Well now that my heart rate’s nearly back to normal, no thanks to Hudson, guess I can write my post. I had other things on my mind to talk about here today, but the events of the day won out as is often the case.

Hudson’s actually a gentle little soul, Quiet, despite the unfortunate toddler finger bite of several weeks ago. (Hudson’s five, my youngest of four boys. Has Down syndrome.) Yeah, he bit a sweet little girl’s finger at church. She did place it in his mouth, which was kind of like an open invitation. But it’s not like anyone forced him to chomp down or anything.

If you don’t know Hudson, he can articulate precious few words. Communication is a significant challenge. But it’s not like he doesn’t know what he wants, it’s just that he can’t say it. So at home, he’ll come over to me and ever so kindly and gently, loosely take hold of my hand, lead me to something he wants. It sounds simple, but not as easy as it sounds. For instance, he might bring me to the TV and point. Say “tho.” (Show.) Well which “show” or DVD does he want? Trust me, your guess is as good as mine. So I’ll guess, and he’ll cry or whimper ’til I finally hold out the right DVD. Then he cheers. Or he might want music, and say “ic”, lead me to the CD player. Well, there’s a hundred CD’s and only one he wants. So back to the guessing game and tears ’til together we finally figure out the right one. Frustrating for him and all of us. Think picking out cereal in the morning. Or which story to read at bedtime.

It’s one giant game of charades around here.

There’s a Quiet sweetness though, a sense of wonder about Hudson. Several weeks ago he met a friend’s little kitten for the first time. Julie snapped these adorable shots. (Thanks J.) Few words, but the wonder was written all over his precious little face.

So if you’re curious why my heart rate was racing earlier today on account of Hudson, keep reading.

There was a special family night at the elementary school tonight. We pick up Charlie from school late afternoon and head over to Wendy’s for a quick bite to eat before heading back to school. Having just lost an hour due to Daylight Savings Time, it’s not yet 5 o’clock, but dark. We don’t eat fast food often, but at least at Wendy’s I can get a baked potato or salad. Of course Hudson loves it because he’s all about those 5-pack chicken nuggets and fries, carb lover that he is. It’s crowded, seems everybody and their brother at school got the memo to eat at Wendy’s too. Imagine an excited crowd of 1st –  6th graders plus their families. The line is extra slow tonight and we wait a long time before sitting down, lucky to even get a table.

We grab ketchup and napkins, get situated. Hudson sits on his big brother’s lap because we’re short a chair. We’re nearly finished eating, and Jonathan sets Hudson on his chair, heads to the register for a frosty. Chatting with friends at the adjacent table, I turn back around, see Hudson’s chair, empty.

“Where’s Hudson?” I say.

Not under the table. Not with any of his big brothers. Panic rises in my throat as we quickly scan the entire restaurant. No Hudson. Jon races to the hall by the entrance doors with the bathrooms. No Hudson. Jon races through two sets of exit doors,  me close on his heels. I must say, it feels a little crazy heading outside. Because how could a small-for-his-size five year old boy possibly heave open the heavy exit doors by himself? And without being noticed?

My heart’s literally in my throat. If you’re local, you know Loudon Road is one of the busiest roads in Concord and it’s rush hour now. Wendy’s is situated smack dab between two busy streets, cars coming into the drive-thru from both the front and rear entrances.

We’re in the parking lot now and Jon is yards ahead of me, tearing towards the drive thru. It’s pitch black, but in the distance by the light of the Wendy’s sign, he spies a little overalled figure running towards the back entrance, passing right thru the drive-thru lane. It’s Hudson. Jon’s long stride catches up fast. His strong arms scoop up that little escapee love bug, bear hug him tight. Whispers in his ear: “If you want more fries, just tell daddy. You don’t have to come to the drive-thru.”

Our little Hudson, he pulled a Quiet Disappearing Act today. Scared his mama half to death. His daddy too. If you follow along here, you know Hudson has survived quite a few scary safety situations this past year. Never know what a day will bring. I’m reminded again of Hudson’s guardian angel. That he (she?) deserves a big-time raise. Extra time off, increased benefits. Mixed drinks, a vacation in Tahiti. All that and more. Hudson’s safety today is just one more blessing to be grateful for at the Thanksgiving table.

You may also enjoy: Glimpse of Sunshine

The post Quiet Disappearing Act appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

Did you happen to look up in the night sky this past week, see that massive glowing orb? Yeah, the moon. I’m talkin’ Tuesday night. Yeah that moon. It was pretty amazing Monday night too. But Tuesday it hung low on the horizon. Driving along, thought I might bump right into it. Gargantuan. With a halo the size of Texas.

