Open Houses and Open Hearts

Last night was Open House Night at Spiff’s school, and we “walked” his class schedule for the evening, spending about 10 minutes in each of his classes (he has 7 of them). I was really looking forward to this, because there were a few teachers I hadn’t met yet and there were some changes made to his schedule, so he had some new classes.

Thanks to my lovely neighbor, the boys were hanging with her and her kids, so this gave me and the Hubby a chance to ask questions and not have to entertain Scamp. Also, because Spiff takes medication that helps him get though his school day; at night the medicine visibly wears off, and I didn’t want him to do something he would be embarrassed about later, since he is becoming more aware and sensitive to that. So off we went to school, holding hands and asking each other if back in the day either of us did naughty things in Middle School.

We were both geeks. So no, we didn’t. I didn’t hit my stride until High School. By then he would have been in the Navy, and the Navy is like Vegas, so…..

Each of Spiff’s teachers took time out to talk to us and let us know how much they enjoy having him in their class. How smart he is, how funny. As a parent of a special needs child, these words are like manna from Heaven, because teaching to children like mine means you have to think outside of the box in many cases. Sometimes teachers don’t like to do that, and we have met a few in our travels. What struck us was that all of his teachers when speaking to the parents expressed their desire to make the class interesting, enjoyable and fun. They want the kids to like coming to school, and enjoy learning. They spoke of responsibility and of organization skills (as in they lack it), and that they would be working with the kids to teach them the right way to navigate school. It was akin to a religious experience.

We left feeling uplifted, and proud of our son. We also felt pretty proud of ourselves too, for fighting so hard to get him in this school, and thankful that the powers that be allowed it to happen. It’s a heady, potent mix when you get a school with teachers who enjoy what they do, and staff that genuinely care about the kids and their job.

Earlier that day I received a call from the ESE Guidance Councelor. Spiff had left his bracelet that he uses as a talisman, and helps calm him down and keep him centered, at home. I offered to bring it to him, and when I got to school the secretary at the front desk thought I was nuts to want to bring it to him, and ask her to call him out of class to get it. (I wanted him to be reassured that I wasn’t mad, he was concerned that I was mad since he thought he lost it.) Once she realized who I was, and who my son was, she brought me down to his class and on the way back apologized for her “rudeness” earlier, but that other parents have gotten their kids out of class for really silly things, and she thought that I was doing the same thing. I reassured her that I was fine with it, and that I was glad that she and the staff cared so much about the kids’ education to not want to disrupt them. I also told her that we’ll get to know each other better as time goes on, and not to worry about it.

I was nice that she apologized though.

When My Child Proves Me Wrong, and I’m Okay With It

All of us who work with Spiff had SERIOUS reservations about his transition to Middle School. I think the only one who didn’t have reservations was Spiff, and all he was worried about was the fire drills.

We should have listened to him. He knew of what he spoke.

It is now two and a half weeks into the new school year, and Spiff is doing beautifully. Many teachers and staff have either stopped me in the halls, called me at home, or sent me notes telling me how well he’s adjusting and how wonderful and smart he is. There have been 2 fire drills since school has started, and today’s was perfect, with no outbursts, hiding under desks, or melting down. He simply covered his ears and walked outside with his aide.

His aide wrote me today to tell me that at lunch today he initiated a conversation with three girls sitting with him at the table. He was so proud of him to have done that, and I was doubly proud to read it. The fact that he is beginning to notice others around him during chaotic times is outstanding.

He turns 12 on Thursday. What a long, crazy, yet beautiful trip it has been. I’m sure soon I’ll be complaining about something he and his brother have done; but today, I’m going to bask in the proud glow of Spiff’s accomplishments.

This time, I’m okay with him proving me wrong. Just don’t tell him in those words, okay? Thanks. I’ve got a momma rep to protect.

A Death in the Family

Count Cadifor Ionnain Fishy-Fish passed away last night.

We are very sad.

We’ll miss him.

Sigh.

Because You KNOW No Female Came Up With This Ad Campaign

So Mother Nature’s painters are in and doing a bit of remodeling, which required me to go out and purchase some sanitary napkins (or pads to you youngsters). I chose Always, because I had a coupon, they were on sale, they had those wing things on the sides, and they were thin. Perfect! Wrap those up for me, kind sir, and I’ll be on my way.

