The Incident of the Overactive Extrapolator – Catastrophizer

Many moons ago I speculated that we each possess a certain level of reactivity, and that this reactivity is often exacerbated by parenting. I further postulated that there is a hitherto undiscovered gland that modulates this function, and, being its discovererer, named it the Extrapolator–Catastrophizer Gland, or ECG for short.  (For further information, please see http://fullspectrummama.blogspot.com/2012/04/would-you-ratherii.html .)

Well, I recently discovered that mine is pathologically enlarged. How refreshing! This gives me hope that it may, in the fullness of time, subside!

The incident went as follows: G reported that the daily question in morning meeting was, “What do you not understand about other people – and what do other people not understand about you?”

I asked what his answers had been.

To the first question, my Mr. Literal had responded, “I don’t understand why people say obvious things.”

Uh…hmm.

And for the second?

“People don’t understand why I like to make weird noises.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “That’s probably true. I don’t mind them except when you get loud sometimes. But yeah, kids might not understand some of the sounds you make or why you make ‘em. No big deal.”

“Also,” he went on, “people don’t understand why I…why…I…”

A lifetime passed during which my heart broke, my nervous system went into fight-or-flight mode and I mentally outlined a long, putative blog post about this interaction.

“People just don’t understand why I…like stink bugs.”

                                                    Figure I – My ECG at time of Incident

                                                            Figure II – Appropriate ECG

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

The Least Popular Kid in the Class – Part Two

At the time of the Least Popular Kid in Class Incident (http://fullspectrummama.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-least-popular-kid-in-class-part-one.html), I tried to get the scuttlebutt on what – besides crying -  happened after G answered the day’s question, but continued to get “stuff” in response.

Chances are, he was genuinely unable to put his feelings into words.  We are neurologically quite similar, and it took me until, oh, last year to realize that where I stand on the spectrum, I tend to get upset before I understand exactly why I am upset (never mind putting those feelings into words!). The overwhelming quality of intense feelings precludes clarity around those feelings until the strong feelings subside. This can be true of overpowering sensory feelings (such as those experienced by sensorially-sensitive people in the average classroom), as well as emotional ones.

Still, knowing that he needed time to process was not going to directly aid G with his lack of popularity, or make him feel better about crying in front of his classmates.

Outside of suspecting it would not be really, really helpful to tell G, “But you’re my very best friend, buddy!” I was at a loss of how to help my child.

So I wrote G’s teacher along these lines:

Dear [teacher],

I love that you start morning meeting with a question. I do the same in all my philosophy classes [read: I am not about to bust your chops for asking big questions]. And I think yesterday's question was a great one. I’m just unclear on exactly what happened after [G] answered the question and then, “for some reason” (according to him), began crying.

When you get a chance could you let me know a bit about what happened yesterday so that I can best support [G] at this time? Or if you have any suggestions...

I know you have your hands full, so at your convenience.

Thanks so much,

[Full Spectrum Mama]

Responding via email, G’s teacher explained that a number of students had been being inattentive or having side conversations while G spoke. Other students had interrupted him, saying that he was wrong about being unpopular. These latter, while acting with good motives, “were not speaking in turn or being respectful to the process.” These factors contributed to G’s frustration.

He assured me that he had never seen anyone be intentionally or directly unkind to G, but admitted that G is often left out or “not paid attention to”…

He concluded with some positive thoughts: “As stressful and unpleasant as it was, I believe that the log jam's been broken and we are going in a positive direction with this very social class.  While I apologized to [G] for him having to go through this situation I also thanked him for giving us all the opportunity to examine our careless and thoughtless behavior and make positive changes.”

Whew!

It was a great gift to have a broader picture of events, and to be able to engage G in a slightly more nuanced processing of what had happened. Not that any of this is going to turn G into someone who doesn’t sometimes get flappy, or extra-loud, or reveal new heights of dorkitude. It might help him accept himself, though, and that’s more than good enough for those of us who love him.

“Free to be You and Me,” with its messages of inclusion, celebrations of difference and our family favorite song “It’s alright to cry,” has been on pretty heavy rotation in G’s room the last month or so. He seems to be feeling less lonely at school, but he’s still asking to spend recess reading in the library because, for him, navigating the playground scene is tremendously daunting.

Now, over a month out, I think everybody was right: lots of kids grew and stretched to be more inclusive and thoughtful following this incident – but G may still have good reasons to cry in school.

Sometimes, too, he may not even know why he is crying.

What he will know is that crying is healthy and totally, utterly, absolutely super alright: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y52bs0aX6v8 *

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Best. Video. Ever.

