Fun Times - When sensory seekers grow up

When Andrew was much younger, it quickly became clear that he sits firmly at the sensory-seeking end of the spectrum. Loud music, flashing lights, fresh air, and hard textures were his comfort zone — not soft fluffiness or quiet corners. So we embraced it. His bedroom sparkled with disco lights, the lounge glowed with a bubble tube, and our ears adjusted to a symphony of noisy toys. I’m fairly sure he owns every VTech Toot-Toot car ever made — including two ‘Go Go’ cars from the USA and a German-singing forklift truck. Soft play was a regular fixture, and trampolining became a weekly ritual 

But small boys grow into bigger ones. And meeting their sensory needs becomes a more ambitious endeavour. Andrew, it turns out, is now an adrenaline junkie. 😎

These days, holidays are planned around theme parks and thrill-based activities. Last year, thanks to a Family Fund grant that allowed us to purchase a Merlin Pass, we camped near the Thames and pre-booked two visits to Thorpe Park and one to Legoland. By sheer luck, our second Thorpe Park trip coincided with the public launch of its newest hypercoaster, Hyperia. We showed Andrew’s disability pass to a staff member and were ushered into the accessibility queue - bypassing hundreds who’d been waiting since opening. Andrew? He loved every second. I think he ticked off every ride in the park that day.

So why am I writing this now? Because we’ve just returned from this year’s thrill-seeking adventure: ZipWorld in North Wales. We tackled the ziplines at Penrhyn Quarry (Titan 2) and Llechwedd (Velocity), and I can’t praise the staff enough. They were welcoming, thoughtful, and absolutely committed to making sure Andrew had the best possible experience. 

Of course, we may be making a rod for our own backs. As Andrew grows older and taller, his sensory appetite grows too. Meanwhile, we’re getting older - and theme park rides take a little longer to recover from. I hope we’ll stay fit and adventurous for many years yet, so we can keep sharing these experiences with him. But Andrew will outlive us, and one day we’ll need to find carers who are not only willing, but excited to take him on these kinds of outings.

Because for Andrew, sensory joy isn’t just a preference - it’s a lifeline.

Holiday!

Apologies for not blogging for a couple of weeks, but we've been too busy - on holiday at Butlins Minehead!

We self-cater, which involves taking the entire contents of our house (or that's how it feels), transporting it a few hundred miles, and then trying to cram it into a tiny bungalow. But it's worth it to be able to feed Andrew when he is hungry, with food that is familiar. He doesn't appear to mind the change in location or bed, making him even more non-typically autistic. I'm still not convinced that his diagnosis is correct.

The highlights of this holiday for Andrew were the live shows. Not the Butlins Skyline gang, or those re-created childrens' television characters. This year he saw two production shows - Aladdin Rocks! and Scooby-Doo. And he thoroughly enjoyed both - laughing along, kicking his legs to the music, paying attention to the stage much longer than many of his toddler compatriots in the audience. He knew he was there to watch something, and watch he did. How much he understood, how much he heard (rather than felt), I'd love to know.

If only Butlins double beds were more comfortable ...

Everything bar the kitchen sink

As many parents of disabled children are aware, going on holiday is not easy. After working out where to go (will there be things my chjld can access? will they be overwhelmed? will they be bored?) and how to get there (it's not the 3 hour plane flight that's the problem, it's the 2 hour check-in and then passport control at the other end), you arrive at the issue of What To Take.

In some respects it would be easier to fly abroad - with maximum luggage allowances, you have to make the right decisions. When three of you are travelling down a motorway in a seven-seater car, the question is not so much what you take, more what do you leave behind.

And so, here I am, four days before departure, making lists ... and piles. Clean clothing, not to be worn before we go (admittedly that is aimed more at t'other half than our son). Swimming gear. Summer shoes (optimistically, seeing as summer has yet to grace our shores). Technology .. oh, the cables and plugs and adapters ... gone are the days of taking one camera and a stack of 10p's for the phone.

But we have to add other not-so-routine piles. The week's supply of his favourite food, in case the local supermarkets don't have that flavour. The reins, harness, a raincover for the disability buggy in case he refuses to walk if - sorry - when the heavens open. Medicines that we know he'll swallow. Familiar toys, especially the musical ones. New toys so that he gets a treat. Batteries and batteries and batteries and a screwdriver to get in to change them. Nappies, wipes, bibs, cloths.

Still, thar Blue Badge will mean we can park close by our accommodation to unload it all, right? Only if we leave home at stupid o'clock to arrive before all the other parents of disabled children who had the same idea of holidaying in term-time to beat the rush.

Maybe next year we'll just stay home!