So the time came to place one of these babies in my underwear. The wings are held in place by a piece of paper that sits in the middle of the pad, on the top, so you have to remove it to wrap the wings around the sides of the underwear (this explanation is really for the men in the audience). Printed on this paper, MANY times, in a cute lilting font is:

Have a Happy Period.

WTF?!?!?

A happy period? I’ve never had a happy period. I’ve only had the painful, popping Advil like they’re candy kind of periods that come complete with lots of bleeding, pain and suffering for me and those around me. My heating pad and I become up close and intimate and my husband threatens to leave with no forwarding address. I give Linda Blair in The Exorcist a run for her money during my period. There is nothing, happy, fun or sexy for me during a period. The only time I have ever had a happy moment during a period was when I thought I might not get one that month and then it arrived. And that moment was brief, let me tell you.

I just want to know, did the women in that advertising powwow when this grand idea was born laugh their asses off at the men who hatched this idea? Because they should have. They had better. For women at large, but especially for me, because I SO would have, probably until it got me fired. But it would have been so worth it.

A happy period, indeed. Now, where the hell is my chocolate?

Fear and Loathing in the Parenting of an Asperger’s Child

It has taken me and the Hubby a long time to get where we are today when it comes to the advocacy of (now both of) our boys. It has been a long, hard road, that both of us never thought we would be going down. It’s a road that has made us better parents, and better people. It’s an experience that has turned our fears into fearlessness.

It began almost 11 years ago, when concerned family members pointed out that Spiff wasn’t hitting developmental milestones that other children in the family had. There were many nights of screaming, crying, colic, and vomiting. There were trips to my in-laws, where we would walk in the door, hand off our little bundle of “joy” to his grandparents, and we’d disappear in the finished basement to sleep and regain a bit of our sanity again so we could wade back into the trenches.

We begged our pediatrician to help us. We were told to “take him home and love him”. They checked his physical milestones and since they were within normal range of his age group, they couldn’t understand what we were fussing about. “He’s fine”, they’d say. “It’s just a phase, he’ll outgrow it” we were told. We felt helpless, and powerless to help our own child. We felt like horrible parents, and didn’t understand what we had done wrong, or what we needed to do next. It was very bleak.

We did playgroups, but not with the normal success that other kids enjoy with them. Spiff played around the other kids, not with them. He didn’t want to do the group activities, and chafed when we tried to get him to join in. Some days were better than others, and there would be the odd day where he would participate, would engage and we’d think, Maybe this is it, we’ve turned a corner, only to arrive the next week and he would have to be carried out kicking, screaming, and crying. I spent a lot of time making excuses, explaining my son’s behavior and my parenting skills. I began to hear the same excuses time and again come out of my mouth. We stopped going to playgroups. We began to isolate ourselves so we didn’t have to explain anymore. We stopped socializing, unless people came out to our house, because it was easier on everyone, but mostly it was easier on Spiff. When it was easier on Spiff, it was easier on us. That became our family motto.

Help came in a most unlikely place. One day Hubby brings home a pamphlet from work; our town has a Parents as Teachers program, and evaluations and services are free if you qualify. I called and set up an appointment, and a lovely woman named Julie came out and played for several hours with Spiff, making notes as she went along. She explained that through play she could determine what his strengths are, and help assess his weaknesses and offer assistance in helping him with them. She did feel that he did have some issues, and that she could help. We would meet for 2 years, once a week, and her support for both of us was invaluable. Besides her input, a family friend came out and evaluated Spiff and felt that he suffered from Sensory Integration Disorder. Finally, armed with these observations, (and a new pediatrician!) our insurance company finally agreed to send us to the nearest children’s hospital for further evaluations. We finally felt like someone was actually listening to us, and not thinking all we were doing was complaining! It felt wonderful, and yet so scary. What else was waiting for us around the corner?

We didn’t need to wait long. A diagnosis of PDD-NOS (Pervasive Developmental Disorder- Non Origin Specified) was what awaited us. We were also told, with intensive therapy, he’d outgrow it. We sailed home on those wings of hope that with a lot of work, and love, we could beat this thing.

We were wrong. They were wrong for deluding us like that.

