The state of kiddette

I thought we could pause a moment and consider kiddette, or as I occasionally call her, Miss Thing (say it with attitude), since she's been largely ignored on thishere blog lately and well, I do have two children.

She is, as one colleague who's met her puts it, "quite a character." She's 3 going on 10. She's already perfected the art of running into her room, slamming the door and throwing herself on the bed, meaning I already know what her teen years will look like. She has no problem being utterly rude to boys if they're in her way, or if they're annoying her, or if she feels like it. She can already write her name -- legibly -- and she draws constantly. One drawing featured her and her brother inside, and then the two of them outside, in the snow, with mittens on. That I believe constitutes drawing a sequence, which is a pretty big concept, artistically. (Still stick figures, of course.)

She picks the most dangerous, age-inappropriate part of the playground -- whatever involves climbing -- and runs right for it. I stand beneath her just in case she falls. Probably I should shoo her toward the swings instead, but I hate to discourage her spirit of adventure, and I'm usually curious as to whether she'll make it. She usually does.

She especially likes to pretend she's whoever she was just watching on TV. Interestingly, she always picks the main character on a show, even if that character is male. Example:

Kiddette: "I'm Jake!" (Of the Never Land Pirates, if you've so far managed to escape that show.)

Me: "Hi, Jake."

Kiddette: "Say, 'Come on, Jake!' "

Me: *sigh* "Come on, Jake."

Kiddette: "Okay, Mommy Jake!"

There's a girl pirate named Izzy, but she never plays Izzy. Only Jake.

She likes to get out of bed after we've tucked her in and turn the light back on. Sometimes I catch her "reading" a book to her stuffed animals. We've found it's best to wait until she's asleep to turn the light off again, because otherwise she gets right back out of bed and flips the light on. Even after she's out, sometimes she wakes up just enough to turn the light back on, then goes back to sleep, and we don't notice till the morning. Thanks for the electric bill, kiddette.

She sits perfectly still for haircuts and then chases her brother around the house. She wears fairy wings and then roars like a dinosaur. She's this fascinating blend of "girl" and "not so much." She semi-routinely gets in trouble for talking back. I find her exasperating and hilarious and occasionally I'm a little in awe of her, because no one is pushing this kid around. That'll be great when she's a grownup. Less great now, but what can you do?


One of our friends, who has two sons, was asking me what the difference was raising a girl. I said, considering our girl, that I really didn't see a difference. Our friend seemed skeptical until kiddette ran by, gleefully yelling, and launched herself at the most age-inappropriate part of the playground. And then hopped on the huge ride-on electric kiddie car that she wasn't even remotely big enough for. And then our friend said, "You're right. There is no difference."

Well, with kiddette there isn't, anyway.

School buses are supposed to be safe, aren't they?

Not if a child falls asleep and gets left on the bus because the driver and the bus monitor apparently had selective vision problems and couldn't see him sitting there. This happened to cousin E. last week. Cousin H. first got word when she got a call from her carpool family saying her son -- who, like kiddo, has ADHD -- hadn't been on the bus. The best part is that the monitor tried to tell E. it was his fault. For, uh, falling asleep I guess. Because no kid ever falls asleep on a moving vehicle. Never happens.

The monitor was disciplined but for some unbelievable reason not fired. And cousin H. says the school is considering the matter closed. Nothing to see here, move along?

Except no. Because this is not what you would call an "isolated incident." Would you like to know how often special needs kids are abandoned on their buses? All. The. Time.

On April 23, an 11-year-old boy with autism was left on his bus in Oregon for eight hours. The driver and the paraprofessional who left him there were fired, and the district instituted new guidelines on transporting special needs kids, including student checklists for the employees to follow, which is such a smart idea it's a wonder no one thought of it earlier. No, really. Why didn't anyone think of it earlier?  

