This week has been… ugh. I'm hoping it's just some sort of allergic reaction to being back in school on a daily basis.
Doodlebug has been/caused 90% of the problems… I hate to say it, but I will - AS USUAL. I don't get him in trouble for every little thing, but I still have to deal with all the shenanigans, big or little.
I have to do things like reminding him that he cannot unplug the headphones his sister is using because her talking while using Rosetta Stone is 'annoying.'
Things like making him 'stop, empathize, and apologize' when he dumps his sister out of a chair so he can use it.
And telling him to flush the #%&@!# toilet for the umpteenth time this week.
And making him pick up the toenail clippings that he'd saved and placed on his sister's desk.
And asking him not to scream at me when I'm trying to help him.
And begging him to stop placing his pufferfish skeleton in random places to scare his sister.
And bloody asking him to bloody well do what I bloody well asked him to do half a dozen bloody times already.
Y'know. Things like that.
----
Yesterday about 3:30, I reached my wits' end. The children had been screaming and crying and carrying on for hours (seriously, hours), and so I sat down and very calmly wrote out a meal plan and grocery list for the next 10 days.
And then I went to the grocery store.
Alone.
Before I left, I wrote the kids some very specific instructions about what remained to be done during the duration of the evening. I've done this before, and I'm perfectly aware that the minute I leave the house, all progress halts. Normally I just tell them to become electronics zombies while I'm gone, but yesterday stuff actually needed to be completed. I figured I'd come back to maybe 50% of the work done… maybe.
What actually happened was that nothing got done. Unless you count Boo pulling a giant metal staple out of a box to use as a paper hanger for her drawings as progress. And, of course, they lied to me about their lack of work because they realized in a sheer panic that they'd done nothing. Meh. Fine. After the day I'd already been having, it was a little thing. I didn't like it, but it was a little thing.
So I came home and unpacked the groceries and they worked on their lists and eventually we made it to the end of the day and they went to bed. Doodlebug went straight to sleep, as he always does. Boo, on the other hand, was in bed for an hour or so and then came downstairs. She wanted to talk. We cuddled in my bedroom chair for a minute and chatted about how awful the day had been before she got to the point - she's exhausted with Doodlebug's unpredictability.
----
Most families I know who have one ASD child have all their children somewhere on the spectrum. In some ways, this makes it easier because while all ASD kids have their own quirks and foibles just like every other kid, you can at least expect some consistency in some areas. None of them socialize well. They're all slow to mature emotionally. There are usually some motor skills issues at play. Things like that.
Doodlebug and Boo aren't like that. He's ASD; she isn't. She very much isn't. She delights in being around people, reacts well to them, is emotionally very mature, and is as coordinated as any 8-year-old (except when she's walking up and down stairs… I've only ever known one other person who will consistently fall while going up stairs. I need to get her and Boo back together, partly for that reason and partly because I think that woman's older brother is on the spectrum as well and it might be good for Boo to have someone to relate to). And, of course, since Boo and Doodlebug are together for the majority of each day, they have to deal with each other.
So Boo is exhausted. It's hard for her when Doodlebug acts like a 6- or 7-year-old, because 10 minutes later he'll turn around and act like the 11-year-old he is. And then five minutes after that, he's acting like a 6-year-old again. For example, he might decide that he wants to make pancakes for the family breakfast. That's an 11-year-old thought. He'll get out the recipe and all the ingredients. Again, that's 11. His sister will want to help, and he'll say okay. And then he'll decide to throw flour at her or steal candy or ban her from touching some cooking utensil or other… and that's 6.
Apparently while I was gone yesterday, he decided that rather than let his sister take care of her responsibilities - which she probably would have done if she'd been on her own, and in a year or two he can come with me while I go places and she can do that but right now she's 8 and it's not happening - he was going to pretend he was a dog and she was supposed to take care of him. And when she tried to walk away, he followed her around. Well, of course that gets tiring, and eventually it's just easier to give in to him than to fight with him or do chores. I get that. What I don't know is how to help her deal with these social and emotional see-saws that seem to blindside her every single time.
Anyone have any ideas?
Showing posts with label Asperger's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Asperger's. Show all posts
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Thursday, December 5, 2013
We Found a Therapist!
A while back I (think I) posted that we were going to find a therapist for Doodlebug and see about finding a social skills group for him to attend. I FINALLY found a therapist on our network who came recommended - one therapist out of more than 20 names that I was given, but never mind, I'm sure insurance companies totally know who's best - and we got an appointment for January. I didn't want to wait that long, but what do you do? Say no, hunt for another doctor who might not come with anyone's seal of approval, find out he or she is crappy, and then wind up calling the first one back anyway? I figured I'd take my chances. We also got added to the cancellation list, just in case something opened up. I figured it was a 50/50 chance of being called early. Even odds.
Yesterday I got The Call. With the weather moving in (or so I suspect was the reason for the sudden slew of openings), they had slots available. One of them was at 9 a.m. The weather wasn't supposed to move in till midday - in fact, it's 1:43, and it started snowing/sleeting/freezing raining in earnest about 44 minutes ago, give or take 30 seconds, (I know this because the kids and I were about to head out the door for Doodlebug's swim team practice and I looked out and saw the ice solidifying on our back patio and thought, "OH, WELL, OF COURSE." And then I tried to drive to swim, anyway, and slid a couple of times and had the freezing rain coat my windshield in its icy grip and said eff that and turned around and came back home, where I intend to remain until the temperature is above freezing again) so I figured a 9 o'clock appointment was a safe bet.
I'm so glad we went. The gentleman in question is soft-spoken and older, and he seems more competent than the therapist we visited when Doodlebug was 5 and 6. He seems to understand children who struggle with Doodlebug's particular alphabet soup of issues, and he appears to know what to do with them. He spoke to Doodlebug at least as much as to me, and his first questions weren't about his infancy or past treatments; rather, he wanted to know about Doodlebug himself - what he liked to do, who his friends were, what activities he was involved in. He would have asked about school, but the kids were lugging books and papers when we arrived, so it became obvious fairly quickly that we were homeschoolers. It didn't faze him that Doodlebug stared out the window the entire time he was talking or that Doodlebug stumbled over words and phrases and went off on random tangents.
The office itself was the most comfortable therapist's office I've ever been in. It's kind of like a Goldilocks sort of thing - our first therapist's office was too big, the second too small. This one was just right. It had a big window with nothing in front of it. There were Legos and stuffed animals and games and sensory toys and plenty of small items to fidget with, and there were also two recliners and a loveseat in addition to the doctor's own small wheeled desk that he rolled out to talk to us. I saw a foot massager and a heating pad and art supplies.
I think the best thing, though, was the atmosphere. I felt comfortable. There was no judgment. There was no tension or any sense that we were on a schedule (though, of course, we were). Initial visits can often have that awkwardness that simply comes from meeting someone for the first time, but I didn't feel that, either.
Time will tell, obviously, whether this therapist does anything good for Doodlebug or not, but I am hopeful. And that is something I've needed for a long, long time.
Yesterday I got The Call. With the weather moving in (or so I suspect was the reason for the sudden slew of openings), they had slots available. One of them was at 9 a.m. The weather wasn't supposed to move in till midday - in fact, it's 1:43, and it started snowing/sleeting/freezing raining in earnest about 44 minutes ago, give or take 30 seconds, (I know this because the kids and I were about to head out the door for Doodlebug's swim team practice and I looked out and saw the ice solidifying on our back patio and thought, "OH, WELL, OF COURSE." And then I tried to drive to swim, anyway, and slid a couple of times and had the freezing rain coat my windshield in its icy grip and said eff that and turned around and came back home, where I intend to remain until the temperature is above freezing again) so I figured a 9 o'clock appointment was a safe bet.
I'm so glad we went. The gentleman in question is soft-spoken and older, and he seems more competent than the therapist we visited when Doodlebug was 5 and 6. He seems to understand children who struggle with Doodlebug's particular alphabet soup of issues, and he appears to know what to do with them. He spoke to Doodlebug at least as much as to me, and his first questions weren't about his infancy or past treatments; rather, he wanted to know about Doodlebug himself - what he liked to do, who his friends were, what activities he was involved in. He would have asked about school, but the kids were lugging books and papers when we arrived, so it became obvious fairly quickly that we were homeschoolers. It didn't faze him that Doodlebug stared out the window the entire time he was talking or that Doodlebug stumbled over words and phrases and went off on random tangents.
The office itself was the most comfortable therapist's office I've ever been in. It's kind of like a Goldilocks sort of thing - our first therapist's office was too big, the second too small. This one was just right. It had a big window with nothing in front of it. There were Legos and stuffed animals and games and sensory toys and plenty of small items to fidget with, and there were also two recliners and a loveseat in addition to the doctor's own small wheeled desk that he rolled out to talk to us. I saw a foot massager and a heating pad and art supplies.
I think the best thing, though, was the atmosphere. I felt comfortable. There was no judgment. There was no tension or any sense that we were on a schedule (though, of course, we were). Initial visits can often have that awkwardness that simply comes from meeting someone for the first time, but I didn't feel that, either.
Time will tell, obviously, whether this therapist does anything good for Doodlebug or not, but I am hopeful. And that is something I've needed for a long, long time.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Lowering the Boom
A couple weeks ago I was lamenting the fact that I had very little to do compared to when the kids were little and was starting to feel superfluous in their lives.
I shouldn't have worried.
Doodlebug still requires all the parenting skills (and then some) that I employed when he was 3 - direct and constant supervision, redirection, discipline... and now, because he's older, consequences.
Between last Tuesday and today, I've had to deal with him:
-- Sneaking into his sister's room after lights-out time... twice... in a single night
-- Stealing his sister's iPod Touch and using it to watch Minecraft videos... after lights-out... while hiding in the game room closet... less than 5 hours after he returned from spending a weekend at my mom's
-- Trying to, yet again, reverse his days and nights by sleeping in the middle of the afternoon (this one is a constant problem and requires constant vigilance [CONSTANT VIGILANCE!] and redirection while ignoring the myriad squawks and tears and hooting and boneless flopping that go along with it)
-- Getting out of bed at 8:20 when he knows that school has to start at 8:30 if he wants to go to swim and still have free time at the end of the day
-- Stealing candy from the candy jar in the middle of the night and/or whenever Mom's back is turned
-- Making every other day-to-day interaction more difficult due to age, hormones, and/or mental issues.
I am exhausted.
I am done.
It just reminds me of the 2009 study about the stress level in moms whose kids have autism spectrum disorders. Combat soldier? That's about right.
I shouldn't have worried.
Doodlebug still requires all the parenting skills (and then some) that I employed when he was 3 - direct and constant supervision, redirection, discipline... and now, because he's older, consequences.
Between last Tuesday and today, I've had to deal with him:
-- Sneaking into his sister's room after lights-out time... twice... in a single night
-- Stealing his sister's iPod Touch and using it to watch Minecraft videos... after lights-out... while hiding in the game room closet... less than 5 hours after he returned from spending a weekend at my mom's
-- Trying to, yet again, reverse his days and nights by sleeping in the middle of the afternoon (this one is a constant problem and requires constant vigilance [CONSTANT VIGILANCE!] and redirection while ignoring the myriad squawks and tears and hooting and boneless flopping that go along with it)
-- Getting out of bed at 8:20 when he knows that school has to start at 8:30 if he wants to go to swim and still have free time at the end of the day
-- Stealing candy from the candy jar in the middle of the night and/or whenever Mom's back is turned
-- Making every other day-to-day interaction more difficult due to age, hormones, and/or mental issues.
I am exhausted.
I am done.
It just reminds me of the 2009 study about the stress level in moms whose kids have autism spectrum disorders. Combat soldier? That's about right.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Back to Basics
So. If you're a fairly regular follower of this blog (or if you go back and read the last few posts), you'll see that M1, Oz and I are in the midst of (yet another) rough patch. These happen periodically, but as he gets older, the battles seem to be raging more heavily and the trenches are getting dug in rather deeply. Those of you whose children are teens already can sympathize, I'm sure.
The problem boils down to precisely this: M1 wants to be treated like an adult. He is 10 and feels that he is old enough for certain 'rights.' However, he won't accept the responsibilities that come along with the rights, and he acts like a spoiled toddler when asked to toe the line. He hasn't yet worked out that to get the 'rights' that he wants, he also has to behave in a way that makes us - Oz and I - think that he's able to handle them responsibly.
Some of this revolves around the fact that he is a 10-year-old boy. Some of it also revolves around the fact that his psychological issues that cause him to firmly believe that he is a pearl and the world is the oyster. I'm doing my darnedest to snap him out of that way of thinking, but I read a book about a year ago that strongly suggests that there is no easy way to accomplish that goal because I could dig out of Alcatraz with a spoon more quickly than I'll be able to reach the depths of M1's brain. And flogging him with a wet noodle only makes him giggle.
Still, things couldn't continue the way they did last week... or even over the weekend for that matter. (On Sunday morning M1 woke me up at 2:14 a.m. trying to steal remotes out of my bedroom [again] and shortly before several of my girlfriends came over at 2 p.m., he and his sister were playing at the top of the stairs [which we've asked/told them repeatedly NOT to do] and she came tumbling down the stairs with a beanbag. Because he pushed her. Thankfully, she's fine. Beanbags are good like that. But it did mean that instead of having an outing with Oz like they normally get to do when I have friends over, they were sent to their rooms instead.) So we're going back to basics. Obviously there are many therapy methods out there. We visited a therapist and tried cognitive behavior therapy when M1 was small, and the results were laughable. His hyperactivity and impulsivity are such that there's no way he can think before doing anything, let alone plan actions before doing them. Plus, that's more or less what I've been attempting to get him to use for the last... ohhhhh, year or so... and clearly we've gotten nowhere.
Time to try a new tactic.
I have decided that since M1 is so bound and determined to act like a toddler every time we ask him to take responsibility for his actions, he needs to be treated like one. What motivates toddlers? Sticker charts and incentives. I'm calling it applied behavioral analysis, but really it's a sticker chart with incentives.