This is not a disease. There is no “cure”. There is lots of hard work, therapy (for you and your child!), blood sweat and tears, and love. There are good days and there are bad days. There are days when you trust your instincts and there are days you don’t know which end is up. There are times when you do think you just might have licked this thing, and then you are quickly reminded that it is all a work in progress. You can experience some of the highest highs, of seeing your child master something you never thought he would accomplish, that others take for granted; and you can experience some of the lowest lows, of being called into conferences, and told your child is no longer welcome in a class, or that they don’t have the services you require any longer at your place where you receive services.

It’s everything about being a parent, but with an added twist. And that twist doesn’t go away. But it does change over time; into a rich, rewarding existence where you learn more about yourself, and what you and your child are capable of.

When did we get our wits about us? Well, it didn’t happen overnight, and I still make some mistakes along the way. I’ll admit that there are times in an IEP meeting I get intimidated among all the administrators and staff that make up my team. I don’t want to make waves, truth be told. These people have to educate my child each and every day; and I don’t want to make them resent my child because of my attitude in a meeting. Unfortunately though, I have found that unless you are assertive about what you want for your child in that environment, you usually only get the bare minimum until you make those waves. I absolutely hate being the bad guy, but when it comes to my children, scratch that – ANY child, I am more than willing to throw the most obnoxious temper tantrum to get the attention directed at what can help them.

I decided that the only people who were looking out for my child’s best interests as a whole was the Hubby and I. Every child deserves to have the same educational experience as their peers, including my son.

I set my child up for success. I don’t take no for an answer if I know it can be done. I question authority when necessary. We don’t accept anything less than what Spiff can (honestly) accomplish.

I know that all children will get from point A to point B; but there will be many different paths taken to get there; and not just the standard one will apply. I suggest re-writing the rules so that your child can participate with his peers on his terms. I have.

There is still a lot of fear left. We don’t know what the future holds for Spiff, and if it includes a “sleep away” college or a local community college; but we know it includes a college. We don’t know what will happen after Hubby and I are gone. There is still a lot of ground to cover.

What we do know is that we have come a long way from parents who didn’t know what we were doing as new parents; to dealing with a diagnosis we had never heard of; to finding our voice and making sure that others do right by our son. His younger brother may also have some issues as he gets older; but you had better believe that we will be just as vocal for his rights as we are for his brother.

Because when it comes to our children, there is nothing we will not do. Don’t you agree?

Proof My Puzzles Are, In Fact, Cool

Some Photographic Evidence that I am addicted to puzzles and they some hang as art in my home:

This one hangs in my kitchen. It’s one of my favorites. I put this one together when I was pregnant with Scamp.

This one I did while I was pregnant with Spiff. Hubby and I had the glue at the ready when we finished it, it was such a pain to put together with all that Black and White. It hangs proudly in our home office.

This puzzle I did because Spiff was REALLY into street signs, and we decked out his room in cars, trucks, and street signs (I had a friend who worked for the county works). This one still hangs proudly in his room, right near all those street signs.

Okay, I know, I’m a geek. I own it. But they are pretty cool, huh?

they are, right??

I Don’t Think This is What They Meant When The Directions Said ‘Search for Hidden Objects’

So I didn’t get to go to St. Augustine this weekend, because I’ve been dealing with separation anxiety with Spiff going to Middle School…

(It is basically the equivalent of working at a job for 40 years and then coming into work one day and being told that you are being retired – and thank you for all the hard work you’ve done – we’ll take it from here. You know, depressing stuff.)

So I got sick.

I laid low. I rested. And on a family trip to Target Spiff and I decided to pick up a little, trifling, 750 piece puzzle to put together.

Now, I have to clarify. I LOVE puzzles, love them. When I am pregnant, I am obsessive about them. I have several framed in my house (don’t worry, they are actually kind of cool) and I can do them pretty quickly, especially with help from family. The idea was that we would do this as a family, and have some family bonding time.

Milton Bradley always makes it look so easy on the cover of their games, don’t they? They apparently don’t have things in their house like GameCube.

Spiff didn’t help at first, he was too busy trying to convince me to let him play GameCube. I finally gave in because I wanted to just focus on the puzzle. See, I AM obsessed.

