tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33722182295505674602024-03-12T20:12:49.209-07:00Observations from the Cuckoo's NestPerfecting the Art of ChaosTerri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.comBlogger234125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-64964698779892278262012-11-08T19:45:00.001-08:002012-11-08T19:46:10.967-08:00Learned That LessonOne thing I learned from our prior daycare debacle was when something isn't working for CJ, to move on. Not everyone can deal with him and the behaviors that SPD can bring on top of a highly spirited personality. We moved him from a situation that wasn't right and ended up very happy. He loved his preschool teacher. <br />
<br />
In August, CJ started Kindergarten despite my reservations. For his after school care I enrolled him in a program at the school, he'd just go to the school gym at the end of school. His preschool also offered an after school program and picked up using a bus. I thought staying at school was the best choice, <br />
<br />
Things went wrong the very first day of school. The director, Ms. M called me at 3:45 and said the Kindergarteners weren't supposed to start til a few days later and he was running wild and wouldn't listen and she didn't have enough staff. One, no one told me otherwise. Two, why wait for an hour and fifteen to call me? I was driving WC to his 4pm appointment. If I'd been contacted earlier, he would have been picked up.<br />
From day one, they got off wrong. Ms. M would comment that CJ was nothing like WC. He made progress when he was under care of Ms. R. But she wasn't always there. <br />
Then Ms. M began to tell me that "something had to be done with CJ." Translates to: You need to be a better mother." She would stare at me as if she couldn't grasp that I was also the mom to WC, a well-behaved, demure , quiet child that was in the program when he was 5. <br />
One day CJ was playing with modeling clay, the one thing that would keep him busy. He told her he was making a "shittake mushroom." She looked at me like I was raising an alien. <br />
The afternoon she said to me, "I'm glad he's your kid, not mine." I looked her right in the eye and told her that I was very glad he was mine.<br />
How on earth would anyone think that's remotely okay to say to a parent about their kid? She really believes she wouldn't love her own child if the kid didn't behave perfectly? However she had no idea that I know how to handle him.<br />
<br />
The next day I called his preschool and asked if they had room in the after care program and was told they'd love to have him back. All I had to do was let them know when to start picking him up. I needed to fill out the school age enrollment forms but I could turn them in and pay them when I picked him up! <br />
I went in on Wed and told Ms. M that his last day would be Friday. I explained that I knew there was a 2 week notice and all but I didn't think I'd be a problem. <br />
She had the nerve to tell me she was sorry to see him go. Yeah right.<br />
<br />
In the car, I told WC that CJ was changing programs. He asked why and I explained that it wasn't working. That Ms. M didn't like CJ. Then I told him to not tell CJ I said that. He inquired why and when I told him that CJ didn't need to know. WC informed me that CJ said Ms. M didn't like him and he didn't like her. <br />
Silly me for thinking CJ hadn't sensed it. Shame on her for letting a 5 yo child see her feelings. She works with kids! <br />
Since moving to the new (old) place he's much happier. So am I. Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-61275978489927176002012-11-03T20:22:00.001-07:002012-11-03T20:22:44.850-07:00See The GoodIn our school district at the end of the school year the children are subjected to standardized testing. These standardized tests are used to evaluate the teachers- they gain or lose money & reputation based on how their pupils perform. As you might guess this leads to teaching to the test. If it isn't on the test, they don't teach it. I'm not a fan of this situation. Some cases the teachers put enormous pressure on youngsters to make them look good. <br />
In May I received a phone call at work around midday, WC had a breakdown during said achievement test. According to the school guidance counsellor, it was reported he began panicking, scratching his arms & in a move that would get him sent to the guidance counsellor he told his teacher we'd all be better off without him. The law stated she had to call mobile crisis. <br />
I went to the ladies room and sobbed. I'd known for a while how unhappy with school he was but his grades were excellent. So I was blind to how badly he was hurting. And blind to what his teacher was doing. But that's a different post. <br />
I'm not one to be proud. This was beyond my abilities. We needed help. <br />
The previous year I'd contacted an LCSW when CJ first began to have issues. I'd spoken to her but decided to only see the OT. But I'd liked her. She was honest with me the year before & that stuck with me. I called her that very day. <br />
The mobile crisis guy called me. After a discussion he concluded it wasn't necessary for them to respond that I was capable of handling it. <br />
A few weeks later school was over. And we began seeing the therapist weekly throughout the summer and up to the present. Ms E is wonderful she connected with him & he trusts her. I'm grateful for the changes we've seen. It's a process and not going to be magically better instantly. <br />
The first thing she had me do was every night at bedtime he has to name a good thing about the day or a good thing about himself. If he can't or won't then I tell him. I think it's a great thing to do with both kids. We're all so busy we forget to celebrate the good things about our kids. <br />
I challenge you to start telling your kids when they are doing things RIGHT. Tell them that you see the good things they do! Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-56216033257438976052012-04-11T10:54:00.018-07:002012-04-11T10:54:00.127-07:00Thumbs UpFor the longest time we’ve struggled with finding an effective method to discipline CJ. In the few months leading up to the discovery of his developmental delay and sensory issues, it became apparent that absolutely nothing was working. <br />
<br />
<br />
Discipline seems to be hotly debated topic. In my opinion, the point of discipline is to train the child in the appropriate way to behave in any given situation. This, I’ve come to understand isn’t a simple one-size fits all task. <br />
<br />
We’ve tried all sorts of things with CJ- time-outs, rewards, removing a toy, and in desperation even spanking. I was spanked as a child. I didn’t like it and it deterred me from doing the thing that resulted in being smacked on the butt. It did not faze CJ and did not serve as a deterrent against the behavior being repeated. Bottom line, it didn’t work- so what’s the point of doing it? It didn’t feel right to me and for a reason. <br />
<br />
And CJ began to lash out at others- he hit, bit and kicked and screamed. At first we were befuddled at what the heck was going on with this kid. He’s been strong willed from birth and obviously bright, but a different creature had taken over. I’ve written prior about the horrible experience we had at the preschool he was attending at the time; I won’t go into it again. <br />
<br />
Long story short, we discovered after an evaluation with an OT- setup through our Pediatrician- that he was delayed in grasp and visual motor. Also SPD- see my sidebar with links for more information. What he was doing was exhibiting frustrated behavior at his inability to hold crayons/pencils and draw/write. And he had a big traffic jam in his brain with sensory overload. He didn’t have the verbal ability or maturity to put into words what was happening to him. And he was labeled a behavioral problem by the former preschool. <br />
<br />
You simply cannot spank a neurological disorder out. You can’t change the behavior exhibited by a neurology disorder by spanking. And since I wasn’t sure what behavior was resulting from the SPD and what was him being stubborn. I decided that it was simply not for us. The understanding of the developmental delays shed light on the frustrated behavior. And helping that simply involves therapy to increase the skills. As the skills have increased, the frustrated behaviors subside. <br />
<br />
At our new care facility, his teacher has been wonderful. I was honest with her from the get-go at what we were dealing with. She didn’t bat an eyelash. He’s put her through her paces and she has never held any of his behavior against him. She doesn’t let him slide, by any means. But she was a huge blessing in our lives at the perfect time. <br />
<br />
A couple months ago I was at the school, picking him up from the day. He looked at Ms. C and said, “Did I have a this day (holds his little thumb up) or a this day (little thumb down). She smiled and held her thumb up and he smiles and jumps up and down. I must have looked puzzled because she then explained that when he’s behaving well, she gives him a thumbs up and if he begins to slide into inappropriate behavior she gets his attention and holds her thumb out sideways and tells him he’s getting there and let’s bring it back up. We don’t want to get to here (holds her thumb out down) and CJ responds by shaking his head no. <br />
