Turning Lemons Into Vodka, Because I Don’t Like Lemonade

Part of the angst that fueled my ranty post a week or so ago was what came home in Connor’s backpack the last week of school.

First, let me back up.  During our IEP meeting this year, I asked about ESY (extended school year).  The principal said that ESY was ONLY for children that displayed significant regression of skills that could not be recouped in 10 weeks.  Now, I’m not sure how they measure “significant regression”, but they assured me that Connor does not have that issue.  And while I agree that he doesn’t have “significant” regression, I do think that a long summer break will impact his skills.  But we were at an impasse, and it wasn’t an issue I was prepared to take to mediation.

Fast forward to the last week of school, and take a look at all this stuff that came home.

They must be joking, right?

Now I don’t know this for a fact, but I’m pretty sure that the other students didn’t bring home this many workbooks and extra assignments to work on over the summer.  It’s obvious to me that they are expecting us to set up summer school at our kitchen table, and drill this stuff into Connor all summer long to maintain his readiness for 2nd grade.  And really, I get it.  I get that the district has a very tight budget, and they have to cut corners everyplace they can, which means it’s probably almost impossible to “qualify” for ESY services.  And yes, that sucks.  And yes, it’s irritating.  But I just can’t waste the energy being mad about something that I can’t change at this stage, nor am I convinced I want to change it because I’m not sure I really want Connor to be stuck in a classroom during the summer, when other kids are out having fun, because that would almost be like he was being punished for having a disability.

But, um, yeah….all those workbooks?  Yeah, that’s not going to happen.  We already have full-time jobs.  But, BUT, there will be some effort.  Like on a scale between 1 and 10, I’m shooting for a solid 3 in effort.  I’m good with a 3.

About the time that the landslide of workbooks came home, I was reading a post over at A Mom’s View of ADHD, and it was a review for a task chart from The Victoria Chart Company.  I thought the charts were really cute and well-done.  We’ve done homemade charts before, with varying degrees of success.  But I liked the looks of this chart, and how it came with customizable stickers, so I ordered one.  [Note:  I am not being compensated in any way for mentioning this company or their product.  When I run across a product I like, that works for us, I like to mention it so others can check it out.  But that doesn't mean I wouldn't do an honest product review if a company asked me to, just sayin'.]

Connor and I talked about things he’d like to work towards, and he came up with roller skates, a trip to Chuck E. Cheese (yeah, I’m screwed), a Twister board game, and a new game for his DS.  The goal that we work on consistently is “keeping hands to self”.  We continued that goal for summer camp and assigned the Twister game to it.  By earning 5 stickers (1 for each day he has kept hands to self at summer camp), he earns the game.

As for the skates, they are the big Kahuna and worth 10 points.  And what must he do to earn those points???  Read a book.  Not like War and Peace or anything, just one of those early reader books.

And guess what?  He earned those skates in 2 weeks.  And the Twister game has been earned too.  It’s all about the incentives, baby.

Perilously close to mouse hell.

So now we will replace the skates with a new DS game as an incentive for reading, and see what we’ve added at the bottom?  A trip to McDonald’s (he likes the skeezy playscape, shudder) for completing 5 worksheets.  We didn’t really need that other goal of eating all his food, because he does that, and then some.

Yes, I’m aware that those are pretty big prizes, but the key to making a chart work is knowing what currency works for your child.  There’s no way he’ll work for little, junky dollar-bin toys.  And it’s summertime, so there needs to be fun activities on the hook to keep him interested.

It’s totally worth it.

Especially since I ran into his sped teacher this weekend at Walmart.  When she asked how Connor was doing, I replied, “he’s doing great, he’s already read 10 books this summer and earned himself some roller skates, and we’re only 2 weeks in!!”

He might never LOVE reading, but he will always love doing fun things.  This way it’s a win-win for everybody.

Except me, when I end up spending an afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese, with a million screaming kids and no open bar.

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The Autism Mom Playlist

Pssst, hey you.  Yeah YOU, over there.  C’mere.  Have you checked out that cool music app, Spotify, yet?  No?

The great thing about Spotify is that you can stream music for free, unless you want to pay a subscription fee to get rid of ads, which really aren’t that troublesome anyway.  You can set up your own playlists and copy over as many songs as you want.  And you can share it between computers, and even share songs to Facebook and the Twitter.  I can’t believe it took me so long to find this thing.

So last week, in the middle of a funk, I found this app.  I got started setting up my playlists and music.  Here’s what I have so far for playlists:

Sappy Shit

(Every Rose Has It’s Thorn, In the Air Tonight)  I know, shut up.

Angst-y

(Tainted Love, Cinderella Man)

Rock-ish

(Train, Lit, Filter)

Mellow

(Coldplay, Adele)

Dancey and/or Headbobbing

(Flo Rida, Pink, Black Eyed Peas)

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I really like to nail down a description, what can I say?  Still, something was missing.

Last week as I made my way around the blogs, I noticed a lot of you were also a bit down.  I don’t know if it’s summertime blues, or something in the air (hehe, Phil Collins was right), but after reading so many melancholy posts, and writing my own, I decided to make an “Autism Mama” playlist, with songs I find that pick me up.  Here’s what I have so far:

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Click the picture to large-ify it.

