Barnmaven

Two voices, one direction

Race Car Man didn't make it an hour at school today when we got the call he needed to be picked up.

I've gotten a lot better about not feeling completely and panicked when this happens, but even though I'm much more composed, I'm still disheartened and frustrated.  Three times since our meeting now he has had to be picked up from school, and other days the only reason he's managed to make a whole day at school was because his dad was in the classroom helping.  

This morning it was that he forgot to bring his MP3 player, which  he uses on the bus as a tool to help him not worry about other students and whatever they might be doing.  

I'm just not sure what the right placement is for my son.  His school seems completely  unequipped to deal with him, but the only other option within our district is a class for students with behavioral issues.  Yes, he has behavioral issues, but he also has autism and from talking to teachers and our therapist, who is aware of the classroom, we really believe it would be an even bigger detriment to him to place him there.  Which leaves us exactly where we've been since he started Kindergarten:  We have a smart student with a lot of issues who is unsuccessful in a classroom situation without a lot of individual support.  We have a school district who thus far isn't offering the kind of support we all (including his teacher and the administrators at his school) believe he needs in order to stay at that school and access learning in his current classroom.  

I have two inner voices.  One is all doom and gloom and whispers to me of terrible outcomes, of a child becoming an adult who is completely unprepared for the outside world. Who is still living in my basement and dependent on me and not living a fulfilling life with a job he loves and friends of his own and maybe even a wife and kids.  That he will never blossom or grow or get the chance to show the world how amazing he really is because I've failed thus far at figuring out how his puzzle pieces fit together. 

The other voice tells me that everything is going to be fine, we will solve this and we will get there.  I just don't know today, at this moment, how exactly that is going to happen.  And I have to be OK with that because there's nothing I can do at this moment to alter the situation.  I have made my call to the Director of Special Services.  I have spoken to (argued with) my husband.  I've spoken with my son's father.   We have a therapy appointment already lined up.  We are doing what we can and I have to put a brake on myself not to start getting ramped up and upset and making a thousand useless phone calls that won't do a damn thing to change the fact that probably there is no miracle solution to all of this.  That the long term change will happen if we just keep plugging away at it, working on the solution to the puzzle that is Race Car Man.  That answers will come to us that we haven't thought of yet. That ultimately, I can't even worry about the future because the only day that counts is today, and even if today didn't start off well I can still change it.

If I have to choose only one voice to hear, then by all means, let it be the one that points to a better place.

When I let myself live in the present I find that even though things might not be going well right now, my circumstances WILL change and I have the power to influence which way they go.

 

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Race Car Man came a long way last summer.  We took him off the ADHD meds and noticed a significant reduction in his anxiety and sensory issues.  When the school year rolled around, his dad and I agreed together that we would start the year without resuming the ADHD meds and see how it went.  Needless to say, his teacher was less than thrilled, but we went ahead.  She reported an increase in distraction, but he also seems to take way less time to change his behavior when things aren't going well.  

She's seen, though, a marked change from pretty good behavior and attention span right about the 11:00 mark every day.  We knew we needed to add afternoon medication, but when he had his psych appointment on Thursday my ex and I stood firm in our belief that he needs to stay off the ADHD meds.  Not only do we not want to lose the 10 lb weight gain he had over the summer, but we also feel that the behaviors his teacher is chalking up to "distraction" are just as easily caused by anxiety and sensory overload.  One of the things I love about our psychiatrist is that he listens to us.  He agreed.  He did add an afternoon dose of the other two meds, which we expected and are fine with.

The last couple of weeks have been awesome in terms of reinforcing the need for an aide - he's had issues almost every day.  Nothing yet as bad as our worst days last year, but still some tough days.  On the days my ex spends in his classroom he has a constant challenge helping Race Car Man make good choices and participate in class activities.