Speech – III/Tools - II

In “Laugh Like a…” and “Gortles vs. Vocal Fry” I began to write about the Full Spectrum of speech expressed by my children and our family approaches to some of our challenges in that realm. These include, on the one hand, exceptional sassiness or dorkiness of oral interaction styles and, on the other, widely disparate levels of verbal agility.

Here are two more topics to consider: repetition and volume.

G and Z loooove to repeat. Single words, questions, quotations, astute observations, not-so-astute observations, random sounds…all are fodder for extensive repetition. This shared habit is rooted in two very different sources: G’s mind seems to get drawn into a pattern - he’ll blurt out a word or phrase from time to time, sometimes for days, as the neural impulse strikes; Z likes uninterrupted attention, which speech can bring, but she also self-soothes – and learns --with patter.

We use the same tool inclusive of these two distinct contexts. Since it works well in our household, it just might work in a wide range of families. I therefore offer:

A Good Rule for Parents and People:

1.     The One Time Rule

Things may only be said ONE TIME.  If something is repeated, Mama – often in cahoots with the currently non-repeating child – may utter the powerful phrase, “One Time Rule”…as many times as is necessary.

a.     The Awesome [or insert your dreadful trending word here] Rule

Each child may utter the word “awesome” ONE TIME per diem.

For some reason, this has worked. Good thing, because we have yet to work out the Consequences.

Partly because of low tone, G also has issues with volume modulation. More specifically, he speaks very, very loudly, especially when excited (and he’s an enthusiastic guy). His speech volume is probably the single biggest obstacle to other kids’ acceptance and comfort in his presence.

When we are together as a family, I might say, “Stop shouting in my ear,” “Turn it Down, please,” or “I am RIGHT HERE.” I don’t want to humiliate him in public, though, so we have devised a sort of turning-down-a-radio-dial type motion that is meant to indicate to him that he needs to try to modulate his voice to a quieter level.

Alas, unless he is looking right at my finger, he doesn’t notice this signal! My gesture, then, gets bigger and bigger, progressing initially to something resembling the “cuckoo” finger swirl and then evolving, as it widens, into a one-handed version of Jazz Hands.

In contrast, and no, I am not making this up just to, as it were, fill my proverbial Spectrum, Z has issues with speaking at LOW volume. Specifically, she prefers to speak At All Times, and so, if she has been asked to be quiet, she simply speaks much, much more quietly, typically in a very special language of her very own. This brings us to:

2.  The No Poltergeist Voices Rule

If your attachment disordered, or otherwise anxiously garrulous, or perhaps even happily loquacious child has not stopped speaking in approximately seven hours (years) and if he or she insists upon whispering “ZI-guh-sa-ba ZI-guh-sa-ba” over and over near your ear while you are on the phone for Three Minutes after Paying Attention to her or him the Entire Day (or some similar situation), simply invoke the No Poltergeist Voices Rule.

This might work.

Jazz Hands!

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

Would You Rather…II

Many people worry. I don’t remember worrying much before becoming a mother, but back then I used to, how you say, “sleep.” All parents worry, I know. To be sure, we all have different worries -- but one thing we do share for sure is a novel and intensified capacity for terror. It’s almost as if when we become parents – however our families are formed – many of us develop an extra mental organ (or augment the one we already had) …Let us call it the extrapolator-catastrophizer gland.

The frenzied activity of this new (or newly expanded) organ is certainly enough to lead to a wide range of emotions, or what Pardner and I refer to as WROE (pronounced “roh”). After all, our children are our hearts walking around -- outside of us! -- in an uncertain world.*

I imagine the average parent shoves elements of many of the following sorts of concerns into their extrapolator-catastrophizer gland:

Happiness

Money

Manners

Grades

School Quality

Family Issues

Perfect Parent, the attempt to be

Health

Friends**

Popularity

Safety

Success

Bad People, contact with kids thereof

College

Athletic Ability

Some parents with “special needs” children might consider themselves lucky or wish to have these concerns, rather than worrying about, say, whether their child will ever walk or read or live a full, satisfying life. Some parents of children who inhabit areas of the spectrum other than “normal” may share these “normal” concerns, too, of course. In any case, although all parents -- and some people -- share this capacity for worry, I have to speculate that the extrapolator-catastrophizer gland of parents with “high needs” or “special needs” children may be slightly more taxed than average.  But let’s explore this assertion – because I am not actually sure it is true.

 

Figure 1: Venn Diagram: People, Parents, “Special Needs” Parents, Gland

Above, we see the scientific, spectrum-based proof that we all share more than we differ. I think within that context it becomes acceptable and safe, even useful, to make distinctions.