On April 22, a 4-year-old boy with speech and other issues was left by himself for 11 minutes on his school bus in Arizona. He fell asleep and, according to surveillance video, was not noticed by either the driver or the aide. But here's the best part, according to the ABC affiliate that got hold of the video: He woke up a few minutes into it, confused, and:

After several more minutes, a third school worker can be seen entering the bus, spotting [the boy], but not getting the boy any help. Instead, the employee walked to the back of the bus and continued working.


Oh, clearly the small child just felt like hanging out on the bus all by himself and missing school. No, don't trouble yourself, Bus Employee. The small child all by himself is clearly not your problem even though you WORK FOR THE SCHOOL DISTRICT.

 On March 11, an 8-year-old boy with a genetic disorder was left on his bus in the company lot for five hours in Jersey City (oh, way to represent, Jersey). He fell asleep, he woke up by himself, he hid because he was scared, and the bus driver and aide didn't realize their giant oopsie until they came back for their afternoon run. They were fired and charged with endangering the welfare of a child and endangering the welfare of a disabled person.

On March 19, an 11-year-old boy with autism fell asleep on his bus in Manhattan and the driver and aide -- oh, oops! -- forgot to check the bus before leaving it, police said. He was on the bus for more than two hours, in the cold. When he was finally discovered, his blood pressure was so low the school called 911. Driver and aide were arrested, charged with failing to exercise control of a minor, and suspended from their jobs.

On Feb. 5, a 6-year-old boy with epilepsy and a sensory disorder was left on his bus in North Carolina for an hour-plus while his mother waited at the bus stop, not knowing where he was. He suffered a seizure a few days later, which his mother thought might have been from the stress of the incident. No word on what happened to the driver, who was apparently a substitute.

On Jan. 14, not only did the driver leave a 4-year-old with special needs on the bus in Michigan, but the boy then got off the bus and started to wander around the neighborhood. Neighbors saw him and called the police. The driver, who should be forever and ever grateful that the boy did not get hit by a car, was suspended; the boy's parents opted to start driving him to school themselves.

On Nov. 27, 2012, a 4-year-old boy with autism was left on his school bus in Washington, D.C., for about five hours until the driver and aide got back on the bus for their afternoon shift and realized they still had an undelivered passenger. Seems the aide was sitting up front instead of in the back, where she belonged. Also, she and the driver had disabled the buzzer alert that would've forced them to walk to the back of the bus to turn it off, thus also forcing them to check for children. Isn't that amazing? They had a buzzer to remind them to do their jobs and it still didn't work. Both were fired, charges were supposedly in the works but I don't see an update on that.

 On April 16, 2012, a 3-year-old girl with special needs in New York state was left strapped in her car seat for more than two hours and required hospital treatment for mild dehydration. The driver and the aide were charged with endangering the welfare of a child and were fired.

In December 2011, a 3-year-old girl with special needs was left on her bus in Florida for about five hours, until the driver came back for the afternoon shift and found her. The aide was charged with child neglect.

In November 2009, a 3-year-old boy with developmental and speech delays and asthma was left strapped into his car seat on the bus for six hours in Florida. With, obviously, no asthma medication. The temperature inside the bus was reported at 80 degrees. The driver and monitor were charged with child neglect and quit their jobs.

Lest you think this is a peculiarly American form of incompetence, on June 5, a 5-year-old boy with autism was left on his bus in Ireland. It's unclear how long he was by himself, and an investigation was reportedly under way. And on May 2, a 5-year-old boy with autism fell asleep on the way to his school in the U.K. and was left on the bus for two hours. The driver was reprimanded, the assistant was fired, the school said, hey, the kid's been sick lately, who knew he'd actually show up that day? *ahem* I may be paraphrasing.

Would you like to know how long this extensive research took me to do? About .5 seconds on Google. That's how often this happens.

It boggles the mind. How, oh how do you park your bus for the morning and not notice that you're not the only person on it? Did you somehow think you were transporting sacks of potatoes and not children? Would you rather kick back with a magazine and let the kids drive instead?

If only I had a school bus driver to ask about this phenomenon. But wait, I do! Let's call her Mom.

