Heart Attacks and Loose Teeth

Sydney has become more aware of her peers and their opinions this year.  Because of her lack of impulse control and her inability to determine right from wrong due to the Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS), it can be pretty concerning. I always request that Sydney be exposed to positive peer models and the amount of time spent with children who have behavioral issues be minimized, but in a public school setting this is not always possible. Sydney has been acquiring lots of interesting knowledge this year to say the least. The school year began with her coming home with gravel in her pockets. She believed those ordinary rocks to be valuable.  It seems a boy on the playground told her they were fossils because they had little bits of color in them. When I asked what they were fossils of she explained the boy claimed they were the knee bones of Indians. That was the first week of school so I knew from the start it was going to be a very exciting school year. The same boy has given her a lot of “facts” about dinosaurs, insects, and weather that are not exactly accurate too.  I’m not sure if he believes the stuff he tells her or if he just makes it up as he goes along, silently laughing as my gullible daughter soaks it all up.

The most recent bit of misinformation that Sydney believes to be true is something she learned from a little girl in her math group. Apparently, a person can die of a heart attack if they are exposed to too much math in one sitting. This little girl claims her own dearly departed grandmother suffered “death by multiplication tables”. I’m having a hard time convincing Sydney that it couldn’t happen. 

Another tooth gone

The same sweet little darling classmate lost a tooth last week. Sydney could not be outdone. She came home and insisted she needed to take out a tooth. Unfortunately, there were no loose teeth in Sydney’s mouth. She wanted me to help her get one of her front teeth out and I explained it was a permanent tooth. She said, “I don’t mind. I don’t want that one.” It took two days of prodding and wiggling, but she found a baby tooth with just a little play in it and she got it out. It still had quite a bit of root on it and left a large hole but she was thrilled. She’d lost a tooth just like her friend. The reason she has so few teeth left to lose? This actually wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. In kindergarten and first grade the teachers had charts for the students to add a sticker to if they lost a tooth. Sydney loved the attention that came with putting a sticker on the chart so much she was willing to suffer the pain of pulling teeth that really were not yet ready to be pulled. The alcohol Sydney’s birth mother consumed while pregnant really did a number on Sydney’s threshold of pain.

Sydney has come home with some very entertaining stories lately. With help from her teacher, I’ve been able to unravel a few mysteries. Sometimes Sydney’s stories are like onions and I have to peel back a few layers to really get a good picture. Sydney and a friend were disciplined at school a couple of weeks ago for name calling in the classroom. The two girls had been picking on some of the boys. Sydney’s teacher wrote a note on the weekly calendar that the students bring home each week to let me know that Sydney had been in trouble. I never saw the note. When the teacher looked for my reply the next day, she saw it had been erased! I spoke very seriously with Sydney about it. Sydney claimed she did not erase the note. Her friend and partner in crime did it. I am pretty sure there is a “Leave it to Beaver” episode in this story somewhere.

Because of the name-calling incident, Sydney’s teacher decided the two girls would be better off sitting further apart and she moved their desks. Sydney confided to me right after school that day that the two girls had a plan to right “the injustice” of such a “cruel” punishment. They were going to DEMAND a meeting with the teacher the next morning and insist she allow them to be reunited. Sometimes it is very hard to keep a straight face when Sydney is telling me these things. I find third grade drama extremely funny. I could hardly wait to hear the next installment when I picked her up the following day. I had emailed the teacher to warn her of the coup attempt so she was ready for them. I so wish I could have been a fly on the wall during the girls’ plea for justice. Sydney never did understand why their demands were not met.

 

I’ve been overjoyed this school year because Sydney is making friends. Last year she was shunned by the girls in her class and bullied by the boys. This year she has had fewer of those sad sagas and is a lot happier. I suppose it could partially be the personalities of the different students in her class this year but I also see her maturing. She still has all the same disabilities but she is gaining some “street smarts” that she really needed. I know public school takes a mom’s innocent little five year old, exposes them to all kinds of words and ideas that they would be better off not knowing. I’m not really glad that Sydney or any of my other kids have ever come home to ask me what some filthy word meant. I’m not really happy that Sydney or any of my other kids have ever come home to tell me a filthy joke that they did not understand the meaning of. Those kinds of things I WISH I could have sheltered all my kids from.  However, by age ten, Sydney should have caught on by now that others do not always have her best interest at heart and that sometimes following other people blindly will get her into trouble. The FAS left her with so little impulse control, she has a difficult time thinking before she acts. If a classmate suggests an activity (even one she has been warned about), she does not (cannot) stop and consider the consequences usually. I believe she is beginning to develop some self-control that we have not seen before. So, I suppose when I count my blessings I should count her peers (even the ones with questionable intentions) as a blessing to us.