This wasn’t just any puzzle, this was a CSI Puzzle a puzzle with no picture on the cover that matches what you put together. It also comes with an ultraviolet light to view clues with, and a booklet to read about the case. We were stoked – and by “we” I mean the Hubby and I. Spiff was off GameCubing. He came around later to help out, but Hubby and I finished the bulk of the puzzle. BIG props to Uncle A for pitching in too!

So, we get this puzzle completed, and we read the booklet. We then shut off all the lights to view the puzzle with the black light so we can see the clues. We look, and look, and look.

There are none.

But there are several blank pages in the back of the booklet. I shine the wand over those pages, and there are letters! and words! and the solution! Much rejoicing was had. Not because we had validation that we were right (which was nice), but that we had found the darned solution!

Scamp decided he just had to have the blacklight wand, so we let him play with it for a bit. Just before he was going to bed, he screamed in panic; he had lost the wand! Much tearing up of the sofa ensued, and scouring of the house to find the wand, but it was to no avail. It had vanished into the mists of time. We were sad.

The next morning, Scamp gets up, comes out to the sofa, and snuggles into my lap to watch cartoons. A millisecond later, he gets up to go see what his brother is doing in the office. Not long after that he comes running out to the family room and tells us “I found the wand!” We asked him where it was. He then says:

“It was in my underwear, in my ‘pocket’. I put it there for safekeeping.”

It was definitely one place I would have never thought to look, that’s for sure.

I had no idea young boy’s underwear had so many “pockets”.

Smiting the Fear of The Fire Drill and Other Stories

Today was a fire drill day at Spiff’s school. The law requires that they have one once a month, and so he knew there was going to be one, he just didn’t know when.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but Spiff is frightened of fire drills. FRIGHTENED. They freak him out. It completely interrupts his “fight or flight” response. We’ve done EVERYTHING to help him, including me picking him up from school before a fire drill so he would not hide under desks and need to be pulled out by staff. It was not a pretty picture.

Last year Spiff got better about handling the fire drills, and we were pleased that he was hanging in there and trying to overcome his fear and then once the fire drill was over, getting right back to work. For someone who doesn’t handle transitions well, this is huge. It used to drive the teachers nuts that it took forever for Spiff to calm down and get back to work after a fire drill, so many of his teachers would let him just read a book or color in their office for the rest of the day. This was actually counterproductive, because he needed to learn how to get back into the swing of things and get back to work.

His 5th grade teacher helped set him straight, and by the end of last year he was handling those fire drills like a pro. We were worried because time had elapsed (read: summer vacation) and we didn’t know if he would freak out again in middle school. His fear is real, and is answer to a question an administrator asked him about “Did he have any concerns about Middle School?” were about the fire drill, and nothing else. So I think we were a little worried about how he’d do for his first fire drill.

I’m happy to report that times, they have been changed. According to the Assistant Principal, he handled it like a pro. He so impressed the staff that they planned to buy him an ice cream at lunch today to celebrate. I picked up the latest Captain Underpants book as a special treat. I cried when my husband relayed the news. I’m just so proud of him.

__________________________________

So can I talk for a moment about the Queen of Spain? She is sooooooo awesome! And spunky, and wicked smart, and hilarious. I had the best time at lunch on Monday. I’d actually consider moving to LA if I could guarantee she’d be my neighbor. I can’t wait for BlogHer in Chi-Town! (unless she visits again soon!) She was hawt!

Also, I’m meeting Kathy from Use Your Words on Saturday. We plan to meet up and eat and hang out in the Oldest City in the U.S. It’s gonna be a blast!

…And He Cooks Too!

Because after I said I would cook dinner tonight, but got waylaid by all the bloggity goodness out there, the Hubby decided to cook dinner.

Not just ANY dinner. My favorite dinner:

Behold, Chicken Breasts with Leeks and Exotic Mushrooms, taken from the cookbook Savannah Seasons: Food and Stories from Elizabeth on 37th:

Yum-my. A slight substitution was made for the “exotic” mushrooms, but it didn’t hurt the eating any.

I must go now and join the Clean Plate Club.

An Audience With The Queen

So today, I FINALLY got to break bread with The Queen of Spain. It was like meeting an old friend. We laughed, we talked, we ate really good barbecue….

It was a great afternoon. Thanks for everything, Queen!!! You are awesome!

Sorry I can’t post more, but my migraine is back.