First I had M1 make a list of his top 12 privileges. This included everything from swim team to summer camp to electronics. I had him prioritize them. Then Oz printed off a chart that I hung on the wall. There are columns for each day of the week as well as a "Total" column and a space at the beginning where I've written all 12 of M1's desired privileges, one per week. Each day has space for three small stickers that M1 can earn - up to 21 a week, though for this first week we're shooting for 14 and the maximum I'm expecting is 19. Nobody's perfect, and I don't expect him to be.
To earn his three daily stickers, he has to do three things - one for each sticker:
1. Stay in his room at night. Obviously he's allowed to get up and use the toilet if he needs to - I'm not unreasonable - but there's no need for him to be downstairs (he has small paper cups in his vanity if he wants a drink) or in the game room in the middle of the night. Nothing good can come of that.
2. Respect other people. He's had real issues lately respecting other people's space lately, particularly his sister. This one also applies to lying. If he doesn't want me to lie to him, he shouldn't lie to me, right?? This one largely revolves around remembering the Golden Rule.
3. Respect property. Don't break things. Don't dismantle things. Don't walk along all the walls deliberately trying to break the doorstops with your foot. Things like that.
That's it. I may need to get more specific, but we'll see. I'm starting broad. I can always modify and specify as we go. Each week, if he reaches his goal, he'll get one of his privileges back. If he doesn't reach it, we stay at the current level and try again the next week. At best, this program will take 12 weeks to implement, which I'm hopeful will be long enough to make some of these things into habit. I do hate that this means we'll be skipping swim for at least two weeks (his #1-priority privilege was going to our homeschool group; #2 and #3 were swim team practice and stroke development class, respectively), but if that's what it takes...
Wish me luck. It's been a while since we've done this sort of intensive work around here, but I think it's long overdue. Fingers crossed that it works, because if it doesn't, I'm all out of ideas!
The problem boils down to precisely this: M1 wants to be treated like an adult. He is 10 and feels that he is old enough for certain 'rights.' However, he won't accept the responsibilities that come along with the rights, and he acts like a spoiled toddler when asked to toe the line. He hasn't yet worked out that to get the 'rights' that he wants, he also has to behave in a way that makes us - Oz and I - think that he's able to handle them responsibly.
Some of this revolves around the fact that he is a 10-year-old boy. Some of it also revolves around the fact that his psychological issues that cause him to firmly believe that he is a pearl and the world is the oyster. I'm doing my darnedest to snap him out of that way of thinking, but I read a book about a year ago that strongly suggests that there is no easy way to accomplish that goal because I could dig out of Alcatraz with a spoon more quickly than I'll be able to reach the depths of M1's brain. And flogging him with a wet noodle only makes him giggle.
Still, things couldn't continue the way they did last week... or even over the weekend for that matter. (On Sunday morning M1 woke me up at 2:14 a.m. trying to steal remotes out of my bedroom [again] and shortly before several of my girlfriends came over at 2 p.m., he and his sister were playing at the top of the stairs [which we've asked/told them repeatedly NOT to do] and she came tumbling down the stairs with a beanbag. Because he pushed her. Thankfully, she's fine. Beanbags are good like that. But it did mean that instead of having an outing with Oz like they normally get to do when I have friends over, they were sent to their rooms instead.) So we're going back to basics. Obviously there are many therapy methods out there. We visited a therapist and tried cognitive behavior therapy when M1 was small, and the results were laughable. His hyperactivity and impulsivity are such that there's no way he can think before doing anything, let alone plan actions before doing them. Plus, that's more or less what I've been attempting to get him to use for the last... ohhhhh, year or so... and clearly we've gotten nowhere.
Time to try a new tactic.
I have decided that since M1 is so bound and determined to act like a toddler every time we ask him to take responsibility for his actions, he needs to be treated like one. What motivates toddlers? Sticker charts and incentives. I'm calling it applied behavioral analysis, but really it's a sticker chart with incentives.
First I had M1 make a list of his top 12 privileges. This included everything from swim team to summer camp to electronics. I had him prioritize them. Then Oz printed off a chart that I hung on the wall. There are columns for each day of the week as well as a "Total" column and a space at the beginning where I've written all 12 of M1's desired privileges, one per week. Each day has space for three small stickers that M1 can earn - up to 21 a week, though for this first week we're shooting for 14 and the maximum I'm expecting is 19. Nobody's perfect, and I don't expect him to be.
To earn his three daily stickers, he has to do three things - one for each sticker:
1. Stay in his room at night. Obviously he's allowed to get up and use the toilet if he needs to - I'm not unreasonable - but there's no need for him to be downstairs (he has small paper cups in his vanity if he wants a drink) or in the game room in the middle of the night. Nothing good can come of that.
2. Respect other people. He's had real issues lately respecting other people's space lately, particularly his sister. This one also applies to lying. If he doesn't want me to lie to him, he shouldn't lie to me, right?? This one largely revolves around remembering the Golden Rule.
3. Respect property. Don't break things. Don't dismantle things. Don't walk along all the walls deliberately trying to break the doorstops with your foot. Things like that.
That's it. I may need to get more specific, but we'll see. I'm starting broad. I can always modify and specify as we go. Each week, if he reaches his goal, he'll get one of his privileges back. If he doesn't reach it, we stay at the current level and try again the next week. At best, this program will take 12 weeks to implement, which I'm hopeful will be long enough to make some of these things into habit. I do hate that this means we'll be skipping swim for at least two weeks (his #1-priority privilege was going to our homeschool group; #2 and #3 were swim team practice and stroke development class, respectively), but if that's what it takes...
Wish me luck. It's been a while since we've done this sort of intensive work around here, but I think it's long overdue. Fingers crossed that it works, because if it doesn't, I'm all out of ideas!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Proverbs Ring True
Pride goeth before a fall, says the adage, and nowhere is that more true than here this week. I posted earlier this week that I was proud of M1. Now, I am full of disappointment, and because I blog all my life - the good, the bad, and the ugly - I need somewhere to vent my frustration.
Ahh, the anonymity of a blog and the kindness of readers. I know (OK, I hope) you'll sympathize, even if you can't really understand.
I discovered yesterday that M1 has been sneaking into my room at night - AGAIN - and stealing the remote - AGAIN - and using it to try to watch TV in the middle of the night.
AGAIN.
Now, Oz and I have parental controls set so that the kids can only watch TV during normal, human-functioning hours, so he wasn't able to get anywhere with that, but apparently he spent a good chunk of time learning how to delete game history and playing Wii games. *sigh*
Then today he asked for his math worksheet. We use MUS, and I use the 'test' pages as a final review of the material in each lesson. He asked for the test. I handed it to him. Five minutes later, he handed it back, complete and utterly correct, which is UNHEARD of for him, especially since it was neatly written and there was a plethora of difficult multiplication involved (squaring 63, for instance, as part of finding the area of a circle), which I know takes him several minutes to complete by itself.
So I asked him to hand over his scratch paper notebook. As I flip through it, knowing what I'm going to find, I thought I'd give him a chance to 'fess up.
"You're cheating, aren't you?" I asked.
"Nope."
"M1, there's no way you could finish that work that quickly. Show me your work."
"It's... all throughout the book. It's not just on one page." (This is probably true, as I know he does flip around when working, but I wasn't buying it today.)
"M1, did you come in here in the middle of the night and get the answer book and cheat?"
"Nope."
About that time I found the page. Numbered neatly 1-18 with all the answers listed next to it, the evidence was staring me in the face.
"M1, what's this?"
"Oh, that's just the answers copied down before I put them on the paper."
*sigh*
"M1, WHY????"
"I dunno..."
I do not punish for bad 'grades.' It only shows me that we need more practice on a concept. M1 KNOWS THIS. So I just don't understand.
I simply don't understand the lying, the cheating, the sneaking, the stealing, the hiding, and - like I said - the lying. I don't understand how he can want to be treated like an adult and be left alone... and then turn around and act like a toddler who has to be monitored 24/7. There's pushing boundaries, and then there's this. This is beyond pushing boundaries. And I'm lost.
Pass the Bailey's. I need a stiff'ner.
Ahh, the anonymity of a blog and the kindness of readers. I know (OK, I hope) you'll sympathize, even if you can't really understand.
I discovered yesterday that M1 has been sneaking into my room at night - AGAIN - and stealing the remote - AGAIN - and using it to try to watch TV in the middle of the night.
AGAIN.
Now, Oz and I have parental controls set so that the kids can only watch TV during normal, human-functioning hours, so he wasn't able to get anywhere with that, but apparently he spent a good chunk of time learning how to delete game history and playing Wii games. *sigh*
Then today he asked for his math worksheet. We use MUS, and I use the 'test' pages as a final review of the material in each lesson. He asked for the test. I handed it to him. Five minutes later, he handed it back, complete and utterly correct, which is UNHEARD of for him, especially since it was neatly written and there was a plethora of difficult multiplication involved (squaring 63, for instance, as part of finding the area of a circle), which I know takes him several minutes to complete by itself.
So I asked him to hand over his scratch paper notebook. As I flip through it, knowing what I'm going to find, I thought I'd give him a chance to 'fess up.
"You're cheating, aren't you?" I asked.
"Nope."
"M1, there's no way you could finish that work that quickly. Show me your work."
"It's... all throughout the book. It's not just on one page." (This is probably true, as I know he does flip around when working, but I wasn't buying it today.)
"M1, did you come in here in the middle of the night and get the answer book and cheat?"
"Nope."
About that time I found the page. Numbered neatly 1-18 with all the answers listed next to it, the evidence was staring me in the face.
"M1, what's this?"
"Oh, that's just the answers copied down before I put them on the paper."
*sigh*
"M1, WHY????"
"I dunno..."
I do not punish for bad 'grades.' It only shows me that we need more practice on a concept. M1 KNOWS THIS. So I just don't understand.
I simply don't understand the lying, the cheating, the sneaking, the stealing, the hiding, and - like I said - the lying. I don't understand how he can want to be treated like an adult and be left alone... and then turn around and act like a toddler who has to be monitored 24/7. There's pushing boundaries, and then there's this. This is beyond pushing boundaries. And I'm lost.
Pass the Bailey's. I need a stiff'ner.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
The DSM-V
So the DSM-V (which apparently is now called the DSM-5) reportedly has been finalized. It is projected to be published in May 2013. In some ways, I've been wondering what's been going to be in this new book for a long time; in other ways, I couldn't care less.
To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure how much it will affect us. M1's current diagnoses were made when he was 5, and I haven't felt a compelling need to get him reevaluated since. Technically his diagnoses are PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental disorder, not otherwise specified), ADHD (attention deficit hyperactive disorder) combined type, and GAD (generalized anxiety disorder). However, I'm almost 100% sure the anxiety was simply due to the fact that he was in kindergarten at the time and was basically running on 'high' 24/7, and I'm quite sure that if I had him retested now, the PDD-NOS would be a full diagnosis of Asperger's. Under the new DSM-5, however, it won't matter which of those he has. They're all lumped together under Autism Spectrum Disorder. OK, so theoretically this should make it easier for us to get treatment, since insurance companies and clinics will have to plan treatment for all cases equally. I've heard that some parents are upset that their child who was formerly 'high-functioning autistic' will now be under the same umbrella as a severely autistic child, but honestly, if they're all on the same spectrum, I hardly see that it matters. The treatment for both is similar and has to be tailored to the individual child regardless of the 'type' of autism.
M2's diagnoses have the potential to change as well. Right now she has the working diagnoses of mood disorder NOS, GAD, and separation anxiety. The first one has the most potential for change; that, however, was a given when we got the diagnosis. She has been stable now - more or less - for nearly a year, and sometimes I wonder if perhaps all her depression and manic actions were just a phase that she was going through. Still, it's entirely likely that they will recur at some point, because I can also be stable for years before again flinging myself off the deep end. I hope she isn't like me, but if she is, then I suspect any new diagnoses would fall under the new DSM category of 'disruptive mood dysregulation disorder.' That fits her manic/depressive phases to a T. But we shall see. Again, I suspect treatment for that would be similar to that of her current diagnosis, so what does it matter? What's in a name, anyway?
The one new thing that really caught my eye, though, is something I haven't touched on here, largely because it has only been a recurrent issue, not a constant one. Lately, though, it's reared its ugly head again, and I want to share it with you, not to embarrass my son (though no doubt it would) but simply to raise awareness of an issue that I find many families struggle with, especially families with socially impaired or ADHD children (primarily boys). It's to be called Internet use gaming disorder. In short, electronics addiction. M1 struggles with this and always has. It's hard to use the word 'addiction' when talking about a 10-year-old boy, but what else does one have to consider when catching your son with stolen electronics under his sheets at 12:30 a.m.? I struggle with whether this is really a diagnosis or simply another symptom of his Asperger's or ADHD, but I suspect that if I brought it to the attention of doctors after the DSM-5 is published, it's a diagnosis that would be added to his list.
Some people would say that I simply haven't parented him right. Either I've been too strict with electronics and he's begging for more freedom, or I've been too lax and just need to make more rules. Before we go further, let me tell you how electronics time works in our house. (I'm aware that these folks just need to go take a long walk off a short pier into a bayou full of hungry alligators, but I'm laying it all on the table today, so bear with me.)
Rule #1: No more than an hour or two of screen time per day. Some days we have no screen time; other days he gets the full complement. It varies.
Rule #2: All chores must be completed before screen time occurs. 'Nuff said there, I think.
Rule #3: When screen time is up, you must turn off the device within 5 minutes. I had to implement this rule when 'I have to save/get back home/finish this episode' turned into another 30 minutes of screen time.
On the computers, we have passwords, and the content is more or less controlled. On the TV upstairs, we have parental controls locked down for content and time. When they're borrowing an iPad, they have to stay where we can see or hear what they're playing. In other words, we're hardly lax parents, but usually when they ask for screen time, if chores are done, they get it. And yet, if you ask M1, we're tyrants. We never let him have as much screen time as he wants. When he does get screen time, he begs for more. He gets angry when you make him turn things off. He gets very upset if you don't say yes to his demands right away. If he's been promised electronics 'later,' you won't hear anything else until he gets that time... and if we're out somewhere, the instant we hit the door, it's, "Can I have my electronics time now??" If the electronics are in his room, he will be found on them at 12, 1, and 2 a.m. with great regularity. If I take them away, he steals them back - or, once and very memorably - steals his sister's electronics just to get his 'fix.' In many ways, his electronics obsession sounds like an addiction.
