If They Would Just Parent

This article (http://www.cbsnews.com/news/kentucky-officer-handcuffed-mentally-disabled-kids-as-punishment-lawsuit-says/) is making the rounds on social media. It is all over my Facebook page and on every special needs/autism pages I visit. I've read the article, but can't bring myself to watch the accompanying video. It is too horrifying for me. I am shocked that this just keeps happening. Over and over and over again. From Special Ed teachers hanging kids upside down in garbage cans to kids being locked in "safe rooms" isolated alone for hours at a time. When will this stop? How is it that the children that need the most care and understanding seemingly receive the least.

I rarely do, but this time I shared the article on my personal FB feed with the comment that although I didn't know the specifics of this case, I couldn't think of a reason a 50 pound 8 year old would need to be handcuffed. Ever. Especially not one with special needs. It is just not appropriate. As you can imagine, I got comments. And not surprising, the ones that bother me the most are the ones that imply kids just need more guidance and discipline. If parents would do their job, this wouldn't be necessary.

I'm the first to admit that yes, there are unfortunately kids out there who are not being parented or disciplined. There could be any number of reasons for this and I try (now) not to judge. I'm sure it does make our educators jobs that much tougher. It's probably not easy to be a teacher. But lack of discipline is not always the reason for these behaviors.

I used to be one of those people who blamed poor behavior on lack of parenting and discipline. I'm ashamed to admit that I have judged numerous parents and deemed them unworthy, doing their kids a disservice. I used to not truly believe that ADHD was a valid diagnosis, I said that I would never "drug" my child. The list of things I used to say goes on and on. 

But God has a way of opening our hearts and teaching us the lessons we need to learn. And in my case He did so with the beautiful gift that is my youngest son. No one who knows me would accuse me of not providing guidance and discipline to my children. I parent. Certainly not perfectly, but I really try to do my best to raise healthy, responsible, kind humans. And even with my best efforts, The Boy still has occasional "behavior problems".

Children with autism or ADHD or other special needs can't always control their behavior. When they lash out, it's not a choice. It's not an act of defiance. In the case of The Boy, it's usually because he's become completely overwhelmed, has basically shut down and his "fight or flight" response has been triggered.  Thankfully, he is not a runner, but he fights (not so thankfully). 

It is hard for me to admit that my child has punched an educational aid breaking her nose. He has thrown a chair into a smart board, breaking the smart board. Thankfully these incidents are few and far between. And both these incidents happened several years ago.  Back when his expressive language was limited and he struggled to communicate. We work with him constantly on appropriate behaviors, how to mitigate his challenges, how to find his voice of self advocacy, how to use his words to express his feelings. But even though we work with him constantly, we still occasionally struggle with behaviors. 

Just last week we were out and about when a nearby baby started crying. I don't know why, but a crying baby or toddler is a trigger for The Boy. If you know, you can see the reaction. His head jerks up, his eyes get huge, his whole body gets stiff, you can see his mind shut down and his fight or flight response take over. He loses his language. And in the case last week, where I didn't notice the cries and didn't prepare for the response, he ran straight to me. And kicked me as hard as he could. It hurt like crazy. It took everything I had, but I didn't react. It took me about a nano second to realize what happened. So I again tried to work with him on what to do instead. I reminded him that he cannot kick or hit, that he needs to try and use his words: Baby crying. Too loud. Scares me. Leave. Go home. Short, brief statements of self advocacy. Before he can learn to process the cries and tolerate them, he has to know he can escape them and feel safe. Only after he feels safe can we talk about why the baby cries. He might be hungry or cold. The baby can't talk so he cries to tell his mommy what he needs. His mommy will help him and then the cries will stop. All of this over and over and over again with the hope that eventually he will be able to process the crying, advocate for what he needs and not have to fight his way through it. But it takes tons and tons (and tons) of patience and consistency and care and understanding by everyone who interacts with him on a regular basis. What he doesn't need is to be handcuffed by a big policeman with little or no training in how to respond to a child with special needs. 

That would simply further traumatize my child. And here is what happens when my child is severely traumatized. He doesn't forget. Ever. And he will never return to the place of the trauma, or any place similar. He simply would not go to school any more. And every time he saw a police officer, his fight or flight response would trigger. You may think I'm exaggerating a bit. But I assure you I am not. 

Three years ago we attended a street fair. These are difficult for The Boy as they are generally loud, crowded, and a little crazy. But he was holding it together. In the middle of the fair, he had an encounter that for whatever reason sent him over the edge. He immediately started to meltdown and insisted on going home. We left. Ever since then, he will not go to the location of that fair. He simply won't. Even when there is no fair. And he won't go to a street fair anywhere. If he sees pop up tents, his fight or flight response immediately engages. His anxiety goes through the roof and he begins to meltdown. Three years later we are still dealing with this. Imagine if you handcuffed this child at school, in the throws of a meltdown. He would never forget it. For the rest of ever. It would make things a thousand times worse. 

I am so very thankful that our school understands this. That when The Boy is in the middle of a meltdown and trying to fight his way out (literally), they don't call the police. They remove him from the situation, take him someplace safe (usually outside) to work through it, and they call me to come take him home for the day. I'm doubly thankful that his hasn't happened since first grade. But there are no guarantees that it won't happen again some time in the future.

So when I read these stories, yes I take them personally. When I see that 50 pound 8 year old sitting in a chair facing the corner with handcuffs on his biceps, I see my child. And when I hear someone say that all this could be avoided if the child's parents would just do their job, well honestly I'm almost speechless. Almost. But not quite, or I wouldn't be writing about it.

I have never parented with such dedication as I am right now. My older boys did not take nearly as much time, effort, patience, consistency, love, care, understanding... The list goes on and on. To hear someone say that these situations could be avoided if parents would do their job just crushes me. I don't know how to do this any better. I am giving 100% every day. And to have someone negate that in one simple sentence is crushing. I would invite any one of them into my life for just one day. Just one day. I guarantee it would change their perspective forever.

Where am I going with this? Its really 2 fold. Please, please, please don't be so quick to judge. We do not know all the specifics of this case, we rarely do. This boy's parents may be doing everything they know how to help him. But it is a long, slow process. Or, they may be absent, disengaged parents who are over burdened with no supports and burned out. My point is WE DO NOT KNOW. And I, for one, am not going to pass judgement on them. And even if they are disengaged parents "not doing their job", is it the fault of the boy? Does he deserve to be in handcuffs as a result of poor parenting, something he has no control over? No matter the circumstances, I would argue that what he needs is care and understanding and a safe place to calm down. He needs help not handcuffs.

