Connor has been called gay, stupid, arrogant, retarded, and weird. No one will sit with him at lunch. Lunch, bathroom breaks, and in the gym while he waits for his ride or for class to start are the times when these things usually happen. Which makes sense, there aren't a lot of teachers focused on individual students at these times; and with predominately female teachers, no one is watching in the boy's bathrooms.
Yesterday at school, a "peer" called my son "gay" and "stupid". First of all, those words are not synonyms. Second, he isn't stupid by any standard. And third, so what if he were gay? It is not what most mothers envision for their sons, but if that is how things turn out, I will love him no differently. I told him that. His response, "Mom, I love you."
Yesterday, a fellow classmate told him that a teacher said he was "weird." Personally, I embrace weird. However, my boy was hurt that one of his beloved teachers would say that, especially to another kid. If I find out that this did occur and was not a fabrication of his classmate, the school is not going to like me very much. A Zero Tolerance policy cannot be enforced if the teachers themselves do not follow it. In fourth grade, a PE teacher (before Connor's diagnosis) told him he ran like a six-year-old in front of his whole class. His teacher supposedly handled it and I left that one alone. Mistake on my part, but lesson learned.
Today, Connor cried and refused to go to school. I insisted he go because he could not hide from things that upset him. I assured him that his teacher was on top of it, as she and I have talked. She has met with the guidance counselor and vice principal to figure out a solution. I have yet to hear back from her on that. She has until noon because then I am going up to the school.
Connor cried as he got out of the car today. His eight-year-old sister told him she was walking him to class. She ignored his protests. She is popular and feisty and even though she is probably half their size, could probably take out any fifth grader who crosses her. Part of me is sad that his younger sister has to look after him, but the other part of me is proud that even though Connor sucks a lot of attention away from her, she empathizes with him and takes care of him.
Connor's fourth grade teacher had been going to read her class a book about a boy with Asperger's but she kept not being able to find it. His current teacher has thus far denied any need to talk to the class about Aspergers. Connor wants to tell his class about it so maybe they will understand he is not arrogant or retarded or stupid. I can see pros and cons. He has an IEP that despite our wrangling and having an advocate with us is largely ineffective because what we fight for are social and behavioral, not academic. We were told in the IEP meeting that the school did not know what to do with him since he is both Gifted and Autistic. I have been to the principal and then told Connor brought it on himself. I have contacted the school board and been told that the principal was a good guy and to give him a chance and the principal blew us off. I love most of the teachers at his school. I love the standards they set for their students and the achievement they expect. But trying to get them to take care of my kid's needs is like ripping out my fingernails one by one.
My heart aches for him. I feel helpless. I am not a fighter...but I am learning.
My son has the diagnosis, but our family has Aspergers.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
Mom Vesuvius!
I am about to lose it. Whatever it is, it is going to explode from within my head and chest and there will be casualties. And after "it"it is gone, it will still be here, festering and building until I erupt again. I am so tired of always feeling worried and scared and sad and angry on behalf of everyone else. I do, you know. I feel the stress from my husband who can't get off the midnight shift or get a better job right now. I feel the anxiety from the girls because they can't get the new shoes they want or because Connor is having another fit. And then any emotions I might have, well, they just have to get put aside. BOOM! And no one in the family knows why Mommy has run off crying and slamming the bedroom door.
These are not my best moments. Generally, I am a "glass half full" kind of a gal or at least happy to have a glass. Today, though I am having a much needed pity party. Then I am going to bed and hoping that we are all in a better mood tomorrow.
Today, Connor had a rough day at school. The guidance counselor pulled him out, a classmate made fun of him, and his teacher made him organize his desk by himself. Then he got on the bus and his darling little sister told him that the girl he likes and her friend think he is annoying. So when I got home from work, Dad is helping by playing on the Xbox upstairs, while downstairs, glitter has been spilled all over my dining room. As soon as I walk in the door, Connor tells me he has no friends and wants to be home-schooled or he wants to kill himself. He is ten. Do you know how heart-wrenching it is for your baby to say something like that? I hope not.
So, my evening has been spent taking care of all of the above which causes yet another argument with the husband because no one has as much stress as he does, you know? And Connor cries because his anxiety is through the roof and his sister is crying because she hurt her brother's feelings and his Aspergers is so hard on her, and....ARRGH!
