There was a point in my life, where I wondered if I'd ever get married. I'd never felt comfortable in my own skin. Taunts from individuals that in my youth, by those needing to belittle others in order to define their own worth, haunted me almost a decade later. Having several dating disasters under my belt in College strengthened my doubts. I could feel the waves of negative building as I hit the year mark from returning from my mission.
It's hard to imagine in 1994, but at BYU, I was practically an old maid at the tender age of twenty-four.
Then one day, soon after my application to the BYU Design program was rejected (again), I decided I not only needed a new major but I needed a new attitude. I prayed, I pondered, and I reflected, on not only who I was, but who did I wanted to be. I remember making the decision that I would find joy and happiness, not matter what life had to offer. With no idea where I was headed, or what the future held, I was determined to see life's silver lining.
Now I'm not saying there wouldn't be tears, hardship, pain or loss. I'm saying that I realized, my outlook was a choice.
Of course, some of parts of life's journey are easier to embrace then others. My glass was definitely half full when I met my husband. On our wedding day, I found my joy could not be contained in a glass. I couldn't imagine my feelings, being bigger, until I became a mom. I also discovered how low I could go.
About a year and a half after my second daughter's birth, I found myself pregnant. We were hoping for a third and it was exciting to expand our family. My dad was THRILLED! He adored his grand babies, loving and playing with them in a way that he struggled to do as a young father. My dad counted me among his best friends, and he eagerly shared with his many local friends that he was going to be a grandfather again.
I loss that baby. It wasn't the first baby I'd miscarried, my very first pregnancy wasn't met to be but that grief was fleeting as I quickly became pregnant a few months later. That second loss, was felt much deeper. It wasn't miscarriage itself that spiraled my depression but the loss of my dad two weeks later made life seem unbearable. I found myself, while still recovering physically, not even having a chance to morn that babe, at my dad's funeral with friends of my father's congratulating me on the new baby. It was beyond painful. The climb back was excruciating.
An important point that I need to make, is that having lived through depression, deep, gut wrenching, just the thought of loading clothes into the washer was crushingly overwhelming depression, I am NOT suggesting that you can just get over depression or there's a quick fix. What I'm saying is, even in that cavern of grief and tears that lasted almost a year, I had my daughters and they gave me a glimmer of something to hold onto. While I can't say, I truly found "joy" in that time of my life. I remembered my desire to find life's silver lining. Using that desire, and at that point of my life, it really was a faint memory, I clung to every precious hug my girls gave me. I let my toddler fall asleep on my breast and smelled her sweet hair, taking deep breathes to soak in that moment. And while those ever so brief breaks in the thunderstorm of my grief weren't enough to pull me out, they kept me going forward to a place where I could eventually be happy again.
This was accomplished with my doctor's help, and my husband's love coupled with the smiles of my children, I did move forward.
Trying to see the good, even in the middle of the bad has become a way of life. As I tell my children, I'm not saying you won't ever feel mad, or betrayed. We're human and becoming angry is going to happen. But in that initial flood of emotion, how we react becomes a choice. Even when we've made mistakes (and we will, we all do) how we respond afterwards is a choice. I can honestly say, I'm rather hot headed. I get irrationally angry sometimes. I've been known to put my foot in mouth on a number of occasions to all kinds of people.
My choice when angry is to walk away, calm down and then deal with whatever the heck is going on when I'm rational again. I'm not perfect at it but I try my best because i don't want to be angry.
Even more than that, I enjoy appreciating life's positives. With our youngest's diagnosis of epilepsy, my husband and I looked at each other and expressed gratitude our kiddo wasn't struggling with a life threatening illness. In our hearts, we know he can live a full, wonderful life. Med balancing, getting seizures under control, merely a bump in the road.
Joy? Not in every moment but when I do find the joy, I relish it.
Family, friends, faith... There's a lot of joy in there.
Saturday, May 25, 2019
Saturday, May 11, 2019
Coming to Terms with my Child's Epilepsy
It's amazing.
You wake up. Your family is normal. The kids fight, they argue and then they're playing networked computer games on steam.
We had just finished our big Christmas push. The twins had their birthday, Christmas happened, The Senior had her birthday (because my second child is so old, she will be graduating! EEK!!!) We had just recovered physically, trying to recover financially from December finances, when the oddest thing happened.
One of my twins woke up with a huge, gigantic goose egg on his head. On top of the goose egg, was a huge scrape. We're talking a whopper scrape that covered a third of his head. When asked, "Hey, what happened?" Kiddo would shrug and say, "I don't know." and we'd press, asking, "No really, what happened?" and he started to get mad, because he sincerely did not know how the scrape had happened.
We moved on. He clearly did not know. Why frustrate our youngest teenager? At the same time, the question remained and we pushed it aside because we didn't know how to process our kid not knowing, in anyway, how he received a goose egg size lump with scrapes on top. The whole thing made no sense but we went through our day and then our week and as the wound healed, we worried less about him.
Almost exactly a week later, extremely early in the morning, one of our twins came screeching up the stairs, hollering at the top of his lungs "MOM MOM, ****** is breathing like Uncle Scott did Christmas day!!!! Now background information, my brother not only has epilepsy, that's been managed extremely well for decades but he also struggles with OCD that makes him compulsively drink, to that point that he washes out his electrolytes. Those seizures (which can happen if his liquid intake isn't carefully monitored.) have happened a few times over the past decade and Christmas day, his OCD was out of hand, much more so than usual. Scott snuck water in the middle of the night and had a seizure during Christmas dinner.
Scared my kids to death.
As we called 911, and my mom and I made sure my brother was safe, we talked to my children. We explained that Uncle Scott was fine and that even though this was scary, he would be fine.
So when my son came running up the stairs, at six am and compared his identical twin's breathing to his Uncle Scott's when he had the seizure, my heart skipped a beat and I went into a mom panic. Running down the stairs, I found my boy on the floor in the computer room. He clearly was postictal (the time period directly after a seizure when the individual is recovering) He was non-verbal, it took a full five minutes before he opened his eyes. He was unable to respond to questions. Kiddo, kept trying to stand up, but he was shaky and I was afraid he'd fall, stumble and get hurt.
While keeping him down, I had kiddo's twin run upstairs and get their dad. I also noted that on the floor, that was some blood and liquid. I assumed and it was later confirmed that kiddo had chewed his mouth up while seizing. I also soothed kiddo's twin repeatedly. Kiddo's twin was beyond distraught. I don't think kiddo's twin realized how much his brother means to him. With a wave of clarity, we all realized that wasn't his first seizure. That still visible lump on his head was a seizure wound from his bed.
I sent out the necessary texts to alert my bosses that I would be taking a sick day. My husband sent our oldest teenager on a mission to help find shoes and clothes for the kid, that had finally stopped fighting to get up, and tightly curled up next to my knees, wrapped burrito style in an extremely fluffy blanket.
We decided to self transport. A trip to the ER was a given. So many different things could cause seizures. We needed to eliminate whatever we could so we could move forward and help our child.
