Special Needs Ryan Gosling (Can Build a Bridge)

Sweet succotash, it’s Special Needs Ryan Friday again!!  I’m glad we were all able to drag our bloody stumps over the finish line to get here.

If you don’t know about Special Needs Ryan, well you must be living under a rock, my friend.  Click here to learn about it:

And here’s my Ryan (that’s right, I said MY Ryan):

Be sure to check out all the other awesome Ryan photos, and make one for your site!

*

“All Kids Do That” – Safety

As parents of children with special needs, we have all heard the phrase, “all kids do that”, from well-meaning family members, friends, and parents of typical children.  Whether it’s said in reference to potty training, eating, social skills or behavioral challenges, it is frustrating to hear and minimizes our experience and concern over an issue that has garnered a great deal of time, attention, and stress.

There have been a number of posts from great bloggers about this issue recently.  One topic I haven’t seen covered, and is particularly relevant for us, is safety (maybe it was covered and I missed it, not sure).

We’re programmed, as parents, to keep our children safe.  But what happens when our child is programmed for danger??  Although my son is “high functioning”, the ADHD component of his disability slows his processing time, and decreases his impulse control.  That’s an extremely dangerous combination:  slower thought processing and an inability to control his impulses means that everyday things become dangerous issues.

Yesterday my husband picked up Connor from the after-school program.  As they were leaving, another child’s father was coming in.  This father happens to be a sheriff.  He arrived in full uniform, complete with holster and gun.  As Connor and hubs walked past the man, Connor turned and murmured “oh, a gun.”  He reached out toward the gun as my husband said “NO”, but his arm didn’t falter, until my husband reached out and grabbed him back.  He wasn’t ignoring my husband’s command, he simply was so intent on the object that he couldn’t stop himself, and would have touched it if his efforts weren’t thwarted.

We had multiple discussions about safety and personal space.  Connor knows a gun is dangerous, but asked, “will it fire if you just touch it?”  His brain is not wired to accept an explanation, he is determined to find things out for himself, no matter the consequences.

It has always been this way.  When he was little, it wasn’t enough to say “stay away from the street” or “stay on the sidewalk.”  I knew I had to always be within reaching and grabbing distance of him.  He is almost 7, and sometimes this is still an issue.

So last night, when my mom said, “he’s a boy, boys do those kinds of things”, I had to have a very clear conversation about the difference between Connor and “other boys.”

I told her the fire ant story.  When he was about 3 1/2, he became enthralled with an ant hill.  For two weeks, he would find a moment in the day to get near this particular ant hill.  Each day I told him frightening stories of the fire ants and how they will bite, and it stings quite a bit.  Each day he headed right back to the ant hill.  Finally I got a pitcher of water ready, came out and stood next to him, and said “fine, go ahead and poke the ant hill.”  He did, and immediately jumped back when he saw the thousands of fire ants bubble to the surface.  It was summer, so he was wearing sandals, and one ant managed to make its way onto his foot and bite him.  He began howling and I poured the water over his foot, and then took him in to put Neosporin on it.

“Do you want to poke the ant hill again?”, I asked.

“Nooooo, I hate those stupid ants!”

Learning the hard way is fine for fire ants, but isn’t an option when it comes to street traffic, strange dogs, or guns.

All kids don’t do that.  My kid does.  To say that “all kids do that” minimizes the fear I live with each day, that my son’s impulses will override what he’s been taught, and have disastrous consequences.

There’s a police station visit in my very near future.  It’s not enough to say “no”, or to have a conversation.  We will have to go to great lengths to drive this point home, and enlist the help of others that can help illustrate the dangers of firearms.

So please, don’t tell me all kids do that.

*

Special Needs Ryan – Happy Friday

Linking up again with Adventures in Extreme Parenthood for Special Needs Ryan Gosling.  Check out all the awesome peeps that linked up!

 

 

Here’s this week’s Ryan:

 

Smarty Smart Mouth vs. the Queen of Snark

Yeah, that's for you...you can keep that.