Here's a similar post if you want another great post: "Just Another Day in Paradise."

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What brought you here?

This past month we visited a pediatric psychologist at Children’s Mercy to get a diagnosis for Tate that will be accurate under the new guidelines that are being used in the world of autism. In recent years, the American Psychological Association (APA) used a tool called the DSM-IV-TR to diagnose Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASDs). ASDs included Autism, Asperger’s Syndrome and pervasive development disorder-not otherwise specified (PDD-NOS). In May 2013 the DSM-5 was introduced as the new diagnostic tool. This manual has eliminated the three subgroups. Tate’s doctors have told us that the word Asperger’s will soon be obsolete. It is my understanding that the new diagnosis for a child with autism will be Level 1, 2, or 3, with 1 being the highest functioning and 3 being the lowest.  Tate’s new diagnosis is Autism Level 2.  For more information about the new terminology and the new criteria I found this article helpful: http://www.autismspeaks.org/what-autism/diagnosis/dsm-5-diagnostic-criteria

Some think the motive behind the new criteria is to make it harder to get an autism diagnosis, thus bringing the alarming numbers down. I do not really have an opinion on the reasoning behind the change. I do hope that the new criteria will not harm the autism community and prevent children who need support from gaining it. 

In order to get the evaluation and the new diagnosis, the psychologist had to spend several hours with Tate. He gave her a pretty accurate picture of himself from the introduction. He asked, “Do you know what brought us here?” The psychologist assumed he was asking her to reveal the purpose of our visit and she said, “What do you think brought you here?”  He answered, “a truck.”  It got better (or worse depending on how you look at it).  While testing with Tate, she needed him to define words. When asked to explain what a car is for, Tate said, "A car is something you drive around in because humans are loosing the ability to walk." She asked him about posture and he started speaking gibberish. She asked him what he was doing and he said he was speaking Spanish, also called posture. When asked what an American is, Tate said, “When you are from America, you laugh a lot and smile and play in the sunshine. You also speak English or Spanish." So, he got that right! Ha. The doctor showed Tate a lot of faces that illustrated a lot of emotions. Tate failed to identify almost all of them correctly. The doctor asked him what a smile and a frown had in common and he said, “Both faces are round.” There were many, many more gaffes and blunders over the two days of testing. Some made us laugh and some made me want to cry.

Age 3

After all the testing, Shawn and I met with the doctor alone. The results and the recommendations from the doctor were both helpful and discouraging.  Going into Tate’s appointment for his diagnosis at age 3, and again at age 12, we had our eyes wide open. We already knew both times that he had autism and we had a long, hard road ahead of us. The difference between the first time when we heard the diagnosis “PDD-NOS” and the second time when we heard “Autism Level 2”, was that we had a lot of hope at age 3 that we no longer have nine years later. Originally, we fell hook, line, and sinker, for the idea that kids can “recover” from autism. We spent the thousands of dollars it took to get best-practice, early intervention. We spent the hours and hours it took to get Tate kindergarten-ready academically. We even made progress with a lot of social skills. We worked so hard and saw a lot of growth but we didn’t get the “recovery” that we had hoped for. I am still one hundred percent for early intervention and believe Tate is much less handicapped than he would have been without the hard work. Perhaps if we had not hoped for recovery we would not have worked so hard then. Perhaps if we had not hoped for recovery the reality would not hurt so badly now. I have learned not to dwell on “what ifs.”   

Regardless of what we call Tate’s disability, it is still the same disability and he is still the same kid. Tate still struggles in all the same areas. Tate still needs the same supports he did before the new diagnosis. We continue to make progress and I see it come in leaps and bounds sometimes. 

Age 12

Over the Christmas break, Tate’s oldest sibling, Titus, was home for a visit. He is sometimes able to explain things to Tate that I have been unable to. I told Titus we were working on teaching Tate about sarcasm. I know what you are thinking… Why would a Mom want to teach her child the art of sarcasm? Why would any mother in her right mind go out of her way to try and help her kid become sarcastic? Well, in the first place it is age appropriate. In the second place it is much like figurative language and joking that is over Tate’s head, causing him to miss out on so much of the conversation around him. Thirdly, we are constantly trying to make Tate see that not EVERYTHING has a concrete, literal meaning. Sarcasm almost always means exactly the opposite of the words that are actually used. So, Titus gave it a shot. He gave Tate a definition of sarcasm and some examples. Then we asked Tate to try. Tate looked confused. I said, “Tate, look at Sydney’s hair. It is a mess. What could you say about Sydney’s hair that would be sarcastic?” Tate responded, “Sydney, your hair is sarcastic.” Lesson fail!! I’ve been hammering away at it ever since though and pointing out sarcasm whenever we use it or hear it. Sunday, we sang a really short hymn in worship and Tate leaned over and whispered, “THAT was a long song.” Then he looked at me and smiled. Now, normally would I praise one of my children for saying something sarcastic about a worship song? Would I ordinarily get excited about whispering and joking during worship? NO! I would not. BUT… I almost came out of my seat I was so ecstatic. I pulled Tate over to me and excitedly whispered, “Tate! That was sarcasm! You did it! You said something sarcastic! Good job!” I know that eventually I will probably regret these lessons in sarcasm. I know this because four of my seven children are now sarcastic, young adults who did not need my tutorials to become that way. I had a shot at mothering a child without ever having to hear those sarcastic comments that come so easily to the others, but I am a glutton for punishment because just today I said something sarcastic to Tate and then said, “Did you hear that Tate? That was sarcasm” and he smiled. 