This year one change is that Race Car Man fills out his own schedule for the day.  For each part of his schedule he chooses a reward, and then he must earn more "smiles" than "frowns" for the individual components of the activity.  Last week, almost the entire week, was straight down the shitter.  He didn't want to participate, cooperate, communicate or reciprocate.  He just wanted what he wanted and damn the schedule.  Then on Friday he pulled himself together and had his most spectacular day at school so far.  He filled out his schedule.  He got smiley faces on all of his activity components and earned all his chosen rewards.  He got along with his classmates.  He shone!

Monday it was back to the same-old shenanigans, yesterday too.  

His great day on Friday lets me know how much he is capable of.  His rough days afterward tell me how much of a toll it takes on him to do that much.  

We'll just keep plugging along, I guess.  We have our followup IEP team meeting a week from Monday to find out if the district is going to follow through with an aide for him.  Cross things, people.  Cross things.

 

This week should end and quickly

This week has been a long one and I am hoping that by saying I am glad to see it be over that I am not also simultaneously cursing all of us and causing next week to be somehow worse.

The only place that seemed truly safe and sane was home, where it was just SG and me, the kids having been with their dad all week.

I don't really talk much about work here and that's not going to change.  Speaking in generalities, though, CRAZY WEEK.  So many metaphorical fires to put out!  

It was the second week back at school for the kids.  This is a big year for both of them; Amazon Girl started middle school.  For the first time in three years the kids are in separate schools.  I know this is simultaneously scary and tremendously freeing for both of them.  They love each other so much, even with all the fighting they do.  Race Car Man has always had his big sister there to depend on and now he's learning to be in the world on his own.  Amazon Girl has always felt the need to look out for her little brother.  This year she gets to worry about herself and I know that's a big weight off of her.

Both kids have had their challenges already, only two weeks into the school year.  

Race Car Man has had a combination of great/bad/OK/good/terrible days.  There's no pattern with that one.  It would be great if we could predict with any certainty what kind of challenges he is going to have; that way his teacher and classroom aides could at least have an idea of just how much wine they were going to need (or not) at the end of a given day! 

Last year at two of his IEP meetings I brought up the thought that he may need an aide who is primarily dedicated to helping him but who could assist his teachers when he was coping OK.  His teacher was for the idea but no one else seemed to want to pursue it.  

On the third day of school I ended up writing a letter to the district formally requesting an aide.  

I am very pleased that I received a phone call very quickly from the Director of Special Services and we have a meeting set up for Monday.  

Amazon Girl has had different challenges.  

To add some historical context:  In the third grade a boy in her class fixated on her for some reason.   His obsession expressed itself in constant teasing, poking, touching.  She finally complained to me about it and I brought it to the attention of her teacher and school administrators.  They observed, confirmed, and promised to keep an eye on things.  Eventually he escalated to pushing, yelling and finally hurting her.  The day he bent her hand back so hard we had to have her wrist x-rayed was the day I went a little ballistic with the school, and the other student was disciplined.  They put my daughter in a different classroom, which I was not happy with but they were separated.  Ultimately we ended up moving her to another school, not because of this boy but so that she and her brother would be at the same school after he was placed in his special ed classroom.

Fast forward to sixth grade.  The middle school she now attends has students from several elementary schools in the district, including her old school.  Guess who also happens to be at her new school?  He is not in her homeroom classes, but he ended up in the same rotation for the last class of the day -- Health/PE.  Apparently he started right back in with the verbal harassment, which I wasn't aware of.  But on Wednesday he crossed the line.  As she was walking out of her health class, he shoved her from behind, so hard that she slammed into the metal guardrail of the portable walkway.  Her stomach was still hurting the next morning.  She didn't tell any adults at school, but met her father in the parking lot and after telling him what happened, called me at work to let me know as well.

My ex and I went together to the school at 7 am the following morning and filed a complaint.  The complaint was taken seriously, the boy was interviewed.  Amazon Girl texted me later that she had met with the principal and told that the boy was being transferred to a different afternoon rotation so that she would not be in class with him.  

I am very hopeful that this is the end of the problem.  If he touches or harasses her further we will be contacting the police.  I suspect that there are things going on with this kid that I couldn't possibly know about, and I have sympathy for that, but he can't be allowed to hurt my child and cause her to be scared to go to school.  