<br />
Are you kidding me? That’s about as simple as it can get. And it works on him? <br />
<br />
I decided then, that I would bring that tool back home with me. I’d see how it works for us at home or out in public. I’ve discovered it’s a nice thing to have in public. It can cut back on verbal scolding. As long as I can get his attention, it can be used from across a room. He doesn’t like getting a sideways thumb and will usually correct himself in order to get a thumbs up. <br />
<br />
I don’t know why it works. Why does this speak to him when other things don’t?<br />
<br />
I like that it’s immediate. I see him sliding and usually can catch him before it escalates. <br />
<br />
Like everything it isn’t perfect and doesn’t always work. But we have had better results from a simple thumb than anything else. <br />
<br />
*Please note that I am not making any commentary about the way anyone disciplines their child. I am simply writing about my personal experience with one of my children. I make no judgement of anyone. You discipline your child as you see fit and do what works for your family as long as it is legal. I am not debating disciplinary styles. If you would like to comment on what works for you or your experience without criticizing others then that is welcome. Openly critical, mean comments will not be posted.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-31861898949602025952012-04-09T10:06:00.000-07:002012-04-09T10:06:09.581-07:00Prayer and the Eight Year OldLate Saturday evening WC burst through the backdoor into the kitchen screaming, “The Bible’s real, the Bible’s real.”<br />
<br />
<br />
I turn from my dinner preparation and find him panting. When he catches his breath he continues. “I was outside with my car (holds up a green matchbook style automobile) and I dropped in the grass; couldn’t find it anywhere. So I prayed as hard as I could; asked God to let me find my car. And when I opened my eyes- there is was!” Then he begins another frantic run in a circle screaming. “God’s real.” Then heads back across the kitchen and out the backdoor screaming. “God’s real. Praying is fun.” The door slams behind him. From what I could gather from the sounds of the yelling, he and his little brother were running across the back yard screaming/chanting- “God’s real. Praying is fun.”<br />
<br />
I find my husband on the couch, laughing hysterically. He finally says, “Do you think they know you blog about them?”<br />
<br />
“They do appear to just hand me things me write about.”<br />
<br />
At some point, probably soon, we will have to have the discussion with him that just because you pray, God doesn’t always just drop your request at your feet.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-77978689979860783622012-04-04T10:17:00.001-07:002012-04-04T10:17:00.785-07:00It's 7:30 am; Do You Know Where Your Boobs Are?Sometimes a young child’s take on the world and the things around them can be imaginative and inventive. Anything can happen. Elves can spend 364 days making toys for a fat guy to fly around the world and deliver in one night every child on the earth. <br />
<br />
<br />
Reality is not concrete and the line with make believe can blur.<br />
<br />
The confusion can sometimes be amusing for us adults. <br />
<br />
One Saturday, I’d been doing laundry and wishing that a laundry fairy would appear and take care of this tedious, boring task. Later when I noticed that a bra had fallen into the kitchen floor, I quickly stuck it on a kitchen chair where it could hide under the table until I put it away later. <br />
<br />
Having the memory of gnat, I forgot about the bra in the chair. <br />
<br />
Sunday morning I was enjoying my cup of coffee curled up on the couch, while CJ ate his breakfast. <br />
<br />
“Mommy?” CJ entered from the kitchen, his little forehead scrunched up in concern.<br />
<br />
“Yes, baby.” I motioned him to come closer. <br />
<br />
He hurried over and stood in front of me; leaned in close. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Your boobs are in the kitchen chair.”Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-21454213677001615282012-04-02T10:41:00.006-07:002012-04-02T10:45:23.115-07:00Grandchildren- A Parents Revenge“These people are not the same people I grew up with.” –Bill Cosby.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The other night on the way home, my kids were in the backseat of the car. They’d spent that day with my mom and were happily raiding the plastic bag of goodies between them in the seat. They retrieved a plastic object in the shape of a duck bill- they each had one. And they proceeded to repeatedly blow into it and a noise that was supposed to resemble a duck’s quack filled the car. <br />
<br />
CJ had blown his spit into the noise maker and it sounded like a duck that needed to hock a loogie back there. <br />
<br />
Why does my mother hate me? <br />
<br />
I thought we’d put to rest the issues between us when I was in my early twenties. Then I had a child. The gleam in her eye and the maniacal laugh when I announced my pregnancy should have been a clue. She’d figured out that sweet revenge would finally be hers. <br />
<br />
What could I have possibly done as a child to this woman? None of the stories I’ve been told seem that I was that bad. I was far better than my sister (tooting my own horn here). I’m the good one. Just because she doesn’t have kids, why do I have to pay the price for both of us?<br />
<br />
After each visit they arrive home with bags of stuff (i.e. crap I’d never buy them). Usually the stuff is of a noisy nature- duck bill whistles (hello, they are boys...they come with their own built in noise makers), or millions of Legos that are scattered to the ends of the house and hurt like hell on the bottom of a bare foot. Or messy- the <a href="http://observationsfromthecuckoosnest.blogspot.com/2011/05/gift-to-give.html" target="_blank">color bubble incident</a> is by far the worse. I could stock a daycare with the amount of modeling dough that’s been sent home. <br />
<br />
I’ve been told that I colored on her walls as a small child. I don’t remember it but will be paying for it until my kids destroy my house. <br />
<br />
Then there’s the food- she once sent home a box of chocolate covered honey buns. I read the nutritional information (more calories and sugar than an adult should consume in a day). She introduced them to children’s chocolate breakfast cereal, chocolate pop tarts and pre-packaged snack cakes. <br />
<br />
She wonders why they don’t sleep well when they spend the night. <br />
<br />
Usually she loads them up and sends them home to me. And they crash and sleep like they’ve been on a three day bender. <br />
<br />
I’ve learned that it doesn’t do any good to talk to her. She will nod along and then go and do whatever she wants anyway. Probably similar to me as a teenager. <br />
<br />
My motto for the kids is “Whatever happens at Nana’s, stays at Nana’s.”Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-26281676811067193192012-03-28T10:36:00.001-07:002012-03-28T10:36:00.632-07:00Grant Me the Serenity to Not Destroy These ChildrenMy sister moved out the other day. She’s lived with us on and off for years. But she’d been living with us now for about two years- her longest stretch. It wasn’t a surprise when she announced that she was leaving. I was expecting it. <br />
<br />
<br />
For the past couple of years the kids have been used to her room in our house being off limits. I admonished them numerous times to stay out of her belongings. <br />
<br />
She has a collection of gothic dolls. One in particular I consider creepy- A small fabric doll wearing a little black dress and a face with one solid black eye and one solid white eye. I’d noticed it while on the treadmill that also occupied her room. I kept glancing at it just to make sure it wasn’t getting any closer to me. <br />
<br />
One evening WC had started up a video in their bedroom and when I reminded him that they didn’t have time to watch any before bed- he told me that they were trying to get their mind off of Aunt’s creepy little doll. <br />
<br />
My sister stated that if they stayed out of her room then they wouldn’t have to worry about her creepy doll. I theorized that going into her room is the equivalent to a dare to stay in a haunted house. I bet you can’t stay in for three minutes. She wasn’t amused. <br />
<br />
The boys were all a flutter while she boxed her things and packed her car. As her room emptied they continually checked the progress.<br />
<br />
On Saturday morning I woke to discover the formerly emptied room had been filled with my things that were previously stored neatly in the closet- yoga mat, exercise ball, hand weights, the linoleum sample from our flooring, etc. They also had their small indoor play tent setup. They’d pulled the fan from their room. And to top it off, the little buggers had managed to unhook their tv and dvd player and move them into this room. Now this is a 12 inch tv but it’s an old school, foot and a half thick television, not a small flat screen. <br />
