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Captain Know-it-All Visits the Park

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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!

To Answer Karen’s Question, a Novel

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Karen, at SoloDialogue, left a comment on my last post (regarding Connor’s recent artwork) asking about how we had accomplished that milestone. Since most of my posts are written in about ten minutes, I thought it would be a good idea to spend a little more time providing some background and details on what we’ve done to get to this point, what works, and what hasn’t. Maybe someone will find it helpful. Maybe not. Most certainly, you will find it lengthy, simply because I can’t answer that question easily.

Connor was diagnosed, by a pediatric neurologist, at the age of 3 with Severe ADHD (yes, 3, it was that severe). We knew this diagnosis was coming. You don’t live with a child for three years, who never stops moving, hardly sleeps, and wreaks havoc on everything he can touch to not know that he has ADHD. At this point, we had to make decisions about medication.

I really believe that medication is a personal decision, and it’s up to each family to decide what is in the best interest of their child, and what will bring the child and family quality of life. This isn’t up for debate here, and negative comments will not be tolerated. It’s enough anguish for a family to have to face that decision, without the criticism of those that have not walked in their shoes, or the fringe element that wants to denounce the use of medication for any disorder (Scientologists, I’m talking to you, so move along somewhere else).

Anyway, medication helped a bit, and we moved on to an evaluation from the school district to see if he qualified for PPCD (early intervention), based on his ADHD diagnosis.

After 2 1/2 hours of testing and questions and observations, the diagnosticians sat down with us, smiled, and said that he qualified based on the ADHD, as well as having mild Asperger’s Syndrome. “Don’t worry, it’s really mild, and he should be able to live a pretty normal life.”

Don’t worry? What a slap in the face.

Figuring out which behaviors and deficits were due to ADHD or Asperger’s or typical child behavior was challenging. It still is. The biggest challenge we dealt with was aggression. It was mostly in the school/after school/summer camp environments. It was obvious that the stress of socializing was something he couldn’t manage on his own, despite therapy. We knew that socialization was impacted for both ADHD and Asperger’s.

We spent three years tweaking and changing medications, and we just got to a point a few months ago where things are working. We stopped the stimulant last year because it exacerbated the aggression. But although it lessened, it did not go away, so we introduced a mood stabilizer, which (although scary) has worked amazingly well. We added the stimulant back a couple of months ago because he was falling behind in school, and just couldn’t focus. We held our breath, worried the aggression would resurface, but it didn’t. Finally, we found a successful regimen that works.

But aside from medication, what else have we done? Did we solely rely on medication to “fix” our son’s problems so he could function outside the home?

No. I almost wish it was that easy.

As an aside, I should explain that before moving to Texas, I was an administrator for an agency serving adults with developmental disabilities. I worked with clients with mental retardation, autism, down’s syndrome, Fragile X, and a variety of mental illnesses including bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia. For years, I attended psychiatric appointments, team meetings, and advocated for integration and inclusion. Still, I was not prepared for this challenge in my home, with my child. But that background definitely gave me a host of behavioral management tools, and the ability to find resources.

The first therapy we did was attachment therapy. I think it’s an awesome therapy for kids with RAD, but not very helpful for a child that can’t sit still for 2 seconds, and gets frustrated and angry when made to sit in one spot. We did that for 3 months.

Next we tried a version of floor time therapy. We did that for several months, and graduated. We’re really, really good at sitting on the floor and playing with toys, what can I say? Was it helpful? Yes. Yes, it’s helpful to learn to have specific playtime each day, where your kid gets to be in charge and direct the play (appropriately), and have that control and one-on-one time with you.

Last year we had 6 months of in-home ABA therapy, done through students at the University of Texas. Since none of the ABA providers accept insurance, you must pay out-of-pocket and then try to get reimbursed from your private insurance company. And since we have a horrendous $2400 yearly out-of-pocket deductible, it wasn’t feasible for us to do it through a regular provider. The nice thing was that it was in our home, about 6-8 hours per week. The down side was that it was limited to 6 months. So we really took advantage of it, and made sure to continue with what we learned once it ended. It has come in very handy with schoolwork, which I will get to shortly.

