lessons learned from TV

Way back in '94 I moved down to Greenwich Village to share an apartment with  Howard, my then fiance. We were both in grad school, and our apartment was a fifth floor walk-up in the heart of the Village. 

Such a small space.

With three large windows, and no cross-breeze.

It got so very hot in that apartment. I can appreciate that heat now, sitting in my cold house wrapped in sweater and slippers. But back then walking up the five flights to the apartment was like performing a strip-tease. By the time we reached the door I was down to a tank top and shorts and bare feet, no matter how cold it was outside.

Moving in with my fiance stirred up some issues for me that I didn't even know I had. For instance it was really important to me that the apartment be clean, all the time. Which is really weird, because I'm fairly slovenly and quite lazy. So the end result of this new NEED of mine was that I was a tremendous cranky bitch all the time.

At some point, probably when Howard realized just how enormous a mistake he had made by proposing to me,  he told me that he didn't expect me to keep everything neat and tidy. 

It was one of those "huh" moments for me. Because if I wasn't doing it for him, then where was this maniacal urge coming from?

After years of contemplating, I finally figured it out. It came from my fictitious childhood. You know, the one that involved June Cleavor and Laura Petrie and Mrs. Cunningham? Except that by trying to recreate the calm and clean homes of TV I was acting like my own mother, who also kept a spotlessly clean home, but was never calm or smiling.

I've nearly gotten over my hang-ups about having a clean house.

But in the same way that I had wanted to conform to this TV ideal, I now see myself longing for the same notion of "normalcy" in my son. Taking him to school in the morning, imagining that the other children don't deal with the anxiety or other hang-ups that are part of our routine. Imagining that somehow, their lives are easier because of this.

Except that, just like with June Cleavor, the idea that a child can "act normal" is simply a social construct. There isn't a "normal" person in my whole family.  My husband and I are both odd-balls, so it is only natural for Daniel to be odd as well.

And even though there are things that Daniel does that I would like to change, I think in my heart it is his "odd-ness" that I love the most.

Maybe I just need to start watching some differnt TV shows... or stop watching TV altogether.

Aargh

Today I drove my son to school crying.

Let me back up for a minute.

Yesterday was a wonderful day.
My first day to myself since school started.
I scored some awesome stuff I needed on clearance at Kmart.
And Daniel was calm and happy in the morning and calm and happy and compliant after school.
He even did his homework without flipping out.

It was all so very good.

But here we are now. Today.

Not good.

He woke up screaming because he needed to wear long pants today instead of shorts.
And it just continued.

Four pairs of pants he tried on. Not one was ok . One was too bunchy. Another one too loose. The third one had an elastic that bothered him.

Twenty minutes wasted just on pants. And we hadn't even gotten to the socks, which have been our biggest bone of contention lately.

As you might remember, my rule for clothes for this school year, is:
"if you try it on and tell me it's ok, then you are obligated to wear it without complaint"

Obviously, there will be complaining. But the point is he has to start "dealing" with some of this.

So there were a great many tears this morning. He's wearing the fourth pair of pants and the same socks he wore yesterday. The pants aren't right and half-way to school he told me the shirt was bothering him too.

It makes a mom want to swear like a sailor.

Argh.

On the way to school I told him, "You know, if there were clothes out there that didn't bother you, I would buy them. I don't want you to be upset by your clothes. But I have looked everywhere, and I just don't know what else to do."

He thought I should keep looking.

I will. Of course.

My husband just IM'ed me saying he'd like to buy a sewing machine. His solution is to make Daniel's clothes. I don't even want to touch that one.

But honey, if you want a sewing machine, go for it. Could you make some curtains for me? Insulated, perhaps?

Daniel has a play date after school today. I'm hoping that the clothes issue will fade into the background as the day goes on. I'm hoping that the play date will distract him.

I'm hoping that gradually he will become somewhat desensitized to the seams and the fabric and all of it.

I'm really hoping that something good will come of this, and I'm not just making him miserable.

not a bunny... but still furry

Daniel has taken the bus since he was in Pre-K.

Back then the teachers practically insisted on it, saying that it would make the transition from home to school easier.

Of course this was a special-ed Pre-K so the teachers were given a status very close to God, seeing as they were going to transform our misfit and "differently-abled" children into what would pass for normal by kindergarten.

So Daniel took the bus.

