When ABA works too well

When we were in #1's IEP meeting last year, the teachers told us how much the kids in his homeroom liked it when #1 sang and danced, and that they all loved him.  I had concerns.  I told them that was great, "as long as they didn't treat him like the pet monkey in class. I can see this evolving into manipulative behavior where they tell him what to do and he does it." They all said that they'd look out for a shift in behavior and I left it alone.

This year, #1 is fully mainstreamed with an aide. He spends his days with all the neuro-typical kids which allows time for spontaneous interactions. He has been happy with school and when we asked him if he wanted to have another class birthday party, he said "yes" before I even finished asking the question. 

The problem was, this year, for some reason, his BFF was not placed in the same home-room as #1. Since I could only send the invitations that were for his homeroom, I sent a text to his mom to let her know the details of the party the same morning the invites went to school.

Sometime during the invitation distribution,  some of the boys in his class came to the conclusion that #1 didn't invite his BFF to his party since there was not an invitation for him. They decided to have a little fun by manipulating #1 to tell his BFF that he didn't like him anymore and he wasn't invited to his party. 

When I heard that, my heart just sank to the pit of my stomach. His BFF is the most amazing kid. He is like a 40 year-old in the body of an 11 year-old. He is compassionate, caring and smart. Smart enough to know that when #1 said those words to him that he responded, " you don't really feel that way." And then #1 admitted, "No. They told me to say it."

I sent an email to his homeroom teacher and special education teacher and told them about the situation, and the class was reprimanded.

I thought it was over, but I was wrong. Two days later, I got an email from the teacher telling me that #1 said something that made his BFF cry and it seemed to come from him, without external influence. I was beside myself. I texted BFF's mom to give her the heads-up and then we talked.

That is when I found out that kids at school were bullying his BFF.  They were teasing him for being friends with the special-needs kids. They were asking him why he wanted to be friends with kids who couldn't think for themselves. Those little pieces of shit were f-ing with my kid's perfect BFF and I was pissed. We both agreed that it was indeed bullying but she said BFF didn't want to go down that road since it didn't bother him. 

When #1 got home, I tried to extract the story from him. "What did you say to him? Why did you say that? Who told you to say that?" But trying to get  #1 to answer questions is like trying to cut out the pit of an unripe peach; you have to make several different attempts and sometimes no matter how you cut it, the damn thing won't come out. He also has a tendency to script from books, videos and TV shows and half my time is spent distinguishing between fact and fiction. The story I got out of him was that his BFF and a few other kids were making a leaf pile and wouldn't let him wreck it, so he said to all of them "I don't want to play with you anymore. I hate you." Ok, a typical appropriate response to a frustrating situation. I'm not sure if it is accurate, but I do know that #1's intonation is so bad, that if he did say that to the group, BFF was probably the only one that understood him. 

I also managed to get the names of the boys that manipulated him to say mean things to BFF.  He did group them with the bullies in the book he was reading. Lucky for me, I was able to identify who was who. I sent an email to school with the names and both families were notified.

I was happy that his teachers handled the situation and treated it seriously. I was just surprised that it happened at all. Last year, his class was so caring and supportive to #1 and I just  assumed that since there are special education classes in the building, and many kids are mainstreamed, that the exposure alone was enough to facilitate acceptance. I guess I was wrong. I will have to contact the PTA and see how we can change that.

I had a long talk with #1 about not listening to kids who tell him to do stuff. It is hard to take a kid that was raised on ABA principles; someone gives you a task and you do it, and teach them that the rules have changed. No, you don't have to do what they say. Tell them to shove it. We had to talk to him long ago about not letting #2 boss him around. We taught him to say, "you're not my mom, you're not my dad and I don't have to listen to you." We just didn't realize that we had to give him that talk for school too.