My mother drove a school bus for our district for about three years. She is equally appalled by what happened to cousin E. (and all the other kids). When she was a driver, she says, she always walked up and down the aisle and checked all the seats to make sure nothing and no one had been left behind. That was district policy. And aides, she said, were supposed to sit in the back of the bus specifically to help check on things at that end. Break the rules, lose your job, end of story.

She thinks privatization is a factor here; districts outsourcing their transportation needs to an outside company that doesn't know the kids or the neighborhood and is most interested in getting the job done and going home. She left her job shortly after the district outsourced, and, she says, the sense of family was gone. Drivers weren't allowed to talk on the radios anymore unless it was an emergency. Drivers weren't sent out for periodic refresher training anymore. The knitting club disappeared. That sort of thing.


Is that the reason? Could be. Drivers who don't know the kids they're transporting probably also don't know how to handle special needs kids, and training costs money, right? (I would also like to blame basic incompetence.)

I really, really don't want this to happen to kiddo. And I even more don't want another child left on a bus long enough that their health is in danger. Because at some point that will end in tragedy.

Is it really so hard to just get up and walk down the aisle and make sure all the kids got off the bus? Really?

First grade encroaches

One of the things I like about our school district is the relative level of levelheadedness. For instance, the fact that there does not appear to be a kindergarten graduation ceremony in the works. I'm all for celebrating the end of the school year -- and the kids are having a party in class -- but I'm not convinced "graduating" from kindergarten is a moment that requires a gown-and-mortarboard ceremony. Sure, I'm delighted that he can read and write sentences (more or less) and seems to do well with math and does homework with a minimum of fuss, but I don't feel like he's gone above and beyond in his academic striving or anything. There was no colored-pencil thesis paper involved. He didn't conduct an in-depth academic study of the psychosocial undertones of storytime. Graduating kindergarten is just the thing you should do. By the time you're graduating high school and college, things are a little harder. Just my opinion. I'm sure we'll take him out for ice cream or something, and that should do it.

I am of course concerned about next year. It's a full day of school, not a half-day, and the work will be harder and who knows how understanding or proactive his teacher will be. I've read enough online from other parents to know that getting a teacher who "gets" ADHD is a bit of the luck of the draw. Sometimes you get teachers who say things like "Well, I think all first-graders have 'ADHD'" or "He would do so well in class if he would only apply himself" and completely not know, or not care, that a classroom setting is the wrong place for an ADHDer to excel, and that they have to do it in spite of themselves. People think it's a moral thing, not a neurological thing, even though studies keep coming out that prove otherwise.

Like I said, though, it's a nice school district, and they've been pretty good about accommodating us so far, so I might be worrying for nothing. I just really liked his teacher this year, and felt like she "got" kiddo and was willing to go the extra mile to work with us on him. She emails constantly, and she's called us on the weekends when she had concerns about things.

It probably helps us that kiddo is such a likable kid. Sure, I'm biased, but he is just ridiculously sweet and charming and friendly to everyone on the planet. He has this lovely desire to be helpful, whether it's helping kiddette get her shirt on or helping me pull the weeds out of the patio. Granted, he then stacked the patio bricks up and jumped over them, pretending he was Super Mario, but that's to be expected. (Aside from: How does he know who Mario is? Is he sneaking off to 1980s arcades when we're not looking? Does he have a secret NES setup in his room? And should I introduce him to Tetris next?)

So he might be OK next year. I guess. I hope. In the meantime, we're supposed to spend the summer working on his sight words and keyboarding skills -- yes, really, the district set up a program we're supposed to be logging him into, meaning one of us is going to have to share our laptop with him all summer -- and we'll keep reading to them all summer, obviously, so he'll be prepared academically, theoretically.

Incidentally, don't read "The Secret Garden" to your 6-year-old boy unless you'd like to have a long, in-depth discussion about cholera. Not actually the part of the book I was hoping he'd focus on.

... and the children have grown tired of playing Buzz and Woody in kiddette's room, and would like breakfast.

When ADHD kids socialize ...

... it's actually kind of wonderful, because they won't spook each other with their massive amounts of energy or their way of saying exactly the thing that's on their minds or their notion of "personal space" as merely a suggestion and not an ironclad rule.