Unlike an addiction, however, I can't take away all electronics. I can keep them out of his room, yes, but he's going to need computers to do school work, to send e-mails, and to do research. He's going to have a phone to make phone calls and send texts - and probably play games - when he gets older. He will no doubt use computers daily in whatever job he has as an adult. This isn't like alcohol or drugs, which one can avoid simply by avoiding the atmosphere and/or the product itself. It isn't like gambling, which can be avoided with more difficulty but with a large degree of success. This is why I suspect that this diagnosis in the DSM-5 is simply a symptom of an underlying disorder, not a disorder in its own right. But I'm not the powers that be, and I don't get to make that decision. I can, however, keep an eye on him and decide if he needs special treatment for it. For now, like I said, I keep electronics out of his room and make sure he uses them under special circumstances only. If he gets older and the usage gets more disruptive and I'm no longer able to help (as teens rarely want to listen to their parents), there may be external help available for him, and maybe some books will be written on the topic in the next few years. I might not approve of the diagnosis as such, but it's kind of nice to know that it'll be there to fall back on if we have to.
To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure how much it will affect us. M1's current diagnoses were made when he was 5, and I haven't felt a compelling need to get him reevaluated since. Technically his diagnoses are PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental disorder, not otherwise specified), ADHD (attention deficit hyperactive disorder) combined type, and GAD (generalized anxiety disorder). However, I'm almost 100% sure the anxiety was simply due to the fact that he was in kindergarten at the time and was basically running on 'high' 24/7, and I'm quite sure that if I had him retested now, the PDD-NOS would be a full diagnosis of Asperger's. Under the new DSM-5, however, it won't matter which of those he has. They're all lumped together under Autism Spectrum Disorder. OK, so theoretically this should make it easier for us to get treatment, since insurance companies and clinics will have to plan treatment for all cases equally. I've heard that some parents are upset that their child who was formerly 'high-functioning autistic' will now be under the same umbrella as a severely autistic child, but honestly, if they're all on the same spectrum, I hardly see that it matters. The treatment for both is similar and has to be tailored to the individual child regardless of the 'type' of autism.
M2's diagnoses have the potential to change as well. Right now she has the working diagnoses of mood disorder NOS, GAD, and separation anxiety. The first one has the most potential for change; that, however, was a given when we got the diagnosis. She has been stable now - more or less - for nearly a year, and sometimes I wonder if perhaps all her depression and manic actions were just a phase that she was going through. Still, it's entirely likely that they will recur at some point, because I can also be stable for years before again flinging myself off the deep end. I hope she isn't like me, but if she is, then I suspect any new diagnoses would fall under the new DSM category of 'disruptive mood dysregulation disorder.' That fits her manic/depressive phases to a T. But we shall see. Again, I suspect treatment for that would be similar to that of her current diagnosis, so what does it matter? What's in a name, anyway?
The one new thing that really caught my eye, though, is something I haven't touched on here, largely because it has only been a recurrent issue, not a constant one. Lately, though, it's reared its ugly head again, and I want to share it with you, not to embarrass my son (though no doubt it would) but simply to raise awareness of an issue that I find many families struggle with, especially families with socially impaired or ADHD children (primarily boys). It's to be called Internet use gaming disorder. In short, electronics addiction. M1 struggles with this and always has. It's hard to use the word 'addiction' when talking about a 10-year-old boy, but what else does one have to consider when catching your son with stolen electronics under his sheets at 12:30 a.m.? I struggle with whether this is really a diagnosis or simply another symptom of his Asperger's or ADHD, but I suspect that if I brought it to the attention of doctors after the DSM-5 is published, it's a diagnosis that would be added to his list.
Some people would say that I simply haven't parented him right. Either I've been too strict with electronics and he's begging for more freedom, or I've been too lax and just need to make more rules. Before we go further, let me tell you how electronics time works in our house. (I'm aware that these folks just need to go take a long walk off a short pier into a bayou full of hungry alligators, but I'm laying it all on the table today, so bear with me.)
Rule #1: No more than an hour or two of screen time per day. Some days we have no screen time; other days he gets the full complement. It varies.
Rule #2: All chores must be completed before screen time occurs. 'Nuff said there, I think.
Rule #3: When screen time is up, you must turn off the device within 5 minutes. I had to implement this rule when 'I have to save/get back home/finish this episode' turned into another 30 minutes of screen time.
On the computers, we have passwords, and the content is more or less controlled. On the TV upstairs, we have parental controls locked down for content and time. When they're borrowing an iPad, they have to stay where we can see or hear what they're playing. In other words, we're hardly lax parents, but usually when they ask for screen time, if chores are done, they get it. And yet, if you ask M1, we're tyrants. We never let him have as much screen time as he wants. When he does get screen time, he begs for more. He gets angry when you make him turn things off. He gets very upset if you don't say yes to his demands right away. If he's been promised electronics 'later,' you won't hear anything else until he gets that time... and if we're out somewhere, the instant we hit the door, it's, "Can I have my electronics time now??" If the electronics are in his room, he will be found on them at 12, 1, and 2 a.m. with great regularity. If I take them away, he steals them back - or, once and very memorably - steals his sister's electronics just to get his 'fix.' In many ways, his electronics obsession sounds like an addiction.
Unlike an addiction, however, I can't take away all electronics. I can keep them out of his room, yes, but he's going to need computers to do school work, to send e-mails, and to do research. He's going to have a phone to make phone calls and send texts - and probably play games - when he gets older. He will no doubt use computers daily in whatever job he has as an adult. This isn't like alcohol or drugs, which one can avoid simply by avoiding the atmosphere and/or the product itself. It isn't like gambling, which can be avoided with more difficulty but with a large degree of success. This is why I suspect that this diagnosis in the DSM-5 is simply a symptom of an underlying disorder, not a disorder in its own right. But I'm not the powers that be, and I don't get to make that decision. I can, however, keep an eye on him and decide if he needs special treatment for it. For now, like I said, I keep electronics out of his room and make sure he uses them under special circumstances only. If he gets older and the usage gets more disruptive and I'm no longer able to help (as teens rarely want to listen to their parents), there may be external help available for him, and maybe some books will be written on the topic in the next few years. I might not approve of the diagnosis as such, but it's kind of nice to know that it'll be there to fall back on if we have to.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
What To Do?
What do you do when a child's handwriting is awful? I'm not talking about a little bit crooked or things that are misspelled - those things are age-appropriate and can be fixed with time. I'm talking about handwriting that is barely legible - what my elementary teachers would have called "chicken scratching."
M1 probably has dysgraphia. Handwriting is and always has been difficult for him. We're working on cursive, and he sort of likes it, but he sort of doesn't because it's still writing. For now, though, he still has to turn in work, and half the time I can barely read it.
We've worked on handwriting consistently since he came home three years ago. We use Handwriting Without Tears, and he knows how to write properly. He simply won't do it. A lowercase 's' often looks like a backward 'c' because he won't put the top curve on it. Lowercase 'n' and 'h' could be twins more often than not. The list goes on and on. If he misses a letter in a word, rather than erase and fix it he'll try to squeeze it in, even if there isn't space. He doesn't leaves space between words or sentences. Letters are all over the place, even on paper that has the dotted line down the middle to help keep things even. If the space is available, his writing is HUGE - this is becoming a real issue with regards to math, where it's often hard to pick out his answer from the chaotic math problems scattered around the page (yes, I do provide him with separate paper to do these on, but he won't use it).
I let him type when he can, but that's a painfully tedious process yet, too, so for now that really isn't an option.
What would you do? I need ideas, because I'm about out. Right now I'm making him copy the really bad stuff over again, but that adds SO much time to our school day, depending on whether he'll focus or not (the focus issue is another part of the puzzle here... I really wish I could put him back on Vyvanse!). So what do you think? Tough it out till he's fluent at typing and/or cursive? Make him keep copying the worst stuff over? Just get over it? I will not write everything (many reasons for this, not the least of which is that M1 needs to work on his capitalization and punctuation issues), nor is oral work always an option, so I really need something that might stick.
Thanks!
M1 probably has dysgraphia. Handwriting is and always has been difficult for him. We're working on cursive, and he sort of likes it, but he sort of doesn't because it's still writing. For now, though, he still has to turn in work, and half the time I can barely read it.
We've worked on handwriting consistently since he came home three years ago. We use Handwriting Without Tears, and he knows how to write properly. He simply won't do it. A lowercase 's' often looks like a backward 'c' because he won't put the top curve on it. Lowercase 'n' and 'h' could be twins more often than not. The list goes on and on. If he misses a letter in a word, rather than erase and fix it he'll try to squeeze it in, even if there isn't space. He doesn't leaves space between words or sentences. Letters are all over the place, even on paper that has the dotted line down the middle to help keep things even. If the space is available, his writing is HUGE - this is becoming a real issue with regards to math, where it's often hard to pick out his answer from the chaotic math problems scattered around the page (yes, I do provide him with separate paper to do these on, but he won't use it).
I let him type when he can, but that's a painfully tedious process yet, too, so for now that really isn't an option.
What would you do? I need ideas, because I'm about out. Right now I'm making him copy the really bad stuff over again, but that adds SO much time to our school day, depending on whether he'll focus or not (the focus issue is another part of the puzzle here... I really wish I could put him back on Vyvanse!). So what do you think? Tough it out till he's fluent at typing and/or cursive? Make him keep copying the worst stuff over? Just get over it? I will not write everything (many reasons for this, not the least of which is that M1 needs to work on his capitalization and punctuation issues), nor is oral work always an option, so I really need something that might stick.
Thanks!
Monday, January 9, 2012
Of Boys and Power Tools
It's long been a well-established fact in our house that M1 has no focus. On weekends, especially, he's the family drifter - he drifts through his morning routine sometime between 8 and 10 a.m. with occasional bursts of energy motivated by us parental units 'encouraging' him to get his stuff done already. Then he drifts into the living room, picks on his sister, gets sent to his room for some time to himself, drifts back out when we feel like he's ready to be around people again, and the cycle repeats. He really has a hard time coming up with things to do by himself, and he often does epitomize the "SQUIRREL!!!!" stereotype that comes with ADHD. Weekdays aren't so much of a problem because he has a plan of attack and knows that he has to focus to get school done in a timely manner (today, for example, we're having a really hard time because he refuses to pay attention to anything I've asked and would much rather spend his time flopping face-first into the couch or hanging upside down off his desk rather than listening to even the simplest of instructions).
No matter what day it is, though, he always a good job of proving the old adage that "idle hands are the devil's playground."
Gosh, he's just like his mother. How many times did she hear that as a kid? She pleads the Fifth.
Moving on... when it comes to the boy, weekends are really the biggest issue.
Take Saturday. We all got up late. We had brunch at a nearby restaurant (one that serves breakfast all day) and then went mattress shopping for Oz and I. Even before we left the house, M1 had managed to irritate all of us to the point of snapping. He spent the day in perpetual motion and behavioral limbo. He refused to focus, wouldn't keep his hands to himself, interrupted conversations constantly, and just generally made a nuisance of himself. I knew this was largely caused by his being up until nearly 10 p.m. the previous evening, but it still didn't really excuse his behavior. He was being, for lack of a better term, a total and utter ass. He knew it, but he didn't really see the need to change since nobody had made him stop. (We're working on the concept that he has to make himself behave, but it's an uphill battle. Since the world clearly revolves around him, he doesn't understand why he should follow any sort of social norm unless the consequence is so dire that it actually might inconvenience him in some small way... and then we get the flopping-on-the-floor, shrieking, pouting, running-away, "IT'S-NOT-FAIR" fit... the sort that you see 3-year-olds throw on grocery store floors, except that he's 9 years old and 5 feet tall and UGH.) The final straw came on the way home from the mattress store when I turned on some music, which often calms him, and he decided he needed to kick, punch, and otherwise 'drum' on the seats... and his sister... to the beat of the music (and when I say beat of the music, please understand that M1 can't follow the beat unless someone points it out to him... he eventually gets it, but he can't pick out a beat to save his life). So I told him that when we got home, he was going to his room.
"SQUAAWWWWWWKKKKKK!!!!"
This did not make him very happy. He did do as he was told when he got home... for about five minutes. Then he emerged and said he felt better and was going to come out now. I told him that no, he wasn't, because A) I was in the middle of taking my bed apart for the new mattress and couldn't monitor him and B) it'd only been five minutes, which is nowhere near the amount of time that it takes for him to recover any sort of positive thought process. So I sent him back to his room. On his way, he announced, "Then I'm going to be really horrible so you HAVE to let me out!" This floored my mother-in-law, who had loaned us the bed of her truck to bring the mattress home in. Sure enough, M1 proceeded to pound on his door and make shrieking noises. I marched down and demanded five (allowance) dollars as payment for potential damage to either my house or my ears. He paid it, then promptly started stomping; I took two more. He settled into a sullen silence when he realized that he was literally paying for his anger.
We managed to get through the rest of the day, but it wasn't pretty. Sunday morning wasn't much better. I'd had enough by that point, so I assigned him chores. M2 was upset that she wasn't getting to spend time with her beloved brother, but after the discussion we had a few weeks ago about M1 needing to learn a few lessons, she kept her mouth shut. M1 dusted the living room and cleaned the glass, washed dishes, sorted the recycling, and did a couple other household chores before he finally seemed to settle down. At that point, I told him he had a choice: He could go do a science experiment or he could go do woodworking in the garage. His face lit up, and he immediately ran to his room to get a book of semi-simple wood projects that he had recently purchased with some Christmas cash. He schemed and dreamed and planned and finally convinced Oz that he really wanted to build a certain set of shelves (well, really, he wanted to build me a brand-new nightstand, which I thought was really sweet, and I do need one, but that project was both out of his league and out of our price range since even the easiest plan involved cutting biscuits, and we don't have a machine for cutting those). So he and Oz went to the store, picked up wood, came home, made space in the garage, and started working. I came out just in time to see Oz teaching M1 how to use power tools.