I've told my daughter to find an adult right away if he comes near her or speaks to her.  But I've also told her that if she can't find any other help and can't get away from him that she should defend herself.  

Right now she's happy because she doesn't have to be in class with him; we can only hope that this is the end of it.  

It hasn't been a total wash, though.  My stepson Josh finished his Navy flight school testing and has been accepted to fly jets!  He's moving to Mississippi later this month.  Before he does that he gets to go to Texas to do this test where they put him on a centrifuge and spin him both with his pressure suit and without until he passes out.  I am told this is to measure his G-force tolerance.  Personally I just think the military gets its rocks off on making people incredibly dizzy.  After that he takes a short vacation in Hawaii and I am also told I am not allowed to hitch a ride in his suitcase.  On a very sincere note, his mom and dad and all of the rest of us are incredibly proud of his accomplishments.  Congratulations, Josh.  You are a terrific young man and I believe you really can do anything you set your intentions toward.

As for the rest of it, I would just like to know what it is that I could possibly say or do that for Pete's sake would convince the universe to let us have a whole lot of nothing happening the rest of the school year.  I'm open to suggestions.

 

Alpha Female

Having big dogs definitely comes with challenges.

They eat more.  They knock things over.  Medications and surgeries cost more.  They have more hair to shed all over your house and your clothes.  They can reach food on the counter far too easily.

However, there are a lot of things I really like about having big dogs.  They can be intimidating to strangers.  No one in their right mind is going to enter my home uninvited.  They are substantial enough that when I'm lonely and I really need someone to hug, they will suffice quite adequately if no human is available. 

And lets get right to it:  There is something empowering about looking your 95-pound Rottie mix in the eye and saying in a slightly sinister tone, "Down."  And watching him hit the floor in abject submission to your authority.

*****

Today my daughter is officially transferred to C's school. 

Logistically, having kids in two different schools that begin and end at the same time, is a nightmare.  You are practically forced into a situation where you must pay aftercare costs for at least one of them on the days that you are actually available to pick them up from school.  And if you get delayed picking one of them up because of traffic, there is nothing that compensates for the trauma of a child who thinks they've been forgotten.

Add to that the extra half hour morning and evening that stopping at two different before/aftercare centers adds to my commute thereby turning what should be two hours into the car into three...its just not that workable.  Its not that it can't be done -- its that I don't want to do it.

I went to C's school last Monday to see about requesting the transfer.  I had taken vacation days and was doing yard/house stuff, so of course I was dressed casually.  Capri's, an old t-shirt, flip-flops.  No makeup.  To my credit, I did wear deodorant and I had brushed my teeth.  No, really.  I asked the secretary about the transfer and she said I would need to talk to the principal.

The principal at our old school was so approachable, so friendly.  She was also efficient and clearly in charge, but she would smile and ask how you were, inquire about how things were in a sincere way.  I always felt she was really invested in the success of all of the students at the school. 

Hence my shattered expectations.

I sat and waited, because I didn't have an appointment and because it being the second week of school, things are naturally busy.  I didn't mind waiting. 

She swept out of her office in her three-inch high heels, her expensive and form-fitted dress, her clearly gym-sculpted figure, her dark tank, immaculate nails, perfect makeup and sculpted hairdo.  The secretary pointed her out to me, she made eye contact with me - and did not smile.  She indicated the paperwork that I would need to fill out and advised me she was not making any decisions on transfer for several days as she needed to see how many new students she had and how much room there were in classes.  Her tone of voice clearly implied "I don't wish to tell you yes.  I am the Person In Charge here, understand?"  OK, fine.  I smiled at her in a friendly way:  nothing.

Over the course of the week there was a little back and forth - special services wouldn't recommend that A ride C's bus, and of course with his aftercare outside of the boundaries for both schools, it wouldn't be workable for the transfer, so the transfer was initially denied. 

Never understimate the willpower of a special needs mom.

