There are three Walmarts in our area. A fourth is in the works.
Walmart is one of those catch-22 things. when it comes to your area, the whole flavor of the place changes. Suddenly you find yourself in Anywhere, USA, and its as if everything implodes and all you are left with is Anywhere, USA, for miles and miles and miles round. It is hard to compete with a place that can sell anything you have in your shop for 10% less than you can buy it wholesale. Only they don't. They just undercut your retail price enough to take your customers, while raking in all that extra dough.
At the same time, when you need a can opener, and you can get the same can opener at the local hardware store for $15, or go to Walmart and buy that same can opener for $10, its hard to argue with that, especially these days. It's easier to justify going to the local hardware store if they are selling that can opener for $11, but $15? And in this economic climate?
Walmart can be evil from some points of view, salvation from others, and I'm not here to get into that debate. I have a habit of going to Walmart not to buy things, but simply to wander around someplace that is large, relatively quiet, and full of stuff to look at. I used to develop a lot of film there, now I print some digitals off, maybe browse what's on clearance. Sometimes I have a list of things that its best to get at Walmart than any of the other places around, which are all big-box chains, anyway, and Walmart's a lot cheaper than Lowe's for a lot of things.
I digress.
I shop at a Walmart that is not the closest Walmart to my house. There is one huge, honking reason for this: It is not a Super-Walmart.
Super-Walmarts are so huge, so overwhelming, and so warehouse-ish that there is no pleasure in shopping in one. Even for a completely utilitarian visit, the hugeness of the space is such that trying to find the thing wanted is a pain in the patookas. And to make it worse, they move stuff around, so where it was last month, it may not be there now. The signage sucks. Heaven forbid I have the guys with me, and have to drag them across the store, because the thing that was just inside the lawn and garden door last week is now all the way over in Grocery. Oh. My. God.
No, no, I had this nice little Walmart, just a bit further than the Super-Hellmart, and in the other direction (putting it in a neighborhood that is a good bit safer after dark). I loved my little Walmart. I could wander into the lawn and garden area, and browse the flowers or the holiday wares, maybe get some cat pan liners, pick up some pictures, Meander through the craft section, then wander back through the hardware and toys and home. It was a lovely little circuit, not exhausting, familiar, unchanging. If something moved, it moved predictably, because I knew the aisles that were "seasonal" and the aisles designated as "clearance" and nothing else wandered. If I wanted something, I could go in, get what I wanted, pick up a few other things that were convenient, and be out in 15 minutes, cheerful and happy to give them my money, with thoughts of giving them my money again, no problem.
Note the past tense.
Some schmoo somewhere in the corporate higher-ups of Walmart made the disastrous decision to expand my nice, comfortable Walmart into a Hellcenter. The renovations are underway now. My store is a mess. I can't find anything. They changed the entire location of the entrance and exit, completely disorienting me when I go into the store. And my favorite lawn and garden center? Demolished. DE-MOL-ISHED. Gone.
Some poor cashier, when I expressed my distress after having spent twenty minutes in search of an item that I preferred to purchase there, started telling me how wonderful it would be, because the groceries were so much cheaper, it would be fabulous. I didn't bother to tell her that the Super Hellmart with the groceries was closer to me already. If I wanted Hellmart groceries, I could easily go to the closer store. In fact, it won't make much sense for me to go to my little Walmart anymore, because its gone. I may as well save some gas and just go to the closer store. Except that I hate that store. Its ugly. Its dirty. The people who frequent it are rough. People get mugged there a lot. And on top of that, I've priced it, and the Wegman's is beating them up one side and down the other on grocery prices right now, except for slowcooker liners (the item I spent 20 minutes finding) and cat box liners (hence me picking them up whenever I make a circuit). Everything else I buy? Nobody is touching Wegman's right now.
So the end result is my once-little Walmart is going to lose a customer. I'm sure no one cares that one person is not going to go there anymore. I'm sure so many people in that area will be very happy, as there isn't a nice supermarket on that side of town right now, so folks in those little subdivisions will fill the void I leave. But it is very, very sad to be forced from a place that was so quiet, and calming, and comfortable.
But I bet I save a lot of money, since I won't be wandering about the Walmart.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
As we suspected
The guidance counselor who tested Andy this morning said he totally rocks. Well, actually they said, "There are definitely some skills there..." which we know in guidance-speak means "totally rocks." We knew this wasn't a "can do it" issue, but a "will do it" issue.
Next: the BASC-2 Scales.
Stay tuned!
Next: the BASC-2 Scales.
Stay tuned!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Mama Bear on the Prowl
I am just not getting the vibes about Andy's eligibility process that I want to be getting. I feel like no one is seeing the behaviors we are concerned about. They keep insisting on testing him the morning, when he is at his brilliant best, instead of in the afternoon when he is All. Over. The. Place. And today I got smacked with, "well, kids act differently at school that at home..." No kidding! But I just spent yesterday morning explaining that when I pick up the child at noon, he is NON-FUNCTIONAL for at least twenty minutes- you cannot speak or make any noise in the car, or he completely melts down. What is he going to do after lunch in a couple of weeks? So they want something from his teacher from last year, to prove this stuff effects him at school. The teacher I've been telling them would regularly answer the question, "How is he?" with "I don't know" because she had another kid in there that was not getting OT and stuff and needed a lot more attention. To her credit, she did go in to school to fill out the last form I had sent over. And the clear statement: without this new form, he doesn't qualify for service in the eyes of the school psychologist.