As we prepared for our hospital trip, I made a decision that I seldom make on behalf of kiddo's twin. I highly prioritize school. My children go, with little leeway offered to stay home. Free days do not happen at my house. Mental health days do not happen. School is THAT important. However, as I looked at kiddo's twin, he was still, so, visibly, upset. I gave that child a mental health day and had his older sister drop him off at my mother's house as she went to school. She would go to school, while concerned, she felt she'd be alright and she'd take her freshman brother to school. The highly analytical 14 year old, shrugged, and said, yeah, he was fine concerning what was going on. That kid sooooooo went to school. but the other 13 year old, he got a mental health day.
So arrangements were made and we took kiddo to the emergency room. Vitals were taken, blood was drawn, kiddo was given a CAT scan. The ER doctor offered anti seizure meds but that seemed premature to me. We needed to pursue and make sure it was the right choice. So we left the ER with no clear answers but some definite diagnosis were crossed off. Our kiddo's brain was clear, that was not any malformations, tumors and unusual readings. His blood tests also eliminated other outlying causes. This wasn't a metabolic issue, like my brother sometimes has.
At this point, no one said it but my husband and I knew our son, if the seizures continued, has epilepsy.
Our next step was a trip to kiddo's regular doctor and at this point, we had only two confirmed seizures. Our kiddo's doctor has known our family for over two decades, since our oldest was six months old. We have a good working relationship and similar ideals on a more conservative approach to medicating and diagnosing problems. I appreciate that relationship and that I don't have to explain my feels and that this doctor, while giving all the choices and the pros and cons of those choices, in his head, already knows which directions I'm most likely to chose.
The only choices on that day, a mere four days after the ER visit, was if we were scheduling for the pediatric neurologist now or if we were waiting to see make sure and see if there was really cause for scheduling. In other words, were the two seizures a fluke, or would kiddo have more? It's a legitimate question. It's a weird thing, a kid's brain. Seizures can happen once or twice and then never happen again.
I will be honest, my husband and I, while we truly don't fight, that doesn't mean we don't disagree and on this, we disagreed. I felt, in my heart, we needed the ball rolling on the neurologist. It's ridiculously hard to get an appointment with specialist and I felt that truly, it was warranted. My husband wanted to wait and see. This wasn't the first time. Waiting and seeing is his go to reaction. As I said, we don't fight and I did not push my opinion because in the end, we'd get to where we needed to be. I agreed to wait.
A mere four days later, he had another seizure and a mere twenty four hours after that, he had another grand mal. Monday morning, I called and started the process to get our son into the pediatric neurologist. We were quickly put in four weeks later (Because that's what happens when seeing a specialist.) Kiddo had more seizures, mostly about a week apart until we were finally able to get him in. We talked quite a bit and in the end, the only part that really mattered were the one's stated by the doctor while he looked at our son's chart and out of his mouth flowed the words "Your son meets all the criteria of epilepsy."
For a brief moment, as our reality shifted as the new "normal" settled into the room.
So many feelings and emotions go into a diagnosis. How does this effect his future life, what does this mean for his present life, what steps will we have to take to keep his life "normal." For our son, the real fear of having a seizure at school brewed in his mind. Not understanding what was happening to him, having his twin freaking out, telling him how scary it was, anger towards anyone that walked by, because his emotions are so incredibly big right now.
As hard as it is as a parent, realizing our reality for our child, that pales to the emotion our child feels, in dealing with that reality. The truth is, we're at the sidelines. Oh sure, I'm on the phone with doctors, I'm monitoring meds, sometimes having to switch dosages and prescriptions within days of each other but, but but, I'm not the one having the seizures. Going to school while tired, worn out, with a headache from a seizure in the morning. He has to fight the battle. I can only give him the needed tools.
We had a moment a few weeks ago. Kiddo had shut down, He had decided he wasn't participating in track and field the next day during a meet. We had switched seizure meds once already, as the first one we tried made kiddo incredibly angry and very physical. It wasn't something he could live with and it wasn't something his siblings could live with either. His mood after switching meds was definitely better but he still seemed off and at the drop of a hat, close down and refuse to do (whatever) track, movies, visiting family, going for ice cream. This was one of those moments. He wasn't doing life.
I laid on the floor in my sewing room, right in front of the door so he couldn't leave and started talking. I told him, as tears rolled down my face, how much I hurt for him. That I hurt, seeing him struggle. That I ached knowing that he ached. That his feeling were real and big, and he had every right to feel whatever he was feeling. My boy inched towards me, finally leaning into my body and with our arms around each other. We cried. And then we laughed. And then we cried even more. He knew he was loved, no matter what.
He did go to track. I won't say that it's getting better, but I will say that he knows he has us. Sometimes he asks the questions that we can't answer. He asked us, right after being diagnosed, if he'd grow out of the seizures. We had to be honest, he could, or he could not. There was no way for us to know at this time. I'm glad he felt safe enough to ask.
What really is interesting, is how my history of this kiddo, and his twin has impacted our feelings, our faith, and our understanding of what's really important. While talking in private, we've both expressed how minor seizures really feel, when we know the odds those guys faced before they were even born.
They both had a zero percent chance of living without interventions. The serial amnio reductions used to manage the Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome gave each boy a fifty percent chance of living. While the amnio reductions gave the guys a chance to live, it also carried a twenty-four percent chance of cerebral palsy. Each boy had risks for specific birth defects. Having faced that together, knowing what the worst could be, because we've been there, we've stared hopelessness in the face. We've accepted insurmountable odds and have found peace knowing that we weren't alone and that together, we could navigate the toughest challenges.
Balancing meds is hard. Finding what works is frustrating, especially when something really doesn't work along the way. But our child is living. And with our help, he will live his best life. I'm not saying I won't cry again. I'm not saying it's easy. I'm saying that we'll do this, partly because we don't have a choice but also because this kiddo, was worth fighting for when he was only a nineteen week old fetus and he's worth fighting for as a thirteen year old moody teenager.
You wake up. Your family is normal. The kids fight, they argue and then they're playing networked computer games on steam.
We had just finished our big Christmas push. The twins had their birthday, Christmas happened, The Senior had her birthday (because my second child is so old, she will be graduating! EEK!!!) We had just recovered physically, trying to recover financially from December finances, when the oddest thing happened.
One of my twins woke up with a huge, gigantic goose egg on his head. On top of the goose egg, was a huge scrape. We're talking a whopper scrape that covered a third of his head. When asked, "Hey, what happened?" Kiddo would shrug and say, "I don't know." and we'd press, asking, "No really, what happened?" and he started to get mad, because he sincerely did not know how the scrape had happened.
We moved on. He clearly did not know. Why frustrate our youngest teenager? At the same time, the question remained and we pushed it aside because we didn't know how to process our kid not knowing, in anyway, how he received a goose egg size lump with scrapes on top. The whole thing made no sense but we went through our day and then our week and as the wound healed, we worried less about him.
