Spinning Yellow

This is When I Really Wish I Posted Photos of My Kids

Because I cannot write anything.  I am too tired.  And my Google Reader is approaching 100 unread posts.  Yikes!  NaBloPoMo is killing me slowly.  I am three quarters of the way through.  I just remembered that last year I had several posts already written that I queued up without much editing.  This year?  Not so lucky.  I don't even have a cute kid story to fill in.  I've got nothing tonight that I could rattle off quickly.

I am tempted to close comments for this non-post because nobody likes a whiner.  Will be back tomorrow with actual content.  I promise.

Wordless Wednesday - You Know You Want One

Just not this one, she's taken.

(This post is for Kristen and Jordan)

Priorities

I did talk to Q's mom and she was concerned, as I expected her to be.  I will post about that tomorrow when I have more time.  Thank you for all your feedback, it means a lot to me and helps me to process the whole situation.

I was supposed to attend a lecture tonight given by an OT about Sensory Processing Disorder and the Older Child.  The topics to be discussed included accommodations that can be made in the classroom.  I thought this might be a good way to meet some other parents who have children with issues like Scott's.  The lecture is sponsored be a support group for children who receive services in our district.

But as the day wore on and I got more tired, I decided that I wasn't going to learn anything (heck, I could probably give the talk) and the parents attending were most likely those that were new to SPD, unlike myself. 

So, when my mom came over to watch the kids, I went to the new Trader Joe's instead.  Matt had already been there on opening day last Friday.  He had called me from the store asking, "what did the people on the blog say to get?" 

Thanks to your suggestions we've already had the frozen pizza (yum) and the petite green beans, the chocolate granola bars and blueberry breakfast bars.  Tonight I bought more great stuff, including cheap organic milk and eggs.  I came home and had white bean humus and sesame pita chips for dinner.

At least you know I have my priorities straight.

Revoking Her Dr. License

My next door neighbor has 3 kids, twins, a boy and a girl, that are almost 7 and a younger girl, who is almost 4.  Q, the younger girl, always wants to play with Jane.  At first this seemed sweet and since Jane is typically the youngest, it was nice for her to have someone look up to her for a change (Q is 7 months younger).  This school year the twins are in first grade, and therefore, not around during the day anymore.  Q is lonely and wants someone to play with. 

Q knocks on our door several times a day looking for Jane.  She is often disappointed to learn that Jane is at school, dance class, her Grammy's, or with a friend.  In the beginning of the school year a full week went by where they did not get to play together.  My neighbor begged me to find time in Jane's schedule for her daughter.  "She only wants to play with Jane.  She just cries when she can't.  She's driving me crazy."

This sort of annoyed me.  Sure, I want them to be friends and all, but I started to feel like Jane was being stalked.  It is not my responsibility to entertain her child with mine.  We would pull up into the driveway and as soon as we got inside, the knock would come.  Most of the time Jane goes over to their house, because I figure, it is her kid who is doing the asking, I didn't decide for Jane to have her over here. 

Truth is, Q bugs me.  I know she is only three and I feel super guilty saying this (well, I did feel guilty, until today), but she pisses me off.  She doesn't like to talk to me, except when she wants something.  Then she seems perfectly capable of asking for a snack or a toy.  My initial concerns that she might have some sort of language processing problem or selective mutism have proven to be unfounded.  She simply chooses to stare at me if I ask her something she doesn't want to answer. 

Anyway, on Saturday she arrived at our door, per usually, just standing there, not asking to come in or anything.  When she does play at our house in the basement she tends to make a huge mess and not cleanup.  Then my kids get upset that they have to pick up after someone else.  So I decided to be better about making all visitors straighten up before they leave. 

I told Q that we had a new rule about cleaning up and that she couldn't play at our house unless she agreed to abide by it.  She stared at me.  "Say yes, Q," Jane prompted her.  Q locked eyes with me, not moving.  Now what was she going to do?  She wants to play with Jane but she doesn't want to have to talk to me.

It was a showdown.  I finally said, "I am sorry you can't agree to our rules, if you change your mind, you can come back, but for now you'll have to go home." 

I am so not the KoolAid mom.

I figured Jane would be all upset, but she didn't seem to care and went back to playing.

Today while I was trying to put some cream on the eczema patches on Jane's bottom, I found out why.  I told her to take off her pants so I could do it and she started crying, "I don't like when I have to show someone my private parts."

