Hiatus

My father passed away.  I will be on hiatus, indefinitely.

Thank you, in advance, for your kind wishes.

I’ll be back…

Keepin’ It Real in the Autism Hood

I didn’t start this blog just to complain about snack cakes and Swiffer Wet Jets.

It’s about parenting a child on the spectrum.  I mostly go for humor, but that’s not always what’s going on.  And if I really want to be honest, and really want people to know what it’s like, then I shouldn’t hold back the unpleasant things.  This post will undoubtedly require follow-up posts, as this thing plays out to its conclusion.

Yesterday there was a note from the SPED teacher in Connor’s communication book.  I forgot to take a photo, but the gist of it was that Connor had been bothering another student at recess, to the point of the other student’s frustration, and he would be staying in from recess the next day.

Following is my email to the SPED teacher:

Dear SPED teacher:

Since Connor forgot his notebook yesterday and it just came home today, we are just now aware that there has been an issue during recess.  I’m a bit confused by this.  If there has been a problem occurring during recess time that is significant enough to result in Connor being denied recess, why have I not heard about it until now?

.

I’d like to know more about what is happening.  Your note does not mention the specific behavior that is taking place, or the antecedent to the behavior.  While I appreciate the interventions you have put in place (social stories and tokens), if we don’t know what is causing the behavior to occur, there is a big piece missing, and frankly, a missed teaching opportunity.  If someone was there to intervene and show him how to handle the situation in an appropriate manner, I believe it would be more valuable to him than the consequences.

.

The ARD we had prior to this year’s included an accomodation of having an additional aide or teacher during recess time, to assist Connor with social skills.  I’m not sure if that made it back into this year’s IEP, or if that intervention is still taking place.  Can you tell me if that is happening, and if so, how often?

.

As part of Connor’s team, I am always available to discuss challenges that arise, and to be an active participant in determining how best to resolve the issue, and determine what supports are needed.  If I had been aware of this, I would have suggested playground intervention, and would not have approved his recess time being taken away.

.

A part of Connor’s disabiltiy involves hyperactivity.  As such, physical exercise is imperative to him to be able to expend energy, which helps him to better focus during class time.  Segregating Connor from his class, and keeping him indoors will not resolve his social skills deficits.  Nor will it help him to build self esteem, or feel accepted.  I also don’t feel that it’s fair to punish him for something that is a very big piece of what defines autism.  I am requesting that this not be used in place of teaching appropriate behavior, and that it never be used unless a conversation has taken place with us beforehand.

.

Whenever there is an issue with Connor, I always ask the question, “how did we fail Connor?”  For instance, we had a 1 1/2 hour meltdown over writing names on Valentine’s cards.  Connor has a disability, we know this.  It is not his fault he had the meltdown, it is our fault because we didn’t get in front of the behavior  by breaking it into smaller pieces, to alleviate the overload he experienced.

.

So I ask you, how did we fail Connor when it comes to his social skills during recess??

.

I have time tomorrow, Thursday, 2/16, from 12:30 – 1:00 p.m. to call you and discuss this further.  Please let me know if you are not available at that time, and what time would be better.

.

Thank you,

Connor’s mom

.

Clearly, it’s time to step out of my comfort zone, remind people that I’m part of this team, and start holding people accountable.

I don’t like this.  I hate this.  But it has to be done.

To be continued…

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...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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”.