Almost exactly a week later, extremely early in the morning, one of our twins came screeching up the stairs, hollering at the top of his lungs "MOM MOM, ****** is breathing like Uncle Scott did Christmas day!!!! Now background information, my brother not only has epilepsy, that's been managed extremely well for decades but he also struggles with OCD that makes him compulsively drink, to that point that he washes out his electrolytes. Those seizures (which can happen if his liquid intake isn't carefully monitored.) have happened a few times over the past decade and Christmas day, his OCD was out of hand, much more so than usual. Scott snuck water in the middle of the night and had a seizure during Christmas dinner.
Scared my kids to death.
As we called 911, and my mom and I made sure my brother was safe, we talked to my children. We explained that Uncle Scott was fine and that even though this was scary, he would be fine.
So when my son came running up the stairs, at six am and compared his identical twin's breathing to his Uncle Scott's when he had the seizure, my heart skipped a beat and I went into a mom panic. Running down the stairs, I found my boy on the floor in the computer room. He clearly was postictal (the time period directly after a seizure when the individual is recovering) He was non-verbal, it took a full five minutes before he opened his eyes. He was unable to respond to questions. Kiddo, kept trying to stand up, but he was shaky and I was afraid he'd fall, stumble and get hurt.
While keeping him down, I had kiddo's twin run upstairs and get their dad. I also noted that on the floor, that was some blood and liquid. I assumed and it was later confirmed that kiddo had chewed his mouth up while seizing. I also soothed kiddo's twin repeatedly. Kiddo's twin was beyond distraught. I don't think kiddo's twin realized how much his brother means to him. With a wave of clarity, we all realized that wasn't his first seizure. That still visible lump on his head was a seizure wound from his bed.
I sent out the necessary texts to alert my bosses that I would be taking a sick day. My husband sent our oldest teenager on a mission to help find shoes and clothes for the kid, that had finally stopped fighting to get up, and tightly curled up next to my knees, wrapped burrito style in an extremely fluffy blanket.
We decided to self transport. A trip to the ER was a given. So many different things could cause seizures. We needed to eliminate whatever we could so we could move forward and help our child.
As we prepared for our hospital trip, I made a decision that I seldom make on behalf of kiddo's twin. I highly prioritize school. My children go, with little leeway offered to stay home. Free days do not happen at my house. Mental health days do not happen. School is THAT important. However, as I looked at kiddo's twin, he was still, so, visibly, upset. I gave that child a mental health day and had his older sister drop him off at my mother's house as she went to school. She would go to school, while concerned, she felt she'd be alright and she'd take her freshman brother to school. The highly analytical 14 year old, shrugged, and said, yeah, he was fine concerning what was going on. That kid sooooooo went to school. but the other 13 year old, he got a mental health day.
So arrangements were made and we took kiddo to the emergency room. Vitals were taken, blood was drawn, kiddo was given a CAT scan. The ER doctor offered anti seizure meds but that seemed premature to me. We needed to pursue and make sure it was the right choice. So we left the ER with no clear answers but some definite diagnosis were crossed off. Our kiddo's brain was clear, that was not any malformations, tumors and unusual readings. His blood tests also eliminated other outlying causes. This wasn't a metabolic issue, like my brother sometimes has.
At this point, no one said it but my husband and I knew our son, if the seizures continued, has epilepsy.
Our next step was a trip to kiddo's regular doctor and at this point, we had only two confirmed seizures. Our kiddo's doctor has known our family for over two decades, since our oldest was six months old. We have a good working relationship and similar ideals on a more conservative approach to medicating and diagnosing problems. I appreciate that relationship and that I don't have to explain my feels and that this doctor, while giving all the choices and the pros and cons of those choices, in his head, already knows which directions I'm most likely to chose.
The only choices on that day, a mere four days after the ER visit, was if we were scheduling for the pediatric neurologist now or if we were waiting to see make sure and see if there was really cause for scheduling. In other words, were the two seizures a fluke, or would kiddo have more? It's a legitimate question. It's a weird thing, a kid's brain. Seizures can happen once or twice and then never happen again.
I will be honest, my husband and I, while we truly don't fight, that doesn't mean we don't disagree and on this, we disagreed. I felt, in my heart, we needed the ball rolling on the neurologist. It's ridiculously hard to get an appointment with specialist and I felt that truly, it was warranted. My husband wanted to wait and see. This wasn't the first time. Waiting and seeing is his go to reaction. As I said, we don't fight and I did not push my opinion because in the end, we'd get to where we needed to be. I agreed to wait.
A mere four days later, he had another seizure and a mere twenty four hours after that, he had another grand mal. Monday morning, I called and started the process to get our son into the pediatric neurologist. We were quickly put in four weeks later (Because that's what happens when seeing a specialist.) Kiddo had more seizures, mostly about a week apart until we were finally able to get him in. We talked quite a bit and in the end, the only part that really mattered were the one's stated by the doctor while he looked at our son's chart and out of his mouth flowed the words "Your son meets all the criteria of epilepsy."
For a brief moment, as our reality shifted as the new "normal" settled into the room.
So many feelings and emotions go into a diagnosis. How does this effect his future life, what does this mean for his present life, what steps will we have to take to keep his life "normal." For our son, the real fear of having a seizure at school brewed in his mind. Not understanding what was happening to him, having his twin freaking out, telling him how scary it was, anger towards anyone that walked by, because his emotions are so incredibly big right now.
As hard as it is as a parent, realizing our reality for our child, that pales to the emotion our child feels, in dealing with that reality. The truth is, we're at the sidelines. Oh sure, I'm on the phone with doctors, I'm monitoring meds, sometimes having to switch dosages and prescriptions within days of each other but, but but, I'm not the one having the seizures. Going to school while tired, worn out, with a headache from a seizure in the morning. He has to fight the battle. I can only give him the needed tools.
We had a moment a few weeks ago. Kiddo had shut down, He had decided he wasn't participating in track and field the next day during a meet. We had switched seizure meds once already, as the first one we tried made kiddo incredibly angry and very physical. It wasn't something he could live with and it wasn't something his siblings could live with either. His mood after switching meds was definitely better but he still seemed off and at the drop of a hat, close down and refuse to do (whatever) track, movies, visiting family, going for ice cream. This was one of those moments. He wasn't doing life.
I laid on the floor in my sewing room, right in front of the door so he couldn't leave and started talking. I told him, as tears rolled down my face, how much I hurt for him. That I hurt, seeing him struggle. That I ached knowing that he ached. That his feeling were real and big, and he had every right to feel whatever he was feeling. My boy inched towards me, finally leaning into my body and with our arms around each other. We cried. And then we laughed. And then we cried even more. He knew he was loved, no matter what.
He did go to track. I won't say that it's getting better, but I will say that he knows he has us. Sometimes he asks the questions that we can't answer. He asked us, right after being diagnosed, if he'd grow out of the seizures. We had to be honest, he could, or he could not. There was no way for us to know at this time. I'm glad he felt safe enough to ask.
What really is interesting, is how my history of this kiddo, and his twin has impacted our feelings, our faith, and our understanding of what's really important. While talking in private, we've both expressed how minor seizures really feel, when we know the odds those guys faced before they were even born.
