Spinning Yellow

Right Where I Belong

Last night I had one of my recurring dreams.  The one where I have moved back into the house I used to live in as a kid.  I was so sure, as I am every time I have the dream, that it was real.  I kept saying, This time it has really happened.  It has finally come true.  Just like I knew it would.

Just like I knew it would.

I did go to the BlogHer09 conference.  I actually wrote a post (but didn't publish it) over a week ago about all the crazy things that happened leading up to going away.  I went.  It was fabulous.  I came back to the stress and the fallout.  But it was all worth it.

And I have to ask myself, "Why?"  Why did I go again when for so many reasons I shouldn't have?  And why is it so wonderful, an experience I thoroughly enjoy? 

I barely blog.  I am constantly on double not-so-secret probation from the BlogHerAds people because I don't post often enough.  My ads get turned off and I feel like a loser.  Why haven't I just thrown in the towel?

I've said this many times before: writing does not come easily to me.  And blogging can be overwhelming.  I feel that I don't get back to people, I don't read all of their posts, I am a bad blogging citizen, blah, blah, blah.

And yet, I can't give it up.

In my dream last night, I am telling my father, who was visiting us in the new/old house, that I knew this was going to happen.  That I had dreamed about it for years.  And here I was, in that house again.

Just like I knew it would.

As the third child, I could sum up a lot of my issues from growing up as: wanting to be heard.  To know something that my siblings didn't.  To be right.  Respected.  Worthwhile.

I spend a ton of time agonizing over decisions, second guessing myself.  I have wondered what I should be doing with myself.  Should we live here, in my hometown?  Should I get a job?  Should we have another baby? 

But when I go to the BlogHer conferences I feel like I am doing something right.  Like I am where I belong.  Even if I am not a very skilled writer.  Even if I don't post enough or follow up.  I know it is because I've always wanted to be part of a group of people who think about things as much as I do.  Who are connected to others by their ideas and depth of understanding.  Who value intelligence and wit, creativity and knowledge.

I feel like a better person when I among these people.

This dream I have is very similar each time I have it.  But this time it ended differently.  It was the most vivid it has ever been as far as feeling that it was real.  I was so sure.  So positive that this was the time it wasn't a dream.

As I wandered around the house, I had a sudden sinking feeling, instead of the normal smug, contented one that I was right and this had come to pass.  I looked out the front windows and thought: I don't know anyone who lives here anymore.  Who will my children play with?  They will miss their neighbors.  Who will I talk with?  Why did I move here? 

I've made a terrible mistake.

And I woke up.  Dazed.  Confused. 

Relieved.

I was right where I wanted to be.  In my own bed.  In my own house.  With my dog and my husband and my kids.

My life was the one I wanted.  Not the dream of going back to the time when I felt secure and idealistic.  I always wanted to feel like I had a sense of purpose and a place where I belonged.  Where I could feel both comfortable and inspired.  Important and fulfilled.  My life has turned out to be all that I always dreamed and hoped it would be.

Just like I knew it would.

What Time Is It? Summertime!

Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Ommm

Oh, hi there!  Look at this, it's summer already.  Spring kind of got away from me, and now? here we are with summer in full swing.  It is already the fourth official week, and it is going well.  Really.  I know I complain about summer, she and I don't always get along, but I am working on our relationship.  I'm learning to appreciate her better qualities even though some of them are the very things I find trying. 

Like kids not going to bed, putting sunscreen on unwilling children, determining what to feed people several times a day.  Cajoling reluctant children to attend swim lessons.  Having to fight about how many times per week, or even day, it is reasonable to expect a treat from the goddamn ice cream truck.

Wait, I got off-track again.

Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Ommm

I was looking forward to summer, mostly because a good deal of this past year (if you mark time from my birthday in June from one year to the next) sucked. I don't really want to rehash it all, but I barely blogged because it just seemed like crappy thing after even more crappy thing kept happening, and I didn't want to be a whiner.

One of the worst things was that Scott hated going to school and was miserable pretty much every. single. morning.  On the very last day of school, as he was going to bed, I said, "Wow, you survived second grade!  Yay!  Now it is summer, you must be so happy!"  To which he immediately replied, "I don't want to go to camp!  I don't want to go to swim lessons!"

