Spinning Yellow

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.

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.

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.

Anxiety - The Summer Edition

Daddy wants to take you guys to the pool.  Let's get ready.

To the pool?  I don't want to go.  People throw up there.  I'll get sick.

You go there every day, honey.  You know they clean the pool if anything happens.

Yeah, with chemicals that will make me sick.

No, good chemicals.  The kind that clean things.  Here, put your swimsuit on.

Wait.  Did this fall on the floor?  I'm not putting that on, its dirty.  It has dog hair on it.

It was on the floor for a second.  You roll around on the floor.  How can you say that this is dirty?

It is.  I'm not putting it on.

OK, fine.  Go get a new suit.  Then I'll put on your sunscreen.

No.  No sunscreen.  It's August.  I have a tan.  I can skip sunscreen now.

No, you still need sunscreen.  But you do have a little bit of a tan.  I love those freckles on your nose.

Ugh.  I hate the freckles.  I probably have skin cancer.  That's what those freckles are.

No.  But if I don't put on the sunscreen you might get a burn and end up with cancer when you are older.

I'm just going to stay home.  I shouldn't go out in the sun anyway.  They might make me wear a life jacket like they did in swim class.  I am NOT doing that again.

OK, fine, stay home.  You do love to swim, though.

It's too hot today.  I have a headache and I feel sweaty.

That's why you should go to the pool, to cool off.  Go get a drink of water.

Wait.  Did Jane touch my glass?  She did, didn't she?  I need a new glass.

I don't think she touched your glass, but I'll get you a new one.  You know, you do touch the same things as her all the time.

Ick!  What is she doing?  She just made a weird sound.  Is she going to throw up?  Am I going to get sick?

No, you aren't going to get sick.  She isn't sick.  She just coughed.  Come on, Daddy is ready.  Maybe he'll get you a treat from the ice cream truck.

But there are bees there by the trash cans.  What if he won't unwrap my ice cream and throw out the wrapper like you do?

I'm sure he will if you ask him to.

No, he's mad at me.

He is?

Yeah, because I won't try on my football helmet.  I am NOT playing football.

But you begged us to sign you up for football.  You are a good player.  You'll have fun.

I am NOT playing.  I am NOT wearing that helmet.  It hurts.  It gets stuck.

Well, I think you need to get used to it -

And the coaches are going to be mean, just like my second grade teacher!

Wait a minute.  The coaches are excited to have you on the team and we've been over this about your teacher.  Lots of people say she's perfectly nice once you get to know her.

Right.  She won't like me.  I can't keep my desk neat and my work is messy.  And I do stuff like knock kids over and throw things.  I don't want to go back to school.  Plus, I'll have to ride the bus!  And I might get sick.  There's poison on that bus.

OK, lets not talk about that now.  Let's just put on the sunscreen so you can have fun at the pool.  You are getting to be such a good swimmer!  It is going to be fun to swim in the ocean on vacation.

I don't WANT to go on vacation!  Twelve hours in the car to be in a place I don't know!  I'm staying home!

Well, then you'll have to go to football practice.

*Grunt*

Come on, vacation will be fun.  We can do lots of good things.  We can even have lunch on the beach.

Outside?  In the sand?  With the bugs?  You know I don't like to eat outside.

Yeah.

I feel sick.  My head hurts.

Yeah, me too, Buddy.  Me too.

There's a Big Silver Lining in All This

When I complained about how the puke virus finally invaded our home, I did not express how fortunate I feel that it didn't happen until now.  At a time when it seems we can, and did, handle it pretty well.   A few years ago, or even last year, I really can't imagine how Scott would have reacted to the choking sensation.  To the foul smell and yucky taste in his mouth.  To the gunk coming out of his nose.  Although he was scared and obviously didn't like it (nobody does, of course) he reacted in a way that you'd expect.

I keep coming back to this idea of how, well, normal, he has been lately.  I do not use the word lightly because I think normal is very subjective.  But I guess I am trying to say that Scott has been acting, in most ways, like a typical six year old.  More so now than he has ever behaved in the past.  Possibly it is a combination of how much we've adjusted, natural maturing, and self and specialist taught coping mechanisms. 

He even said that the throwing up wasn't the end of the world, mostly just scary.  Huh?  From a kid who can't even stand the smell of my newspaper?  Who hates the way liquid feels on his face?

Yes, my kid.  Who has come so far.  Who is realizing that life throws you punches and curve balls and you can make adjustments and move on.  Who actually let me wipe his face with a paper towel the other day.

