In which we get good news and then hit the beach

The good news being, kiddo will have an IEP next year, or more accurately, in about a month. It's a pretty extensive accommodation plan, and I'm hoping it'll help him get through the school day in more or less one piece. Delighted that the school officials seem to see kiddo for who he really is, and what he's really capable of, and we didn't have to fight for the help. Though to be fair, the school officials seemed equally delighted that we were so upfront about kiddo's issues, and what would and would not help him. Apparently there was this one time when they informed a parent her child was eligible for special education services, and the parent, who had apparently not been expecting this news, burst into tears. I sensed a bit of relief in the room that I would not be bursting into tears.

Frankly I'm relieved we're getting the accommodations, because then maybe kiddo will be able to, say, do his math classwork instead of hiding under his desk, or participate in gym (or Phys. Ed. or whatever they call it these days) instead of sitting in time out for getting too physical/not listening to the teacher/running around too much/whatever else he was getting in trouble for because I've lost track a little. Stigma shmigma. Why make him suffer through school if he doesn't have to?

Naturally, the first person to make a "short bus" joke in front of me is going to have to run and hide.

Having gotten that settled, we left for vacation, which was a multi-part affair. First we went to Point Pleasant and were issued a parking ticket even though we'd paid for parking and properly displayed the receipt. If DH wishes to contest the ticket, he can find some way to show up for the court date. How nice. You know, Point Pleasant, my husband grew up vacationing on Nantucket and he is already not impressed by your Jersey Shore-ness. Thanks for ensuring he'll never want to visit you again. Sad for me, since Point Pleasant and Seaside Heights basically defined my high school years, but it's hard to argue with an obnoxiously unwarranted parking ticket.

And that was before the car battery died. I was expecting the cop to walk back and give us another ticket for, I don't know, not having the proper dead-battery permit?

One new battery later, we headed up to Cooperstown, where the kids tore through the Baseball Museum in about .5 seconds. Historic uniforms and interesting stats are apparently not too interesting to the kids right now. They were much more interested in the ducks wandering past our table at dinner, which was right on the lake. Also, in the hot dogs. So at least they ate baseball food.

On to Grandma's house, where the kids practically pushed us out the door so they could have Mom- and Dad-free fun with Grandma. DH and I made our way over to Massachusetts, where we met up with relatives (thanks for the fun dinner, cousins!), then hung around Cape Cod (the flea market in Wellfleet is huge), then took the ferry over to Nantucket for a day. And here's where you really lose out, Point Pleasant: The beaches are nicer up north. No cigarette butts in the sand. No fee to get on the beach. Lots of shells for beachcombers (aka me). Gentle waves. No crowds even in July. I mean I can't even make the argument. It's frustrating for this lifelong Jersey girl but I think I may have been shortchanging myself on the beach experience. I'm hoping it's possible to get that experience somewhere closer than New England.

At any rate we had a fine time. We biked everywhere and ate fried seafood and made it out to the Downyflake for their utterly perfect doughnuts. We did a lot of road-tripping and random winery visits and made silly snarky comments about whatever five songs were on the radio. The kids also had a fine time, and I think Grandma may have recovered from their visit by now, but I wouldn't swear to it.

We got back yesterday. This morning, kiddo and I had our first appointment with his new behavioral therapist. And thus we get back to routine.

And another diagnosis

Which comes courtesy of the psychiatrist who evaluated kiddo as part of the IEP evaluation process. Kiddo currently has a 504 plan, which would be fine if the accommodations got him to the point where he could perform well academically, but his grades were starting to slip. Hiding under your desk instead of doing your math classwork will do that. The hope here is that he'll get approved for the IEP and an in-class aide, because I'm not sure how he'll stay on task otherwise -- and the work is only going to get harder. 

The school suggested another evaluation just to make sure we had the right diagnosis, and that we hadn't missed anything. So kiddo and I hauled out to the psychiatrist's office, where I spent the next three hours filling out forms. No, sorry, it just felt that way. Actually it was just over an hour. So much better, right?

Those social history forms depress me. "Does the child live with his/her biological parents? Are there any custody disputes? Has DYFS gotten involved? Is there a history of drug or alcohol abuse in the family?" Etc. You get the feeling that a lot of kids who go through these evaluations have bigger issues to deal with. 

