... And Somehow, I've Become UNREASONABLE

Kids...  they definitely need to come with a warning label:  "I am exactly like my father."  Sorry dads, but in my case it really is true.

After our visit with Charlie-Anne (my step daughter), I've come to see just how much Glen's kids are just like him.  I honestly thought it was just Dayton, and seeing as how he is my only child, I now see just how naive I've really been...

I love Charlie to death, I really do.  There's little I wouldn't do for that girl.  I gave her my sweet sixteen family daughter ring, did all her laundry, brought her meals to the table, did all the dishes, and when I wasn't doing that, I spent every available waking moment with her, making sure she didn't get bored.  When she left us, I felt like she took a chunk of my heart right along with her.  I miss her like crazy and can't stop thinking about her since she's gone back to Regina last Thursday. 

I wish I could say our entire two week visit was flawless, but she is fifteen, a teenager.  You know there will be some disputes, especially since we just met her last September for the first time since she was two years old.

Dayton loves her to pieces too, and when she showed a wee bit more attention to his little buddy, he got a wee bit jealous.  Of course, since he doesn't understand his feelings, he's not able to say what the problem is, and decides to push his little buddy in the pool in a fit of jealously, rather than try to talk out something he doesn't understand.

Some of the similarities I noticed the kids have with their dad is that none of them want to "talk" about their feelings or what they're thinking.  When upset, they prefer to hide out and have a fit.  They all pout in the same way.  They prefer to learn things the hard way rather than seeing a simpler solution, they value money more than anything else, and they don't feel comfortable with affection or intimacy.  How am I to survive this when I'm a touchy, lovey kind of gal?  I love hugging both of the kids and kissing them good night.  I refuse to go to bed angry or upset and don't want to be responsible for someone going to bed in this state of mind either, so talking things out is important to me.  The learning things in a more difficult way I can deal with, providing they're learning.  But when it comes to love and the emotional side of things, and preferring "things" over "love"...  how do I deal with that and still be me?

As a teenager, Charlie-Anne things of me as...  wait for it...  OVERPROTECTIVE.  Oh my gosh!  Furthermore, her friend who happens to be my best friend's daughter AGREES with her and so does my best friend!  Oh my goodness, I feel another brain aneurysm coming on.  And to think, all I did was ask where they were off to and what time they'd be home and showing a little apprehensiveness about Charlie-Anne meeting up with a boy and ending up in the wrong part of the city, and asking for her not to go alone anywhere in the dark...  I joked around a lot about it, but it seems no one thought I was funny...  Ugh.  Well hell's bells...  If anyone needs to know anything, call a teenage girl.  It seems they know everything. Should save us a lot on college and university.  It appears my life experience and yours amounts to nothing of importance.  

Seems another mistake I've made during our visit was trying too hard to please her by hugging her and embarrassing her so that she would know she was a part of our family and had a place in our home.  Jeez!  All I did was hug her in public and when she showed interest in a boy, I asked him if he thought she was pretty and asked him for his phone number.  Well, at least she was pleased with me getting the phone number...  I did something right!!!  Wooooo-hoooooooo!!!  Little does she know I did it as a joke.  I do it to my best friend all the time.  Back fired on me now, didn't it.  I bet the little schmuck is calling or texting her as we speak. 

To answer your question, after years of observation, multiple hypothesis, well-structured analysis and deeply reviewed interpretations,  my friends and apparently Charlie have finally came to the conclusion that I'M NOT NORMAL.  I like my children safe and sound.  I like to make sure they're not bored and are having a good time.  I like to make sure that when they venture out at night when it's dark that they don't do it alone, and I enjoy 'family time,' playing games like bocci ball, croquet and swimming.  I want them to know how much I love them, and give them all the attention I humanly can.  I also think that a boy must pass a breathalyzer, drug test, lie detector, back-ground check and psych evaluation in order to qualify for a first date with my girl.  It seems that this is not what a responsible, loving, caring step parent or parent is supposed to do.  We're supposed to give our children freedom to do as they choose and go wherever they please at any time they want.  I'm not suppose to worry about them getting hurt or kidnapped.  Oooops.  My mistake.