The next therapy, and the one we still continue with, is social skills playgroup. Connor has been attending for over a year-and-a-half. They meet each week, for 45 minutes, in a group of about 5-6 kids the same age. The curriculum covers everything from learning to share, taking turns, accepting no, conversation skills, etc. It’s slow progress, but progress nonetheless, and Connor really looks forward to his weekly play group.

Now I know that we are all dealing with varying degrees of diagnosis’, and that means that each person’s interventions for their child will be different. We all know the saying about how “when you’ve met one person with autism”, yadda yadda. All I can say in that regard is you have to keep trying different things, and find the approach that works best for your child. There’s no use in comparing your kid with other kids, because sometimes you can’t “see” the challenges that others may face.

For example, some children with autism will sit in the corner, quietly lining up toys and not making eye contact or speaking to their parent. My son ran laps through the house, leaving a trail of toys and debris in his wake. That may sound “typical”, but he was always moving so fast that he could not focus and make eye contact or have meaningful conversation.

He did not toe-walk, nor did he have an obsessive interest in one particular subject. But he would completely melt down and freak out if I set a cup of milk on the kitchen island, instead of the kitchen table. It didn’t follow his preconceived script of what would happen, and he would demand that I relocate the offending cup to the table. My refusal resulted in screams, and Connor lying on the floor, kicking, crying, yelling. For 45 minutes. Over a cup of milk.

He was fine the day I picked him up from school, and announced that we had to make an unexpected stop at the grocery store for a couple of items.

He was not fine the day I picked him up from school and announced that I had to run to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. Well, to be fair, he was fine with it, initially. But when I drove to a different pharmacy than usual, one that was actually closer to home, he completely Lost. His. Shit. “This isn’t the pharmacy we go to. We’re not supposed to go to this one. Turn the car around!! Go to the other pharmacy!!!!” Again, the expected outcome changed, and he just could not cope with it. The meltdown continued through the pharmacy drive-thru, all the way home, and into the house.

It doesn’t matter what you think you know about the child, you probably have no idea what’s really going on. The challenges might not always be obvious to others, but they are still big challenges.

This brings me to our approach to things in our home.

I read a lot of blogs (when I can), and I read about the “acceptance” of autism, the acceptance of the diagnosis. From a cognitive standpoint, I understand this. But from an emotional standpoint, I struggle. See, I have control issues. We are supposed to be able to control our children, and then you have a child on the spectrum and you have to come to terms with the fact that you can actually control very little. A short list of things we were unable to control are: sleep, potty training, feeding, and behavior.

The short answer for some things is that Connor did them when he was good and ready, and not one moment earlier. That holds true for eating and potty training. He wasn’t completely trained until almost the age of 4. That doesn’t mean that we didn’t work on it consistently, and offer rewards and bribes. It just means that it wasn’t going to happen until he was ready for it to happen.

As for other things….

I mentioned my control issues. Well let’s revisit that milk meltdown I mentioned earlier.

I knew if I gave in to his demand to put the cup on the table, that I would endure a stream of never-ending, unreasonable demands. So I let him throw his fit. I told him the cup was right there, whenever he was ready to take it. He kicked and screamed, and, at one point, got up and looked like he might throw the cup of milk. I told him if he knocked it over, I would make him clean it up, pour another one, and put it right back in the same spot. He knew I was serious, because we had had standoffs before that lasted hours. So he carried on and on, until he finally gave in and got the cup. I followed up with big praise to reinforce him for doing it.

Homework? Sort of the same approach.

Regardless of what I think about homework, and school curriculum, the fact remains that homework is sent home. We spent almost all of kindergarten establishing the routine of sitting down every single night to do homework before dinner. The table must be completely clear, because even a piece of extra paper will be enough of a distraction to derail him. We had many, many fights about homework.

