My father passed away. I will be on hiatus, indefinitely.
Thank you, in advance, for your kind wishes.
I’ll be back…
F*ck You, Valentine’s Day
It’s not like I really need you, Valentine’s Day.
Sure, you’re a well-marketed, forced reminder to shower those you love with candy and gifts. But I do loving things for my family all through the year. I don’t just wait until that mystical day in February to let them know they are loved and appreciated.
Like the other day, when I made a big chicken pot pie for dinner, and my husband suggested I get ramekins so that next time I could make smaller, more time consuming, individual chicken pot pies. I didn’t bludgeon him to death, because that’s love.
And when Connor asked me for the 378th time to watch Spy Kids, which we don’t even own, I did not run screaming down the street like a lunatic. Because I love him (not because I was still in my pajamas).
Expectations. I don’t like the expectations that you bring. Because of you, “Every Kiss Begins with Kay” and Zale’s is pressuring me to “Be Brilliant.”
See, I'm already brilliant.
Look, I’m short and pudgy and I have a bad back. My personality can best be described as a cross between Ouiser from Steel Magnolias, and Roseanne. The last thing I need is candy, and if I can’t even afford to go on vacation then jewelry would just be ridiculous, and much too flashy for the local Wal-mart.
Except I'm not southern...
Except I don't cook Hamburger Helper and I have better decor...
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No, I don’t want a massage certificate because I don’t want to lay on a table, wrapped in a towel, obsessing over my cellulite. Also, I will not be going out to dinner because the idea of paying 20% more for a meal than I would on a regular Saturday night makes the bargain hunter in me clench up tighter than an Emo guy’s skinny jeans.
This just can't be comfortable.
And the other reason, Valentine’s Day, that I not only don’t need you, but DESPISE you?
Because of you, and this ridiculous tradition of giving out small, cardboard cards to every classmate, my son had a MEP (meltdown of epic proportions) yesterday, that last an hour-and-a-half. That’s right, screaming, crying, running out of the room, begging to go to bed early…all because he could not deal with writing 21 names down on those cards.
Those fucking, fucking fuck-cards.
And it’s been over a year since the last MEP. I’m reluctant to say that, because so many parents are dealing with this daily. But I was foolish enough to believe that we were past that hurdle, that we had progressed beyond those days.
But thanks to you, Valentine’s Day, you took a perfectly happy Sunday afternoon and you shit all over it. And you made me take out my rusty ABA skills so I could “hold the demand” and steer us through the rocky waters and complete the task.
It may have ended well, with Connor’s mood improving once he finished, but I will not forget this.
I will not forget.
Perhaps I will begin serving Hamburger Helper often, and save up to take a vacation during Valentine’s Day next year.
And since we won’t be doing those damn cards again, hopefully it will be an MEP-free vacation.
Fear and Loathing in the Elementary School Drop-Off Lane
After mastering the sheer “newness” of kindergarten, and having gained a firm grasp on how this whole school thing works, Connor started first grade this year with a demand: no more being walked in by mom in the morning. He wanted to be dropped off, in the drop-off lane, like other kids.
For the most part, this has gone well. We have steadily picked up the pace of unbuckling, grabbing backpack and jacket, extricating his feet from the sea of cereal bar wrappers/napkins/miscellaneous toys on the floor, getting out, saying goodbye, and closing the door. He then gives me a wave and takes off running for the door.
But today, not so good.
All of the getting out part went fine, as usual. But then there he is, on the sidewalk, waving at me. Just waving. Not turning to run toward the door, or slowly meandering to the door, or even slightly turning his body toward the door…just standing, and waving. Of course, the drop-off lane is like going to the grocery store the night before Thanksgiving…crowded, and full of short-tempered people that just want you to get out of their way because they have things to do. Important things. BIG things.
So I’m pulling away from the sidewalk, with a line of cars behind me, and he’s just standing there. Fuck. I get to the driveway and look back, and still, he’s standing there. I pull onto the street and look to my left, AND HE’S STILL STANDING THERE, WAVING. So I frantically point and motion for him to GO INSIDE, GO INTO THE SCHOOL, FOR CHRISSAKE!!
So instead of turning right to go toward the freeway that takes me to my job, I turn left at the light so I can come back toward the school parking lot. My heart is thumping in my chest, and I’m starting to sweat. I must find my child, even though I don’t want to go into his school. There are children in there. Other people’s children. Ick. And teachers, with those annoying, sing-song teacher voices. But I must go in.
