And then she was 3

And there was much fanfare. Kiddette was thrilled that her family was coming to her birthday cake. She also hoped that they would eat her birthday party.

We booked the usual let-the-kids-amuse-themselves-so-the-parents-can-chat party place and got the usual child-approved menu of pizza and cake. Or as I call it, pizzacake. Everybody serves pizzacake. I fear these children will grow up to be culinarily stunted, and should they find themselves at a fancy cocktail party in a fine dining establishment sometime, will be baffled and sad to see no pizza. Or cake.

(I do buck the trend on this a little bit and also serve fruit, and am secretly delighted that the children actually eat it.)

Kiddette is still in her loves-monkeys phase and I see no reason to snap her out of it, because once she goes full-on princess it's going to be all pink sparkles, all the time and then our eyes will hurt. So her cake had Small Paul on it, to match the napkins and the plates and such. I did buy her a purple tutu to wear at the party, because it was so goshdarn cute I couldn't stop myself, but purple is her favorite color. And one ought to dress up a little bit at one's own party. And besides, she wore it over kiddie jeggings.

All the kids had a fine time and I didn't have to climb up into the jungle gym thingy to rescue anyone this time, which is good, because I seem to have a bit of a back problem and probably shouldn't be climbing into kiddie play places. Stupid back. (The doctor said, "Do you pick your children up a lot?" Why, Doc, are you offering to swing by my house and pick them up for me?) Apparently I understuffed the goodie bags, since there were some mild complaints about them. But I really really didn't want to pad them out with candy. We have Easter candy we still haven't eaten. We have Christmas candy we still haven't eaten. We don't eat a lot of candy. I see no reason to inflict extra candy on other parents, a month away from Halloween, when we'll all have too much candy.

Honestly I can't figure out this goodie bag thing. How much stuff are you supposed to put in them? Aren't three or four things enough? Are the kids measuring by quality or quantity? (Quantity, duh.) Is the monetary value of the goodie bag supposed to equal the monetary value of the gifts? Because that seems like wedding-gift logic.

I feel like I need to consult Emily Post on this before the next round of birthday parties. Or whoever handles etiquette for the under-10 set. Li'l Emmy Post?

At any rate kiddette enjoyed herself immensely and used the ruffle of her tutu to wipe pizza sauce off her face, which should annoy me, but she's gotten food on so much of her clothing that at this point I just shrug. At least she eats. And she very much likes the talking Woody and Jessie dolls she got, and so does kiddo -- even though Grandma got her a Woody so she would leave his Woody alone. But hers talks, you see. So we've got a bit of a scuffle going on at Woody's Roundup. Meanwhile I am disappointed that talking Woody doesn't say "There's a snake in my boot!" like in the movies, because I always thought that line was hilarious.

And now that all birthdays for the year have been accounted for, on to Halloween.

So far, so good

At least as far as we can tell. The first day was more or less a blur of photos and a parental mob scene in front of the school. But kiddo seems to like kindergarten. He likes riding the bus and occasionally mentions kids by name that he played with (not a thing he frequently does. Usually I start guessing names, based purely on which kids I've met at birthday parties and play dates). He's even done homework without too much fuss. Note: The homework comes in a folder with a sign-off sheet that we are supposed to mark, to show that he got it, or that he did it, I guess. Maybe the teacher doesn't want to mess around with lost homework.

We've even managed to not miss the bus yet. This is pretty good, considering kiddo -- like lots of other ADHD kids, per my studies -- can be legendarily impossible to get out of the house. He'll stop getting dressed to inspect one of his Thomas tracks. He'll quit eating breakfast to yell through the glass door at the rabbit in our back yard. He'll throw a fit instead of eating breakfast because I put his cereal in the wrong color bowl. He'll run around the house, or burrow into the couch, instead of going upstairs to brush his teeth.

I use the timer on my phone to get him dressed, and if he's not done by the time it chimes, I leave the room. (He hates that.) We tell him if he's done eating, we'll throw the food out, or we tell him he can go to school without breakfast. And for the toothbrush refusal, we'll generally count him down to time out. Or else DH just carries him upstairs.