Thank you for allowing me to vent. I could really use some chocolate. Or a margarita. But, instead I will go to bed now, and as Scarlett O'Hara said, "I'll think about that tomorrow."
These are not my best moments. Generally, I am a "glass half full" kind of a gal or at least happy to have a glass. Today, though I am having a much needed pity party. Then I am going to bed and hoping that we are all in a better mood tomorrow.
Today, Connor had a rough day at school. The guidance counselor pulled him out, a classmate made fun of him, and his teacher made him organize his desk by himself. Then he got on the bus and his darling little sister told him that the girl he likes and her friend think he is annoying. So when I got home from work, Dad is helping by playing on the Xbox upstairs, while downstairs, glitter has been spilled all over my dining room. As soon as I walk in the door, Connor tells me he has no friends and wants to be home-schooled or he wants to kill himself. He is ten. Do you know how heart-wrenching it is for your baby to say something like that? I hope not.
So, my evening has been spent taking care of all of the above which causes yet another argument with the husband because no one has as much stress as he does, you know? And Connor cries because his anxiety is through the roof and his sister is crying because she hurt her brother's feelings and his Aspergers is so hard on her, and....ARRGH!
Thank you for allowing me to vent. I could really use some chocolate. Or a margarita. But, instead I will go to bed now, and as Scarlett O'Hara said, "I'll think about that tomorrow."
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Sticks and Stones
Bullying is a sensitive subject. I doubt there is one person on the planet who can claim never to have been bullied or to have been a bully, or both. I got teased a lot in school, had ugly rumors spread about me, and you know what? It hurt. And you know what else? I learned how to deal with it.
Bullying has come to encompass any and every physical and verbal action that is unwanted. Schools now have Zero Tolerance policies, which are, in my experience so far, largely ineffective, but my kids are in elementary school so I may change my mind in a few years. We will see. My point is, nobody wants mean things said about them. How one handles those comments defines their character and we are not trying to teach our kids to accept difficulty but to blame others for how we feel. This is nothing new. Prohibition and the Treaty of Versailles are just two examples of Zero Tolerance Policies and look how well they turned out.
None of my Aspie's friends know he has a "disability" (I hate that word, by the way) because his disability is invisible. To everyone else he appears fairly normal, until something is too loud or there is too much going on, or he becomes bored, or gets off his schedule. When this happens in class, his peers don't understand that he is not acting out or trying to be funny...he is trying to cope. Classmates whom he calls "friends" call him arrogant because he has to blurt out answers before everyone else can think about them and tells people he is smart. (He is, but he did not understand that that is considered bragging. We had to spell it out for him.) Another "friend" was laughing, so Connor joined in only to be told that he was laughing at Connor, not with him. Yet another "friend" makes a big production out of how horrible it would be to sit near Connor at lunch. Classmates whom he rarely notices, however, are the kids who he should call "friends." A girl draws pictures for him, another asks him for help on schoolwork she does not understand. Several of the athletic kids, when in PE, slowed down so that instead of winning, they could run with and finish next to Connor who runs slowly and awkwardly. For nine and ten year-olds, I was extremely impressed.
My point is, Connor does not know what a true friend looks like. He can tell me how a friend should act and how to be a good friend, but the execution is more difficult. He tries to talk to his peers, but he often does not say the right thing or in the right way or at the right time. Unfortunately, this makes it easier for him to be bullied.
My solution: I say put the power back in the hands of your own children. Don't let anyone tell them how they should feel. We role play at home. We look at social stories. We teach all of our kids how to handle those harsh comments and actions. We tell them that the words do hurt, but they don't break you unless you let them. If they can get through it, they will be stronger, and probably more successful than those who hurt them. What is more difficult, is making them understand how to be patient until their time comes, and that their time will come.
Bullying has come to encompass any and every physical and verbal action that is unwanted. Schools now have Zero Tolerance policies, which are, in my experience so far, largely ineffective, but my kids are in elementary school so I may change my mind in a few years. We will see. My point is, nobody wants mean things said about them. How one handles those comments defines their character and we are not trying to teach our kids to accept difficulty but to blame others for how we feel. This is nothing new. Prohibition and the Treaty of Versailles are just two examples of Zero Tolerance Policies and look how well they turned out.