What?  The room started to spin.  I tried to stay calm and in a casual voice, asked, "did someone tell you to show them your private parts?"

"Q always tells me to pull down my pants and I tell her I don't want to but she makes me promise I will show her my private parts and I don't want to!"  

OK, I didn't want to overreact.  I know that kids play doctor and all that, but the thing was Jane was upset about this.  If she had said, "Q and I pull down our pants, isn't that silly?" it would be one thing, but she felt like she was being forced to do something she didn't want to.

"Did this happen once or more times?"

"She does it all the time, Mommy!  That's why I don't want to play with her anymore."

Wow.  Maybe she was blowing this out of proportion.  Was she just being dramatic because I seemed to be interested in what she was saying?

"Do you and Annie play like that?"

"No, we just take our clothes off to play dress up and doctor but we keep our underpants on and we don't show each other our private parts."

I knew I was treading in delicate waters.  I wanted her to know that she did the right thing by telling me, that she should always tell me things like this.  But I didn't want to freak her out, either.  We talked for awhile about how she never has to do something that she doesn't want to and that if she ever feels uncomfortable she can come right home or call me.  I told her she did the right thing by saying no to Q.  I also went over the whole concept of private parts being private.  At home there is a lot of running around naked and penis and vagina talk, but that's here (and we are trying to curb that anyway).

"How about I talk to Q's mom and make sure she doesn't do it anymore."

"No!  Then Q will be mad at me and make mean faces at me."

Nice.  A three year old bully lives next door.

And now I have to tell her mom without Jane knowing because I don't want her to be afraid to tell me things in the future.  I know her mom will be mortified, we are certainly friendly, and I am sure the whole thing will blow over soon enough.

But for now, I am kind of glad Q won't talk to me.  It makes it easy for me to send her home.

The follow up to this post is here, I promise.

Half Way There

Today is my 16th post in as many days.  One half of the way through NaBloPoMo.  I am seriously tired from staying up so late.  It is difficult to find time to write during the day so I have to wait until the kids are asleep.  Tonight I was going to write about how much I dislike kid birthday parties or perhaps my road back to running.  Or maybe about my neighbor's child who stared me down yesterday when I demanded she answer me or go home.  Or how about the family party I just attended to celebrate my sister's birthday along with two of her kids, my nephew who just turned 14 and my niece who is 7 today. 

Yeah, I could write about any of those things.  Or the hundreds of other partially written, or intend to be written, posts of mine.  Or I could get some sleep.

I think you can guess what I decided to do.

People Love Change

A long, long, time ago, I dated this guy who was hilarious.  Really.  He even did stand up comedy once.  Not only was he funny, but his friends were, too.  I still think about some of the things they said and giggle to myself. 

They were particularly fond of mocking newscasts and sports announcers.  I remember an event where an interviewee said their team would go to a bowl game because they were the very best team ever.  That the team was exceptional because they were able to change and wasn't that just the best because, as everyone knows, people love change.

My boyfriend and his roommate used to quote this guy all the time saying the team was going to the "hyperbowl-e" (for hyperbole and bowl put together).  We would all laugh about how people really hate change in general and for this guy to say differently was ridiculous.

I've been thinking about this, in light of the election, about how people are so resistant to change by nature.  And yet, in order to hope for better things, one must embrace change and actually encourage it.  It is interesting how large changes can seem so uplifting, but small ones, the kind that hit close to home, are incredibly difficult.  But those little changes can make you feel like a whole new person, even if they take a bit of getting used to.

Matt was busy today starting a large painting project.  We need to paint over the new dry wall where the contractor repaired the fall out from the shower disaster.  Since we have to do this, we decided to change the color of the family room from sage green to a dark red-ish rust color. 

He got started by finishing the downstairs bathroom first.  Part of the original painting we did 4 years ago and never completed.  The bathroom is a lovely deep plum color which Matt and I both really like.  Our kids?  Not so much.

In fact, they both freaked right out saying they not only don't like the color but it makes them feel as if they aren't at their own house.  We know they will get used to it.  But this is just the little half bath.  What will they do when the whole family room is red?

Oh, yeah, people love change.  They sure do.  As long as it isn't in their house.

Preschool Firecrackers

Today was Black and Blue Day at Jane's school.  It was the last day in the color series where each Friday a parent comes in with a color-coordinated snack and helps out in the classroom.  It was my first time seeing Jane's classmates in action.

Jane has been eagerly anticipating this day.  She and I baked mini blueberry muffins yesterday to share.  And this morning we made sure we had on matching blue shirts with black pants.