After a morning well-spent on the phone with both the special needs director and the transportation office, the transportation director agreed that A could ride the bus with her brother.  Keep in mind, we're not displacing anyone.  There are four or five children on this bus, and its a full-size bus.  We're not adding any extra stop- or drop-offs.  Logistically, its pretty much a wash. 

So after I talk with the transportation group, I get a call from the principal.

"I understand you've spoken with the transportation department."

"That's correct."

Coolly I am informed that based on their agreement to transport her, my daughter can transfer to my son's school and start the following Monday - today.  Awesome! 

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate your help."

What do people normally say when thanked?  What, it's not, "I must advise you that if the special services bus were to become full then your daughter would be unable to ride it and would need to transfer back to _______ .  Do you understand this?"   Whatever happened to saying "You're welcome?"

Dang.   Its easy to recognize an alpha female, but rarely have I met any human being, alpha or not, that I couldn't establish a rapport with.  Clearly my skills need honing.

Now I know all the special needs moms - and probably most of the moms of school aged kids - understand that your school staff are your most important and valuable allies when it comes to getting needs met and things done.  I couldn't have survived the last few years without the help of the secretaries and the school nurse and our wonderful, lovely teachers - and of course, our principal.

All I need to do is to get her to crack a smile.  Just one genuine smile. 

I have my work cut out for me.

 

On to first grade...or not

I shot an email off week before last to the school counselor to find out when we would meet to discuss progress on his IEP and start making plans for next year. 

One of the things we talked about the last meeting came up in her reply email, and so now push has come to shove and we need to make some decisions. 

Kinder started horribly for my son.  I had worked hard to identify what his day would look like and help him to have reasonable expectations that the school then blew out of the water when they changed him from one teacher and one classroom to another teacher and another classroom, and then screwed up on his bus not just once but twice, and none of that really helped me get off on the right foot with the school, either.  Its not always fun to be the "that parent," but sometimes its useful. 

The year has flown by, and while he's made tremendous progress, there's a long way to go.  Our IEP goals were extremely basic: 

Follow directions two out of three times

Limit disruptions in the classroom

Join activity without continuous teacher prompting

Use kind words toward others

By the marking period mid year, his official progress toward goal was a "P" meaning he was making good progress, the objectives were not yet met but there was a reasonable expectation that they would be.

BUT.  That doesn't mean he's ready to move on to first grade.

Even if he meets the goals for the year, there are still concerns as to whether he has the stamina to do full-day school.  He has more good days than bad days, but his ability to rebound from setbacks is very limited.  In kinder, a bad morning means he only has to hold it together or have an adult observer to stay with him for a short time until he can get on the bus and go to aftercare.  Full day school would be a much different animal.

I'm not sure where we're going to end up next year.  I have no idea what the team is going to recommend and honestly, right now, I'm not sure what it is that I think needs to happen.  My next steps are to understand what the options truly are -- and then look at him objectively and determine where his needs will best be met.  Would he repeat kindergarten?  Enter a special program where he was in the regular classroom part of the day and in resource room the rest of the day?  Do half day of regular school and go to his aftercare group for the rest of the day? 

I want to be able to send him into the next school year with a much better start than we had this year.  I think things wouldn't have been so bad for him if the school year hadn't been so screwed up from the get-go.  I think next year will go better if we, as a team, do a better job of helping him to know what will happen and then make sure things go reasonably within expectations.

Its a lot to think about, and I really need to get this one right.

Normal is extraordinary

I'll never forget A's kindergarten graduation.

Here she is with her class on stage, waving at me:

And then here she is afterwards, having ice cream with me:

What these two pictures don't show is what happened in between, after she waved at me in that picture.  She realized that the gymnasium was full of people and that those people were looking at her.  She fled the stage and we watched her kindergarten graduation together, from the audience.  It wasn't the first time she'd done this.  Both she and her brother refused to participate in their preschool's "graduation" ceremonies too, where they celebrated each advancing class.  It wasn't until the end of second grade that I got to enjoy seeing my daughter perform with her classmates in a spring offering of musical selections.