I felt like banging my head against the wall.  Please, oh please, no, summer could not be a continuation of the struggles. NO.

On the following Monday morning, after I took Scott to his first day of a week long basketball camp and Jane finished her swim lessons, I received a voice message from the therapist we were seeing for the OCD study.

"It occurred to me that maybe participating in this study is too stressful for you and your family right now," she began.  What, was she kicking us out?  I'd been trying to drop out of the study for weeks, and now, as summer started, she was telling me how stressful the whole thing was?

On Wednesday when we were supposed to go down for an appointment and discuss the situation, I told Scott it was time to go and he freaked out.  Screaming about not wanting to go and slamming his door.

That was it.  I called and canceled.  I felt instantly relieved.  Scott and I went out to dinner.  The next day, after the basketball camp, we went to the pool and he remembered that he could swim and that maybe the lessons wouldn't be so bad after all.

I decided that he and even more so, I, needed a break.  And what better time than summer to do it?

Now, nothing has really changed as far as Scott's issues, and I still find myself forcing him to do things he'd rather not, for his own good.  He's been having panic attacks.  But trying to be relaxed, to focus on the things we love about summer, is making us all feel better.

We've been swimming and walking to Grammy's house, playing outside and reading together.  Ate the first tomato and cucumber from the garden.  Watched fireworks with our cousins.  Saw my nephew perform in a High School Musical production.  Went to our friend's house for a big cookout and took care of our neighbor's pets.  I've been running and grilling by myself (without Matt's help).  All good.

Embracing the summer.

Matt is ridiculously busy with work, but we are holding our own here.  I even laid off trying to get the kids to do summer school work until this week, when I finally started the handwriting (Scott is learning cursive) and grade-appropriate workbooks.

So far, summer is the break we really needed.

I do have one summer goal though that I will not budge about and it is, shockingly, being met:

Everyone must wipe themselves after going to the bathroom.

And as Matt said to me the other day, "Really, if that is all that you accomplish this summer, then I think you can call it a success."

I absolutely agree.

Are We on the Same Side?

I had a long conversation with the school nurse on Friday.  I was leaving, after the last Math Explorations (where I get to come in every other week and play math games with the kids - you know you wish you could join me, Kristen), and decided to stop in to check about the papers I needed to complete for Jane's Kindergarten enrollment.  It took the nurse a few minutes to remember my face and connect me to Scott.  As she did, she looked at me seriously and asked, "Are you getting him some help?"

I explained about the study we are participating in and how I am torn about whether to continue.  My concerns being that although Scott has OCD-type issues, the behavior stems from anxiety (which probably originated from the SPD).  He doesn't do a lot of ritual type of activities aside from asking for reassurance and avoiding things.  And, quite frankly, he's eight, isn't it fairly common place for a child his age to check with his parents about things?

"Do you want to know my opinion?" she asked.

"Of course -"

"Let me just show you how he walks into this office.  He steps on this square, then this one, with his left foot, he avoids the trashcan and brings his arms in to make sure he doesn't accidentally brush against it."

"Okay -" my heart started to sink.

"From what I see here, he's very OCD."

"Okay ..."

She shared that her daughter, the same age, also has OCD.  That she takes her to a therapist right here in our town who specializes in school anxiety.  She went on to tell me about her husband and herself, and the anxiety and OCD issues they have.  How her husband has to kiss her in even number intervals; he is unable to give her one kiss, it must be two, or four. How he checks the locks, methodically, every evening.

As she was talking, I added my own experiences, nodding in recognition.  "Yes, I know", I said.  "My husband and I have issues, also.  We know."

She continued on about the things her daughter does before bed and how she has to sing a certain song twice while washing her hands.  I continued to nod and smile and chuckle a bit, in the nervous sort of way you do when things hit close to home.

"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to laugh at this situation."

What?  Wait.  Does she think I am laughing at her, or her daughter?  That I don't take these things seriously?

"I can relate to what you are saying is all.  I appreciate you sharing it with me.  And I very much appreciate you taking care of and helping my son."

"I am all about helping the kids." She said a bit curtly.

And then I left.  After an hour spent in her office, I felt even more confused.