Secondly, we desperately need more advocacy and training. Teachers, administrators, and emergency response people (just to name a few) need training. Even if a child does not have special needs, the techniques used to defuse a meltdown can be used to help a "typical" child calm down. Training and education would benefit everyone. 

And I stand by my original statement. I can't think of a reason a 50 pound 8 year old would ever need to be handcuffed. 

Tired

I love The Boy more than life itself. And I wouldn't change a hair on his head. He is just the way he is supposed to be, made perfectly. But that doesn't mean I don't get overwhelmed sometimes. And frustrated. And just plain tired. Yesterday was one of those days. A day for a small pity party and a good cry. I. Was. Tired.

I sent the following email to my sister: 

Crap. I'm having one of those days where I'm just so damn tired of it all. I just want one calm, easy morning where I don't have to make a juice cocktail or administer meds. Where I don't have to sprinkle enzymes on everything. One day where I don't have to pin him to the floor just to brush his teeth or chase him through the house to brush his hair. One quiet morning where I don't have to listen to the school schedule 84 times before the bus arrives. Hell, one morning where I don't have to make the exact same toast and scrambled eggs for breakfast. I just want one peaceful shower, just one! I'm just so tired of it all. It's the same damn thing every day; lather, rinse, and repeat. I'm old and I'm tired.

I used to feel guilty for these feelings. But you know what? I'm human. I'm allowed to feel what I'm feeling. It doesn't mean I love my son any less. Or wish he was different. We all get overwhelmed and frustrated and just plain tired sometimes. Its OK, really it is. For me, its important to acknowledge these feelings. Vent to someone who understands. Get it out. And then move on with my day. 

After The Boy got on the bus, I had a good cry. And then I got ready for my day and left for work.  

They Will Be OK

I worry. I'm a mom. Its what we do. And I'm really good at it. I worry all the time. About all my kids. Am I doing enough? Am I doing it the right way? Am I teaching them what they need to know? Helping them to reach their full potential? And the dreaded Am I yelling too much?

I try really hard to be a patient mom. Really I do. But I'm human. And I fail. All the time. I yell way more than I'd like to admit. At all my kids. But when I yell at The Boy, it somehow feels worse. Most of the time he is not acting out to be defiant. His mind and body work differently, and he often can't help what he's doing. I know that. But it can still be frustrating. And sometimes I loose it and yell. Not necessarily at him, but yelling just the same. Then I feel like a despicable human being wanting to crawl away and hide. I worry about the effect the yelling may have on him.

I'm sharing this because I'm hoping I'm not the only one out there who sometimes looses control and yells. And because I want to share that I think our kids are going to be OK in spite of us. The reason I think they are going to be OK is in part due to an interaction I had at the grocery store yesterday.

The Boy has been struggling with severe anxiety for a couple of weeks. And I mean SEVERE ANXIETY. If I leave the house without him, even if he's staying with Mr. Fixit, he cries the whole time I'm gone. It is not fun. We've all been feeling the pressure from his anxiety. So, yesterday I needed to go grocery shopping. I gave The Boy the choice of staying home and playing outside with daddy, or going with me. He insisted on going with me. Really. 

He was great during our shopping, a very good listener and helpful. While waiting in line at the cash register behind The Cat Lady (I'm not kidding, she had 2 carts FULL of cat food both dry and canned, but I digress) he saw some big stuffed animals about 20 feet away. He wanted to go see them but I had to stay in line waiting our turn. I told him he could go look at them by himself, look with his eyes only not his hands, no touching. He looked over at them, looked at me, looked at them again and then with a pained expression he said "Not today, maybe tomorrow". With his anxiety on high alert, it was just too much for him to walk over there by himself. I encouraged him again, but didn't push it. 

He eventually ventured to the front of the line where The Cat Lady was bagging her groceries and had a conversation with her. I have no idea what they talked about, I couldn't hear from where I was standing. I've taken the stance that if everyone looks happy and it doesn't appear that he is bothering the other person, I let them figure things out on their own. People generally respond positively to The Boy, so I didn't really think much of it. I paid for my groceries and moved to the front to bag my groceries.

The Cat Lady stopped me with a touch to my arm. She very sweetly said "I want to commend you on how you interact with your son with love and respect." I was a taken aback, and momentarily at a loss for words. I mean, we haven't exactly been having a rosy time lately and I've lost my patience more than once in the last few weeks. I stumbled over a few words and said something about trying, but not always succeeding. Her response was "Well, you must succeed more often then you realize because your son also responds to you with love and respect. He learned that somewhere." And then she smiled, winked and moved on. 

It was exactly what I needed to hear. It may be exactly what you need to hear too. In spite of our humanness, our short comings, our failures, I believe our kids will be OK. 

Money Matters

How do you instill in your children the value of a dollar? For me, this is huge. I watched my parents struggle financially for years, culminating in a bankruptcy when I was in high school. It was traumatic for everyone involved. And I swore I would never put my family through that. For me teaching my kids financial responsibility is high on the list, right behind providing a loving and nurturing home and providing them with a solid education. As I said, this is huge for me.

With Miracle Boy, I've been working on this since he was about 5 and started receiving an allowance. I know, the decision to give an allowance or not is a personal one. I chose to do it. Mostly because I wanted to start teaching him how to handle money. That and I'm a firm believer in NOT buying your kids something every time they accompany you to the store. Actually, I believe in gifts for holidays and birthdays and not in between. So, I thought a small allowance would provide him with a little disposable money of his own in which to learn about finances. And its amazing how quickly a child will decide he doesn't need a new toy when its his own money he's spending.

So, at age 5 he started receiving $5 a week in allowance, one dollar for every year. That sounds like a lot, right? $20 a month for a 5 year old. But, and its a pretty big but, he was required to put $1 into long term savings and $2 into short term savings per week which left him $2 a week for disposable income. And here is where the financial 101 lessons began. As he looked at me with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes he asked me what a saving account was and why he needed them.

I explained to him, long term savings are for big things you may need many years from now. For example a car when you turn 16, or to help pay for college (retirement was beyond his comprehension). Short term savings are for things like birthday presents when you are invited to a party, or Christmas presents for your family and friends. The money you keep in your room is for you. You may spend it how you choose (with mom approval) either every week, or waiting and saving it for something big. And thus, his financial education journey began. 

