Meltdowns. They’re never a good thing.
Whether in nuclear reactors or our children, once they start, they can be very hard to stop and the results are often unpredictable. But after Littlest Wombat’s fuse blew recently, triggering a chain reaction which neither his strategies nor ours could contain, hope arrived from an unexpected source.
Losing control
That Sunday afternoon, I could see that our youngest was losing control, and tried in vain to get him using strategies he had learned in a course for kids with ASD, Secret Agent Society. Usually, he has found these strategies quite effective. However, today, my request was to no avail. The “time out” didn’t work. The “I don’t mind if you yell in your room, but please don’t yell in the family room” didn’t work. I must admit, my threat of disconnecting the TV after he’d already watched for a while didn’t help matters. But it was a gloriously warm, sunny day. You have to draw a line somewhere, surely?
In addition to this, I was also worrying that his older brother, Train Wombat – who was working in the family room – would explode in anger towards his youngest brother. It has happened in the past. To his great credit, and my everlasting relief, he didn’t.
The avoidance strategy
By the time Littlest Wombat announced that he was going outside, and stalked off down the hall to the front door, I knew he wasn’t just heading for his favourite tree in the front yard. He was leaving. “I’ll be there in 20 seconds,” called my husband from the back door, when I yelled for him to come. “I don’t have 20 seconds,” was my reply. Luckily, my husband has long legs and is a runner. He lollopped out the door and tracked Littlest Wombat to wherever he was going. Which, as it turned out, was an entirely unexpected route.
Time passed. Neither of them returned. Meanwhile, I needed to get Train Wombat to a 5.30 dinner before church that evening. We headed off, his dessert contribution balanced carefully in his lap. Just as I turned into the carpark, my phone rang. I stopped, and put it on speaker.
“I have Littlest Wombat. He’s just packing, to leave…” My husband’s voice echoed around the car.
“Oh. I’m just dropping off Train Wombat. I’ll be home in a couple of minutes.” Damn. Clearly, things hadn’t settled. There went our evening plans.
The offer to help
My son, standing at the open car door, had heard the whole conversation. He turned to me. “Would you like me to come and help with him?”
Would I ever. This son doesn’t often offer his help, and right now, it would be particularly valuable.
“Oh, would you, sweetheart? That would just be fantastic. You of all people would know how your brother’s feeling.”
Thinking of the times when Train Wombat had spiralled out of control, and running away seemed the only available option.
“Yes, that’s why I offered.”
As soon as we returned, the oldest was onto the youngest. His very best, caring, nurturing, calming self came to the fore. He led the little one out to cuddle his guinea pig Softy. Our guinea pigs have been valuable in helping both these boys find peace when their mind is whirling around them. Then Train Wombat managed to get his brother into his room. After a while, Train Wombat came out.
“He’s going to have some time alone in his room, for some peace and quiet. I’ve told him that you won’t disturb him.”
Phew. “Oh, thank you so much. That’s exactly what I was trying to get him to do over an hour ago. But he just wouldn’t.” Subtext – I was doing exactly the same thing! Dammit – why didn’t it work for me? “ I’m so glad you were able to get him there. Thank you.”
History has a habit of repeating itself. I remember times when this child has run away, or refused to go into his room just to remove himself from the many things that were contributing to the meltdown – triggers, if not the ultimate cause.
I’m sure many of you will have faced the same situations, where you can see things unravelling but by that stage, you’re almost powerless to stop it. As with a nuclear meltdown, the situation becomes one of containment. And then dealing with the fallout.
A little over half an hour later, Littlest Wombat had recovered some of his demeanour. An hour later, we were eating dinner happily together. Burrito bowls. My peace offering was to let him choose what we had for dinner. The cooking time provided the perfect calm-down time. He had a cuddle on my lap before we ate. Peace was restored, for now, at least.
Be prepared – when it’s not a good thing!
It was only a couple of months ago that I found a packed backpack under the spare bed in Littlest Wombat’s room, complete with change of socks, undies, book, torch and sleeping bag. He holds out running away from home as a threat for when things get too much for him. Unlike the kids who get no further than the front gate when they “run away” from home (me included, many years ago!), this one has the capacity to decide with his emotions before thinking through with his head, and going further afield than is safe. We have to take his threats seriously, even though ultimately we know he feels safe and loved at home.
But his older brother’s support was instrumental in helping him settle. We were very grateful to have him contribute to the solution, rather than exacerbate the problem.
Be hopeful
Things do change. Often – perhaps usually – more slowly than we would wish. Sometimes in ways we don’t expect, taking routes we’d rather not travel. But things do change. When I reflect on Train Wombat’s growth over the last two years, I realise that he’s developing a greater capacity to manage when things around him don’t work out the way he wishes or expects.
There’s a while to go yet. We still have really tough times, but the frequency is less, and so (usually) is the intensity. The fact that he offered to help Littlest Wombat get through his own meltdown was a big step. He gave of himself, from the heart and from his experience. I’ll never have that degree of understanding. Much as I try to understand and empathise with my kids, I’ll always be an outsider looking in on ASD. That doesn’t mean my view isn’t valid or worthwhile. But it is different.
In the meantime, I’m celebrating Train Wombat’s growing degree of self-awareness and self-control. Those are good models for his siblings to follow. And I’m celebrating his gift of time, sacrificing dinner with his friends, to help Littlest Wombat through his own crisis.
Anyone who says those with ASD have little or no empathy has never lived with anyone with ASD. It’s just that it’s not always shown when or how we’d like or need it! So I’m basking in this little moment. It will give me renewed strength as I prepare for whatever challenge I know will rise to meet me in this Whack-a-mole game of life!
Until next time, Happy Wombatting!
Image from Australian artist Shaun Tan, Rules of Summer.