Now, I'm leery of power tools at the best of times, but really, a severely ADHD 9-year-old using power tools is right up there on my list of OMG NO. But I trust Oz, and he was patiently showing M1 how to use the machine, so I stepped back to watch. Oz made M1 put on safety glasses. He held down the wood so that M1 could use both hands to hold the tool (and thereby keep his fingers out of the way). He had him do several practice cuts before they moved on to the real project. And I was amazed to see M1 pay attention the entire time and do very well when it came to actually cutting the wood.
In no time at all, they had the pieces cut and assembled, and they proudly brought it out to the front porch (I was painting the trim) to show me. They went back into the garage to finish it up. I finished painting, cleaned up my mess, and went into the house to start supper. Shortly afterward, M1 came into the house. He was quite calm as he washed his hands and told me that Oz had been holding two of the pieces of wood when they dropped to the concrete garage floor and broke, and that the entire project was ruined until the following weekend. He wasn't angry. He didn't yell or shriek or throw a tantrum or even cry, so I assumed he'd done all that in the garage. Oz came in and I asked how he had taken the incident, and he was as shocked as I was when we learned that he hadn't thrown a fit in the garage, either. No anger. No crying. Nothing.
I may not be in favor of the boy using power tools on a regular basis, but if that's what it takes to keep him focused and out of trouble... I'll take it!
No matter what day it is, though, he always a good job of proving the old adage that "idle hands are the devil's playground."
Gosh, he's just like his mother. How many times did she hear that as a kid? She pleads the Fifth.
Moving on... when it comes to the boy, weekends are really the biggest issue.
Take Saturday. We all got up late. We had brunch at a nearby restaurant (one that serves breakfast all day) and then went mattress shopping for Oz and I. Even before we left the house, M1 had managed to irritate all of us to the point of snapping. He spent the day in perpetual motion and behavioral limbo. He refused to focus, wouldn't keep his hands to himself, interrupted conversations constantly, and just generally made a nuisance of himself. I knew this was largely caused by his being up until nearly 10 p.m. the previous evening, but it still didn't really excuse his behavior. He was being, for lack of a better term, a total and utter ass. He knew it, but he didn't really see the need to change since nobody had made him stop. (We're working on the concept that he has to make himself behave, but it's an uphill battle. Since the world clearly revolves around him, he doesn't understand why he should follow any sort of social norm unless the consequence is so dire that it actually might inconvenience him in some small way... and then we get the flopping-on-the-floor, shrieking, pouting, running-away, "IT'S-NOT-FAIR" fit... the sort that you see 3-year-olds throw on grocery store floors, except that he's 9 years old and 5 feet tall and UGH.) The final straw came on the way home from the mattress store when I turned on some music, which often calms him, and he decided he needed to kick, punch, and otherwise 'drum' on the seats... and his sister... to the beat of the music (and when I say beat of the music, please understand that M1 can't follow the beat unless someone points it out to him... he eventually gets it, but he can't pick out a beat to save his life). So I told him that when we got home, he was going to his room.
"SQUAAWWWWWWKKKKKK!!!!"
This did not make him very happy. He did do as he was told when he got home... for about five minutes. Then he emerged and said he felt better and was going to come out now. I told him that no, he wasn't, because A) I was in the middle of taking my bed apart for the new mattress and couldn't monitor him and B) it'd only been five minutes, which is nowhere near the amount of time that it takes for him to recover any sort of positive thought process. So I sent him back to his room. On his way, he announced, "Then I'm going to be really horrible so you HAVE to let me out!" This floored my mother-in-law, who had loaned us the bed of her truck to bring the mattress home in. Sure enough, M1 proceeded to pound on his door and make shrieking noises. I marched down and demanded five (allowance) dollars as payment for potential damage to either my house or my ears. He paid it, then promptly started stomping; I took two more. He settled into a sullen silence when he realized that he was literally paying for his anger.
We managed to get through the rest of the day, but it wasn't pretty. Sunday morning wasn't much better. I'd had enough by that point, so I assigned him chores. M2 was upset that she wasn't getting to spend time with her beloved brother, but after the discussion we had a few weeks ago about M1 needing to learn a few lessons, she kept her mouth shut. M1 dusted the living room and cleaned the glass, washed dishes, sorted the recycling, and did a couple other household chores before he finally seemed to settle down. At that point, I told him he had a choice: He could go do a science experiment or he could go do woodworking in the garage. His face lit up, and he immediately ran to his room to get a book of semi-simple wood projects that he had recently purchased with some Christmas cash. He schemed and dreamed and planned and finally convinced Oz that he really wanted to build a certain set of shelves (well, really, he wanted to build me a brand-new nightstand, which I thought was really sweet, and I do need one, but that project was both out of his league and out of our price range since even the easiest plan involved cutting biscuits, and we don't have a machine for cutting those). So he and Oz went to the store, picked up wood, came home, made space in the garage, and started working. I came out just in time to see Oz teaching M1 how to use power tools.
Now, I'm leery of power tools at the best of times, but really, a severely ADHD 9-year-old using power tools is right up there on my list of OMG NO. But I trust Oz, and he was patiently showing M1 how to use the machine, so I stepped back to watch. Oz made M1 put on safety glasses. He held down the wood so that M1 could use both hands to hold the tool (and thereby keep his fingers out of the way). He had him do several practice cuts before they moved on to the real project. And I was amazed to see M1 pay attention the entire time and do very well when it came to actually cutting the wood.
In no time at all, they had the pieces cut and assembled, and they proudly brought it out to the front porch (I was painting the trim) to show me. They went back into the garage to finish it up. I finished painting, cleaned up my mess, and went into the house to start supper. Shortly afterward, M1 came into the house. He was quite calm as he washed his hands and told me that Oz had been holding two of the pieces of wood when they dropped to the concrete garage floor and broke, and that the entire project was ruined until the following weekend. He wasn't angry. He didn't yell or shriek or throw a tantrum or even cry, so I assumed he'd done all that in the garage. Oz came in and I asked how he had taken the incident, and he was as shocked as I was when we learned that he hadn't thrown a fit in the garage, either. No anger. No crying. Nothing.
I may not be in favor of the boy using power tools on a regular basis, but if that's what it takes to keep him focused and out of trouble... I'll take it!
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Let's Play!
Today's post is brought to you by my really crappy mood. Hang on, folks... it's rant time.
Have you ever... had one of those days where you know you got up on the right side of the bed, because your spouse was taking up his 2/3 of the bed and you couldn't possibly have gotten out on the wrong side anyway... and yet the day decides to frisk and molest you like a rogue TSA agent with a power trip and a boner?
Have you ever... watched three people walk straight by the pile of cat urp on the carpet because clearly it's invisible to every being in the house except you and the old cat, and the old cat thinks you left it there as a delectable breakfast?
Have you ever... wished you could sink through the floor when your son starts making some of his infamous noises... right behind a person who clearly has some psychological/developmental issues of their own and is also making noises... and who gives you a look that says, plain as day, 'STOP YOUR KID FROM MAKING FUN OF ME...' but you're stuck there because it's the vet's office and kind of have to pay before you can bail and you somehow know that an explanation is NOT going to make things better?
Have you ever... watched your son hop through the house like a deranged lemur, realized that no good school is gonna happen, proposed the cessation of said school, and then watched Deranged Lemur Boy go off half-cocked because OMG YOU PROPOSED SOMETHING THAT WASN'T ON THE SCHEDULE?
Have you ever... realized you should have listened to your instincts rather than picking up the other child early from school because you're sick and tired of the phone calls from the front office informing you that your child has come in (yet again) complaining of a sore throat and cough and sniffles... but when you arrive, there's no fever and she's grinning like a Cheshire cat?
Have you ever... tried to run errands with an impending migraine and two kids on a December afternoon when one of them claims to feel ill and wants to climb you like a tree and the other has the maturity and mental stability of a honey badger on PCP?
Have you ever... ordered pizza at 4 p.m. because maybe the instigation of the dinner/bedtime routine will make it all stop?
I think I quit now. Someone tell me when it's January.
Have you ever... had one of those days where you know you got up on the right side of the bed, because your spouse was taking up his 2/3 of the bed and you couldn't possibly have gotten out on the wrong side anyway... and yet the day decides to frisk and molest you like a rogue TSA agent with a power trip and a boner?
Have you ever... watched three people walk straight by the pile of cat urp on the carpet because clearly it's invisible to every being in the house except you and the old cat, and the old cat thinks you left it there as a delectable breakfast?
Have you ever... wished you could sink through the floor when your son starts making some of his infamous noises... right behind a person who clearly has some psychological/developmental issues of their own and is also making noises... and who gives you a look that says, plain as day, 'STOP YOUR KID FROM MAKING FUN OF ME...' but you're stuck there because it's the vet's office and kind of have to pay before you can bail and you somehow know that an explanation is NOT going to make things better?
Have you ever... watched your son hop through the house like a deranged lemur, realized that no good school is gonna happen, proposed the cessation of said school, and then watched Deranged Lemur Boy go off half-cocked because OMG YOU PROPOSED SOMETHING THAT WASN'T ON THE SCHEDULE?
Have you ever... realized you should have listened to your instincts rather than picking up the other child early from school because you're sick and tired of the phone calls from the front office informing you that your child has come in (yet again) complaining of a sore throat and cough and sniffles... but when you arrive, there's no fever and she's grinning like a Cheshire cat?
Have you ever... tried to run errands with an impending migraine and two kids on a December afternoon when one of them claims to feel ill and wants to climb you like a tree and the other has the maturity and mental stability of a honey badger on PCP?
Have you ever... ordered pizza at 4 p.m. because maybe the instigation of the dinner/bedtime routine will make it all stop?
I think I quit now. Someone tell me when it's January.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
When Meds Quit
M1.
He's a FABULOUS kid. He's smart, funny, thoughtful, sweet, and just generally great to be around... when he's medicated.
This isn't to say he can't be all those things when he's not medicated, but they don't come naturally; they are masked by all the overwhelming difficulties that he has to even function on a simple level. Lately, whether it's due to an impending growth spurt, sinus issues, hormone issues, or a combination of all of the above, M1 has been even more difficult to handle than usual once the medication wears off... and it seems to be wearing off earlier and earlier.
Because I really need to get it out of my system, I'm going to share some shining examples:
-----
Wednesday is library day. Wednesday is ALWAYS library day. The routine doesn't change. The librarians don't change. The lighting, book placement, and even most of the flyers on the door don't really change. We arrive a minute or two after we pick M2 up from school because the library is just down the street. We find our requested books from the arrival shelf first. Then I walk around with M2 while M1 selects his books; we join back up, check out and leave. Simple enough, right?
You'd think.
This Wednesday, M1 lost it. He "went stupid," to use the phrase that Oz and I use after the kids are down for the night. We're not trying to imply that he's stupid but merely that his brain ceases to process ANY social norms at all and basically shuts down to the outside (i.e. real) world. We walked up to the checkout counter and placed our books down for the librarian to check out. I looked down and noticed that M1 had a shoe untied, and I asked him to tie it. He squatted down, tied it... and didn't come back up. He stayed in a squatting position. The librarian had finished checking out M1's books, so I asked him to stand up to get them. M1 paused, stared at me blankly, and then - I swear - bounced up and played peek-a-boo with the librarian before ducking back down behind the counter. The librarian kind of gave me a funny look, but he's seen us around enough to know that sometimes my kids can be a bit... er... difficult. (For whatever reason, the library is one of M2's favorite places to have meltdowns.) Anyway, I asked M1 again if he would get his books. I don't think he heard me, so I said his name.
Word to the Wise: Never, ever call an ASD child's name in a public place unless you want a violent reaction. Triple this if they're zoned out.
M1 shot to his feet with an extremely loud shriek/squawk, flinched when I tried to touch him so I could try to bring him back to reality, grabbed his books, and made a dash for the door. In the meantime, all I really wanted in that moment was a T-shirt that read, "With ADHD and Asperger's, life is never dull." The people using the computers nearby were amused; I think the librarian was a little scared.
-----
M1's lack of impulse control is scary, too. Just tonight, we had major battles over the following:
1. The (mis)use of balloons.
2. The (mis)placement of metallic, foot-eating scientific objects like wires and alligator clips.
3. The (surreptitious, post-teeth-brushing, post-bedtime) eating of candy... and the lying that comes with getting caught.
4. The closing (slamming) of doors.
5. Admission of guilt to ANY of the above... because clearly he's entirely innocent and just the victim of his own malfunctioning brain. (To which I say yes, he is, but that's not an excuse to act like a giant equine posterior.)
-----
Now, please contrast all of the above to the following anecdote:
M1 and I dropped by Target and Hobby Lobby in between a swim lesson and swim team practice.
In Target, he helped me find some carrots and potatoes so I could make beef stew for dinner. He double-checked every slot in the coffee creamer section because I *still* haven't been able to locate any peppermint mocha. I know it's out there; I'm just not that lucky. He used every ounce of his 9-year-old male fashion sense to help me pick a winter hat and gloves because I haven't had either of those in about 11 years. He helped me pick out two sweatshirts and a gorgeous red sweater dress for M2 and asked if he could have another pair of sweatpants for swim days when I ask him to throw warm clothes on over his cold, wet jammers so we can haul bootie to the car and get to M2's school on time.
At Hobby Lobby, he was amazing, too. We had used the last of our green gel icing dye for Halloween cookies and needed to get some more before Christmas because HELLO... Christmas cookies gotta have green. It was such a fun trip! We wandered into the scrapbooking aisle to look at stickers to see if there were any that M2 might want for her art supply stash. He helped me pick out the best green dye for Christmas cookies and then requested black and gold decorating gels with the logical argument that if we bought them, I wouldn't have to mix those particular colors but they could still make things like gold stars or Santa's boots. He helped me find and look at a couple of items that I've been considering as gifts for various people.
Throughout both stores, we laughed. He let me hold his hand and pretended to be embarrassed when I hugged him in public. He waited (fairly) patiently in line when we were ready to check out. He picked up the bag(s) and carried it (them) out to the car for me after we were done.
-----
Like I said, he's an amazing kid. It simply astounds me that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde really can exist in this one small boy's body. I would love to get a look at his brain. So if anyone out there wants to run an fMRI for research purposes, sign us up! As long as he's medicated, I'm sure he'd be quite amenable.
And if he's off the meds?
Well, all bets are off.