The psychiatrist was nice enough, though she had that dripping-with-sympathy look on her face that I've gotten from other medical types. Like she was waiting for me to freak out when she said "social communication disorder." No time for freak-outs, lady. I've been through this whole diagnosis thing before. He's a lovely kid, yeah yeah I know. Now what is it he has again, and what do I do about it?

What he has -- well, that's seemingly a debatable point. This particular diagnosis is new to the latest edition of the DSM, aka the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. If this were a few years ago, he might have gotten an Asperger's diagnosis, or else PDD-NOS, aka "pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified." Since it is not a few years ago, we get to be a bit of a diagnostic guinea pig, I suppose. The basic point being, he shows some signs of autism, such as the inability to maintain eye contact, but not all of them, such as the hand flapping or spinning in circles.

Social skills are definitely an issue for him. Reading facial expressions. Getting too hyped up and thus overreacting to things. Respecting personal space. This just puts a name to it, I guess? I mean aside from the ADHD, which he most definitely has, in case there were any doubts. 

Among the recommended treatments -- and this does not appear to be set in stone, because the diagnosis is so new -- is behavioral therapy, which coincidentally we were looking for anyway, so that sort of worked out. We haven't gone to a behavioral therapist since the last one quit taking our insurance, and then we spent a year fighting with the occupational therapy facility about their inability to file insurance invoices properly, so we never found a new practitioner. We have an appointment set with a new one in a couple weeks, so we'll see what happens. 

In the meantime, we're hoping to get kiddo through day care all summer with a minimum of meltdowns and/or other incidents. More information on this whole SCD thing as soon as I have some.

The redeye vacation

So first let me say that kiddo overall did wonderfully on our return trip to DH's old family vacation resort (or as the kids know it, "the hotel," even though the hotel is surrounded by a lodge, a dining hall, a giant lake, a pool, tennis courts, a go-kart course, a bumper boat course, a nightclub and assorted other goodies. I think the kids' idea of what a "hotel" is may be slightly skewed now). Unlike on the previous visit, he never once ran away from our dining room table and out into the parking lot, in front of moving vehicles. Which alone is a win. Just once did he run outside the hotel without us, and we were heading to the exit anyway so he didn't get far. He more or less stayed with us when walking the grounds, although the entire resort got to listen to me doing this all weekend:

Me: "Excuse me, who's line leader?"

Kiddo and kiddette: "You are!"

Me: "And where should you be?"

Kiddo and kiddette: "Behind you!"

Then they lined up behind me like human ducklings. I first figured out this trick on the days I took them to church by myself, and it's remarkably effective, though it requires a few reminders.

In fact the only real incident involving kiddo also involved an exceedingly rude -- and I'm assuming child-free -- woman at the next table one night at dinner, who snottily told off DH because kiddo had "bumped into her like 20 times," meaning, he'd bumped into her large purse two or three times while running behind her. Slightly difficult for kiddo to avoid, since -- not to make a fat joke or anything -- she was sitting "like 20 feet" back from her table. I turned around and lit into her after she made another snotty comment, then went and complained to one of the staffers (MIL helped). I fully agree it was not my most mature moment. I'd love to be one of those Zen moms who acts appropriately in these situations, but despite my love of yoga, I am not Zen. See: the title of this blog. The staff assured us that this woman was only there for dinner that night, as a guest of the owner (people do own timeshares at this place), and she wouldn't be there the next night. So, problem solved-ish.

Honestly, though, if you don't want kids within 300 miles of your personal space, why are you eating dinner at a family resort that is utterly full of kids?

Anyway, so it was really a lovely time, except for my eyes.

I'd been testing a couple of new eye products -- free samples with an order -- and one of them caused some eyelid bumps. Huh, I thought, washed my eyes off, threw the products out and waited for the bumps to go away. I waited all weekend. Things got worse. Put it this way: I appeared to have a thing for red eyeshadow. Also, the swelling made it increasingly difficult to get my glasses on, or to blink properly. At which point the hotel staff sent over an incredibly nice EMS team, who told me where the nearest urgent care center was, and that I should visit it. They also said I look great for my age, which was nice to hear, as I'd spent the entire weekend hiding my face under my hair, teenage-girl style, in the hopes that no one would notice my eyes.