For a while, I sat down at the table with M&Ms every night, and used them as an incentive. Finish one line of letters, get an M&M. Finish the page, get 3 more, and so on. I also made it into a game of beat the timer. We have a digital kitchen timer that beeps, as well as an hourglass with sand that measures 5 minutes. I would make it a game to see if he could win, because he is VERY motivated by winning. But that didn’t mean he could do sloppy work. If his letters were floating up in space (above the line) or were extra big, he’d have to erase and start over. And he did, many times.

3 M&Ms if you get to the end of this post...

Also, I employed the first/then strategy. First we do homework, then we can have dinner. See, we will all sit there and starve if it doesn’t get done.

There were melt downs, believe me. There was one evening when he got so angry with me, that he held up his pencil, pointed at my face. I took a deep breath and said, “I can see that you’re feeling very angry. Homework is hard. But the more you practice and do your work, the smarter you will be, and the easier it will be. I’m your mom, and my job is to help teach you, and I won’t let you give up. If you’re so angry that you want to hurt me with that pencil, then go ahead, but it will just make you feel so much worse.” And I moved my face closer to him, and held by breath.

I still have both my eyes.

Control. I have control issues, I told you.

I accept that Connor is on the spectrum somewhere. But I don’t accept that I will let that dictate his potential for success. As I mentioned, my former job included advocating for integration and inclusion. That’s what I believe in, to the extent possible. If I want my son to have a chance at life, to be able to get through school, I have to fight for inclusion. But I also have to help him minimize his behaviors, and learn coping strategies so he can be included.

I’m going to die, someday. I will die, and Connor will still be here, without us to protect him and fight for him. He has to learn to pick up that cup of milk, get that homework done, and ultimately, to take care of himself. That means I will spend hours teaching him the difference between playful teasing and mean teasing, how to read and write, how to deal with unexpected changes, and how to deal with people.

Karen, my friend, I hope this gives you some answers or, at least some ideas. I’ll almost bet you’re sorry you asked!

As for me, I’m glad to be done with this. Writing a cohesive, thought-out piece is not my forte. It was long, and rambling, and took far more attention than I normally have. I’m much better at writing about zombies or dingoes.

*

Somebody Asked Me to Guest Post

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I know, I can’t believe it either, but someone asked me to guest post today!

 

The wonderful Rachel, of Journeys with Autism, asked me write a post about ADHD.  Normally I just get an amusing thought about something and bang out a post in ten minutes.  But this, this is serious.  So I thought about it, and thought some more, and then couldn’t think of anything, and then at the very last minute I managed to put something together.

 

So make sure to stop by Rachel’s blog and check it out.  She has tons of great posts, and a lot of excellent information about autism.

Things I Learned When the Air Conditioning Went Out

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This past weekend it was 102 degrees each day, which meant it was the perfect time for the air conditioning to go out.  And so it did.  On Saturday, it started making strange grinding noises and then went out during the late afternoon.

We called around, and couldn’t get anyone out until Sunday morning.  Fine.  We toughed it out that night and had every ceiling fan and box fan in the house going at full speed.

On Sunday morning the AC guy gave the motor a “jump” and said he’d have to get a replacement motor on Monday.  By 11am it was off again, and could not be jumped back into life.  By 5pm, we decided we’d be getting a hotel room for the night since it was 96 degrees in the house.

I learned some very important things during the great air conditioning outage of 2011, and they are:

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1.  It can and will get hotter inside the house than it is outside the house, despite having insulation and five fans.

2.  In terms of survival, it’s better to live somewhere cold than somewhere hot when modern conveniences cease to function properly.  If it’s cold, there are several options for survival, including starting a fire, layering clothing, generating body heat through exercise, huddling together for warmth, etc.  If it’s hot, you’re pretty much just fucked.

It's better than being hot...

3.  Boob sweat is the most disgusting of all the sweat produced by the body.

Not actually me. I was way sweatier than this.