Basically it's a constant game of calling his bluff. Eventually he's going to take it too far and we really will miss the bus. But I've decided there are worse things in life and we'll just have to drive him those days.

Packing an a.m. snack for him has been an interesting challenge, because of the no-nut rule, and my desire to get protein into him whenever possible. I tried making granola bars from scratch, which is actually not hard -- unless of course you use the wrong size pan and you end up with granola crumble. But it tastes good, anyway, so I have bags of it in the freezer as needed. (Unless DH eats it all.) I also stocked up on whole-grain Goldfish, for whatever that's worth, and sometimes I just give him fruit, because he loves it. 

We even got the 504 issue resolved -- the coordinator added the missing item, sent a new plan home in our "welcome to kindergarten!" packet, we had it back to her the next day. Oddly easy. I'm hoping it stays that way.

I know the real test isn't how he does the first week, but how he does two months later, when he may or may not have gotten bored. But it's a hopeful start at least.

Angsting

School starts this week and I'm really, really hoping he's up to it.

We did get an updated report from his OT and it was pretty positive -- she saw a lot of improvements in behaviors, self-care, physical development, etc. So that's good. She did recommend he continue with the group sessions, which is fine, because he loves them. We've gotten a little ritual going, in which he and I drive to the session, he does his thing while I read/check Twitter/chat with other moms, then we have lunch together and he gets his inevitable grilled cheese sandwich. Sometimes we go to Trader Joe's after. Sometimes we go some place interesting, just because. (This weekend we got the oil changed in my car. He thought that was the coolest thing ever and was watching through the big windows as the mechanics did their thing.) He's good about ordering his own lunch and carrying his tray, and then helping to clean up when we're done. And then he falls asleep in the car on the drive home.

He and I went to the farmers market yesterday and he was great -- helped pick out veggies, stayed with me, didn't run off.  The rest of the day, though, he was a whiny mess  and I blew up when I discovered he'd dumped the liquid soap out of the dispenser and refilled it with water -- again. Especially irritating when you're trying to get the kids to wash hands for lunch.

 (I have no idea how to channel that habit positively. Give him a fish tank? Get him a water-filled toy? Make him wash dishes?)

On Saturday, we all went to a barbecue given by friends from preschool -- it was a lovely time. He was fine, except when he came careening down the backyard kiddie coaster before checking that the coast was clear, and slammed into one of the younger boys (who was fine, thankfully). And except when he drove the ride-on electric kiddie car a little too enthusiastically, and slammed into the table some of us were eating at. Luckily, as they say on Sodor, no one was hurt. There were absolutely no eyes poked out during the s'more making, and even though he threw a fit about having to go home, at least it meant he'd been having fun.
 So there are good moments and bad moments with him. I think there are more good than bad moments, these days. But the question is, will he have bad moments at school? How often will he be having these moments, and will these moments, in fact, be epic?

I'll feel better after this week. Theoretically. Maybe.

Operation 504 Plan: A success ... ?

In that we have one. Or we will once we sign off on it (there's one more thing I want added). And after we show it to kiddo's behavioral therapist for her opinion, in case there's anything we're missing. So we're sort of done, kind of not really.

But the meeting went well. The coordinator was open to whatever we suggested (preferential seating, classwork breaks, letting him stand up while working if needed) and had her own suggestions (provide a timer for him, rig a large stretchy band around his chair to help with the fidgets). She said what we came up with was a pretty standard 504 plan, and we could always add to it or adjust it as needed. So all seems promising.

I also checked with his occupational therapist, who suggested we wait a few weeks for him to settle in before looking for further input. She also said she thought he would "rise to the occasion" and be more or less OK.

I do think the extra things we did with him this summer -- keeping him home with a nanny, twice-a-week OT sessions -- helped out. He got a lot more one-on-one time, he hung out with buddies at the pool, he got swimming lessons and he's been in group OT for a couple months now, which is not only working him physically, but teaching him how to interact properly in groups. So he got a lot of practice in social skills and a lot of exercise (seriously, the kid's chest is rock-hard. I didn't know 5-year-olds could grow muscles).

It seems to me that ADD really means "attention deficit" as in, needing extra attention from the people around you. And acting out if you don't get it.