The equally nice folks at the urgent care center gave me a prescription, as well as the info that one of the products I'd used has a rep for causing allergic reactions. In fact, you look it up: Urban Decay Eyeshadow Primer. I am just annoyed enough to name the product. Apparently it's the silicone in it, which ewww. I already left a complaint message with the website I ordered from, though it was a freebie, so I don't know how far I'll get.

We were sticking around for the rest of the day after I got my meds, but I wasn't inclined to be around people if I could help it -- I looked like Rocky right before he said "Cut me" - so I got a Sunday paper and sacked out on the leather chair in the lounge, and read the paper all afternoon while everyone else did the resort activities. I know MIL thinks I missed out, but the truth is, sacking out on a couch and reading is about my favorite way to spend a Sunday afternoon, so I'd actually call that a win.

The eyes are still not 100 percent, but they're improving daily, and at some point it'll be safe to use eyeshadow again, which I will be more selective about from now on.

But the kids had a fabulous time, and we all ate too much good food, and the '80s revue was pretty entertaining, and I snuck in a tiny bit of shopping. Also, we won Name That Tune again, which was one of the goals for the weekend. So thanks to MIL for arranging things, and it is good to know, for any future visits (I assume there will be some), that the EMS staff is really nice.

Also, I tried out the archery range and, though I haven't done archery since high school, got the target four out of five times (three in the blue), despite my puffy eyes. Katniss? Katniss who?

Put the tablets away.

Restaurant dining is more or less a minefield for an ADHD parent. You have to be mindful: Will he stay in his seat? Get bored and act up waiting for his entree? Will he be too cold or will the noise around him be too loud? Will he settle for hiding in his hoodie or will he hide under the table? Will something cause a meltdown and will you have to haul him out of the restaurant until he calms down?

Will you get to eat a single bite of your meal in relative peace?

I never of course considered the tablet factor. Which is because I would never dream of letting my kids play with a tablet in the middle of a restaurant. They're out at dinner, it's a special occasion, they should have actual conversations with the other people at their table. At most, I'll give the kids pens and let them draw on the placemats until dinner arrives, presuming the placemats are paper.

But let's just say the parents at the next table were working from a different playbook (one that's battery-operated, clearly), because their kid was on his tablet the whole meal. Even though it was a semi-expensive place generally used for special occasions. Even though, judging from the large group at the table and the presents and such, they were there for granddad's birthday. Nope, the whole meal. I know this because kiddo's eyes were glued to the screen for our entire meal.

He's not capable of looking away from a screen when one is available. He kept kneeling on his seat, craning his neck to watch the other kid ignore his loved ones and play Minecraft. Then he snuck over to the other table to watch from behind the kid. Over and over again, no matter how many times we shooed him away.

Vastly irritating, made more so by two factors: 1. There were 10 of us and no way to easily move to another table and 2. Every single other table around us also featured a kid on a tablet so there was no escaping it.

Seriously, if you're just going to hand the kid an electronic babysitter so he shuts up, why are you bothering to shell out the cash for nice food? Get the kid a real babysitter, send out for some pizza and leave. That way no one has to pretend to enjoy the others' company.

One of kiddo's relatives, who was trying to be helpful, pulled out her own tablet so he would leave the other kid alone. Except that this was what we were trying to avoid in the first place. Why? Because when the cake and the candle showed up, kiddo was too busy playing Plants vs. Zombies to notice that we were singing Happy Birthday to Daddy, and when I tried pulling the tablet away so he'd join us, he freaked out.

For the remainder of the meal, kiddo either obsessed about wanting the tablet back (no way) or hung around behind the other kid and watched him play. One lady from the other table, clearly thinking she was being nice, walked by and assured me it was no problem if kiddo watched the gameplay. What I did not say was, "Actually it would be really helpful if you took that stupid tablet and tossed it in the nearest Dumpster so that my son would calm down for five minutes and I could salvage some part of this meal." Because, you know, probably not nice.