At 6 he saved and bought a huge Lego set. At 10 he bought a snowboard. At 14 he bought new golf clubs. At 16 he bought an iPhone. At 14 he also started working and was taught to save half of his paycheck. Since he was 5 years old he has purchased all his own gifts for others for all occasions, he has bought all his own electronics, he pays for his own entertainment, gas, spending money, etc. And he still has his long term savings for college which is coming in handy right about now. (OK, so we provided a car for he and the Quiet One to share. Its not like we were against providing anything)

Its not like there haven't been bumps in the road. There were years when he ran out of savings before buying gifts for everyone at Christmas (and many tears shed). There were times when he was invited to go somewhere, but he'd spent all his disposable money that week already (and more tears shed). There are times now when I look at how he spends his disposable money and I think to myself, "wow, I have failed miserably". And there are still discussions on how to handle money. He's working full time this summer. I think he should be saving 75% of his paychecks for when he's in school. He wants to continue saving half, spending the rest "enjoying his last summer with his friends". And I struggle with how much control to exert, and how much to just let go. He's now (almost) 18, leaving for college in 6 weeks. It's probably time for him to start learning his own lessons from trial and error. I just hope he's learned enough of the basics to get him through those lessons. It better be; he's not living in my basement when he's 30.

Arizona Bound

Miracle Boy is off to Arizona in August. I can hardly believe it. My baby is going off to college in 3 short months. I'm so damn proud of him.

University of Arizona was his first choice. But, being out of state, it was not necessarily my first choice. Distance and cost were my concerns. Out of state tuition is rediculous! 3 times in state tuition in this case.

But Miracle Boy pulled it off. He received 2 scholarships and 1 academic award from Arizona. Enough to bring the costs within a couple thousand of attending the local in state university. It means he will have to take a small student loan. But its what he really wants; and we will honor his decision. Even Mr. Fixit, who is always bottom line conscious, agreed that this was the right choice.

This is such a big step. And I've been so excited for him. And then we went online and paid the registration fee. And the panic hit. It was so unexpected, it really through me off, this feeling of terror. He'll be several states away. Basically on his own. We're not just a quick car ride away. I hope he's ready.

Living in Fear, the Sequel

I wrote a blog the other day about living in fear. Here's is a perfect example of what I was talking about:

Bambam had practice tonight for Special Olympics golf. He LOVES golf. He would spend all day hitting golf balls, to the point of blisters on his hands. But I'm getting off topic.

Tonight as he was practicing on the driving range, he was hitting his driver. (quite well I might add) and in one swing, the head of his club flew off and landed about 100 feet out into the driving range. He glanced at me for maybe a nono-second before bolting out onto the driving range yelling "I need dat, I need dat! Dat mine!". And my heart about stopped.

Lined up across the driving range were about 20 other special olympians, all adults, hitting balls with various clubs right in the direction of my son. The coaches all started yelling "Stop! No one hit any balls! Stop hitting balls!" as I was sprinting towards Bambam. By the time I got to him, he had the club head firmly in his grib and was looking at me wondering why everyone was freaking out. That kid is fast.

As I dragged him off the range I tried to explain that he couldn't run out there, it was dangerous, he could get hit by golf balls and get hurt. But I'm not sure he understood. He did finally repeat "doan go out dere?" No son, don't go out there.

And people wonder why I have grey hair. I think I need a drink.

Living in Fear

The story of Mikaela Lynch grips my heart. It squeezes it until I feel like I can't breath. This is the story of my nightmares. Like so many parents of children with autism, I fear not being able to protect my child at all times.

Although Bambam is verbal, can tell you his name, Mr. Fixit's name, my name, the street he lives on (although not the house number for fear he'll share it with every stranger he meets), he still has no clear recognition of danger. He does not understand natural consequences. He is impulsive, bolts sometimes for no apparent reason. And like many, many autistic kids, he loves water. The combination of these things gives me nightmares. Literally. Many nights I've woken up in a cold sweat, and I tip toe into Bambam's room to touch his sweet face to reassure myself that he is fine. I stand there and listen to his even breathing.

It is an almost oppressive responsibility to keep someone safe that doesn't understand cause and effect, that is extremely impulsive. Who will bolt across a parking lot without looking. Who will jump into a pool without knowing how deep it is (and he can't yet swim, after 2 years of swimming lessons). Who will talk to any stranger in the store. When he looks over the railing of a bridge or a deck, someone always holds the back of him. He leans so far over... I cannot even finish the sentence.

It is frightening. It is overwhelming. I try not to think about it. And then I read a story like Mikaela's. And my heart breaks for her family. And I pray for their strength and peace. I pray that others will offer them support and understanding. I pray for all the other parents of autistic kids who's nightmares have been rekindled just like mine.

30 Days of Autism

I'm often asked what its like to raise an autistic child. There is no quick way to answer that question. The answer I give probably depends on the day. Each day, week, month is different. I'm never sure what to expect. As a way to answer the question, I've decided to write something everyday for a month about what its like raising my autistic child. Autism Awareness month seemed like an appropriate month for this project. So, here goes...

April 1: No April fools day jokes, he doesn't understand them. Bambam is extremely literal and takes everything at face value. Jokes simply don't register. Just another day in our household.

April 2: Today is World Autism Awareness/Acceptance Day. So we changed the light bulbs in front of our house to blue ones to join the "Light it up Blue" for autism campaign. Bambam and I also made cookies with blue frosting to take to his teachers and aids at school. We are so very grateful for all of them.

April 3: Bambam's class had a field trip today. In order for Bambam to go on field trips with his class, I have to go with him. Since we never know how he will respond to a new situation, we always need to have a quick exit plan available. So, I follow the school bus in my car and if necessary, I leave with him when needed. Today was one of those days. He lasted all of about 2 minutes before the "school today, go to school, go see E, its E time, its Phil time...." started. He just couldn't get past the fact that Wednesday is a school day and he should be at school doing his work with Mrs. E and Phil. There is no distracting this kid when he gets stuck on an idea. So, we cut our losses and headed back to school. On the bright side, I only missed 2 hours of work instead of 4.

April 4: Today is STAR Sports day. Bambam participates in a recreational sports league for kids with developmental disabilities. He LOVES it. And the volunteers are amazing, all college kids. He gets to run around kicking balls, hitting balls, playing with other kids and volunteers while I get an hour to sit and watch and talk to other moms who speak my language. Its a win/win. One of the things I like about having a special needs child is the ability to see goodness in this world that I otherwise wouldn't see. These college kids really are awesome. Every day heroes is what we call them.

April 5: Some days 8:00 pm can't come fast enough. Some days its just really hard to listen to or talk about the same damn airplane for the 864th time that day. Some days I just have to say "I'm not talking about it anymore, I'm done." And then I hear a little voice saying "I'm not talking about the airplane, I'm not talking about the airplane." I love his tenacity. But really, that isn't much better. Can't we talk about something else, anything else? Please?