I've learned some things about me during our visit with Charlie-Anne though.  Even with our opposing views on how I should 'behave,' I love her no matter what.  When she was unhappy, I cried in private.  I love her a tiny, smidgen, half a millimeter less then I love my own son, something Dayton's not crazy about, but I can't help myself.  I think she's the most beautiful girl on the face of this planet.  I think she deserves more than I can give her, and whether she likes it or not, I don't think there's a male on this planet that is good enough for her.  I suppose I love her as though she was my own daughter.  She somehow completes my family, and without her, I feel truly sad.  I just wish she had a little more patience for me and how I think.  Speaking about the way they think...

I've been trying to teach Dayton how to tie his shoes for the past three years.  I figured the easiest way was to teach him the two bunny ears way, you know, the two loops, cross them and flip one 'bunny ear' into the whole and voila!  You have a tied shoe.  He just couldn't get the hang of it.

After coming home from shopping for school supplies for both Dayton and Charlie, I asked Charlie if she wouldn't mind showing Dayton how to tie his shoes, as Dayton desperately wanted to wear his new shoes outside and show his buddies.  I told him if he learned how to tie them, he could wear them...  Charlie showed him once and taught him for a whole five minutes...  and Dayton tied his shoes!!!  Wow!!!  He really did it!!!  I was thrilled!!!  I watched him tie his shoes and thought the way he did it was tricky, but Charlie-Anne said that she thought the bunny ears way was too tricky...  Obviously, so did Dayton, and so does their dad...  Way too many similarities.  The only difference between Charlie-Anne and Dayton is Dayton's pervasiveness over words, toys and activities.  Also, Dayton's communication skills are obviously weaker and his understanding of feelings.

Now if I can just get the girl to understand my feelings...  Walking away from this vacation, I learned that raising children is like raising monkeys on acid.  You just don't know what they're thinking and have no idea what they're going to say or do next.  All you know is that you should brace yourself, cause it's gonna be a roller coaster ride.  Autism or no autism, children are wild!

Consider yourselves hugged,

Lou

Am I Smarter Than A Third Grader?

In my last conversation with the principal where she threw a 5 page "Threat Incident Report" at me, she also informed me that Dayton had not produced much work in the past three weeks.  I offered to come to his classroom and show the aid what I do at home to help Dayton get his work done.  Surprisingly enough, the principal took me up on my offer.  And so yesterday, I went to grade 3.  Just for two hours, but still.  I went to grade 3!

I entered Dayton's school totally nervous, experiencing the same heebie jeebies I would on the first day of a new job.  With thoughts of "what if the kids make fun of me, or worse, what if they make fun of Dayton because his mom is here?" running through my head, I quickly come to a sense of calm seeing my baby waiting with his teacher's assistant for me in the hallway.  I'm thinking "thank you Lord!  You've heard my prayers!"  Dayton had a big grin on his face, obviously pleased to see me.  Seeing his smile melt my heart.

We started working in the resource room.  It was just the three of us:  Dayton, his aid and myself.  The aid whipped out a list of 31 topics, and asked Dayton to pick one.  I'm like "whoa there Nelly, let's narrow that list down a little, shall we?  Let's see what I know will interest Dayton.  31 choices is like 28 choices too many.  Let's narrow it down to three, shall we?"

One of the choices was to look at a picture of yourself with your mom (yes, every kid in grade 3 carries a picture of himself with his mom in his wallet, cause they like to get beat up), and write out what's happening in the picture.  It just so happens I had my blackberry with me (never, ever leave home without it), and I have many pictures on it.  Dayton stopped me at a picture of him and his friend with "daddy" in front of a big, huge "man toy" of a crane.  This crane was so huge, just the tires alone were double the height of Dayton.  Very impressive.  So I asked the aid if we can substitute "dad" for "mom," and he agreed we could.

I helped Dayton tell his story, and the aid wrote it out on a piece of paper.  Then Dayton had to type the story out on the computer.