I’m not sure if it’s the age, the gender, or the genetics or if they have all collided to create the cheeky monkey we are dealing with at home, but my little Lippy Liptenstein is becoming an uncontrollable monster of attempted wit.  A few nuggets:

“Whatever mom, blah, blah, blah.”

(sticks tongue out at me) “Hey mom, that’s for you, you can keep it.”

“Yes your highness, okay your highness.”

“Okay, Mrs. What’s Up, whatever you say.”

“Poop in your eye!!”

“Now stop whining, and take it like a man!”

Okay, that last one is a line from Night at the Museum, but the others, who knows?  I’m sure he is extracting lines from cartoons, movies, and toy commercials.  He latches onto anything that sounds funny or sassy, and recycles it, ad infinitum.

But, you know, there’s the whole “respect” issue to worry about, and of course, public perception.  So I emailed his resource teacher, and I let her know about all our recent family changes, and told her that, although Connor is doing well with the changes, we are seeing a spike in sassy language.  It was sort of a preemptive strike to let her know that any smart mouth language could not possibly be due to my poor parenting skills, but can be blamed entirely on the current upheaval going on in our home.

And you know what?  She writes back that he has been great this week, and not sassy AT ALL.  Hmph.  Isn’t that nice then?

So last night, Connor asks me to lean over so he can kiss me on the cheek.  I lean over, and he abruptly blows into my ear, forcefully.  Then he says, “that’s for you, you can keep it.”

Alright then son, it’s go time.

“Listen up, Jimmy Crack Corn.  I’ve had about enough of your sassy smartmouth, and since I’m in charge of everything in this house, I’m about to have myself a brand new DS game if you don’t learn how to be more respectful.  You think you’re funny, Mr. Knee-slapping Witmeister??  You won’t be laughing when you’re spending your weekend doing yard work.  But I’ll enjoy it.  Yep, I’ll sip on lemonade while I play the DS and watch you work.”

Hard time.

“Noooooo, not my DS!  I’ll show respect!”

The next time I heard something about a fathead, I whipped my head around and narrowed my eyes.  He quickly said, “talking to myself!”  So I guess from now on he will say snarky things and pretend like he’s talking to himself, when really, he is telling me off.

I wonder where he gets that from.

 

.

A Visit From Special Needs Ryan Gosling

I’m linking up with that genius, Sunday Stilwell, from Adventures in Extreme Parenthood, for Special Needs Ryan Gosling Friday!!!

Each week she selects a different photo of Ryan that we use to attach a phrase that pertains to our world of special needs parenting.  Here is mine for this week:

 

.

Be sure to check out all the other Special Needs Ryan Gosling posts over at Sunday’s site!

Another Meme, With a Splash of Lime

Nowhere to go now but down.

I almost just can’t believe it, but I’ve been tagged for a meme. It’s like there’s a magic meme unicorn, running around and farting glitter all over me! Since Lizbeth, at Four Sea Stars, tagged me, I guess she is that glitter-farting unicorn.

Thank you, Lizbeth, for farting this honor on me!  Here are the rules of this most awesome honor:

1. Thank and link back to the person who bestowed the award on you. Alrighty, I think that’s covered (see farting unicorn reference above).
2. Post 10 things about yourself that others may or may not know, or may not care to know.
3. Bestow this great and mighty honor upon 6 others.
4. Go forth and seek out those 6 others to bring them the good news of this award.

Alright then, let’s do this, shall we?

1. I was once pelted in the face with a wad of grass by an angry gorilla, who I’d spent hours observing at the zoo for an anthropology paper in college. He did not appreciate being watched. Connor loves to hear that story, over and over again.

.
2. I don’t cry when it’s expected. But I do cry at odd times. I cried when Grace, from That’sRightISaidIt.Dot.Mom sent me a package of Tastykakes after reading my post about snack cakes. Not because I like snack cakes THAT much (but they’re damn good), but because I was just floored that a virtual stranger, that I only know in the blog world, spent the time, effort, and money to make such a kind gesture. I’m working on something to send back to her (it’s almost done, I swear), and I hope she knows how appreciated it was!