In Kindergarten he was still classified as special-ed so he got his own bus to and from school. A chariot of sorts with a driver and aide at his disposal. It was like a traveling "Daniel Show" complete with cheering section.

Last year he was de-classified so he took the regular school bus. There were some issues.

Some bigger kids picked on him.

Some tearful days getting off the bus.

But Daniel tells me, that the problems with last year's bus were nothing compared to the bus he takes from our new house.

Daniel spends a lot of time in his head beating himself up. Especially where school is involved. So I'm never really sure how much of the torment he is describing is real.

I guess it doesn't really matter does it? It is real to him.

And I've witnessed some of the neighbor kids interact with him. To say that they don't "get" Daniel would be a gross understatement. Plus some of the kids have reached the age where it is all about picking on the oddball.

We are nothing if not odd around here. All three of us.

So I'm going to be ferrying Daniel to and from school now.

I'm been kind of tough on Daniel lately. Expecting him to do more and complain less. Making him deal with some of his sensory issues instead of accommodating him. And yesterday he was pretty fragile.

It wasn't until bedtime that he explained to me (crying and sniffling and using an entire box of tissues  - Hooray! milestone! He is blowing his nose at 7 1/2!) that I understood why he was not able to deal with things.

The good news... he's only been on the bus a handful of times so far this year.

But I wonder, will his absence make him more of a target on those occasions when he has to ride the bus?

Update

Things are a little better here.

Partly because of Valium.

And also because I've been bending over like a Cirque du Soleil act to keep Daniel as calm and anxiety-free as possible. (The contortionist act is made easier by Valium)

So I'm picking him up from school, taking him out of school early, and generally being as helpful and chipper as I can muster. That's not saying very much, really because I'm in that part of the packing cycle where I burst into tears randomly. But he seems to be a little better. At least he hasn't handed me any "I WANT TO DIE" notes in the last 36 hours.

So that's an improvement.

Oh! did I tell you? My basement stairs are one inch too narrow for my washer and dryer to fit.

Does that sentence even make sense?

I have to get a saw and carve up my beautiful finished basement stairway so that the movers will be able to get my washer and dryer into the basement.

I am not happy about that. Mostly because while I am confident about my demolition abilities, I have no f*@&ing clue how to hang sheet-rock and make it look pretty again.

Oh crap, here come the tears.

***********************

Ok, better now.

Well, I have to go back to the packing. The moving company is coming tomorrow to give me an estimate and I think they like to see stuff that is actually in boxes and not just thrown on the floor.

suicidal tendencies

Last night I decided not to take any Benedryl. I've been taking it pretty consistently since we started our house-buying journey.  But for some reason I didn't think I needed it last night.

I woke up at four.

It's 5:30 now and I just figured I might as well get up already - it's really boring lying in bed, not sleeping.

_______________________________________________________
Last week I got a call from the Principal of Daniel's school. It's never a good feeling when the school calls you.

He told me that Daniel had written a letter in class talking about killing himself. At which point all the blood drained from my body and I said, "Give me ten minutes and I'll come to the school so we can talk."

Can first graders have suicidal ideation?

Apparently, in my case, yes.

My first instinct was to find my boy, give him a big hug and take him out of school and never send him back.

But instead I sat down with the Principal and he showed me the letter (such beautiful handwriting!) and I explained (yet again) about the nature of Daniel's anxiety and how deeply he feels things.

Apparently the class had been acting up with one of the teachers and that teacher had told the class to write letters of apology. Daniel goes into super-high-anxiety mode when the class misbehaves anyway, and then this group punishment pushed him over the edge, so to speak.

Here's Daniel's letter that the Principal showed me:

Dear Mr. Granger, I know that I did not do anything wrong. I feel like I want to kill myself. If you know of a way to kill me quickly would you just kill me? Daniel

Holy shit.

I told the Principal that I believed that Daniel did feel that way at the time, but he was probably over it by know.

Then I gathered up my son, (who was not in the meeting) and we went home.

On the way home we talked about his day and the letter and his answers did little to assure me. When I asked him about the feelings he had written about in the letter, and how often he felt that way, he told me," most of the time".

Most of the time?

MOST OF THE TIME?!!!

My first-grade child is having feelings of suicidal ideation most of the time?!

How the hell does this happen?

And what does this mean for a first grader anyway?

I asked a few more questions to see if he understood what "killing myself" meant. And unfortunately it's clear that he has a firm grasp of suicide.