I didn't want Dayton to cheat.  I wanted him to show his aid that we've been working on writing at home, and to show him how I helped Dayton write.  At this time, I again thanked the Lord that we were sitting alone in private, and not in the classroom with twenty-nine other students. 

I'm sounding out every letter of each word, sounding like a complete fool or a mental patient.  I covered the piece of paper the aid had written Dayton's story on so Dayton couldn't cheat off it.  I made him spell it, having him hear me sound out the words slowly and dragging each letter.  I sounded, well...  awkward.  But, it's how I help my son write.  As long as it gets the job done, who cares how moronic I look.  I don't mind him laughing at me, especially if it makes it interesting for him to learn.  The sacrifices us mothers make! 

The principal and guidance counselor kept spying on us in the hallway.  I may have sounded like a moron, but that doesn't mean I am one.  These women are like vultures.  I'm thinking they figured there was no way in hell I'd be able to get Dayton to do a stitch of work.  Wrong ladies (I have a much more interesting names to call them, but this is a family blog ;)!  My boy works for me, cause I make it INTERESTING, and don't mind making a fool of myself to get the job done.  Take that!

Recess!

I can do recess!  Or so I thought.  Did you know that small children refer to adults in the third person and never directly?  Yup, they do!

So the kids are crawling on a structure I want to call monkey bars, but I'm not quite sure what it really is.  It looks like a globe, with tons of multi-colored bars running in all different direction.  Looking at it directly made me vomit, just a little in my mouth.  It hurt my eyes.

Then I hear one of the kids say "I'm nine years old."
Another says "I'm eight,"
The first one says "How old you think she is (and I know he's referring to me)?"
"I'm eight years old" I yelled back impulsively.
"Do you think she's really eight years old?" asks the first kid.
"Yeah, I'm really big for my age..." I added.
"My mom's that big, and she's twenty-eight."  Says the second kid.  I'm thinking, jeesh, I wish.
"Big people act weird."  Says the first kid.  And I'm thinking 'who you calling big, kid?  So I'm a couple lbs. over weight, check yourself out first, you with the pants on the ground, pants on the ground, lookin' like a fool with your pants on the ground...'

Dayton and a buddy decide to go play on the swings.  Still nauseated, I follow weakly behind them.  The boys twisted and flipped the seats and handles over and over and over again, giving me motion sickness.  They did this until they shortened the swings to where the seats were just above their heads!  I wondered how on earth they were going to climb in the swings and use them...  I had no idea my little darling angel was an acrobat!!!  You should have seen these boys twisting, turning and bending their bodies to slide into these seats!  It was freaking amazing!!!

But then...  they started to swing...  Up, up, up super high, and then...
"Look Dayton's mom!  No hands!  5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and JUMP!"
"Nooooooooooooooooooo!!!" But the boys ignore me, Dayton's aid is laughing hysterically at me, and I'm standing there freaking out, that little bit of vomit turning into a lump in my mouth.  Then both boys jump out and roll on the gravel.  They're fine, I'm not.  I'm dry heaving and doing my best not to puke.  The boys did this act over and over and over and over again.  I couldn't watch.  Dayton's aid thought I was quite entertaining.  I didn't think so, but I could see how one would think I was being a drama queen.  You see, I'm a wee bit over protective of my babe...  No really, I really am.  I know, hard to believe, but I'm afraid it's true.  Thank goodness I was saved by the bell.  Recess is over, time to go back inside.

Time for art.  A big glob of blue paint and white paint is put on Dayton's art paper.  He's given a straw and told to blow at the glob of paint...  The poor kid got light headed, I had to take him out to get some water.  But, we finished it!  Of course, my black pretty shirt is covered in blue and white paint, but hey, we got the job done.  Mental note:  do not sit across to Dayton when he's blowing air through a straw...

Next art project was for Social Studies.  Dayton was to find pictures from magazines that reminded him of home, country and family.  He was to cut them out and paste them on a piece of art paper.  OK!  Easy!

