179 to go

The first day of school, as far as I can tell, went well. I say that because this is how the conversation with the kids went:

Me: "Did you have a good day?"

Kids: "Yes!"

Me: "What did you do?"

Kids: "I don't know."

Me: "Who else is in your class?"

Kids: "I don't remember."

Hey thanks, kids, glad we had this talk.

DH reported that kiddette somehow managed to follow the first-graders right into their classroom, briefly fooling the teacher, and then needed to be brought back to her rightful kindergarten class. Which surprises me not at all. Wherever kiddette is, obviously that's where she should be, and of course everyone should be delighted to see her.

Today, she insisted on standing bus-lookout at the corner, and was the first one on. She said she couldn't wait for "a new adventure today" in kindergarten. That's my little Hermione. (This is actually a compliment.)

The smaller bus, per kiddo's brand-new IEP, seems to be working out fine. He runs right onto it. There are only a couple other kids on it, and an aide, so we shouldn't (I think) have any overstimulation/bad behavior issues. The only possible issue: There are a bunch of neighborhood kids at our bus stop, and kiddo is the only one who gets on this bus. I haven't explained why to the other moms yet. Usually I have no problem saying "Yes, my son has ADHD, I'm sure you can tell from all the running around," because if I'm going to acknowledge it, I'm going to crack a joke in the process. But I did that at a party over the weekend and DH wasn't thrilled; he thinks I'm setting kiddo up to be pre-judged. Maybe. So I decided that if the moms ask, I'll explain, and if not, I won't. Anyway no one seems bothered. His bus arrives first, so today the other moms helped me holler at him to quit goofing with his friends and get on. He yelped, came streaking down the sidewalk and jumped on the bus.

I haven't sent in the weighted vest yet, because 1. it's hot in that school and 2. the vest is actually in kind of sad shape. It's missing a snap and I'm not sure I can fix it. Sewing? Not one of my major skills. I fail the Martha Stewart School of Domestic Perfection.

I ran right from first-day dropoff to meeting with our new behavioral therapist. We had a good conversation; she seems nice so I'm hoping she can help. I did have to explain to her what "social communication disorder" is -- THAT'S how new the term is, if parents know more about it than the professionals.

And I've spent approximately the last week fighting with the pediatric psychiatrist's office about getting kiddo's records, so that we can bring them to the new practice. In the span of three phone calls, I heard "Sure, we can get those together for you," "Oh, you need to come in and fill out a form, and then the form needs to be approved by the head of the practice and by the other departments, and oh by the way it'll take two weeks," and "Oh, we charge 25 cents a page, do you still want all the records? He's been coming here a while. Oh, just the medication records? OK, you need to fix the form then." Thus perfectly illustrating why I went and found a new practice in the first place. Well, that and the fact that our regular psychiatrist has been MIA, no explanation given, for three-plus months and the head of the practice wasn't interested in having actual conversations with us despite the brand-new diagnosis, and recommendation on meds, we'd just gotten from the independent evaluation requested by the school. (He finally suggested we discuss a plan for the school year at our final meeting last week, apparently not cluing in that I meant it to be the final meeting. I politely explained that we'd be having that discussion with the next psychiatrist.)

I sincerely hope this round of doctors and therapists is more helpful than the last round. This just gets exhausting.

So we'll call things cautiously optimistic, and see how it goes.

It's just crazy

Every single time something involving mental illness or mental issues becomes news -- say, someone with a psychiatric history gets into a shootout with police, or a beloved celebrity kills himself -- noted experts always weigh in to say they hope the greater awareness of these issues will help "change the stigma" of mental illness. As though "changing the stigma" is also going to increase access to mental health professionals and give people the cash to afford such professionals. Not to mention, absolutely ensure that therapy/medication/neurofeedback/deep breathing is going to be the exact thing the patient needs. Sure, that's all it takes obviously.

But every single time I hear experts talking about "changing the stigma" I can't help but feel like those experts don't listen to how people talk.

"Man, that party was crazy!"

"That girl is nuts."

"All the traffic was making me insane."

"Getting the kids to school today was just total madness."

And that's just the general terminology. We can get more specific.

"He is so anal-retentive about cleaning the dishes."

"Did I lock the door? I get so OCD about that stuff."

"I'm doing 15 things at once today, I'm just completely ADD right now."

"I'm so depressed that summer is over."