<br />
Small bottles of paint that I’d kept on the bookshelf were scattered on end table left in the room. There was the cup CJ uses to rinse his mouth when he brushes his teeth, filled with paint infused water and soggy paint brush. Water puddles scattered the table top and seeped into the graph paper they’d found. Then top it off neither of them actually painted a picture. <br />
<br />
I’m standing at the threshold to hell. The only room in the house that had not been cluttered is jammed full. Anything they could have pulled out is in the middle of room. In the middle of it all stand two slack jawed little boys who are wearing facial expressions similar to one I would have in a class on theoretical physics. <br />
<br />
Meditation breathing comes in handy at moments like these. As well as a short prayer to ask that I have the restraint to not destroy these children.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-34426042278866264492012-03-26T10:54:00.000-07:002012-03-26T10:54:26.416-07:00The Trouble With Being the Younger OneHe merrily stomped his way down the muddy path. The rest of us were in a group, taking a tour, but CJ was yards head of the group. Not a clue where he was or where he should go, still not content to follow. <br />
<br />
<br />
My concern grew that he’d barrel off the path into the trees and he did. The brush, up to nearly his knees did not deter him. But the thought he’d disturb a snake or a spider or pick up a tick led me to leave the group to retrieve my concrete headed four year old who can’t see the possibility something might go wrong. No knowledge that the early warm temperatures might bring these woodland critters out. All he knew was it felt good- he loved the wind and freedom.<br />
<br />
Until Mom grabbed him by the arm and issued a warning of having him go back and wait inside the building and brought his freedom to a halt. <br />
<br />
Even then, he ended up playing with the tour guide and racing her. His constant need to be in the lead is still a mystery- is it rooted in his SPD or his stubborn nature? Maybe a bit of both.<br />
<br />
We toured the prospective camp where WC will possibly spend the first week or two of summer vacation. But you’d think this was something for CJ. While CJ is at the first in line our more reserved WC is bringing up the rear. <br />
<br />
The boys went to the car while I had a conversation with the camps director.<br />
<br />
Back in the car I discovered a very unhappy CJ and inquired what was going on. <br />
<br />
Seems he was unhappy because he discovered it was not him who would be attending camp.<br />
<br />
I attempted to explain that he was still too young.<br />
<br />
He folded his arms across his chest and huffed. “You’re fired.” He angrily exclaimed.<br />
<br />
“Who is,” I asked in amusement.<br />
<br />
“Both of you,” he shot back.<br />
<br />
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter who your parents are. You’re still going to be too young right now.”<br />
<br />
He huffed and grumbled until the sights of a horse standing on the side of road urinating made him forget his troubles.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-6959579201632596572012-03-21T10:42:00.001-07:002012-03-21T10:42:00.622-07:00Joy in ChaosI sat slumped on the couch, the day mostly done. Up before the sun, a morning routine flown through- the rush to get everyone where they spend their day. Then the full day at my desk and the rush to retrieve everyone and get back home only to pack in the afternoon requirements- homework, dinner and bedtime routine. They need to get in bed, so they can get enough rest to start the whole thing all over again before the sun comes up. <br />
<br />
<br />
On this particular afternoon, I had a sinus headache. Thank you Spring for arriving in February. The boys were covered in nectarine juice and running laps around the table. Their hysterical giggles let me know this was some sort of game that I wasn’t privy to the object of. CJ had asked me if he could try a nectarine, so I’d bought one per kid. They’d enjoyed them for their after dinner snack. He’d rubbed it in his hair, even though he hates having it washed. <br />
<br />
While they wore an indention in my kitchen floor in the shape of their race track around the table, I wondered what people who didn’t have kids did after work. There are people who could lay down with their sinus headache and not have to worry about nectarine in a kid’s hair. <br />
<br />
I began to wonder, if I would ever have a quiet house again. <br />
<br />
Then I thought back to the weeks after we first brought WC home from the hospital. I didn’t have a clue. This child ate every two hours on the dot. It could take an hour just to feed him, change him and get him back to sleep. Then I’d have an hour before we had to do it again. 24 hours a day, seven days a week. And that meant I’d only get to sleep in 1 hour increments, even at night. And that included the time it took to fall asleep. Now both Jay and my mom would help, but the sleep deprivation hit.<br />
<br />
At one point in time, I believed that I’d never sleep again. This would be my life and questioned why I signed up for such misery. <br />
<br />
Some of the misery, I brought on myself. We’d known people who had a child that wouldn’t sleep in their own bed. The child was at that time, 4 years old, and it was causing problems. The child had been allowed to sleep with the parents from birth. I naively believed we’d nip that in the bud by never allowing it to happen in the first place. I’ve since altered my view on it slightly- namely the birth of CJ while having a 3 yr old WC who still needed tending regardless of how much sleep I’d had. <br />
<br />
Six weeks into the life of WC, I was severely sleep-deprived and miserable. My mom offered to watch him overnight. She told me to pack his stuff and let him sleep over there. She had a crib- because she would be watching him when I returned to work. She didn’t have to work too hard at convincing me. <br />
<br />
I dropped him off and went straight back home, showered and went to bed. It was the best 12 twelve hours of solid sleep I’d ever had up to that point in life. When I woke up, I immediately wanted to go get him. I even refused to wait on Jay to get ready to go with me. <br />
<br />
Over the next few weeks, WC slowly added length of time between feedings. And the sleep deprivation faded into a distant memory. <br />
<br />
In hindsight, it was only a few weeks. At the time it was happening, I couldn’t imagine that it would ever get better. It wasn’t forever, just a small blip on the radar of my life. <br />
<br />
I watched my kids running circles around the table and screaming with laughter. And this too is just a small blip on the radar. One that’s going to fade too quickly. I watch them for a while and treasure the moment. Soon it will be time to stop them and go run a tub of water. <br />
<br />
This is my joy in the midst of the chaos.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-40007436182846290822012-03-19T10:07:00.001-07:002012-03-19T10:07:00.731-07:00Why Did God Make Spiders?It is said that the average 4 year old asks 437 questions in a day. I’d venture a guess that the majority of those questions are the result of the answer to given to their prior question. Let’s just say, I’m glad to not be stuck in a room full of 4 year olds all day, every day.<br />
<br />
<br />
The one that I have is more than enough.<br />
<br />
Sometimes what the 4 year olds asks is not the question the adult brain registers.<br />
<br />
The other morning on the way to daycare CJ asks, “Mommy?”<br />
<br />
“Yes.” Because I have to respond or he will repeat ‘Mommy’ until I speak, even if we are the only two people and there isn’t anyone else. <br />
<br />
“Where do spiders sleep?”<br />
<br />
“In their web.” Seemed like a good answer.<br />
<br />
“How do they not slide out?”<br />
<br />
“Well, its how God made them. He made them with special things on their legs and feet that keep them on the web. And they don’t get stuck, either.”<br />
<br />
“Why did God make spiders?”<br />
<br />
I think for a minute and then formulate my answer that I thought would be simple enough. I explained basic ecology and how everything on the earth is in balance and everything depends on something else. And I finish my explanation and I’m very pleased with myself. Bravo mom. I knocked this one out of the park. <br />
<br />
It’s all quiet in the backseat for a minute. Then his little voice comes back. “No. Why doesn’t He just go to the store and buy one.”Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-68798062805932424082012-03-14T10:34:00.000-07:002012-03-14T10:34:25.041-07:00Life Lessons from the DojoThe other day, my eight year old, WC came home and asked if he could quit karate. Since he’s been completely obsessed with advancing to the next belt level and never uttered the slightest hint over the past year that he was unhappy (and I just signed a contract for another year). I said no. Then sat down next to him and asked what was up.<br />
<br />