What does this tell me? I have provided them with letters from a psychiatrist and his occupational therapist, both stating that this child needs support (and the OT even gave recommendation for what support would be helpful.) And they mean to the school exactly Diddly Over Squat. Somehow, this looks really familiar to me. Oh, yeah, they like to ignore my private professionals. After all, they're school folks. Until we can prove that a regular environment is inappropriate, it's appropriate.
Um... huh?
So, like, you can put a child into an inappropriate placement until it is proven inappropriate?
Well, until you are actually in the system under IDEA, the answer is apparently, "yes indeedy!"
So what do you do? Make the school deal with him for a couple of months and see if you don't end up right back at the eligibility table? Because we are very probably looking at one of the school folks fighting us, and we know what happens when school folks fight you at eligibility. Remember, consensus must be reached. I have a bad feeling that I am going to be having a long talk with a teacher who has minimal special ed training before school starts.
What does this tell me? I have provided them with letters from a psychiatrist and his occupational therapist, both stating that this child needs support (and the OT even gave recommendation for what support would be helpful.) And they mean to the school exactly Diddly Over Squat. Somehow, this looks really familiar to me. Oh, yeah, they like to ignore my private professionals. After all, they're school folks. Until we can prove that a regular environment is inappropriate, it's appropriate.
Um... huh?
So, like, you can put a child into an inappropriate placement until it is proven inappropriate?
Well, until you are actually in the system under IDEA, the answer is apparently, "yes indeedy!"
So what do you do? Make the school deal with him for a couple of months and see if you don't end up right back at the eligibility table? Because we are very probably looking at one of the school folks fighting us, and we know what happens when school folks fight you at eligibility. Remember, consensus must be reached. I have a bad feeling that I am going to be having a long talk with a teacher who has minimal special ed training before school starts.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Round Three
Stay tuned for more members of the Choir Invisible. As soon as we get the nerve up to take care of it.
Summer Fun
With summer well underway, we decided to spend our free Friday at Colonial Beach. Fun!
The boys love it, and when its not a weekend, its beautifully quiet.
Summer swimming! Woo-hoo!
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Death of the Snake
Just to let you guys know, the snake is pining for the fjords. The snake is no more. He has ceased to be. He has expired, and gone to meet his Maker. He's a stiff. Bereft of life, he rests in peace. His metabolic processes are now history. He's off the twig, he's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain, and joined the Choir Invisible.
He's an ex-snake.
He's an ex-snake.
Friday, August 14, 2009
The Cult of the Label
When I realized we were going to have a clear diagnosis for Andy, there were feelings I was expecting. Relief. Understanding. Anger. Even confusion. But I was not expecting to feel like a Diagnosis Newbie all over again. Having to start from scratch, digging up research, trying to track down solid sources and information, trying to understand what this new label was saying about my child, and what it was telling me he needs. Perhaps I am not a complete newbie, though; I certainly know there will be pitfalls and woo out there, and the first step to avoiding a trap is knowing of its existence.
There is the extra hurdle in ADHD of most the public thinking the label itself is woo. Well, that's just dandy, ain't it? Even among special needs parents, most seem to scoff at the ADHD label. Autism awareness is currently semi-fashionable, and when you say your child is autistic, it is becoming less and less common that you have to defend the diagnosis. With ADHD, it is fashionable to respond with comments such as, "Well... you know, I think so many kids are over-diagnosed these days..." or "What do you expect? he's a boy!" or "Well, most kids can't sit still for five minutes."
You think autism is an "invisible disability"? Try ADHD.
Most of the time, Andy comes across as an energetic, vivacious, happy little guy. Then you learn he's very short-tempered. But is it a disability? In most situations in public, does a child need the skills that ADHD kids lack? The problem is when he needs to be to sit, focus, and socialize in semi-closed but not adequately structured and very noisy settings- say, a noisy cafeteria. A bus. A classroom. Have you been in a "normal" elementary school classroom lately? If I was five or six, I'd have trouble with the distraction and explosion of sensory input, too. It's like the whole room vibrates with color, imagery, motion. Wow. How is Andy going to be able to sit and listen to a story with so much stuff to look at in there? Where does one draw the line between "distractable", "distracted", and "ADD"? Where is the breakpoint between "energetic" and "hyperactive"?
Because all of these labels are a matter of degree. Even autism. "Spectrum" means you can be there and not have it getting in your way (and hence not be "disabled")- it is only when it causes trouble that you need a label. Its a fine line between ability and disability.
A generation or two before my own, Andy's energy and vibrance would have probably been an asset. A kid on a farm who gets up early and can go go go just needs a little channeling and guidance, and few prompts to get them into the routine of farm living. My family grew tobacco back in the day (as well as vegetables for the DC markets). You have to get up and feed the horses every morning, or they get hungry. You have to care for the fields, or you go hungry. There was structure and expectations and a need for energy and wiry strength and quick intelligence. Andy would have blended in and nobody given him a second thought. Perhaps his room would be messy, and his inability to focus been mistaken for a little laziness, but the energy would have probably made up for it. Heck, my house is a disaster and I'm not disabled.