April 6: Med changes suck. We are trying a new dosage of one of Bambam's medications. And he's not responding well. He is uncomfortable in his own skin. That's the only way I can describe it. And its awful to watch. We are supposed to give it a week. We are on day 3. I'm not sure we will make it a week. So hard to watch my baby struggle. (we lasted 4 days, then went back to his old dosage)

April 7: Its raining today, so we're stuck inside...all day. Not a good combination for a child who needs to run and jump and play large. That is why we have a small trampoline in our living room, where the coffee table used to be. Yes, our front room advertises that we are a special needs household. And right now I'm watching Bambam jump from the trampoline into a bean bag chair a few feet away and yell "splash" when he lands. Over and over and over again. 

April 8: More testing for Bambam's GI issues. For the past 3 days I've been scraping poo (yes I said poo) from his pull ups to place in small vials. 3 times a day for 3 days. (yes, he does poo that often) Then I overnight FedEx'ed the "package" to the lab. You really haven't lived until you've scraped poo from a pull up. Just a day in the life.

April 9: Bambam has sharing at school today. The topic is "what I did over spring break". So we took pictures of our activities at the Fun House and made a poster using the pictures and simple captions. We practiced over and over. I'm hoping he'll actually get up in front of his class and do it. I will never give up trying and presenting him with opportunities to grow. 

April 10: An example of Bambam's struggles with language: Driving home we saw a teenager walking up the hill.
Bambam: What is that?
Me: What?
Bambam: That boy.
Me: Who is that. When its a person you say 'who is that'.
Bambam: I don't know.
Me: Can you say 'who is that?'
Bambam: I don't know!
Its funny and a little heartbreaking at the same time. I felt like I was in the Laurel and Hardy "Who's on First" skit. But he really doesn't understand. And never repeats what I'm trying to get him to say. It can be frustrating. Language is a puzzle for him.

April 11: Bambam wakes up happy every morning, eager to start the day. We are fortunate that we do not have the anger and aggression that can be common with autism. He's a happy, content child who seems to be unaware that he is "different". I pray everyday that this stays with him his whole life. Sometimes awareness can be devastating.

April 12: Today is Friday. The third day of no school this week, it was a short week for conferences. And Bambam is NOT happy about it. He loves school and thrives on consistency. We just recently got to where he understood that there was no school on the weekends, and accepted it. But non-school days during the week throw him into a tizzy. All day long I hear "I go school today?" I've probably answered that question 100 times today. Patience, patience, patience. And the ability to have the same conversation multiple times a day. That is what is needed to raise my autistic child.

April 13:  We had Bambam's spring conference yesterday at school. Oh, where to begin. His conferences are nothing like what we were used to. Typical measures for a child his age just don't apply. He's behind academically, socially, emotionally, in every way. If it weren't for the great people and educators that surround him at school, these meetings would be so much harder. But we focus on his improvements, no matter how small. And they always celebrate Ryan for who he is, where he is, and what he has to offer.

April 14: The iPad. Thank God for the iPad. There are days when we use it as a crutch and let Bambam watch his favorite videos over and over. I know, its not the best thing for him. But some days, we all just need to step back, take a deep breath, and relax in front of a screen. I may not win parent of the year, but we will survive.

April 15: Tax day. Having a special needs child means an extra deduction on our state taxes. But don't get all jealous. It also means itemizing all the out of pocket medical costs to deduct on our federal taxes. It's thousands and thousands of dollars. Autism is expensive.

April 16: Today Bambam pulled out his loose tooth. It was bothering him that it was loose, that's not the way it is "supposed to be". He doesn't like things that are out of the ordinary, he wants them to always be the same. So no loose tooth, simply pull it out and be done with it. And when asked if he wanted to look at his new toothless smile in the mirror he responded "naw, wanna go pway outside."

April 17: According to Bambam's aid, he can read several sight words. Who knew?!?! That child does not voluntarily show you what he can do. EVER. We've always said that he knows and can do so much more than he lets on. And it makes things so hard. How do you know what to work on if you don't know what he can do?

April 18: Bambam had STAR Sports today. But there were double the kids as usual. It was very noisy and visually chaotic. And to make it even worse, his usual aid "Sam" was not there. Bambam really struggled. He is hypersensitive to noise and visual stimulation. He spent much of the hour throwing himself on the ground or running into the walls. This deep pressure impact helps to calm him. Its one of the ways he tries to self regulate (instead of using his words or other more accepted calming techniques), but it is painful to watch and scary for those who don't know and understand. Sigh.

April 19: We're off to the Fun House for the weekend. But we don't tell Bambam until about 10 minutes before we leave. He cannot handle anticipation; has virtually no self regulation. If he knows ahead of time, he will perseverate on going to the fun house all during school, getting nothing else done. "Go to Fun House now?" will be uttered by him every 30 seconds until we leave.

April 20: So thankful we have the Fun House. Bambam loves it. To him, it is an extension of home, he's been going there since he was 11 days old at least once a month. Without it, we would never have a vacation. He does not do well in new situations so hotels are out. Day trips to new places are also hard. When we attempted a trip to the aquarium last summer, he lasted 10 minutes. We haven't yet tried the zoo. But at the Fun House we go to the airport, the Lodge, the Village, the river, the pool, etc. And he loves it as he knows all these places and is comfortable.

April 21: Motor Planning is difficult for Bambam. At 7 years old, he still cannot peddle a bike. And I'm not talking about balance and riding without training wheels. I mean he cannot get his legs and feet to push the peddles around in a forward motion, one leg push down, one leg pull up. He sits on a tag along bike behind Mr. Fixit and just rests his feet on the peddles. Mr. Fixit pulls all 65 pounds of him and the tag along bike, pretty much dead weight. We work on this weekly. Bambam got a new bile for his birthday. He sits on it, pushes it around with his feet on the ground, but cannot peddle. I crouch over behind the bike with my hands on his feet on the peddles and maneuver his feet around. It is not easy, or fun. But my kid will eventually learn how to ride a bike, dammit.

April 22: It's Special Needs Ride Night! The local Sheriff's Mounted Posse hosts a ride for special needs kids twice a year. The kids get to ride the horses lead around the arena by the deputies. It's awesome. And they take a picture in front of a green screen and then insert different backgrounds. We have one showing a cattle roundup, and an old western town backdrop. It's very fun. It takes some time and initiative, but there are many opportunities for special needs kids if you go looking. They are different opportunities than "typical" kids have, but they make for great memories just the same.