This is another post you might enjoy about language: Who's on First?

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Sometimes Moms Like to Remember: Shopping Trips

It has occurred to me a few times lately upon seeing large families out doing their shopping, what I must have looked like when I took five, six or seven kids with me to a store.  There were curious stares and often comments like, “Are they all yours?” and “You certainly have your hands full.”  Coming from a fairly large family myself (I am one of six children), and having planned to have at least five or six children, our “crowd” just did not look that large to me.  They were spaced about two to three years apart and each baby was welcomed whole-heartedly. I really loved being surrounded by my kids. So sometimes when I see a young mother pushing a cart with a baby seat and a toddler in the cart and two or three (or more) children trailing along behind, I get a little nostalgic. Sometimes a mom likes to remember...

These days when I go to buy groceries, I do not have a shopping cart full of diapers, baby food, animal crackers, or jars of peanut butter or jelly.  I don’t have to make dozens of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches each week anymore. We used to go through a jar of grape jam every week.  And that reminds me: One of my favorite stories to tell is about a time when my second child was four or five years old.  It was a Thursday.  I know that because I always did my grocery shopping on Thursday mornings back then. We were at the grocery store and she loved to “help.” The truth is I probably needed her help because I was most likely VERY pregnant, making it hard to bend over, or pushing a cart with one hand and holding a baby with the other.  My babies never made it all the way through a shopping trip without wailing to be held and who can think straight with a hysterical baby right in front of their face?  Not me. So, I became very good at pushing a cart with one hand.  Back to that Thursday morning, so long ago… grape jam still came in glass jars and it was on the bottom shelf. My little helper followed my directions and picked up a jar of jam but dropped it on that very hard floor. The result was a purple, sticky mess with lots of glass pieces scattered around it. I found a clerk who made the customary announcement, “Cleanup on aisle five.” Soon, a young man with a broom and a mop came to the rescue.  I apologized profusely and he was very forgiving.  Fast forward to one week later.  My little darling again picked up a jar of jam, and that slippery jar ended up just like the one from the Thursday before. So, I found a clerk, heard the intercom call for a cleanup on aisle five, and we waited on the nice young man with the broom and the mop.  I was embarrassed and very apologetic as I had been the week before.  The man looked at the mess then looked at me. He spoke two sentences to me. He said, “Could you start coming in on Tuesdays?  That’s my day off.” It wasn’t long after that and jam started coming in plastic containers.  And now you know the reason for that! Ha. Sometimes a mother has to laugh off life's embarrassing little moments.

I have a lot of funny shopping stories.  Once, when we got to our shopping destination, I had a toddler fall out of the van. Head first.  I had an infant in a car seat balanced on my left hip and only one hand free and a split second to prevent my child from landing in the parking lot on her face.  I grabbed her by the ankle as she tumbled out and I jerked up.  And there I stood… with a baby seat on my left hip and a little girl (in a dress) dangling upside down from my right hand above a hot parking lot. THAT was a hard situation to resolve.  Sometimes a mom really does need more than two hands. 

Once Isaac was born, we almost never made it through a trip to any store without at least one person stopping us to ooh and aah over his beautiful eyes. Isaac has light blue eyes with a dark blue ring around the outside. Women often wanted to admire his eyes.  (They still do.) Around age three, Isaac had taken all of it he could handle. If a lady approached him he’d hide his face. If someone commented on his eyes, he would cry. Those poor ladies felt so badly for terrorizing a preschooler! I considered putting a paper bag over the kid’s head to hide those gorgeous eyes for a few years there. Sometimes mothers have to take drastic measures.