Tears of joy when I saw these baked goods of the heavens.

.

3. I’ve never seen a single episode of Star Trek. It just never interested me.

.
4. When I was in high school, I thought Duran Duran was totally rad. Especially John Taylor, who was totally bitchin’. My favorite song was “Save a Prayer”, because I thought it was really deep (it wasn’t, it was a convoluted mess).

Oh yeah, good stuff. Too bad he looks like a shrunken, hollowed-out husk of his former self now.

.
5. My favorite actor is Tom Hanks. I don’t think I have a favorite actress.

.
6. I try to intersperse classics into my reading (like having a veggie with dinner), and right now am reading The Prince, by Machiavelli. It is boring the shit out of me, but if I stop reading it, it’s like it beat me.

.

7. I was the worst student ever, in the history of people being students, at math. Well, all math beginning at algebra. I was okay with addition. Once letters came into the mix, my brain disconnected. I had to take basic algebra twice, and worked my ass off for a passing D grade the 2nd time. Yes, I was that bad.

.

8. That math thing came back to haunt me in college, when I had to take physical geography, and was unable to calculate the adiabatic lapse rate of a parcel of air. First off, how the fuck do you measure a “parcel” of air? It’s AIR! I managed to get out with a C-.

.

9. Although I can drive a stick-shift, I would rather roller skate or rely on public transportation than actually have to drive one. It’s a mental block that I can’t get past.

.

10. Most of the time I feel like a fraud because I’m not really a writer. I started this blog as a place to vent and share info, but I’m surrounded by awesome writers. Sooner or later they’ll realize I don’t belong here, and escort me out.

And now, the honorees of this fine award will be:

Grace, from That’sRightISaidIt.Dot.Mom – well, duh!!!  Not only does she send snack cakes, but I know she will have lot of interesting things to say about herself.

Karen, from Solodialogue.  She writes such beautiful pieces about her son, so now we can hear more tidbits about her!

Þorgerður, from Sturlungi.  I’ve recently started reading her site and love hearing about her son, but especially about life in Iceland.

Kara, from Karacteristic.  I’m going to keep on tagging until you finally do it.

LaliQuin, from Autism Wonderland.  This sassy momma should have some good tales.

Handflapper, from Handflapping.  Because it will be funny, funny shit people.  Whatever she writes, it is always some damn funny shit.

.

Editors note:  Listen people, be sure to grab the correct meme button if you are tagged.  It is the “Kreativ Blogger” button at the top, NOT the farting unicorn.  That’s just how I think of Lizbeth.

.

I’m Still So Weak I Can’t Even Think of a Good Title

Sometimes I think, “With all this craziness going on, what could possibly happen to make things even more crazy?”  And then the universe answers me by having the school nurse call me at work, to tell me that Connor has a fever.

But HAHAHAHAHA, screw YOU universe, because hubs took Thursday and Friday off to nurse the sick boy.  You didn’t get me, I went to work ALLLLLLL week!!!!

Yep, I sure did.  And Friday night, about 7:30, I said to hubs, “is it cold in here to you, because all of a sudden I’m freezing?”  And thus began my four days of intense sickness hell.  So, um, sorry universe, you won this one, okay?

It turns out that hubs had to work a 14-hour day on Saturday, so Connor and I worked out a nice little arrangement wherein he retained property rights over the living room sofa and big-screen TV, and I maintained the “vacation home” property, which features my bed and smaller TV, which was tuned to a marathon of Hoarders episodes.  We coexisted peacefully all day Saturday, with me getting up every two hours, shuffling 20 feet from my bed to the living room to change his movie, refill his water, and dose him again with some kind of fever/cough/cold remedy.

I do not endorse any one particular medication...but sometimes when you switch them around and mix them????

