Spinning Yellow

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.

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.

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. 

Yes, We (and I) Can

** I actually wrote this on November 6th and timestamped it for the 5th because of an internet problem I had.  See here for more details.

I woke up today, like many people, filled with emotion.  I was reading stuff on my laptop and kept tearing up, thinking about the historical significance of Barack Obama being elected.

Scott was watching TV, probably ESPN, and I kept saying things to him like, "Remember when we watched the Martin Luther King speech?  About not being judged by the color of your skin but by the content of your character?  That's what happened, you know.  This is a great moment."

And I went on and on, telling him how proud I was of the country for banding together.  How excited I was to have this man, this family, in our white house.  As I was continuing with my emotional litany of all that was good, Scott interrupted me -

Mom, I don't want to go to school.

"I know honey", I said absentmindedly as I watched the video of Barack's acceptance speech.

I don't feel good.  I am worried ...

"Um, hmm, well, you always feel this way before school.  Are you hungry?"  I tried to get back to the video and the commentary.

I don't want to have to go to the bathroom.  There's always pee on the floor and the kids don't wash their hands.  And if someone is in there they might touch me or ask me stuff.

"I don't know what to tell you," I said, as I dabbed my eyes, not able to take in the enormity of the election and the details of this morning ritual.

Will I be OK?  Mom?  I don't want to have to sit next to someone who gets too close to me.  And I'm worried about third grade.  It's going to be too hard.

I started to get annoyed.  I mean, why did he have to do this?  Why couldn't I be excited about this new day in history?  Why couldn't I have this moment of hope?  I felt like, once again, he was sucking the joy out of things. 

"Of course you'll be fine, Scott.  You do this everyday."  I repeated the same things I say over and over each morning, unwittingly being part of his ritual, his reassurance.  I resented him putting me in this position.

As the bus pulled up, he looked at me, I love you mom.  I'll be okay, right? I hope you have a good day.  I am happy for you that Obama won.  I love you...

He reluctantly got on the bus and I waved as it drove off.  I felt relieved to see him go.  At the same time I felt that sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had once again sent him off to the lion's den.  The place where he feels so uncomfortable.  Because he needs to go.  I felt guilty.  And sad.

The tears started flowing again.

Damn it, I thought.  Why does life have to be so hard for him?  Why can't he just be happy?  Why is every day, every thing such a struggle?  Why does he have to suffer so much?  Damn it.  Damn it.  Damn it.

Then I went inside and I took a deep breath and I decided to channel my emotions into something positive.  And as corny as it might sound, I thought, if Barack Obama can be president, if millions of people decided to work together, certainly I can continue to do this, too. 

I found the paper with the therapists names that I had called back in June and I made an appointment for Scott to see a person who specializes in Cognitive Behavior Therapy.  Then I looked up the books my friend had suggested based on recommendations from her son's therapist.  Books like: Freeing Your Child from Anxiety: Powerful, Practical Solutions to Overcome Your Child's Fears, Worries, and Phobias by Tamar E. Chansky

Then I went for a run.

And I felt a little bit better.  I am not sure if this will be the right route for Scott.  Matt and I have discussed the possibility that he might need some medication for his anxiety and OCD as well as therapy.  But it is a start.  I know that his issues are too much for Matt and I to handle on our own.

I have felt hopeless lately in many ways.  As if nothing ever changes so why even bother trying.  I know I have a tendency to get overwhelmed, but I am also the cheerleader around here.  The one who typically looks on the bright side.  But I've been stuck, lost, not myself.

I felt something shift today.  I reread Barack's speech and thought about the powerful words he chose.  And I thought.  Yes I can keep helping my son.  Yes we did elect this man.  Yes I will keep doing my best.  Yes we will make the changes we need to.  Yes he will find ways to make it better.

Yes we can.  I know we can.  Look how far we've come.

I will continue to tell my son and myself:  Yes you can.  Yes you will.

I Guess You Never Know

This morning I unexpectedly had to go to Jane's preschool and help prepare for an upcoming event.  I had signed up to do this, but there was a mix up with the date and the director kept apologizing for her mistake.  I decided to just get it over with since all I really had to do was mix up some stuff and chat with a couple of other moms and the director (we weren't with the kids).

Within minutes of arriving, we got into a conversation about the Parenting Consultant that Matt and I had seen over three years ago, during the summer of 2005. Before I realized it, I was telling the director the whole sorted story of Scott's SPD diagnosis and his terrible year in pre-Kindergarten (at a different preschool).

Turns out her son, who is now 28, had developmental delays and learning disabilities, including severe auditory processing problems.  She wanted to know how we got through it, how he was doing now.  She had such kind words for his struggles and the difficult road we had traveled.

The preschool that Jane attends has a reputation for being a perfect place.  One where parents never complain and the director constantly touts how awesome all her teachers and programs are.  In order to secure a spot for your child, you have to put their name on the waiting list before the child is even born.  It is both wonderful and a bit over-the-top.  In the beginning I would sit in meetings and roll my eyes listening to the sappy drivel.

But Jane is as happy as can be.  She loves school, adores her teachers and is learning.  The school is superior to the one Scott attended, of this I am sure.  But I've often wondered if he would have fit in at Jane's school.  The kids all seem so well behaved; absent are the type of children with issues. 

The idea did cross my mind that the director had weeded those children out so as to preserve her Utopian environment.  And I always suspected that she would have judged me just as the director and teachers had at Scott's school.  As a mother who was looking for excuses for her child's poor behavior.  As a failure.

But today, as I fixed up bags of reindeer food, this director and I talked mom to mom.  About how hard it is to be a parent.  About what it was like to discover that your child has problems.  How alone and confused we both felt.  About some of the challenges she faced and some of the issues we are currently dealing with.

She said her son was her second child, the one that had to follow the perfect first born.  She knew there were issues when he was barely two and they had been through the wringer.  But he was, "the one that made me a good mom.  That taught me how to be patient, compassionate, a better person."  I nodded in agreement, understanding what she was saying, thinking of an e-mail I had sent a friend recently where I wrote:

Jane loves school and Scott, well, is Scott. He finds issues with everything.  But is doing well.  And he just continues to be such a unique, interesting kid.  My heart and my inspiration.  Jane is lovely.  Scott is a lot of work but in that "the hardest job you'll ever love" kind of way.

I was glad for the scheduling mix up and the opportunity to see this woman differently.  And to be reminded that I shouldn't be judging or jumping to conclusions, either.  That you just never know when the person who seems to be the least likely to understand turns out to be the complete opposite.