Scott has been doing well at home, lately.  He hasn't been crying before school and even though he often says he doesn't feel well, he will say, very logically, "I know I am not sick."  He sticks to his allotted number of nurse passes per week (4) and even made it through an entire week without seeing her at all.

He doesn't wash his hands repeatedly.  Nor does he avoid the trashcan anymore.  He does ask me to feel his forehead and sometimes take his temperature.  He likes to skip over the cracks in the sidewalk, but if you ask him to step on one, he will.  Today, he dug up worms with Jane in the garden.  He only asked me once if he could get sick and I said, "What do you think?" to which he answered, "No."

It is complicated, for sure, but I think part of the disconnect with the nurse, was that she thought I didn't think Scott needed help at all.  I do.  It is just that I am not sure this study, this course of action, is the right one at this time.

It takes over an hour to get to the city, then an hour for the appointment, then another hour back.  That doesn't even factor in traffic or time for lunch.  Scott misses half a day of school while Jane is at my mom's.  It is tiring.  And the doctor has made it clear that the objective of the Cognitive Behavior Therapy is to stop the OCD, and that is all that we can cover in the sessions.  General anxiety and related issues are not part of the study and cannot be tackled at this time.  In addition, we cannot have Scott see any other therapist or give him anxiety medication at this time, or else it could interfere with the study.

I haven't detailed the therapy session thus far, so it might be hard to understand, but I can say that I often feel that Scott doesn't fit into the requirements exactly.  He doesn't tap things repeatedly or recite numbers.  He might have obsessive behaviors but not necessarily the rituals or compulsions that they seem to be expecting.

I am wondering whether trying to stop him from asking if he is sick, to break the obsessive behavior, is going at it from the wrong side.  Like fixing the symptom instead of curing the disease or attacking the secondary result instead of the primary problem.  Why does he feel sick to begin with?  How can we help him to relax, find coping strategies, like getting outside for some physical exercise, or reading quietly to calm down.  I think he needs a more holistic approach, one that treats his anxiety with an understanding of SPD. 

When I told Matt about what the nurse said, he just shrugged, "She doesn't know what we've been through."  Which is true.  Perhaps she thinks we are in denial of his problems.  She did talk about how difficult it was for her to accept that her daughter had a disorder and required help from a professional.

The nurse is someone whom I have talked to many times this year.  She has been my ally, the one who warns Scott before firedrills and gives him a Tums when he feels sick to his stomach.  I know she is looking out for him. 

Maybe she was just caught up in her own situation and I mistook her candor as offering acceptance and understanding, instead of what it was: her opportunity to talk to someone about her own problems.

Tomorrow, Scott and I head back to UPenn for his next session.  I will be talking with the doctor about whether we should continue participating in the study.  

And if we decide not to, it won't mean that we've concluded that he doesn't need any help.  Just that we are always seeking what works best for him, what makes the most sense at the time, how we can help him to find his way. 

Because, even if others are not, we will always be on his side.

Eight and Five

It is Birthday Week here.  Jane turned 5 on Sunday and Scott turned 8 today.  I am officially a mom to two school-aged kids.  It is always a busy time with family gatherings and friend parties, cakes and treats to make for school.  I both dread and look forward to the celebrating, trying to be fair to both children while also not going overboard.  We are right in the thick of it with two events down and three to go. 

This year, I am struck by how grown up both kids seem.  Jane is so self possessed, a happy princess, announcing proudly that she is five now!  Ready for anything, exuding self-confidence.

I look at Scott and I realize what a turning point this is.  Eight, for me, was when I stopped being a little kid.  I have some memories from being five and six, and a few more at seven, but by eight, I really remember stuff.  Not just what happened, but how I felt.  It was the year that I realized there wasn't a Santa Claus, that I couldn't do everything and anything I wanted, that my mom and dad weren't always right.  I had my first crush, took my first trip without my parents, and got in trouble at school for not listening.  Big things.

Jane is coming into the wonderful time of Kindergarten and forever friends.  She still gets to be the little kid who can sing the days of the week, but also is part of the bigger kid world, getting on the bus, able to attend summer camps, and play with the older children.