On Sunday, we had the satellite TV people coming, because it was time for the biennial “changing of the TV service to maximize savings” extravaganza.  But see, we also needed groceries.  Desperately.  We were out of bread, and since Connor and I were surviving on toast and water, we were in dire straights.  I decided to drag myself and the boy out of the house for a quick grocery shopping trip, to leave hubs to deal with the TV nonsense.

I had high hopes that getting out of the house would make us feel better, but when you’re still fighting an intermittent fever, it does not help one little bit.  So I dashed through the store, with Connor standing on the bar of the grocery cart, holding the handles, and wanting to lie against my upper body while I pushed the cart.  “Keep me warm, mommy.”  So yeah, we probably looked like lunatics, but we were too fever-brained to really care.

Where we live, the grocery business is dominated by one main chain, with only one other minor chain scattered around.  So this chain, called HEB, has developed itself a mascot.  I’m not really sure why a grocery store needs a mascot, but they have one, and maybe that’s why they’ve achieved total grocery dominance in the area.

So, you might wonder what kind of mascot a grocery store would have.  A can of corn?  A stalk of broccoli?  No.  The mascot is a brown, paper grocery bag.  And that’s funny, because my kid doesn’t even know what that is.  He’s never even seen a brown, paper grocery bag.  Because they don’t use them anymore.

So.  They really take this thing seriously, and they call it “HEB Buddy.”  As we’re shuffling through the grocery store, walking toward us is someone dressed as the HEB Buddy.  It’s a full-on suit, complete with white gloves.  Sort of like one of those Disneyland characters, except not as cute and well done, and certainly not a fun place to be like Disneyland.  But maybe they are trying to emulate the Disneyland ambiance, because here comes Buddy, being escorted by a female staff person.  Look, here’s Buddy:

They couldn't pay me enough to wear this.

So, we have fevers, we’re coughing, we’re weak and sweaty from being up and mobile, and here comes Buddy.  And Buddy’s perky handler says to Connor, just bubbling over with cheer,  “hi there, would you like to say Hi to Buddy?”

And Connor says:

“Hi, Fathead.”

Fathead.  That’s what he said.  Didn’t even hesitate, just let it flow.  And let’s be honest here, Buddy is a fathead.  Look at him up there, with his big, fat head.  And because I am a super awesome mom, I immediately started laughing.  Yep.  I just laughed right out loud.  And then I noticed perkilicious looking at me, and I realized I was supposed to do some kind of mom thing here where I correct my child for his faux pas.  So I said, “Connor, that wasn’t a nice thing to say, please apologize.”  And so he said, “sorry.”  And as we walked away, I leaned over and whispered, “but it sure was funny.”  And he giggled and said, “yeah.”

And that right there was the highlight of the past 4 days.  Well, that and the fact that when the doctor swabbed Connor’s nose she caused a MASSIVE nosebleed.

Now I have to go back to the store for stain remover.

Poor kid, it was like adding insult to injury.  And at the end, when she thanked him for being patient, he said, “thank you.  Thank you doctor, for sticking that thing in my nose and making it bleed.”  So, um, yeah, I had to prompt another apology.  Sigh.

We’re back on the mend, and out in the world again, and I think that’s it for updates.  Oh wait.  There’s one more update.  It appears that Lizbeth, from Four Sea Stars has tagged me for ANOTHER meme.

Ahem.

Thank you, Fathead Lizbeth, THANK YOU for tagging me for yet another of your memes.  I will jump all over that mofo and make it my bitch by Friday, I swear.  Really, thank you soooooo much for that.

.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

My mother is moving in with us.

Seeing it in writing like that actually made me catch my breath, and I can feel the flutters of panic in the pit of my stomach.

I love my mom.  Really.  And I’m so happy that Connor will get to know her and spend time with her.  He hasn’t seen her since he was a baby, because she lives so far away.  It’s just that it’s a big change.  For everyone.  The entire household dynamic will be altered with the addition of another person.

Oh, and another dog.  Yeah.  There will be, count ‘em, 5 people and 4 dogs in my house.  Is my fear and trepidation beginning to take shape now?  Oh, and in addition, she will be here in less than 2 weeks!