When we got the note home that the kindergarten classes were going to present a Nursery Rhyme Rap Night, I smiled and tucked it away.  We would go, of course, but I had no expectation that C-man would join his classmates in the front of the gym.  His teacher and I had discussed it during our conference, there were days when the classes were practicing that he just couldn't bring himself to participate, although there were times that he joined in just fine.  The noise in the gym, the knowing that other people were looking at him, these are incredibly difficult things for a kiddo with his issues to process. 

The first time I thought that I might never see my kids do a school play or a Christmas pageant, I cried.  I mourned.  I felt cheated and robbed.  Over time, though, I grew to accept.  There are lots of things my kids can do, so what if being on stage isn't one of them?  I got over myself.

God is funny.

When we arrived at the school and we saw the other kindergartners lining up to go in, I said "Look, there's your teacher!  Go ahead and go up there so you can stand with your class!"

He gave me a somewhat desperate look, but then he surprised me by actually leaving his sister and I and walking over to his class.  A and I went into the gym and found chairs in the second row just as the three classrooms filed in onto the risers.

As the teachers moved the kids around to get them lined up and centered, he found me in the audience.  He looked very uncomfortable but much to my surprise he didn't try to flee the stage. 

 

 

And up there he stayed the entire time.

He didn't sing much and he got just a few of the hand movements in there,but up there he stayed.  And when they were done he was so proud of himself.  And I of him.

I'm still smiling from ear to ear.

For your viewing pleasure, MY SON.  ON STAGE.

 

 Things look pretty awesome up here from cloud nine.

We have a plan

Sometimes I feel like the White Rabbit, running from place to place, checking my watch, frowning and rubbing my forehead over how behind I am and worried over all that needs doing.  Someone will kindly mention a chore or task they notice needs to be taken care of and all I can say is "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll get to it.  When I have time."  or "When I have money."  And as neither of those commodities appear anywhere immediately on the horizon, I putter and mumble.  And cope.

Nonetheless, I am able to focus on the immediate needs and so long as I can hold this car together with string and paperclips, she'll drive.

I've got a phone meeting with Social Security next week.  I'm trying to get SSI for C, which would give me the capital to get him in with a local therapist who is probably the best we could find here for what my son needs.  Since he's not in my insurance plan's network, the out of pocket is prohibitive for us.  The extra assistance would make a big difference for him.

His IEP team gathered yesterday and I signed off on a draft plan for him. 

Our goals for the next months are simple.  There are three:

C will follow directions two out of three times, which I guess would be an immense improvement over "Zero out of infinity-thousand times."

C will learn to limit his disruptive behavior, for which his fellow students will be grateful.

C will join group activity without continuous teacher prompting.  He currently has difficulty participating in circle time and group crafts.  Part of the problem is that he is visually overstimulated, so if someone is next to him or behind him, his attention is drawn to the distraction and not to the work at hand.  He is so easily overwhelmed by too much noise and activity that many of the things that most kids consider to be fun are just painful for him.  Unfortunately he often reacts to the stimulation by provoking the students who's inadvertently snagged his attention.  We're working on that.

He'll have resource room time daily, and be in his regular classroom the rest of the time.  His teacher will receive support from the occupational therapist in strategies and tools to help him with his sensory issues. 

Throughout the day he'll get breaks for "heavy work" and movement activities and have access to support staff, a "buddy classroom," self-controlled activities and sensory materials on an as-needed basis.  Periodically the school psychologist will observe him in the classroom setting to assess his progress.

He'll also have accommodations for state-mandated testing and he'll get transportation.  His grades will be based on effort and work completed and determined by his teacher and his special education teacher.

At the meeting, his teacher showed some materials she's made to help him assess his own success throughout the day.  She's made a visual representation of regular activities, and for each, C chooses a happy face, a neutral face or a sad face to affix below the activity to indicate if his participation or following of instruction/expectation was good, OK or not successful.  She keeps the completed sheets as a record of his progress.  Its heartwarming to me to see how engaged and enthusiastic a participant she has become in this Grand Plan to help my son.

As plans go, I suppose this is a good enough one to start with.  I had hoped it would contain the secret formula to releasing his innate abilities and identify him as a college-ready genius.  I think, though, that I can be content with "following directions two out of three time."  Start small, right?