Although it has been awhile since I spent time in a prekindergarten class, I knew what to expect.  Remember that I worked at my mom's day care for several years and often had to jump in to cover for an absent aide.  Plus, Jane has been singing the songs, like the Month-arana and the Good Morning song, for the past two months.

Jane was so happy I was there.  She kept looking at me and giggling and encouraging me to participate in every activity.  So I sang and danced.  I helped the kids paint blue trains on t-shirts.  I watched her teacher put "fairy sprinkles" on the leader of the day's head.  I laid down on the rug.  And I joined in as the whole class pretended to be a train, chugging and blowing our whistles as loud as we could.

I tried not to notice the other things that were going on.  The boy who sat in the phone both for over half an hour.  The girl that couldn't stop touching her friend.  The one child that absently blotted at his painting without being able to finish the picture.  Little, subtle things, that may mean nothing like the nose and wedgie picking that is typical for this age.  But could mean something more.

When the director saw that I was there, she came over to talk about the conversation we had the other day.  She said I really opened her eyes to some things.  That she felt like she had attended a graduate class on Sensory Disorders and Misunderstood Children.  She confided that a family with a three year old was going through the process of having their child evaluated, per her recommendation, and that she was worried about them.  "They are afraid of what they will find out," she said sadly.

I wished I could have stayed longer, that I could come back.  I'd like to observe those children who seemed a tiny bit off.  Was it a bad day?  Or typical behavior?  I wanted to ask their parents if they had any concerns. 

I thought back to how Scott acted at this age.  I remembered some of the "problem" children from my mom's day care.

At one point during the lesson the kids got a little wound up and the teacher clapped her hands to do a Preschool Firecracker.  The children played along, putting their hands up and letting out a big, yoga-like sigh.  The children seemed completely at ease, comfortable going from active and silly to calm listeners with two Firecrackers.

I wanted to talk to the family that the director was concerned about.  I wanted to tell them that this is the time to help their child.  That their child needs them to be strong and not afraid.  I wanted to offer them hope and understanding. 

I glanced around as I was leaving thinking about what an opportunity preschool is for these children.  For them to have a place to go to play and learn.  But it is also a time for parents and teachers to uncover issues and start their children off with services, if necessary. 

The sooner the better before their little firecrackers lose their spark.

Time to Live

In the light of the day, I reread my post from yesterday, and feel that I did not accurately portray what I was thinking.  Certainly, this is not new for me.  One of the challenges of blogging is that I rarely feel like I get it right.  I don't post often enough to cover events or I post frequently and don't have time to process.  Or I write something that only scratches the surface.  I always want to edit, rewrite, mull it over more.  Or maybe I was just tired or distracted, it was cold in the house and I was hungry.

This is indicative of my whole life.  I mean, when are things the way you want them to be?  Do you feel like life is generally going your way or do you constantly question, examine, review how your life is going?  Are you often just a bit uncomfortable, physically or emotionally?

As I read through the comments, my original ideas jelled a bit more.  I was trying to say that, on the one hand, I knew Scott was maturing in a normal 7 year old way.  He knows that he has to do stuff, like the field trip, that he doesn't want to, but has stopped moaning and groaning about it, like he would have last year. 

On the other hand, I was thinking what Delilah said, that there are so many things to just get through in life, so many difficult, frightening and sad things to deal with, that a simple second grade field trip just seems not worth worrying about. 

But the truth is, I get Scott.  I wouldn't have wanted to go on the trip either.  My concerns would have been similar to his, about the new place, who to sit with, yucky bathrooms.  And although I don't remember being germaphobic, I am sure I wouldn't have wanted to be outside in the cold at a nature center.  What if there was a snake?  Or prickly bushes? 

I prefer routine.  Knowing what to expect.  I've never been very adventurous, especially if I can't bail when I so choose.  Think what that must be like for my kid, who rarely gets to be in control. 

So, I know where he is coming from and I want to respect that.  He does not have to like a second grade field trip any more than another child has to like gym class (that would be me).

Navi suggested I tell the teacher about his anxieties, and I wanted to let her know that I have.   There was an incident in the beginning of the year, I refer to it as Trashcan-gate, where he was assigned to trashcan duty.  He freaked out and I had to e-mail his teacher and explain some of his issues. 