I can see now that as he is getting older, he can control his environment more himself.  He can move the newspapers.  He can go wash his face off.  Just like how I always wear my sunglasses and only read when it is quiet.  I can make those choices because I understand myself and because I am capable.  I don't have to ask someone to help me.

A few weeks ago when he was all wound up before bed time, I yelled at him that he was driving me crazy.  "Settle down!"  I screamed.  About 10 minutes later, he very calmly said, "I watched a little tv, sat in the big chair and chewed on that yellow thing and now I feel much better."  He knows what to do.

And here is the big kicker:  Due to being sick, Scott hasn't been eating with his normal voracious appetite.  So his system has been off and he hasn't been pooping regularly.  I only skipped one day of Miralax because I am so afraid of him having any kind of constipation issues even though he did have some diarrhea (oh, yes, in the middle of the night, I forgot to add that to my highlights, it brought back such fond memories).

Anyway, he left for school yesterday without going to the bathroom for over 24 hours.  Usually, a huge cause for concern, but what could I do?  After he was home for a few hours, he casually said, "oh, yeah, mom, I forgot to tell you that I pooped at school today."  And then he just went back to doing whatever he had been.

I was shocked.  And once again I had to adjust how I view my son.  How much more capable he really is.  How I am the one who may be holding him back sometimes, trying to protect him, schedule things out so that there aren't any surprises.  Even plan his pooping.

As much as I dread the vomit virus, I will concede that it has shown me that we can handle more than I thought. 

Now, please, no more visits until at least next year. 

I finally finished all the laundry.

Can You Do This Homework?

Yesterday Scott's homework had a series of patterns to be deciphered by the child and continued to the edge of the page.  It looked like this:

There were obvious patterns like |::|::|::   Seeing how this pattern should continue is a piece of cake for Scott.  But being able to make the lines and dots in a way that shows his understanding is a completely different story.  He has learned how to write by feeling the motions he is supposed to make, not by looking at a picture and copying it.  In fact, he often writes more clearly when he isn't referring to a proper letter and just goes slowly.  Whenever he has to look at something and attempt to replicate it, he has trouble.

I didn't try this, but I am quite certain that if I asked Jane, at age 3, to copy the line and dot pattern, she'd be able to do it better than he did.  She can draw people with faces and copy simple pictures already (one of the few ways she takes after me).

I don't think it is necessarily important to be able to do this copying thing well.  But it does illustrate how crucial the OT was for him to be able to write legibly and keep up in school. 

In addition to the abstract patterns, the homework also included several letter sequences.  When Scott hears "pattern" he thinks, "repeating".  So when he saw A, b, C, d, E, f, ....  He started back at A and did the series the same way,  A - f.  I knew the answer was G, h, I, j, K, L, m..... but wasn't sure if I should correct him (I did later).

Then things got a little more complicated.  The next letter question went: a, a, z, z, b, b, y, y,  .... He got that one (after a few minutes). 

Don't skip ahead.  Try this one on your own:  a, b, a, b, c, a,   ,   ,   ,   ,   ,   ,   , e   (fill in the blank spaces).

Did it take you a few minutes?  Do you think that anything a first grader should do, especially homework that is supposed to take ten minutes, tops, should be tricky for a grown-up?  Matt said, "well maybe she was testing them, trying to see who would be able to get it".  OK, but give a heads up, because when I see homework, I expect it to be a reinforcement of what has already been learned and certainly not so difficult that a parent, one who does logic and math problems for fun, finds semi-challenging.

Maybe that was easy for you.  Here's the next one:  a, b, A, c, a, d, A,  ,   ,   ,   ,   ,   , h 
Hmmm, I see an alternating pattern.

Last one:   z, y, y, x, w, w, v,   ,   ,   ,   ,   ,   , q

To his credit, Scott did catch on by that last one, but it still took him a good 40 minutes to do this with my help.  And he didn't have a meltdown about it, hurray!

Oy!  My head hurt.

I did leave his teacher a quick note about how hard this homework was, but it is not a huge deal, just one of those things that I felt didn't seem right.

So I'm curious, how'd you do?

Coming Out at the Bus Stop

** Title credit goes to Delilah at Floating in Space, who used this term when I told her the story.

Yesterday morning Scott was bouncing off the walls.  When I say this I mean it quite literally.  He actually slams his body into things, including furniture and walls.  He was jumping around, talking way too fast and not making a lot of sense, skipping from one idea to another.  At times like this, I feel like I am dealing with someone who just smoked a pack of cigarettes and drank a gallon of coffee.  His disorganization is frustrating and alarming.