And what do I do when I tell him that I want to help him so that he doesn't feel that way anymore and he tells me, "Don't bother with psychologists mom, they don't work".

I need a valium. It's been a few days and I feel just as overwhelmed writing it down.

Oh and before any of this even happened my husband sent me this link, about a possible connection between Singulair and suicide.

Is there a connection?

I don't know.

I DON'T KNOW.

Suddenly, I have no idea about anything anymore.

Infested

We received the dreaded "lice call" this week. Apparently it's going around in all the schools around here.

But... ewww!

Can I say that again? Because really, ewwww!

This is my first time ever dealing with such a thing. So aside from being completely creeped-out, I also am not completely sure what to do.

What do people do when this happens? Lock the kid in the backyard shed? I don't have a shed, but I'll get one. Maybe Home Depot has same day delivery?

What I've been doing is washing every single thing in the house in hot water and wash everyone's hair every 15 minutes or so.

And then the next day I wash it all again. It makes me wish I had gone for one of those big-ass washing machines, instead of the small energy efficient number I was so keen on.

I bought one of those special combs, but I can't bring myself to put pesticides on the head of a kid with asthma. So I'm using tea tree oil and I've ordered something from the internets and basically if I'm not doing a load of laundry, I'm combing out Daniel's hair.

It's remarkable that I can do even that though. This is the child who wouldn't let anyone comb or brush his hair for the first, oh five years of his life?

But now his hair is long (doesn't want it cut either), and so this means hours of me touching his head. He's handling it pretty well, considering. Letting him play his DS seems to help a lot actually.

But....eww!

Does anyone have any suggestions? I can't ask my mother, I just don't want to go through all of her gleefulness at what a horrible mother I am and how "she never had to go through anything like that".

It's hard enough for me to deal with this without making Daniel feel like he's done something wrong. Plus we don't need him to get anxious about this too!

It feels like one of those nature specials about chimpanzees... except without the flinging poop.

eww.

Waiting for Sunday school to end

Sunday school.

I sit in the car in front of the building - a small consolation to my son inside.

I'm here every Sunday, or at least every Sunday that we do this. In the beginning I sat just outside the classroom, but I graduated to waiting in the car after a few weeks.I promised that I would do this for as long as he needed me to.

Sometimes the best way to deal with anxiety is to cater to it's whims.

Today it's cold and in deference to my hybrid car's rapidly depleting battery, I've turned the heat off. It's hard, but not impossible to write with cold hands.

Usually it's just me, and maybe one other parent waiting in our cars on this otherwise deserted street on Sunday morning. But today there are more people about.

In front of the church, sprinkling salt on the steps is a man... but then I think he must actually be a boy because of the way he works.

It's just that... it isn't working that he's doing.

He's clearly playing.

Kicking the snow with his feet
examining chunks of ice
spreading salt in great sweeping handfuls first tossed high
and then slow trailing arcs across the stairs.

He doesn't have a shovel so instead he uses his feet to push the snow aside.

Third step up, then the eighth, then back down to four - he clears the steps with his sneakered foot.

There is no pattern to his actions except that he is obviously having fun - even if there is no smile on his face.

The fifth step from the bottom is REALLY clean, but he never touched the first two steps. It will be hard for the old ladies to make their way up to partake of the Glory of God today.

And now he's gone - the salt bucket empty.

Last night all three of us went to church - a rare occasion, but one which makes my son happy. And on the way home we talked about the things that make the Catholic Church what it is.

Adherence to old traditions...the Pope....

My religiousness is rusty in spite of (or perhaps because of?) eleven years of religious education. These conversations are tricky for me because of my complicated relationship with the Church and the unfortunate fact that I disagree with... well, let's just say that the Church often makes me disagreeable.

Sorry Sister Mary Constance.

I'm trying to give my son the religion I was raised with, while trying to come to terms with it at the same time. Only time will tell how this will end. My ambivalence makes it harder for everyone.

The best part of waiting during Sunday school is the music. I sit in the silent car and listen to whatever music I want. One hour to play DJ for myself. I relish these moments of solitude and indulgence. Funny to think that waiting in a cold car every Sunday could be an indulgence... but hey.

I've got work to do. Writing to finish - things to polish up,
but I'm chafing at the "work" part of it - even though I imposed these deadlines myself. Sometimes I'm able to get a lot done here in the car, but it doesn't look like this will be one of those times.