As Dayton and I flip through magazines, he finds a picture of lit Halloween Jacko lanterns and lit cut out pumpkin faces.  He decides to cut the picture out to represent "country." 
Next, he finds a picture of a blackberry...  He cuts this out because it remind him of home, both Glen and I have a blackberry, and as I've said, I never, ever leave home without it.
Well...  then he finds a picture of a car that has run into a huge boulder.  On the boulder is a yellow hard hat...  The smashed up car apparently reminds Dayton of me and the yellow hard hat reminded him of Glen.  Fantastic!  I'd just like to add here that I'm a good driver and only been in three car accidets.  Only one of those was my fault.  He cuts the darn picture and pastes it to the piece of paper.
The cutest and funniest picture he finds is a cat standing on his hind legs, with his legs crossed as it needs to go to the bathroom.  Dayton cuts this picture out as he finds it funny and wants it to represent his cat "Jack."

I feel a sense of accomplishment.  My son is grinning from ear to ear.  He's worked hard for me today.  Dayton has managed to do work that the teacher and aid have tried to get him to do for the past two days with no success.  I'll admit, I feel as little smug as I've proven to them all that Dayton is fully capable, and willing to do the work, providing you make it INTERESTING.  My boy's no robot.  He's a kid with a sense of humor, and being funny is important to him.  Not only does he enjoy making others laugh, he enjoys to laugh himself.  I'm so glad I had the opportunity to give him a giggle at school.  I'm glad I was able to be there for him in his moment of success, how many parents of "normal" children are able to say the same?

Hug your children, give them praise and kisses and love them.  They're worth the hard work.  Thank the Lord He's chosen us to take care of his angels.  I wouldn't change my babe for the world.


Consider yourselves hugged,

Lou

~No label~

Again I thank my dear friend for letting my guest on here. Although it has been a daily thing this week, It will start to become more casual or when something really bugs me. Again I'm not here to upset people but just get people talking. There is a lot of people that are too shy/scared etc to say what's on their minds, or ask the questions that I am bringing up.

As my previous blog I stated, I would return to the topic of labels. Up until Nik’s “label” I couldn’t say I knew anyone with Autism, let alone that I knew someone with PDD-NOS. And like many others when I heard the word Autism, I thought Extreme Makeover. I laughed when the doctor said it. I asked him if we were talking about the same child. My son doesn’t rock, doesn’t flap his hands. Hell if you look at him, the only thing you could say is “WHOA, he’s a big boy”. Then I started reading. Man oh man have I read. It’s almost become a bad habit. A night, with nothing interesting on TV, I head over to old Bertha and start reading. Everything and anything really. Then I started reading that my son is Autistic.

I guess I should give a bit of a back story. Nikolas was the perfect baby. Other than the late delivery, perfect pregnancy, no midnight feedings, never cried. Such a happy, healthy baby. Then he turned 1. It started with a couple allergies, asthma, and severe skin problems. Then came age 2. More allergies, worse asthma and a “speech delay”? WTH are you talking about? He’s two, how many words does a 2 year old need to know? Well, apparently more than 5. Then age 3 came. Our first appt with CDC  (a place I had never even heard of). “Well miss Thede, he has a severe speech delay, and global developmental delays. We also aren’t able to rule out a form of autism at this point, so come back in 6 months and start therapy ASAP”. Umm I’m sorry, what just happened?  We went to the doctor with concerns that he couldn’t feel pain and now he has all these “LABELS”?  So I left. Angry, scared, confused and just plain lost. 6 months went by, and we returned. All the labels stuck and now they wanted more people involved. Not to mention at this time his asthma had gone insane and my newborn baby was fighting a blood infection in the hospital. What a life at the ripe age of 22.