4.  ADHD overrides Asperger’s when it comes to staying in a hotel, especially if the last time you were in a hotel was when you were two-years-old and you don’t remember it.  There was mad dashing around the house to pack, followed by jumping up and down and pleas of “can we just GO now?”

5.  There are lots of things to do in a room that is 14×10.  First, you can amuse yourself by jumping from one bed to the other, while pretending the floor is hot lava.  You can also turn on and off every light in the room 15 times, just because the light buttons are different than home.  There are also numerous doors, cabinets, and drawers to be opened and closed repetitively, as well as a window with curtains you can pull open and closed until your mother’s face turns so red from annoyance that it appears it may pop right off her shoulders.

6.  It takes enormous restraint to not beat a child senseless who has just lifted his ass off the couch cushion in the lobby, and let a huge, disgusting fart rip…3 feet from the refined looking Asian lady also sitting in the lobby.

Between this and the boob sweat, all we needed was a banjo and a 'possum.

7.  Setting the thermostat for 62 degrees in your room will make you giddily happy, and will result in peaceful slumber.

8.  Hotels do not get the full array of cable channels, and at 8pm the only choices for a child are the local news station or How I Met Your Mother, neither of which seems to be interesting or appropriate for a six-year-old.

9.  A grown woman who has narrowly avoided heat stroke can lay on a hotel bed in her underwear, happily playing Pumpkins vs. Monsters, for a solid hour.

It's just like a good book, but without the words and the thinking.

10.  Packing an overnight bag when you are about to pass out from heat exhaustion means you will be wearing brown pants, a fuchsia tank, and a white shrug to work the next day.

11.  I won’t pay more than $1.69 for a loaf of bread, but I’ll pay almost anything to have a comfortable temperature.

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The next time we move, in addition to considering the cost of living, unemployment rate, school ratings, housing prices, and crime rates, we will also be considering the average daytime temperature and whether we could survive outdoors in a tent for more than 20 minutes.

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Every click saves a puppy.

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Rocks and Hard Places

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I prefer to not talk about medication, because it’s a polarizing topic.  Instead I’ve written a “story”, about a family with a boy that takes medication.

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Little Man was three, and he had so much energy that he had already been kicked out of two daycares.  Mommy and daddy were worried, and frazzled.  They knew something was different about him.  And they were trying to hold down jobs, which was becoming increasingly difficult when nobody could handle their child.  So they made an appointment with The Doctor.

The Doctor knew right away that Little Man had ADHD.  He was like Tigger the Tiger, always bouncing here and there, distracted by butterflies and ants and sunshine and air.  The Doctor started Little Man on a medicine to help him.  The medicine is a stimulant.  Mommy and Daddy were nervous, but wanted desperately to help Little Man.

They're bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!

For a while, Little Man did much better on the medication.  But after a while, it seemed less and less effective.  It was changed to an extended release version, designed to last 8-10 hours.

Because of Little Man’s metabolism, it lasted 3-4 hours.  The Doctor prescribed it twice a day, and soon Little Man was at the maximum dosage. 

Stimulants tend to affect a person’s sleep, and soon Little Man was up every night, waking up Mommy and Daddy at 2am, 3am, 4am.  When people are sleep deprived, it begins to take a toll on their health.  Mommy and Daddy were not doing well, and they talked to The Doctor about it.  He added a medication at nighttime, to help Little Man sleep.

For a while, things went well.  Everyone was sleeping again.  But time passed, and Little Man became more and more irritable.  Stimulants can have this effect.  The Doctor added a mood stabilizer medication, to counter the effects from the stimulant.  He also added a non-stimulant ADHD medication, because the stimulant was losing its effect.

Now Little Man is five-years-old and on four medications.  He was still very irritable, and was now having episodes of aggression.  Mommy and Daddy walked on eggshells around Little Man, and Mommy began to fear him because he is a very strong child.  Mommy began to worry that Little Man would have to be hospitalized.  Things were very dark.