None of my Aspie's friends know he has a "disability" (I hate that word, by the way) because his disability is invisible. To everyone else he appears fairly normal, until something is too loud or there is too much going on, or he becomes bored, or gets off his schedule. When this happens in class, his peers don't understand that he is not acting out or trying to be funny...he is trying to cope. Classmates whom he calls "friends" call him arrogant because he has to blurt out answers before everyone else can think about them and tells people he is smart. (He is, but he did not understand that that is considered bragging. We had to spell it out for him.) Another "friend" was laughing, so Connor joined in only to be told that he was laughing at Connor, not with him. Yet another "friend" makes a big production out of how horrible it would be to sit near Connor at lunch. Classmates whom he rarely notices, however, are the kids who he should call "friends." A girl draws pictures for him, another asks him for help on schoolwork she does not understand. Several of the athletic kids, when in PE, slowed down so that instead of winning, they could run with and finish next to Connor who runs slowly and awkwardly. For nine and ten year-olds, I was extremely impressed.
My point is, Connor does not know what a true friend looks like. He can tell me how a friend should act and how to be a good friend, but the execution is more difficult. He tries to talk to his peers, but he often does not say the right thing or in the right way or at the right time. Unfortunately, this makes it easier for him to be bullied.
My solution: I say put the power back in the hands of your own children. Don't let anyone tell them how they should feel. We role play at home. We look at social stories. We teach all of our kids how to handle those harsh comments and actions. We tell them that the words do hurt, but they don't break you unless you let them. If they can get through it, they will be stronger, and probably more successful than those who hurt them. What is more difficult, is making them understand how to be patient until their time comes, and that their time will come.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Go Clean Your Room!
Telling Connor to "go clean your room" is an exercise in futility and frustration for both of us. "Clean your room," to me, is pretty self-explanatory. Room is messy. Make it unmessy, i.e. clean.
To Connor, I have just told him to climb Mount Everest with no equipment. For example, have you ever seen the movie A Bug's Life? At the beginning (don't worry, I am not divulging any major plot point here)the ants are dutifully marching in their very orderly line, routinely gathering food for the winter. All of a sudden a leaf falls, covering the path that the ants were following. The ant at the front of the line panics, "I'm lost!" The ant in charge, however, calmly shows the ants that all they need to do is go around the leaf and they will be back on track.
We have come to the point where sometimes I can say "go clean your room" to my own expected results, and he does a perfect job. Other times we have to get creative. Here are some things we have tried. Which one works depends on his mood and anxiety level, but I have had some success with each.
1. We have divided his room into sections to be cleaned. I think this makes more work for him, but he likes it because he has a pattern of things to clean up, as each quadrant will have a list of what needs to be cleaned, and he can see his progress. So far, this has worked best for us.
2. Connor has a beautiful imagination so sometimes we turn cleaning up into a game. Often he is on a secret mission looking for clues and the only way he can get the clue is to put his books on a shelf. This requires either preparation or participation on my part, but it makes cleaning fun. Other times we make it a scavenger hunt or tell him to pick up 4 red things, then seven small things, etc.
3. Other times, we say clean up for fifteen minutes, then he can have a break for fifteen minutes. This is good because he can see the time, knows there is an endpoint and a reward at a specific time coming up. One time he decided to clean for thirty so he could have a thirty minute break. This has also worked well for us, and is good with homework too!
Feel free to share what works for your family. Every Aspie is different and has different motivators, so what has worked for us may throw yours into a meltdown. The trick is to be patient and willing to try new things when you need to. When a leaf falls in your path, go around.
To Connor, I have just told him to climb Mount Everest with no equipment. For example, have you ever seen the movie A Bug's Life? At the beginning (don't worry, I am not divulging any major plot point here)the ants are dutifully marching in their very orderly line, routinely gathering food for the winter. All of a sudden a leaf falls, covering the path that the ants were following. The ant at the front of the line panics, "I'm lost!" The ant in charge, however, calmly shows the ants that all they need to do is go around the leaf and they will be back on track.
We have come to the point where sometimes I can say "go clean your room" to my own expected results, and he does a perfect job. Other times we have to get creative. Here are some things we have tried. Which one works depends on his mood and anxiety level, but I have had some success with each.
1. We have divided his room into sections to be cleaned. I think this makes more work for him, but he likes it because he has a pattern of things to clean up, as each quadrant will have a list of what needs to be cleaned, and he can see his progress. So far, this has worked best for us.