<br />
During the progression through his blue belt, he’s had to lead a class of lower belt levels. He has a more reserved nature and usually doesn’t like to draw attention to himself outside of the house (yes, this is the same child who ran butt naked across the front yard). The first time he had to lead class, his instructor warned me when I walked in. He hurried over to me and said just to let me know he had WC lead class today because he knew WC would be complaining about it. Leading and speaking up do not come naturally to WC (or me). This is good practice for him and gives him an opportunity to become comfortable. <br />
<br />
Sure enough it was the first thing out of WC’s mouth. He complained the whole way home. I advised him that it was good for him. He didn’t buy it.<br />
<br />
Then the second time he was tasked with leading class, he told me. “Sensei said to lead class and then he just stood there!” But he appeared to make it through without too much trauma. <br />
<br />
The day he asked if he could quit was his third time to lead. He’d taken my advice and thought about how sensei leads the class and go from there. He’d taken the instruction to lead class seriously. He was truly upset with “his students.” He’d told one kid (a friend) that he needed to work on his kata and the kid was angered by the suggestion. <br />
<br />
I explained to WC, that sometimes, people have a hard time taking constructive criticism from someone their own age or younger. “But, it was true,” he countered. “I wasn’t mean about it.”<br />
<br />
“It’s a whole different thing to teach people, isn’t it?”<br />
<br />
“Why do they have to be so dumb,” WC asked in exasperation. <br />
<br />
“Whoa, hold the phone there…you don’t call people dumb.” <br />
<br />
“Well, if I hold my arm like this (he gets up and demonstrates) then hold your arm like I am. Not back like this (pulls his arm back). How hard is it?”<br />
<br />
I gently remind him to remember what it is like learning new things and not everyone learns quickly or even the same way. If they hold an arm wrong, then calmly point out the arm placement needs to be corrected. I don’t even go into it that they might be slacking because he’s their peer. <br />
<br />
I explain to him that it takes patience to teach people. And this opportunity gives him a different perspective; he can now understand what it’s like for his school teachers. And while he is leading a class, he can also understand what it’s like to learn. It should give him an appreciation for both student and teacher. <br />
<br />
I always knew he expected a lot from himself. This gives me insight that he also expects the best from the people around him. He’s already begun to learn that they always don’t give it.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-29966090949047485772012-03-12T11:00:00.001-07:002012-03-12T11:00:05.276-07:00Dragging out the Soap BoxIt’s a big world out there. It’s a beautiful thing with lots of different people and just as many differing opinions. People are free to express their thoughts and beliefs in a variety of ways. And as long as a person isn’t causing harm in the way they express themselves- I’m generally okay with it. <br />
<br />
<br />
Even if I don’t agree with what they say, the world is big enough. I don’t have to read, listen, watch or pay attention to them. I’m free to change the channel, un-friend, un-follow or take my business elsewhere if I don’t like it. I’ve never had to resort to any of those solutions. <br />
<br />
I’m generally not easily offended and have an irreverent sort of sense of humor, myself. <br />
<br />
So the other day I was taken off guard by my gut reaction to a posted comment on a social site. In short the comment stated that people need to teach their kids how to sit down in public. <br />
<br />
I didn’t respond to the comment- it wasn’t directed at me and the person who wrote it doesn’t know me from Eve. Throughout my evening, I kept thinking about the comment. It had hit a nerve. <br />
<br />
It hit a nerve because it goes back to blaming the parent (ahem…mother) for a child’s misbehavior. Why is still assumed that any kid not acting perfect in public has a permissive parent who doesn’t do jack to train up their kid? <br />
<br />
While there might be some parents out there who don’t give a flip about how their children act, I can guarantee you that there are more who care and are doing their best. <br />
<br />
And don’t assume that just because a kid does not “look like a special needs kid” that there isn’t an underlying condition. <br />
<br />
An outsider who is watching a child have a massive come apart in public doesn’t need to be concerned that the mother isn’t doing her job. You don’t know. You have no idea what is going on with that child. <br />
<br />
Compassion not criticism is what is needed. <br />
<br />
And back to the teaching the kid to sit down in public: I’ve been guilty of allowing CJ to stand up in a booth in a restaurant. He gets to do it when there isn’t anyone in the booth behind us or one side of the booth is up against a wall. I understand his limitations. A stranger looking across the room at us doesn’t have a clue. Would you rather have him standing quietly or sitting down and screaming? <br />
<br />
The commenter most likely does not have children. Anyone who has children and has attempted to correct them numerous times knows the frustration behind watching a kid do something for the millionth time that you’ve specifically told them not to do. And that includes all children, not just ones with special needs. A parent can do their very best and a child still go off and do their own thing. It’s what they do. They’re kids. It’s what we did as kids, right. Anyone out there always act exactly the way your parents wanted you to? It’s easy to forget.<br />
<br />
I thought for a while then I took to twitter and wrote: Do not judge the behavior of other people’s kids. You don’t know the whole story.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-68842990419439243742012-03-07T10:33:00.001-08:002012-03-07T10:33:00.811-08:00The Options Are...While the possibility of CJ attending kindergarten in the fall is slim, we still have more options than I knew. <br />
<br />
<br />
After his daycare teacher brought up the idea of Kindergarten Readiness, I looked into it. The focus on social and fine motor skills appealed to me since these are the areas where he most lags. On the school website, I pull up the list of requirements. There my heart sank at the sight of: Student must be 5 by September, 30, 2012. And have a birth month of June, July, August or September. <br />
<br />
CJ is a May baby. Crap-o-la. 15 days…really? <br />
<br />
So I retired the thought for a few days in defeat. Then it hit me. Every week I take my oldest, WC, to open library night at school. Once a week they open the library after school so students can read and take computerized tests on the books- called AR. This is a requirement for every kid in the school to read and test on books. WC and I have been going since he was in kindergarten-so three years now. My point is that the assistant principal runs open library. So we’ve gotten to know her over the course of going in. It occurred to me to talk to the assistant principal- ask her about the program and how strict they hold to that whole birth month requirement and if they could make exception for a child who really needs it. <br />
<br />
Well my conversation with the assistant principal went great. Over the course of the conversation, I let her in on CJ’s delays and sensory issues. She was wonderful. She suggested that I contact the teacher in charge of the Kindergarten Readiness program to discuss CJ with her. Then she told me something else. On Saturday the 10th they are having free screenings for children aged 3-5. If I bring him in and let them run him through a series of tests, then he might qualify for his OT through the school and possibly qualify him for other services and possibly qualify him to start kindergarten with special ed assistance or their pre-k program also admits special ed as 2nd tier admittance. The first ones admitted to pre-k are people who qualify for free/reduced lunch. We do not. <br />
<br />
With all the above in mind, I contacted the Kindergarten Readiness teacher- via email. Explained who I was, I already have a child in the school, and I’d spoken to the assistant principal who suggested I contact her. And I explained why I wanted CJ in KR and what his challenges are. To my surprise the replied fairly quickly and we corresponded back and forth several times over the day.<br />
<br />
Basically, if CJ qualifies for an IEP (Individualized Education Plan) then he is not eligible for KR program. But if he isn’t, she will be glad to test him at pre-registration. She has to fill her slots with June-Sep birthday’s first, if anything is left then she can admit him. And bringing him to the screening on Saturday should help with finding the appropriate placement for him. <br />
<br />