I then had to make things right with his BFF. There was no way that #1 was going to lose that friend. I was going to move heaven and earth to make it right between them. We had him over for a play-date and they watched a movie. I explained to him that since #1 was really little he had a type of therapy called ABA, and that taught him to do things that people told him to do, and now we had to teach him that he didn't have to listen to everyone anymore. I told him I was a big fan of his and if he had anymore trouble at school, I would help. No one is messing with my kid's BFF.

I am glad that I am friends with BFF's mom and we could deal with the situation quickly and efficiently. She has raised an amazing kid and I am grateful that she understands the value we place on his role in #1's life. 

Hopefully the crisis is over and there will be no more drama. 

But until then, I will climb back onto my perch and wait for the next event.

Driving Ms Daisy

After our the second of our three cats died in August, #3 was obsessed about getting a new cat. "Psycho is lonely. We need to get her a baby," he'd say.  Uh, she's 14. I think she's WAY beyond wanting babies. Yes, our cat is named Psycho. Did you expect anything less?

#3 doesn't have a lot of currencies, that is, things don't matter very much to him. When he is in trouble or going down the road to trouble, if you threaten to take away his toys, he won't care. There is very little he is interested in besides his legos and on some days, not even them.

So when his birthday was approaching and we asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he immediately said, "I want a cat." And the answer never changed, not once.

One afternoon I took him to the animal shelter so he could look at cats. One cat took an instant liking to me. I looked down to see which cat was rubbing against my legs and as soon as saw her, I said, "well hello, big fatty." She was a tortoise shell cat with a little dainty face and little paws and a HUGE belly, and a little short tail. #3 heard me, laughed and said, "she needs a last name. Let's call her Big Fatty Mailbox." I bent down to pet her and she swatted at me. One of the workers warned me, "be careful, she isn't very nice." I guess she'll be there forever. See ya Big Fatty Mailbox.

After the trip, he told me he still wanted a kitten. I guess we were going to have to do it.

After a potential kitten fell through, we took the whole crew back to the shelter. This time, they had kittens. After the kids played with a few of them, #2 declared we were going to adopt one and went with me to inquire about adoption. Entirely on his own, he approached a woman and asked her if she worked there. When she said "yes", he told her "we want to adopt a kitten. It is orange. Come with me." I didn't get a word in. I guess we really were adopting a cat. I was just going to inquire about it.

We paid and loaded everyone in the van. The new kitten in her travel box was placed securely on #3's lap. As we drove home, I asked the kids what we should name it. #3 answered, "let's name her Ms. Daisy" and all the kids agreed.

I had to keep myself from cracking up that we were driving miss daisy home.

Miss Daisy, welcome to Casa de Crazy.

Mini-Van Pissing Contest

Everywhere I drive, everywhere I go, I see those awful family decals. You know, the ones stuck to the rear window of the family vehicle, that you have no choice but to stare at when you're stuck behind them.  Plastered on the window, there are little stick figures that represents every member of their family. Like I care.  What is the purpose for putting that on your car? To show how miserable your existence is? Are you complaining or bragging? Are you serving me?

At every traffic light, moms have the ability to show how hard their lives are. It's a van decal pissing contest. "I have three freaking kids in all types of sports" and next to them at the light is, "I have three dogs, two kids and a husband"  and behind them is the full color decal depicting children playing football and daughters who cheer. Like I care about you. It's mini-van-one-up-ness.

I've been tempted to participate in this pissing contest by buying enough decals to fill up the entire window. Yup, there's me, my husband and our nineteen Ethiopian orphans and my six cats. I dreamed about installing a rear view camera, just so I could capture the reactions. Try topping that ladies.

I've seen all types of decals: storm troopers, zombies, little faces, stick figures ice-skating, playing soccer, cheering, skiing, and the list goes on and on. I went on a website and tried to design my own. I searched through the graphics and tried to find a true representative of each member of our family. That was harder than I thought.