2. Connor has a beautiful imagination so sometimes we turn cleaning up into a game. Often he is on a secret mission looking for clues and the only way he can get the clue is to put his books on a shelf. This requires either preparation or participation on my part, but it makes cleaning fun. Other times we make it a scavenger hunt or tell him to pick up 4 red things, then seven small things, etc.
3. Other times, we say clean up for fifteen minutes, then he can have a break for fifteen minutes. This is good because he can see the time, knows there is an endpoint and a reward at a specific time coming up. One time he decided to clean for thirty so he could have a thirty minute break. This has also worked well for us, and is good with homework too!
Feel free to share what works for your family. Every Aspie is different and has different motivators, so what has worked for us may throw yours into a meltdown. The trick is to be patient and willing to try new things when you need to. When a leaf falls in your path, go around.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Introduction to Our World
When my son Connor was born, I did not meet him until twelve hours later. My husband, my mother, and even our friends saw him before I did. He was born by emergency Caesarian, and on my first brief glance of him, he was purple. Very purple. Doctors rushed him to the NICU which is where I first held my baby's tiny hand. (He was tiny by my standards, but at 9 lbs, 13 oz's, he was a giant in the NICU) We were told he had Primary Pulmonary Hypertension of the Newborn-basically, he was not breathing the way he needed to and for four days, we did not know if our first-born would ever sleep in the nursery we had lovingly prepared for him. Fortunately, after a week in the NICU, our prayers were answered and our baby boy came home.
He was beautiful and had a cute little smile and I knew he was going to be the smartest boy ever. I held him and touched him and talked to him and sang to him, everything I could to let him know Mommy was there and always would be. As Connor became more active, people would tell me "he is such a serious baby." I thought that was stupid; he was handsome and smart and healthy, and I did not care how serious he was because I had been allowed to keep him and he was perfect.
By the time he was fourteen months old, he began having massive tantrums. His face would turn red and he would scream and he wouldn't allow me to touch him or try to make it better. I even took him to the doctor once because I was certain he was in pain. Of course he had relaxed by the time we got to the pediatrician and so she found nothing wrong. I was told I was a new mother, I had never been around boys, and I needed to read a book about how to parent. My mother said Connor was just advanced, hitting the Terrible Two's early. My husband said I was not assertive enough with him and I needed to be a better disciplinarian. I would get so frustrated, I would hold his bedroom door closed for a few minutes just so I take a few breaths without him kicking and screaming at me. Needless to say, I began to feel like a terrible mother.
By the time Connor was four, we found a therapist who understood him. When Connor began chasing me around the house with a kitchen knife he grabbed from the dishwasher before I did, and when he tried to throw over his sister's high chair with her in it during one of his fits, we saw a psychiatrist about medicating him. She conservatively prescribed him Risperdal and it made an enormous difference. My husband started to believe me that there was more going on, but no therapist, psychiatrist, or pediatrician could tell us exactly what. When he entered school we were told he was a behavior problem. I said the preschool work was boring him and the teacher said she knew gifted children and mine was not one-he had a discipline problem. That was in Arizona. That summer after kindergarten, we packed up and moved to Nashville, Tennessee to be closer to family and get into a better school system.
Over the next four years Connor saw three different therapists. By the time he was nine years old, he had been diagnosed with ADHD and bipolar disorder and been placed on four other medications. A month on those meds and I had had it. I pulled him off the medicines cold turkey, because as much as he screamed off of them, he was worse on them, and honestly, no nine year old should be on four medications without a definitive diagnosis. Fourth grade was a nightmare. Connor had a great deal of anxiety, complained he had no friends, that nobody liked him, and that he didn't want to be in this world anymore. His teacher did not understand. Connor was always in trouble in school for talking out of turn, at inappropriate volumes, and missed all four nine-week parties.
Our entire life was spent trying to help him feel better. His two younger sisters felt left-out and began acting out as well. Finally, three things happened all at once, that did not necessarily make our lives easier, but provided us with understanding that had been missing for nine tantrum-filled years. 1. We found an excellent psychiatrist from Vanderbilt. 2. My husband had a friend at work whose son had similar traits. And 3, as crazy as this sounds, I watched a television show called Parenthood where one of the families has a son with Aspergers. As soon as I saw the first episode, I said, "That is my son. That's Connor."