Scott is entering the time when you learn that being a kid is often difficult.  You might still get to play a lot, but you have hard work to do at school, chores at home, and responsibilities.  You realize that many kids aren't all that nice.  That your mom can't fix everything.  That life is complex.

Eight and Five.

It is hard to believe.

Just Another Rainy Monday

** Alternate title: Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

It is raining again here.  We had a beautiful weekend, particularly Saturday, where it finally felt like spring.  Scott put on a short-sleeved shirt for school on Friday and complained that it felt strange having his arms exposed.  I've been home all day with my sick, soon to be five years old, daughter.  She had a fever and sniffles and wanted to stay in her pajamas, snuggle and watch TV.

Scott was not happy at. all. that she got to stay home.  He's been griping about everything lately.  I was considering doing a regular feature here called:  What's Scott torqued off about today? but thought that was kind of mean.

In the Groundhog Day version of my life, I get up later than I want to.  Go downstairs where Scott is already awake, watching Sports Center.  While I try to get some coffee, he starts complaining.  "I don't feel well.  I'm tired.  I feel sick.  Can you take my temperature?  I'm hot.  I can't go to school."

My day goes on, I craft blog posts in my head all day, while I do laundry, go to the store, do preschool drop off and pick up, make meals, clean up, blah, blah, blah.  All during the day I think, I will write that tonight.  Then night time comes, the flurry of activity of the afternoon blurring into homework-dinner-cleanup-bedtime.  And all I want to do is also go to sleep.  I have no energy left to write any of the fabulous (you'll have to take my word on it) posts that I worked on inside my head.

I haven't run in over three weeks.  I wanted to try this weekend, to see if it would hurt, but I chickened out.  Today I started the 30 Day Shred DVD.  It was alright, boring but quick.  Jumping jacks in place?  I need a DVD for that?  And I only did it once and I'm already sick of hearing Jillian say, "Those abs don't come for free!"  I'd much rather run, but I need to get back in better shape.  I may switch back to my tried and true The Firm DVDs, but would like to try this for the 30 days first.  I am curious how it will go tomorrow when I am sore.  I am not used to doing a workout on two consecutive days.

I finished The Time Traveler's Wife.  Thanks God.  It was really freaking me out.  I felt like someone was going to appear out of nowhere.  I appreciated the intricate story line, but there were things about the way she wrote that bugged me.  Sharing the story from each character's perspective was critical to developing the plot, but she didn't present each person's voice distinctly.  I found myself confused as to who was narrating, they both sounded the same.  And I have to admit, the idea that he shaped the young girl's life as an older man and then was her husband in "The Present" was a bit icky.  A 40 year old with an 18 year old, just doesn't sit well with me.

One more thing before I go fall into bed, hoping that Jane does not get sick.  I got a new hair dryer yesterday because mine kept shutting off from over-heating.  Such a small thing, but it took less time to dry my hair today and this is Huge for me!  I might even be tempted to wash my hair daily if I can dry it this fast!

It's the little things that matter, the ones that brighten up a Groundhog Day-ish rainy Monday.

March Madness Brings April Insanity

My college roommate had a sign hanging in our dorm room that read: April 15th is Sooner Than You Think.  She must have swiped it from a tax preparation office.  People would laugh at the sign, thinking she had some strange desire to be a tax account (she was a nursing major), not realizing that the joke was that her birthday was on April 15th.  A few years later I had a boyfriend with the same birthday. 

Even though everyone knows that April 15th is Tax Day, I always think about these friends and how I felt that the middle of April was so far into the year.  It is more than a quarter of the way through the year and yet everyone feels like it comes up so fast, they never have their taxes done, they are never ready.  How can this be?

And here I am.  Once again so far into the new year and I can't get my groove on.  I've written about it before, how March used to be the longest month and now it flies by as I panic, knowing that the busyness of April is coming way too quickly.

Last year at the end of March I posted this.  And really, in so many ways, I could just say it applies to this year.  But, on the other hand, a ton of stuff is different.  And here is a truth that it has somehow taken me until middle age-ish to realize: Life is both crazy, hectic, unpredictable, with staggering highs and abysmal lows and it is mundane, tedious, excruciatingly boring.  At the same time! 