On the way to catch the bus, he spotted the one boy, a Kindergartener, who comes to our stop, across the street.  When he got to the curb he jumped into the boy's arms giving him a signature, overpowering hug and immediately said, "You can't have gum in school!" 

The boy's mom looked surprised, "He doesn't have any gum.  He had some earlier.  How did you know?" 

"I smelled it,"  Scott said simply.

So the mom kind of looked at me quizzically and I told her that he has heightened senses, he can smell things others might not.  Inside my head I thought about times where we were out someplace and Scott yelled, "What's that smell?!"  Or how I can't sneak any food and then talk to him, "Where's the chocolate, mom?"  Or how I have to move the newspaper away from his side of the table because he can't eat with it near him.  He's like a dog who can sniff out anything out of the ordinary.

After the boys boarded the bus, I decided to tell her more.  I don't know why I did, but maybe it had to do a little with this.  I feel that I am usually trying desperately to make Scott's issues unnoticeable.  For him to fit in with everyone, even if we see things others don't.  But then there are times when I want people to understand where he is coming from.

I think it was significant that Scott noticed the boy's gum breath given his crazy state.  When he is in hyper mode like that, he does seem to be distracted by every little thing.  I explained a bit about Scott's history, about SPD, about the OT that he has received.  I knew I would get the response that I did.  A mixture of interest (I've never heard of that) and also disbelief (aren't all kids like that?  he seems fine to me). 

But I felt better saying something.  Even if it looks like I am making excuses or inventing a disorder.  I want to raise awareness.  Maybe this mom-at-the-bus-stop will see Scott a little bit differently, for good or for bad.  Or maybe she'll realize something she never knew about another child.  Maybe a niece or nephew or a friend of her son's.

Maybe it will simply be one more person who hears about SPD.  And if that is all, it is enough for me.

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I am sorry I have been so out of touch lately.  Instead of giving all the usual excuses, you know, busy with the holidays, catching up after NaBloPoMo, husband out of town, sick kids, blah, blah, blah, I really just want to say there are two main reasons why I haven't been able to keep up:

The first is guilt.  I feel guilty for blogging.  I have so many things I should be doing that when I blog I feel self-indulgent.  It is a hobby, a creative outlet.  It is not monetarily expensive (like my husband's triathlon hobby), but it takes up a lot of time.  And time is precious right now.  I see my children growing up over-night.  And I am behind in so many things around my house, it is upsetting.

I also feel guilty not blogging.  I am so very grateful and appreciative of the support and friendship I've found here in the blogosphere.  If I don't get to read and comment and post regularly I feel like I am letting you all down, including myself.  Not keeping up my side of the relationship.  This makes me feel even more guilty.

Guilt if I do.  Guilt if I don't.

I am not sure how to reconcile those two things.

Second, I was trying desperately to finish reading my book for my Monday night book club meeting.  I hate attending book club without reading the book, even if it is not one I wanted to read.  This time, someone else had picked a book I'd tried to get selected several times, so I was not going to skip it.  And I am so happy to report that I not only finished in time, but I thoroughly enjoyed the book, Mrs. Kimble by Jennifer Haigh.

The story and characters were engaging, but what I liked most of all was the style in which she wrote.  It is a strong voice, clean sentences, no extra verbiage, but also plenty of emotion and description.  I marked several pages where I found particularly well-crafted sentences.  She explains her style in this interview, saying that:

The narrative voice of Mrs. Kimble is very much my voice; I think it comes through in all my work. I aim for precision in the sentences because that's the sort of writing I admire. I have a great respect for writers who are humble, whose language allows the reader to see the story but doesn't get in the way. Language is a window, and if the window is clean, you shouldn't be aware you're looking through glass.

My friend (hi dee!) knows the author from their small Pennsylvania town and had suggested the book awhile ago.  I was a little skeptical, thinking, who is this person who calls themselves an author, who grew up in small-town PA?  I was pleasantly mistaken.  How dare I be so judgmental just because someone knows this person?

This was a great read.  It reminded me of John Irving's, A Widow for One Year and I love John Irving (A Prayer for Owen Meany is on my top 10 books of all time list).  I highly recommend it.

Now I will publish this and hopefully start catching up on all the fabulous posts that I've missed this past week or so.

SPD in Time Magazine

Just when you thought I might not be posting for a few days, I received my latest issue of Time Magazine in the mail and had to write something.  I had already been notified through Google Alerts about this article, but was distracted by the end of NaBloPoMo and didn't know whether it would be included in the print version of the magazine.  And here it is, in my house.