I went straight to the resource room, where Connor checks in and starts his day. I poke my head in, but he’s not inside. The SPED teacher and aid know immediately that something’s amiss. I head down the hall to his regular class and poke my head in. He’s not there either. Just as I feel the prickly tendrils of panic start to creep up my legs, I turn and see him rounding the corner with the SPED aid.
She is already reading him the riot act, which is no easy feat, since the teacher manual apparently says that they must use that sing-song voice even when reprimanding a disobedient child. “Look at your mom’s face, what is she feeling right now? Look at how she’s breathing, what do you think that means?”
It means it’s a good thing we were standing in the school hallway, because if we weren’t, I’d be yelling “goddamn it to hell, you scared the shit out of me!!!”
Connor said he had stopped down one of the other hallways to ask a teacher to help him with his jacket zipper, which was stuck. The other teacher verified this. But it shows how his thought process works. Instead of going to his class and asking his own teacher for help, he roamed down the other hallway and asked a different teacher.
As for standing out on the sidewalk, I told him that I don’t know he’s safe until I see him walk into the building. I even mastered to summon a few tears, to drive the point home that I was upset. He said he was sorry, but he couldn’t really explain why he stood out there. To be honest, I don’t think he had a reason, or some kind of sneaky motive, I think he just felt like watching me drive away. And that’s the problem, he allows himself to get off track by just following whatever whim comes into his head.
I told him I would have to go back to walking him in again. Luckily the SPED teacher offered to have someone outside to watch for him and get him into the building, until he can show that he is responsible to do it himself. He accepted that, and he felt bad. I could tell by how quiet he was, and how tightly he hugged me when I got ready to leave. It wasn’t intentional, it was just a thoughtless mistake.
But that’s the hard part, getting him to think about what he’s doing, and how it affects others. And I worry, what if he never gets it?
So if you’re even in the school drop off lane, and the person in front of you is pausing to watch their child for a moment, try to be patient. Try to remember that their sole purpose in life isn’t to make you late for work, it’s just to make sure their child gets into school safely.
Don't. Freak. Out.
(Almost) Wordless Wednesday
Things we find….
Inside the Children’s Encyclopedia of the body:
We have no idea how long it’s been there, but I think it’s being used as some kind of bookmark.
It’s a Kashi TLC cereal bar.
Ironically, it was left next to the section on “feeding”.
At Long Last, the IEP Meme
Karen, at Solodialogue, created this awesome IEP meme, so we can each share information about the supports we’re getting. Along with me, she also tagged Grace at That’s Right I Said It Dot Mom, Rhonda at Going Insane, Wanna Come, and Kelly at Unplanned Trip to Holland. What great company, right? Make sure you check out what support they’re getting for their kiddos.
Following are the three questions of the Meme:
1. A list of tools (special chairs, iPad, visual schedules, gums, chewlery, squishees, headphones, whatever devices help focus and sensory issues);
Connor has a rubber-band type thing on the legs of his chair, that he can use to fidget. He also has a visual reminder strip taped to the top of his desk, that has picture/word reminders about expected behaviors; raising hand to speak, not talking, focusing on work, etc. There are also picture schedules in the regular classroom and resource room. A weighted lap pad was tried last year, but he didn’t like it and found it more distracting. He has used headphones during assembly time, despite the recommendation of the autism specialist, who told me in a meeting that “in the real world, he wouldn’t wear headphones to a meeting, so we should try to get him to attend the assembly without them.” I’m not even going to go there in this post. I will say that the headphones were available to him at every assembly until he decided, on his own, that he didn’t need them anymore.
2. Services (Speech Therapy, Physical Therapy, Occupational Therapy, ABA, TEACCH, Special Ed teaching rooms, aides during class, tutors, etc.) and how many hours per week of each your child receives;
Connor has never received speech, PT, OT, or ABA from the school. In pre-K, I requested an OT eval, since he was already receiving it through a private provider. The school tested him and he scored in the below average range for function, but that was still considered “acceptable.” Last year the SPED teacher expressed concern about his fine motor skills, and mentioned an OT assessment. I just about had a cow, because if they had listened to me in pre-K, he would have already had the extra help. He still tested as just barely being in the acceptable range. So the school staff was kind enough to provide ME with extra workbooks for us to do at HOME. In other words, “we won’t spend the money on extra support for him, but are expecting you, as a non-professional, will just do it for free.”
As for support, Connor begins and ends each day in the resource room for check-in and check-out. He also receives extra 1:1 support during different times of the day; reading, math, etc.
In addition he has a BIP (behavior intervention plan) as part of his IEP. It took me 3 IEP meetings last year to get that BIP added. They initially didn’t think it was “necessary”, despite the fact that was hitting or pushing almost daily. Then they chalked it up to pre-holiday angst. Then he hit the SPED teacher. Now we have a plan to support his behavior, that includes extra motor time, as well as being given opportunities to say “no” to a request.