However, Andy is not growing up on a farm forty years ago. He has to be able to go to school and participate in circle time, walk in a line, eat with his friends, play in a gym. He has to be able to organize his belongings, get to his classroom, and complete his assignments. Listening to a story means you have to be able to sit still and focus on the teacher for fifteen minutes. These are now skills to survive in society. These are the kinds of skills ADHD kids lack. Impulsiveness is not considered a virtue, and is considered a discipline problem rather than a neurological problem (facts be damned).
When you explain to someone that your child has autism, you get looks. Pity is a weird thing, especially when you don't need it. When you explain to someone your child has ADHD, its a different look. Something akin to "ah... you're one of those nutters. Go take a parenting class." Yes, they see you as part of the Great Medicalization Cult.
Unfortunately, getting services without a diagnosis is like trying to get a cat to fetch a stick.
There is the extra hurdle in ADHD of most the public thinking the label itself is woo. Well, that's just dandy, ain't it? Even among special needs parents, most seem to scoff at the ADHD label. Autism awareness is currently semi-fashionable, and when you say your child is autistic, it is becoming less and less common that you have to defend the diagnosis. With ADHD, it is fashionable to respond with comments such as, "Well... you know, I think so many kids are over-diagnosed these days..." or "What do you expect? he's a boy!" or "Well, most kids can't sit still for five minutes."
You think autism is an "invisible disability"? Try ADHD.
Most of the time, Andy comes across as an energetic, vivacious, happy little guy. Then you learn he's very short-tempered. But is it a disability? In most situations in public, does a child need the skills that ADHD kids lack? The problem is when he needs to be to sit, focus, and socialize in semi-closed but not adequately structured and very noisy settings- say, a noisy cafeteria. A bus. A classroom. Have you been in a "normal" elementary school classroom lately? If I was five or six, I'd have trouble with the distraction and explosion of sensory input, too. It's like the whole room vibrates with color, imagery, motion. Wow. How is Andy going to be able to sit and listen to a story with so much stuff to look at in there? Where does one draw the line between "distractable", "distracted", and "ADD"? Where is the breakpoint between "energetic" and "hyperactive"?
Because all of these labels are a matter of degree. Even autism. "Spectrum" means you can be there and not have it getting in your way (and hence not be "disabled")- it is only when it causes trouble that you need a label. Its a fine line between ability and disability.
A generation or two before my own, Andy's energy and vibrance would have probably been an asset. A kid on a farm who gets up early and can go go go just needs a little channeling and guidance, and few prompts to get them into the routine of farm living. My family grew tobacco back in the day (as well as vegetables for the DC markets). You have to get up and feed the horses every morning, or they get hungry. You have to care for the fields, or you go hungry. There was structure and expectations and a need for energy and wiry strength and quick intelligence. Andy would have blended in and nobody given him a second thought. Perhaps his room would be messy, and his inability to focus been mistaken for a little laziness, but the energy would have probably made up for it. Heck, my house is a disaster and I'm not disabled.
However, Andy is not growing up on a farm forty years ago. He has to be able to go to school and participate in circle time, walk in a line, eat with his friends, play in a gym. He has to be able to organize his belongings, get to his classroom, and complete his assignments. Listening to a story means you have to be able to sit still and focus on the teacher for fifteen minutes. These are now skills to survive in society. These are the kinds of skills ADHD kids lack. Impulsiveness is not considered a virtue, and is considered a discipline problem rather than a neurological problem (facts be damned).
When you explain to someone that your child has autism, you get looks. Pity is a weird thing, especially when you don't need it. When you explain to someone your child has ADHD, its a different look. Something akin to "ah... you're one of those nutters. Go take a parenting class." Yes, they see you as part of the Great Medicalization Cult.
Unfortunately, getting services without a diagnosis is like trying to get a cat to fetch a stick.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Two Big Chickens in the Afternoon
In an attempt to get the boys to relax, and give me a minute to just enjoy watching them being themselves while taking a big breath, I wandered out to Grandma's house (that would be my mom's) with boys. Actually, it was a bit of a hectic morning, unexpectedly; my classes were all up in the air again, and I had to go straighten it out. I also had Andy's stuff to straighten out. Things are clicking along on all fronts again. (Yay!) So, breathing. It's a Good Thing.
Mom took Andy with her, and I went to get Joey off the bus. Another surprise- one of Joey's beloved (and practically new) crocs got broken at school. Joey doesn't do broken. He perseverates on it to anxiety meltdown. Just what I really didn't want. So we popped into a shop that fortunately had a pair in his size on sale. Disaster averted.
We then scooped up some Happy Meals (the boys love teenie beanies, and its the last day), and off to Grandma's we toodled, to slide on her big blow-up water slide and Sit. Down.
Blowing up the big slide is always an adventure. It is too heavy for us to move around, so once it is set up, there it stays. I pull the motor through a window (it can't stay out because- get this- it can't get wet.) Then I hook everything up, and turn on the switch. As it inflates, I chase the spiders off, and rescue several with my famous Spider Rescue Stick. (the only spiders I believe in killing around here are black widows. I don't like them in my house, but spiders eat other bugs like biting flies and roaches). Anyway, as I am rescuing a particularly large spider, Joey is saying, "snake! I see a snake!"