I used to have this friend that was writing a book titled: Bringing Color Into Your Life.  He liked to tease me that I would never need his book because color seemed to find me.  As much as I wanted my life to be steady and predictable, I was always finding myself in these crazy, unexpected predicaments. He believed that most people felt their life was dull and needed to create excitement.  But maybe it is more about our tolerance of such things, than actually having a life with or without color.  I think I've always had a low threshold for what I was willing to experience so the things that happened to me seemed bigger than they would to someone else.

I will rehash last year's end of March post with this year's updates in italics.  And if you ever feel that your life has become too routine or boring, just try my time game and you will realize how many things change in a year.  It never fails to reveal just how unpredictable life can be while also showing the consistencies, year after year.

Ten Before 10 from March 2008

Ten separate posts I should write:

1.  This blog, Spinning Yellow, is now officially two years old.  I wrote my first post on March 25th, 2007.  Yes, it has changed my life. 

2.  I've watched Autism: The Musical twice with tears streaming down my face.  I feel completely attached to all the people in the movie, kids and parents.  I can't stop thinking about it.  Latest thing I can't stop thinking about are two babies from parents who write blogs, that have died.  It is heartbreakingly sad and I just don't know how people survive.  I am also awed by the outpouring of support from this bloggy community.

3.   I get e-mails from Runner's World with helpful links.  Today's was titled: Easter Candy = Crack.  I am so there.  In fact, I am right now going to throw the rest of it out.  Chocolate is my biggest weakness, hands down.  Also, there was a tid bit about people gaining weight while training for a marathon.  wtf?  How is this possible?  Well, they explain it, but I don't even want to know because that is just too depressing.  There is no way that running your ass off shouldn't correlate to literally running your ass off.  I have actually lost weight this year, nothing to do with training, though.  I think it is the thyroid medicine that I am now taking. 

4.  Speaking of which, I ran 10 miles 2 weeks ago.  And Matt says that if I did 10, I can do 13.  I wish I believed him. He's right, as I know, because I did run the race last year, but I won't be this year.  I hurt my ankle and will be bowing out, sadly.  This has really bummed me out and made me rethink running.  More on that soon.

5.  Scott is having an anxiety attack that started with his bus breaking down and is now spiraling into him not being able to sleep and following me around the house.  He is chewing his sleeve and hmmm- ing and jumping at every sound.  I am trying to be understanding without making too much of it.  Sure, you can wish me luck with that.  The current anxiety situation centers around being at school, that he will get sick, that it will feel like an eternity while he is there, that he will be upset about something.  We are participating in a study at the University of Pennsylvania on Anxiety and OCD.  Many more details on that soon.

6.  I am in charge of our family NCAA basketball pool, as always.  A fun tradition that Scott is way too caught up in. I won, again, which seems suspicious because I am in charge, but really, I can't cheat, I'm just lucky.

7.  I failed to attend Oprah's on-line class for her book group selection, A New Earth, for the 4th week in a row.  I love Oprah and totally dig the premise of this book, but cannot, for the life of me, understand how millions of people are actually reading it.  Have you tried to read this?  Either I'm not as smart as I thought I was or a lot of people are lying.  Well, I missed Oprah's classes again this year, but I am reading The Time Traveler's Wife for a new book group I am joining and am pretty excited about starting fresh with some different people.

8.  It is almost April.  Taxes and birthdays and yard work, oh my!

9.  This time two years ago, Jane broke her arm, I started this blog and I started running.  Scott finished up his listening program and cut back on his OT.  It seems like more than a two years has passed because so much has happened.  Last year, Matt was only a few months into a new job and now, he's just starting another job.  Would have never seen that one coming last year!

10.  I desperately want to go to BlogHer08 in San Francisco in July, but cannot figure out how to justify the cost. Ya'll know I went and had fun.  I bought a ticket to BlogHer09 in Chicago early, in order to get the discount price, and then the tickets sold out.  I am not sure if I will be able to go, but I think I can sell it if I am not going to attend.  I am kind of surprised that it sold out so fast given the economy.

10 pm - I made it on time.

'night.

That Kid, Son of That Mom

When Scott was younger and we were out and about, he would often draw the attention of those around him.  He was the kid who took someone else's toy, or threw a fit in music class, or perhaps tackled someone.  He stood out.  It wasn't intentional, he just didn't fit in easily and was quirky, noticeable.  The boy who always wore a baseball hat and ran around in circles at My Gym.