The other thing I insisted on was that he have extra support during unstructured time (recess and lunch), since that’s where most of his challenges occur. His social skills are impaired because of his disability, which affects his ability to learn because he is distracted by the negative peer relationships that are being caused by his lack of social skills. See that nice little circle? Since his aggression has almost disappeared this year, I will need to follow up and see if they’re still providing this support, which I doubt.
He also receives shortened assignments as an accommodation and preferred classroom seating (near the teacher).
3. Your opinions of the effectiveness of (1) and (2) above.
I think the visual reminders are very helpful for Connor, especially the strip they have taped to his desk. He gets off track so easily, that it’s good to have that right in front of him.
Time spent in the resource room is also very helpful. He gets more 1:1 attention, and is able to get the extra help he needs to work on things that he is struggling with; telling time, money values, reading, math.
The BIP was moderately helpful. The key there was that having it in the plan makes them accountable for supporting him and trying to teach replacement behavior, rather than just sending a note home saying he hit. That drives me insane. Don’t send me notes about “bad” things he did. Tell me what happened and what you’re going to do to ensure it doesn’t happen again, or at least try to minimize it.
The last thing we achieved this year wasn’t even in the IEP. At the IEP meeting, I mentioned that staff at the after school program (which is run by the district, this is the key here) expressed interest in having someone do a disability discussion with the after-school kids. Someone to tell them about autism and other challenges, explain to them the differences, and how to be a friend. I jumped on this and told them at the IEP that I could ask our behaviorist if that’s something she could do. They all nodded in agreement and said it was a great idea. Then I mentioned I would find out what her rates are and what she would charge the school.
Frownie faces all around the table. Then the principal said they couldn’t really pay for that service if they have district staff that could provide the same service. Then the SPED teacher said she would be willing to do the presentation for them. This is what I wanted all along, but since every one of my requests has been turned down initially, I thought I’d ask for the most expensive option, and then negotiate down to an acceptable compromise. Haha, suckas!!!!
Seriously though, it was really, really helpful. I think it should be done in every classroom, in every grade, and every school. Period. 1 in 110 (or whatever the number is now), plus all the kids with other types of special needs. Damn straight they should start in kindergarten teaching kids acceptance of those that are different from them.
Next IEP I’ll be pushing for a regular classroom presentation.
So that’s it. I hope someone finds this helpful. My advice is to take an advocate to your meeting if you need the extra support. And I personally NEVER EVER sign the agreement at the meeting (this makes me unpopular, but I’m not there to make friends). I always demand to take a copy home for review, before I will sign anything. It gives me a chance to process things, read over what we discussed, and decide if there’s anything else that wasn’t covered.
Now, as for tagging others:
Kara, at Karacteristic. She’s been scarce lately, and I miss her!
Amber, at Airing My Dirty Laundry, One Sock at a Time - this should be good!
And last but not least, Karen, at Confessions of an Asperger’s Mom – she’s got TWO, so she should have some good advice.
One Million Books campaign
Lana, at Along Came the Bird, had this posted yesterday. Being an avid reader, I thought I’d steal her words (stolen from somewhere else), and pass this on to my fellow book lovers.
List your favorite books, help a kid in need: Scholastic recently kicked off the One Million Bookprints for One Million Books campaign, an initiative to donate one million books in need through the nonprofit Reach Out and Read. When you join You Are What You Read, you make a “Bookprint”—a list of 5 books that have shaped your life. Both kids and adults can do it. For every Bookprint, Scholastic Book Clubs donates a book to kids in need, distributed through pediatrician offices around the country.
You can also check out the Bookprints of some famous people,too, like Taylor Swift, Bobbi Brown, The Jonas Brothers, and Eli Manning.
It’s 3am, Do You Know Where Your Cuddle Buddy Is?
Meet Puppy Dog:
He’s been part of our family since 2005, when Connor was a baby. He spent most of his time on the shelf, because Connor had no interest in stuffed animals, other than to pile them on the floor and stand on them to reach the light switch, for those middle-of-the-night rave parties he was throwing in his room.
He still took things to bed. He had a “nest” of items. Some of his favorite things to keep in bed were:
*kitchen whisk
*swim goggles
*American flag
*my hair clips
*die-cast cars
*kitchen timer
*flashlights
*toy trains
*bells
Nothing cuddly here...
Absolutely zero interest in blankies or stuffed animals. Nada.
Last year I started using his stuffed animals during nightly story time. I would make them talk or bark, or listen intently to the story. I would make them kiss the boy or jump on his head. They were my accoutrements to enhancing his pretend play.