He's a FABULOUS kid. He's smart, funny, thoughtful, sweet, and just generally great to be around... when he's medicated.
This isn't to say he can't be all those things when he's not medicated, but they don't come naturally; they are masked by all the overwhelming difficulties that he has to even function on a simple level. Lately, whether it's due to an impending growth spurt, sinus issues, hormone issues, or a combination of all of the above, M1 has been even more difficult to handle than usual once the medication wears off... and it seems to be wearing off earlier and earlier.
Because I really need to get it out of my system, I'm going to share some shining examples:
-----
Wednesday is library day. Wednesday is ALWAYS library day. The routine doesn't change. The librarians don't change. The lighting, book placement, and even most of the flyers on the door don't really change. We arrive a minute or two after we pick M2 up from school because the library is just down the street. We find our requested books from the arrival shelf first. Then I walk around with M2 while M1 selects his books; we join back up, check out and leave. Simple enough, right?
You'd think.
This Wednesday, M1 lost it. He "went stupid," to use the phrase that Oz and I use after the kids are down for the night. We're not trying to imply that he's stupid but merely that his brain ceases to process ANY social norms at all and basically shuts down to the outside (i.e. real) world. We walked up to the checkout counter and placed our books down for the librarian to check out. I looked down and noticed that M1 had a shoe untied, and I asked him to tie it. He squatted down, tied it... and didn't come back up. He stayed in a squatting position. The librarian had finished checking out M1's books, so I asked him to stand up to get them. M1 paused, stared at me blankly, and then - I swear - bounced up and played peek-a-boo with the librarian before ducking back down behind the counter. The librarian kind of gave me a funny look, but he's seen us around enough to know that sometimes my kids can be a bit... er... difficult. (For whatever reason, the library is one of M2's favorite places to have meltdowns.) Anyway, I asked M1 again if he would get his books. I don't think he heard me, so I said his name.
Word to the Wise: Never, ever call an ASD child's name in a public place unless you want a violent reaction. Triple this if they're zoned out.
M1 shot to his feet with an extremely loud shriek/squawk, flinched when I tried to touch him so I could try to bring him back to reality, grabbed his books, and made a dash for the door. In the meantime, all I really wanted in that moment was a T-shirt that read, "With ADHD and Asperger's, life is never dull." The people using the computers nearby were amused; I think the librarian was a little scared.
-----
M1's lack of impulse control is scary, too. Just tonight, we had major battles over the following:
1. The (mis)use of balloons.
2. The (mis)placement of metallic, foot-eating scientific objects like wires and alligator clips.
3. The (surreptitious, post-teeth-brushing, post-bedtime) eating of candy... and the lying that comes with getting caught.
4. The closing (slamming) of doors.
5. Admission of guilt to ANY of the above... because clearly he's entirely innocent and just the victim of his own malfunctioning brain. (To which I say yes, he is, but that's not an excuse to act like a giant equine posterior.)
-----
Now, please contrast all of the above to the following anecdote:
M1 and I dropped by Target and Hobby Lobby in between a swim lesson and swim team practice.
In Target, he helped me find some carrots and potatoes so I could make beef stew for dinner. He double-checked every slot in the coffee creamer section because I *still* haven't been able to locate any peppermint mocha. I know it's out there; I'm just not that lucky. He used every ounce of his 9-year-old male fashion sense to help me pick a winter hat and gloves because I haven't had either of those in about 11 years. He helped me pick out two sweatshirts and a gorgeous red sweater dress for M2 and asked if he could have another pair of sweatpants for swim days when I ask him to throw warm clothes on over his cold, wet jammers so we can haul bootie to the car and get to M2's school on time.
At Hobby Lobby, he was amazing, too. We had used the last of our green gel icing dye for Halloween cookies and needed to get some more before Christmas because HELLO... Christmas cookies gotta have green. It was such a fun trip! We wandered into the scrapbooking aisle to look at stickers to see if there were any that M2 might want for her art supply stash. He helped me pick out the best green dye for Christmas cookies and then requested black and gold decorating gels with the logical argument that if we bought them, I wouldn't have to mix those particular colors but they could still make things like gold stars or Santa's boots. He helped me find and look at a couple of items that I've been considering as gifts for various people.
Throughout both stores, we laughed. He let me hold his hand and pretended to be embarrassed when I hugged him in public. He waited (fairly) patiently in line when we were ready to check out. He picked up the bag(s) and carried it (them) out to the car for me after we were done.
-----
Like I said, he's an amazing kid. It simply astounds me that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde really can exist in this one small boy's body. I would love to get a look at his brain. So if anyone out there wants to run an fMRI for research purposes, sign us up! As long as he's medicated, I'm sure he'd be quite amenable.
And if he's off the meds?
Well, all bets are off.
Friday, July 22, 2011
School of Hard Knocks
I picked M1 up from camp today. M2 and I have had a quiet couple of days at home (I say 'quiet' what I mean is that she hasn't thrown anything, fits or otherwise, in the past couple days, not that we haven't been busy... we've definitely been busy), and she was ready to go pick him up. Just as I was telling her to get her shoes on so we could head out the door, the phone rang.
It was the camp.
M1 had been punched in the face by another kid and was in the office with an ice pack.
Now... the gut reaction of any parent when faced with this scenario is to defend your child, declare war, and start gathering resources for a counter-attack, right? Of course! But the thing about having a child with a psychiatric issue of any kind is that you learn early to take a deep breath and get both sides of a story before going ballistic. So I listened. The woman on the other end of the line very calmly told me what had happened. She explained that the other child had been punished and told me she was more than happy to talk when I came to pick M1 up; she just didn't want the "huge shiner" to come as a surprise when I arrived.
However, I didn't need to talk. I knew from her words exactly what had happened - both sides of the story.
Here's what went down, as cobbled together from my experience, M1's version, and the information given to me by the camp supervisor: The kids were in the pool. M1 is a loner (comes with the Asperger's territory), so he was playing by himself. He was likely either imagining himself in a scenario and it somehow involved splashing or he was trying to play with these older kids and it didn't compute that splashing does not equal playing. Either way, in the process of his play, he was splashing some of the bigger kids. They told him to quit. He claims he never heard them, and I believe that. When he's in his fantasy land, particularly after a full day of activity, he doesn't hear things... or, if he thought he was playing with them, then he thought they were just playing back. So he kept splashing. They told him - again - to stop. No dice. They moved. M1 moved with them. They told him to quit a third time, and when M1 didn't respond, one of them got seriously upset and decked him.
Obviously I'm not happy about the fact that some kid hit mine. It ain't cool, it ain't what's supposed to happen, and if I'd been there, it wouldn't have been pretty. But the reality - as much as it pains me to admit it - is that I've told M1 time and time and time again that this precise thing was going to happen to him someday if he didn't quit bugging people when they ask/tell/order him to. My friends have heard me. My family has heard me. Heck, my mother-in-law called this afternoon to check on M1 when she heard about his battle wound and told me she's told him the same thing a couple times. A couple weeks ago when we were at a pool with a few other families, M1 was wrestling with some other boys and knocked one of the younger kids in the face. It was an accident, but after that happened, the other boys decided to play something different, something that wouldn't end with injury. However, I had to force M1 to stay away from them because he didn't want to play the 'new' game... all he wanted to do was go back and start wrestling all over again! So I knew. I knew that as much as I didn't like it, this may have been just the ticket to get M1 to realize that respecting boundaries is not optional.
I gave M1 a hug, put him in the car, and took him home. I gave him ibuprofen, an ice pack, and some topical anesthesia, and we talked. I think he realizes now that he needs to work a little more on social skills, which he's never been keen to do because he truly believes he's just fine. He definitely understands that Mama does know what she's talking about when she warns him what might happen.
It sucks. It really sucks. I hate seeing my baby hurt, and I did suggest that next year he might consider just going to science- or other academic-oriented camps rather than a regular day camp, but we'll see.
For now, I just gotta love him. He's my baby, after all.
It was the camp.
M1 had been punched in the face by another kid and was in the office with an ice pack.
Now... the gut reaction of any parent when faced with this scenario is to defend your child, declare war, and start gathering resources for a counter-attack, right? Of course! But the thing about having a child with a psychiatric issue of any kind is that you learn early to take a deep breath and get both sides of a story before going ballistic. So I listened. The woman on the other end of the line very calmly told me what had happened. She explained that the other child had been punished and told me she was more than happy to talk when I came to pick M1 up; she just didn't want the "huge shiner" to come as a surprise when I arrived.
However, I didn't need to talk. I knew from her words exactly what had happened - both sides of the story.
Here's what went down, as cobbled together from my experience, M1's version, and the information given to me by the camp supervisor: The kids were in the pool. M1 is a loner (comes with the Asperger's territory), so he was playing by himself. He was likely either imagining himself in a scenario and it somehow involved splashing or he was trying to play with these older kids and it didn't compute that splashing does not equal playing. Either way, in the process of his play, he was splashing some of the bigger kids. They told him to quit. He claims he never heard them, and I believe that. When he's in his fantasy land, particularly after a full day of activity, he doesn't hear things... or, if he thought he was playing with them, then he thought they were just playing back. So he kept splashing. They told him - again - to stop. No dice. They moved. M1 moved with them. They told him to quit a third time, and when M1 didn't respond, one of them got seriously upset and decked him.
Obviously I'm not happy about the fact that some kid hit mine. It ain't cool, it ain't what's supposed to happen, and if I'd been there, it wouldn't have been pretty. But the reality - as much as it pains me to admit it - is that I've told M1 time and time and time again that this precise thing was going to happen to him someday if he didn't quit bugging people when they ask/tell/order him to. My friends have heard me. My family has heard me. Heck, my mother-in-law called this afternoon to check on M1 when she heard about his battle wound and told me she's told him the same thing a couple times. A couple weeks ago when we were at a pool with a few other families, M1 was wrestling with some other boys and knocked one of the younger kids in the face. It was an accident, but after that happened, the other boys decided to play something different, something that wouldn't end with injury. However, I had to force M1 to stay away from them because he didn't want to play the 'new' game... all he wanted to do was go back and start wrestling all over again! So I knew. I knew that as much as I didn't like it, this may have been just the ticket to get M1 to realize that respecting boundaries is not optional.
I gave M1 a hug, put him in the car, and took him home. I gave him ibuprofen, an ice pack, and some topical anesthesia, and we talked. I think he realizes now that he needs to work a little more on social skills, which he's never been keen to do because he truly believes he's just fine. He definitely understands that Mama does know what she's talking about when she warns him what might happen.
It sucks. It really sucks. I hate seeing my baby hurt, and I did suggest that next year he might consider just going to science- or other academic-oriented camps rather than a regular day camp, but we'll see.
For now, I just gotta love him. He's my baby, after all.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
More Light Reading
Well, it's not "tomorrow," but I'm finally getting around to this. It's been a long week. Let me start with some of the books that I started reading for M1 when I first learned he had Asperger's. Ironically, I never worried about his ADHD and don't have a single book relating to that. For some reason, I've never doubted my ability to raise a child with ADHD... it's the Asperger's that gets me.
This is to Asperger's syndrome what "The Bipolar Child" is to bipolar disorder. It's an amazing resource, and it's as useful for adults with Asperger's as it is to parents of children with the disorder. However, it wasn't very helpful for M1. So I got a couple books for him: First this one
and more recently,
The first one is written by a boy with Asperger's. M1 really enjoyed it and was thrilled to learn that there really are other kids out there who understand what he feels and what it's like to live with the way he thinks. The second book is a workbook that he and I are working through together. It helps both of us. He gains insight into the way he reacts to the world, and I gain insight into ways to help him. He can't wait to finish it and show it to all his relatives so they can help him when he gets frustrated.
That's all we have for his Asperger's, but since he's been struggling with his allergies this summer, I purchased the Kindle version of this book:
I'm not done reading it yet (I'm only reading it during swim sessions), but so far, it's been quite enlightening. It's breaking down the biological aspects of allergies and asthma, what the short- and long-term effects are, and - once I get there - will discuss treatment. I know there are a million different books on these subjects, but I chose this one because I wanted to start at the beginning... the hows and whys and understand what a treatment needs to do to get rid of the cause rather than just the symptoms.
Oh, and just for good measure, one last book:
Because all kids need to have fun. And some days, so do their mamas.
Enjoy your weekend... and stay cool!
This is to Asperger's syndrome what "The Bipolar Child" is to bipolar disorder. It's an amazing resource, and it's as useful for adults with Asperger's as it is to parents of children with the disorder. However, it wasn't very helpful for M1. So I got a couple books for him: First this one
The first one is written by a boy with Asperger's. M1 really enjoyed it and was thrilled to learn that there really are other kids out there who understand what he feels and what it's like to live with the way he thinks. The second book is a workbook that he and I are working through together. It helps both of us. He gains insight into the way he reacts to the world, and I gain insight into ways to help him. He can't wait to finish it and show it to all his relatives so they can help him when he gets frustrated.
That's all we have for his Asperger's, but since he's been struggling with his allergies this summer, I purchased the Kindle version of this book:
I'm not done reading it yet (I'm only reading it during swim sessions), but so far, it's been quite enlightening. It's breaking down the biological aspects of allergies and asthma, what the short- and long-term effects are, and - once I get there - will discuss treatment. I know there are a million different books on these subjects, but I chose this one because I wanted to start at the beginning... the hows and whys and understand what a treatment needs to do to get rid of the cause rather than just the symptoms.
Oh, and just for good measure, one last book:
Because all kids need to have fun. And some days, so do their mamas.
Enjoy your weekend... and stay cool!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Scheduling Summer (and a question)
Question first: Has anyone had trouble with Blogger's comments section lately? I've noticed that when I try to comment on some blogs lately, it takes me to the log-in page OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER rather than actually letting me comment. I'd love to know if that's happening here. Since leaving a comment may not be an option, e-mail me at oursunn yview @ blog spot.com to let me know if this has happened to you. Please. If it's not working, I want to get it fixed!
Now, on to the real blog post...
Summer is looming large over here. The kids have a half-day of school tomorrow - consisting of a math test and making slime at this house and school-wide games at M2's place of edumacashun - and then they are O-U-T. I'd promised to take them swimming tomorrow afternoon, but since I don't have a new swimsuit yet and the "control panel" powers of the old one have worn off (and it has those little concrete-induced picks all over the bottom), we may wind up at the splash pad instead. I think as long as the kids get to put on swimsuits and copious quantities of sunscreen, they'll be happy.