(How many of you just found yourself clinging to the ceiling?)
Grandma and I took a few minutes to see it ourselves, but there it was- I had practically stepped on it putting up the pool. Now with all the noise and bother of the search, it was poised for self-defense. A small, brown, diamond-mottled snake, with a swollen head... hearts stopped. Praise of Joey commenced. But I was now trapped in the pool with a long stick and a measure of distance as my only defense. Yes, folks, Joey had just saved us pain, agony, and possibly his and his brother's lives.
It was a copperhead.
We got the boys back to the porch, and I managed to get the pool turned off. But now we had a copperhead to deal with. When I was young, we didn't see many copperheads around my house, because there was plenty of space for them elsewhere and we nurtured the company of large black ratsnakes, who eat copperhead hatchlings, and black kingsnakes, who eat copperheads. With all the clearing around here (why do people buy wooded lots, then cut down all the trees???), the copperheads are being driven this way, and the old kingsnake that used to hang out around the garden hasn't been seen in a while. I hadn't seen a live copperhead in quite some time. I wasn't enjoying it now. Especially one eyeing me and my stick that look of "jab me with that thing again, you idiot, and I'm going to show you exactly how long I am!"
Sorry, herpatologists out there, but to me, copperheads are the same category as black widow spiders. They are beautiful. And the must DIE.
But as mom as I stared at this little snake, an he glared back at us, we were at a loss. I've never killed a snake. Its not like a little spider that you toss a shoe at. If I get it wrong, I could be in big trouble. We found a little grasscutter blade tool thingy, but the handle was only four feet long. And it was looking right at me. With that look. You could almost hear it say, "Go ahead, idiot. Make. My. Day."
And mom was reinforcing the fact that it really, really needed to join the Choir Invisible. Maybe even pine for fjords. She was right. As I said before. DIE. DIE. DIE.
And there it was. To get a good swing in, I'd probably have to chop off part of the pool, and it's position under a bench attached to the garden wall meant I would be at a very odd angle.
"Mom," I said, "we can't do this."
In other words... bokbokbokbokbok! I'm a chicken. No, wait, we're both chickens.
Yes, the snake was allowed to live. And the boys were not allowed to play in the pool. And we have our handy blade tool thingy close to hand, waiting for Round Two: Death of the Snake.
Mom took Andy with her, and I went to get Joey off the bus. Another surprise- one of Joey's beloved (and practically new) crocs got broken at school. Joey doesn't do broken. He perseverates on it to anxiety meltdown. Just what I really didn't want. So we popped into a shop that fortunately had a pair in his size on sale. Disaster averted.
We then scooped up some Happy Meals (the boys love teenie beanies, and its the last day), and off to Grandma's we toodled, to slide on her big blow-up water slide and Sit. Down.
Blowing up the big slide is always an adventure. It is too heavy for us to move around, so once it is set up, there it stays. I pull the motor through a window (it can't stay out because- get this- it can't get wet.) Then I hook everything up, and turn on the switch. As it inflates, I chase the spiders off, and rescue several with my famous Spider Rescue Stick. (the only spiders I believe in killing around here are black widows. I don't like them in my house, but spiders eat other bugs like biting flies and roaches). Anyway, as I am rescuing a particularly large spider, Joey is saying, "snake! I see a snake!"
(How many of you just found yourself clinging to the ceiling?)
Grandma and I took a few minutes to see it ourselves, but there it was- I had practically stepped on it putting up the pool. Now with all the noise and bother of the search, it was poised for self-defense. A small, brown, diamond-mottled snake, with a swollen head... hearts stopped. Praise of Joey commenced. But I was now trapped in the pool with a long stick and a measure of distance as my only defense. Yes, folks, Joey had just saved us pain, agony, and possibly his and his brother's lives.
It was a copperhead.
We got the boys back to the porch, and I managed to get the pool turned off. But now we had a copperhead to deal with. When I was young, we didn't see many copperheads around my house, because there was plenty of space for them elsewhere and we nurtured the company of large black ratsnakes, who eat copperhead hatchlings, and black kingsnakes, who eat copperheads. With all the clearing around here (why do people buy wooded lots, then cut down all the trees???), the copperheads are being driven this way, and the old kingsnake that used to hang out around the garden hasn't been seen in a while. I hadn't seen a live copperhead in quite some time. I wasn't enjoying it now. Especially one eyeing me and my stick that look of "jab me with that thing again, you idiot, and I'm going to show you exactly how long I am!"
Sorry, herpatologists out there, but to me, copperheads are the same category as black widow spiders. They are beautiful. And the must DIE.
But as mom as I stared at this little snake, an he glared back at us, we were at a loss. I've never killed a snake. Its not like a little spider that you toss a shoe at. If I get it wrong, I could be in big trouble. We found a little grasscutter blade tool thingy, but the handle was only four feet long. And it was looking right at me. With that look. You could almost hear it say, "Go ahead, idiot. Make. My. Day."
And mom was reinforcing the fact that it really, really needed to join the Choir Invisible. Maybe even pine for fjords. She was right. As I said before. DIE. DIE. DIE.
And there it was. To get a good swing in, I'd probably have to chop off part of the pool, and it's position under a bench attached to the garden wall meant I would be at a very odd angle.