Then Friday night, as Mommy sat crying again, she decided that the medications would stop the next day.  They would have a medication free weekend.

Mommy was very relieved to see that Little Man was back to his bouncy, happy self.  There was no irritability and no aggression.  Even when he was sent for timeout for not listening, he did not yell or slam doors.  There was a lot of laughter over the weekend, and Little Man was very, very affectionate.  Mommy was so happy to see that her child was not out-of-control, and she stopped thinking about hospitals.

Little Man slept well all weekend.  He even agreed to read some words for Mommy, which he does not like to do.  It took twice as long to get anything done, but they were all much happier.

But they did worry about school.  Little Man was as distracted as ever.  Mommy and Daddy stayed up late, talking about medication.  They decided to give him ONLY the non-stimulant medication on Monday, and hope for the best.  They would consult with The Doctor (who they were starting to lose faith in), and see how things went at school.

Mommy and Daddy knew the school would not be happy, but they didn’t care.  They had been travelling this dark and lonely road all by themselves, with no help.  The school was not there to help them when Little Man was breaking things and screaming.  Even their family and friends did not understand. 

They were just glad to have their happy, bouncy child back.  And maybe the rest would just fall into place, and they would find a happy ending.

The ADHD Alien

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We are all sleep deprived at my house. 

It's Alien Playtime!

I’m not one to focus on the alphabet my kid has, as much as I focus on what works or doesn’t work.  But really, the Asperger’s is so mild compared to the ADHD.  The ADHD is like a demon possession, or a Sigourney Weaver alien, that lives in your chest.  It doesn’t even rip your chest open and jump out, which would be the honorable thing to do.  It just lives inside and controls your body, and fucks things up for everyone in its vicinity.

Connor’s chest alien had him up at 2am.  This is according to our housemate, Auntie, who reports that she found him bopping around the living room at that time.  She sent him packing back to bed.

His visits to our room started at 3am.  He flailed around in our bed until 3:45, and then went back to his room.  To be honest, we’re not sure where he went, exactly, but we told him to go back to his room (parenting skills deteriorate in direct proportion to the number of hours of sleep lost).

Then he had to potty.

So basically, he never went back to sleep after 2am.  This morning I told him that it has to stop, he must get more sleep…we ALL must get more sleep.  He says, “but I don’t want to sleep, I want to PLAY.”  I tried explaining that 5-year-olds need more sleep than six hours, but this made no impact.  I then told him that our brains don’t work as well when we don’t get enough sleep, hence the big blowout surrounding the definition of “before” that we had yesterday.

As much as I hate the fact that my child has to take medication, I think it’s time for a med change.  The lack of proper sleep decreases his ability to focus even more, increases his behaviors, and turns me into a total irrational lunatic. 

Maybe I need the meds.

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Yesterday Drew began working with Connor on his tone of speech.  We are supposed to ignore Connor when he yells or whines, and respond to him when he uses an appropriate voice.  This is much harder than one would think, because I never realized that he whines SO MUCH.

And then I started thinking, “do I whine?”  I decided I would make a conscious effort to speak in a tone that is devoid of emotion hence, no whining, no sarcasm, no ironic observations.  This is killing me, and I find that if I’m not busy pointing out life’s little absurdities, tinged with a soft hue of sarcasm, then I have very little to say.

Now when I speak, I sound like a robot.

I’m dating myself, but I keep thinking back to that robot from the old TV show, Lost in Space.

Instead of the robot voice saying “Danger Will Robinson,” imagine it saying, “Good morning, what would you like for breakfast?”  Or, “Wow, that is an interesting purple velvet pantsuit you have chosen for your attire today” (said to a coworker with an interesting flair for fashion).