A month ago, if you had asked me what my summer looked like, I'd have said, "Busy!!" And to some degree it is. Weekends are full. If it's not a birthday party, it's a family reunion. If it's not a family reunion, it's the Fourth of July. And so on and so forth. To me, this seemed 'busy.' But now I'm staring at the calendar thinking, "How did this seem busy??" The kids have swimming lessons for a couple of weeks, sure... but they're less than an hour long and scheduled for first thing in the morning. M1 has camp one week, but that just means it becomes my full-time job to keep M2 occupied! I signed M2 up for a summer violin concert last night, but even that only means the concert and two, maybe three, rehearsals, and it'll mostly be review. In other words, most weekdays are empty.
My schedule just opened up.
The problems with having an Aspie kid and an open schedule are large and very obnoxious. These kids don't understand the phrase "open schedule." The words, "It's summer... do whatever you want!" are a death sentence to parents... or at least some nearby piece of furniture. If there isn't a plan for at least 3/4 of a day, they cease to function at a normal level and will gleefully dive off the deep end of happiness into a great pit of mischief.
Because I value my sanity - what little I have left - and would like to get through the next eight weeks with my house and his limbs mostly intact, I must schedule summer. Schedule summer. One of the greatest contradictions known to kids... or stay-at-home parents, for that matter. Summer is supposed to be about spontaneity, about showing up at the pool and staying till whenever, about grabbing sno cones on the go and waking up and deciding it's a pajama day with no forethought.
It was a sad day when I realized that a spontaneous summer wasn't going to happen. I almost stopped and lamented the loss of my son's childhood when I suddenly realized that this IS his childhood. He's happy when he doesn't have to think about what to do each day. When we were at the grocery store yesterday, he asked me in all seriousness if he was old enough to have a summer job, because he'd like to earn $50 a week and isn't worried about "missing summer" to work to get the cash. All this bodes well for his working ethic as an adult. It also settled my brain about the notion of having to plan out what we do each day.
And so, without further mental distress, I plunked on my couch and pondered what I want to do with the kids this summer. I figure I'll realistically only be able to plan a week ahead at any given time, but hey... if it keeps my home and kid in one piece, I'll do anything. Even if it means scheduling summer.
Now, on to the real blog post...
Summer is looming large over here. The kids have a half-day of school tomorrow - consisting of a math test and making slime at this house and school-wide games at M2's place of edumacashun - and then they are O-U-T. I'd promised to take them swimming tomorrow afternoon, but since I don't have a new swimsuit yet and the "control panel" powers of the old one have worn off (and it has those little concrete-induced picks all over the bottom), we may wind up at the splash pad instead. I think as long as the kids get to put on swimsuits and copious quantities of sunscreen, they'll be happy.
A month ago, if you had asked me what my summer looked like, I'd have said, "Busy!!" And to some degree it is. Weekends are full. If it's not a birthday party, it's a family reunion. If it's not a family reunion, it's the Fourth of July. And so on and so forth. To me, this seemed 'busy.' But now I'm staring at the calendar thinking, "How did this seem busy??" The kids have swimming lessons for a couple of weeks, sure... but they're less than an hour long and scheduled for first thing in the morning. M1 has camp one week, but that just means it becomes my full-time job to keep M2 occupied! I signed M2 up for a summer violin concert last night, but even that only means the concert and two, maybe three, rehearsals, and it'll mostly be review. In other words, most weekdays are empty.
My schedule just opened up.
The problems with having an Aspie kid and an open schedule are large and very obnoxious. These kids don't understand the phrase "open schedule." The words, "It's summer... do whatever you want!" are a death sentence to parents... or at least some nearby piece of furniture. If there isn't a plan for at least 3/4 of a day, they cease to function at a normal level and will gleefully dive off the deep end of happiness into a great pit of mischief.
Because I value my sanity - what little I have left - and would like to get through the next eight weeks with my house and his limbs mostly intact, I must schedule summer. Schedule summer. One of the greatest contradictions known to kids... or stay-at-home parents, for that matter. Summer is supposed to be about spontaneity, about showing up at the pool and staying till whenever, about grabbing sno cones on the go and waking up and deciding it's a pajama day with no forethought.
It was a sad day when I realized that a spontaneous summer wasn't going to happen. I almost stopped and lamented the loss of my son's childhood when I suddenly realized that this IS his childhood. He's happy when he doesn't have to think about what to do each day. When we were at the grocery store yesterday, he asked me in all seriousness if he was old enough to have a summer job, because he'd like to earn $50 a week and isn't worried about "missing summer" to work to get the cash. All this bodes well for his working ethic as an adult. It also settled my brain about the notion of having to plan out what we do each day.
And so, without further mental distress, I plunked on my couch and pondered what I want to do with the kids this summer. I figure I'll realistically only be able to plan a week ahead at any given time, but hey... if it keeps my home and kid in one piece, I'll do anything. Even if it means scheduling summer.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Raising... No... Rearing... No... *Teaching* a Literal Child
I've gotten several good questions out of M1 this week. Many of them are related to his Asperger's and a new book that we got (details of which I'll share at a later date); some of them are just... him. All of them have reminded me just how literal my child is and how carefully I have to word certain things for the answers to fit into the correct answer slots in his brain.
Q1: Why do I get startled when people touch me?
A: Well, people with Asperger's - and autism in general - usually like to think a lot. And when most people think, they can still kind of keep part of their brain paying attention to the world around them so that if someone comes up and touches them, they hear them coming and expect it. But when you think, you get very deep in your brain and some of your other senses kind of switch off so that if someone touches you, it's a very big surprise. And you don't like surprises too much.
Q2: So should I tell people about my Asperger's Syndrome?
A: No, not usually. Most people don't need to know. Kids definitely don't need to know, because they're usually not going to understand anyway. Most adults don't need to know, either, because they aren't going to be around you long enough for it to be noticed... and if you are, and it's an issue, then I'll let them know for you. However, if you're having trouble with a kid, like at camp, and get overwhelmed, then you can tell the counselor or adult in charge that you don't know how to handle a situation, and you can say it's because of your Asperger's, and that's okay. But mostly, as long as you're being you, nobody needs to know.
Q3: So why do I get bullied all the time? Like at camp last year when those two guys picked on me?
A: Well, I'm sure that on the weeks you weren't there, they picked on someone else. Bullies usually pick just one person at a time to be mean to. Try to walk away or handle the situation yourself if you can, but if they get rough or make you feel like you need to cry, tell an adult. Bullying happens to other kids, too, but it definitely makes you feel alone.
Q4: So is there anything wrong with me?
A: Absolutely not. Having Asperger's Syndrome just means that your brain sees the world differently, that's all.
M1: That's right. I see the world as a very small ball with lots of people on it floating in space along with billions and billions of other stars and planets.
A: Um... well, that's kind of what I mean. I didn't quite mean that the way you understood it. Your brain understood my answer differently than I meant it. When I said 'world,' I meant 'environment.' [pause] And by 'environment,' I mean the immediate world around you, not the environment like plants and animals. I mean that you don't feel the same things that other people feel.
M1: I know. That's why I get startled when people touch me.
A: Ah. Um... well, yes. That's true. But when I said 'feel,' I meant feeling emotions. You don't experience all the same emotions that everyone else would feel in certain situations. You don't necessarily get excited about the same stuff as everyone else or get upset when someone else feels sad. So in your people environment, your world, you have different reactions to other people. But it's not a bad thing; it's just how you were made. It's genetic.
M1: Like a gene mutation?
A: Sort of. Close enough.
M1: *grin*
Today I gave him a coloring page for history. We're studying the Reformation, and the coloring page was a blank stained glass image of Mary holding Jesus after he had been taken down from the cross. M1 colored Mary's robe and then paused.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"What was the weather like the day that Jesus died?"
*blink* "Uhhhh....."
He scoured all four Gospels for any information. He determined that since it got dark at the sixth hour, it must have been at least partly sunny before. Ergo, the sky in the background of the 'stained glass' image could be blue. He colored the sky. Then he paused again.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
He was parked on the floor holding his tray of People Color crayons and looking puzzled. "What color is people's skin in Jerusalem?"
Google helped with that one.
In the end, though, I think he summed up who he is in one little paragraph. I typed this as he said it, so I know it's a direct quote. M1's take on himself: "It's boring when everybody's just all the same, and they can walk, and they don't have anything wrong with them. No gene mutations, anything. Just plain people; nothing wrong with them. It's boring. But I'm not one of those boring people. I am myself. I am the only me there is."
That's very true, son... very, very true. Say hello to your boring mother. ;)
Q1: Why do I get startled when people touch me?
A: Well, people with Asperger's - and autism in general - usually like to think a lot. And when most people think, they can still kind of keep part of their brain paying attention to the world around them so that if someone comes up and touches them, they hear them coming and expect it. But when you think, you get very deep in your brain and some of your other senses kind of switch off so that if someone touches you, it's a very big surprise. And you don't like surprises too much.
Q2: So should I tell people about my Asperger's Syndrome?
A: No, not usually. Most people don't need to know. Kids definitely don't need to know, because they're usually not going to understand anyway. Most adults don't need to know, either, because they aren't going to be around you long enough for it to be noticed... and if you are, and it's an issue, then I'll let them know for you. However, if you're having trouble with a kid, like at camp, and get overwhelmed, then you can tell the counselor or adult in charge that you don't know how to handle a situation, and you can say it's because of your Asperger's, and that's okay. But mostly, as long as you're being you, nobody needs to know.
Q3: So why do I get bullied all the time? Like at camp last year when those two guys picked on me?
A: Well, I'm sure that on the weeks you weren't there, they picked on someone else. Bullies usually pick just one person at a time to be mean to. Try to walk away or handle the situation yourself if you can, but if they get rough or make you feel like you need to cry, tell an adult. Bullying happens to other kids, too, but it definitely makes you feel alone.
Q4: So is there anything wrong with me?
A: Absolutely not. Having Asperger's Syndrome just means that your brain sees the world differently, that's all.
M1: That's right. I see the world as a very small ball with lots of people on it floating in space along with billions and billions of other stars and planets.
A: Um... well, that's kind of what I mean. I didn't quite mean that the way you understood it. Your brain understood my answer differently than I meant it. When I said 'world,' I meant 'environment.' [pause] And by 'environment,' I mean the immediate world around you, not the environment like plants and animals. I mean that you don't feel the same things that other people feel.
M1: I know. That's why I get startled when people touch me.
A: Ah. Um... well, yes. That's true. But when I said 'feel,' I meant feeling emotions. You don't experience all the same emotions that everyone else would feel in certain situations. You don't necessarily get excited about the same stuff as everyone else or get upset when someone else feels sad. So in your people environment, your world, you have different reactions to other people. But it's not a bad thing; it's just how you were made. It's genetic.
M1: Like a gene mutation?
A: Sort of. Close enough.
M1: *grin*
Today I gave him a coloring page for history. We're studying the Reformation, and the coloring page was a blank stained glass image of Mary holding Jesus after he had been taken down from the cross. M1 colored Mary's robe and then paused.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"What was the weather like the day that Jesus died?"
*blink* "Uhhhh....."
He scoured all four Gospels for any information. He determined that since it got dark at the sixth hour, it must have been at least partly sunny before. Ergo, the sky in the background of the 'stained glass' image could be blue. He colored the sky. Then he paused again.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
He was parked on the floor holding his tray of People Color crayons and looking puzzled. "What color is people's skin in Jerusalem?"
Google helped with that one.
In the end, though, I think he summed up who he is in one little paragraph. I typed this as he said it, so I know it's a direct quote. M1's take on himself: "It's boring when everybody's just all the same, and they can walk, and they don't have anything wrong with them. No gene mutations, anything. Just plain people; nothing wrong with them. It's boring. But I'm not one of those boring people. I am myself. I am the only me there is."
That's very true, son... very, very true. Say hello to your boring mother. ;)
Monday, April 4, 2011
Support
Thank you to everyone for the words of help and support that you sent after I posted about putting M1 back on medication. They were very kind. I particularly liked the comparison to a child with insulin issues. That one struck me as having a lot of truthiness.
I can't believe I just typed that.
-----
We went to see the pediatrician today for M2's 6-year-old well-child visit. She had to have blood drawn for a couple of tests (cholesterol, thyroid, CBC), and she didn't even scream once! Have I mentioned I love our ped and her staff?? I love them. The phlebotomist is also the x-ray tech, so the children know and love and trust her, and the nurse has been there for several years now, too, so between me and those two ladies keeping the girl occupado, M2 didn't even know she'd been stuck till there was blood in the vials. It actually surprised her when she looked down and saw. She started to get all freaked out until the nurse asked if it was hurting and she thought about it.
"No..."
And by then, they were done.
Bwahahahaha....
The rest of the visit went equally well. M2 is humongous. She's healthy. The doctor and I agree on plans of attack for various issues, should they arise. And theoretically we don't have to go back till she's 8! I love our doc, but hey, co-pays eat ya alive.
-----
Initially I was annoyed that I hadn't been smart enough to plan ahead and get a babysitter for M1 while we went to the doctor visit, but in the end, I think I'm glad he came. The doctor definitely got to see him at his 'best.' OK, mostly that means he went a little bit bonkers. We happened to be placed in a room right behind the doctor's desk, and so he kept trying to jump out and scare her if I had stepped out for some reason, like to take M2 to use the restroom or accompany her to the blood draw. He kept trying to answer questions that had been directed at M2. He kept trying to mouth EVERYTHING. I swear he's currently worse than a toddler about that one. Seriously. He put a plastic car and a library book in his mouth in the span of five minutes. At one point, I asked him to step out of the room so that M2 could change back into her regular clothes, and when I opened the door to let him back in, I discovered he'd escaped... all the way to the discharge area at the far end of the building.
It's a small building, and I found him easily, chatting cheerily away to the reception staff, but still. Gak.
In the end, when we go back for that med appointment on the 18th, I don't think I'll have any problems proving my point, if I haven't done that already.
-----
Finally, and on a completely unrelated note, Tractor Supply Co. has baby rabbits.