They both had a zero percent chance of living without interventions. The serial amnio reductions used to manage the Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome gave each boy a fifty percent chance of living. While the amnio reductions gave the guys a chance to live, it also carried a twenty-four percent chance of cerebral palsy. Each boy had risks for specific birth defects. Having faced that together, knowing what the worst could be, because we've been there, we've stared hopelessness in the face. We've accepted insurmountable odds and have found peace knowing that we weren't alone and that together, we could navigate the toughest challenges.
Balancing meds is hard. Finding what works is frustrating, especially when something really doesn't work along the way. But our child is living. And with our help, he will live his best life. I'm not saying I won't cry again. I'm not saying it's easy. I'm saying that we'll do this, partly because we don't have a choice but also because this kiddo, was worth fighting for when he was only a nineteen week old fetus and he's worth fighting for as a thirteen year old moody teenager.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Today's Therapy Session Ended Early
Mostly because my kid was throwing things at the therapist.
And the kid was doing so well.
The kid has been helping in the decision making process for weekly "homework." It's all up to the kid, it's no one else's responsibility, I don't even know what it is or when it's done. Apparently today there was a disagreement on how many times the kid was suppose to do the assignment. The kid swore it was only twice but the therapist had written down the number three.
The kid closed down. Declared, that if anyone had made a mistake, it was the therapist. Certainly not the child. Then the kid announced a desire to chuck a shoe at the therapist and wisely opted for pillows instead. Some blankets were thrown too.
The therapist left the room, decided that wasn't such a good idea (there's a lock on the door) and had the kid leave the room and had me come in so we could talk. She related what had happened, we talked about what to do and I went back to the waiting room to let the kid know, there was a mess to be cleaned up and that kid was the one cleaning it.
My dear child announced, there was no way THAT was going to happen, so I sat down, said that was okay, I had my book, there was plenty of time and I read for a bit.
Maybe five minutes.
Kiddo stormed up, went back, cleaned up the mess and stormed out. We were done for the day.
Obviously there is a reason this child is getting help. Overall, things are better. This kid is happier, is doing better with friends, with siblings, has figured out how to better problem solve in everyday life, not to mention doesn't rage nearly as often or as violently. There is good coming from counseling.
It's just taking some time.
And the kid was doing so well.
The kid has been helping in the decision making process for weekly "homework." It's all up to the kid, it's no one else's responsibility, I don't even know what it is or when it's done. Apparently today there was a disagreement on how many times the kid was suppose to do the assignment. The kid swore it was only twice but the therapist had written down the number three.
The kid closed down. Declared, that if anyone had made a mistake, it was the therapist. Certainly not the child. Then the kid announced a desire to chuck a shoe at the therapist and wisely opted for pillows instead. Some blankets were thrown too.
The therapist left the room, decided that wasn't such a good idea (there's a lock on the door) and had the kid leave the room and had me come in so we could talk. She related what had happened, we talked about what to do and I went back to the waiting room to let the kid know, there was a mess to be cleaned up and that kid was the one cleaning it.
My dear child announced, there was no way THAT was going to happen, so I sat down, said that was okay, I had my book, there was plenty of time and I read for a bit.
Maybe five minutes.
Kiddo stormed up, went back, cleaned up the mess and stormed out. We were done for the day.
Obviously there is a reason this child is getting help. Overall, things are better. This kid is happier, is doing better with friends, with siblings, has figured out how to better problem solve in everyday life, not to mention doesn't rage nearly as often or as violently. There is good coming from counseling.
It's just taking some time.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Three Good Things
I haven't posted a lot of stuff the past few months. Some is embarrassing. Some, I don't know how to express myself without causing problems because I'm bound to offend *vague waving of hands* somebody.
So here's my neutral, feel good post. Three good qualities of each of my children because I need to write it and someday, they just might need to read what their mother thought of their potential while they were still children.
Jane
1. My dad made the comment when Jane was three that she was the most cheerful child he'd ever met and that still holds true. If ever there was a ray of sunshine, that smiles at the drop of a hat and finds joy in the littlest things, it's my Jane. She's always been happy and that is a gift from God. How many of us can find happiness just in being. My Jane can. I hope she can hold onto that as she continues to grow.
2. She loves unconditionally. It's the same beautiful quality my brother Malcolm has. It doesn't matter who the person is, what their interest are, if they're a jock or a beauty queen, a nerd or a brain, Jane loves them all. I remember when she had a falling out with the neighbor, this girl had decided that Jane wasn't "cool" enough to hang with and I told this girl that someday she'd realize what a mistake she'd made because although she wasn't "cool", she's real and when it comes to friends, you want the real ones, the ones that are there, no. matter. what. That's the kind of friend Jane is and it's because of this beautiful unconditional love. It translates into a person that doesn't judge. I really think it's one of her best qualities.
3. From the day she was bitty, she's always been generous. There's different kind of generous, there are those that are generous with their time or those that are generous of their belongings or even those that are generous with their talents. Jane, is a bit of all of that. When she was a tot, she'd shove her half eaten cracker in your mouth. As much as I didn't appreciate saliva soaked snacks, this inner need to share did give me great delight and she's kept that as she's grown.
Christmas this last year was fantastic as she chose to shop for everyone on her own. The amount of thought that she put into each present, it was clear she didn't buy merely out of an obligation because her parents told her too. She had obviously, carefully handpicked each item. Not only that, but she carefully picked out presents for all three birthdays that are the week of Christmas. We were and are so proud of her. Think of what kind of world it would be if everyone immediately thought of the person next to them and just tried to make them smile. What kind of world would it be? So generosity. A quality I admire in my oldest.
Kate
1. Kate is tough. It's rather funny to type out because Kate's my meltdown child. "My arm is itching" (meltdown) I have a hangnail (meltdown) I can't figure out my math homework (then the world ends). But seriously, when it counts, when it really counts, that child digs in her heels and plows forward like nobody's business. It's truly amazing and she has only just begun to realize that she's much tougher then she ever imagined.
You can really see her digging in her heals in her school work, which brings me round to number two.
2. I have never seen anyone put as much effort into school as Kate. You have to understand that Kate has a severe learning disability and it's been a battle to figure out how to help her learn. With a big, in your face to her learning disability, Kate has poured herself into schoolwork with a tenacity that is awe inspiring. The child, in her main stream classes pulls A's and B's. Folks, Kate has trouble reading which means every academic class is a major challenge for her. Talk about digging in your heals.
3. Kate is my natural mother. From birth, she's mothered others. When the twins were born, she stole them, so she could mother. She naturally tries to help the littler people problem solve. She kisses owies without flinching. Her feelings are hurt if someone goes to the higher authority (me or dad) but she still puts herself out there and tries to help the littler ones, in whatever way possible. I love this about Kate and I know, from a blessing she was given that she will be a mother and raise her own children. I do believe she has the tools to do a very fine job, when the time comes.