One of the stories I have told the most over the years is about the time my oldest son had a major meltdown in a fabric store. He was about four or five and at the time wanted to be a cowboy when he grew up. He had a gun belt, a toy rifle, a cowboy hat, and a spring horse he called, “Trigger.”  He loved to watch “Davy Crocket” and other movies in which the hero fought savages. We live near a town that is both the home of a state university and a small Indian University. The dramatic meltdown occurred when we were in a fabric store and a couple of men walked by. The men were very tan with brown eyes and long black hair, obviously Native American. My boy became hysterical, screaming, and scrambling to hide behind me.  He was shrieking, “Hide! They will kill us! They will get their bows and arrows and kill us!”  Luckily, the men found it amusing and were not offended as I offered them my excuses and regrets. Being a mother is sometimes very humbling. 

I normally blog about autism and this post would not be complete without memories of shopping with a young Tate. When Tate was around eighteen months old he had some very unusual behaviors. I did not yet know that these behaviors meant there was an autism diagnosis in his future. I only knew that he was unique and very sensitive to many things that he should have been able to tolerate and he was very aware of some things that he should not have known at all. It was one of the most curious things I had ever experienced but when we shopped we could NOT walk down the aisle that contained cookies or we paid for it. Keep in mind he was the sixth child. I had experienced tantrums in stores before. I had experienced scared children before. I had experienced children who were in pain before. If Tate caught sight of a package of cookies or if he HEARD the word cookie then he went from docile to inconsolable and frantic. There was no way around it.  I tried my best to do my shopping without Tate along for quite a while.  It is very hard to avoid all signs of cookies when you are in a grocery store.  Another thing Tate did in the stores began about age two.  He could “read” the product names by singing their jingles to me or quoting their commercial to me as we wandered through the store.  When we saw the Charmin toilet tissue he would say, “Less is more.”  When we walked past the cereals he rattled off jingles and advertising slogans one after another. I could hold up a tub of margarine and he could tell me if it was Blue Bonnet or Parkay. He was not exactly reading but he had all the products matched to their commercials. He could memorize commercials, picture books, songs, or movie dialogue after just hearing it a couple of times IF he was interested in it.  He still can but only IF it is something that appeals to him.  He cannot/will not memorize math facts quickly, the name of states, or anything useful that we would like for him to retain.  It is maddening the way his brain works! Mothers sometimes have to accept what they cannot change.

I have so many precious memories of my little ones. My kids continue to bring me joy as they grow but I will always miss them as babies too.  Things were often a blur when I had so many little ones all at once but I am able to remember many of the special things they did and I tried to write some of them down in their baby books too.  I have many more memories to share in the future. If you are a mother, jot down the embarrassing moments, the things that make you smile and the things that are unique about your child.  Someday you will be very glad you did it because sometimes Moms like to remember.

What did I do to deserve this?

What did I do to deserve a kid with special needs?

What did I do to deserve a kid that cannot express himself well enough to have a conversation?

What did I do to deserve a kid who cannot reciprocate my feelings of love?

What did I do to deserve a kid who can only think literally, a kid who never "gets" a joke, a kid who can never think "outside the box" or understand an idiom unless it is explained to him?

What did I do to deserve a kid that cannot empathize or sympathize with others, a kid who will never be able to see someone else’s perspective?

What did I do to deserve a kid that was so hard to potty train; a kid who wet the bed until he was as tall as I am?

What did I do to deserve a kid who cannot brush his own teeth or bathe himself without help?

What did I do to deserve all the doctor bills and therapy appointments that come with a child with special needs?

What did I do to deserve all the early morning wake ups and middle of the night interruptions?

What did I do to deserve a kid with irrational fears and unexplainable obsessions?

What did I do to deserve a kid whose diet is so limited I can list what he will eat on a very small piece of paper?

What did I do to deserve a kid that cannot make a new friend or maintain a friendship?

What did I do to deserve a kid who needs a special education teacher and his own one-on-one paraprofessional to be able to go to public school?

What did I do to deserve a kid who is a second or third grader on the inside, a sixth grader in age, and taller than all the adults in his life? 

What did I do to deserve all the lessons he has taught me?

What did I do to deserve all the friends I have made and the relationships I have ONLY because of him?

What did I do to deserve all the laughter?

What did I do to deserve a heart that swells with love every time I look at my special kid? 

I am so glad that God does not give us what we really deserve because if He did, I would never have been entrusted to care for and love a child as special as mine. 

If you'd like to see another post, click on this link: It's not such a bad life.

Find me on Facebook at Quirks and Chaos. Like what you read? Want to become a follower? Click on the Google Friend Following gadget on this blog. It's over on the right side and asks you to subscribe. Or you can add the URL (the web address in your search bar) to your Reading List. You can do that by clicking the plus sign in front of the URL. Thanks!