If he doesn’t qualify for any of it, then we will stay where we are. I’ll hold him out a year.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-38152419477872367502012-03-05T10:21:00.000-08:002012-03-05T10:21:22.135-08:00A Glow on the HorizonLast year when life began unraveling around the then 3 year old CJ- his behavior played hopscotch from baffling to infuriating and then heartbreaking and back again. It became apparent at that point even though he would be chronologically ready for kindergarten this year, that emotionally, socially and behaviorally he wouldn’t be able to. At that point, his developmental delay in grasp and visual motor were not yet known and threw another wrench into the mix last August. <br />
<br />
<br />
At that point, I’d made up my mind that we were just holding him out a year. This is where he is at. I will hold him out and make sure he gets what he needs to be successful when he does start school. <br />
<br />
I made my peace with it, in theory, very quickly. The day-to-day reality can prove challenging. Especially during the “rough times.” During the good times, I can pat myself on the back at the great job I’m doing. Then he melts down at the daycare and I almost feel like we’re back at step one. Almost. If I let myself get carried away in my own little pity party, it can last a day or two. Then I remember one very important thing. I’ve done this before- he’s done this before. He will pull through it and calm down. It may take a few days- usually does. Then we’re back to good-times again. <br />
<br />
We are never back at step one. Even if it feels like it is, for a minute. Step one was darker and scary. There is a light- it is education, compassion, love and empathy. <br />
<br />
I can’t say understanding. Because I don’t completely understand what the world is like for him. I’ve never lived in his shoes. I don’t get why he acts the way he does sometimes. Life would be so much easier if he just fell in line. He’s not going to do that. No point in harping on it. <br />
<br />
The other day I was discussing CJ with his daycare teacher. I’ve had an open dialogue with her from the get-go about CJ’s challenges. We were talking about his age and chronologically being old enough for kindergarten in the fall. I was saying that with his lack of writing ability and social/emotional skills I didn’t think he was ready for kindergarten and it wouldn’t be fair to him to him to enroll him. She told me to check out a program called Kindergarten Readiness. A program for young 5 year olds; it focuses on social skills and fine motor. <br />
<br />
While this may/ may not be right for him. There is still possibility of school in CJ’s future sooner than I ever anticipated…Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-45182695533521337512012-02-29T10:19:00.000-08:002012-02-29T10:19:03.423-08:00They Call him the Streak...On Saturday the kids went out in the backyard to play. While I run around the house folding and putting away laundry, I look out the window every now and again to assure that they are still in the fence and aren’t beating each other and they’ve been known to get into mischief. Like the time they took all the 2x4’s out of my neighbors driveway and brought them one at a time over to our yard in order to build themselves a house. What they thought they were going to fasten the lumber together with, I don’t know. <br />
<br />
<br />
Of course you know that since I’m telling this story that mischief was afoot. <br />
<br />
At some point between my glances out the window they managed to get into the garage, commandeer a shovel and return to the back yard. I’d swear it had only been a few minutes since the last time I looked out on them. But there they were- it took both of them to maneuver the big shovel- a hole in the middle of the backyard and two muddy little boys. <br />
<br />
“What are you two doing,” I yell.<br />
<br />
“Digging” replied the little one. <br />
<br />
<em>Thanks for the update, kid.</em> “WC, put the shovel back into the garage and put your jacket back on.” It was cold and there he stood in a t-shirt. At this point, I don’t care why. Just stop. <br />
<br />
I go back inside. A few minutes later, I check on them. And guess what? Oh my two, darling little angels were in the backyard- still digging. I take several deep breaths before opening the back door. <br />
<br />
“Put the shovel up and get in this house, right now,” I yell. (sorry neighbors). “And you still don’t have on that jacket.” (Why did I bother to bring that up? Oh, yeah, I was mad that’s why.)<br />
<br />
A few minutes later, two mad, muddy little boys were stripping in the kitchen. I ran them a bubble bath. “But it’s not bath time,” they protest. I gave them the ‘look.’ It only works on WC. CJ is almost oblivious to non verbal communication. So I tell him to get in. <br />
<br />
They bathe and then use the time afterwards to run through the house stark naked. Then they each round the same corner going in opposite directions and collide- fall to the floor and CJ hits the wall.<br />
<br />
He’s crying and WC is upset about hurting his little brother. <br />
<br />
CJ recovers from most things extremely quickly. He barely cries when he’s hurt. He bounces off most things and shrugs it off. So it only took a minute for him to calm down. But WC runs to the laundry room to hide. I keep telling him to come back. But he announces he’s running away (still naked by the way). And this upsets CJ even more. He yells for his brother not to leave; he’s okay. <br />
<br />
But I hear the door that connects to the garage open. No. He wouldn’t. He’s naked. Surely not. The door closed. I thought for a second he was still inside.<br />
<br />
Then I heard him screaming. And see the flash of skin colored blur across the front window. My 8 year old is running bare ass naked across the front yard. <br />
<br />
He runs up the front steps and starts ringing the doorbell and knocking at the same time. <br />
<br />
I pull the front door open and he runs inside laughing. <br />
<br />
“What in the hell are you doing,” I ask. I don’t usually use that word with the kids, but I think I get a pass on that. <br />
<br />
He didn’t know. <br />
<br />
Later he wrote about it in his journal. He showed me the picture he drew of what the neighbors saw. It was a stick figure with little round butt cheeks ringing the doorbell.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-65505501573987414882012-02-27T10:44:00.000-08:002012-02-27T10:44:11.923-08:00But You Said...The day before Jay’s birthday, the boys and I made him a pan of his favorite chocolate brownies. He’s not a big cake person, but prefers brownies. This year it was a full team effort. WC measured all the ingredients (great for a math lesson that doesn’t feel like a math). CJ poured the measured ingredients into a bowl and they both took turns stirring.<br />
<br />
<br />
We made dinner of some of Jay’s favorites- hamburger sliders and tater tots. His birthday this year coincided with the super bowl, so birthday dinner was appropriately matched to “game food.” <br />
<br />
After dinner we sat around stuffed when the boys began to ask about the brownies. At that point the very thought of food made me nauseous. But my bottomless pit little guys have no problems being too full for dessert. <br />
<br />
WC is nagging the daylights out of me. “When can we cut the brownies?”<br />
<br />
I don’t know why I replied the way I did, but I heard myself say. “When someone cuts the cheese, that’s when.”<br />
<br />
As if on cue, WC lets a long, loud, window rattling, earth shattering kaboom from his derriere. <br />
<br />
It was one of those moments in which, as a parent, you don’t wanna laugh…but you have no choice. <br />
<br />
WC happily jumps up from the table and heads across the room toward the pan of brownies. <br />
<br />
“Boy, the cheese sure does stink when you cut it.” WC says as serious as can be. <br />
<br />
This is what you do to paralyze your parents into being unable to stop you from getting into the dessert. We’re crying laughing, gasping for air trying to stop him and his little lackey from getting the knife out of the drawer and helping themselves. “No.” I manage to squeak out.<br />
<br />
“What,” WC asks. “You said we could have the brownies when someone cut the cheese.”<br />
<br />