And now, he loves Puppy Dog.
See, everything he took to bed before had a personal connection. I know, how could a whisk have a personal connection, right?
I use the whisk to make blueberry muffins, his favorite.
And the hair clips, well I wear one almost every day.
The swim goggles reminded him of summer camp.
Now, we’ve created connections with the animals. Puppy Dog is his good friend now.
But someone else loves Puppy Dog too.
You can see the evil emanating from her eyes.
So at 3am, when the boy wanders into our room, to crash in his homeless camp, he must keep Puppy Dog safe.
Perilously close to the Dingo's reach.
When I wake up and start my day, and go into the bathroom to look for a new roll of toilet paper, I’m greeted by this:
Well good morning to you too! Hope you slept well in there.
Each morning I retrieve Puppy Dog from his POW camp, and return him to his rightful place on Connor’s bed.
So that each night can begin like this:
The nest of oddities is GONE!!
And now I have my whisk back.
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Words With Hubs
If only all our conversations could be this exciting. Oh wait, they are.
This is the part where you go, “Wow, I am sooooo glad I have a girl”, if you just so happen to have a girl. If not, then you’re going “been there.”
And then, hubs throws me under the bus.
See what I live with?
I’ll Never Let Go, Hostess
Like me, you probably remember exactly where you were when you heard the news that Hostess was declaring bankruptcy. I’m pretty sure the world stood still. Panic crept through my body quickly. My thoughts raced, wondering what would happen if Hostess was no more. An unsettling thought crept in. Little Debbie.
Growing up, it was no small feat to get my budget-conscious mom to deviate from her task of getting only grocery items of merit; meat, bread, milk. Sometimes fortune smiled upon me when I was able to verbally wear her down, and get her to agree to buy a non-essential item, like snack cakes.
Hostess snack cakes. We were a Hostess family. No Little Debbie, or weird, off-brand snack cakes for us.
I still remember when the Ding Dongs were individually wrapped in aluminum foil. I miss those days. And the Twinkies, they came in a white wrapper. A major part of the Twinkie ritual involved scraping my finger along the paper, to capture the stray bits of creamy cake goodness that was smeared on the wrapper. The new wrappers are a clear, thin plastic, and you just can’t get all the remnants because it gets all crinkley.
For the sophisticated palette.
I think this is the fatal flaw in the Hostess plan. The undoing of a giant.
Facing the very real possibility of a full-scale snack cake Armageddon, I formulated a plan. Snack cake reconnaissance.
In the Target snack cake aisle, I got a box of Ding Dongs and a box of Twinkies. Staring at those Little Debbie boxes, her smug little freckled-face, I just couldn’t bring myself to willingly let her have one damn nickel. And then I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.
What the fuck, Little Debbie, What. The Fuck??!!
“That toothless, inbred, snack cake WHORE!!!!”" People in the aisle turned to look. I didn’t care. That little cake-twat had blatantly STOLEN the entire Twinkie likeness! Like that girl did to Kim Kardashian! I was definitely not buying her crap cakes now.
My plans might have been laid waste right there, but as it turns out, I have a pregnant co-worker. And she decided to go on a snack cake buying binge the other day. She, being of a questionable family background, bought a mixed bag of Hostess AND Little Cunt Cakes (yeah, I wrote that word…I’m passionate about snack cakes).
So here, at last, was my chance. Facing an uncertain snack cake future, I knew it had to be done. And I couldn’t let Connor take part in this. He’s been fully indoctrinated on Hostess, but to be honest, he’s pretty much like a crack-head when it comes to cake products. It would be wrong to subject him to a lesser, inferior cake product, and risk the possibility of him getting hooked on crack-cakes.
I refused to consider sampling the “Cloud Cakes”, so I chose a non-Hostess-stolen, indiscriminate item.
Oh look, an item that doesn't appear to be STOLEN from Hostess.
Ashamed to allow my family to witness me at this low point, I covertly ate the traitor-cakes in the car, on the way home from work.
They weren’t awful.
No, no, no. I know what you’re thinking. But they were clearly sub-par to any Hostess snack cake. Are they reasonable, in times of crisis? Well, yes. Yes, in a post-apocalyptic snack cake world, they would be adequate. Not AWESOME, just adequate.
It’s not what I want, people. But if this thing goes down, I’m not just going to lay down and die. Me, my family, we are survivors. We will go on. If that means second-rate skank cakes, then so be it.
I did this for you, too. In this uncertain climate, we needed to know. But remember, if the worst happens and we have to eat her shit cakes, it doesn’t mean we have to like her.
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