At age 4, therapy wasn’t helping, everyone was hitting their heads lost at what to do. One person said, well if only he had a diagnoses, everything would change. Huhh? I thought we already had that? Now you want more labels?  So back for yet another assessment. This one took over a year, and landed us at MATC. Within the first 20 minutes of being terrified, the AMAZING doctor looked at me and said, "Yup he’s autistic."  Huhh? Are you crazy? Again, this is the time I honestly started laughing. What was he talking about. He has all these other labels and now a new one. So we present the new information to the workers, and they all agree. This was something we were all expecting, “this is good news, we now have a clear diagnosis and things will start rolling now”. Summer came, we moved, took the summer off to soak it in. School started. With all his medical diagnoses and all the labels, I have my head held high and so happy cause “we’re labelled, we’re gonna finally get help”. Nope. Now we’re not labelled right. Apparently although he is autistic, according to a school worker “ he’s just not autistic enough” Come again? Years of assessments and waiting, and all these LABELS added and now he’s not autistic enough? This has been the story since September 2010.

Now depending which family member of mine you talk to, some say more kids are effected now than before. Other’s say there’s too many labels. Maybe they're both right? Are more kids being effected? What has changed to make our kids a lot sicker now? Are they sick? Is the bar just set to high? I don’t know these answers. What I do know is that it shouldn’t matter. If a person loses both their legs, you sympathize. But if they only lose one, do we tell them, “sorry you still have a good one, start hopping?” No. Why does it matter what degree of disability a child has? I have always thought, if a person/child/dog/ cat whatever needs help, you help them. No questions asked. Today that is not the case. Those that need help, aren’t getting it, and the ones that don’t need help are clueless to the situation.

I admit I haven’t been the perfect person. I caused my shit, and trust me I’m laying in it. My child didn’t ask to be different. I think it’s time we get back to basics and stop caring about the stuff that doesn’t matter and start focusing on the important stuff. Our children DO matter. They are our future. Just because society looks at labels and difference we don’t have to. My son doesn’t see the difference between him and another kid. He doesn’t see the difference between an adult and a child. To him we are all equal. Why is that an almost 6 year old “labelled” child can see this, but well educated, over paid adults cannot? I have to admit I’m guilty of wishing I didn’t have to list all his “labels”. With him getting ready for a new school, part of me doesn’t want to tell them all his labels, weaknesses. I want to go into a meeting and just smile for all his strengths. Luckily my child wants to learn. He has dreams and goals. I know “normal” children that don’t even have that. My son is nice to people because he wants to be, and he knows it’s not nice to be mean just because someone is different. He’s passionate about music and numbers, and trying new adventures. Why have meetings about everything he can’t do, and all the “bad/wrong” things about him. Why not change some of the labels? Instead of saying, Nikolas is autistic, delayed, large, allergic switch it up to caring, loving, funny, brave, accepting? At the end of the day we all have labels. We all use labels. She’s “fat”, he’s “skinny”. You're “ugly”, they’re “perfect”.

So this is my take on labels, I’m also signing off with my own label,

Wendy-passionate, mother, daughter, sister, friend, mommy tummy:D

Welcome To Social Skills Group

Wow...

Seriously!  It was amazing, and I can hardly wait to tell you all about it.  I'm typing as fast as I can, smoke billowing off my keyboard, I'm just so thrilled to share this with you all!!!  For once my child was accepted for who he is and how he thinks.

I had called ASM with the thought of seeking a play group for Dayton with children on the spectrum, a support system for Dayton if you will.  Sandra (from ASM) had suggested the Social Skills Group and I thought, meh, not sure if that's what I'm looking for, but Dayton could definitely use some help in this area and agreed to enroll.  Because we had missed 2 sessions, Sandra told me she would charge me $50.00 for the remaining 6 sessions.  OK!  Sold!

So off we go to our first session.  Naturally, since I have no sense of direction, we get lost.  And to make it worse, I'm trying to find the place in the dark.  I'm hoping Dayton forgot the few choice words he no doubt heard me utter under my breath.  Winnipeg drivers are so unforgiving...  Super miserable about it and worrying that we're going to be late (I hate being late!!!).  Finally, I find the building and we make it with five minutes to spare, whew!!!  Parking was a little tricky, as it's all reserved parking, then I remembered Sandra telling me that it's reserved during the day, and that we are allowed to park in the evening with no concern of being towed.  Whew!  I'm a little anal, so naturally, I ask the security guard on duty and confirm that I'm fine parking in the parking lot across the building.  OK, so we're in the building, we have to sign it with the same security guard, and we sit down to wait.