"This show is funny and sad and funny and sad. It's totally bipolar."

Now I'm not interested in being The Word Police. I've used some of the above terms and I'm absolutely not holier than thou (or anyone else). But you can't exactly change the stigma of mental illness, or mental disorders, when the language of mental health has been co-opted as slang. When the terms used to describe mental illness or mental disorders are being used, on a regular basis, as jokes.

I don't know how to change that. People dislike being told they can't use this word or that word and then they go on rants about political correctness and how no one is allowed to hurt anyone's feelings anymore and society is stifling them and blah blah. But I do think occasionally reminding people what those words actually mean, and that these are disorders people legitimately suffer from, might -- maybe? -- bring a little bit of understanding.

At any rate, it would make for a more interesting conversation than constantly parroted repetitions of "We have to change the stigma!"

Is the kid alright?

I mean, I hope so. We've worked pretty hard to make him so, the past couple of years, after discovering that the moodiness and the excessive energy and the inability to focus and the inability to hear what people were saying to him added up to a diagnosis. We've continued to work on it even when I swear every single medical professional we've reached out to has somehow punked out on us. For example:

1. The occupational therapy facility promised they knew how to work with insurance companies, then completely mis-filed three months' worth of invoices, then called me in a panic, said kiddo couldn't come back until the money was paid because lots of other people owed them money too and they might have to shut down, and could we give them some cash up-front and they'd pay us back? A year-plus later, we got everything paid off by submitting every single claim ourselves, and had to explain to them that deciding to tack on extra money to your claim because gosh you had to spend all that time on the phone with the insurer is not, generally speaking, allowed. Kiddo never did get to go back there.

2. The pediatric psychiatrist has been MIA for two months' worth of appointments, which is doubly frustrating because I've wanted to go over the evaluation from the school's psychiatrist with her to see if we should change anything. We've gotten stuck with a different psychiatrist in the office instead, who spends .5 seconds discussing kiddo with me and then hands me the pre-written prescription. I'm looking for another practice.

3. The first behavioral therapist kicked things off by announcing, "I don't believe in medication." So when she also stopped believing in taking our insurance, I didn't fight hard to stay with her -- even though she did offer useful advice -- because by then, we'd come to believe that kiddo did need medication, and our belief and her belief seemed like irreconcilable differences.

4. The new behavioral therapist, whom we'd seen precisely once, was removed from our insurer's list in February. Unfortunately the office only discovered that TODAY. Less than a day before we were supposed to have our second appointment. I am not a loud person, but you probably could've heard me yelling at the office manager from three blocks away. I am, obviously, looking for another practice.

Practice makes perfect? I'd settle for practice makes competent.

And yet I know all the aggravation will be worth it in the end, if kiddo learns social skills, if he finds a way to settle in school, if his executive function skills improve, if he learns how to keep calm and carry on.

But it still knocked me for a loop when I heard about Robin Williams.

Now he was, despite what certain websites suggest, never officially diagnosed with ADHD that I can tell. (Or bipolar disorder for that matter.) His official issues were drug and alcohol addiction, and depression, at varying times. But if you ever watched him do stand-up -- as I absolutely did growing up, and loved it -- you had to have noticed the bam-bam-bam cracked-whip intensity of his performance, just a little moreso than other comics. Or maybe you watched "Aladdin" and marveled at how the animators were even able to keep up with his voice.

Plus there's his reasons for using cocaine. This is what he told People magazine:

"Cocaine for me," Williams told People in 1988, "was a place to hide. Most people get hyper on coke. It slowed me down." 

Who slows down on cocaine? Exactly how quickly does your brain need to be racing?

I feel like, whatever his mental issues really were, they weren't being properly treated. And if a universally beloved, massively successful TV and film star can't get the help he needs to keep his brain in check ... well, where does that leave the rest of us?

I mean, I can't even find a therapist for kiddo who takes our insurance for longer than a nanosecond.

I have to hope that what we're doing is going to pay off in the long run. I have to keep to the notion that previous generations flat out didn't know what to do about mental illness or mental disorders, and so did nothing. I have to hope that the whole "mental illness=moral failing" attitude is disappearing, because who could look at Robin Williams and say his whole problem was a moral failing?

I am never going to be able to watch "Aladdin" again without crying.

On the way in to work today, the radio station, randomly, played the Who: "The Kids Are Alright."

Yeah. I hope so.

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.