Lately, I’ve found myself engrossed in the series “The Americans,” a thrilling dive into espionage set against a backdrop of 80s flair. While the suspense keeps me on my toes, it also leaves me feeling a bit paranoid. What if someone is lurking nearby, listening in?
However, if anyone were to eavesdrop on our household, they’d probably think we had packed our bags and vanished. Our family often slips into silence, reminiscent of someone’s grandmother who trails off mid-sentence, or perhaps like a group of narcoleptics caught in a moment of stillness.
Of course, we do have our noisy episodes—screaming to be heard over the “Moana” soundtrack or the chaotic din of LeapFrog toys spontaneously springing to life, not to mention the bickering between my twins about absolutely everything. Yet, it’s in those quiet moments that the most meaningful exchanges occur.
My eldest, Finn, is largely nonverbal. He uses a blend of words from his communication device, sign language, flashcards, and expressive gestures. Watching him communicate is like witnessing a beautiful ballet or an intricate magic act; there’s always a sense of anticipation for the grand reveal. But when he’s had a long day and the effort feels overwhelming, we simplify things. We play a game using my hands:
“Finn, do you want apples (left hand) or bananas (right hand)?”
He points to the left hand.
“Great! Would you like to read a book about dinosaurs (left) or a story about a cat (right) after your snack?”
He eats an apple slice, then taps my right hand.
It’s quick, it’s easy, and it resembles a game of verbal ping pong. Is it the ideal communication method? Not necessarily, but it works for us.
The twins are a different story. Their moments of silence send shivers down my spine. When the house grows quiet and they’re out of sight, I know something is brewing—something messy or mischievous that’ll leave a mark on our carpets or walls. Then there’s their “twin speak,” the secret conversations they hold that seem to involve plans for world domination or giving the dog an impromptu haircut. It’s a frequency known only to them, and I often find myself waving my hands in front of their faces to break their concentration, as if clearing a thick fog.
My husband and I share our own unique communication style too. When the clock strikes 7:30 PM—bedtime—and the kids are still in their regular clothes, clamoring for another dessert, a simple nod from him while I’m saying no becomes our lifeline. Together, we make it work.
This is the essence of our family life—what “normal” looks like for us. It’s a blend of raucous noise and profound silences, where the real connections are made. In those quiet moments, we find ways to express ourselves that often go unnoticed by outsiders. This is true for many families with kids who have special needs; understanding comes from experience.
For us, silence doesn’t mean the absence of communication; it simply means we’re saying something different.
If you’re interested in exploring more about family dynamics and communication, check out this article on navigating the journey of parenthood. For insights on hormonal health, this resource can be invaluable. Additionally, Kindbody’s blog offers excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
This article explores the unique communication methods within a family that includes a nonverbal child. Through a blend of gestures, sign language, and simple games, meaningful connections are formed amidst the chaos of family life. The author shares insights on how silence can speak volumes, highlighting the nuances of communication in families with special needs.