Relativism makes the Ethics teacher in FSM nuts. Of course context has weight, but some things just are right and wrong. Sure, everybody has their troubles, but some things Just Are harder than others. I have friends who are raising children who may never talk, never interact…who try for not days, not months, but Years to communicate with their child(ren) and cannot get through…and they keep trying. I have friends who are raising multiple, non-typical kids on their own on practically nothing. I have been a single mother. I have been broke. I have been a single, broke mother of two extraordinary and challenging children. I’m neither broke nor single now and it’s just plain easier. I am not saying it’s better, necessarily, but on a purely practical level it is, without question, more easierer.

My dear friend Noodle has two children. Her son is a well-adjusted, neurotypical, socially at-ease, sweet, lovable dude, and her daughter is a brilliant, non-neurotypical, evil mastermind, Goth genius, Feminist Riot Grrrl artiste. Noodle says parenting her daughter is simply exponentially harder. She worries about her more than she does her son. Period.

This may be partly because there is more material for to fret. For example, when your child is neurologically inward-focused, you tend to catastrophize about basic practical matters – safety, hygiene, self-sufficiency. When your child is delayed in developing a superego (a.k.a. conscience), you tend to extrapolate to larger potential dirty deeds. Think “Mean Girls.” Think Enron. 

These concerns do not just regard individuals or families, but society as a whole. For instance, in a piece on last week's "troubling" new CDC figures on autism (1 in 88 children today is on the autism spectrum; 1 in 54 boys) commentators on today's "On Point" (http://onpoint.wbur.org/2012/04/02/autism-numbers-skyrocket) discussed some of the challenges in parenting "special needs" children and the need for supporting parents, children and communities now -- and as these many, many children make their way into adulthood. 

On the other hand, there are people with traditional two-parent families, good job(s), plenty o’ dough and neuro- and psychotypical children who are consumed by angst.

Maybe the size of each individual extrapolator-catastrophizer gland is set – and we each worry according to its putative capacity. Or, most likely, there is a Full Spectrum of extrapolator-catastrophizer tendencies as well. If, for any given individual, we take into account the specific activity level of their E-C gland and their actual life concerns as input I think we are going to need a matrix here.

                      Figure 2: A Matrix: Extrapolator-Catastrophizer Gland Activity/Situation

My worries about G being able to live the life he wants to live and Z not becoming a grifter feel like they would fit into that matrix in a reasonable spot. I hope that Z will allow herself to feel and not just Rule, but I don’t worry over her popularity or job prospects.  I hope that G will develop a capacity to Pay Attention to the World, but I don’t waste time worrying over whether he is a sweet, honest person.

My worries are not entirely coincidental with the most regular concerns, but they are also distant on the spectrum from both mountains-out-of-molehills AND the concerns of those who deal daily with challenges much greater than mine.  It’s a decent place to be, all things considered, so let’s proceed from the pity party to the party. I suspect laughter may be the key to moderating the effects of an active extrapolator-catastrophizer gland.

Want to make me laugh? How's about a game of “would you rather…”

Would you rather…eat frozen moose poo shavings*** garnished with your choice of grubs (mashed, guts oozing [but, possibly this is good, dead] or live and writhing) or do a modern dance interpretation of your favorite poem in front of all of your facebook friends?

Would you rather…eat a puss-smeared band-aid that you found on the subway floor or drink dumpster juice from the bottom of a smelly kitchen dumpster that has been out in the blazing sun?****

Would you rather…be stung by an angry hornet or drink a cup of sour milk with a straw made of a rotten old bone?

Would you rather…have the kids you have – with all their challenges and quirks and catastrophizer-extrapolator exacerbating facets – or some other kids (or no kids)?

Would you rather…be yourself or someone else? Live now or in the future…?

Extrapolating and catastrophizing,

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Thank you, Elizabeth Stone, for putting this concept into words!

** I love this quote re: friends from Ask Moxie (http://www.askmoxie.org/2012/03/qa-helping-your-child-develop-confidence-and-become-a-friend.html): “I would go through another 10 unmedicated labors, 20 bouts of mastitis, two solid years of potty training, and an infinite number of sharp jabs to the kidney in the middle of the night if I never had to worry about my child making friends.” Thanks, @Elysia, for the reference.

***"Humorous" moose reference: quite likely evidence of living too long in Vermont.

**** This entry courtesy of a reader with a very sick mind. When I asked, merely in passing, if she had any good new “would you rathers” her response could barely be contained in an email.

Pay Attention! To the World!

What are the odds that someone would put on two shirts, one over the other, both inside out and both backwards? Sounds unlikely, no?

Actually, Full Spectrum Mama…what ARE the odds? Harkening back to graduate school statistics, I have in fact calculated the random chances that one would simultaneously wear two shirts inside out and backward (*see below): just over six percent. Yet G seems to wear his shirts this way roughly 60% of the time.