I didn’t really think about Hudson and the Harvest Moon ’til later this week, but perhaps it had something to do with his behavior this week. (Or not.)

And here’s a thought. Sure hope I don’t paint a picture of my Hudson as a little saint here. (Hudson’s five, has Down syndrome.) Because while he’s the dearest little boy in all the world, he’s no saint. And actually quite stubborn. Interestingly, special needs children are more similar to regular children than they are different. And in many ways Hudson is like a regular little boy. Meaning he’s adorable. And sometimes naughty.

(Just fyi, if you’re new here and slightly confused, I post recipes during the week, muse on the weekends.)

It seems that special needs children can sometimes be naughtier than children without a diagnosis. One reason is they often don’t have the communication skills most children have. With his very limited vocabulary, Hudson knows he’s guaranteed to grab my attention if he does something naughty. Like throw a pan from the kitchen sink.

Or say, a table lamp. (Ahem.)

He’s an expert in the “getting attention” department! And to be fair, inability to communicate with words has gotta be incredibly frustrating. (FYI he’s being evaluated for a communications device soon, I’ll keep you posted.)

Don’t know if the hovering Harvest Moon had anything to do with Hudson’ behavior this past week, but last Sunday at church a sweet little toddler put her finger in Hudson’s mouth.

And he chomped.

Yeah. And ouch. Poor little munchkin, she’s so precious. Gave quite the howl. Was rescued by her mother. The tiny fingers were ok, thank God, but apparently there were little marks. In Hudson’s defense, when something’s in his mouth, it’s generally food. Or his *chewy tube. And he’s got quite the serious snapping turtle chomp.

Very naughty.

Then later that same day, Hudson’s big brother Jonathan went to a friend’s pumpkin carving party. They spent long hours transferring designs, carving elaborate pumpkins.

Jonathan came home with Perry the Platypus. (Phineas and Ferb.) He lit a candle inside, carefully set Perry on the front stoop. Then we chatted about the pumpkin recently stolen from a friend’s nearby front porch. Yes, stolen. (Reminds of the time growing up when a Christmas tree was CHOPPED down in our front yard. Stolen. The thief left behind a dirty black pocket comb, muddy footprints in the snow and a tree stump. But I digress…)

So Jonathan and I debated back and forth as to whether Perry the Platypus was safer outside on the front stoop or inside the house with Hudson. (Reminder: Hudson chucks things.) Since Hudson was already in bed, we opted to bring Perry inside for the night.

Set him on the coffee table, turn the lights down low, enjoy an evening by Perry the Platypus pumpkin glow. In retrospect, so glad we shared that one special evening together, because Perry met a violent death the next morning.

The bigger kids had gotten off to school early early on Monday. And after washing up a few things in the kitchen, I went to dress Hudson for school. He was “innocently” watching Curious George in the living room. There on the living room floor in front of him is Perry the Platypus. Face down, and in a million pieces. Like Humpty Dumpty. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Perry together again. Weird thing is, I never even heard the crash. Folks, this was an extra jumbo pumpkin. (Can’t exactly blame the Harvest Moon, but sure makes one wonder.)

Children are funny. Seem to have a sixth sense. Even if they can’t talk. Years ago I wept to hear a dear friend tell me about her sweet little toddler. In a heartbreaking situation, my friend had recently been abandoned by her husband. Perpetually nauseous with morning sickness during her entire second pregnancy, she felt very alone. Would sometimes kneel for long hours at a time in front of the porcelain goddess. Waiting for the next wave to hit. And that sweet little two year old, she’d find her mama. Sit on the tile next to her. Gently pat her back. That tiny little girl had a sixth sense, somehow knew her mommy desperately needed her in that lonely, vulnerable time. What a gift. Helped her mama get through.

I was reminded of a little story I heard about Hudson a few weeks ago. Music to my ears with the many issues we’re working on at home. Apparently another child was having trouble listening in children’s church that day. And eventually a daddy came in, spoke to that little person. And after the daddy left, the little person was sad. Put his head down on the table. And my little Hudson, he climbed from his chair, went around the table. Patted that little person on the back. The story brought tears to this mama’s eyes. That even though he can’t verbalize, my Hudson possesses a sensitive, compassionate little heart. Sympathized the best way he knew how.

So that’s what I choose to remember on the more difficult finger-chomping, indoor pumpkin-smashing days: that tender little back-patting heart. Warms this mama through and through, gives her hope.

Have a beautiful weekend friends!

*A chewy tube is a therapeutic tool for individuals with sensory issues who crave oral stimulation. A chewy tube builds up the muscle tone and strength of the jaw, helping prepare for speech, feeding and overall motor skills. (And hopefully not biting.)

You may also enjoy: Glimpse of Sunshine

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