"Mom," I said, "we can't do this."
In other words... bokbokbokbokbok! I'm a chicken. No, wait, we're both chickens.
Yes, the snake was allowed to live. And the boys were not allowed to play in the pool. And we have our handy blade tool thingy close to hand, waiting for Round Two: Death of the Snake.
Thing that make you go "Hmmm...."
Well, there's nothing quite like thinking everything is moving along and then realizing you let your guard down and just got sucker-punched. Yes, indeed. That email that comes with that every popular line, "We scheduled your meeting on [date you could have told them weeks ago you wouldn't be in town for if anyone had bothered to call you]. I assume you got a letter..."
Well, no, actually. I haven't gotten a letter, I had no idea the date was scheduled, and that is exactly two weeks from today, when did you think you were going to schedule those four evals you wanted to do before that meeting?
Yes, I've already been embarrassed by being lectured about special education by the doc, when I'm the chair of the frickin' parent special ed committee and had the child screened not once, but twice. Can't I see this child needs an IEP? Well, no. What do i know about "normal"? He just looks like Andy to me. And he can do things like hold a conversation and dress himself. It isn't obvious to me. I had no idea how much support he might need for school, thanks.
But now that it is clear these behaviors translate to needing support, I want that support in place. Like, yesterday. Especially since I'm already Not Happy about being the Third Time. This better be the charm, people.
I'm starting to wonder what these people are thinking. Remember me? I'm the one who shows up with the binder of my kids' paperwork in temporal order? The one with the powerpoints? The one chairing your frickin' committee? Did you really think I wouldn't notice that you haven't invited me to the eligibility meeting, that you haven't even done the evals for it?
Beware the claws. Momma Bear is getting out the war paint.
Well, no, actually. I haven't gotten a letter, I had no idea the date was scheduled, and that is exactly two weeks from today, when did you think you were going to schedule those four evals you wanted to do before that meeting?
Yes, I've already been embarrassed by being lectured about special education by the doc, when I'm the chair of the frickin' parent special ed committee and had the child screened not once, but twice. Can't I see this child needs an IEP? Well, no. What do i know about "normal"? He just looks like Andy to me. And he can do things like hold a conversation and dress himself. It isn't obvious to me. I had no idea how much support he might need for school, thanks.
But now that it is clear these behaviors translate to needing support, I want that support in place. Like, yesterday. Especially since I'm already Not Happy about being the Third Time. This better be the charm, people.
I'm starting to wonder what these people are thinking. Remember me? I'm the one who shows up with the binder of my kids' paperwork in temporal order? The one with the powerpoints? The one chairing your frickin' committee? Did you really think I wouldn't notice that you haven't invited me to the eligibility meeting, that you haven't even done the evals for it?
Beware the claws. Momma Bear is getting out the war paint.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Different Skills, Different Paths
Last week I took Joey to watch our auto mechanic, Mr. Jeff, working on cars. Joey loves cars and trucks, and the trip was a success. It may not have looked like Joey was fascinated to most people, as he meandered around the lot peering into windows and talking about various things that wouldn't seem related to cars, I could tell he was happy. There were trucks. There were engines. There were tractors. Life was great. Maybe Joey will grow up to be an auto mechanic!
I know we have family and friends who would not approve. Too many people in this society think that a briefcase and corporate tie are marks of success. The decline in manufacturing and industry in this country has meant the worst financial straits in nearly a century. The excuse for getting rid of factory jobs is that people should go into information technology and other computer and service-sector employment, as if there was something dirty and bad about factory jobs. Let's face it. Not everyone is a computer whiz. In fact, it takes intelligence and good sense to be a good manufacturer, a good auto mechanic, a good construction worker.
I have two boys who need to be able to take their own paths, and we are working hard to prepare them for any path they may decide to take. It is likely that Andy will want something physical to do- park ranger? veterinarian? maybe a farmer? or construction? Joey may need something that doesn't require a lot of speaking. He loves cars and trucks- an auto mechanic seems like a great path to take, if he decides he's really interested.
There's more than one way to make a living. Thank goodness. It would be a boring world if everybody was a computer tech or a doctor. Also a hungry one with nothing to live in, sore feet from walking to work, and nothing to wear. Not that we don't need working computers an good health, but there are so many different paths to take. That's one reason we're all made so differently- so we all have our dreams to follow and things we can and want to do.
I know we have family and friends who would not approve. Too many people in this society think that a briefcase and corporate tie are marks of success. The decline in manufacturing and industry in this country has meant the worst financial straits in nearly a century. The excuse for getting rid of factory jobs is that people should go into information technology and other computer and service-sector employment, as if there was something dirty and bad about factory jobs. Let's face it. Not everyone is a computer whiz. In fact, it takes intelligence and good sense to be a good manufacturer, a good auto mechanic, a good construction worker.
I have two boys who need to be able to take their own paths, and we are working hard to prepare them for any path they may decide to take. It is likely that Andy will want something physical to do- park ranger? veterinarian? maybe a farmer? or construction? Joey may need something that doesn't require a lot of speaking. He loves cars and trucks- an auto mechanic seems like a great path to take, if he decides he's really interested.