To be clear, I don't object to the general use of tablets and phones. I use my phone a lot. I love my phone. But I don't bring it to the dinner table. And I'm perfectly OK with kids using a device until the appetizer shows up, or until the entrees show up, as long as that's their cue to quit their game and start making eye contact with people.

I am most definitely not OK with other parents making my job harder. Especially since my kid -- the one having the freakout -- was the one who looked like a bad kid, not the other kids sitting silently at their tables, obliviously using their tablets.

We're unlikely to have 10 people to dinner again anytime soon, though, so next time this issue comes up -- and I have no doubt there will be a next time -- I'm going to ask the waiter to switch our table. I'll request a no-tablet zone.

T-ball follies

So T-ball is going ... just about as well as I expected.

Kiddo crouches down and plays in the dirt instead of covering second base (or third base. Or the pitcher's mound. Or the outfield). It's probably a minor (league) miracle that he hasn't gotten clonked in the head by the ball. At bat, he swings approximately an hour after the ball has whizzed past him. When the tee is set up, as opposed to a human pitcher, he does actually hit it and run to first, so there's that. But when he isn't running the bases, he isn't paying attention.

He did tag one kid out at third, to be fair, a momentous event. I was too shocked to cheer.

We'd hoped getting the glasses -- in which he looks quite dapper, incidentally -- would help focus him, in that he could, literally, focus. But seeing the field more clearly doesn't seem to make him any more interested in looking at it. And he's just as likely as before to have a meltdown if he gets tagged out, or doesn't get to be catcher, or sees a teammate getting tagged out, or basically there are lots of meltdowns.

I know there are Major League Baseball players who have ADHD (for instance, Shane Victorino), but I'm feeling fairly confident in predicting that kiddo will not be one of them.

Our friend M. points out that we should let him play for as long as he wants to, then be done when he decides he's done, which is fair advice. But I have to admit that every time he has a meltdown or starts digging in the dirt instead of covering second, I am secretly thinking growl, because I called it.

He does more or less seem to be enjoying himself, and he'll definitely enjoy the end-of-season ice cream trip, so there's that.

Anyway we'll keep helping him figure out the thing he's actually good at, and once he's got that, I expect he'll finally find that focus.

Fuzzy caterpillars and caffeinated ants

First kiddo flunked his eye exam.

He couldn't read the bottom line of the chart. Or the line above that. Or the line above that. Or the next line. The doctor's assistant giving him the exam asked if this had been going on for a while, and I said, no, this is news to me, wondering how soon I could get him to an eye doctor.

"What do you see?" I asked him later, in the car, and he said that things far away are blurry. "When I'm sitting at my desk, I can't read the whiteboard. The words look like fuzzy caterpillars."

I do admire kiddo's accidental poetry.

Why is it kids will tell you all about the Lego truck they're building or the complete plot of an episode of "Paw Patrol," but fail to mention that they can't read the whiteboard at school? Doesn't that seem like the important thing?

But aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?

I can't say I'm surprised really, though I'm kicking myself a bit for letting him go too long between eye exams. My parents figured out I needed glasses when I couldn't read the blackboard at school (I was a few years older than kiddo). DH wears glasses. All of our parents and most of our siblings wear glasses. We are a nearsighted lot. Inevitably one or both of our kids were going to need glasses.

Kiddo seems more or less excited by the whole thing. He's very focused on the box the glasses are going to come in, and whether he'll get a box, and when will he get the box? And he insisted on blue frames. He so rarely expresses a fashion preference of any sort -- if the clothes cover his body, he's happy -- that I went along with it.

Next of course we'll have to drill into him proper glasses care, and not misplacing or tossing the glasses anywhere, and how to clean them with the proper cloth and not your shirt. (I know everyone secretly uses their shirt at some point or another. Still better to discourage it.) I'm sure this will go well. I'm also sure we'll be taking advantage of the one-free-replacement clause, after kiddo attempts to find out whether glasses fly.