Kiddo now has two such fellow ADHDers: his friend J., and his cousin E.

J.'s mom and I found each other through the ADDitude board for parents of ADHD kids. Turns out we each have a son with ADHD and a younger daughter, and we live pretty close to each other. In other words, instant playdate. We've gotten together a couple of times -- playing Legos at their house, playing stomp rocket at our house -- and we met up at the Fairy and Pirate Festival (where kiddette and N. proceeded to take over the bounce castle and the trampoline). Kiddo and J. had a slightly rocky start, in that kiddo's super-over-enthusiasm banged up against J.'s desire to exert total control over his environment (J. semi-near the end of a playdate: "Can we go home now?" I actually find the forthrightness a little funny). But by the second playdate they were buds, running around the house together.

Cousin E. is the son of my cousin H., whose voice of experience has been an enormous help through this whole ADHD journey. After much discussion and debate and one cancellation-by-strep-throat, we finally made the several-hour trek to visit them -- cousins H. and R., and kids E. and L. (yeah, I know the initials thing is getting silly. There's no way I can come up with nicknames for everybody) -- down South for the weekend. How'd it go? I've never seen kids who'd never met each other before decide quite so instantaneously that they were going to be friends and have the bestest of times together. (Sheesh, kiddo couldn't even wait for us to get out of the car when we got there. He ran on up to the front door and invited himself inside.) They played in the park together. They watched the Rolling Thunder motorcycle procession from the highway overpass together. They had massive giggle fits at the breakfast and dinner table together, while we parents listened in, chuckling, from the dining room. They played a rousing game of basement dodge ball together with R. -- except for L., the curly-haired little pixie, who peered over the banister to smile at me while I was taking pictures of the game. (She is so cute I can't stand it.) Kiddette and L., apparently in total solidarity, blew off their naps together. Kiddo and E. curled up on the couch together, practically on top of each other, while E. played video games. Kiddo announced to E. that he loved him.

One game they very quickly seized upon revolved around a sparkly wand thingy that they found enticing. E. announced that the wand had "the power of cuckoo!" and he and kiddo  spent much time chasing each other around to acquire the power of cuckoo from each other. Kiddo explained later that the power of cuckoo gives you the power to run really fast. Which means he's a little fuzzy on the definition of "cuckoo," but whatever.


The side benefit for me in all this, of course, is getting to bond with other moms who are dealing with the exact same things I'm dealing with. J.'s mom -- hereby known as L. -- and I almost immediately started in with "What works for you? How do you handle X? How does the school handle it? Is he on medication? What kind? Is it working for him? Are there side effects?" H. and I have been discussing such things for months, and she's helped me understand what occupational therapy is, what behavioral therapy is, etc. It's just nice to talk openly to another mom about this stuff and not have to defend or explain yourself.

And on that note, H. and I are both going to this conference in July, designed for moms of special needs kids. The first conference was held last year; I figure if it was successful enough to have a second one, it must have done well. There are going to be talks on how to successfully advocate for your child, and also spa treatments. I'm pretty psyched to go, to hang out with H. and to meet other moms, and I assume there will be wine available at some point.

So if you happen to also have a special needs child, come join us! There's no power greater than that of being understood.

... except, perhaps, for the power of cuckoo.

Unicorns and fairies (and pirates)

So the letter for show and tell on Friday was U, meaning, bring in something that starts with U. I love these impossible letters. What are you supposed to do with X, if you don't own a toy xylophone? (I realize everyone probably owns a toy xylophone. It's one of those things you would not necessarily have chosen for your child but that your child ends up acquiring anyway. Like temporary tattoos.) Really I think it should be acceptable to just write the letter on a piece of paper, in marker or something, and bring that in. Kiddo decided that his letter U should be a unicorn, because he knew that I could supply one.