You got me there, kid. You got me there.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-42489137754129635392011-08-15T10:34:00.001-07:002011-08-15T10:34:59.804-07:00I Am Not A Zen Mama<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the days/weeks that followed CJ’s doctor recommending us to see an Occupational Therapist for an evaluation the included sensory issues, I began reading everything that I could find on Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). And one thing that really bothered me was the subject of discipline- how to appropriately discipline a child who may not even be able to help it. I knew he spent the majority of days at the old preschool in time-out. It was their go-to method. They were done and weren’t even willing to put in an effort anymore. I was concerned and not really sure where to go. In the early days, I was particularly sensitive since it didn’t seem to be fair to punish him if he couldn’t help how he was behaving- if there was an underlying neurological cause for his behavior. You certainly can’t punish that out of a child. And so there we were. I’m going to calm, patient and understanding. I’m Zen Mama.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One evening WC was begging me for Taco Bell. Normally, we go through the drive through whenever I pick up his beloved tacos. I don’t want to punish him for his brother, either. So this is the compromise. We take it home since CJ cannot tolerate a restaurant after a day of preschool. After a day at his former preschool, he’d come home like a raw exposed nerve. I’d turn the car radio off and neither I nor WC would speak. He once melted down over a torn piece of paper. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On this particular day, WC was begging to let them eat at the restaurant. CJ was all for it. And he didn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">seem</i> to be on the edge. And I relented. It was early and the restaurant not crowded, it might be okay. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before we’d sat down they’d found individual wrapped peppermints at the condiment station and had taken one. I said they could eat after dinner. Since we had our pick of seats I chose the booth on the end- that way he could sit without risk of anyone sitting behind him. So his fidgeting and constant movement wouldn’t disrupt anyone else. He and WC sat on the same side & he got to sit on the outside- which was both unusual & made me nervous. I sat down with their tacos and things went from annoying to worse. Think spastic cat on stimulants. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was lying down in the seat, I asked him to sit up and eat. The entire meal was spent with me telling him to either, sit up, sit down, turn around, and get back into the seat. If someone barraged me with commentary like that I’d cooperate just to shut them up. He’d “drop” the toy he’d brought in and need to go get it. I took away his toy- he angrily huffed. I threatened to make him sit next to me. His taco sat untouched. I ate it. He discovered it missing and got mad cause I ate it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave him another since I’d stocked up. He barely touched it and it ended up in the middle of the floor. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">WC sat quietly stuffing his face with tacos and appeared not oblivious to the ruckus right next to him. He finished and opened his peppermint. CJ wanted his too. At that point I gave him the peppermint because I wanted the experience to be over. He put the peppermint in his mouth and three seconds later somehow it too ended up on the floor. I tossed it in the trash & the high speed come apart hit. WC quickly retrieved another peppermint from the condiment station and unwrapped it. Before we got out of the door, I heard the unmistakable sound of hard candy hitting the tile floor. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You have got to be kidding me!</i> I finished tossing the trash away and took CJ by the hand to leave. At this point he’s screaming again and WC has discovered no more peppermints in the container. They don’t have any more I tell him. And pull his screaming butt off the floor and out the door. I’ve parked just outside the door and before we get to the car, CJ wiggles free and screams, “But I’m hungry.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A giant flash of light streaked across my vision. I’m not sure what happened next but, when I come to, I’m screaming at CJ in the middle of the parking lot something about having ample opportunity to eat as much taco as he wanted. He’s covering his ears. And instantly it snaps it back to me the SPD. I’m screaming at my SPD kid. I don’t want to be the screaming mama and I’ve just lost it. And I’m not sure Mother Theresa would have been able to hold it together in the same situation. WC is hiding on the other side of my car because when those words came out of CJ’s mouth, he knew to get the hell out of the way. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So we are back to our original arrangement of picking up food the few times we do eat out. I am not a Zen Mama. </span></div>Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-43969677367117050142011-08-11T10:22:00.000-07:002011-08-11T10:22:16.865-07:00Being Run OverThere we were having my 4 year olds preschool owner/director telling me that my child was different from every other child in his class. That his social/emotional maturity had actually regressed and the progress that they’d hoped to see hadn’t happened. She told me there was something wrong with him- she just didn’t know what. Yet, she gave me a computer print-out about Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Teacher #2 with whom he’d had the confrontation with, stared at me like I was raising Satan himself whenever I entered the room. <br />
<br />
<br />
The day it all went down, I wondered if she would be able to get past it. Would she hold it against him? Should I go ahead and move him? But the school itself was supposed to be good. It had a waiting list and everything. Surely, if anyone could work with a special needs child it would be a staff of teachers with masters degrees in early childhood education, right…right? <br />
<br />
The previous teacher (who teacher #2 replaced) was wonderful with him. She did tons of 1 on 1 with him and worked with him while teacher #1 ran the group lessons. I assumed he had assimilated and was doing well. After all at home he was singing songs, reading three letter words, adding and subtracting- where in that would I have a clue that anything was so horribly wrong? Then she took the summer off to stay home with her kids. A week and a half after teacher #2 came in is when the incident happened. Then in my meeting with them, I was informed that my child screamed every day- several times a day, refused circle time or to cooperate in general. When I pick him up, I get a slip of paper that tells me the day’s activities and I speak with the teacher- not once had it been written down or told to me that my child screamed every day or that there was anything concerning about him. Why would you not mention that to a parent? One day everything’s fine the next I’m sitting in a chair in the owner’s posh office being run over by a Mac truck. <br />
<br />
I’d approached the previous teacher concerning his behavior a couple months after he started at the school. He still threw temper tantrums and I told her that I was concerned because there was a big disparity between his cognitive abilities and his social/emotional abilities. She had explained to me the two parts of development couldn’t develop at the same time. They would eventually even out and she didn’t see any cause for concern. <br />
<br />
Four months later and a month and half with teacher #2 and we were cordially invited to find another care facility for him- because he was just “too out of control” and they were “unable to handle a child with his needs and their large class sizes.” This was told to me almost two weeks to the day before his evaluation for SPD- four weeks after our meeting over the incident. <br />
<br />
I’m still trying to digest it all. Did they really just get rid of him while they could still classify him as a “behavioral problem” and not a child with special needs? <br />
<br />
Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-39891938365297507402011-08-09T10:42:00.000-07:002011-08-09T10:42:00.165-07:00Come with me on a new journeyIt all started in early June when I’d received a call from CJ’s preschool. There’d been an incident with the new teacher. He’d ripped a necklace off of a child’s neck and then slapped the teacher when she tried to put him in time-out. I was horrified, devastated and just plain didn’t understand. Yes, CJ is challenging, but that didn’t seem right. Of course, I immediately agree to conference with the owner and his two teachers the upcoming Monday. <br />
<br />
<br />
At home, I gently asked CJ what had gone on that day. I had to prod at him a couple times before he said that he was getting the necklace off a fence for the kid and it broke. Well, CJ’s about as gentle as a bull in a china shop, no surprise there. I asked him again to clarify, off the fence? “Did you take it off the kid’s neck?” He insisted it was on the fence. Then I asked him, “Did you slap the teacher?” “Yes,” he replied. When asked why he said that she wouldn’t put him down. I clarified again that she had picked him up off the ground. They’d told me that she’d bent down to speak to him after he’d run from her when she’d asked him to go to time-out. He said again that she’d picked him up and wouldn’t let him go. When asked why he didn’t go to time-out when told to, he said that he’d just wanted to play. In his mind, he didn’t do a thing wrong and couldn’t figure why he was being punished. It didn’t seem like she’d explained to him the reason. <br />
<br />