April 23: OMG. After 7 years you'd think this would no longer surprise me. The BLOWOUT. Like many kids with autism, Bambam has major GI issues. As a toddler and preschooler, it was not unusual for him to wake up screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night several nights a week from "tummy trouble". Thankfully, those days are gone. But, he still struggles with his bowels. Meaning, he doesn't have control. He's either constipated or has diarrhea.  Sometimes he will go several days without a BM and then have a major blow out. I've never seen anything like it before. There is poop everywhere. Down his legs, in his shoes, up his back to his shoulder blades (its even been in his hair), up his front to his belly button, squishing out everywhere. Its not uncommon to just throw away whatever he was wearing, I don't think I could get it clean. And then I dump him in the shower. As he gets older, it gets more disgusting. If we could only get the BM's under control....

April 24: The weather is getting nicer and we went to the park after school. Since I pick Bambam up an hour early from school everyday, the park was empty when we got there. And he had a great time flying his glider, swinging, playing on the equipment. But no sand. I don't let him play in the huge sandbox. I know, bad mom. But when I look at it all I see is a great big litter box for all the neighborhood cats. And he still mouths things, including his fingers. Ew, just can't do it. But he loves the park and has a great time. Until all the other kids arrive. Then my bubbly, laughing, playing child gets quiet and comes to sit next to me and watches the other kids playing tag together on the equipment. And it breaks my heart as I watch him watching the other kids longingly. And not know how to join in. And I ask him if he wants to play with the other kids. And he hesitates .... before he answers "no, go home now". And I want to cry.

April 25: We are having some drywall repaired on the ceiling in our family room. So everything had to be removed and put in other rooms. So our really big plant (tree?) that is usually in the corner of the family room is now against the stairs in the entry hall and everyone has to walk around its huge leaves in the hallway and on the stairs. And one really big, beautiful leaf was in Bambam's way coming down the stairs. So he pulled it off. Not out of anger or spite or being mischievous, just because it was in his way. He was so surprised that I was mad. If something is in your way, just get rid of it. Logical. But not necessarily the right thing to do. No grey in his world, just black and white.

April 26: One of Bambam's meds is a stimulant for his ADHD. It is considered a controlled substance. So, every 30 days I have to go by the doctor's office to pick up a script and take it to the pharmacy. Today was the day this month. Such a pain.
April 27: Bambam has terrible eczema on his feet. Its so bad that his feet and toes crack and peel and bleed and look like they are rotting and going to fall off. Its really disgusting. And I've tried everything. Every night after he is asleep, I creep back into his bedroom and slather his feet with special cream and then put on socks. It helps, but does not cure the problem. We are working with a new holistic doctor to see if we can't find the cause.

April 28: Bambam started Special Olympics golf today. He LOVES golf. Started hitting a golf ball when he was 3 years old. The summer he was 5 he broke the sliding glass door hitting a golf ball into it. From then on it has been wiffle balls only in the back yard. So we thought we'd try Special Olympics golf. He's the only kid. There is no one close to his age, they are all adults. But he does not care. He gets to hit golf balls. And hit he does. One after another. Until there are blisters on his hands. Until we tell him he has to stop.

April 29: Something triggered Bambam's anxiety tonight. I'm not even sure what. But at 7:00 he wanted to go to bed. Bed is his safe place, his comfort. When he is really anxious, when his "fight or flight" response has been triggered, he wants to go to bed. In the past I've not been able to calm him, he has not sought comfort from me or anyone else. He goes to bed with his heavy covers and grinds his teeth. But tonight, tonight my boy was laying in his bed and I was sitting beside him in the rocking chair and he held out his hand to me and said "hold hands". He reached out to me for comfort. My boy sought comfort from me for the first time. So I held his hand, and with my other hand I rubbed the back of his hand, his arm, his back. I tried to impart some of my strength into him, rub out some of his stress and anxiety. And in time he fell into a peacefull sleep. My son reached out to me for comfort tonight. Little miracles are amazing.

April 30: This boy is amazing. He is joyful. He is funny. He is loving. He is affectionate. He is athletic. He is tall. He is gentle. He is sweet. He is strong. He is fast. He is pesisitant. He is tenacious. He is also autistic. But autism does not define him. It is just one part of him. One of many, many parts. He is beautiful.

Note: Being as technologically inept as I am, I thought this had published on April 30th. Oh well, better late then never. Happy Autism Awareness month, about 20 days late.  :)

Fairness

"Fairness does not mean everyone gets the same thing. It means everyone gets what they need."

This is never more evident than in a household with a special needs child. Bambam was born when the older boys were 10 and 10 1/2. At that time The Quiet One was not living with us. So Miracle Boy felt the brunt of the changes. He had to learn real fast that fair does not mean equal.There were many days when he had to "fend for himself" in one manner or another because we were tied up with Bambam. In some ways he had to grow up faster than their peers. And sometimes it makes me sad.

Gone were the days of big family vacations. Gone were the weekend skiing trips. For several years my ability to volunteer at his school or athletic events was not a possibility. I even began missing some of his events. I had never missed an event before. He had longed for years for a sibling that lived in our household, used to cry for The Quiet One to move here. Be careful what you ask for, he got way more than he bargained for. This was not what any of us had planned.

The fact is, we hadn't planned any of it. Bambam was a bonus. So while we were trying to adjust to the idea of a third child, we got the additional shock that he was a "difficult baby". Which eventually lead to autism and a host of comorbid diagnoses. And there is no way to make things equal in a house with typical and special needs children. And sometimes even to determine what they all "need".

Bambam's needs are fairly evident: He needs therapies (OT, PT, SLP), social communication classes, adaptive activities, many doctor appointments, etc. I pick him up from school an hour early every day and take him to one of his appointments or activities. I work with him at home. We rarely leave him unsupervised (only if he's in the next room and we can hear him and check on him easily). He commands the bulk of our time and financial resources.

The older boys are mostly understanding. Although we sometimes get comments. For example, its been a long standing rule in our house that we do not buy our kids the latest electronic gadgets. When Miralce Boy got his first iPod, he paid half of it and we paid the other half as his birthday present. Since then, he has bought his own technology. But when Bambam was 5, we got him an iPad. One of the boys made a comment about Bambam getting an iPad when they don't have one. My response was "If you would like to change places with him, be a 5 year old autistic kid who struggles every day to navigate a world that is hostile but get an iPad; I'm sure he would love to be a 15 year old kid with lots of friends, a job, doing well in school, a girlfriend, etc. but give up the iPad" We've never hear another word about what Bambam has. I really think they get it and they want their baby brother to have all the help he needs.

But, there are still days I'm left to wonder, are the older boys getting what they need? I no longer worry about fairness, life simply is not fair. But, how much are we short changing these 2 other kids? There are times it feels like we are forced to pick which child to help. Do we funnel all of our resources into Bambam to help him learn life skills he so desperately needs? Or do we funnel some of them into Miracle Boy's college tuition to help him grow and learn and be the best that he can be? Miracle Boy is capable, he's bright and personable and has great potential. He's done well in school and has lofty goals. I feel like he's earned a reward of some assistance with tuition. But is this a need? How do I choose which child to help?  