Will all the extra attention translate to better behavior in kindergarten? Will the 504 really be enough? I don't know. He can get bored -- and act out -- in .5 seconds or less. But at least there's the possibility that this will all go well.

People keep joking about the milestone of kindergarten and am I ready and can I believe it and boo hoo etc. Maybe I'd be in that mindset if kiddo were neurotypical. Really I'm just thinking, Please let him not run around/push/hit/yell/refuse to do classwork/scare off his friends. I'll save that whole misty-eyed thing for later. High school maybe.

In the meantime, he apparently needs two pocket folders and an old shirt for art class, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this big yellow bus pass. Staple it to his backpack?

Why scaring them straight doesn't work

Me: OK, kiddo, it's time to go potty.

Him: But I go potty all the time. I'm tired of going potty.

Me: But you have to go potty. When your body gets done digesting the food you ate, it has to get rid of the rest. Otherwise you can't eat any more food.

Him: Because then what happens?

Me: (proving I've watched too many Monty Python movies) Well, if you don't go potty and you keep eating food, then your body gets fuller and fuller and then it explodes.

Him: And then what happens?

Me: Well, then you've exploded.

Him: And then what?

Me: And then you can't eat any more.

Him: And then what?

Me: ... And then the doctor has to come and stitch you back up.

Him: And then what?

Me: And then you look silly because you have stitches all over you.

Him: And then what?

Me: And then people laugh at you.

Him: And then what?

Me: ... I don't know. But you still have to go potty.

Take him outside, they said

Who's they? A whole bunch of they's. Some of the books/magazines I've read. His behavioral therapist. Get him into nature. Help him release the energy. It won't overstimulate him. It'll be good for him. Etc.

Maybe they would like to do the honors next time.

I took him to Canal Day at Waterloo Village yesterday -- it's outside and there are interesting historic buildings to look at, and they were giving short boat rides on the canal. He likes boats. He also likes the song "Erie Canal," and his favorite part about the Crayola Factory was the little upstairs exhibit where you could guide a small boat through a canal, opening and closing the locks. So this seemed promising.

OK, first off, Waterloo is a little depressing these days. It lost funding, and is only open at all due to volunteers, so most of the buildings are closed. (Except, weirdly, the church in the middle of the village, which is still operational. I wonder what it's like to go to services there, in the middle of all those empty houses.) Some buildings were falling apart, and were blocked off with that orange construction fencing. One house had random plants growing through its front porch. I've been to other reconstructed historical sites -- Mystic Village in Connecticut, the Farmers Museum in Cooperstown -- and they're in much better shape, with actual staffs, and fun demonstrations and activities, and buildings in good repair. It's a bit of a sad contrast.

Kiddo did not notice these things. The things he noticed were 1. wide open paths to run on! and 2. a boat to ride on! So we hustled down to the dock. Luckily (or less so), we had the ride to ourselves.

The very nice gentleman who was giving the history talks during the boat ride was, at first, charmed by kiddo's gleeful enthusiasm. He used to teach college courses, said the gentleman, and kiddo was his favorite kind of student to have in class -- the kind who didn't realize how smart they were. Then, however, followed an absolute textbook example of the troubles kiddo is clearly going to have in class this year, as Teach got progressively more and more annoyed by his constant chattering: "Are those lilypads? Are we going to run over the lilypads? Can you steer the boat that way? Are there sharks in the water? What else is there? The boat's going really fast! I'm going to look over the back of the boat. Why are we turning around? Can we keep going? Is there a turtle? Where is the turtle? I don't see the turtle. Oh, there's the turtle!" And on and on and on and paying no attention whatsoever to Teach's history spiel, which, to be fair, was going to make no sense to a 5-year-old anyway.

Teach went from charmed to irked in about a minute. Comments included: "There are girls who don't talk as much as he does." and "Boy, his teacher's got her work cut out for her!" and "I hope his teacher gets some sleep!" and "Can you be quiet now while I talk to your mom?" Finally the other volunteer on the boat got up and tried to guide kiddo away so Teach could finish teaching in peace. I'd been laughing the whole thing off, politely, but geez, take a hint, Teach. Play to your crowd. Sing "Yankee Doodle Dandy" for him or something. But noooooo, he had a spiel about the Morris Canal and damned if he wasn't going to recite it to someone. Even if he had to repeatedly insult that someone's small child to do it.