*collective awwwwww*
G'night, y'all!
I can't believe I just typed that.
-----
We went to see the pediatrician today for M2's 6-year-old well-child visit. She had to have blood drawn for a couple of tests (cholesterol, thyroid, CBC), and she didn't even scream once! Have I mentioned I love our ped and her staff?? I love them. The phlebotomist is also the x-ray tech, so the children know and love and trust her, and the nurse has been there for several years now, too, so between me and those two ladies keeping the girl occupado, M2 didn't even know she'd been stuck till there was blood in the vials. It actually surprised her when she looked down and saw. She started to get all freaked out until the nurse asked if it was hurting and she thought about it.
"No..."
And by then, they were done.
Bwahahahaha....
The rest of the visit went equally well. M2 is humongous. She's healthy. The doctor and I agree on plans of attack for various issues, should they arise. And theoretically we don't have to go back till she's 8! I love our doc, but hey, co-pays eat ya alive.
-----
Initially I was annoyed that I hadn't been smart enough to plan ahead and get a babysitter for M1 while we went to the doctor visit, but in the end, I think I'm glad he came. The doctor definitely got to see him at his 'best.' OK, mostly that means he went a little bit bonkers. We happened to be placed in a room right behind the doctor's desk, and so he kept trying to jump out and scare her if I had stepped out for some reason, like to take M2 to use the restroom or accompany her to the blood draw. He kept trying to answer questions that had been directed at M2. He kept trying to mouth EVERYTHING. I swear he's currently worse than a toddler about that one. Seriously. He put a plastic car and a library book in his mouth in the span of five minutes. At one point, I asked him to step out of the room so that M2 could change back into her regular clothes, and when I opened the door to let him back in, I discovered he'd escaped... all the way to the discharge area at the far end of the building.
It's a small building, and I found him easily, chatting cheerily away to the reception staff, but still. Gak.
In the end, when we go back for that med appointment on the 18th, I don't think I'll have any problems proving my point, if I haven't done that already.
-----
Finally, and on a completely unrelated note, Tractor Supply Co. has baby rabbits.
*collective awwwwww*
G'night, y'all!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The Consequences of Studying Art with an Aspie
Today, in art, M1 and I discussed the term 'form.' We discussed how it signifies something three-dimensional and is therefore different from drawings or paintings. We discussed the terms height, width, and depth. We looked at a picture of a statue and made inferences from it. And then I asked M1 to make a sculpture. He, of course, first wanted to know what medium he was supposed to use. I was in a lazy mood and suggested Play-Doh.
"Can I make a snake?"
"No snakes. Nice try, Mr. McFly."
*grin*
He pulled out the red Play-Doh first, then black. He doesn't mix Play-Doh colors [any more], so I was curious to see what he uses he would find for those two particular colors. I watched for a minute and then forgot to pay attention since I was putting curtains into the dryer and cutting out a picture to put in a frame. Then I heard my name.
"Mom? I'm done, but it's not portable. You have to come see it."
I came.
Honestly, at first, I thought it was some sort of elephant gone horribly, horribly wrong. But no.
"It's a dung beetle! And it's rolling a ball of dung into a hole! They do this backwards and then they lay eggs inside the dung. Wanna see?"
*pause* "Wanna see what?"
"The eggs, of course!"
Serious points were given for creativity and scientific accuracy. A dung beetle. Whoda thunk?
"Can I make a snake?"
"No snakes. Nice try, Mr. McFly."
*grin*
He pulled out the red Play-Doh first, then black. He doesn't mix Play-Doh colors [any more], so I was curious to see what he uses he would find for those two particular colors. I watched for a minute and then forgot to pay attention since I was putting curtains into the dryer and cutting out a picture to put in a frame. Then I heard my name.
"Mom? I'm done, but it's not portable. You have to come see it."
I came.
Honestly, at first, I thought it was some sort of elephant gone horribly, horribly wrong. But no. "It's a dung beetle! And it's rolling a ball of dung into a hole! They do this backwards and then they lay eggs inside the dung. Wanna see?"
*pause* "Wanna see what?"
"The eggs, of course!" Serious points were given for creativity and scientific accuracy. A dung beetle. Whoda thunk?
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Small Talk
M1 cracks me up with his bluntness sometimes. He embarrasses me at others. Sometimes he manages to do both at once.
We've been struggling lately with the idea of small talk. For example, when we went to a store to get him some inserts for his tennis shoes, the young salesman there introduced himself first to me and then to M1.
"And what's your name?" he asked M1.
M1 froze. Literally. Then he choked out his name and breathed a huge sigh of relief. He'd gotten through an introduction successfully. He usually does. Those are pretty well scripted, so he can manage them. But then the salesman asked M1 his shoe size.
Insert gaping mouth and frozen eyes.
"Seven," I answered a few seconds later, saving M1 from having to try to respond to a question he didn't have in his mental script.
The guy nodded. He got the insert. He came back, and M1 found his voice. "My feet are huge. My mom calls me a moose. I'm only eight years old, but I wear a men's size 7. I'm tall for my age, too, and my daddy was tall for his age, but he wasn't as tall as me. He was never the tallest in his class until he was a teenager."
"Oh yeah?" the guy asked, genuinely trying to feign interest. I gave him big kudos for that.
"Yeah, my mom has pictures, and they show that my dad was only the third or fourth tallest in his class. I'm going to be tall like my dad someday, maybe taller, but my mom doesn't want me to be taller than him because our doorways aren't tall enough, and we have ceiling fans, too. My dad is 6'8". My sister's tall, too. She's only five and she's four feet tall. Someday she'll be taller than my mom, and so will I. My mom's going to be the shrimp in the family."
By this time, the poor salesman has the inserts into M1's shoes and has been trying to get a word in edgewise for about 15 seconds to ask him to stand and see how they feel, but it's hard to stop M1 when he gets his lecture on.
And this is a typical exchange. Most of the dialogue I've written above has come from things that either A) M1 has heard me say to friends or other folks a few times or B) a well-worn script that M1 has developed over the years on his own.
We talked about it after we left the store, and M1 admitted that he totally freezes when he has to talk to anyone he doesn't know very well. He also admitted that he doesn't understand when other people want to talk. And as for the notion of choosing a subject? Fugettaboutit.
This has left me with the parent-of-an-ASD-child dilemma of having to explain the entire concept of small talk to an 8-year-old boy who has NO CLUE.
I went at it a bit backward first, trying to skip straight to 'safe' subjects and using short sentences and things like that. But I'm am realizing that the REAL first step is to get M1 to create 'social circles' in his head. His inner or "first" circle has to be his family, immediate and secondary, and maybe a few close friends, though we might have to tweak that circle a bit, too, eventually. More on that later. But those of us in the first circle are the ones who are used to him, accept him as he is, and aren't in the least bit bugged when he starts lecturing or when he freezes. We don't notice the difference!
The second circle are people who have met him more than once and whom we know and trust. These would be people in the mom's group, people in our homeschool group, etc. In other words, people who aren't strangers, but they might find some of his statements or actions a bit off sometimes. Not all the time, because all kids are weird sometimes, but once in a while you just get the 'weird' vibe. It happens.
The third circle includes strangers. Cashiers, salespeople, random folks in stores... all the people with whom one normally doesn't share the intimate details of your life/day/shoe size. Normally.
After the circles are established, THEN I can work within those parameters to create safe subjects and introduce the notion of not jumping from topic to topic or launching into a speech with no preamble whatsoever. The entire process is truly like programming a computer, only with a few extra lines of code in there that constitute human emotion and DNA.
Clearly I have my work cut out for me. And this is only the tip of the iceberg. Once we get all this done, then I've got to hint at the idea of circles within circles. For example, my grandmother is one who needs to fall somewhere on the cusp of Circles 1 and 2.
Why?
When we went to visit her, M1 was talking to her and she asked him how Sunday School was going. My grandmother is a very religious Lutheran woman. It's just who she is, how she was raised, how she has lived, and how she will die. My mother has yet to tell her she's not attending a Lutheran church, and nobody wants to burst that particular bubble, because it won't be pretty. So when Grandma asked about Sunday School, my insides hit the roof and I mentally screamed, "NOOOOOOO!!!!"
Quoth M1: "Well, my mom's not really a churchy person sometimes, so we haven't been going. I go with my Nana sometimes, though, and it's fun."
*headthwack*
I spent the next 10 minutes running damage control and attempting to soften the tractor beam of a glare that had directed itself at me.
Then, as we were leaving, my grandmother was hugging the kids goodbye and told them, "Come back and see me again soon."
Quoth M1: "Okay, but don't die first."
That one... well, that one just makes me laugh hysterically.
Small talk. Not such a small subject after all.
We've been struggling lately with the idea of small talk. For example, when we went to a store to get him some inserts for his tennis shoes, the young salesman there introduced himself first to me and then to M1.
"And what's your name?" he asked M1.
M1 froze. Literally. Then he choked out his name and breathed a huge sigh of relief. He'd gotten through an introduction successfully. He usually does. Those are pretty well scripted, so he can manage them. But then the salesman asked M1 his shoe size.
Insert gaping mouth and frozen eyes.
"Seven," I answered a few seconds later, saving M1 from having to try to respond to a question he didn't have in his mental script.
The guy nodded. He got the insert. He came back, and M1 found his voice. "My feet are huge. My mom calls me a moose. I'm only eight years old, but I wear a men's size 7. I'm tall for my age, too, and my daddy was tall for his age, but he wasn't as tall as me. He was never the tallest in his class until he was a teenager."
"Oh yeah?" the guy asked, genuinely trying to feign interest. I gave him big kudos for that.
"Yeah, my mom has pictures, and they show that my dad was only the third or fourth tallest in his class. I'm going to be tall like my dad someday, maybe taller, but my mom doesn't want me to be taller than him because our doorways aren't tall enough, and we have ceiling fans, too. My dad is 6'8". My sister's tall, too. She's only five and she's four feet tall. Someday she'll be taller than my mom, and so will I. My mom's going to be the shrimp in the family."
By this time, the poor salesman has the inserts into M1's shoes and has been trying to get a word in edgewise for about 15 seconds to ask him to stand and see how they feel, but it's hard to stop M1 when he gets his lecture on.
And this is a typical exchange. Most of the dialogue I've written above has come from things that either A) M1 has heard me say to friends or other folks a few times or B) a well-worn script that M1 has developed over the years on his own.
We talked about it after we left the store, and M1 admitted that he totally freezes when he has to talk to anyone he doesn't know very well. He also admitted that he doesn't understand when other people want to talk. And as for the notion of choosing a subject? Fugettaboutit.
This has left me with the parent-of-an-ASD-child dilemma of having to explain the entire concept of small talk to an 8-year-old boy who has NO CLUE.
I went at it a bit backward first, trying to skip straight to 'safe' subjects and using short sentences and things like that. But I'm am realizing that the REAL first step is to get M1 to create 'social circles' in his head. His inner or "first" circle has to be his family, immediate and secondary, and maybe a few close friends, though we might have to tweak that circle a bit, too, eventually. More on that later. But those of us in the first circle are the ones who are used to him, accept him as he is, and aren't in the least bit bugged when he starts lecturing or when he freezes. We don't notice the difference!
The second circle are people who have met him more than once and whom we know and trust. These would be people in the mom's group, people in our homeschool group, etc. In other words, people who aren't strangers, but they might find some of his statements or actions a bit off sometimes. Not all the time, because all kids are weird sometimes, but once in a while you just get the 'weird' vibe. It happens.
The third circle includes strangers. Cashiers, salespeople, random folks in stores... all the people with whom one normally doesn't share the intimate details of your life/day/shoe size. Normally.
After the circles are established, THEN I can work within those parameters to create safe subjects and introduce the notion of not jumping from topic to topic or launching into a speech with no preamble whatsoever. The entire process is truly like programming a computer, only with a few extra lines of code in there that constitute human emotion and DNA.
Clearly I have my work cut out for me. And this is only the tip of the iceberg. Once we get all this done, then I've got to hint at the idea of circles within circles. For example, my grandmother is one who needs to fall somewhere on the cusp of Circles 1 and 2.
Why?
When we went to visit her, M1 was talking to her and she asked him how Sunday School was going. My grandmother is a very religious Lutheran woman. It's just who she is, how she was raised, how she has lived, and how she will die. My mother has yet to tell her she's not attending a Lutheran church, and nobody wants to burst that particular bubble, because it won't be pretty. So when Grandma asked about Sunday School, my insides hit the roof and I mentally screamed, "NOOOOOOO!!!!"
Quoth M1: "Well, my mom's not really a churchy person sometimes, so we haven't been going. I go with my Nana sometimes, though, and it's fun."
*headthwack*
I spent the next 10 minutes running damage control and attempting to soften the tractor beam of a glare that had directed itself at me.
Then, as we were leaving, my grandmother was hugging the kids goodbye and told them, "Come back and see me again soon."
Quoth M1: "Okay, but don't die first."
That one... well, that one just makes me laugh hysterically.
Small talk. Not such a small subject after all.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
More Fun With My Son
How My Boy's Mind Works, Vol. 32568:
Picture it. M1 and I are in the van today, getting him a haircut, grocery shopping, and going to the bank, and he suddenly announces out of the blue, "St. Nicholas."
Random.
"St. Nicholas?" I query suspiciously.
"Yes. St. Nicholas is Santa Claus, right?"
Oh God.
"Yes..."
"Well, St. Nicholas was alive a LONG time ago. He should be dead.
[pause]
"But if he's Santa Claus, that means he's still alive.
[pause]
"But if he's still alive, then he can't be a saint."
"Right...," I respond cautiously.
-----
The End.
No, really, that was all. He never did press further. But I strongly suspect this is the last year that Santa exists in his world. It's hard to watch him grow, but dang, the logic is amazing.
Picture it. M1 and I are in the van today, getting him a haircut, grocery shopping, and going to the bank, and he suddenly announces out of the blue, "St. Nicholas."
Random.
"St. Nicholas?" I query suspiciously.
"Yes. St. Nicholas is Santa Claus, right?"
Oh God.
"Yes..."
"Well, St. Nicholas was alive a LONG time ago. He should be dead.
[pause]
"But if he's Santa Claus, that means he's still alive.