There's more than one way to make a living. Thank goodness. It would be a boring world if everybody was a computer tech or a doctor. Also a hungry one with nothing to live in, sore feet from walking to work, and nothing to wear. Not that we don't need working computers an good health, but there are so many different paths to take. That's one reason we're all made so differently- so we all have our dreams to follow and things we can and want to do.
Friday, August 07, 2009
At the Park
We spent some time at the park today. Joey was very interested in two older girls- well, one was almost eight, and the other was probably no older than 12. The other kids were all little ones, the kind that Andy likes to take around by the hand and show things to. While Andy was indulging himself, Joey kept trying to engage these two young ladies. They clearly were at a complete loss for what to do. He tried several different approaches to engaging with them. First, he noted that the girls were tall, and he liked them. Then he tried to teach them some sign language, and the Signing Time theme song. Then he tried to include them in some of his own play, like asking if they wanted to make a mulch cake and sing Happy Birthday, or announcing he was an ice cream truck, and asking them to get in.
None of this worked. The girls retreated to a corner and were kinda staring at him as he satisfied himself by making a mulch cake (a pile of mulch that you then pretend to eat), then teaching some of the little ones how to sign "black cat." They were whispering, and I was close enough to catch "he's so weird."
And I put the body language, the eye track, and the words together, and realized they were talking about Joey.
"Oh, its OK," I burst in on their huddle from my place by the climbing tree. "He's just trying to play with you. He's autistic."
"I don't know what that is," the older girl replied, but there was a cue, a way she kept looking at him, and now at me- she wasn't dismissing him. She wanted to know; she had made the statement as a question, and was now awaiting an answer.
I have no idea how you explain autism to a 12-year-old girl. I did my best. I explained he had problems communicating and speaking, and so didn't know how to ask the girls to play, or how to include them in his games, and was doing the best he could. The younger girl intimated that she thought him weird as in scary, and I assured her he wasn't going to hurt her, he was just trying to say "Hi, I'm Joey, let's play!" the way he knew how. If they wanted to play with him, they would have to join his game, or explain what they wanted to play, and I would be happy to help. They were unsure, and decided they wanted to do "girl stuff".
But it was a telling conversation. Here was a child not that much older than Joey, but the differences between her social connections and communication and Joey's ability to play and communicate were startling. I am sure they thought he was somehow intellectually challenged, because his behavior and language was so unexpected and unpredictable. The fear was startling, too. I don't think of Joey as scary at all, especially at the park when he is in a decent mood, like he was today. The older girl's interest in him was also something I found notable; she didn't just reject him outright. She wanted to know more about him. I need better language, simpler terms for talking about Joey to his peers- direct but inclusive, language that makes it clear that Joey does things in his own way- so does everybody- and helps his peers find common ground, a point where they include him, and he includes them. How do you explain to a 12-year-old that if they can find a way to include Joey, he's a lovely person to know and play with, and would be thrilled to have friends and to be a friend? That "weird" is really just "different", and we're all different? How does one communicate such a idea in a child at the stage when being the same as their social peers is so important?
And what can we do to help Joey make those connections he so very much wants, clearly wants? What skills does he need to be able to engage his peers, and join their games? What is the disconnect that results in that label of "weird", which becomes the brick wall between Joey and people around him? What crucial social skills are missing? What makes Joey's attempt to engage so very different than how I jumped in on the conversation of these two girls? Why was my engage tactic successful, when his was not?
These are the questions we are now asking, in thinking about the road ahead, the plans for IEPs and programs and therapies. How much frustration can we mitigate, how many skill gaps can we fill, before Joey is 12 and feels that intense need to fit in somewhere, anywhere? What tools do I need to provide and teach as a safety net, if he finds that, like his mom, he fits in nowhere?
None of this worked. The girls retreated to a corner and were kinda staring at him as he satisfied himself by making a mulch cake (a pile of mulch that you then pretend to eat), then teaching some of the little ones how to sign "black cat." They were whispering, and I was close enough to catch "he's so weird."
And I put the body language, the eye track, and the words together, and realized they were talking about Joey.
"Oh, its OK," I burst in on their huddle from my place by the climbing tree. "He's just trying to play with you. He's autistic."
"I don't know what that is," the older girl replied, but there was a cue, a way she kept looking at him, and now at me- she wasn't dismissing him. She wanted to know; she had made the statement as a question, and was now awaiting an answer.
I have no idea how you explain autism to a 12-year-old girl. I did my best. I explained he had problems communicating and speaking, and so didn't know how to ask the girls to play, or how to include them in his games, and was doing the best he could. The younger girl intimated that she thought him weird as in scary, and I assured her he wasn't going to hurt her, he was just trying to say "Hi, I'm Joey, let's play!" the way he knew how. If they wanted to play with him, they would have to join his game, or explain what they wanted to play, and I would be happy to help. They were unsure, and decided they wanted to do "girl stuff".
But it was a telling conversation. Here was a child not that much older than Joey, but the differences between her social connections and communication and Joey's ability to play and communicate were startling. I am sure they thought he was somehow intellectually challenged, because his behavior and language was so unexpected and unpredictable. The fear was startling, too. I don't think of Joey as scary at all, especially at the park when he is in a decent mood, like he was today. The older girl's interest in him was also something I found notable; she didn't just reject him outright. She wanted to know more about him. I need better language, simpler terms for talking about Joey to his peers- direct but inclusive, language that makes it clear that Joey does things in his own way- so does everybody- and helps his peers find common ground, a point where they include him, and he includes them. How do you explain to a 12-year-old that if they can find a way to include Joey, he's a lovely person to know and play with, and would be thrilled to have friends and to be a friend? That "weird" is really just "different", and we're all different? How does one communicate such a idea in a child at the stage when being the same as their social peers is so important?