There was this day, when he was just over 3 and Jane was an infant, that I always think of as indicative of his life, our life, at least at the time.  We had a birthday party to go to and then an event at a preschool, the one he was supposed to attend for summer camp and then in the fall.  It was a busy, frantic day, rushing from one event to the other that included missed lunch, rushed nursing and a skipped nap.

Over and over, things went wrong.  Scott was scolded (and me too) at the birthday party because he was putting a handheld fan in a kid's hair.  When we arrived at the carnival, he saw a kid he knew and raced after them, only to push the girl into the pavement.  He was afraid of the bouncy rides and didn't want to take off his shoes.  At one point he was playing in a big sandbox with some other kids.  The children built a large sand pile using dump trucks, working hard for 10 minutes or so, while Scott stood off to the side watching.  Once the boys were finished, Scott took a flying leap right onto the top of their sand structure, flattening it.

An older woman, probably a grandma, who was next too me, cried out, "That's awful!  The kids worked so hard on that!  Who's kid is that, anyway?"  I sheepishly looked down at the stroller with Jane in it and muttered, "That kid is my son.  He wasn't trying to be mean, he was just playing."  And I quickly gathered up Scott and made a beeline out of there.  I have to put in a side note here that one of my friends later said, I should have looked around puzzled and said, "I don't know, the little bastard," pretending he wasn't my kid (I wish I had thought of that!).

I can't help but think about these events, even though this kind of thing rarely happens now.  I do still hold me breath when Scott is in a group of kids, wondering if he will be too rough, or too emotional.  And I am beginning to think I will be That Mom, not the one that Her Bad Mother wrote about so hysterically (I just searched for the post and could not find it, it was hilarious, so you'll have to take my word on it), but the one that, at his high school graduation says something like, "Back when he was four and loved the color yellow and couldn't poop during the day, we never thought he'd graduate from preschool, let alone high school!"  You know That Mom, the one who tells embarrassing things about their kids because she just can't come to terms with the fact that the kids have grown up, are not babies anymore.

But, what I've realized lately, is that he is still getting noticed as That Kid.  But instead of hearing, "There's the kid who hit me on the playground", I hear, "That kid is really fast, look at him play!"  And dads will say to me, "He's quite an athlete."  And moms will say to me, "He's so cute with that curly hair."

And Matt and I will worry if things aren't going well, knowing how intense he can be.  We are concerned about the fallout from a game lost or an event that doesn't go his way.  But we still hope for the moments when he is noticed for his talents.

Like when Matt took him to the baseball evaluations last week and he threw perfect pitches.  Every one right over the base, as hard and as fast as any kid his age could possibly throw.  Going all out, of course.  The other dads smiling and looking at Matt, "That kid has quite an arm," they remarked, enviously.

Or today, when the basketball game was tied, and went into the second overtime.  Scott taking the ball up and going for the shot, over and over again.  So intense, so determined.  The other team scoring with less than 10 seconds to play.  Scott, the point guard, dribbled the ball around the side and went for it.  Sinking a basket in the last second.  He wasn't going to let that other team win.  He was completely in the moment.  The play maker. The game winner.  That Kid.

Two men next to me, who had entered the gym for the next game, yelled out, "Wow, what a shot!  That was unbelievable!"  And I couldn't help but exclaim proudly, "That's my kid!"

Yep, I'm That Mom.

Fire Drill Clairvoyant

Yesterday was one of those unseasonable warm days that we typically get once or twice during the winter. As Scott was getting ready for school and doing his usual complaining and stressing about the day ahead, I was thinking about the nice weather.

"At least you'll have outdoor recess today!" I said, cheerfully. Then I added, before really thinking it through, "Maybe you'll have a fire drill."

"Why?"

"Because it is warm and the school has to get in a certain number of fire drills for the year, so this is a good day to do it. When Grammy had the day care, this is the kind of day when she would have a fire drill. Well, if the fire alarm goes off, you'll know that it's most likely just a drill, and not a real fire or anything. Plus, you'll get to go outside and it will take up some of the time when you'd ordinarily be doing school work."