[pause]
"But if he's still alive, then he can't be a saint."
"Right...," I respond cautiously.
-----
The End.
No, really, that was all. He never did press further. But I strongly suspect this is the last year that Santa exists in his world. It's hard to watch him grow, but dang, the logic is amazing.
Laughing on Tuesday
BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
I love my son. He's quirky. He likes to refer to himself as a freak, which cracks me up because, well, he can accept who he is!!! (I have no problem with freaks. I have six live cats and a collection of miniature cats. I'm a freak myself.)
My boy is very much an Aspie. I need a bumper sticker that says "I [heart] my Aspie." He's so much fun. He may not listen, but it's usually because his mind is engaged elsewhere. He's a combination of the new Sherlock Holmes on PBS and Sheldon from "Big Bang Theory." He gets obsessed with science and ending world hunger and building solar-powered or wind-powered cars. (Yes, a wind-powered car. No, I do not have any clue how this would work.) He has very little gross motor coordination. He has no fine motor skills whatsoever. He likes to do spelling upside-down hanging off the ottoman. It's awesome to hear your kid spell the word 'easily' while his face is turning red and his voice is starting to sound a tad strangled. He doesn't like certain fabrics and specifically hates hotel pillows. He's vegetarian and got excited last night when I made him tofu curry with jasmine rice. Tofu. Who in my family *LIKES* tofu?? Bizarro. Which reminds me, he likes "The Far Side" cartoons. They appeal to his sense of humor. So does John Cleese. The Ministry of Silly Walks is at the height of 8-year-old Aspie humor.
He has an addictive giggle.
He has sensory integration issues when it comes to sound.
Usually the SID (sensory integration disorder) is kind of a pain in the butt because it means that he gets easily overwhelmed when we go places that might have sudden, loud noises.
Usually.
Sometimes I play with him, though, because when he is alarmed by noise, his reactions are extreme.
Today, he did two math pages. Why? Because it's the last lesson in the book and he really, really wants to get to the next book. Why? Because it's the next book. It means he's progressing and can *see* the progression. So he did two math pages. He passed them both. After the second page, he was standing in front of me, between the couch and the ottoman, waiting on the verdict of 'pass' or 'redo these and we'll try another page tomorrow.'
The air was thick with tension.
I held the red pen in the air over the page, watching his expressive little face crease with worry.
Then I yelled, "YOU PASSED!!!" at the top of my lungs.
His eyes blew up into huge circles, his arms flailed widly in the air, and he lost his balance and keeled over backward onto the ottoman. In most kids, this would be overly dramatic. In my kid, it's a reaction to sudden noises, and he and I both cracked up.
Teehee.
I can't help but be amused by all this. It might be wrong, but when it all ends in laughter, it sure does feel right.
I love my son. He's quirky. He likes to refer to himself as a freak, which cracks me up because, well, he can accept who he is!!! (I have no problem with freaks. I have six live cats and a collection of miniature cats. I'm a freak myself.)
My boy is very much an Aspie. I need a bumper sticker that says "I [heart] my Aspie." He's so much fun. He may not listen, but it's usually because his mind is engaged elsewhere. He's a combination of the new Sherlock Holmes on PBS and Sheldon from "Big Bang Theory." He gets obsessed with science and ending world hunger and building solar-powered or wind-powered cars. (Yes, a wind-powered car. No, I do not have any clue how this would work.) He has very little gross motor coordination. He has no fine motor skills whatsoever. He likes to do spelling upside-down hanging off the ottoman. It's awesome to hear your kid spell the word 'easily' while his face is turning red and his voice is starting to sound a tad strangled. He doesn't like certain fabrics and specifically hates hotel pillows. He's vegetarian and got excited last night when I made him tofu curry with jasmine rice. Tofu. Who in my family *LIKES* tofu?? Bizarro. Which reminds me, he likes "The Far Side" cartoons. They appeal to his sense of humor. So does John Cleese. The Ministry of Silly Walks is at the height of 8-year-old Aspie humor.
He has an addictive giggle.
He has sensory integration issues when it comes to sound.
Usually the SID (sensory integration disorder) is kind of a pain in the butt because it means that he gets easily overwhelmed when we go places that might have sudden, loud noises.
Usually.
Sometimes I play with him, though, because when he is alarmed by noise, his reactions are extreme.
Today, he did two math pages. Why? Because it's the last lesson in the book and he really, really wants to get to the next book. Why? Because it's the next book. It means he's progressing and can *see* the progression. So he did two math pages. He passed them both. After the second page, he was standing in front of me, between the couch and the ottoman, waiting on the verdict of 'pass' or 'redo these and we'll try another page tomorrow.'
The air was thick with tension.
I held the red pen in the air over the page, watching his expressive little face crease with worry.
Then I yelled, "YOU PASSED!!!" at the top of my lungs.
His eyes blew up into huge circles, his arms flailed widly in the air, and he lost his balance and keeled over backward onto the ottoman. In most kids, this would be overly dramatic. In my kid, it's a reaction to sudden noises, and he and I both cracked up.
Teehee.
I can't help but be amused by all this. It might be wrong, but when it all ends in laughter, it sure does feel right.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
AAAAARRRRRGH!!!
Thank you. I needed to get that out of my system. November has not been kind to me so far.
First of all, we have NaNoWriMo. I think I'm doing well! I have written about 8,500 words in my projected-to-be 50,000+ word novel. I had more written this morning until the Blue Screen of Death appeared on my laptop and ate my work with relish. I hadn't seen the Blue Screen of Death in a long time. I haven't missed it.
Then we have M2. She's back to the girl she was before all the poo hit the fan back in March or April or whenever it started; I've blocked the date conveniently from my memory. We went to see the psychiatrist yesterday, and when I told him that she was back to baseline, we chatted a bit about the nastiness of the Lexapro and then he said, "So... if she'd been like this all along, you'd never have come in?" "Right." That answer pleased him, apparently, because the invisible wall that had been up before, the one that basically said he was taking me at face value and didn't really BELIEVE me, disappeared. He said we're left looking at three options to explain her behavior:
1. It was all a phase and we'll never see it again.
2. It's all anxiety, but she's one of the odd kids who just react negatively to SSRIs due to age, and if we have to try it again in a few years, she might have a different reaction.
3. This is the upswing in a roller coaster that will eventually include the rages again.
He thinks we're looking at option #3, though he'd like to see #1 or #2. We go back in three months or sooner if the symptoms return.
So there's that. Which is good. Never mind that I still feel like I'm on pins and needles around her waiting for the other behavioral shoe to drop, and when she's at home, she's like a leech stuck to my leg that can somehow make its thoughts heard in my head and doesn't SHUT UP. Today, after violin, we got home and she insisted on coming out to the chicken coop with me to collect eggs, add straw, clean out and refill water containers, get mail, etc. Leech. I love her dearly, but sometimes I need five minutes of silence. Five minutes. An eternity of silence in a mom's world.
M1... M1, M1, M1... he's the one that caused all the anguish today. The boy has. no. self-control. NONE! I don't understand it. I can tell my 5-year-old to go do a simple chore like picking up the toys in her room, and she will go, and she will do it, and it will be done, and more often than not, it will be done well. I mean, she's five, she ain't perfect, but she FOCUSES and she TRIES. That's what counts. The boy... the boy would honestly and truly lose his head if it wasn't attached. I think I've mentioned that next year I'm going to have him dress up as the Headless Horseman for Halloween just so I can watch him lose his head.
And he's sneaky.
And he lies.
And he doesn't CARE, because if it doesn't affect him or he doesn't think he'll get caught, it must not be wrong. I thought kids with Asperger's were supposed to be rule-followers. Where on earth did MY kid come from?? Oh, right... rule-followers as long as the rules make sense to them.
Today, he lost a library book. Not a big deal in and of itself. I thought I'd help him look for it, and in the process I found Halloween candy wrappers hidden in a drawer. He tried to lie and say they'd been there a long time, but it's only been a few days since I've opened that drawer, and they weren't there then. He finally owned up, but he lost the rest of his candy. I told him he needed to clean up his room in an effort to find the book, and when I went to check on him, he was playing his sister's Didj. I confiscated that and gave it back to her AND took his Didj as well. Anyone want it? Now that he has a DS (which lives in my room permanently because of this exact issue), he doesn't need the Didj. It comes with a blue plastic 'case.' I'd be happy to sell it to ya. And ship it. The process went like that for the rest of the evening. I gave him a 20-minute warning before it was time for supper, warned him that he needed to get to work on *something,* because he hadn't done squat, but it wasn't motivation enough. Twenty minutes came (with warnings) and went and he was no closer to being done than before. I told him he had thirty minutes to be at the table, gave him multiple warnings in between, and still nothing. I told him that he had 15 minutes if he wanted leftovers; nil. I started yanking allowance bucks, and that finally motivated him a little bit, but he still lost $5 before all was said and done.
The book is still nowhere to be found. Since it's not due till next Wednesday and I can recheck it online up to three times, I figure it'll turn up somewhere between now and then. No worries. My beef is that I do not have the time to stand over an 8-year-old boy and monitor his every move. When I say don't play the electronics, it means DON'T PLAY THE ELECTRONICS. When I say clean your room to look for a book, I mean that, too! I know he hears me; he can repeat verbatim what I tell him to do. But somehow the words don't make it from the ears to the brain. The brain is simply bypassed for the mouth.
Someone tell me that eventually a synapse somewhere will fire and he'll be able to monitor his own actions. Just humor me if you have to. I just need to know that at some point my son is going to quit stealing and ignoring and lying and will actually be able to complete a string of commands or own electronic devices (including flashlights) without a 24-hour monitor. Because if he can't start following rules and laws and commands, that 24-hour monitor is going to be attached to his ankle.
First of all, we have NaNoWriMo. I think I'm doing well! I have written about 8,500 words in my projected-to-be 50,000+ word novel. I had more written this morning until the Blue Screen of Death appeared on my laptop and ate my work with relish. I hadn't seen the Blue Screen of Death in a long time. I haven't missed it.
Then we have M2. She's back to the girl she was before all the poo hit the fan back in March or April or whenever it started; I've blocked the date conveniently from my memory. We went to see the psychiatrist yesterday, and when I told him that she was back to baseline, we chatted a bit about the nastiness of the Lexapro and then he said, "So... if she'd been like this all along, you'd never have come in?" "Right." That answer pleased him, apparently, because the invisible wall that had been up before, the one that basically said he was taking me at face value and didn't really BELIEVE me, disappeared. He said we're left looking at three options to explain her behavior:
1. It was all a phase and we'll never see it again.
2. It's all anxiety, but she's one of the odd kids who just react negatively to SSRIs due to age, and if we have to try it again in a few years, she might have a different reaction.
3. This is the upswing in a roller coaster that will eventually include the rages again.
He thinks we're looking at option #3, though he'd like to see #1 or #2. We go back in three months or sooner if the symptoms return.
So there's that. Which is good. Never mind that I still feel like I'm on pins and needles around her waiting for the other behavioral shoe to drop, and when she's at home, she's like a leech stuck to my leg that can somehow make its thoughts heard in my head and doesn't SHUT UP. Today, after violin, we got home and she insisted on coming out to the chicken coop with me to collect eggs, add straw, clean out and refill water containers, get mail, etc. Leech. I love her dearly, but sometimes I need five minutes of silence. Five minutes. An eternity of silence in a mom's world.
M1... M1, M1, M1... he's the one that caused all the anguish today. The boy has. no. self-control. NONE! I don't understand it. I can tell my 5-year-old to go do a simple chore like picking up the toys in her room, and she will go, and she will do it, and it will be done, and more often than not, it will be done well. I mean, she's five, she ain't perfect, but she FOCUSES and she TRIES. That's what counts. The boy... the boy would honestly and truly lose his head if it wasn't attached. I think I've mentioned that next year I'm going to have him dress up as the Headless Horseman for Halloween just so I can watch him lose his head.
And he's sneaky.
And he lies.
And he doesn't CARE, because if it doesn't affect him or he doesn't think he'll get caught, it must not be wrong. I thought kids with Asperger's were supposed to be rule-followers. Where on earth did MY kid come from?? Oh, right... rule-followers as long as the rules make sense to them.
Today, he lost a library book. Not a big deal in and of itself. I thought I'd help him look for it, and in the process I found Halloween candy wrappers hidden in a drawer. He tried to lie and say they'd been there a long time, but it's only been a few days since I've opened that drawer, and they weren't there then. He finally owned up, but he lost the rest of his candy. I told him he needed to clean up his room in an effort to find the book, and when I went to check on him, he was playing his sister's Didj. I confiscated that and gave it back to her AND took his Didj as well. Anyone want it? Now that he has a DS (which lives in my room permanently because of this exact issue), he doesn't need the Didj. It comes with a blue plastic 'case.' I'd be happy to sell it to ya. And ship it. The process went like that for the rest of the evening. I gave him a 20-minute warning before it was time for supper, warned him that he needed to get to work on *something,* because he hadn't done squat, but it wasn't motivation enough. Twenty minutes came (with warnings) and went and he was no closer to being done than before. I told him he had thirty minutes to be at the table, gave him multiple warnings in between, and still nothing. I told him that he had 15 minutes if he wanted leftovers; nil. I started yanking allowance bucks, and that finally motivated him a little bit, but he still lost $5 before all was said and done.
The book is still nowhere to be found. Since it's not due till next Wednesday and I can recheck it online up to three times, I figure it'll turn up somewhere between now and then. No worries. My beef is that I do not have the time to stand over an 8-year-old boy and monitor his every move. When I say don't play the electronics, it means DON'T PLAY THE ELECTRONICS. When I say clean your room to look for a book, I mean that, too! I know he hears me; he can repeat verbatim what I tell him to do. But somehow the words don't make it from the ears to the brain. The brain is simply bypassed for the mouth.
Someone tell me that eventually a synapse somewhere will fire and he'll be able to monitor his own actions. Just humor me if you have to. I just need to know that at some point my son is going to quit stealing and ignoring and lying and will actually be able to complete a string of commands or own electronic devices (including flashlights) without a 24-hour monitor. Because if he can't start following rules and laws and commands, that 24-hour monitor is going to be attached to his ankle.
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