And what can we do to help Joey make those connections he so very much wants, clearly wants? What skills does he need to be able to engage his peers, and join their games? What is the disconnect that results in that label of "weird", which becomes the brick wall between Joey and people around him? What crucial social skills are missing? What makes Joey's attempt to engage so very different than how I jumped in on the conversation of these two girls? Why was my engage tactic successful, when his was not?
These are the questions we are now asking, in thinking about the road ahead, the plans for IEPs and programs and therapies. How much frustration can we mitigate, how many skill gaps can we fill, before Joey is 12 and feels that intense need to fit in somewhere, anywhere? What tools do I need to provide and teach as a safety net, if he finds that, like his mom, he fits in nowhere?
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Monday, August 03, 2009
Counter-productive
There is a magic word in this house, a word that can create a state of meltdown faster than any other. Just the idle breath of this word sends my children into spasms.
The word is "quickly."
This well-known casual prompt to keep young children from dillying and dallying brings on utter panic to Joey. The world is racing past, time goes into warp, and like the White Rabbit, we will now be Late!
It is 8:42am, and we need to leave the house at 8:45 to get Andy to camp. Joey discovers he has no pockets to stash his mini-clock.
"No pockets!" he complains, slapping the sides of his legs where pockets ought to be in any shorts sold for young boys. But Walmart begs to differ. "No pockets!" There is a glisten in his eyes, a strain in his voice- this will not do. I try to think fast, while trying to gather up the things Andy will need at camp and find my shoes, which have mysteriously walked away from the front hall.
"Well, run upstairs and change into another pair of shorts, then, quickly!" The last slips from my lips involuntarily. If I could have, I would have reached out and snatched the word back and jammed it down my own throat. But it is too late. It hangs in the air, as Joey lets out a screech and races up the stairs with screams of "Quickly! Quickly!"
8:44 am. I still hear the screams of "Quickly! Quickly!" upstairs as I manage to get Andy into his flip-flops and out the door.
"Come on, Joey," I call encouragingly, resulting in more frantic chanting of "Quickly! Quickly!" He appears at the top of the stairs, holding another pair of shorts, this one a pair of converted boxers- he is particularly fond of them, but they also have no pockets. "Quickly!" he squeals at me plaintively.
I avert the meltdown by coaxing him down the stairs and helping him into these new shorts, without mentioning they do no have pockets, nor does he have his clock. Fortunately, his watch is strapped tightly to his wrist. This would have taken a lot less time if I had just stopped and instead of using The Word, had gone upstairs to help him with his clothes.
Never has there ever been a more counter-productive word invented in human language. Irony at its best.
The word is "quickly."
This well-known casual prompt to keep young children from dillying and dallying brings on utter panic to Joey. The world is racing past, time goes into warp, and like the White Rabbit, we will now be Late!
It is 8:42am, and we need to leave the house at 8:45 to get Andy to camp. Joey discovers he has no pockets to stash his mini-clock.
"No pockets!" he complains, slapping the sides of his legs where pockets ought to be in any shorts sold for young boys. But Walmart begs to differ. "No pockets!" There is a glisten in his eyes, a strain in his voice- this will not do. I try to think fast, while trying to gather up the things Andy will need at camp and find my shoes, which have mysteriously walked away from the front hall.
"Well, run upstairs and change into another pair of shorts, then, quickly!" The last slips from my lips involuntarily. If I could have, I would have reached out and snatched the word back and jammed it down my own throat. But it is too late. It hangs in the air, as Joey lets out a screech and races up the stairs with screams of "Quickly! Quickly!"
8:44 am. I still hear the screams of "Quickly! Quickly!" upstairs as I manage to get Andy into his flip-flops and out the door.
"Come on, Joey," I call encouragingly, resulting in more frantic chanting of "Quickly! Quickly!" He appears at the top of the stairs, holding another pair of shorts, this one a pair of converted boxers- he is particularly fond of them, but they also have no pockets. "Quickly!" he squeals at me plaintively.
I avert the meltdown by coaxing him down the stairs and helping him into these new shorts, without mentioning they do no have pockets, nor does he have his clock. Fortunately, his watch is strapped tightly to his wrist. This would have taken a lot less time if I had just stopped and instead of using The Word, had gone upstairs to help him with his clothes.
Never has there ever been a more counter-productive word invented in human language. Irony at its best.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Seat Belts and Head Resters
OK, so among this summer's Issues, Joey has decided it is delightful fun to play with seat belts and take the head resters completely off. Nothing to get the heart leaping that to be entering a dangerous intersection, to realize your child has decided to unbuckle his seat belt and play with the head rester, which has two large spikes on the end of it when it is removed from its intended position (who designed that?) Every time we get in the car now, we start with a litany of rules:
1. Get in your seat and lock in.
2. Once you are locked in, you leave the seatbelt alone.
3. Do not play with or touch the head resters.
4. Do not touch any other seatbelts, either.
5. Stay in your seat, sitting upright, with your shoulderbelt properly over your chest and your lapbelt over your lap.
6. Do not duck from under the shoulderbelt to lean forward and remove the head rester.
And then we proceed to have constant reminders of these rules throughout the trip. The length of the trip does not matter. So now a typical fly on the window in my car hears something like this:
Internet! Internet! Internet!