It’s just weird.  But since we want Connor to learn what “appropriate” speech sounds like, I guess I should actually model that kind of speech.  If Connor would just learn to be sarcastic and witty, instead of whiney, this would not be a problem.  The sacrifices we make as mothers……

During one of the “trials” yesterday, Connor ended up so mad that he was lying on the floor, crying and yelling, because he was being ignored.  If I have to keep this up much longer, I think I will join him on the floor.

Lost in Space

Let's use a grownup voice.

Morons with Grapes

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Come on, just try them!

2011 brings us good news that makes me super excited.  We are one of six families that the UT (University of Texas, Austin) Autism Project will be working with.   It’s a great opportunity, and I’m optimistic that we will see some positive results at the end of this six-month endeavor.

One of the grad students will be spending several hours a week in our home, working with Connor using ABA therapy.  While this really impacts our weekly schedule, it is so worth it to make the accommodations for this to happen.  In fact, we’ve already seen positive results.

Drew has been to our home twice to begin working with Connor.  Connor thinks he comes over just to play with him, which is just fine with me.  This past weekend, after playing for a while, Connor came to ask for a snack.

“It’s almost dinnertime, if you want a snack, you can have either applesauce or yogurt,” I tell him.

“How about cottage cheese?”

“No, applesauce or yogurt.”

“Ok, yogurt.  Do you want some yogurt too, Drew?  Wait, we have grapes.”  I was surprised he even thought to offer his “friend” a snack, let alone mention the grapes, since he has always refused to eat them.

Drew said he’d prefer grapes, so Connor brought a yogurt for himself, and the bowl of grapes.  Drew started throwing grapes in the air, and catching them in his mouth.

“Ohhhh, that’s cool,” says Connor.  “I want to try that.”  So Connor starts throwing grapes up, and trying to catch them.  It didn’t go well, but in the process he managed to gobble down about twenty grapes.

I buy grapes all the time.

I eat grapes a lot, too.  But every time I’ve offered some to Connor, he says, “No, I don’t like those.”

“But you’ve never had one,” I tell him.

“Well I could have one, but I won’t like it, so I don’t want one.” 

Alrighty then.

Somehow, it never occurred to me to throw them in the air to eat them.

And just like that, we added a new food to Connor’s very limited menu.  Food has been a challenge since the very beginning, since we began the transition to solids from baby food.  We’ve never been able to figure out if it was a texture issue, or what, exactly.  We just know that expanding his menu has been a pain-staking process, and the hard-ass approach doesn’t work.

As parents, we have been creative in ways I never imagined.  But I just can’t believe that it never occurred to me to throw grapes in the air. 

So now I’m wondering, what kind of fun thing can I do with salad to entice him?

Cracker Barrel Memories

bad place for children

Tchotchke Hell

As Connor gets older and the challenges change over time, it becomes easier to look back on things that were upsetting, and find the humor in them.  Not all things, of course, but there are a few.  I was recently remembering our road trip to Texas.  Just before Connor turned two, we relocated from Atlanta to Austin.  With a child and a dog, it took us 2 ½ days of driving, with frequent stops, to complete the trip.

 

Sometime on day two, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel for lunch.  I can’t even remember where it was…Tennessee, Arkansas, who knows.  We somehow got through lunch with a hyper toddler, and made the usual restroom stop before leaving.  It was my turn, and I hated it when it was my turn.  That means I had to pull a Houdini, and manage to let myself go to the bathroom, keep hold of my child, then get him changed.  Parents of typical children have no idea what a monumental feat it is to use a restroom with an ADHD toddler.  It’s sort of like holding onto a tornado with one hand, while using your other hand to disrobe and complete the task, in a tiny little metal box.

No sooner do I sit down, with one hand holding onto Connor in the large “handicapped” stall, than he abruptly, and strongly pulls out of my grasp.  It was like slow motion in a horror movie, where I flail my arms out, shouting “NOOOOOO”, as he unlatches the door and bolts out.  The kid was like greased lightning.  I still can’t reconcile in my brain how any human being can move so fast, but he did, and out he went. 