Scott mulled this over for a bit and then started in with his typical concerns. They wouldn't be allowed to play football at recess, school is boring, he'd have to sit next to the kid that bugs him, he didn't want to play on the blacktop where some kid threw up (in, like, December, I think), on and on.

"I don't want there to be a fire drill," he moaned. "I hate school. I don't feel well. My stomach hurts. I think I should stay home."

"Nope. Time to go catch the bus. You'll be fine."

This is a fairly typical morning for us, so I didn't think too much about it as I went on about my day.

Scott has been on edge lately. We can always tell when things are getting bad because we start yelling at him more, sending him to his room, and arguing about everything. He's been grumpy, or perhaps I should say, he's been grumpier than usual, which is pretty crabby to being with.

He's been sick with the coughing thing he gets every year and also a fever thing that kept him out a few days. And this school year is so dull. The work is easy and his teacher is lame. She's not bad, but she's far from good and he knows it. He feels like he is biding his time, waiting for summer. He's been talking about germs again and other things. The stuff he frets over, obsesses about.

While I was driving home from preschool with the girls in the car, I got a call from the school nurse telling me Scott was in her office pacing around saying his stomach hurt. He didn't have a fever and didn't feel like he was going to throw up, but he seemed out of sorts. I told her I thought he was anxious, concerned about a possible fire drill and maybe about recess and whether they'd be able to play football. I talked to him and he pleaded to go home, but I said, no, I had the girls, he had to stick it out, he'd be alright. We hung up.

As soon as I walked in the door at home, my cell phone rang again. It was the school nurse. What, so soon? Did he throw up? No, she said, she just wanted to know why he was worried about a fire drill. Was it the noise? Or something else, because, that's right, they were, in fact, going to have a fire drill! Nobody knew but her because the principal just told her.

"You have to warn him!" I demanded, then backed off. "Can you tell him? I mean, he's mostly just concerned about not knowing, the anticipation, and whether it is real or not." Then I remembered, "He used to have it in his IEP, in Kindergarten, to be warned, because he is anxious and the noise and the confusion, the unexpectedness, it scares him."

She told me she'd talk to the principal and I said I thought Scott now sees her as an ally and that she might need to put me on speed dial because he gets the worry bug a lot.

I immediately went to the computer and started Twittering. And, of course, the tweeps responded, assuring me that I had done the right thing and that the school would prepare him.

I felt, as I do so often, like I was walking the line. How much do I interfere? He needs to learn how to get by without special exceptions and yet, he really needs help sometimes. Am I doing too much or too little? Should I push for an IEP for the anxiety and the OCD? Or do I just keep plodding along, hoping he can mange, taking each situation as it comes?

School is so difficult for Scott. The bathrooms, the lunch, the kids who talk too much, or get in his personal space, the ever present germs, the teacher who might yell at him. All of this is overwhelming, and, yet, he is excelling. He just got his second marking period progress report and it was all S's and +'s. Not one area or subject that he isn't mastering. But all the other parts of school are a nightmare for him.

I made a few phone calls and was able to get my sister who offered to have her son, Scott's favorite cousin, come over for a bit after school as a special treat. As soon as Scott got home we went to pick up my nephew.

"So, did you have a fire drill? Did anyone tell you beforehand?" I asked Scott after he got off the bus.

"The nurse came in at lunch and told me. She said it was a secret and I couldn't tell the other kids, so when the alarm went off, I knew it was just a drill."

"Oh, that's good. How was the rest of your day?"

"You know, it's funny, after the nurse told me that, my stomach didn't hurt anymore."

"Hmmm. Do you think that maybe you weren't really sick and maybe it was just the worry bug?" I tried not to sound smug.

"Yep. I guess so. Well, and before I went to the nurse's office I was in the bathroom and that kid with the acid reflux came in and he does that thing where he kind of throws up in the sink and it grosses me out and he doesn't even wash his hands."

Yuck

"Yeah, I can see why that bothers you. Maybe you can use another bathroom?" I tried to think of other solutions. I mean, would you want to use the bathroom if you thought someone might come in and throw up in the sink?

God damn it is hard to be a kid sometimes.

But he's going to make it through.

And the next time I forsee a fire drill, I'm keeping my mouth shut.