I had a big love for unicorns when I was a kid. (This is how it shakes out. Regular-type girls love horses. Geek girls love unicorns.) Unicorn bedsheets. Unicorn necklaces. Unicorn T-shirts. Ceramic unicorns and unicorns full of bubble bath formula. Unicorn prints on my wall. "The Last Unicorn" on VHS. Unfortunately most of that has vanished with time. What's left, mainly, is my old My Little Ponies, some of which happen to be unicorns. How they all got in my closet is beyond me. They appear to have snuck in along with the Cabbage Patch Kid.

Anyway kiddo requested a rainbow unicorn. I have no idea what prompted that -- I'm going to blame "Dora the Explorer," because he's been watching it lately, and because I can -- but it just so happens that I have one. Her name is Windy. You can see her here. There's quite a bit of devotion to My Little Pony out there.

I'm not entirely sure how many 6-year-old boys ask to bring a rainbow unicorn to school for show and tell. I don't know that rainbow unicorns exist on the same planet as most 6-year-old boys. DH did gently try to explain that this was more of a girl toy, but kiddo didn't care. Well, shrug then. I gave him the unicorn.

He was quite taken with her, except that her mane kept getting in her eyes and that bothered him. But he took her to school, and that night she acquired a space on his bed, next to Cowboy Woody and whichever Matchbox car he'd chosen for night duty. The next day he asked to swap her out for a different pony, because her hair was still in her eyes. (The '80s ponies did all have that Veronica Lake thing going on.) I gave him a different pony, and he was happy.

And the next day, we attended the Fairy and Pirate Festival. No, really. This town event started off as the Fairy Festival, but clearly this was not gender-inclusive enough so it was amended. Kiddette wore her pink fairy wings. Kiddo wore his two-year-old pirate costume. They blended right in with a sea of little girls in sparkly dresses and wings and boys in bandannas and the occasional eye patch. Some of the business folk and craft vendors manning the tents, endearingly, also wore wings. There was a "bounce castle" -- okay, no, it was a bounce house, talk about inflation -- and a big slide and a treasure hunt and games and dance demonstrations. You have not seen cute until you've seen Irish step dancers performing with wings on.

I have to say, occasionally I am puzzled at how thoroughly geek culture has gone mainstream. Adults walking around in fairy wings. Summer blockbusters riddled with superheroes. "Star Trek" movies that actually make money. Teen romance novels full of vampires and werewolves. It's all very strange. Don't people know that only geeks are supposed to like this stuff?

Now how is the next generation of geeks supposed to rebel against the mainstream? Read "Babysitters Club" novels and play Scrabble?

My point is, it's weird. But kiddo and kiddette don't care about such things. They just liked the "bounce castle." And, well, I would too.

The week in ADHD news

So a study came out recently saying that the majority of pediatric specialists ignore the American Academy of Pediatrics' guidelines for treating ADHD in preschoolers. (I learned about it here; the full story is here.) Researchers at the Cohen Children's Medical Center of New York sent out a questionnaire to 3,000 specialists nationwide. The AAP guidelines, which were revised in 2011 to extend the minimum age for diagnosis from 6 down to 4 -- in other words, the age at which kiddo was diagnosed -- say behavioral therapy should come first, with medication as more of a last resort. In other words, what we did. But more than 1 in 5 specialists said they go with the drugs first.

Sigh. Any second now I expect the NY Times to weigh in on the terrible terrible overmedication of America's youth, while once again not managing to find a single child or parent actually dealing with ADHD to interview about it.


OK, why do I think doctors (and/or parents) opt for medication first? Because it's covered by insurance. Basically the reason we haven't been back to kiddo's behavioral therapist is because she dropped our insurer, and while she offered to keep seeing him at the co-pay rate, we felt like that was more of a short-term favor. Most occupational therapy facilities (and, I have a feeling) ABA facilities don't take insurance, and after our ongoing aggravation with the OT Facility That Wouldn't Quit Billing, I can understand why. They're not equipped for that level of paperwork. So what are parents supposed to do if they can't afford to pay for therapy out of pocket? They go with what's covered.

