The Mean Mom

When Miracle Boy was 6, he and I spent a week at the coast. Just the two of us. It is one of my favorite memories. We spent time playing on the beach, going to the aquarium, a whale watching trip, browsing the tourist shops, and generally having a great time on our mini-vacation. 

While browsing in one of the tourist shops, Miracle Boy happened upon a framed poem entitled "Mean Moms". After reading it, he quickly and with a grin deemed me a mean mom. I don't remember all of the poem, but it went something like this:

Mean moms make their children eat vegetables.
Mean moms give their children a bedtime.
Mean moms don't let their children watch TV all day.
Mean moms make sure homework is done.
etc

You get the idea. And then the last line of the poem was "The world needs more mean moms!".

Ever since that trip 11 years ago, Miracle Boy has referred to me as a mean mom, almost always with a grin. I hope this means that he understands that all my decisions, discipline, consequences, praise, etc are made with his best interest at heart. I'm certainly not a perfect parent, and I make more than my share of mistakes. But I try to put my kid's best interest at the heart of everything. 

The teenage years are hard, even under the best of circumstances. And I'm not sure ours is the best of circumstances: A blended family, a special needs little brother, a step brother with his own struggles, and a biological father with major issues. Miracle Boy is a great kid, but during these teenage years I find that we are butting heads more and more. He of course is pushing the envelope, fighting for his independence, wanting to live his own life. I of course want to keep him close, protect him, try to save him from learning the lessons that I learned the hard way. I cannot tell you how many time a week I hear the words "but it's my life to live, my lessons to learn." 

I just hope that during these turbulent teenage years he remembers why I'm such a "mean mom". I love that boy with every fiber of my being.

Least Restrictive Enironment and Inclusion

Mr. Fix it picked up Bambam from school yesterday. This does not happen very often (read hardly ever). But circumstances were such yesterday that he had the privilege of picking up the little man. (Bambam of course loved this, an afternoon with Daddy all to himself!)

So, it seems this led to a comment by Mr. Fix it last night. He indicated that he thought Bambam should be spending more time in his home classroom. This is a little bit of a touchy subject for me. I of course would love nothing more than for Bambam to BE ABLE to spend his whole school day in a typical classroom. Is this not one of our end goals? For him to function and learn in a typical classroom? But is that what is best for him right now? I don't believe so. He is simply not there yet.

Time with his typical peers is invaluable to him. He learns so much from them. But as far as being able to concentrate and learn academics in a classroom full of them? Forget it, he simply cannot do it at this time. I've been in there with him, I've seen what its like for him. There is way too much going on. He struggles to focus on one thing, to listen to directions, to even answer simple questions. In the hustle and bustle of dropping him off in the morning, he doesn't even respond to kids saying hi to him. I don't think he even hears them. There is too much background noise, movement, chaos. He doesn't know where to look. A simple task like putting his snack in his cubbie (which he could do with no help or prompting in an empty classroom) requires constant prompting and assistance when all the other kids are there. Right now, I think the best place for him to LEARN is one on one in the Learning Resource Center. And recess, gym, library, field trips, etc are the places he can interact with his typical peers.

I don't believe it will always be this way. He is miles ahead of where he was last year. But it will take more time, maturity, and lots more ability to cope before he can actually sit at a desk in a typical classroom and learn from group instruction. He will get there, I know he will. But we need to be patient.

The Not So Fun House

We are fortunate enough to have a small vacation house about 3 hours from home. Every time we go there, I thank my lucky stars that we had this house before Bambam was born. He has been going there since he was 10 days old. To him it is just an extension of home, a place he is comfortable and free to be just him. And all his favorite things are just a bike ride away, the airport, the horse stables, the pool. Without this house, we would probably not have had a vacation in the last 6.5 years. And sometimes we just need to get away. 

Last weekend we went to our beloved "fun house" as Bambam calls it. We hadn't been in over a month and were looking forward to a relaxing weekend. But it was not to be. The drive over, which normally takes a little less than 3 hours, ballooned to over 4.5 due to an accident that blocked the highway in both directions. Perhaps this should have been a sign to turn around and go home as we sat for over an hour without moving. But Bambam was a rockstar. He played with his airplanes and looked at his books and really did a great job of going with the flow.

Since we arrived so late, we barely had time to eat dinner, read a couple of books, and head off to bed. The first night's sleep is always a little bit shakey with the change in venue. But it usually only takes one night and then he's back on track. Not this time.

When we got up Saturday morning it quickly became obvious that hunting season had started. Gun shots went off frequently all day long. And Bambam fell apart a little bit more each time he heard one. His whole body would get stiff. If he was close to me he would grab hold and squeeze with all his might. There was crying and teeth grinding and basically an all out "fight or flight" alert all weekend.

It was painful to see my sweet boy like this. It felt like we had regressed 2 years. His anxiety level hadn't been this aroused in a very long time. His words were unclear, and when we could understand them they made little sense fleeting from one thing to another. Not even his favorite things could calm him. He was quite simply, a mess.

I did manage to get him to the pool Saturday afternoon where he found a quiet, empty corner and proceeded to jump in, get out, jump in, get out, jump in...over and over again, almost obsessively, seeking some comfort. And as I watched him, I cried. Sitting by the edge of a public pool, the tears streamed down my face as I watched my boy uncomfortable in his own skin, unable to help him, unable to provide him the comfort he was so desperately seeking. Sometimes I hate this.

And then finally, finally later in the weekend he found his words. "Guns are too loud, they scare me." And with that one sentence, a way to express what he was feeling, a way to gain some semblance of control, he began to come back.

The Onslaught of Mail

The mail at our house has gotten a bit ridiculous. Now, instead of asking if anyone has gotten the mail today we ask if anyone has gotten Miracle Boy's mail. Miracle Boy is a fairly good student and did reasonable on the SAT. Apparently that means every school in the country has to send him mail. And I'm not kidding. He gets at least 8 pieces of mail a day.  Every.Single.Day. Our mail box is littered with postcards, letters, DVDs, and 8 x 10 full color, glossy, multi-page catalogs. I cannot imagine the expense that goes into producing these. Perhaps tuition wouldn't be so high if they weren't sending out these catalogs.

I do not remember this from 30 years ago when I was a Senior in high school. And I wasn't a slouch. I was in a comparable position to Miracle Boy. Yet I do no remember getting an onslaught of advertising from every college or university in the country. I find it irritating. And may possibly wallpaper the playroom in college advertising. It is bright and colorful and full of promising looking young people. Perhaps it will inspire the other 2 kids.