a christmas miracle

Prologue: This post is published on both of my blogs – on The I Love You Song and here on Segovia. I would not normally do that but this post is a special one to me, part of our family “archive” and I really wanted to share it as widely as I can. As I write this post on Saturday December 15, I am all too aware that on the other side of the world, in Newtown, Connecticut, there are many families experiencing unimaginable loss in the wake of the school shooting tragedy. My heart and my sorrow is with them. 


The Batsman has never really liked Santa. Terrified is probably a better word to use. We have one poor quality photo of Santa and the Batsman together taken when our boy was just a baby. Even in that photo he looks frightened.

The Batsman’s autism diagnosis brought with it a greater understanding for me of where so much of his terror was coming from. It was then and still is now, about change to routine, feeling overwhelmed, strong sensory responses to noise, crowds and chaos and a very big fear of new or unknown things. We have tried a few times in the past to have a Santa photo taken but each time it ended in great stress, tears and meltdowns. While I would have loved a Santa photo, especially once little brother Bowler came along, there was no way I wanted to cause the Batsman distress to get it.

In the grand scheme of things, a Santa photo is probably a small thing to hanker after, but it was one of those things I felt like was a bit of a childhood rite of passage, a memory to look back upon and smile at. My little flame of longing for a photo of my boys together with Santa kept flickering but I had largely given up hope of ever getting there.

A few weeks ago our local shopping centre advertised a new initiative – “Sensitive Santa” – special booked sessions with Santa for kids on the autism spectrum. I decided that we would have one more try at it through this program and the flame burned a tiny bit brighter. As part of “Sensitive Santa” we would have a 20 minute private session with Santa in the early morning before the Christmas chaos of the shopping centre began at 9am. The shopping centre customer service team were exceptional, ringing beforehand to confirm our time and “find out a bit more about the Batsman so they could brief Santa”.

We did a little bit of preparation with the Batsman (but not so much as to overwhelm him) – we read some stories, we practised some things he might say to Santa and we watched some YouTube videos of other kids meeting Santa. The morning arrived and off we went at 8am for our “Sensitive Santa” timeslot. I could write on and on here about what happened but the pictures tell the story much better than I could.

The Batsman took his time to get used to his (quiet and calm) surroundings, he chatted to Santa and showed him his shoes with the flashing lights, he told him what he wanted for Christmas and when we said goodbye, he HUGGED him.

I cried a lot. Tears of so much happiness leaked continually from my eyes that day. And they still are. The long wished for miracle of a photo of both boys with Santa came our way along with the very grateful reflection on just how far our Batsman has come in the last three years.

In the bigger picture, I was incredibly moved by the thought and care that Highpoint Shopping Centre put into this initiative. There was sensitivity and respect and a very real commitment to putting one of those “childhood rites of passage” within reach of families who love someone on the spectrum.

Happy Christmas from my family to you and yours.

Disclaimer: This post is my own description and opinion of our “Sensitive Santa” experience at Highpoint Shopping Centre. They did not ask me to write this post. It’s just written by a happy mum.

Weekend grateful - community

I love my little community.
I'm grateful for what the local community in our middle of the road Melbourne suburb bring to my daily life and the community experience of the Batsman and the Bowler.

Would you like to meet them?

There is the glorious rainbow of characters who volunteer in the op shop. They can always be relied upon for a warm greeting, a conversation about preserving fruit (I buy lots of jars in there) and an eclectic exchange about the day's best op shop pickings.

The polished and professional boys who work at the post office...they didn't even flinch the other day when I told them I had to send a sample of the Batsman's wee to Paris for an autism study on environmental toxins. We just filled out a customs declaration and away went the wee to France courtesy Australia Post.

The women who work in deli are just lovely. They gently encourage the Batsman to finish his sandwich and milk shake with the promise of a treat to follow. They ply our rowdy Bowler with babycino and Italian vanilla shortbread and minute by minute he is learning all of their names and falling a little in love with their kindness.

In deli number 2, the proprietor chats with me about all things olives, salami and preserved lemons with a side order of autism. He always asks how things are going. He has personal experience of autism.

The florist is warm and boisterous, a salt of the earth type who keeps a parrot in a huge cage out the front of the shop for the local kids to speak to on their way past.

And there's the gorgeous Italian family who run the fruit and vegetable shop who have become like family to us during the last 5 years. I see them almost every day and they never fail to greet me and the kids warmly. The Batsman is so confident with his "fruit and veg" family that he takes off solo to the back of the shop to find "the boys" who deliver tickles and high fives and grapes in equal and generous measure. About once a week I am so very touched when someone from the family asks me in depth about the Batsman's progress in his therapy program. And they always ask, "and what about you, are you ok? Are you looking after yourself?"

I could go on and on about our little community shopping street. I feel so very fortunate that the boys can grow up feeling connected with those around them, that they are a part of something, that there are people who care for them and love to see them in their day to day travels.
I'm grateful little community, so very grateful.

And thanks too Maxabella

Image via We Heart It