Ean
1. Ean is a person of logic. When he understands the logistics of something, nothing will sway him away from an innate truth. You can't fool him, you can't sway him, all he wants are facts and thank you very much, he'll draw the natural conclusion. After experiencing two emotional females, it's truly a different world to have this kid that is basically, the facts, just give me the facts. Sometimes it's downright refreshing. *smile*
2. This kid is scary smart. He eats knowledge for breakfast, usually coming back for seconds. He loves to learn. Now don't get me wrong, this doesn't mean he loves school. School is a challenge for various reasons, but he loves to learn. For instance, it's now Wednesday, three days after Easter. For Easter, Ean received a book, aimed towards children but still pretty darn detailed on the human body. He finished it yesterday. All eighty pages of text and diagrams but not only did he finish reading the book, but he understands what he's read. Go ahead, ask my eight year old what the lymphatic system does. I dare you.
3. He's trying to be a better person. Words can't describe how much I admire and appreciate his willingness to recognize that his way wasn't working (in life, in school, at home) and he's using new skills to find better ways to problem solve. How many of us simply plow forward using the same faulty techniques that have failed us time and again in the past. It's been hard but my son is not only trying to be a better person, he's succeeding. His big triumph three weeks ago was walking away from a threatening situation and going to his teacher. instead of staying in a potential altercation. I don't think words can describe how huge this was for him. Talk about my mother's heart swelling with joy for him. You go son!
Greg
1. Often called my "velcro child", Greg is my lover. Oh does that kid love deeply and fully. He loves unconditionally, fully, with devotion. While I fear for his heart breaking as he grows and the future point he'll be in relationships, I have no doubt that when he finds someone worthy of his love and devotion, that lucky woman will be treated like a queen.
2. Greg enjoys helping. He'll help his dad fix the dishwasher. He'll help me bake cookies. This is the child that will throw himself into something, just to make the load lighter for whatever sibling was given the job.
3. Greg never lies. Well okay, just to be clear, Greg only lies when protecting his identical twin but other then that, he is the most truthful child I've ever met.
David
1. This is our active kid. It's funny, he's the one that had so much trouble with muscle development from babyhood to toddler hood. Yet he loves physical activity. Loves to walk, loves to bike, loves to play outside. It's a wonderful thing to see.
2. Dave is the kids most willing to try new things. He'll eat whatever veggie you throw at him. He likes his daddy's hot sauce on his Mexican Enchiladas. Then, after trying something and deciding that he likes it, he'll cheerfully have three helpings while ignoring the moans and groans from the picky *cough* Kate, Ean *cough* eaters in the house.
3. Dave is the most natural reader in the house. The thing that makes him a natural reader, isn't really his reading ability, because in first grade, the middle child was a better reader but it's the enthusiasm he's thrown into reading! He tackles words like a pro wrestler, without fear, diving in and sounding it out. When he fails, he just keeps plowing forward, without hesitation. It's pretty darn cool
So there you have it, three good things about all five of my children. I could easily list more but this post is long enough, not to mention, I have laundry to fold.
So here's my neutral, feel good post. Three good qualities of each of my children because I need to write it and someday, they just might need to read what their mother thought of their potential while they were still children.
Jane
1. My dad made the comment when Jane was three that she was the most cheerful child he'd ever met and that still holds true. If ever there was a ray of sunshine, that smiles at the drop of a hat and finds joy in the littlest things, it's my Jane. She's always been happy and that is a gift from God. How many of us can find happiness just in being. My Jane can. I hope she can hold onto that as she continues to grow.
2. She loves unconditionally. It's the same beautiful quality my brother Malcolm has. It doesn't matter who the person is, what their interest are, if they're a jock or a beauty queen, a nerd or a brain, Jane loves them all. I remember when she had a falling out with the neighbor, this girl had decided that Jane wasn't "cool" enough to hang with and I told this girl that someday she'd realize what a mistake she'd made because although she wasn't "cool", she's real and when it comes to friends, you want the real ones, the ones that are there, no. matter. what. That's the kind of friend Jane is and it's because of this beautiful unconditional love. It translates into a person that doesn't judge. I really think it's one of her best qualities.
3. From the day she was bitty, she's always been generous. There's different kind of generous, there are those that are generous with their time or those that are generous of their belongings or even those that are generous with their talents. Jane, is a bit of all of that. When she was a tot, she'd shove her half eaten cracker in your mouth. As much as I didn't appreciate saliva soaked snacks, this inner need to share did give me great delight and she's kept that as she's grown.
Christmas this last year was fantastic as she chose to shop for everyone on her own. The amount of thought that she put into each present, it was clear she didn't buy merely out of an obligation because her parents told her too. She had obviously, carefully handpicked each item. Not only that, but she carefully picked out presents for all three birthdays that are the week of Christmas. We were and are so proud of her. Think of what kind of world it would be if everyone immediately thought of the person next to them and just tried to make them smile. What kind of world would it be? So generosity. A quality I admire in my oldest.
Kate
1. Kate is tough. It's rather funny to type out because Kate's my meltdown child. "My arm is itching" (meltdown) I have a hangnail (meltdown) I can't figure out my math homework (then the world ends). But seriously, when it counts, when it really counts, that child digs in her heels and plows forward like nobody's business. It's truly amazing and she has only just begun to realize that she's much tougher then she ever imagined.
You can really see her digging in her heals in her school work, which brings me round to number two.
2. I have never seen anyone put as much effort into school as Kate. You have to understand that Kate has a severe learning disability and it's been a battle to figure out how to help her learn. With a big, in your face to her learning disability, Kate has poured herself into schoolwork with a tenacity that is awe inspiring. The child, in her main stream classes pulls A's and B's. Folks, Kate has trouble reading which means every academic class is a major challenge for her. Talk about digging in your heals.
3. Kate is my natural mother. From birth, she's mothered others. When the twins were born, she stole them, so she could mother. She naturally tries to help the littler people problem solve. She kisses owies without flinching. Her feelings are hurt if someone goes to the higher authority (me or dad) but she still puts herself out there and tries to help the littler ones, in whatever way possible. I love this about Kate and I know, from a blessing she was given that she will be a mother and raise her own children. I do believe she has the tools to do a very fine job, when the time comes.
Ean
1. Ean is a person of logic. When he understands the logistics of something, nothing will sway him away from an innate truth. You can't fool him, you can't sway him, all he wants are facts and thank you very much, he'll draw the natural conclusion. After experiencing two emotional females, it's truly a different world to have this kid that is basically, the facts, just give me the facts. Sometimes it's downright refreshing. *smile*
2. This kid is scary smart. He eats knowledge for breakfast, usually coming back for seconds. He loves to learn. Now don't get me wrong, this doesn't mean he loves school. School is a challenge for various reasons, but he loves to learn. For instance, it's now Wednesday, three days after Easter. For Easter, Ean received a book, aimed towards children but still pretty darn detailed on the human body. He finished it yesterday. All eighty pages of text and diagrams but not only did he finish reading the book, but he understands what he's read. Go ahead, ask my eight year old what the lymphatic system does. I dare you.