Toppit, Doey!
Honey, don't play with the seat belts.
I put glue on Grandma! I put glue on Grandma!* (Wild cackling laughter)
Toppit, Doey!
Sweetie, put the headrest back, please.
Head rest ER.
Yes, dear, just put it back.
TOPPIT, DOEY! (smack)
We don't hit. That's a star.
AAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!
Joey, sit up, please!
Boys have wieners and girls don't.
Joey, stop playing with the seatbelts. Lock in, please.
TOPPIT, DOEY!!!
Joey, put. the. head. rester. BACK.
It's after twelve o'clock. We are late for getting lunch.
TOPPIT DOEY!!!
Joey, PUT THE HEAD RESTER BACK!!!
Anybody know where I can get locks for headresters and seatbelt buckles? Because the addition to the general cacophony is not good.
*I have no idea why this phrase is funny, what it actually means, or why it has become so prevalent in the chants, other than the amusing alliteration and probably funny visualization. He has never actually put any glue on his grandma.
1. Get in your seat and lock in.
2. Once you are locked in, you leave the seatbelt alone.
3. Do not play with or touch the head resters.
4. Do not touch any other seatbelts, either.
5. Stay in your seat, sitting upright, with your shoulderbelt properly over your chest and your lapbelt over your lap.
6. Do not duck from under the shoulderbelt to lean forward and remove the head rester.
And then we proceed to have constant reminders of these rules throughout the trip. The length of the trip does not matter. So now a typical fly on the window in my car hears something like this:
Internet! Internet! Internet!
Toppit, Doey!
Honey, don't play with the seat belts.
I put glue on Grandma! I put glue on Grandma!* (Wild cackling laughter)
Toppit, Doey!
Sweetie, put the headrest back, please.
Head rest ER.
Yes, dear, just put it back.
TOPPIT, DOEY! (smack)
We don't hit. That's a star.
AAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!
Joey, sit up, please!
Boys have wieners and girls don't.
Joey, stop playing with the seatbelts. Lock in, please.
TOPPIT, DOEY!!!
Joey, put. the. head. rester. BACK.
It's after twelve o'clock. We are late for getting lunch.
TOPPIT DOEY!!!
Joey, PUT THE HEAD RESTER BACK!!!
Anybody know where I can get locks for headresters and seatbelt buckles? Because the addition to the general cacophony is not good.
*I have no idea why this phrase is funny, what it actually means, or why it has become so prevalent in the chants, other than the amusing alliteration and probably funny visualization. He has never actually put any glue on his grandma.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Weather Camp: Rainbows
This week Joey has no ESY, so we are doing Weather Camp. Yesterday we got a little interrupted because we are looking for boards to replace our front porch (currently the original 1929 boards, and our isn't the only porch in town going bad fast) and got a line on some we thought would be affordable. Anyway, we did manage to take a picture of the clouds in the sky and watch a Magic School Bus on storms, but that was all.
So today we we worked on rainbows. We read the Magic School Bus book on rainbows, then I got out the prism. Joey was very excited about the prism, and is very proud that I let him actually have it, since it is glass and therefore a breakable. He's been making rainbows for me (or trying to) all day. The we put up some cards about different kinds of clouds. We had picked up our print of yesterday's sky, so we pinned it to the board under the matching card (cumulus). Joey was totally excited. There were no clouds when we took Andy to camp, but when we came out to pick him up, there were lots more big puffies out there, so we talked more about cumulus clouds. I'm hoping to do a book or poster on clouds on Friday. I managed to snap a cirrus cloud this evening, and maybe we'll get some thunderheads tomorrow (cumulonimbus clouds!) I doubt we'll get stratos clouds this week, but one can hope.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to work on storms, and do the famous Cyclone Experiment. I'll keep you posted.
So today we we worked on rainbows. We read the Magic School Bus book on rainbows, then I got out the prism. Joey was very excited about the prism, and is very proud that I let him actually have it, since it is glass and therefore a breakable. He's been making rainbows for me (or trying to) all day. The we put up some cards about different kinds of clouds. We had picked up our print of yesterday's sky, so we pinned it to the board under the matching card (cumulus). Joey was totally excited. There were no clouds when we took Andy to camp, but when we came out to pick him up, there were lots more big puffies out there, so we talked more about cumulus clouds. I'm hoping to do a book or poster on clouds on Friday. I managed to snap a cirrus cloud this evening, and maybe we'll get some thunderheads tomorrow (cumulonimbus clouds!) I doubt we'll get stratos clouds this week, but one can hope.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to work on storms, and do the famous Cyclone Experiment. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Back from New Jersey
I woke up this morning to Joey saying, "Never leave this family again, Young Lady!"
So excuse me while I squish me some boys, and set up for Weather Camp. But I'm back!
So excuse me while I squish me some boys, and set up for Weather Camp. But I'm back!
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