So.  The only uninhabited bedroom was, in fact, Connor’s small toy room.  So small that there was no way my mom and her stuff would fit comfortably in there.  The only reasonable solution was to merge Connor with his toys, together in the toy room, and prepare his old room for grandma.

“But I like my room, I don’t want to move.”

“All my stuffed animals like that room and they don’t want to go to the toy room.”

“What about my pictures?  And my books?  And my clothes?”

It took some time to assure him that all his things would move with him to the other bedroom.  Except the carpet and walls.  I clarified this for him because he was unclear as to what was considered moveable and not moveable.

Finally, after more negotiation, I had a total and complete nervous breakdown an honest conversation with him about the situation, and asked for his help in solving the problem.  Of course, he came to the same inevitable conclusion about moving his room.

It killed me to have to ask him to do it.  Like I don’t already have enough parental guilt, right?

Anyway, when we commenced to moving his furniture, hubs flipped up his bed and this is what he found:

It's like a cozy little nest under there.

Socks, toys, a comb, candy wrappers….it was a veritable wonderland of trash and crap.  No wonder he didn’t want to move, he knew his hiding place would be ferreted out.

With much pushing and cramming and organizing, we have managed to fit all of Connor’s things into the former toy room.  Barely.  There wasn’t much room to spare, so let’s hope he doesn’t have an abrupt personality change and decide he actually wants to play in his room.

Not even enough room to fart in there.

So far, the change hasn’t caused too much stress.  Except to me, but I digress.  Connor has slept in the new/old room each night, at least until about 2am, when he wanders in and plops himself down in the homeless camp in our room.

But….he has had a spike in wetting accidents this week, which tells me there is probably some underlying anxiety at work here.  And my mom isn’t even here yet.  I’m crossing my fingers that this is the worst of the damage.

Because, damn it, we’re all out of rooms.

*

Captain Know-it-All Visits the Park

It was such a beautiful day, I couldn’t believe we were the only ones at our neighborhood park.  We made the best of it, and Connor laughed and played and ran around like crazy.

Go, Monkey, GO!!

Finally, another car pulled up, and a little girl and her dad walked over to the playground.

Connor busied himself with following her around, and asking “Want to play with me?,” about 20 times.

Her dad and I swapped stories about being exhausted and not able to keep up with these kids.  We agreed that they had us over a barrel with their extreme levels of energy.

It was my own mistake, really, when I opened the door by saying “mine also has ADD, which really sends the energy level through the roof.”

After a couple of other parenting anecdotes, he said “So you said he has ADD, how did you come to know that?”

Oh brother, here we go.

“We always knew.  We knew when he was still crawling.  It’s just something you know, as a parent, when something is off.”

I told him about the lack of sleep, the intense, sustained, energy.  There was so much more I could have told him, but then he said, “I know a lot of kids with that kind of energy.”  And then, “Well a lot of kids have extra energy, but not necessarily ADD.”

Time to shut it down.

Sure, I like a good teaching opportunity as much as any other parent of a child with special needs, but I’m also acutely aware when I’m speaking to someone whose mind is closed, and who has already cemented their own firm opinion about something, despite not having first-hand experience with it themselves.

It’s tiresome, these amateur experts in all things they know nothing about.  What I really wonder is what makes a person decide not to believe legions of parents that have been in the trenches dealing with this for years, as well as medical professionals that specialize in neurological disorders??  What makes a person decide that all these parents are just “overreacting” and these doctors are just “over-prescribing”?  Especially when that person has had limited exposure to such a disorder.

I suppose we all make judgements.  But I can’t conceive of foisting my own opinions on someone else, particularly on a subject that they know much more about than I do.  Perhaps that’s the difference.  Some people have no problem telling you that you’re wrong, and they know better than you.

But I bit my tongue and ended our time at the park.

There was no way I was going to end such a nice day by arguing with some ignoramus.  I’ve got bigger challenges and better things to do with my time.

We're outta here!