he’s learning to work through these minor difficulties without big tears and frustration.

5)   Playing builds an enthusiasm for learning

Ben feels a lot of pride and satisfaction in his projects.  I let him hang his artwork on the walls of his playroom and pretend it’s an art gallery.  He loves taking me on tours, and charging me a quarter to view his masterpieces.   Ben loves to create, explore, and invent.  I don’t tell him to do this- he comes home eager to get started.  Sometimes when I call him to dinner, he’ll say, “I’m working!” and he truly is.  I can think of no work that is more important.

How do you encourage play in your child's (or your own) life?  I'd love to hear your ideas!

Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!

An InLinkz Link-up

The Miracle League: A Sensory Haven for Baseball

Ben practices his swing in preparation for his big hit.

Saturday mornings in the spring have come to mean baseball in our family.  Our little ball player dons his bright orange jersey and matching hat.  He grabs his bat and glove and heads confidently to the field.  I remind him to keep his eye on the ball, and he tells me that he’s going to hit another home run.  Maybe today, he tells me, is the day he will knock that ball over the fence.  At first glance, this may seem like an ordinary day at the baseball field.  But this is no ordinary field, and this is no ordinary league.  This is the Miracle League.

The players on Ben’s team range from four years old to adulthood.  Each player has some form of disability, whether physical, mental, or developmental.  Many of the players face sensory challenges as well.  On this field, however, their disabilities become secondary.  On this field, they are baseball players, and this is their team.

This field is a safe space.  It has been designed especially for them.  The turf is the perfect surface to allow a wheelchair to glide, while also providing cushioning for the medically fragile child.  The bleachers are shaded from the sun, so that the child with the skin condition can still participate in the game.  Each player is provided with a buddy who stays with them for the entire game.  

The rules of the game have been adapted too.  There are no outs in this league.  Every player gets a turn at bat, and they swing until they get a hit.  And every player is supported based on his or her level of need.  Some need very little support.  Some require the guiding hand of the coach to hit the ball.  One player uses a special ball that emits a high-pitched beep to compensate for his visual impairments.  Some players wear noise-cancelling headsets.  Some players whiz around the bases in their wheelchairs while others move more sedately with the support of their buddies.  Some players concentrate fully on the game and crack the ball with astounding power.  Others use the tee to hit the ball with the support of the coach.

Watching my son’s team play baseball is a beautiful thing.  The coaches, the fans, the buddies, and the players all show mutual respect.  Many players have been coming to play baseball with this league for years.  All variations of the game are accepted, and everyone cheers for every player. 

Each time I watch a game, I notice something new.  Before my son’s diagnosis, I had embarrassingly little contact with the special needs community.  Truth be told, I used to avoid those with disabilities because I did not know what to do or what to say.  My son changed all of this for me.  I no longer shy away from those who look or act different, nor do I feel sorry for them. This is not meant to minimize the challenges they face.  We all have challenges in life, and I respect the fact that some of these players have significant struggles.  However, rather than feeling sorry for the boy in the wheelchair, I now appreciate his kind and gentle heart as he spends time with the youngest players.  I notice the girl whose smile shines brightly every single game, despite the limp in her walk.  Still another has sass and spunk to spare, and after she rounds the bases, curtsies at the audience before bouncing off to get a hug from her mom.   The crowd laughs appreciatively at the confident swagger of the teenaged boy with Down Syndrome who points his bat in the direction of left field and then proceeds to knock the ball all the way to the fence.  The coaches patiently guide the hand of a boy who is fixated on twirling a stick that he found on the field.  Rather than removing the stick from his hand, they manage to help him hit the ball while holding the stick at the same time. 

And then, finally, it’s my son’s turn to bat.  He bounces up to the plate, laughing expectantly.  Voices from the stands shout his name in encouragement.  Coach helps him adjust his stance, and he is ready.  He sticks his tongue out in concentration as the pitcher winds up the throw.  Crack!   He knocks the ball deep into right field on the very first pitch.  In a flash, he rounds the bases and sails past home plate, high fiving his coaches and teammates.  Then, he heads into the dugout to guzzle some Gatorade in celebration.