I wish I had an IEP team to help me make a plan for all the stuff I need to do.

Difference of opinion

Define “success” for me, will you?

From the first glimmer of understanding that we were facing issues most families never have to, I have been whittling the meaning down to its bare-bones minimum.  Success no longer means my perfectly behaved,  beautifully dressed offspring dutifully march off to school each day, where they earn top grades in their classrooms, eagerly complete their studies and excel at athletic endeavors whilst simultaneously keeping their rooms clean and participating in dinnertime conversations about poetry and politics.

I find myself somewhat at odds these days with my son’s teacher over what it means for him to be “successful.”

Over the course of several email exchanges, a pattern emerges that I find profoundly disturbing.  As I take my son’s hand and we tiptoe through this murky maze of medicines and doctors and behavioral modification, I don’t dare seek a magic bullet.  I look instead for ways to improve the here and now, incrementally.  Even if the day is an off day in many respects, each exchange and interaction can be measured singly and when the mark falls on the high side of the curve, I whisper hopefully to myself, “success.”   I hope and pray for each success to be followed by more successes, until we begin to have patterns where more things go well than ill, more smiles appear than tears, more time is spent enjoying life and each other than is spent getting through tantrums and anxiety-related sensory outbursts.

Every moment where a question is asked and the answer is spoken sweetly and not screamed is an occasion to smile and appreciate.

Unless you happen to be the teacher of my child.  Who, as requested, dutifully sends emails marking daily incidents and behaviors, grimly outlining each failure without remarking on the ways in which improvement exists.  As if there is none.  A narrative of a field trip, wherein his distaste for wet pumpkins was noted and his desire to go on carnival rides rather than follow the other children into the maze, his inability to sit still during activities and his crying issues home on the bus were all noted, without acknowledging that not once during this trip did my child act aggressively, that nearly every instance of reluctance and difficult behavior was able to be resolved without my child having a complete meltdown, in which NONE of these ragingly terrific successes were even mentioned.  Or thought to be mentioned.  And when the successes were gently pointed out by a proud mother, the response was along the line of the teacher having other children to deal with and not having the time to understand the “why’s” of my son’s behavior.

Combined with a notable instance or two of less-than-friendly demeanor toward my son and I during a morning dropoff (notably different than the friendliness expressed at the IEP team meeting, in front of the principal, counselor and school nurse), I begin to draw the conclusion that this woman is less interested in the best interests of my son and more interested in maintaining harmony in her classroom.  Its not that I don’t get that, but its rather that I don’t care.  My interest is in having my son be cared for in the school environment in a way that is conducive to his success as a person and as a student.

I don’t know how to navigate the chasm between what I see and what she sees.  I don’t know how to make her like my son.  I don’t know how to help her see the child and not the behavior.  I try to express this to the counselor and to the other folks on the IEP team, but I don’t feel like I’m taken seriously.

I suppose at this juncture, I’m better off buying lottery tickets in the hopes of a private school placement when my numbers are drawn.  I’m not giving up, though.  Not by a long shot.

On friends and gay teen suicides and other random things

I haven't written a blog post in so long you probably all thought I'd skipped town with a hot young Flamenco dancer.  You did, didn't you?  Admit it.

I didn't mean to take a vacation from blogging, but honestly, I didn't have much to say.  My friend Jaimee, the original vagabond, finally showed up on my doorstep after a meandering drive West from New Jersey.  I wasn't sure when she'd arrive or how long she'd stay.  Unfortunately it was horrible timing work-wise, so I couldn't really take any days off.  When I was home and got done slogging through all the other stuff I needed to do, the last thing I wanted to do was sit at my computer when I could be spending time with one of the most lovely people on the planet.

When you're me, or when you're like me, friendships and people aren't easy.  As Jaimee would say, I'm crunchy on the outside but the crunchy layer is only there to mask my soft nougaty center.  I'd like to think that as I get older I get more comfortable with who I am and less afraid to show my feelings, but I'm sure I'm not as far along that path as I'd like to be.  People scare me.  I don't trust easily, and I have a terrible phobia of being made to look ridiculous.  The end result is that I will twist myself into the most convoluted of knots to avoid allowing anyone to see how sensitive I truly am. 