At the meeting on Monday, I’d asked teacher #1 if she’d witnessed the exchange between CJ & teacher #2. She told me that she’d gone inside before then to either take a child to the restroom or go herself- she couldn’t recall which. And teacher #2 was left on the playground with the class by herself. So I asked teacher #2 if she’d seen CJ ‘rip the necklace from the child’s neck.’ No, she hadn’t but she was quick to clarify that she’d only looked away for one minute and when she looked back CJ was holding the broken necklace and the other child was crying. And she immediately proceeds to tell CJ to go time-out and he ran. So now you have a grown woman chasing a 4 year old around the playground and getting angrier by the second. Why did she chase him? It’s a fenced in playground- where’s he going to go? And when it came out that she’d picked him up, the school’s owner dropped it, quickly. <br />
<br />
During our meeting they inform me that my child is “different from anything they’ve ever seen.” They are quick to tell me everything they find wrong with him and then basically ask me to “fix it.” At the time, I thought they were going to be willing to work with me. They put together a list of “concerns” and I faxed that off to his pediatrician for her to review. When I let them know the doctor was referring us to Occupational Therapist to evaluate him for <a href="http://www.spdfoundation.net/">Sensory Processing Disorder</a>, I basically gave them the end date for his enrollment there. I just didn’t know it, yet. <br />
<br />
The past few weeks, I’ve mulled over whether or not to chronicle our new journey here on the blog. Do I put this out there? Do I even continue to blog at all? Even the name of my blog has caused me some concern. Does the reference to Cuckoo’s Nest and discussing raising a child with a neurological disorder go together? The name came long before CJ existed. But does it show a lack of empathy? Even do my previous posts where I discuss CJ’s behavior and sometimes with a comical spin- is that cruel in hindsight? I haven’t come up with answers on most of my questions. However, I am not ashamed that my child has Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). He’s a brilliant child and I want to post the story out there.<br />
<br />
Because one thing I found when I started researching SPD is that most people who are directly affected, have no idea what it is. And those who have children or are closely linked to children with any of these types of disorders are extremely supportive. On Twitter, I’ve found a huge network of support. Previously parents facing these types of diagnosis were isolated- your kid didn’t act right and there was very little information out there. This is changing. <br />
<br />
This is a new road for us. I’m not sure what it holds but there will be some bumps, potholes and hills, mountains and valleys along the way. I’m going to try to be honest about the experience and every now and then someone might need to remind me to enjoy the scenery.<br />
<br />
Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-46474974349529857062011-05-31T10:06:00.000-07:002011-05-31T10:06:00.247-07:00CicadasThose harmless-but-nasty-looking flying bugs have once again crawled out of the ground and abandoned their shells for flight. It's the 13 year variety, which seems to be the most numerous group. I'd thought we'd be spared from them this year after a small cold snap but never fear- they are out in full decibel swing. They can be so loud in certain places that I can hear them while driving down the interstate, over the car noise and the radio. The sole purpose of these critters seems to be to annoy, scare and amuse people, to mate and become food for birds and other assorted animals. That's it...whatta life.<br />
<br />
I arrive at CJ's school one afternoon and they are on the playground. Three of the children are plastered to the teacher because they are scared of the cicadas. She informed me that all the kids are scared of them, except for the son of yours truly and a couple other kids. Big suprise there. I'm not sure CJ understands the concept of fear. But just as she's told me this we see CJ and another boy staring at a cicada stuck to the wall of the school. Both boys slowly inch closer to the bug. They lean in and the other boy sticks out his finger. I couldn't tell if he actually made contact or not but the cicada leaps off the wall towards them. The scream could be heard for miles. Both kids did not stop running or screaming til they hit the fence at the back of the playground. I'm happy the fence was there, CJ might still be running. <br />
<br />
Come on mid-June when they will be gone for another 13 years...Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-56363640637624822172011-05-26T10:19:00.000-07:002011-05-26T10:19:00.293-07:00New WordOh the joys having your children out in the world. I know you can't shelter them forever. But, can we at least let them be children while they are chronologically children? <br />
<br />
WC came home from his after-school karate program with another meaning for the word "nuts." I know, it is far from the worst thing that he could come home saying. And if this is the worst thing out of his mouth then consider myself lucky. <br />
A friend's three year old announced to a room full that you weren't supposed to say 'I'll kill you' or 'holy shit.'<br />
<br />
And I guess that at seven, being made aware of the alternate names for his body parts is going to happen. Especially when he is in a group with boys of various ages. But, the problem is that he brings the new word home to his little brother. I can do without a 4 year old referring to his area as "nuts." Because he doesn't get that it isn't referring to the whole private area. I have a fear that I'll go pick him up one day at his private Christian School and be pulled to the side.<br />
<em>"We need to talk. CJ is referring to his privates as 'nuts'" </em><br />
<br />
I'm no stranger to my children humiliating me with their behavior, but I'd like to keep it to a minimum.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-45273852666017205882011-05-24T10:11:00.000-07:002011-05-24T10:11:00.663-07:00The BullMy little CJ was born under the Zodiac sign of Taurus. I'm not the sort of person who reads the horoscope. I know that I'm a Sagittarius but I've never thought much of what "sign" the boys are. <br />
As an infant, I nicknamed him (at home) Bulldog- because he was stubborn from the minute the doctor cut him from my womb. He was probably stubborn while gestating too, I just didn't realize it. But, I digress.<br />
A friend recently mentioned to me that his sign is The Bull, which I found cute knowing my own previous little nickname for him that was replaced by <a href="http://observationsfromthecuckoosnest.blogspot.com/2009/04/touchless-wonder.html">"The touchless wonder."</a> <br />
I looked up what qualities someone born under Taurus supposedly has and one stuck out: <em>Stubborn by nature. The Taurus will stand his ground to the bitter end- sometimes irrationally.</em><br />
Case in point:<br />
On Good Friday, I had to work. Both of the kids were off school and they were headed to my mom's house for the day. <br />
CJ located a pair of blue pants out of the bottom of his drawer and <em>had</em> to wear them. Recently he'd decided that blue is his favorite color. Problem with this was that the pants were a size 2T on a child that fits a 3-4T size. The elastic waist still fit him but length is where the problem came in. He was a boy in blue Capri pants. <br />
Jay looks at him and tells him that he will get him a pair of pants that fit. CJ balks, "I want these." Now the next fifteen minutes went something like:<br />
"What about these?" Jay held up another pair.<br />
"No."<br />
"These?"<br />
"No."<br />
"Look these have Thomas on them." Jay pulling out the big guns of persuasion.<br />
"No."<br />
The wheels on the bus go round and round...<br />
<br />
Then WC joins in the unnecessary battle of wills, attempting to get his brother to change his pants. And the more they harp...well, I bet you can guess what CJ's response was. He was wearing the pants. End of story. <br />
<em>Have they ever met this child?</em><br />
<br />
I finally decide to try and end this. I tell both Jay and WC to just leave CJ alone. It doesn't matter what he wears to his grandparents house. Tonight, I will remove the offending garment and will not put it back in his drawer. Just let it alone.<br />
<br />
With all kids it's important to pick your battles and especially with a naturally strong willed child, such as CJ.<br />
<br />
But WC protests at having to look at CJ wearing such short pants. Unlike fart jokes, CJ pants offend his delicate senses. I asked him if he needed reminding of some of the outfits that he used to wear out to the store when he was 2-3? Once he went to Walmart in a long sleeve striped shirt, plaid shorts and bright red boots. He went off to continue to needle his brother behind my back.<br />
<br />
Driving down the interstate, I could still hear WC harping on CJ's pants. And I began to fear that he would in fact succeed in changing his brothers mind. Because I was now without a way to change CJ's pants. This grew into a very large worry. I repeatedly told WC to stop. <br />
<br />
We arrived at my moms house and of course, WC is still beating the hell out of that dead horse. I pull him to the side and explain to him the nightmare that would ensue if he now convinced CJ that he needed to change pants. "If he wants them off, you will now have to listen to him scream and cry because he has no other pants."<br />