The article, titled Is This Disorder For Real? gives a basic overview of SPD and talks about a few children currently undergoing sensory based therapies.  There are quotes from Lucy Jane Miller of the STAR center and background from A. Jean Ayers (the original SPD pioneer).  There is information about current research, including the study that Scott participated in.  But the primary focus, just like the New York Times article, is on whether SPD is actually a valid disorder.

While I am thrilled that SPD is getting such high-profile media attention (Time Magazine! I have been a loyal subscriber since I was a teenager!), I am concerned at the negative slant to which it is being portrayed.

Once again, the question seems to be:  Are parents making up a problem where there isn't one?

And to that, I would like to say, simply, why on earth would someone want to label their child as having a disorder if they didn't have one?  Now I get that everyone has different sensory reactions and thresholds and I am fully supportive or the idea that having these differences does not necessarily mean that there is something wrong with you.  But.  BUT.  I think, if you interviewed every parent who has a child that has been "diagnosed" (in quotes because it is not official, DSM-V certified) with SPD, they will tell you some story of serious issues their child has had.

Not simply that their child won't eat broccoli or doesn't like tags in their clothing.  But issues that impact them and their family.  Things that do not fit into any other category.  People who have no other explanation for why their child is suffering so.

Remember when nobody believed in ADHD?  Remember when the idea of a child having Autism was limited to the Rain Main version?  Times change, information is available and views need to be altered. 

I would like all teachers and professionals that work with children to be educated on SPD.  To learn how sensory strategies can help them to provide a better environment.  For all children.

Most people assume that if Scott is riled up that he needs to just run around and blow off steam.  But that often makes him even more out-of-control.  Until I understood his need for proprioceptive input I would have agreed.  Now we make sure the activity includes lots of heavy work or even go the opposite way and sit close on the sofa, wrapping him up in a blanket, giving him something to chew on to calm him down and ground him.  This is one example of how much our perspective has changed since learning about SPD.

Yes, I'd like SPD to be included in the DSM-V.  I also think that understanding how our senses impact us can help anyone.  It is like the Myers-Briggs personality study.  If you are aware of your personality type and that other people have a different perspective, it makes you better equipped to work with everyone. 

I wish that the article was more comprehensive.  I appreciate the side bar "Making Sense of Your Senses" that gives four different types of sensory profiles (like the Myers-Briggs thing).  But I am concerned that people won't realize how serious of an issue this can be.  Sure, you may "laugh about your husband only wanting to wear one brand of socks", but will you be giggling when your toddler screams bloody murder every time they go outside in the sun?  Or how about your child who cannot tolerate having their teeth brushed?  Or the four-year old who tackles everyone and gets kicked out of preschool, is labeled a "bad seed", and subsequently develops into a troubled, suicidal teenager?

I am formulating my letter to the editor right now.  Any thoughts on what I should say?

What I've Learned (by Matt)

I've been very busy today and even though I need to write 4 (yes, that's right!) memes and I have a few other posts I must. do. now., I am going to publish this guest blogger post by my husband (who offered to help me out with the whole NaBloPoMo thing by writing something).  Thanks, honey!

What I've Learned

Easy to say, right?  But every day when I get up and see Scott for the first time I am reminded of this simple phrase.  Scott teaches me something new everyday and he doesn’t even know this.  He has opened my mind and heart in so many ways that I never even thought were possible and yet he continues to do so every day without even knowing. 

When I look at Scott, I see myself.  Unsure.  Awkward.  Inquisitive.  Energetic.  Competitive.  Caring.  Sincere.  Loving.  Naïve.  Confident.  Analytical.  What we learn through our children can make us better persons and hopefully parents too.  We live in a world where we are quick to judge and draw conclusions about people, places, or just about anything.  Yet children see the world in a different way and their first instinct is to accept. 

What I don’t understand about the majority of the people we try to explain SPD to, is that at first, most are unwilling to accept Scott’s condition as anything more than behavioral or symptomatic of ADHD.  But why is this?  It is only now that I have come to realize it’s because we live in a society where, unless we really want to as individuals we stop learning.  Yes, we turn our brains off and something inside tells us we know better and we don’t need to learn any more. 

I’m exaggerating and taking this to an extreme but if you take the concept of history repeating itself and bring it down to an everyday level we can draw parallels of not wanting or being able to learn new things or learn from our mistakes.  Scott helps push me away from this syndrome every day and reminds me that I still have so much to learn about our family, myself, and most important, him. 

Thank you, Scott.