He was telling Lorelei about the softball game we were going to watch, and reached a point where he started looking around and stopped talking. I asked if he was confused, and he replied, quite plainly, that he was just distracted.
Jumping on the bed one afternoon, he gleefully announced, "this is getting all my anger out!" Simon tells us when he needs a break from being active, sometimes hilariously declaring that it's time for a commercial break, or just wiping his forehead and settling down for a moment. He has told me that a place is too loud and too busy and we need to leave. In fits of anger or distress he has asked for a book to be read to him, knowing "that will make me feel better." After one particular wild moment of jumping, bouncing, and crashing, he settled down into his massive pile of pillows, cushions, and blankets and said "that was a good sensory activity."
Of course, he often can't access this skill in the worst of meltdowns, refusing his weighted blanket, his comfort items, jumping, and being squished, instead continuing to scream, kick, and shove. He rebels against putting his headphones on in public, even when he acknowledges it's too loud. But at four years old, as he describes feeling his anger leave as he rocks in a chair listening to music, I have great hope for him, that as his body and brain mature, he'll be increasingly able to use his insight into himself to regulate, adapt, and manage his own challenges. We couldn't ask for a more valuable gift for our sensory son.