"He can wear mine," WC replied.<br />
"Think about that for a minute." I tell him and pat him on the head. <br />
<br />
I get out quickly. I don't want to be anywhere around if it went bad.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-51920998392396942202011-05-19T10:01:00.000-07:002011-05-19T10:01:00.539-07:00Flying Through the Air With the Greatest of Ease...As I child, I briefly had a dream of becoming a trapeze artist. But, I grew older and realized that I probably wasn't going to run away with the circus. And my dream of flipping through the air and being caught by a guy wearing spandex trousers slowly faded away. It was replaced by another equally exciting and slightly less lucrative dream of being a writer and mother. <br />
Little did I know that all these years later, I would be living my circus performer dream, in a way- sans the guy in spandex trousers. <br />
<br />
Ladies and Gentlemen, the announcer comes over the loud speaker. Let me direct your attention to bedroom at the end of the hallway. Our fearless mother of two has removed the clean sheets from the linen closet and has entered the room. <br />
The top bunk of the bed has already been stripped of the former sheets and she ascends the ladder. <br />
Ladies and Gentlemen, your total silence is necessary. As she performs this amazing balance act suspended eight and half feet in the air, without a net! One wrong move and it will hurt, folks. <br />
Watch closely as she balances on one side then the other while slipping the bottom corners of the matress into the fitted sheet. Yes, she now has sucessfully has she fitted sheet tucked under the mattress. <br />
Now this is the most difficult part of the stunt. (A hush falls over the crowd). She will turn completely around and bring the fitted sheet up the the head of the bed without putting her weight on the mattress. OUCH- a slight misjudgment of distance and her head hit the textured ceiling. Now that hurts. It's important to keep that head just under the nine foot mark!<br />
Our mother is only briefly affected by the hit and now she's gathered her grip on the fitted sheet and moving towards the head of the bed. She reaches carefully over the left side to tuck it under. What's this? She's pulled her hand back quickly and peering over to investigate something. She reaches back over the side and removes...A squishy glow in the dark eyeball. She tosses the eyeball over the side of the bed and goes back to securing the sheet in place. Now, after she secures the right side of the sheet under the mattress our fearless mom descends the ladder. <br />
And for her encore, she will place the flat sheet on top of the fitted sheet and tuck it under the mattress at the bottom. Now she leaves the sheet folded as she ascends the ladder once again. She's prepared this time, folks, the sheet has been folded so the bottom is easily accessible and tucks that sheet under the mattress quickly. And with effortless grace, she slowly smooths the sheet across while moving back toward the head of the bed. Let' see if she move back onto the ladder and complete the stunt without incident. There she goes- one foot on the ladder...then the other...yes, the sheet is slipped into place. Our fearless mom is now descending the ladder. <br />
<br />
I turn around to bow. But no wild applause, no flowers being thrown...just two little boys asking when lunch will be ready.Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-23884228494959216552011-05-17T10:15:00.000-07:002011-05-17T10:15:00.963-07:00Fearless <em> Fears are educated into us, and can, if we wish, be educated out.</em><br />
<div align="center"><em>Karl Augustus Menninger</em></div><br />
I don't like swimming. There I said it. It's crazy thought for some people. But, I cannot stand the feeling of putting my face into water. I can swim, if I have to, I don't make recreation out of it. And the ocean, it's a fairly foreign thing for me. Until I was an adult I'd only seen the ocean maybe a handful of times. My parents just didn't travel. And when we did go to the ocean, the only thing I ever heard from my mom was, "Don't go out too far- all of a sudden it drops off without warning and you'll be gone" or "You'll get sucked out by the current and drown" or "You'll get stung by a jelly fish." or "attacked by a shark." Come to think of it, I have no earthy idea why we went to ocean- if she really believed these things- what's the point? So, we'd sit and look it and get in up our knees. <br />
<br />
When Jay and I decided to do a Caribbean cruise for our tenth wedding anniversary, I decided to do two things I'd never done before. Two things that would push me well out of my comfort zone. Kayaking and snorkeling in the ocean. <br />
The kayaking was billed as a "leisurely" activity. Apparently they forgot to tell that to the buff, twenty year old, Brazillian athlete (with a bod you could bounce quarters off of...I'm sorry what was I saying...oh, yeah) who was the guide- he flew through that water like he was racing for olympic gold. It was hard to concentrate on paddling my ass off and looking at the amazing scenery (no, not him). We had one small shark sighting- well the fin of the shark. We pulled our paddles out of the water and floated for a few minutes and the shark went away. Our guide pulled a couple of live star fish out of the ocean for us to see; one them had been eating. Before we left, they gave us instructions on what to do if you tip over. Let's just say I don't think I'd been able to counterbalance Jay. I'm grateful we didn't tip. <br />
The next day we went on our snorkel adventure. Which was light years beyond my comfort zone. Unlike the Brazilian god...um...I mean guide from the day before the group that took us out looked like a group of convicts or at the least they haven't been caught, yet. <br />
After a bit on engineering in order to make my glasses and snorkel mask work, we were in business. Or they were in business and I was trying not to fall off the back of the boat and put on flippers and not have a heart attack. I'd sent Jay on out and he jumped off the side of the boat. Later, he admitted that he was far more scared than he'd thought he'd be when he hit that water. I see him watching me as I make my way down the ladder into the ocean. I try to put my face down in the water and I get to the point where my mouth goes under and I taste salt and I cannot make myself put my face in. I'm using all my energy not to hyperventilate. <br />
Jay and I make our way to each other and I hold onto him and spit out the air tube. I tell him I'm freaking out. We paddle there for a minute or two while I try to compose myself. He puts his face down and comes up with "Oh my God!"<br />
I'm curious and he tells me that there are fish all under us. <br />
Son of a monkey...I have to do this. I put my face in and holy mother, it's like the Discovery channel under there! But I have to pull my head back up. I can taste water- and I keep hyperventilating. I'm not doing well. But, I put my head back down several more times- trying to move around and take it all in. After a few short times, I know I have to get this. I can't be out here and miss this. <br />
I figure out that I'm programmed to hold my breath while going under water and even with the tube, I can't reconcile inhaling while under water. <br />
So, I began by taking a big breath in and slowly letting it out through the tube while I'm under the water and "coming up" for air. After a while, I'm doing it. I'm finally doing it. I don't want to go back to the boat. It was incredible- the best thing I did while in the Bahamas. I'd do it again, in heartbeat. <br />
<em>Curiousity will conquer fear even more than bravery will</em><br />
<div align="center"><em>James Stephens</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div>Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372218229550567460.post-31530688726763937322011-05-16T10:21:00.000-07:002011-05-16T10:21:00.372-07:00CJ Turns 4Four years ago today, my little CJ made his entrance into the world. He surprised us by being three weeks early. We're so on the ball that we didn't even have a baby bed setup yet. I'd went in for my check up that week and the OB felt that my blood pressure was too elevated. It had never been high before. So, she sent me to the labor and delivery floor of the hospital for observation. Now, here's a little tip Docs- if you want a patients blood pressure to go down- sticking them in the hospital, having them poked with needles and confined to a bed for the entire day does not do the trick. It was very stressful and I'm sure contributed to the OB <em>having</em> to order a c-section at 9:30 pm. Little CJ arrived at 10:03 pm. He was ready eat from minute one and it's the last time we've been on the same page. He's unique and determined to do everything his way. He's a remarkably gifted child and I'm blessed to have him.<br />
<br />
Happy 4th Birthday to my "baby."Terri Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02725449450869870709noreply@blogger.com1