Navigating Negative Emotions (Part One)

Come on over to The Family Room, where I've got a new post up tonight about why some children with autistic spectrum disorders have such a difficult time accepting and understanding negative emotions in themselves and others.

(And after you've read it, keep reading, because if you haven't read Susan's blog yet, you're missing out!)

The More People He Meets

My son Baxter has a rather unique personality. He is what his father and I think of as uber-social, and has been since birth. Baxter was the 18-month old who walked into day care with a big grin and greeted each other toddler by name and with a hug (which usually knocked them to the floor, one by one - there were those sensory issues coming into play!). He was the preschooler who didn't just start playing in the sandbox at the park, he first went from unfamiliar child to unfamiliar child, greeting them with a big smile and a hello. My friends used to refer to him as "Mayor of the Playground".

Recently, Matt and I had an odd realization: it occurred to us that we couldn't think of a single person Baxter had ever disliked. No complaint about another child at school, no adult who wasn't his cup of tea. In his book, it seemed, everyone was fantastic. In fact, to this day if you ask him how his day was, he invariably answers, "GREAT!" each time with completely earnest enthusiasm. My father told me last year that he loved this quality in Baxter so much he had started responding that way himself at work just to see how other people reacted. My mother said recently that Baxter's attitude towards life is "refreshing". I agree.

While I was making Christmas cookies with Baxter a few weeks ago, we had a lovely conversation, as we often do when we're together. I brought up this question of whether he'd ever met someone he didn't like. He thought about it, and agreed that we were right - he had not. "In fact," he said, "the more people I meet, the more people I like!" This was followed by, "Hey, that should be my motto!" Delighted, I agreed. He was given the t-shirt shown in the photo above by my highly amused cousin in San Francisco, complete with his new motto printed on the front.

Last week we visited a childhood friend of mine who lives in Santa Cruz. Soon after we adults had settled ourselves at the beach side cafe with our coffee cups and gigantic muffins, Baxter headed into the sand with a Frisbee. About five minutes later, my friend asked, "So, what's Baxter like?" I pointed over beyond the volleyball nets - "Well, did you read his t-shirt?" He said that he had, grinning. "And do you see him over there?" My friend turned and realized that Baxter had singlehandedly organized an impromptu game of Frisbee on the beach with a mixed group of kids and adults, within five minutes. He was happily taking pointers from someone's dad about his throw. A while later the game switched to football and he was tackling unfamiliar children in the sand, children he would've knocked over 6 years ago had they been in day care together.

Thus it came as some surprise tonight at dinner when we were looking at Lyle's map place mat and I idly asked, "Where do you boys think you'll live someday?" (secretly hoping the answer would be "next door"). Baxter's voice shook a bit with emotion as he replied, "Anywhere, as long as Adam P. doesn't live there!"

Whoa.

It all spilled out. Adam P. (one must use last name initials at all times in second grade!) has been calling him names (primarily "Dexter", which is just kind of lame, if you ask me) and generally being a little stinkpot to Baxter. Bax sat on my lap, curled up with long thin limbs that were unsure of where they fit anymore, and told us all about it. I think we handled it well enough, talking a lot about how he felt, why Adam P. might be doing that, and what Baxter does about it. A discussion about the power of ignoring ensued, and after a while he brightened up and it was clear that this load he'd been carrying had been lifted from his sturdy 7-year old shoulders. He even laughed when Lyle then climbed on my lap, saying, "And Mommy? The boys at preschool are saying rude things to me, too!" and then made up all kinds of crazy things that have definitely never happened. All for a little cuddle and attention. So we had a big family love-in on the couch for a while and then went on with our evening.

It had to happen sometime, didn't it? I mean, someone had to get his attention with nasty behavior enough times to bring him to the point of dislike. It sounded like it had been going on for months, so I think he's been quite tolerant about it for a while now.

In the end, I know that even the Mayor of the Playground is going to have a few enemies. But I have a feeling that's not going to slow him down for long. I'm pretty sure of it.