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When you’re in a mood, you just can beat lyrics like, “I’m like a chainsaw, I’ll skin your ass raw, and if my day keeps going this way I just might, break somethin’ tonight,” am I right??

Anyway, since I’m sure we all have songs that pump us up when we’re down, I thought you could help me fill up this playlist.  What songs do YOU listen to when you’re in a slump, that motivate or empower you?

And don’t you dare suggest Josh Groban.  I KNOW you can do better than that.  I want to hear from you, so leave a comment with your music suggestions.   And if you’re on Spotify, feel free to add me to your “people” list.

We’re Being Held Hostage Under the Big Top

My kid gets stuck on things.  Always has.

When he was little, he would repeat lines from The Little Einsteins.  Then, for a while, it was the Move It  song from Madagascar, the theme song to Imagination Movers, and dialogue from Night at the Museum.

You can call it “scripting” or a “stim”, or you can just call it annoying.

I’m not sure if I should blame my husband, or Dreamworks for the newest diddy that’s playing on an endless loop at our house.  Madagascar 3 is out, and with it comes the worst stim/scripting/obsession yet.

Have you seen the commercials?  If you go here, you can experience the joy: 

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Copyrighted and owned and such by Dreamworks Animation.

Because all we hear at home now is:

DA-DA-DADA-DA, DA-DA-DADA-DA, AFRO, CIRCUS, AFRO, CIRCUS, POLKA-DOT, POLKA-DOT, POLKA-DOT, AFRO, ….REALLY?!!

Over and over and over again.

The repetition alone is irritating, but add to it that it’s a circus tune, which makes me think of circus performers of the clown persuasion, and you have a scenario in which I’m ready to jam an ice pick in my ear.

See, who wants to think about this when they’re trying to relax at home??

And in case you’re wondering, these obsessions tend to last about 2 months.

2 months.

Although hubs was the one to take him to the movie, I’ll go ahead and blame Dreamworks.  Those damn animation geniuses and their musical score department are set to ruin my summer.  But at least hubs is there, suffering right along with me.

I never thought I’d wish with every fiber of my being that Disney would hurry up and churn out another flick, with a catchy musical number.

I don’t even care if they get Phil Collins to sing it.  I swear.

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Did You Know You Could Write a Rant and Make it Segue Into Special Needs Ryan? Me Neither.

Hi everyone, I’m back.

Oh.

You thought maybe I was on vacation, seeing as how school is out and it’s officially summertime.  That’s what people do, you know.  They pack up the kids and they take a fabulous, fun-filled vacation that they’ve been saving for, hoping for, waiting for all year.

No.  I didn’t go anywhere.  I’ve been here all along.  Here, but not really here, you know?

The school year came to an end with a first-grade awards ceremony, and then summer started, and it was like being buried alive.  For a few uncertain moments, I heard myself breathing in and out, but it was loud, so LOUD, and I could hear my heart beating in my ears as the panic started setting in, adrenaline coursing through my veins and the feeling that my heart would beat so hard it would come right through my chest cavity.

At the awards ceremony, all the kids had multiple ribbons of different colors pinned to their shirts.  As the principal read each category, from spelling to reading to perfect attendance, if they had the ribbon of the corresponding color, they would stand up.

But Connor, he had only one ribbon.  Just one, for “making strides.”  I know that you know what that category means, so I won’t say it.  I won’t say it, not here, not ever.

See, the thing is, that even though Connor was proud of his one ribbon, I hurt badly.  I hurt for him.  I let this one event create foreshadowing in my mind, and created a hurt for all the years to come when my son works so hard, harder than we thought he could, and still barely squeaks through.

Of course he is enough.  He is absolutely enough for me.  But how do I take that precious self-esteem, wrap it in a bubble, and protect it from all the realities that are coming his way?  How do I preserve that when, even now, he says he is stupid, so stupid, for “always making bad choices?”

I can’t think about that anymore.  I can’t cry anymore, I can’t worry anymore, I can’t think about wanting to scream at the top of my lungs, over and over until there is nothing but a rasping, scratching voice left.

And then summer camp started on Monday.  And oh, hell, last summer was a horrible, draining experience for all of us.  The fourth summer camp was the one that finally worked, but not until we were emotionally drained and my job was hanging by a thread from all the calls to come and pick up Connor.

This year will be better, I tell myself.  He’s taking a different medication now, and he’s older, and it will be better.

It will be better.

Summer.  And it’s already 97 degrees, and my Scotch-Irish genes are freaking out, turning me into a freckled, sweaty, mosquito-bite-ridden irritable mess.

And there is no vacation.  That ship sailed away with our money, straight to the summer camp administration office.  And that’s okay because, frankly, I’m not much in the mood to go anywhere right now.

Luckily, I have Special Needs Ryan Gosling to look forward to every week, thanks to Sunday at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood.  Somehow I know he will help see me through the summer, and get me back into the safety of the school year.

Oh Ryan, you get me. You really, really get me.

Until next week…

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