The Curated Lunchbox

Wayfinding with my sensory child.

As parents of a sensory-challenged child, what some might call “spoiling,” we call “wayfinding.” We look to the Polynesian navigators or “wayfinders” who oriented themselves while traveling across unknown waters through careful observation of the sun, stars, ocean currents, wind and wave patterns, bird flight and other natural processes. Children with sensory integration challenges struggle to organize sensory input needed to orient their bodies in space, making everyday activities from eating to dressing to pumping a swing or riding a bicycle more difficult. Parents who attune themselves to their children’s sensory needs and reactions can help their children navigate our sensory-rich world and move more easily and confidently from one place to another.

Our wayfinding journey began with the forced retirement of our son’s beloved pacifier at the age of four (with the help of some Paw Patrol action figures who arrived each night he slept without the binky). At the time, we failed to understand the power of this regulating source that offered soothing relief from the day’s sensory overload. We’d left our son defenseless just as the sensory demands of his life were picking up with preschool concerts, birthday parties and a sabbatical trip to Hawai’i where we encountered irritating sand in our shoes and an inspiring introduction to Polynesian wayfinding.  

In the months and years that have followed, my husband and I have garnered wisdom from occupational and speech therapists, teachers, parent peers and a boatload of books offering strategies for navigating sensory processing disorder.  Slowly, we’ve identified alternative self-soothing techniques and sensory-input activities that limit the number and intensity of meltdowns that can shatter an otherwise peaceful day.

Today, our son is thriving in full-day kindergarten with his curated lunchbox and despite the awkward mask he wears for Covid protection. At home, our wayfinding journey continues with its many processes, including removing tags from super-soft cotton shirts, bouncing on a trampoline before transitioning activities, creating visual flow charts and schedules, and learning to ride a scooter or pump a swing in the comfort of our kitchen—the same one that produces sensory-friendly lunches each morning, rain or shine. It’s my hope that the kitchen table, which moonlights as a writing desk, will serve up occasional dispatches from this writer-mother-wayfinder.

Becky W. Evans is a Boston-based freelance writer, editor and educator.