 I didn't see one that would represent #1. I needed the ADHD one that had 14 arms and 14 legs that looked like it was in perpetual motion. Or for when he was in overload state:

I am auditory processing overload figure

Talk to the hand

I found a stick figure holding a computer; perfect for #2, but I needed to find one for #3 that had his hand held out in a "talk to the hand" pose while twisting his head as far away from the opposing force as possible. Couldn't find one, so I made it.

I found the super mom, but what I really needed was something like this:

Breakfast

  Or on a good day, this:

lunch

 For the twins, I found princesses and fairies, but they were just so one sided. I needed the crack fairy. The ADHD meets butterfly. Flower, flower, so many flowers. I want that one, wait, I want that one. I want them all. Ooh, which one do I choose. Oh, which, oh which? I'm tired. 

That is one BIG smile

For husband, he could have had the scientist, or the athlete to represent him,  but what he really needed was one waving "goodbye" as he joyously left for work. see ya.

In the end, though I was really tempted to be the champion of decal wars with my  orphanage, I decided not to get the decals.

I'll enjoy the reading material at the stop lights and let those mini-van billboards of family suffering go unopposed. I know I'd already win that pissing contest.

You have been silently served.

Here's to the losers

When I started coaching soccer last year, the kids were aged four to six years old. It meant that we spent most of the time getting the kids to stay on the field, run in the right direction and stay upright. The goal for them was to run around and maybe kick the ball once as all the kids ran around together in a pack. The focus was fun and learning.

This year, I am coaching the next age level and the kids ages range from six to eight. And although that doesn't sound like a large age range, it is the difference between first and third grade, and we know that is a big difference as far as maturity, gross motor and cognitive abilities.

And now, the competition is fierce. So not used to that. I miss yelling at the kids to run the right way.

When the season began, I thought that each team would have a mix of ages and skills which would make all the teams as close to equal as possible. As the season progressed, I learned that was not the case. A couple of the teams were together the year before and have a distinct advantage.

We tied our first four games and then we lost. So not used to that. And the following week, we got annihilated. Even their goalie scored a goal. It was awful. At half-time, half my team asked me to replace our goalie because they thought it was his fault. As a former goalie, I got annoyed and told them, "you think this is his fault? If you were doing your jobs, the ball wouldn't get to him in the first place. You all own this." The boys took the field for the second half and most of them played their best.  But after the score passed 5-0, I stopped counting. One of my players who didn't play their best, confessed, "Soccer is not my favorite sport. Tennis is." Well isn't that just dandy?

At the end of the game, I pulled them all in to give them the pep talk.  As the assistant coach talked to them, I struggled to figure out what to say to inspire, teach and encourage them. What came out was something like this: "we're not the best team in the league. Many of these teams have been together for over a year and if we work hard, by this time next year, we'll be better than them." Not my best motivational speech by far. Think I missed the mark.

When you're losing, it is easy to get discouraged. With each goal, I watched their hearts sink a little lower and after the fifth goal, what can you really say besides, "yea, I know it sucks"? It was hard enough to get some of those kids on the field and do anything in the first place. And we're talking Neuro-typical here. I am their coach and I am painfully aware that I have the power to make them love or hate the game. Tread lightly.

I asked one of my massage clients, who had coached his children's youth teams for years: "How do I approach the frustration of loss when the other teams are much better than us?" He relied, "Tell them, it's not about the score. Pick three goals to work on; be it, passing, dribbling, team work, whatever. If you achieved each of the goals during the course of the game, then it was a success regardless of the score. They should be praised for their success with the goals. And remember, it needs to be fun. Tell them jokes."

I got so wrapped up in the competition that I neglected the basics.

So I made a five step program to survive the rest of the season:

Step one: Go back to the 4:1, praise for criticism ratio.
Step two: Pick three skills to focus on.
Step three: Relax, it's just a game.
Step four: Turn off competitive switch in coach.
Step five: Learn some jokes.

Maybe, I should add a sixth step: Beer after the game is absolutely necessary. 
Back to basics. I'll take that.