3. He's trying to be a better person. Words can't describe how much I admire and appreciate his willingness to recognize that his way wasn't working (in life, in school, at home) and he's using new skills to find better ways to problem solve. How many of us simply plow forward using the same faulty techniques that have failed us time and again in the past. It's been hard but my son is not only trying to be a better person, he's succeeding. His big triumph three weeks ago was walking away from a threatening situation and going to his teacher. instead of staying in a potential altercation. I don't think words can describe how huge this was for him. Talk about my mother's heart swelling with joy for him. You go son!
Greg
1. Often called my "velcro child", Greg is my lover. Oh does that kid love deeply and fully. He loves unconditionally, fully, with devotion. While I fear for his heart breaking as he grows and the future point he'll be in relationships, I have no doubt that when he finds someone worthy of his love and devotion, that lucky woman will be treated like a queen.
2. Greg enjoys helping. He'll help his dad fix the dishwasher. He'll help me bake cookies. This is the child that will throw himself into something, just to make the load lighter for whatever sibling was given the job.
3. Greg never lies. Well okay, just to be clear, Greg only lies when protecting his identical twin but other then that, he is the most truthful child I've ever met.
David
1. This is our active kid. It's funny, he's the one that had so much trouble with muscle development from babyhood to toddler hood. Yet he loves physical activity. Loves to walk, loves to bike, loves to play outside. It's a wonderful thing to see.
2. Dave is the kids most willing to try new things. He'll eat whatever veggie you throw at him. He likes his daddy's hot sauce on his Mexican Enchiladas. Then, after trying something and deciding that he likes it, he'll cheerfully have three helpings while ignoring the moans and groans from the picky *cough* Kate, Ean *cough* eaters in the house.
3. Dave is the most natural reader in the house. The thing that makes him a natural reader, isn't really his reading ability, because in first grade, the middle child was a better reader but it's the enthusiasm he's thrown into reading! He tackles words like a pro wrestler, without fear, diving in and sounding it out. When he fails, he just keeps plowing forward, without hesitation. It's pretty darn cool
So there you have it, three good things about all five of my children. I could easily list more but this post is long enough, not to mention, I have laundry to fold.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Please Think, before you Stink
I have a problem.
Some people have to be careful about what they eat. They have allergies or sensitivities to gluten, nuts, milk or shellfish. Some are life threatening, essentially isolating the individual that must be careful with every morsel of food that crosses their lips and in extreme cases, the residue of food on skin, wrappers, counters, or any surface someone else may have unintentionally contaminated.
It's isolating. Restaurants, visiting family, casual get togethers at the bowling alley can become a huge nightmare in logistics.
Well I don't have a food allergy but the isolating factor, I'm understanding a little bit more. You see, I am allergic to scents.
I've always been sensitive, strong perfumes bothered me when I was a teenager but most things, scented candles, lightly scented powder, strong smelling lotion, I could deal with without too many problems. Over the years, that's changed. I've had increasingly difficult times when strong scents are present.
A decade ago, I noticed how hard it was to be in the waiting room at the dentist with the constantly burning scented candle. As the years have gone by, my symptoms have increasingly gotten worse. Mostly I get headaches, stabbing pain in the back of my head but occasionally strong scents set off my asthma, which is what happened last night.
I slipped into a small, unventilated room packed full of women, at least half dressed as if for church and the scent was exceptionally strong.
Church in general has become increasingly difficult for me. I often have to leave the meeting, switch seats mid meeting or if someone sits near me that smells particularly strong, right before the meeting starts. If my headache is really bad or my chest feels heavy, we'll leave early.
I hate that. I hate missing meetings, sitting in the foyer by myself, missing out on the fellowship and teaching that happens in the classroom. I hate missing Sacrament meeting, the "meat" of our three hour Sunday block.
I do what I can, but there's a general apathy to my problem. I've been told "But I just don't feel dressed up without putting perfume on for Sunday." When my husband has tried to bring up my allergy to individuals that could make a difference, they make jokes about "marinating in perfume." In general, I get an "Oh that's too bad." but it ends there. The most empathy I get, are those that are kind enough to let me know before I get too close, so their scents don't rub off on me.
Last night was a church activity, specifically for women with lots of folks bringing guests. I shouldn't have been surprised. I should have been more prepared and been smarter.
I arrived late, having a cub scout activity I brought the boys too, so I missed the dinner. Usually they continue the spiritual presentation in the cultural hall and clean up afterwards but they did things differently this year, having all the Sisters move in the (dreaded, small, unventilated) Relief Society room and that's where I found everyone, apparently half way through the program.
I wanted to stay.
My chest got heavy.
I tried to relax.
I said a prayer.
My breathing go more labored.
My mistakes. I tried staying, my desire to stay was so incredibly strong. I needed that fellowship. I needed the spirit that was there but it was making me incredibly sick, far sicker then usual. My second mistake, it's been so long, literally years since I've had an actual asthma attack, I didn't have my inhaler in my purse.
Oh it was embarrassing. It was awkward. I was trying not to cry and because of this, and the labored nature of my breathing, I'm pretty sure some individuals thought I was overtaken with emotion, caught up in what was said.
That wasn't the case, the tears that slid from my eyes were tears of frustration that I couldn't control something so basic, that I don't even know if I can attend a meeting until I get there and see how strong the perfumes and aftershaves are.
I was incredibly lucky my neighbor let me use her inhaler.
If this continues to get worse, I wonder if I'll be able to attend church at all. It really makes me sad.
Some people have to be careful about what they eat. They have allergies or sensitivities to gluten, nuts, milk or shellfish. Some are life threatening, essentially isolating the individual that must be careful with every morsel of food that crosses their lips and in extreme cases, the residue of food on skin, wrappers, counters, or any surface someone else may have unintentionally contaminated.
It's isolating. Restaurants, visiting family, casual get togethers at the bowling alley can become a huge nightmare in logistics.
Well I don't have a food allergy but the isolating factor, I'm understanding a little bit more. You see, I am allergic to scents.
I've always been sensitive, strong perfumes bothered me when I was a teenager but most things, scented candles, lightly scented powder, strong smelling lotion, I could deal with without too many problems. Over the years, that's changed. I've had increasingly difficult times when strong scents are present.
A decade ago, I noticed how hard it was to be in the waiting room at the dentist with the constantly burning scented candle. As the years have gone by, my symptoms have increasingly gotten worse. Mostly I get headaches, stabbing pain in the back of my head but occasionally strong scents set off my asthma, which is what happened last night.
I slipped into a small, unventilated room packed full of women, at least half dressed as if for church and the scent was exceptionally strong.
Church in general has become increasingly difficult for me. I often have to leave the meeting, switch seats mid meeting or if someone sits near me that smells particularly strong, right before the meeting starts. If my headache is really bad or my chest feels heavy, we'll leave early.
I hate that. I hate missing meetings, sitting in the foyer by myself, missing out on the fellowship and teaching that happens in the classroom. I hate missing Sacrament meeting, the "meat" of our three hour Sunday block.
I do what I can, but there's a general apathy to my problem. I've been told "But I just don't feel dressed up without putting perfume on for Sunday." When my husband has tried to bring up my allergy to individuals that could make a difference, they make jokes about "marinating in perfume." In general, I get an "Oh that's too bad." but it ends there. The most empathy I get, are those that are kind enough to let me know before I get too close, so their scents don't rub off on me.