I'm guessing Teach doesn't have grandkids.

I figured things could only go up from there, so we headed down the path to the gristmill, which still works, and was one of two buildings actually open that day, unless you also count the restrooms. So, uh, three. Kiddo loved the gristmill. They cranked it up and the giant wheels spun in the water and the cogs turned, and you can see where the flour would've come out. And you can repeatedly run up and down the stairs from the upper level to the lower level so you can see all the different parts of it. And then run up and down the stairs again. And then run outside so you can see the exterior of the mill and where it meets the water and then run back inside and down the stairs and up again and down again and up again and back outside and back inside ad nauseam. He finally ran away from me one too many times and I hauled him back down the path to the car. While he complained repeatedly about being hot and his legs being tired. I showed great restraint in not saying, "Well, duh."

So there you have it. We were outside. Also inside. But mostly outside. And it didn't calm him down. It revved him up. Unless the only real solution is to take him outside where there are no buildings whatsoever and the only exciting thing to look at is trees.

I think there's an arboretum around here somewhere.

Educational exasperation

So I attended another advocacy workshop, this one all about how to write 504 plans. At least I thought that was what it would be about, except it was actually about the law that governs 504 (The Rehabilitation Act of 1973, in case you were wondering) and about how 504 plans aren't as comprehensive as IEPs and no federal funding is allocated for 504s -- except for counseling, occupational therapy and speech therapy, for which funding comes from IDEA (aka the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, which governs IEPs). So basically if we can get OT written into kiddo's 504, we won't be paying for it, I guess. Other than that factoid, this was mainly stuff I'd heard/read before. Oh, and that schools won't necessarily give you all their records on the child's behavior issues, so you may not know the extent of the problem, and that schools won't necessarily follow the 504 plan and you have to monitor them closely. Also, the state doesn't monitor for 504 compliance. But hey, if you've got a problem you can file a complaint with the state.

Honestly, the more I delve into these things, the more depressing it is. Not once have I heard or read or seen anything positive about any school district anywhere doing anything right by its special needs kids. Everything is "They won't tell you what you're entitled to, they won't follow the plan, they won't understand your child's needs, they'll belittle your child or they'll stand by while other kids belittle your child, and your child will have a horrible lousy time in school while not learning anything or having a social life so get ready for years of misery. Or just homeschool them."

I scan the message boards on ADDitude magazine a lot and it's more of the same. "My child has ADHD, the school won't give us a 504 or an IEP because he's not failing/he's too smart/they think he just isn't applying himself, he has no friends, he has trouble in class, I don't want to put him on medication/we've tried medication but it doesn't work/the medication helps but he's still having issues, please help!!!"

I've been reading "Buzz: A Year of Paying Attention" by Katherine Ellison, in which the author recounts the year she spent trying to help her son's ADHD issues, while also dealing with her own ADHD. Good book, well researched and engaging, I highly recommend it. But even she notes, at the end, that her son's school never told her that he was entitled to services because of his diagnosis, and he had an excruciating few years until they put him on medication, did neurofeedback and a few other things. She's an investigative journalist and she didn't know about special needs services. Because no teacher or school official could be bothered to tell her.

The across-the-board negativity is what frustrates me. I'm perfectly willing to believe that some teachers and administrators are uninformed and/or incompetent, because a certain level of incompetency is built into any bureaucratic institution. (Read "The Peter Principle.") I'm having trouble believing that no teacher or official anywhere is going to be helpful at all. Somewhere out there, there has to be a teacher who actually knows how to work with special needs kids, or an official committed to upholding the law.

All of this, of course, may have nothing to do with our own district. I've heard good things about kiddo's school-to-be from other parents, but those parents' kids aren't special needs. We're going to have to see for ourselves how things go, starting off with when we meet with the school to write the 504 plan.

It would be nice to hear someone's success story, though. There have to be success stories out there.