I love watching people, kind of a hobby of mine.  Perhaps because of my line of work?  Anyways, new surroundings for Dayton, and he's not quite sure what to do with himself.  I ask if he wants to sit down, he says "no."  I sit down, and he sits beside me.  Both of us are kind of wide eyed, the deer caught in the head lights kind of look.  We're so not fooling anyone around us, not that anyone is really paying attention to us.  As I watch the kids coming through the doors, I'm thinking we're in the wrong group.  Some pretty seriously affected children with autism came through those doors.  I felt a pang of shame for my "ordeal" with Dayton's diagnosis, thinking these parents have it so much more worse.  And then thought, perhaps not.  The children I observed were obviously affected with autism, where as my little guy is very high functioning.  His school seems to be in denial of his diagnosis.  Dayton can speak, he can walk, he is potty trained, and looks "normal."  God, I hate that word...  "normal."  What is "normal" anyways?  And so his school treats Dayton as though he is "normal," and doesn't stop to think he may be overstimulated by sounds, sights and smells...  Anyways...

The therapist comes to get the children, and Dayton and I missed her, trying to figure out his new iPod touch.  The security guard rolls her eyes at us as she buzzes us in...  We walk into the classroom, and there were more kids.  Now I look at the kids I obviously missed in the waiting area...  There's some there that to me seemed "normal."  I'm thinking they may be neurotypical siblings, but no...  Each and every child here has a diagnosis of ASD.  I'm amazed!  When you meet A child with ASD, you've met A child with ASD.  Such a wide spectrum!

I hover around Dayton, wondering why there are no parents in this classroom.  What do I do?  I promised Dayton that I would stay with him if he needed me, but it seems I am persona non grata here...  I help Dayton take his jacket off, hang it up on a coat rack and tell him I will be right outside the door of the classroom.  I wave good bye, and assure him that I'm right by the door, and hear everything that's happening.  Outside the door, I find these little, tiny pre-school chairs, and think I'd need about three of them to get even remotely comfortable, but chose one and sit, uncomfortably for an hour, waiting, listening, praying...

Dayton's shoulders rose to his ears, and his eyes move sharply to the right, so sharply I think it's got to hurt!  He says no.  And I immediately see how Dayton's school can see this behavior as defiant, but when I looked closer, he was not the only one doing this!  The therapist didn't demand their attention, instead she asked them if they were comfortable.  They both said "no."  They both found a chair to sit.  I wonder if he worded her question, knowing they would say no, as it probably wasn't comfortable in order for them to sit down, which is what she wanted?  Hmmmmm...



At the end of class, the therapist asked the kids if they had fun.  Naturally, a few of them said "no," and yet these huge grins on their faces, Dayton being one of them.  They each got a snack during class and a prize to take home for coming out for the evening.  Dayton left perseverating on the word "I."

Respect.  That's what I saw that night.  RESPECT for my boy, the way he thought and how he is.  Respect is a mutual thing.  Most people give their respect upon meeting someone...  Consider yourself around a senior citizen...  You just automatically respect and sort of in a way trust...  Not our kids.  They've been jilted so many times, that their respect must be earned first, especially their trust.  This therapist knew this, and RESPECTED it.

If you can afford $100.00 for 8 hour long sessions, once a week, I strongly recommend contacting the ASM (Autism Society of Manitoba), and registering your child for a Social Skills Group.

For more information on ASM, contact them at:
http://autismmanitoba.com/

They're located at 825 Sherbrook St,
Winnipeg, MB.
Tel:  204-783-9563

For those of you not leaving in Winnipeg, check out the Autism Society Canada website:  http://www.autismsocietycanada.ca/
then click here:  Provincial and Territorial Societies.  You can find an organization in your community that will offer the same kind of "social skills group" I've experienced.  They will offer more groups for you to check out.  Pick what you think you will find the most beneficial for you and your little one.






Consider yourselves hugged,




Lou