Now, my son is in 5th grade, has a diagnosis that makes sense and with which we can work, has appropriate medication, has an IEP, an awesome teacher, and is in the Gifted program at his school. He still has trouble understanding friendships, but he has come such a long way. We work with a therapist and social stories and role play to help him with the social interactions that plague him. Public meltdowns are still troublesome for his dad, and Connor's outbursts are beginning to embarrass his sisters, but we are working on all of that now. Connor may have the official diagnosis, but our whole family is affected. We have Aspergers because it is not just Connor's journey, it is our family's journey as well. Connor knows he has Aspergers, but we tell him this is not a disability and it does not define him. He is so much more than "an Aspie." He is creative and artistic. He loves music. He is different in that everyone on this Earth is different; he just looks at the world from a different window than the rest of us....
He was beautiful and had a cute little smile and I knew he was going to be the smartest boy ever. I held him and touched him and talked to him and sang to him, everything I could to let him know Mommy was there and always would be. As Connor became more active, people would tell me "he is such a serious baby." I thought that was stupid; he was handsome and smart and healthy, and I did not care how serious he was because I had been allowed to keep him and he was perfect.
By the time he was fourteen months old, he began having massive tantrums. His face would turn red and he would scream and he wouldn't allow me to touch him or try to make it better. I even took him to the doctor once because I was certain he was in pain. Of course he had relaxed by the time we got to the pediatrician and so she found nothing wrong. I was told I was a new mother, I had never been around boys, and I needed to read a book about how to parent. My mother said Connor was just advanced, hitting the Terrible Two's early. My husband said I was not assertive enough with him and I needed to be a better disciplinarian. I would get so frustrated, I would hold his bedroom door closed for a few minutes just so I take a few breaths without him kicking and screaming at me. Needless to say, I began to feel like a terrible mother.
By the time Connor was four, we found a therapist who understood him. When Connor began chasing me around the house with a kitchen knife he grabbed from the dishwasher before I did, and when he tried to throw over his sister's high chair with her in it during one of his fits, we saw a psychiatrist about medicating him. She conservatively prescribed him Risperdal and it made an enormous difference. My husband started to believe me that there was more going on, but no therapist, psychiatrist, or pediatrician could tell us exactly what. When he entered school we were told he was a behavior problem. I said the preschool work was boring him and the teacher said she knew gifted children and mine was not one-he had a discipline problem. That was in Arizona. That summer after kindergarten, we packed up and moved to Nashville, Tennessee to be closer to family and get into a better school system.
Over the next four years Connor saw three different therapists. By the time he was nine years old, he had been diagnosed with ADHD and bipolar disorder and been placed on four other medications. A month on those meds and I had had it. I pulled him off the medicines cold turkey, because as much as he screamed off of them, he was worse on them, and honestly, no nine year old should be on four medications without a definitive diagnosis. Fourth grade was a nightmare. Connor had a great deal of anxiety, complained he had no friends, that nobody liked him, and that he didn't want to be in this world anymore. His teacher did not understand. Connor was always in trouble in school for talking out of turn, at inappropriate volumes, and missed all four nine-week parties.
Our entire life was spent trying to help him feel better. His two younger sisters felt left-out and began acting out as well. Finally, three things happened all at once, that did not necessarily make our lives easier, but provided us with understanding that had been missing for nine tantrum-filled years. 1. We found an excellent psychiatrist from Vanderbilt. 2. My husband had a friend at work whose son had similar traits. And 3, as crazy as this sounds, I watched a television show called Parenthood where one of the families has a son with Aspergers. As soon as I saw the first episode, I said, "That is my son. That's Connor."
Now, my son is in 5th grade, has a diagnosis that makes sense and with which we can work, has appropriate medication, has an IEP, an awesome teacher, and is in the Gifted program at his school. He still has trouble understanding friendships, but he has come such a long way. We work with a therapist and social stories and role play to help him with the social interactions that plague him. Public meltdowns are still troublesome for his dad, and Connor's outbursts are beginning to embarrass his sisters, but we are working on all of that now. Connor may have the official diagnosis, but our whole family is affected. We have Aspergers because it is not just Connor's journey, it is our family's journey as well. Connor knows he has Aspergers, but we tell him this is not a disability and it does not define him. He is so much more than "an Aspie." He is creative and artistic. He loves music. He is different in that everyone on this Earth is different; he just looks at the world from a different window than the rest of us....
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