So today I just sit
and listen
and watch
this snowy Sunday street
and wait.

suck it up

Here in New Jersey we had a two hour school delay.

Because the ground is covered in what looks to be 7 inches of semisolid water.

They call it "slush", but that name doesn't do it justice with its hints of summer and sno-cones.

They should change it to "sodden weather of despair".

kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

Anyway, this is the worst weather for a kid with sensory issues. The slush "sodden weather of despair" is tactile and this encourages sliding and jumping and splashing, except that it is also cold and wet which then inspires screaming and yelling and wailing.

I hate days like this.

But today we couldn't come back to the house to change clothes. (you didn't think I was speaking in the hypothetical did you?) There just wasn't time.

So we waiting at the corner for the bus, in the pouring rain, screaming at each other because his pant leg was a little wet. But of course he wouldn't stand under the umbrella, so he just kept getting wetter.

I felt bad for him, I really did. I understand how yucky wet pants feel. But as I explained to him - most of the kids at school today will be wet. And they keep those classrooms so hot, I'm sure his clothes will dry in no time.

And he has a dry set a clothes at school if he really needs them.

We'll call today a lesson in "sucking it up".

to the sea

You know how some mornings are smoother than others?

I'm talking about the ones where you aren't constantly hit in the face by your child's "issues".

Like this morning, for instance. We got up, Daniel gleefully tried out the addition flash cards his school requires, he ate breakfast and did his morning bathroom routine, and I did not have a running mantra going through my head of "let it go, it's a sensory thing" or "calm down, don't make his anxiety worse".

It was almost like, oh I don't know .... normal?

Just us and a kid.

Waking up,

Eating breakfast,

Getting dressed.... ah, but here is where you hear the tires screech and you smell the burning rubber of the morning grinding to a dysfunctional halt.

Remember how I waxed poetic about SEVEN? How competent Seven can be?  How much I ADORE seven?

Well,  let me tell you .... although seven  CAN get dressed  BY HIMSELF, it certainly  doesn't mean that he WILL.

AND

Little Mr. Seven is not immune from the harsh reality that is "wearing clothing" for those with any sort of sensory sensitivity.

It's not my fault.

SCHOOLS REQUIRE CHILDREN TO WEAR CLOTHES.

and shoes.

Bastards.

So there was much screaming and yelling and stomping this morning.

Plus shouts of,"You're being too hard on me!!!"

and, "Just give me more time to calm DOWN!!!!"

to which we replied, "We can't stop the clock Daniel."

and he responded, "Of course you can stop the clock."

and we countered, "But the bus will still come."

and my husband added, "because you know, time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping... into the future."

Which made us all laugh.

And so we grudgingly stomped out of the house (fully clothed), and flew like eagles to the sea.

The Days are Just Packed

with meetings at Daniel's school, and looking at houses and the usual Holiday ramp-up.

But the school has decided to move ahead with a 504 for Daniel, which is really excellent news. It means they are taking his anxiety issues seriously. It also means that yet again we have a very awesome teacher.

Of course if the school situation sucked then we could look at houses in a town other than Montclair - which means that we would have a lot more to choose from and we wouldn't be stuck with houses that have no parking, or no kitchen, or no plumbing.

But it's GOOD that the school he is in is working as well as it is for him. I'm GLAD that I'm stuck looking at insanely overpriced housing stock - because the alternative would be a sad little boy.

Speaking of houses, I saw the perfect house for us today. It's not fancy, not by a long shot, but walking in I could immediately picture us there with all of our stuff and the animals,and it has an enormous (by my standards) back yard with a stream running through it. It's the first time I've felt this way about a house since I started looking. Too bad that the taxes are too high and it's in a flood zone because of the stream and it just plain costs too much. My husband's response when he heard me talk about it was "Play the lottery then"

Because, you know, that lottery option has worked out so well for us in the past.  That and those three years I spent writing my address on 3x5 cards and mailing them into HGTV so I could win their damn "Dream Home" (I'm not bitter, its just that my hand still hurts from the writer's cramp)

So, uh, tomorrow I'm going to play the lottery (the "Modest Dreams" version it has better odds) and now I'm just going to enjoy the fact that we had a family sing-along this evening with "Stairway to Heaven" (I was going to embed a YouTube video and just got myself distracted for an hour and a half - all I can say is there are some pretty entertaining videos related to Stairway to Heaven)

I'd better go wrap some presents.

'night.