Jaimee is one of those people that can get along with just about anyone.  She's part tree hugger, part hippie chick, part beautiful, sophisticated center of attention at parties and she can put on a dress and heels and have every guy in the room wishing she'd dance with him.  In many ways you would think that we have nothing in common aside from our mutual love of nature and the outdoors.  When I left New Jersey for Washington Jaimee gifted me with a beautiful necklace - a Yin/Yang symbol made of a white and a black pearl on a silver circle.  She told me that she thought it was symbolic of our friendship. 

What we found, though, when we were comfortable with each other to actually talk about the important stuff, is that we are inwardly very much alike.  She's just far better than I am at masking her vulnerability.

So we've been hanging out a bit the last week and a half.  We didn't *do* much, really, just sort of hung around.  Sadly I was unable to convert her into a Cowgirl.  I like her anyway.

 

It was good times. 

[email protected][email protected][email protected][email protected][email protected]~

On the home front, C started medication two weeks ago.  We've been gradually increasing dosage, and he's been doing better.  He had two days last week that he didn't get written up at aftercare, which was a first.  He's still apparently not doing all that great fitting into the routine in Kindergarten, or at least that's what the prinicipal observed to me, since his teacher hasn't communicated a damn thing.  I requested last Friday that I get an email from his teacher just letting me know what kind of a day he had - even just a sentence or two so that I could communicate that to his doctor.  Its Thursday.  Guess how many reports I've gotten from his teacher?  Yeah.  I requested the IEP testing be conducted and that's underway.  I know a bit more now than I did when this started with A a few years ago.  I now understand that the IEP is not only to address cognitive function but life-skills as well.  So even if the testing shows no cognitive impairment, under the I.D.E.A. he is still entitled to assistance in social and life skills. 

And because I'm in a good mood at the moment, I'll refrain from discussing the nightmare arguments I've had with the insurance company over coverage and refills. 

I have friends and acquaintances I've met who are very anti-medication, and friends who are pro-medication except when it comes to their own children.  Lest anyone think that my very first avenue of approach is to medicate, let me clarify a few things.

From my perspective, medication isn't always a requirement when behavioral problems are present.  As an adult with ADHD, I'm not even certain that medication is a necessity for all children who have the disorder.  I had no idea I had ADHD until I was almost 40 years old.  I spent my whole life learning how to live with it with no pharmaceutical help whatsoever.  It CAN be done...but I can tell you from experience that it's not easy. 

When it came to my own children, my first steps were to find out what was wrong and to understand how much it was a problem.  We tried things prior to going the medication route, and honestly, I'm almost sorry we waited as long as I did.  My daughter's quality of life before Focalin and Lamictal was so awful compared to how it is now that there I times I feel guilty for not pursuing it sooner.   We actually waited a little bit longer to medicate C than we did with his sister.  His issues have manifested much differently, and I wasn't really certain how he would react to a school environment. 

For my family, medication has made a colossal difference.  But I also respect that it is not the avenue of choice for every family.  At the best, though, I hope that parents of children who have ADHD, Bipolar illness, Anxiety disorder or any other neurological disorder that affects corporate governance and cognitive function will at least consider looking into medication. 

I've heard so often, "Medication just turns your kid into a zombie."  I can't promise that every medication out there won't turn your kid into a zombie -  but I can tell you that there are very likely many that won't.  We did find one medication that had results we disliked - weight gain, general listlessness - and very few positive results, so we discontinued it very quickly and found something that worked better.  I can't imagine any parent that wants their child to be a zombie.  I mean, can you imagine how hard it is to clean all of those brains out of their school clothes? 

 

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Finally, if you've stuck with me this far, I will weigh in on the hot topic of the news, blogosphere and twitterverse this week - suicide amongst gay teens.