The Power of Princeton

Last year, #2's school had spirit week and one of the days was called "color day". The teachers all wore shirts from their Alma Mater and the children were encouraged to wear the colors or apparel of the college they planned on attending. 

Thinking I had that one in the bag, (between Husband and I, we had six Universities to choose from, and that's another story) I asked him what school he wanted to represent. "Princeton" he answered. "It's where the first football game in the Unites States was played and it has an amazing science program. And since I want to discover unknown planets, it would be a great place to go." Not the average answer for a seven year old, but a typical #2 Aspy, response. I replied, "that is great. However, I don't have anything from Princeton. How about Cornell, Rutgers or Brooklyn Poly?" He gave the grimace, "No mom, it has to be Princeton."

It was 9pm on a Sunday night. I realized the probability of failure was quite high. I asked him:
"How about Oswego State? The head shake.
"Ohio State?" A bigger head shake.
"Seton Hall?" The "are you on crack?"head shake.
The last hail Mary:"Beijing Teacher's college?"

"No Mom, It HAS to be Princeton."

You may not feel like it is a big deal to ask that I pull a Princeton shirt out of thin air, but it is.

I thought for a minute and then responded, "We don't have a Princeton shirt and there is no place we can go to buy one right now. We have one choice; we find a black shirt and use fabric paint to write "Princeton" on it." He looked satisfied and then we went on a search through the bins and eventually found a black t-shirt. The only fabric paint I had was silver glitter. I guess it will have to do.  I took the fabric paint and carefully, wrote the word "Princeton". 

10pm. I was done and he happily went off to bed. When he woke up in the morning he put on his new shirt and wore it to school. 

He has been wearing it ever since. It is his treasure.

When his ninth birthday was approaching, Auntie Norlyn asked me what she should get him for his birthday. Without hesitation I suggested she get him some official Princeton apparel. She agreed and placed the order. 

On his birthday, he opened his present. (If you read "the Value of Clothes", 10/2, you'll understand his initial reaction.)

He was one happy boy. He now had Official Princeton gear and could take on the world as the youngest fourth grader in his class. 

And the nice thing is, that he still wears the original Princeton shirt I made for him. 

Now if he could only get early admission.....

The value in clothes

When I was a kid, birthdays and holidays were the time you were supposed to get the cool stuff you saw on TV, that was destined to be awesome and fun. But alas, we always had that relative who insisted on giving us clothing. Not that clothing wasn't useful, but inevitably it would wind up being something that was beyond my taste, and not only would it sit in the draw unworn, but it would cast a spell of lameness on birthday presents. I could've had a real present.  They're not supposed to be useful.

Flash forward to my own kids. We have that relative who insists on giving clothes, and although I have told them we have enough clothes, it doesn't change the outcome. I get it, they have 12 nieces and nephews, pick a common theme and go with it. They are always very generous and the clothes are beautiful, but I feel bad that my kids aren't fans, and in their minds, that relative has become that relative.

#1 never cared about clothes at all. He wears clothes because we tell him to.  He opens new clothes and then throws them on the floor. If it doesn't beep, talk or have an entertaining function, it is lame. End of story.  Up until now, #2 and #3 didn't mind clothes, and sometimes they actually got excited. Nothing was more amusing than hearing #3 yell excitedly "oooh underwear", and #2 used to have equal enthusiasm for all presents, "I got sweatpants! Hooray!"

This year, the enthusiasm for apparel has declined.  #2, who always got excited about clothes, gave me the "more clothes really?" after he opened his second present of clothing. That is,  until he realized that the clothes were from his University of the future, Princeton, and then they were the best clothes ever. #3 has decided that "unless it's toys, it's lame" and there was no convincing him otherwise. His ODD has reared it's ugly head.

On #3's birthday, I watched him unwrap his presents and was taking video to show the family member the pure joy he had opening the presents.  I watched him discover his new gifts;  Legos, a remote controlled car, a Nerf gun and then, this:

How could I send that video?

