|California poppies. Growing in my pavers.|
[Image Description: Bright orange-yellow flowers
punctuating a small green bush, with long green
seed pods poking out at intervals, all growing in the
seam between dark gray patio paver blocks]
If you're a "life's little pleasures" sort like me, then perhaps you'll get why one of my favorite early summer activities is gathering California poppy seeds.
Our poppies reseed themselves all over our yard (and between our pavers) without our help, of course, but it's tremendous, satisfying fun to pluck the just-ready, slightly dried pods and have them pop open in one's hands (or in a mason jar) and feel/see a shower of the tiny black seeds, knowing each one is a potential color explosion for the following spring.
I gathered many, many of the pods this summer. I also discovered that if you take still-green, not-quite-ready pods and put them in one of those big mason jars with the slightly narrowed tops and leave them in the sun to dry, they will pop open on their own. More seeds for everyone!
The place I'd left my growing seed collection and soon-to-pop pods was on our back yard patio table. After a couple of weeks, the seeds in the jar were one inch deep. I always appreciate measurable progress, and was pleased.
And then, one day, I walked outside and found Leo dumping all the seeds on the table. He looked at my face and could tell by my expression that I was shocked and upset -- because he immediately started saying "It's not okay!" which, is essentially, him prompting me to say what he thinks I'm going to tell him when he's doing something I don't want him to do.
But before I actually did say anything, I looked at what he was doing: he was rolling the seeds between his hands and the table top. He had not just found but created a deeply enjoyable sensory experience. He had no idea what the poppy seeds meant to me -- I'm not chatty about things that are precious to me, not IRL -- and he certainly meant no harm. Our house and yard are filled with tactile balls and tactile bins and the like -- what made the poppy seeds, so handily placed on the table we all use all day long, different from any other of the sensory options littering our none-too-tidy house?
What made it different was my pained expression. Which he instantly recognized as related to his actions, even if he had no idea what he'd done to make me make such a face.
So I took a beat, told him he hadn't done anything wrong, and told him to enjoy himself. He regathered and had a fabulous stretch of fun, rolling and thumping and exploring the many sensory options the poppy seeds made possible, and which was not an experience he'd previously had.
|Recovered poppy seeds|
[Image Description: a circular collection of
tiny blackish-brown spherical seeds, in a
bright orange bowl, seen from above.]
|One Empathetic Dude|
[Image Description: Young man with beige
skin, & curly short brown hair,
looking up & laughing, as water pours down
the glass panes over & behind him.]
What made the difference was that I took the time to see things from Leo's perspective. This perspective-taking is, as I mentioned last week, so critical with our autistic kids and with autistic people and with others in general (though, admittedly, I am struggling with empathetic perspective taking re: Leo's teen sister Iz). It only took a moment and a deep breath to realize that Leo hadn't done anything wrong, to regroup and recognize that my son had no context to understand how I'd react to his actions. It only took a moment.
Please don't forget to take that moment.