I OK

As I was getting ready this morning, Bambam came into my room and said, "I OK". This is a clear sign that something has happened. So I start to question him.

Me: What happened?

Bambam: It slippy

Me: Did you fall down?

Bambam: Yessss

Me: Did you get hurt?

Bambam: Yesssss

Me: Where did you get hurt?

Bambam: On da ground.

(I should be used to this literal kid by now. New question.)

Me: Where does your body hurt?

Bambam: My foot. Kiss it. 

So I did. And that was the end of it for Bambam. But not for me. 

Like many kids with an ASD, Bambam has sensory processing issues. He appears to be hyposensitive to pain and temperature. I've seen him hit his head on the corner of a cabinet, putting a small hole in his head with blood running down his face and he not even cry. It is not uncommon for him to have scapes and bruises and us have no idea how he got them. Once, after noticing that he was limping we looked at his foot to see his ankle swollen to double its normal size. Thankfully it was not broken. But this all freaks me out just a little. 

Clearly his body reacts to pain, he was limping and that's why we looked at his foot. But he doesn't express anything, or at least very little, about it. He rarely says "ow". He knows he got hurt, he came and told me "I OK". But he doesn't cry and he never complains about being in pain. Ever. Not even when he has 104 degree fever or is vomiting for the 4th time in an hour. Is this just because he doesn't know how to express the pain? Or does it really not register as pain? I don't know. Nor do I know if it matters. The fact is that I remain in fear that some day he will have a broken bone and we won't discover it for a week.

Humanity

I refuse to give up my belief that people want to do the right thing; that at the heart of it they basically want to do and be the best that they can. I'm not naive enough to believe this is true of every single person, I know there are exceptions. But as a whole, I believe this to be true. I believe in humanity

I see examples of it every day. I see it in the scruffy man who paid the difference for the little girl who didn't have enough money. I see it in the cashier at the big box store who lifted the big turkey out of the elderly ladies cart to scan it and then put it back in for her and then called another employee to help her to her car. At a big box store that doesn't provide any help, at all, for anything. I see it when 3 cars stop for the stranded lady on the side of the road to see if they can help her. I see it in the gentleman who opened the door for me today. I see it in the smiles of the people I pass.

And I see it many times a day in Bambam's activities. I see it in Bambam's swim teacher who goes above and beyond to connect with him and keep him engaged. Who patiently replies "goodbye" 18 times as Bambam says this every 10 seconds as we are getting ready to leave. I see it in Bambam's teachers and classmates who are beyond accepting and caring. I see it at the pool where they do not make Bambam where the paper wrist band as it dives him nuts. I see it at the Fun House airport where they allow Bambam out on the tarmac to see the planes. I see it in his soccer coach, who with no real experience with autism made appropriate accommodations for him. Who was supportive and understanding and who celebrated his little victories as much as we did.

But even more importantly, I see it in strangers who we pass briefly. People who don't know him and don't really understand his quirks. Like the lady at the groccery store in front of us who asks if we want to go first so we don't have to wait so long. Or the pharmacy clerk who engages him in conversation and seems completely comfortable with the fact that he is stuck on the same thought. Or the man at the stables who graciously took us back to see the horses in the barns, even though the barns were closed.

Don't get me wrong. Not all of our outings are all roses and sunshine. One particular example comes to mind. Last year I took all three boys up to the ski lodge. The older boys were snowboarding and I thought Bambam would enjoy a day playing in the snow. He loves the snow. Boy was I wrong. It was a new place, his brothers went off on the mountain without him, it was noisy and chaotic in the lodge and Bambam was beside himself. By the time I got him into the bathroom to put his snow clothes on he was in full blown meltdown mode. He was screaming and flailing all about as I was trying to change him when the janitor approached us and said to him "You are really too old to be acting this way."

Being on my last nerve, I lost it. It is not my proudest moment. My response to her was "Even though he looks 8, he's only 5. And he's autistic. So, when you've raised a special needs child, then you can comment on how I'm raising mine." At which point I started crying right along with Bambam. It was a low point for me. We walked off around the corner to try and put his boots on.

But you know what? Before we got calmed down and both boots on, she came back. She gently placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry. It was really none of my business and I shouldn't have said anything. Is there anything I can do to help?" And I started crying all over again.

In the midst of all the terrible news stories we've been hearing, I still refuse to give up my belief that people want to do the right thing; that at the heart of it they basically want to do and be the best that they can. I choose to believe in humanity.

Ashamed

Yesterday we spent the evening with our good friends, kids included. Bambam loves to go to our friend's house. He's known them his whole life. Their girls are 2 and 5 years older than him and they adore him. Almost like older sisters or even little mothers. They are fiercely protective of him. 

We had a great evening eating leftover Christmas dinner and snacks, a couple of cocktails, and a game of dice while the kids played. Then, towards the end of the evening I looked over and saw some dark spots on the back of Bambam's shirt. Uh oh. My heart sank. I quickly grabbed his backpack and hearded him into the bathroom. Just as I suspected, a complete blowout. 

This is not unexpected. Bambam has been fighting a bug for about 4 days now. Between that and the holidays, he hasn't exactly been regular. In fact, we had nothing for a couple of days. I've been waiting for the blowout to occur. And when I say blowout, I mean up the back, in his shirt, in his pants, up to his belly button, down his legs, almost in his socks BLOWOUT. Had we been home, I would have dumped him in the shower. Instead I'm in a small powder room trying to clean him up with toilet paper and wipes. He doesn't want to stand still, tries to open the door, wants to go play. And I find myself getting impatient. 

To add insult to injury, I don't have a complete change of clothes with me. I have extra pullups (always) and a shirt, but no pants. Now I have to go ask for a pair of sweats to borrow for the ride home. And I found myself embarrassed. Somehow almost overnight I feel like things have changed. It's never bothered me before when he's had an accident at their house, I've even borrowed clothes before. There is nothing new here. But now he is 7. And he seems so much bigger. And he's made such huge gains in so many other areas. And it just feels wrong. And I want to leave quickly.

These are new emotions for me. I've never been embarrassed by anything about Bambam. He is a loving child with special needs doing his best to navigate through this world. And I was embarrassed. And now I'm ashamed. Ashamed that I was embarrassed. I feel like a bad mom unworthy of the love of this sweet boy.

A Fraud

Usually I feel like an open book. I don't really hide much. My life is what it is and if you are willing to listen, I will share it with you. But, lately I've been feeling like a fraud.