Last night was a church activity, specifically for women with lots of folks bringing guests. I shouldn't have been surprised. I should have been more prepared and been smarter.
I arrived late, having a cub scout activity I brought the boys too, so I missed the dinner. Usually they continue the spiritual presentation in the cultural hall and clean up afterwards but they did things differently this year, having all the Sisters move in the (dreaded, small, unventilated) Relief Society room and that's where I found everyone, apparently half way through the program.
I wanted to stay.
My chest got heavy.
I tried to relax.
I said a prayer.
My breathing go more labored.
My mistakes. I tried staying, my desire to stay was so incredibly strong. I needed that fellowship. I needed the spirit that was there but it was making me incredibly sick, far sicker then usual. My second mistake, it's been so long, literally years since I've had an actual asthma attack, I didn't have my inhaler in my purse.
Oh it was embarrassing. It was awkward. I was trying not to cry and because of this, and the labored nature of my breathing, I'm pretty sure some individuals thought I was overtaken with emotion, caught up in what was said.
That wasn't the case, the tears that slid from my eyes were tears of frustration that I couldn't control something so basic, that I don't even know if I can attend a meeting until I get there and see how strong the perfumes and aftershaves are.
I was incredibly lucky my neighbor let me use her inhaler.
If this continues to get worse, I wonder if I'll be able to attend church at all. It really makes me sad.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
More Parenting Challenges
We have one child that has proven to be consistently challenging. My husband is convinced the reason the Lord sent us the twins so closely after him is because if he'd gotten any older and we'd realized what we had on our hands, there's no way we would have had more children.
I have to say, I agree.
This kid was nineteen months when the twins were born. He was already a bit of a handful, always climbing onto everything, loved to see how stuff felt and dumping? You've never seen a kid dump like this kid. Food, milk, eggs, soap, oil, pasta, flour, sugar, basically if it was in a container, it was his personal mission to make sure it ended up on the floor. Or carpet, counters, toilet seat, it really didn't matter. He wasn't to choosy where he dumped.
We found out not to soon before his second birthday that he was extremely behind in his speech. I was already on the lookout for autism red flags since we have such a high rate of autism in our extended (and immediate) family. So I was right on the speech delays. Turns out little mook had his ears full of gunk. He never complained, never cried, never said or did anything to indicate a problem but it was persistent, even with a few rounds of antibiotics. So he ended up with tubes.
The ENT said that the "fluid" in his ears wasn't actually fluid, it was a sticky goo that had to be scraped out. his tubes were put in by his second birthday and he started speech shortly after that.
0f course he had to make everything difficult. His tubes fell out six months after they were first put in and then they fell out again before he turned four. He had three sets of tubes total put in.
When he was in Early Intervention, there were times when he just screamed during the whole class time. The teacher called them "Red Headed Days" and handled them by ignoring him. She had my support, I knew that when he melt down, there was no reasoning with him and that if you interacted with him, he'd take his frustrations out on you.
He was in Head Start the following year and we were blessed with an incredible teacher that had the patience of a Saint. His class was afternoon, from noon to four, riding the bus on the way and with me picking him up on the way home.
The twins were still bitty and the middle child often had meltdowns going out the door, leaving me with three screaming children and only two arms. There was a kind teacher that often helped me carry children out to my car.
At that age we readily saw his impulse issues. He had to touch everyone. He also did this odd thing with making noises and hand movement at the same time. He'd skim his hand up the back of your head while chirping, twenty times in a row. BeYOND aggravating. Needless to say, relationships with other kids were tough. They're still tough. Boundaries and limits are still struggles for him.
Then there's his temper. Remember those toddler tantrums I've talked about? As he's aged, they've morphed from tantrums into fits of rage including lashing out at others physically. Last summer was very rough at our house.
So here we are now. The kid has been diagnosed officially with anger problems and ADHD NOS. The ADHD is basically the new labeling for the ADD diagnosis. It's the same diagnosis our oldest has. At the beginning of the school year, he started therapy specifically for his anger. He's seeing the same therapist the oldest saw for her anxiety. I strongly felt this therapist was worth waiting for and wait we did, over that long and tedious summer but it's proven to be worth the wait.
So where are we now? There's still loads of problems and I've spent many a good afternoon sobbing out of sheer frustration and exhaustion in dealing with the middle child. We've been blessed with a wonderful teacher that has worked with us through the first couple of shaky months at school to put a system in place to motivate the middle child in controlling himself at school. We now use the "Smiley System", where the day is divided into two sections, before and after lunch with the potential to earn a smiley in each section. Each smiley is worth a half hour of computer time and a week of smileys earn computer time for the weekend. We've still had half a dozen incidences of harassing, touching and/or hitting other kids over the school year.
The school was a champ, giving him a few chances to get his act together and the last few times, he's had increasingly serious consequences.
I don't know what motivates him but last week, he pushed the envelope as far as he could and touched two girls where their breasts are.
The school told the in house police officer, the kid has lost recess until after school break (that's a month folks) and the boom has been lowered at our house.
It's personal space boot camp at our house. Absolutely nothing is tolerated. Not standing to close, not running and head butting me, not poking our little brother to make him miserable. Now this wasn't really tolerated before, but obviously wasn't making an impact. Any infraction and he's instantly sent to his room until he can respect personal space again. Any problems at school and his bedtime is after dinner.
His dad lowered the boom if there are any further phone calls as well. Some of you may or may not remember when the kid was five and he went on that klepto spree? He stole left and right over and over again and he figured, as he kept getting caught, he simply needed to learn to lie better. Yeah, after a month, his room was stripped of every belonging except one blanket and he had to earn his whole room back. One more call from school and he loses everything in his room. Everything.
I also put in the positive goal that he can earn a geode (rock with crystals on the inside) if I don't get anymore calls from school the rest of the year.
Smart alec says "What if I throw up?"
*grumble grumble grumble*
O...KAY.... No calls for discipline reasons or schoolwork reasons.
Like he didn't know what I meant.
So it's been a hard week. I haven't talked about it because it's hard to talk about. I've stated to friends how different the behavior problems are because unlike my girls learning disabilities, people understand those. Your average person often sees discipline/behavior problems as a problem with parenting.
I can tell you first hand, sometimes it's just not. As his mother, I can see his potential and it's incredible. It's just getting him there.
I have to say, I agree.
This kid was nineteen months when the twins were born. He was already a bit of a handful, always climbing onto everything, loved to see how stuff felt and dumping? You've never seen a kid dump like this kid. Food, milk, eggs, soap, oil, pasta, flour, sugar, basically if it was in a container, it was his personal mission to make sure it ended up on the floor. Or carpet, counters, toilet seat, it really didn't matter. He wasn't to choosy where he dumped.
We found out not to soon before his second birthday that he was extremely behind in his speech. I was already on the lookout for autism red flags since we have such a high rate of autism in our extended (and immediate) family. So I was right on the speech delays. Turns out little mook had his ears full of gunk. He never complained, never cried, never said or did anything to indicate a problem but it was persistent, even with a few rounds of antibiotics. So he ended up with tubes.