I then sat down with #3, who now at seven, should be able to understand some bigger concepts: "we need to be grateful that we have people that love us so much that they take the time to shop and pick out presents and then mail them to us.  It takes a lot of time to do that and that means they really love us. It doesn't matter if it's not our favorite present, clothes are useful.  Now, we need to make a video to tell them how much you appreciate the clothes. It may not be your favorite thing, but it is useful. You need to thank them." That "Thank you" video needed to be convincing. I couldn't look like the parent of an ingrate.

It seemed that he got the pep-talk. He repeated my message back to me and I thought it worked. I was ready to pat myself on the back, but then I started shooting the video and put my hand down.


Attempt #1

"These are not the clothes I wanted, but it is very helpful. Thank you, but, I'd like to exchange the clothes for something. Thank you, but I don't know if they'll look good on me."

How could I send that video?

We tried five more times and each attempt was worse than the one before.  And then I just gave up. It was NEVER going to be a heartfelt thanks. It was always going to be "thanks for the sub-standard present" at best. There was no winning that battle.

Later on in the day the calls from friends and family members came. He asked one person, "are you the one that gave me the clothes?" Seriously. He has a vendetta. I told husband that he will never forget who gave him clothes. Ever.

Logically speaking I know he understands that clothes can be useful and that he should be grateful for a present. Does he like it? No. Will he survive? Yes. Will he remember it  as a shadow cast on his childhood as vividly as I do? Most definitely.

But, you try explaining why a sweatshirt is just as good or better than a Lego set.

Come on, I dare you.

Whine x 2=Wine x 2

My younger brother told me long ago when his daughter was three years old, that she was driving him nuts; "the whining, I just can't take the whining. I lose my mind". I heard him, but the severity of it really didn't register . By the time my niece was three, I had three boys under five. We had lived through having a non-verbal #1 who would stand in the kitchen and scream until we figured out what he wanted, but we didn't have a whiner. I asked him if it was that bad. It couldn't possible be as bad as the screaming a non-verbal kid does when frustrated. "It is horrible," he replied, "it's a girl thing. Something about them makes them so whiny."

Yea, ok. I thought. It's his first, he's a rookie. He'll get used to it. It can't be that bad.

A couple of years later, we added twin girls to the mix and when the twins hit three, my brother's words resonated loud and clear. He was right. The girls would whine. The type of sound that makes finger nails on a chalk board sound like muzak. They used whine as an accent for communication when it wasn't the dominant one. And when they didn't feel like using any of those girl words they had, the whine took center stage. They'd be whining about something, losing a toy, a sparkle had fallen off their shoe, they wanted attention, Mommy not sharing her beer, anything. But somehow, asking a kid who has no problem using their words any other time of the day becomes an issue when they NEED to.  "Use your words", I'd say, as I said a million times before, but the words had left them.  I then had to try to guess what the crisis was . After failing miserably, and frustrated, the countdown began, I had 10 seconds of patience left before I lost my mind and I told them exactly what I thought of Rainbow Dash. Someone was going to time out and I wanted it to be me. I'll put that time-out stool right next to the beer fridge.

The boys never did that. It is painful and can cut right to the core like no other sound. I think that the hospital should hand out noise-canceling-headphones to all new parents of baby girls. "Congratulations on your baby girl. Here are your headphones. Good luck."

I  also think that the US government should shift gears and view toddler whining as a weapon of mass-destruction. If we just flew big speakers over Afghanistan and let the whine of thousands of girl toddlers flow through the cities, they would surrender in 10 minutes. We could save thousands of lives by whining them into submission. Only the deaf would prevail as the immune ones, but somehow, I think the vibration of it would work on them too.

On second thought, I know it would. After we entered the whine-stage, my neighbors never looked at us the same. Through telepathy, I heard "please, make it stop." And I never looked at a bottle of wine the same either.  I would if I could, but the duct tape only muffles the sound. Wine anyone?