I can not tell you how often I hear the words "you are such a great parent" or "I don't know how you do it" or "I could never do what you do" or "Your kids are so lucky to have you" or my favorite (which came from the LRC teacher at school) "Bambam hit the jackpot when he got you for parents". Really??? I don't feel like any of this is true. And if this is the picture I present to you, then I'm a fraud. Because here is what my days are really like:

I barely even say hi to my teenagers as they get themselved up, ready, and out the door to school. Our conversations in the morning exist of "bye mom, we're leaving" answered by me with "have a good day, love you guys". That's it. Most days I don't even know what they are wearing as I'm in my bedroom getting ready when they walk out the door and the words above are yelled down to the front door. Great parenting? I think not.

Bambam watches Curious George and The Cat in the Hat every morning so I can get his breakfast made, our lunches done and get myself ready before getting him ready for school. Seriously, TV first thing in the morning, every morning. And, I don't have time in the mornings to patiently wait and work with him on dressing himself. I know more than anyone that we are supposed to work on adaptive skills. I just don't have time in the mornings so I still dress him at 7 years old. Some days we are still late for school. Not exactly parent of the year.

My teenagers go either straight to their sports practice or to the athletic club from school. Often they are not home by dinner time so we eat in shifts. Sitting down for a family dinner is a rarity at our house. And Bambam doesn't really eat dinner, it's just not his thing. So he sits in the family room doing his iPad while Mr. Fixit and I eat dinner. Now that's good parenting.

The dinner dishes don't always get done after dinner. In fact, some days they don't get done until I get home from work the next day. And my house is not always dusted, vaccumed, swept and mopped. The laundry piles up. I will never win the Betty Homemaker Award.

Miracle Boy has been on the varsity golf team every year in high school. I have never yet watched a golf tournament. In 3 years, I've never seen him play. Granted, they play during the week when I'm either at work or have Bambam with me. And its not convenient. But a great parent would make it happen.

I do not get to all the things I'm supposed to work on with Bambam every day. The fine motor work, gross motor work, sensory diet, academic work, social skills, play dates, adaptive skills, speech and language skills, theraputic listening, brushing, etc. Some days we don't even read for 10 minutes. Some days I fail him miserably.

I am not a great parent. I'm just a parent, just like all the other parents out there. I really want to be a good parent. But life is not perfect. It's messy and chaotic and the days are shorter than necessary. I often make mistakes and fall short. I'm impatient, I yell, I make snap decisions I regret later. And when people tell me what a great parent I am or how lucky my kids are, I feel like a fraud.

Trapped in the Car

As luck would have it, The Quiet One and I were in the car today. Just the 2 of us. I love it when I have one or the other teenager trapped in the car with me, just the 2 of us with no distractions. OK, maybe some Christmas music in the background. But they are my captive audience. I have the best conversations with them in the car.

Since they both now drive, this doesn't happen very often. Don't get me wrong, I love that they now drive. It makes my life so much easier. I'm no longer a taxi for 3, now it's just 1. But, I sometimes miss that one on one time in the car. So I try to create situations where it happens. And today it happened with The Quiet One. And this is awesome. As his alias implies, he is quiet. He doesn't volunteer information unless you ask. So the time in the car with him is great.

With the holidays coming up, I asked him if he was excited to go see his mom. Of course he is. So we talked about that a little bit, what they had planned, would he see his grandma, etc. Then I asked him if he sees his old friends when he visits there. And he said not really. He sees one, but not the rest. And then he went on to say that the kids there are different. Different how I ask. And he says "There sort of all punks." I find this to be an interesting comment, these were his friends. And then he goes on to say "You know, I'm really glad I moved up here." Say what?

This is the child who moved into our household under duress, for lack of a better word. He was failing high school, getting in trouble, had been arrested twice, smoking pot, etc. He was sullen and angry when he got here. Did not want to be here, was angry at his mom for shipping him away. Angry at us for making him come. Angry he was taken away from his friends. He was counting the days till he could return.

This same child is now telling me how glad he is that he lives here. He went on to say that the kids here are nicer, that even when they are joking and having fun they are still respectful. He actually used that word "respectful". He likes that there is no need for a police officer at the high school here, that there is no graffiti on the walls. It's nicer.

And I'm sitting there in awe. I'm in awe that he not only sees these differences, but that he is acknowledging it. That he is outwardly saying "I like it here, I'm glad I live here now." And I got a little teary. But I kept it in check because teenage boys don't appreciate a little happy cry. But what I did say is "Honey, I'm so happy that you like it here. Thank you for sharing that with me. You just made my day."

I have the best conversations with my kids in the car.

That Kid

When Miracle Boy was little and I would take him places that kids like to go, I always noticed That Kid. You know what I'm talking about. That Kid who is just a little too noisy, a bit too rambunctious, too rough or wild, etc. And I would watch That Kid and wonder: Where are his parents? Where is the discipline? What is wrong with him? Yes, I am ashamed to admit that I would watch with judging eyes. Never bothering to wonder what his story was, what his circumstances were.

Now, I have That Kid. As I sit here at the edge of the pool watching Bambam play in the water, I notice that he's splashing a little too hard. Jumping a little too close to the basketball game. Running full speed into the water. He's careful not to actually run into, jump into, or touch anyone else, but he sure gets close and splashes A LOT. And it does not matter how many time I say slow down, calm down, move down the pool; this is who he is. He craves this impact with the water. Its part of the sensory thing. I cannot take him to a pool and expect him to act otherwise, it will never happen.

So I look around at the other parents and I wonder. Which ones are asking themselves where are his parents. And which ones are asking why he's not disciplined. And which ones are wondering what is wrong with him. Because I know it is happening. I know because once upon a time I was That Parent.

More Evaluations

On Monday Bambam goes in for another round of evaluations and tests. 4 hours of testing with a neuro-psychologist. A new Doctor that he doesn't know. In an unfamiliar setting. In an environment where he knows he's being evaluated and wants to do things "right". It is a familiar formula which always equals a very anxiety riddled little boy. I wish I could do it for him. 

I do not like being the one to take him, exposing him to what is for a him a hostile environment, a painful experience. As parents we want to protect our children. Keep them from pain, anxiety, fear. But sometimes it cannot be helped. I know it is for the greater good. Making sure we are on the right track, providing him with the services and accommodations needed to reach his full potential. But that won't make Monday any easier. Sometimes being a parent is hard.

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.

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.

The Dentist, Round 2

After school started, it was finally my turn to go to the dentist. I haven't been in a "while". But with Bambam now in first grade, I'm hoping to have a little time to get some of these much neglected items done.