It is distressing and disheartening that even with all we know now about sexual orientation being an integral part of a person's hardwiring, with LGBT stars living open lives, with television shows and movies and reality shows either featuring LGBT cast or at least having them as key cast members.  Unfortunately our growing awareness and acceptance hasn't reached every family, particularly people in small, conservative towns, and the social conservatives among us have only stepped up the hate rhetoric in response to such wide acceptance. 

I hope that the hard of heart among us will be moved by the recent attention to this issue, that anyone who is a parent or an aunt, uncle, grandparent, teacher, classmate, or spiritual leader will read the following statistics and if they have been unsupportive before, will mend their ways:

According to a recent study, LGBT teens who have experienced rejection from their family are

• 8.4 times more likely than their non-LGBT peers to attempt suicide;
• 3.4% more likely to use drugs; and
• 3.4 times more likely to engage in unprotected sexual activities than their peers who have received family acceptance and support.

There are people who want to argue that the bible preaches against homosexuality.  I'm no biblical scholar, and I won't pretend to be.  There are plenty of respected scholars out there, though, who have researched the etymology and original context of the earliest writings the bible was translated from, and who have concluded that the writers may have been speaking about something entirely differently than the current commonly accepted meaning.  Issues of biblical scholarship aside, as a Christian, I find that my understanding of God and Christ are so much bigger than what one can find in a book.  If you want to see the love of Christ in living color, all you have to do is look at the eyes and hearts of the people around you.  In my belief system, each and every one of us is a child of God and each and every one of us is loved equally.  I could say more about my opinion of people who aren't biblical scholars, have never researched its many translations or read all the many versions and scholarly treatises regarding it, but are absolutely willing to take the word of some pastor or religious commentator that it is the unequivocal word of God and only the one translation they're reading from is the "right" one, but I won't.  It would be a waste of breath.

Science has taught us that being gay is not a choice, that it is the way people are born.  How can it be a sin to be born gay?  Seriously.  God doesn't make those kind of mistakes.  If God thought being gay was sinful, people wouldn't be born that way. I am so tired of Christians who need to feel morally superior to other people.  Stop being so damned judgmental, will you?  Your hatred and fear are, literally, killing our teenagers. 

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 And finally, in other news, the chicken is off the nest and happily wandering around the yard eating worms like all good chickens should.

I know this was long.  I'm sorry.  I missed you.  How have you all been?

 

Inside vs Outside

Outside I smile, laugh and talk to people.  Go to work meetings, shake hands, talk about strategies and ways to get work accomplished.

Inside I am falling apart.

Outside I return calls and in turn make more calls.   The daycare.  The pediatrician.  The school.  I gather information, pass along information, make suggestions, attempt to be reasonable and understanding while holding firmly to the stance that my son's needs are paramount.

Inside, tears are falling.

Inside, I say over and over, "This is not fair."

Outside I shrug and chuckle and say "Been there, done that, no big deal."

Inside, I think, "It is a big deal.  This is my baby.  He's anxious and out of control, miserable at home and even worse at school.  It IS A BIG DEAL."

I want to have the luxury of screaming and crying and pounding my fists on the wall.  To fall apart.  But that's what I did before, when it was my daughter, losing it and crying endlessly and driving myself into a mess of fear and anxiety.  And that didn't work for me, did it?  In the end we got the help we needed and we made progress, mountains of progress.  But that first part, the part where I fell apart and sobbed endlessly into my hands, threw the phone on the floor until it broke, screamed at the top of my lungs in my empty house, that part was horrible.  I don't want to do that again.

When I let the storm inside me out through the cracks, I didn't feel better.  I felt worse.  It heightened my anxiety and my fear.   It made everything harder, parenting, working, existing.  I careened through my life, bouncing off walls and people, disturbing the peace.

This time it could be different.  This time, instead of allowing the tempest inside to spill over, maybe I can draw in the calm assurance of my external self.  Dial down the drama, replace it with something different. Something better.

No matter how I approach it, I can't control the situation or the outcome.  But perhaps the process won't be as excruciating this time if I just go at it from the outside in.