Surviving the Holidays with Sensitive Kids

Both of my boys are sensitive guys. I believe that, in the long-term, this is a good quality in the males of our species, I really do. In the short-term it can be a bit tough, however. Among other things, it means that Baxter cries easily and was afraid of segments on Sesame Street until he was about 6 years old. I mean, truly, there is never any doubt about how that boy is feeling and it's been relatively easy to help him learn to manage his emotions.

But Lyle, though probably even more sensitive and finely-tuned than his big brother, has been much harder to read. Rather than crying when he's scared or his feelings have been hurt, he is likely to feel confused and hide behind what I think of as his "wacky" behaviors: moodiness, hitting, sudden shrieking, twirling in circles, and jumping on top of his brother.

I see children through an uncommon lens, because of my training. I'm sure this has pros and cons for my family. In my book, children's behavior is highly meaningful - they are communicating something with their actions, and our job is to watch, listen, and interpret the message in order to respond appropriately.

So when Lyle's "wacky" behaviors began to escalate in the past week, I took it very seriously and watched carefully. In addition to the usuals - which were significantly heightened - he began to bite his shirt collar or jacket a lot - and a couple of times even bit his own hand earlier this week.

Now, listen up: if you are my child and you want me to go into Full Alert Mode, just start biting your hand. I'm all yours.

I watched. I listened. I talked to Matt. I thought about it a lot.

Let's see, what's going on for this shy little guy...Christmas is coming (exciting)...Santa is coming (scary and exciting)...he was invited to his first school friend's birthday party (scary and exciting)...my work party is this Saturday, complete with a live Santa (scary and exciting)...Mommy was a stress case the last two weeks (scary)...there are new decorations all over the house - and everywhere else, for that matter (exciting but different from the norm)...we'll be going to California in less than two weeks (exciting). And on and on. No wonder the child is completely dysregulated. That's a lot for a small boy to handle.

So here's what I've done.

First of all, I quickly gave him a substitute to bite. Because think about it - oral input is the most primitive source of comfort and self-regulation we've got. Consider breast-feeding, sucking on a pacifier or a thumb. Many adults use food or cigarettes to satisfy that need. If we say, "Stop biting" but give the child nothing to substitute with, we are probably causing him more discomfort and then what's going to happen? Probably more biting.

I have a collection of oral motor tools that are safe and durable, and I offered Lyle an assortment. He took to one of them. I encouraged him to get all the oral input he wanted with that - while we read stories, when he watched a video, or when he was starting to experience heightened emotions. It helped. Forty-eight hours later he isn't biting anything else and isn't even using the tool much.

Second, I worked extra hard with him to identify what he was feeling. When he began to bite his shirt or shout, I slowed him down and asked, "What are you feeling right now?", helping him to differentiate between excitement and nervousness so that we could identify other ways to deal with those feelings. This worked very well. Tuesday afternoon I took the boys over to Starbucks for hot cocoa in the afternoon. Lyle was starting to get really wired, and I raised my voice to get his attention before he bumped into someone. He immediately bit his shirt - but then stopped and said to me, "I was surprised because you spoke sharply to me." He then climbed on my lap and allowed me to comfort him and explain why I spoke sharply. This self-awareness led to an immediate decrease in the undesirable behaviors in that environment.

Third, I slowed down his world as much as I could. I started to speak slower and more quietly to him, and kept our schedule as calm as possible. I made an extra effort to sit down and focus on pretend playing with him more often, which always gives us more opportunities to connect emotionally and play out difficult situations.

Fourth, I made life more predictable. I drew a calendar of the next few weeks for the kids. On each day, I drew simple pictures to identify Lyle's school days, days with the nanny, when exactly the parties are, when we go to California, etc. When life is busy and routines change all of a sudden, many kids (and probably adults) need some extra predictability and external organization. Both of the boys are checking their calendar multiple times a day; it's posted on the refrigerator.

This is an exciting time of year. That's as it should be. It's fun to dance in the kitchen to Frosty the Snowman, treat the kids to some holiday fun, and enjoy the season.

But for kids who are not so sure yet about how to express their feelings, 'tis also the season for some extra support.