The first thing the dentist says (after no decay, yeah) is "I see you grind your teeth". I do not grind my teeth. He insists he sees wear patterns consistent with grinding. I insist I do not grind my teeth, never have. He is smiling and nodding his head. Its irritating. Then he asks if I have any extra stress in my life. At which point I laugh. Out loud. Almost hysterically. I think I scared him. He asks if I can reduce some of the stress. Am I seeing a therapist or my dentist? Not unless I get rid of the children or my parents. It is what it is and I deal the stress the best I can. And most days I think I'm doing a pretty good job of it.

He asks that I pay attention to what I'm doing when I feel the most stressed. I love my dentist, he's a great guy. But really, what I don't need is someone else telling me I'm too stressed, I need to slow down, take care of myself, blah, blah, blah. So I assure him I will, but I DO NOT GRIND MY TEETH. And off I run to pick up Bambam early for lunch so he can avoid the fire drill.

Skip to later that afternoon when Bambam is resisting getting changed and the whole house is smelling like poop. I'm trying to get him into the bathroom when I notice that (I'll be damned) I am CLENCHING MY TEETH! In my attempt to not yell, I've clamped my mouth shut. Hard. Huh. Stupid dentist. Now I have to tell him he was right, which he already knew.

How could I have not noticed this? Now I'm sure I've been doing it for several years.One more thing to stress about...

Personal Responsibility

In our house getting ready for the new school year includes not only school clothes shopping, and haircuts, but also trips to the dentist. In the past 2 days I've dragged all 3 kids to the dentist.

Miracle Boy was first. Teeth look great, no decay. But a broken tooth from an unfortunate incident with a surf board last summer! I remember the incident. He told me about the 2 broken brackets on his braces and we got those fixes. No one mentioned a broken tooth, not him, not the orthodontist. Sigh. It's getting fixed now. Luckily, there is no decay and he should be good as new shortly.

The Quiet One was next. Not so great. 8 cavities. 8 cavities in one year??? At least I think it's 1 year. The Quiet One came to live with us full time last summer. I'm assuming his mom took him to the dentist regularly before that. I'm pretty sure she did. But, 8 cavities??? Wow. A BIG lecture from the dentist on personal hygiene and diet (read stop going to 7-11 and buying junk food and energy drinks). 

As I stand listening to the dentist tell me about his 8 current cavities that need filled and the dozen more they can see forming in the x-rays, I'm left speechless. This is difficult for me. For lack of a better term, I "inherited" The Quiet One last year at the age of 15, almost 16. Let me repeat, almost 16. Almost grown. Habits formed. Attitudes firmly in place.

And here I'm going to insert the back story:

Mr. Fixit and I starting dating when The Quiet One was 2 and Miracle Boy was 3. 6 years later, when the boys were 8 and 9, we married. I've been around for potty training, starting school, learning to tie shoes, learning to read, etc. But, since The Quiet One lived primarily with his mom, I was always sort of on the outskirts. I was not the primary caregiver, disciplinarian, teacher. I offered support and reinforcement when he was with us, but didn't take a leading role. I don't like to step on anyone's toes.

When The Quiet One was 10, he was living out of state with his mom. Due to distance, our visits were less frequent. And we could see changes happening. At that time I had a frank conversation with Mr. Fixit which went as follows: "You need to do what you can to get him up here full time. We can see what is happening. He is struggling in school. He is struggling with making appropriate choices and gaining personal responsibility. He needs more assistance and guidance now. I do not want to wait until he is a teenager with bigger issues before he is shipped up to us as a last resort." There were a myriad of signs that things were starting to go in a questionable direction for him. My big fear was that I would get a teenager failing school, dabbling in drugs, etc. With another teenager and a younger child in the household, that was cause of great concern for me. Right or wrong, those were my feelings. 

Flash forward 4 years and we get a call in early June. The Quiet One's mom caught him smoking pot and is sending him up to us right now (2 weeks before school is out) for the whole summer. He is just finishing 8th grade. He has a cumulative GPA of a 0.83. I do not understand how a kid with a 0.83 GPA is promoted from 8th grade into high school. (In my humble opinion this symbolizes what is broken in our educational system. But that is another post.) 

So we spend a summer trying to convince everyone involved that he should remain up here for the coming school year. But It's a no go. In August he goes "back home" to begin his Freshman year in high school. We did get an agreement that if he failed any classes his first semester or had any other trouble, he would return in January to live with us. January came with an F on his report card, but no child. Frustration does not begin to portray what I was feeling. Being in a position with absolutely no authority, who's opinion really doesn't count, and watching a child slowly failing was more than I could handle. I needed to either step in and do something, or wash my hands of the whole affair and not be forced to watch. I could do neither. 

During the 2nd semester of his Freshman year he proceeded to get charged with arson (set a garbage can on fire at school), fail 2 more classes, and get charged with possession of a controlled substance (on the school campus). Finally, at the age of 15, failing school, experimenting with drugs, and with 2 serious charges against him, he was shipped up to us as a "last resort". My worst nightmare, right?

Really, not so much. What I need to explain about The Quiet One is that he's not the "bad kid" he may sound like. He's a kid who needs a lot of guidance and quite honestly still needs some hand holding at the age of 16. He needs very clear rules and guidelines. Personal responsibility and accountability are not high on his list. His biggest problem is that he's a follower. And he got mixed up with "the wrong crowd". Being a follower, he did what his friends were doing. No homework and making very poor choices. We knew the first step to turning things around was getting him away from the kids he was "following". 

And what a difference a year can make. He has made up 2 of the classes he failed (tutoring through summer school), passed all his classes his sophomore year (not without struggles, loss of privileges, and lots and lots of hand holding), works part time in our business, and has not been in any trouble. School will always be difficult for him, our goal is to see him graduate. He is polite and respectful, his new friend's parents (whom we all know) enjoy having him over, he even has a girlfriend. That's not to say life is all rosy and perfect. Remember the 8 cavities? Its a far cry from arson, but we don't want him running around toothless at the age of 20.

As I said, personal responsibility is not high on his list. His room is a pig sty, he clearly doesn't take good care of his teeth, he leaves dishes and garbage all over the house, home work will not get done without reminding, nothing will get done without some prodding. This leads me to my current frustration: How to teach personal responsibility to a 16 year old. This is the age where we should be backing off, not stepping in. In two short years he will be moving on to whatever comes next for him. And I fear he will not be prepared. Is 16 too late to teach these things? I don't know, but we're on a path to find out. And we'll start with letting him know that after this round of fillings, he will be paying for any future fillings out of his own money. Welcome to real life consequences.

Wish us luck.