When I brought him back to school after the eye exam, we were met with suspicious giggles from the office staff. And a couple of ant jokes. Already I was worried. And then they explained: The previous day, kiddo had been sitting in a front room, not sure why -- maybe to talk to the 504 coordinator -- and he happened to notice a bunch of ants. And he happened to be sitting near the office coffee pot. Which was full of coffee. He decided to kill the ants, and by the time anyone caught on, he had created ant-flavored coffee.

Let me repeat. He put ants. In the office staff's coffee.

"He didn't understand what he was doing," one staffer assured me. "It's a boy thing."

"We do have an ant problem in that room," said another. "It was an organic solution."

Don't you feel like they should've been mad, all things considered? At least mildly miffed? Because if someone spiked my tea with ants, I'd be pretty annoyed. Nothing gets between me and my caffeine.

But no. A third staffer waited for kiddo to walk back to his classroom before, chuckling, sharing the kicker: Kiddo watched her pour out the coffee and said, "Wow, they're all dead. Except that one. He must be a ninja ant."

I bet you had no idea ninjas came in ant form. Oh, the things kiddo can teach you.

The glasses should be ready in about a week, and then we'll have the new, improved, four-eyed kiddo. No word on whether the remaining ants have already skipped town.

On being the LCD

Meaning, lowest common denominator. See, I remember some stuff from math class. I just justified my education. Now if I could figure out how to calculate the tip on a restaurant bill, I'd be absolute genius level.

DH and I are the LCD. And so are you, if you're a special-needs parent. You're the one who knows everything there is to know about your child and your child's diagnosis, and what's worked in the past and what hasn't, and which medication your child is or isn't on and whether that's the second or third medication you've tried. You know the names of all his doctors and his OT and his teacher. You know her favorite book and her favorite color and what she's thinking about when she melts down. You know how he does in karate class or how she does in ballet. Everyone else knows a piece, a part, one thing. You know everything. You are the lowest common denominator in this equation.

I was reminded of that fact when kiddo had a bad time last week and got himself suspended from the bus for a day. He likes to be first off the bus. Several times he's pushed other kids to get in front of them. The driver was worried a kid would fall down the steps. I get it -- it's dangerous. Kiddo shouldn't be doing that. At the same time, I get kiddo -- he's not trying to hurt anyone. He genuinely didn't realize he could hurt anyone. He just wanted to be first. When his mind is locked on a thing, it's difficult to get him unlocked.

Fortunately the 504 coordinator gets that too, but it didn't prevent the suspension. Kiddo was also more defiant all week, talking back to us, more sullen, refusing to do things when asked, and more hyperactive than usual. Which is why I yanked him right off medication #3 and he's back on #1, which seems to have calmed things somewhat. It's not a perfect fix -- he's still hiding under his desk instead of doing his classwork -- but his usual sweet personality seems to have more or less emerged.

DH and I were displeased about the suspension. Sure kiddo should be punished if he does something wrong. But kicking a kid off the bus for a day is a bit more like punishing the parents, who then have to rearrange their work schedules to account for it. Also we would've been less aggravated if it hadn't taken 10 days to find out about the first infraction. What are we supposed to do at that point?

US: "Hey, kiddo, remember 10 days ago when you pushed a kid on the bus?"
KIDDO: "Huh?"

I mean he's lucky if he remembers what he had for lunch that day.

Anyway. DH and I requested a meeting with the school, to complain about the lack of communication and the lack of info we were getting about how he was doing. It's a good thing we did. One of the assembled officials had no idea we'd been trying a new medication. Another one was unaware that kiddo's social skills group had ended for the year. A third had revised his behavior chart but never sent along a finished version, so he was working without one. (Apparently kiddo has been doing fine without a chart, so we're leaving that one alone.) The assumption had been that we didn't want daily updates on kiddo's behavior, when actually we very much do. It seemed like everyone had a piece of information about kiddo, or about his accommodations, but DH and I were the ones who knew the most. And if we hadn't requested the meeting, possibly the officials would never have shared their information with each other (or us). 

We are the LCD. We make sure everyone is aware of everything. Because teachers and doctors, despite the best of intentions, are not going to be able to help kiddo unless they know everything they need to know. Ultimately, always, it's up to us to make things happen.

Kiddo really does seem improved this week, so here's hoping he keeps at it.