My neurodivergent six-year old is into creating nonsensical trivia. A recent car ride went something like this...

Him: "What color is an oval?"

Me: "Green."

Him: "NO! PINK! How many bricks are in a wall?"

Me: "Probably 96."

Him: "You were SO CLOSE. But sorry, it's 89."

In honor of the month-long winter holiday ending, here’s one of the reels I started and never finished.

Context:We were right in the thick of unrelenting rainstorms and cold. I was overstimulated, and they were under stimulated. I took them to the aquarium for a last-ditch effort to save my sanity while we waited for the Springboks rugby match to come on that evening. Benjamin and Wyatt had their own rugby match for a crowd of cheering stingrays, sea turtles and one overly-tired mom who released her dignity and just started recording. But we all won!…

I’m shivering on the sidelines of a Benjamin’s winter soccer clinic. I started feeling sorry myself here for a frozen, raining moment. The other 24 moms dropped their kids off, but I remain, with toddler in tow. I stay visible, available - an ever-present external nervous system. And did I mention it’s cold?

But as I pull my thick hat over my ears, perspective warms me. I don’t have time to rattle off how glorious it is that Benjamin is thriving here on the soccer field, or that he is dancing like a deeply-loved goober between goal posts with his best friend right now. That’s for another day.

Join me in a conversation with Deb Weakly from Help Club for Moms. Deb is a long-time friend, and she invited me to share about my journey in special needs parenting to offer encouragement to moms all over the world. I’m very much still in the trenches, learning the hard way, and even shared that I had completely lost my cool on Benjamin an hour before we started recording! But we so often find God together, and in those valley lessons of learning to worship anyway.

Maybe this is a chat you can relate to, or maybe it’s one to share with a friend who can.

I recently spent an afternoon with moms ahead of me in their special needs parenting journeys. A familiar knot twisted in my gut as they shared about unenrolling their children from school. My personal nightmare, one I push down deep, was tea time conversation. You see, statistics agree with every story I've heard. Children with my son's diagnosis are often unable to stay in school and endure so much just trying to grow up.

One of the most valuable currencies in the Ladd family is power. The first thing Wyatt says when he wakes up is, “I have power to play!” When the little boys feel they have eaten enough, they flex their muscles to prove they have sufficiently refueled their power supplies.

We had a BEAUTIFUL morning at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens this morning. We were given a tour of a textiles exhibition, went on a short hike and fished for tadpoles with our bare hands. When it was time to head out, Benjamin’s legs buckled under him and emotion overcame him.

I did a ridiculous thing. I ordered a walking pad to use for five days and return. I can explain. (A walking pad is a treadmill without handles to slide under a desk and walk while you work.)

My husband went out of town for EIGHT days. Our two youngest sons only attend school a few hours in the morning and struggled with Dad being away….

Benjamin showed up at soccer practice today wearing headphones and Crocs, with no intention of getting out of the van. No, he didn’t have his best practice anyway. He didn’t even make it onto the field. But he showed up, and the showing up is a turning point - a bookmarker we will go back to again and again.

Sometimes you just have to get there.
To your people. To your Father. To His House..

You might think mud pies are made with a bit of mud, sticks and leaves. Not our mud pie. Ours needed an additional 14 hours of co-regulation, copious screen time, a special picnic packed, and brute force to get out the door. It's even more than just that day...

It's in the daily choosing to do all the things you said you'd never do as a parent... and repenting for the earlier days when you passed judgment on others...

It's always having plans A-Z ready to action, knowing the preparation will likely get tossed aside and be unappreciated...

I joke with friends who tell me about their relaxing weekends that there's "no chill at the Ladd house". Benjamin has always required less sleep and more intense physical activity than all the parenting books said. During the extra-long days and nights, I've learned terms like "sensory seeking" and a profile of autism best understood as a nervous system disability.

But we found our rhythm: high energy, always moving, wildly caffeinated (me!), and full of connection and joy…

Wanna see Jam dance-hike? (Yes. Yes you do.)

After six straight days of Benjamin’s persistent begging to go back to the bunnies… He won! (We all won.) A scorching summer morning was well-spent watching my little boys in their elements… Benjamin with animals and Wyatt with chicken and chips.

Grade R (Kindergarten) orientation today.

We are walking in the answer to prayers we never knew we’d pray. Benjamin will start Grade R on Wednesday at a cottage school created for children with special needs. There are two loving teachers to care for the four children in his class - a class he can continue with until he’s 16…

I don’t always want to be the mom that has to turbo-pack the car and kids, ready to hit the road by 7:30am for an outing I make up on the fly. I don’t always want to pack PBJs and snack boxes on repeat.

I wish I had more compassion and patience. I wish I could stay steadier while trying to operate as my son’s external nervous system because his doesn’t do its job. I wish transitions and life in general were easier for him and, consequentially, for us too.

I planned a walk in the forest today. Wyatt loves a good nature walk, and Benjamin comes back to himself as we gulp in wonder and fresh air. Benjamin crumbled to the floor in tears when I told him our wonderful plans. My knee-jerk reaction is simultaneous overwhelm and frustration. His personal implosions demands, “Help me. I am unhelpable”.

We’ve got a formula. We go to the best places at the worst times. It was cold and windy at Green Point Park this morning. We all had wet bottoms from the slide, and I bought Benjamin TWO steamed milks to keep him sitting still long enough to get dry. We’ve found our way to win in a big, busy city when one of us can’t do crowds. We had the park to ourselves, and the kids felt like kings - with milk moustaches instead of crowns!

I've lived in Cape Town for almost eight years. That's the longest I've lived anywhere since I was 18. We got dealt a few hard blows upon arrival in the city we left everything for... so hard my stomach twisted in knots at the sight of that big, beautiful Table Mountain.

Eight years later, I've learned to love this city through the lens of special needs parenting and "a church to call home, a family to call our own". I know how the weather changes based on what side of the mountain you're on, to check tide times and wind speeds, and how to navigate the traffic.

Benjamin crashed my post-workout stretch session this morning... and things progressed from there. A 10-minute kids workout on the iPad unlocked joy, bouncing, bonding and healing movement. Our Jammer has been in a hard-ish season for a while - which is quite a euphemism, really. We’re all giving it our best, and we all sometimes flip out and see our worst. In his hard-ish times, Benjamin struggles with proprioception, interoception... all kinds of -ceptions. The way we spell it out in our house is “having trouble taking control of your body.” The details are not for the Internet, but it’s not easy to watch, parent or live with if we’re being honest.

We had an extraordinary experience this week at soccer camp. It was Benjamin's most unsheltered, "mainstream" kind of experience with boys of all different ages. It was an awkward, yet completely natural, hokey-pokey kind of experience. We were all the way in, all the way out, and then we did a lot of playing right beside them.