As I watch the game, I cannot help but wonder what our world would be like if it were designed like this league.  How different would our world be if the proper supports were available for children and adults who needed them, whether at school, in the workplace, at the restaurant, or at the local grocery store?  What would happen if we encouraged the strengths of others rather than always fixating on the deficits?  What would happen if we saw one another for who we really are?  What would happen if we stopped feeling sorry for others who are different and stopped shying away?

We have a long way to go before our world mirrors this place of acceptance, where accommodations are provided naturally and without question.  Until that day, I will continue to carve out safe places for my child, and I will enjoy our Saturday morning oasis at the ball field.

Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!

An InLinkz Link-up

You See Me...But Do You Understand?

Ben with his multiple stuffed animals.

You See Me…But Do You Understand?

By: Ben (with help from Mom)

You see me

Acting

Differently from the rest,

But do you understand

All the reasons

Why?

You see me

Laughing

When a baby cries,

But do you understand

That her screams feel like

Feathers tickling my back?

You see me

Looking away

When you speak,

But do you understand

How painful it feels to look you

In the eye?

You see me

Crying

When I am frustrated,

But do you understand

How I hate it when my body feels

Out of control?

You see me

Flapping

My hands in the air,

But do you understand

That flapping is my way of showing

My happiness and joy?

You see me

Acting

Differently from the rest,

But do you understand

That different does not mean

Less?

*For this year's Autism Acceptance Month, I used bits of conversations between Ben and I to form his words into a poem.  I hope it provides you with an understanding of his unique and amazing perspective on the world.

Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!

An InLinkz Link-up

Why Autism Awareness Month can be Hard if you are #Actually Autistic

April is coming.

For those of us who are part of the autism community, April brings a mix of emotions.  April is Autism Awareness Month.  

I myself am not autistic.  Before my son was diagnosed with autism, I would have thought that an Autism Awareness Month would be a very good thing, especially for the people who we are raising awareness for.  Unfortunately, I found out very quickly that this is sadly not the case.

In April you will undoubtedly see advertisements on social media, commercials on television, or perhaps even posters at local schools and businesses urging you to “Light it Up Blue.”  Home Depot even sells blue light bulbs for the front porch of your house.  In the past, the Empire State Building, the White House, and many other landmarks around the world have turned on their blue lights to “shine a light on autism awareness.”   This all sounds like a very good thing.  Until it’s not.

The “Light It Up Blue” campaign is backed by an organization known as Autism Speaks.  It is without a doubt the largest autism organization in the world.  However, it also most likely holds the title of one of the only organizations that is openly despised by the very people it claims to be helping- autistic people themselves.  You can read the reasons why most autistic people cannot in good conscience support Autism Speaks here. 

The reason that so many people have a difficult time with Autism Awareness Month (myself included) is because so much of the conversation during the month centers around puzzle pieces, blue lights, and walks.  Sadly, the conversation very rarely moves beyond superficial "awareness" of autism.  At this point (if you've seen the movie Rain Man) you know what autism is.  We need much more than awareness.  And sadly, much of the money raised through these awareness campaigns goes towards trying to find a cure for autism rather than providing services and supports for the children and adults who are already here.

April is a hard month for many adults on the spectrum.  There is a lot of conversation about the devastation caused by autism.  Ads that remind everyone that “1 in 68 children will be diagnosed with autism” continue to train the public that autism (and by association, autistic individuals) are something to be feared.  Autistic adults have told us time and again that when organizations such as Autism Speaks talk about trying to eliminate autism, these individuals hear that they (the autistic adults) are “less than” others, something to be feared, pitied, and something to actively eliminate altogether.  Because autism is not a disease like cancer.  Autism is a neurological difference.  It is part of a person’s internal wiring.  You cannot separate the person from their autism.  And, therefore, when autistic people hear others talking about how awful autism is, they feel personally attacked.  And, the fact remains that while autism brings its challenges, it also gives those on the spectrum unique gifts and strengths (even if they are not discovered until much later).  Many autistic adults have said that if they actually had the chance to get rid of their autism, they would not do it because autism is a part of their identity in much the same way as our gender or ethnicity defines who we are.  

