Holiday Stress, YMCA and Pflugerville ISD

With Connor in kindergarten this year, it was our first time seeing the effects of school combined with holiday stress.  The last week and a half before the holiday break was a real challenge.  We saw our normally happy child exhibit a big spike in aggression and anxiety. 

A couple of incidents at school involving hitting, and I was emailing the teacher, special ed teacher, district autism specialist, and our behaviorist.  Simple common sense tells me that when a child is anxious, and exhibiting a loss of control as a result, then they need some extra supports to help them with coping strategies.  Initially, the teachers did not agree, and chalked it up to holiday angst, recommended that any changes right now would not be a good idea, and informed me they would monitor after the holidays.

Huh?  I don’t think so.

Our behaviorist, on the other hand, completely agreed, and sent a list of interventions to try until the holiday break.  They were simple tools, aimed at helping Connor get out extra energy, and providing a little more structure at recess time, when he was having challenges. 

In an amazing about-face, the teachers and autism specialist “agreed”, and the rest of the week went by without further incident.  In my ongoing commitment to being diplomatic, I humbly thanked them for their enthusiasm at helping Connor through the rest of the week.  It was great that they saw the value of our behaviorist’s recommendations, and I can only hope that in the future they also see the value of parents recommendations, namely, mine.  I’m told by others that my experience is an unfortunately common one.  On a positive note, we have all established my reluctance to be dismissed, and my commitment to a team approach.  Yay team!!!!

And then there’s the YMCA…..

Of course the challenges carried over there as well.  I asked every day if they were using the “happy face” chart and prize box.  Ummmm, no.  Alrighty then, I’m afraid I cannot address your concerns unless you are using the abundant tools that I have provided. 

Next day, better.  They used the chart.  “So you used the tools, and the behavior was better?  So I guess you guys have a handle on things now, and I won’t need to provide any more reminders about using the tools, right?”

It ain’t easy being an advocate.  The hardest part is living in a state that is so very far behind in services for the disabled population.  There are not adequate programs, people have had very little training, it’s still like a foreign concept here.  So I provide tools, I advocate, I teach, and I remind.  I remind them constantly that my son is not going away.  And worse, I am not going away.  Not following through is not an option, because I will be there again and again, asking questions and holding people accountable.  Good grief, these children are your neighbors, your friends, your relatives.  You will not pretend they don’t exist, and you will not just dismiss them when they don’t fit inside your box.

And now we are in the middle of holiday break, and it is going so nicely.  My child is happy, bubbly, and pleasant.  He spent 45 minutes at the McDonald’s playscape, making friends, playing nicely, having good manners, and being a pure joy.  That’s the best Christmas gift I could have received.

Milestones

After all the changes, and the meeting, and changing my work times, things have been sailing along much more smoothly at Connor’s after school program.  He has a new counselor that worked with him at their summer camp, and she is really great with him.  The past two weeks have been rather pleasant (I’m almost sorry I just put that in writing).

On Friday when I picked up Connor, his counselor asked me if I would always be picking him up that early.  She said she’d like him to stay later, since he’s been doing so well.  She’d like to see how he does when he’s there for more than an hour.  WHAT??!!  That is a first!  Never in his five years has someone asked for him to stay longer.  I was just so flabbergasted, I didn’t know what to say.  Then I remembered that they have an early release day coming up this week, and a teacher day off in October.

I reminded her of those, and we decided to see how things go on those days.  Let’s not get all crazy and start thinking he can just hang out for hours on end, being good, for heaven’s sake!

Things have also gone well in his kindergarten class, with only two days of naughty reports.  Two days out of four weeks is not too shabby.  I’ll take it!

I can honestly say, my heart swells with pride.  Maybe he is finally maturing and understanding how to conduct himself.  He even went to his counselor to ask for help with a conflict, rather than hitting or pushing.  He got a trip to the treasure box for that.

Here’s crossing my fingers and hoping things continue this way.  All our hard work is paying off, painfully slowly, but still getting there.

And So It Begins…

The first week of kindergarten is officially over, and I’m utterly exhausted.  At my house, it’s so much more involved than new shoes, backpacks, and lunch boxes.  It’s extra classroom supports, medication coordination with the nurse, and a love-hate relationship with the afterschool program. 

Connor was nervous, but was excited to be wearing his new sneakers.  There were no tears as we walked him to class on the first day.  The tears came later that evening, but they were my tears.  On day one, I picked him up at the YMCA after school program, in his school’s cafeteria.  The staff was waiting for me with a write-up, and that look.  I hate that look, I’ve seen it so many times before.  The look of bad news, and of people that already can’t stand dealing with my kid.  The look immediately fills me with both dread and anger.

Connor was standing on chairs, running down the hall, not listening, walking away from staff, yadda, yadda, yadda.  We talked about his challenges, we talked about the first day being difficult and confusing.  They asked me how to support him, I gave suggestions, they reminded me several times that they can’t provide one-on-one support.  I grew angry.  I told the director to put in writing that they can’t serve my child, he backed off and said they’re willing to work with him.  It was a standoff.

The big problem is that there are not programs designed to accommodate children with disabilities.  Period.  Beyond that, I strongly advocate inclusion.  I don’t want my son segregated, and with autism numbers growing exponentially, programs need to get on board and beef up staff to start providing services to all children.

We hammered out some short-term behavior supports, and his behaviorist will come meet with program staff next week to discuss ways to work with and support Connor.  Until then, I feel like I race the clock to get there every day, and oftentimes I feel like a pariah.  Why in the hell should I feel like this?  My kid acts out because he doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s overwhelmed, confused, scared.

I’m trying to hold down a job I hate, to support my family, and can’t find after school support that wants to understand and work with my son.  I can only wonder what single parents do.  Texas has left me underwhelmed with their negligence in planning and providing services for the disabled population.  If only we had known this before our move here.

And on Friday came the call from his teacher.  A few instances of hitting, leaving the classroom without permission once, and difficulty sitting still and staying focused on activities.  Yeah, yeah, I know. 

I have to believe things will get better.  This can’t be a snapshot of my son at 8, or 12, or 16.  Of course at those ages, things could be worse.  But I can’t even entertain those thoughts, I have to stay rooted in the present, which isn’t pleasant either.

I wish these people could see Connor like I do:  laughing, smiling, saying funny things, hugging, kissing, tickling, sharing. He does not hit at home.  He does not walk away from us.  He follows us everywhere, and sweetly shares his crackers, and asks permission before he does things.  And he says “Mommy don’t be sad, don’t cry.”  And then his arms are around my neck, and he is wiping my tears and kissing my cheek.

And then I know that I will never stop fighting.  He is worth every tear, and every pitying look, and every dreaded phone call.  And someday they will see what I see.