Also, behavioral therapy is a long-term time commitment. I had to come in to work late on appointment days; kiddo occasionally missed part of kindergarten. It helped, sure, and we got some good advice on dealing with him (this is most of the point). But not everyone can make that kind of commitment.

And also, I think there is such a general lack of education out there about ADHD and other mental issues/disorders that people think the meds are what you're supposed to do. Got ADHD? Oh, well, get drugs. The other (and preferable, if you can swing them) options never come up because people don't know what they are.

I do find it troubling that doctors are just throwing medication at little kids to solve the problem. But I also think doctors will just throw medication at anything to solve any problem. Case in point: Many years ago I went to my doctor looking for help and advice about my insomnia. He rolled his eyes and gave me a prescription for Ambien. I'd actually kinda been hoping for an informed discussion about what might be causing the insomnia and what I could do about it, but sure, OK, Doc, I'll just take these meds and quit bothering you. The upshot: I took it maybe three times, didn't like it and stopped. And then I had children and insomnia basically ceased to be a problem, because when you have kids you're always tired and will never turn down an hour or 15 of sleep if you can get it.

So you want doctors to stop overmedicating kids? Great. I'm with you. But how about getting doctors to stop overmedicating the entire rest of the country while you're at it?

Bringing me (tangentially) to point number 2: This is Speak Up for Kids month, according to the Child Mind Institute in New York. (And you thought it was just Mother's Day.) The institute, which helps kids with all manner of behavioral and learning disorders (and has a pretty informative website, do check it out), runs a campaign every May to inform people about these disorders and about how kids' mental health is disregarded and underserved. I can't say they're wrong. If more people (and more doctors, apparently) really understood ADHD or autism or OCD or Tourette's or any number of other issues, they'd be better prepared to help kids who have them, wouldn't they? And maybe overmedicating would be less of an issue.

Anyway, that's my four or five cents. Now I have to get back in bed so the kids can serve me breakfast. Happy Mother's Day, all.

Status quo, maintained

I asked the school about ABA therapy, noting that our pediatrician strongly recommended it and wrote us out a prescription and everything, and also noting that I'm worried about how kiddo is going to do next year when he switches to a full day of school. The school folks are checking into it, but noted that they would have to get clearance to arrange such services for a non-IEP student.

Well, I knew that whole "he doesn't need an IEP, he's doing great academically" decision would come back to exasperate me at some point.


In all honesty, his school has done a lot for him -- classroom accommodations, OT, social skills group, regular meetings to discuss progress -- so I can't really complain. The boards on additudemag.com are full of parents upset that their school won't give accommodations or won't follow the 504 plan or won't discuss issues with the parents or won't even acknowledge that ADHD is a real thing, and write the kid off as lazy/stupid/badly parented. We're in a pretty good place, comparatively.


But I do think he could use the therapy. I'd rather go the extra mile now, than wait until he's really floundering and try frantically to make up for lost time.


I will say kiddo has one thing very much going for him: He's a dancing fool. We were at a first communion party yesterday, with a dance floor and a kid-friendly DJ and everything, and he basically danced the whole time, except when he was eating. It's hilarious and adorable (and in about eight years, will serve him well at school dances). Some of the other boys at the party were out in the hallway instead, tumbling around and tackling each other and throwing a ball around (and probably threatening the nice loungy furniture), and I know if kiddo had joined them he would've taken the roughhousing that half-step too far and hurt someone, or gotten in trouble -- inevitably being the only one to get in trouble, and not understanding why. So dance away, my son. Rock it Gangnam Style.


Only downside to the day, really, was the ice cream bar and the cake and the chocolate lollipops. Which were tasty, don't get me wrong. But I knew all the sugar would probably cause issues for kiddo, and I was right -- getting him out of the house this morning was a nightmare. He actually got out-and-out oppositional -- "No! I don't want to brush teeth! I want to play!" and running off -- which he hasn't done in a long time, certainly not since starting the medication. It's a conundrum, situations like that. Do I tell him he has to be the only kid in the room not eating dessert? Or do I suck it up and let him go all wonky later on? It's a lose-lose situation either way, seems like.