The flood of thoughts that can go through someone’s brain in a 2-second span is truly impressive.  If you’ve ever been to a Cracker Barrel, then you know that their entire lobby area is set up like a country store, full of doo-dads and what-nots, all kinds of kitschy tchotchkes made of ceramic and glass.  I could just imagine the crashing of things, the yelling of people, the disapproving looks, the snide comments, the huge bill of poultry-inspired crap they would want me to pay for.  “If he gets through that bathroom door, it’s over, and it will be bad, so very bad.” 

Let me tell you, Big ‘Ol Mama Bear jumped up, yanked up the pants, and leaped out to the door faster than you could blink.  The entire time, I’m calling out “Connor, no, come back here now, Connor, CONNOR!”

I grabbed hold of him just as he was reaching for the exit door.  It was a very close call, but the tchotchkes were saved that day.  As we turned around to go to the sink, an older lady came out of another stall, stopped and looked down with a smile, and said “Well you must be Connor.”

It was a very long road trip.

Goodbye Summer!

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Learning to Swim

Connor in the pool

I HATE summertime.  It’s not just because I have a natural aversion to being hot and sweaty, as well as a body genetically made for layers of sweaters and parkas, but also because of the “childcare” issue.  Summertime means five full days of care for my son, preferably somewhere that can handle his challenges and still provide a fun environment for him.  This summer was definitely a challenge, as well as a learning experience.

Since he completed pre-K this year, and is due to start Kindergarten, we thought long and hard about the best option for him during the summer.  Although he attended a childcare facility last year that specifically works with both disabled and regular children, their cost exceeds $900 a month, which would be a significant impact to us.  Besides that, we really wanted to try and “mainstream” our son in a program, since his school is placing him in a regular kindergarten class.  We thought it would be a good experience for him, and hopefully prepare him for the coming school year.

With all this in mind, we decided to put him in the YMCA’s summer day camp program.  Holy cow!  On the first day, we took our son to his elementary school campus, where the Y was having their day camp program.  There were well over 100 kids in the cafeteria already.  As I spoke to my son about being good, listening, etc., I already knew we were headed for trouble.  That’s an awful lot of kids in one place at one time for there not to be trouble.

On the 2nd day of camp, I got the phone call.  Connor had hit other kids a number of times, and was being “suspended for 3 days.”  So much for the director’s assurance on the phone that they were capable of working with children with special needs.  So, I leave work and hope that I will have a job to come back to at the end of the week.

After many phone calls to the Y, we decided to move my son to their day program at another school campus, a couple of miles away.  The number of children there was 90, as opposed to the 150 at his campus.  There was also a lead counselor there that was very experienced in working with children with special needs. 

Although no program is perfect, I have to say that the Y really made great efforts to work with us.  The lead counselors at the other campus were great, and worked so beautifully with Connor.  The unfortunate part is that in the afternoon they leave, and other “non-lead” counselors take over.  The majority of the challenges with hitting occurred during the afternoon hours, with counselors that did not understand his needs as well.

Connor made it a total of nine weeks in the summer camp program before we made the decision to pull him out.  For the last three weeks, he spent the days with his respite provider, and two or three other children.  It was a much smaller group, and provided a way for him to wind down before the beginning of school.  I wish I could say that the hitting stopped, but even in the small group it continued.

All in all, I have to say that the summer experience was a positive one.  I could dwell on the negative, and mull over what didn’t work, but what’s the point?  The fact that my son lasted nine weeks is a huge accomplishment.  There were many good weeks, and some not as good.  But he had the chance to be included in regular activities with regular kids, and had a great time.  I think it was a great opportunity for him to do some great activities, and learn to get along with others.  Well, try to learn, at least.

I may not be able to say that he is 100% ready for kindergarten, and there will be no behavior issues, but of course, I can’t.  I do, however, think he is much more prepared than he was, and I know he will have additional supports in place at school that he didn’t have at summer camp.  I am so proud of him for trying, and never once being afraid.

He is my hero.

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