The ENT said that the "fluid" in his ears wasn't actually fluid, it was a sticky goo that had to be scraped out. his tubes were put in by his second birthday and he started speech shortly after that.
0f course he had to make everything difficult. His tubes fell out six months after they were first put in and then they fell out again before he turned four. He had three sets of tubes total put in.
When he was in Early Intervention, there were times when he just screamed during the whole class time. The teacher called them "Red Headed Days" and handled them by ignoring him. She had my support, I knew that when he melt down, there was no reasoning with him and that if you interacted with him, he'd take his frustrations out on you.
He was in Head Start the following year and we were blessed with an incredible teacher that had the patience of a Saint. His class was afternoon, from noon to four, riding the bus on the way and with me picking him up on the way home.
The twins were still bitty and the middle child often had meltdowns going out the door, leaving me with three screaming children and only two arms. There was a kind teacher that often helped me carry children out to my car.
At that age we readily saw his impulse issues. He had to touch everyone. He also did this odd thing with making noises and hand movement at the same time. He'd skim his hand up the back of your head while chirping, twenty times in a row. BeYOND aggravating. Needless to say, relationships with other kids were tough. They're still tough. Boundaries and limits are still struggles for him.
Then there's his temper. Remember those toddler tantrums I've talked about? As he's aged, they've morphed from tantrums into fits of rage including lashing out at others physically. Last summer was very rough at our house.
So here we are now. The kid has been diagnosed officially with anger problems and ADHD NOS. The ADHD is basically the new labeling for the ADD diagnosis. It's the same diagnosis our oldest has. At the beginning of the school year, he started therapy specifically for his anger. He's seeing the same therapist the oldest saw for her anxiety. I strongly felt this therapist was worth waiting for and wait we did, over that long and tedious summer but it's proven to be worth the wait.
So where are we now? There's still loads of problems and I've spent many a good afternoon sobbing out of sheer frustration and exhaustion in dealing with the middle child. We've been blessed with a wonderful teacher that has worked with us through the first couple of shaky months at school to put a system in place to motivate the middle child in controlling himself at school. We now use the "Smiley System", where the day is divided into two sections, before and after lunch with the potential to earn a smiley in each section. Each smiley is worth a half hour of computer time and a week of smileys earn computer time for the weekend. We've still had half a dozen incidences of harassing, touching and/or hitting other kids over the school year.
The school was a champ, giving him a few chances to get his act together and the last few times, he's had increasingly serious consequences.
I don't know what motivates him but last week, he pushed the envelope as far as he could and touched two girls where their breasts are.
The school told the in house police officer, the kid has lost recess until after school break (that's a month folks) and the boom has been lowered at our house.
It's personal space boot camp at our house. Absolutely nothing is tolerated. Not standing to close, not running and head butting me, not poking our little brother to make him miserable. Now this wasn't really tolerated before, but obviously wasn't making an impact. Any infraction and he's instantly sent to his room until he can respect personal space again. Any problems at school and his bedtime is after dinner.
His dad lowered the boom if there are any further phone calls as well. Some of you may or may not remember when the kid was five and he went on that klepto spree? He stole left and right over and over again and he figured, as he kept getting caught, he simply needed to learn to lie better. Yeah, after a month, his room was stripped of every belonging except one blanket and he had to earn his whole room back. One more call from school and he loses everything in his room. Everything.
I also put in the positive goal that he can earn a geode (rock with crystals on the inside) if I don't get anymore calls from school the rest of the year.
Smart alec says "What if I throw up?"
*grumble grumble grumble*
O...KAY.... No calls for discipline reasons or schoolwork reasons.
Like he didn't know what I meant.
So it's been a hard week. I haven't talked about it because it's hard to talk about. I've stated to friends how different the behavior problems are because unlike my girls learning disabilities, people understand those. Your average person often sees discipline/behavior problems as a problem with parenting.
I can tell you first hand, sometimes it's just not. As his mother, I can see his potential and it's incredible. It's just getting him there.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Today's Appointment
Actually I'm not really posting about my doctor's appointment because it's all personal and not stuff I feel comfortable talking about. Yes, I just wrote that. Hard to believe I'd choose not to talk about myself, but there it is, even I have limits.
So, finally taking care of myself, I marched off to the appointment I had scheduled three weeks ago. Of course, since this was "girl stuff", there was a brief discussion on my childbearing history. That was expected however since I had my tubes tied with the twins C-section, there wasn't a whole lot to say.
I had planned to not even mention the twins pregnancy. That pregnancy was many things for me, truly the ultimate in emotional highs and lows but since I'm done having children it just wasn't relevant to this exam. The doctor made a comment about twins, basically what a struggle it can be to have twins and I sat there a minute before disclosing that these guys were a struggle very early on.
I kept my explanation brief. Heaven knows I can talk for hours about the nitty gritty details but I curtailed the conversation back to the issues at hand because, lets face it, I wanted to get the exam over and done with.
At the very end, the doctor brought up the twins again, just to say how amazing it is that they made it. Now granted, due to his profession, the doctor will, at the very least, be familiar with the syndrome. Still, I found it oddly comforting to have someone understand, understand all the things that could have gone wrong. Understood all the possible birth defects. Just understood that it wasn't easy.
That brief two minute conversation was very comforting to me. It was nice to not have to juggle how much to say, not wanting to overload an acquaintance but at the same time, being bothered by brush off statements that "Twins are usually early" and "You expect a few more complications with twins."
It was very compassionate of this doctor to make the point of recognizing struggles I hadn't even brought up.
I'd gladly recommend him.
So, finally taking care of myself, I marched off to the appointment I had scheduled three weeks ago. Of course, since this was "girl stuff", there was a brief discussion on my childbearing history. That was expected however since I had my tubes tied with the twins C-section, there wasn't a whole lot to say.
I had planned to not even mention the twins pregnancy. That pregnancy was many things for me, truly the ultimate in emotional highs and lows but since I'm done having children it just wasn't relevant to this exam. The doctor made a comment about twins, basically what a struggle it can be to have twins and I sat there a minute before disclosing that these guys were a struggle very early on.
I kept my explanation brief. Heaven knows I can talk for hours about the nitty gritty details but I curtailed the conversation back to the issues at hand because, lets face it, I wanted to get the exam over and done with.
At the very end, the doctor brought up the twins again, just to say how amazing it is that they made it. Now granted, due to his profession, the doctor will, at the very least, be familiar with the syndrome. Still, I found it oddly comforting to have someone understand, understand all the things that could have gone wrong. Understood all the possible birth defects. Just understood that it wasn't easy.
That brief two minute conversation was very comforting to me. It was nice to not have to juggle how much to say, not wanting to overload an acquaintance but at the same time, being bothered by brush off statements that "Twins are usually early" and "You expect a few more complications with twins."
It was very compassionate of this doctor to make the point of recognizing struggles I hadn't even brought up.
I'd gladly recommend him.
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