You will undoubtedly see lots of articles written by non-autistic individuals about autism during April, but, sadly, not nearly enough conversation is led by the true experts- those who are actually autistic.  And so, during the month of April, I will be featuring an article each day that is written by an autistic child, teenager, or adult.  I hope you will learn as much from their words as I have.  If you really stop to consider their point of view without judgment or attempting to frame it within your current definition of “normal”, their words will truly broaden your current understanding of what autism truly is.

In April, and every day of the year, we celebrate more than autism awareness in our house.  We celebrate autism acceptance. 

During April, if you’d really like to make a difference in the life of those on the spectrum, you don’t need to light it up blue.  You don’t need to wear puzzle piece jewelry or t-shirts.  What would help the most is to listen and learn from the voices of those on the spectrum.  

I hope you’ll join me on this journey.

An Open Letter to my Son's Dentist

Dear Dr. Rob,

Last week it was once again time to get Ben’s teeth cleaned.  Going to the dentist isn’t easy for most people, and Ben’s sensory challenges make getting his teeth cleaned even more complicated than a typical patient.  Thankfully, he has you.

This visit was especially long, filled with a round of x-rays in addition to the usual cleaning.  As the dental assistant “counted” his teeth, we discussed the need to put four sealants on his back molars as a preventative measure.

You explained that Ben would need to sit perfectly still during the procedure and you asked me if I thought he could handle it.  You said you would rather have no sealant than an improperly placed one.  I hesitated as I watched my son sit up yet again to spit out the toothpaste that the assistant had patiently reapplied yet again.  You sensed my hesitation and asked me something amazing.  “What can I do that will best meet his needs?”

And then, wonderfully you listened.  You listened while I explained that he would need to understand step-by-step what was going to happen.  You listened while I told you that he needed to see and understand the tools that you will use.  You listened while I explained that light touch is difficult for him to handle, but deep pressure is soothing.  Then, you said that you were more than happy to follow his lead.  Your main concern was his happiness and well-being.  More than anything else, you did not want to make an enemy that day.  You knew how important this moment would be in his future associations with the dentist.  And I immediately knew the wisdom in those words.  I shared a memory of a nightmare visit to the eye doctor.  During that visit, the doctor needed dilate his eyes.  Despite describing the process, showing him the droppers, and trying to have him sit for the drops, nothing would work.  That day ended up with me holding down my son’s head while he screamed and screamed so the doctor could get the drops in.  To this day, it is one of the parenting moments I wish I could change the most.  I certainly didn’t wish for a repeat performance at the dentist.

And so we took Ben in the room- just to show him the tools.  You showed him the cool flashlight that shone blue on the wall.  You let him hold the “big slurpy straw” and asked if he’d like to try it in his mouth.  He did.  You let him hold the cotton balls and explained how they would help keep his teeth dry.  And, after all the explanation, Ben was eager for you to make his teeth “strong” and so we decided to do it.  You kept the chair at a slight angle even though it was more difficult for you to do the work, because you knew it would keep him at ease.  You talked him through every step.  As the sealant dried on his tooth, you counted, with reassuring taps on his chest.  You kept him in almost a bear hug with your body throughout, and he did stay calm.  You did so many small things in that moment that spoke volumes about the respect that you had for his needs, and I am sure you do the same for each little patient who walks through your doors.  We were able to get two sealants done that day.  I have every confidence that when we return to get the last two sealants put in place, Ben will do an equally awesome job.

I think we all can learn from the lesson you taught me that day.  By asking a simple question, “How can I help?” and really listening, you were able to meet his needs so beautifully.  I have tried to do the same in my work with students and teachers, because we all deserve to have our needs heard and respected.  Thank you for being there for my child when he needed you, and thank you for reminding me of the importance of listening and serving others. 

Gratefully Yours,

Ben’s Mom

Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!

An InLinkz Link-up