But, he doesn't feel very comfortable with her, and as you suspected, does not want me to tell her anything unless he specifically says so.  I am sure I will be discussing this more with his teacher at his conference, but I am pretty certain that she doesn't see most of what is going on in his head.  He is quiet in class, hoping to stay under the radar and not get in trouble.  At home he tells me about how the other kids touched his stuff and contaminated it, or how the boy next to him sits too close, or the girl across from him talks too much.  I encourage him to handle these issues as best he can given the circumstances, to tell the boy he is sitting too close and ask the girl to be quieter.  We even talk about joking, "dude, if you got any closer, you'd be in my lap" and stuff like that.

The point is (I think I have a point) that this is life.  This constant navigating between dealing with the things you can't control and negotiating for those changes you might be able to get.  Right? 

Just like I am always trying to get things the way I want them to be, so is everyone else.  We are all jockeying for our place, where we feel comfortable.  Where we can stop thinking so much and just live.

That's what I want him to be able to find more often, more easily.  I want to tip the scale a little more to the middle.  So that more time is spent living instead of worrying and obsessing. 

Now, if only I could figure that out for myself as well.

I Just Want It to Be Over With

It has been a rough week for Scott. 

Last Friday we sent his beloved Wii in for repairs and the withdrawal has been awful for him and for us. 

On Tuesday morning, his bus was late.  We found out from a neighbor at a stop before ours that the regular bus broke down and a substitute bus was on its way to transport the kids.  Scott started panicking, "What happened?  Was it like last time?  Was there smoke?  What if we are late for school?  Will we get hurt?"  Each question causing his brow to furrow more and his voice to rise.

"It will be fine,"  one of the mom's said, shooting me a look, knowing he gets upset.  "Our bus always breaks down," a sixth grader complained.  Scott started chewing his finger trying not to cry.  The new bus arrived and he looked to me for reassurance.  "I hate that this happened!" he groaned as he climbed up the steps.

"It is so hard to have a worrier, isn't it?" one of the mom's commented as the bus pulled away.  You have no idea, I thought, but only smiled politely.

All day, as I hosted a playmate for Jane, took her to dance class and shopping, I wondered how he was doing.  I even contemplated leaving his teacher an e-mail to make sure he was OK.  But I knew that even if he wasn't, he wouldn't tell her.  He hides his anxiety well, going to great lengths to cover up his fears. 

I've been reading bits and pieces from the books I bought.  The information is fascinating and disconcerting.  I feel almost like I did when Scott was first diagnosed with SPD.  As if I am vindicated that yes, there is in fact, something wrong with my child.  That his seemingly bizarre behavior makes sense within this context of the "child with a disorder (this time anxiety and OCD)".  At the same time, I feel sad and overwhelmed.  He does these things because he is suffering so much.  Life is far too difficult for him.

When he got home yesterday, I was surprised that he didn't mention the bus incident.  Later, he told me that the new bus was fine, it is the old bus that is bad.  So, when that bus comes back, I am sure he'll balk at the idea of riding in it.  He also had a new concern that made him forget about the bus.

Tomorrow is a field trip to a nature center to learn about Native Americans.  That means he has to ride an unfamiliar bus, go to a potentially germy place he's never been to.  Eat a bag lunch on a questionable table with god-only-knows what kind of bathrooms.  It might be cold outside and boring and he might get stuck sitting next to someone he doesn't like.  The possibilities for things to not go his way are infinite.

But, he has known about this trip for awhile and he hasn't been stressing about it.  That does say something.  Remember the Kindergarten trip?  Perhaps he is learning how to cope a bit.  That complaining and worrying aren't going to make it any better.

Or maybe he has just learned one of my often use strategies as he indicated when he was going to sleep and said, "Mom, I hope it doesn't rain and the field trip gets postponed.  I just want it to be over with so I don't have to think about it anymore."

Unfortunately, there are far too many things that we just have to endure in life.  One would like to think that a second grade field trip would not be one of them. 

Little Known Fact For the Day

Did you know that if you use a strong primer in your house, say for over the new dry wall that was installed to cover the hole caused by the flood from when your shower broke, that the fumes can seep into your dryer and cause all of your clothes to smell like a mixture of paint thinner and kerosene, which in turn makes you wonder if your house, or at the very least, you dryer, might blow up?

Yeah, me neither.  Even my contractor didn't know this could happen and he's been doing this kind of work for 20 years. 

Good thing my mom, and her laundry room, are right around the corner.

Oh, and that my husband was smart enough to Google "My laundry smells like kerosene" before we called the fire department again.