Three seasons of the year here in New England, we layer two shirts for warmth -- but we only wear them once. It occurs to me that the odds might be slightly higher in the case of pajamas: you take ‘em off, they are inside out…You put ‘em back on: inside out. Thus, one ought reasonably to conclude that there might be a higher than six percent chance in the matter of the double-backward-inside-out (DBIO) pajama tops. We wear pajamas for a week, barring mishaps, with double layers on top during the aforementioned three chilly seasons. I have in fact calculated that for each of the week’s seven wearings the daily DBIO odds are as high as 14% (*see below). But I would wager that in the pajama realm we are looking at more like a 90% DBIO scenario.

Figure 1: DBIO Pajama Tops, with faint smile



There might be an element of intentionality to this sartorial situation. G invariably smiles slightly when I bring up how remarkable his shirt-luck is…is it pride that tickles him? Or is he sheepish? Is he a rebel with a cause, albeit an obscure one?

You’ll notice I haven’t even mentioned underwear- or pajama bottom-orientation.

If G cares about something, he WILL change it however he sees fit. However he simply does not agree that shirt-orientation is important. He has a point, I know; even so, I would like to see him express his iconoclasm in a way that won’t make the fourth grade girls tease him.

One of G’s earlier, tentative diagnoses was Attention Deficit Disorder. I knew this was completely wrong: he could focus on something he was fascinated by for hours at a time. His internal capacity to concentrate – often on internal topics – sometimes seemed much higher than average. In fact, he’d be near-unresponsive if absorbed in certain toys or a book. That label was discarded for others, deciding not to label, and so on…Some of you will recognize this cycle…In any case, ADD was not a label that stuck.

Caring about something, paying attention, merits awareness about that thing. Here are some other things G doesn’t care to be all that aware of: prestige, the despotism of custom (http://www.victorianweb.org/philosophy/mill/block.html), the coolness-level or age of playmates, sleeping past 5am, order and cleaning of most sorts, safety. Some of these are great (I am never pressured by him to buy the latest trendy clothes, for instance), and some can be challenging. It’s the latter that presents some tough choices for this Full Spectrum Mama. I just wish I could convey – in a way that really made sense to him – those things that would keep him safe and out of harm’s way. Of course emotional harm is a piece of this, but I would start with fundamental survival tips. I have to find ways to make these external things matter to him somehow.

Lately, sometimes several times a day, I find myself holding G’s precious face tightly in my hands and looking right into his eyes. “Pay attention! To the World!” I say. “Please! Look into my eyes and really hear me: You have to be aware of the world around you.”

I’m one to talk. According to an informal survey of “people who walk with me,” I frequently almost walk out into the street at bad times. I (by choice) didn’t get my drivers’ license until my late thirties  (there was a two-week driving salvo in my early twenties that ended with my vowing never to drive again). Granted I am a native New Yorker but it was more about self-limiting: it struck me as neurologically overwhelming, what with all those Factors (Directions! Other drivers! Turning!)! Driving was neither something I thought I would do well or enjoy, and I didn’t start to try until it became an incontrovertible necessity.

Obviously, I am not the world’s finest safety representative. As well, I never thought I would be a bastion of conformity-recommendation but here I am informing my son, “This is the way people do things” (i.e. wear shirts). On the other hand, daughter Z is all-too-aware of her surroundings and of “normal” ways of doing things. It probably goes without saying that she dons all clothing 100% correctly, 100% of the time.

One notion I had when starting this blog was that a useful parenting idea that holds true for Both of my two disparate children might be a useful parenting idea (not suggestion or rule, just idea!) for ALL parents. The topic of paying attention does not seem to generate any such overarching ideas. Here, I parent a very Full Spectrum-Of-Two. For just one example, take driving: I actually believe Z could be a safe and reliable, if, one might say, potentially “strong on the offense,” driver at age six, while G (and, perhaps, I) would best be served by using public transportation in perpetuity.

Balanced attentiveness to what’s inside and what’s outside is not a given around these parts. Manifestations of focus -- chosen and not-chosen, obsessive or “normal,” healthy and less-so – vary widely in our family.

The ways we (all of us) apportion attention are strikingly different. Children with different attention styles need at times to be parented in different ways. How? Hmm. I do at least maintain that the practice of paying attention to what our children and we ourselves are Paying Attention To is important, especially so when we are not dealing with “neurotypical” or “psychotypical” individuals.

When I am giving some version of a Pay Attention Lecture to G, I become -- on my better days -- aware that Z is listening. She is an excellent listener, regardless of whether she chooses to agree with what she is told. I want to say to her, “NO! Not You! You need to pay LESS attention to the world and more attention to your heart and to let go a bit!”

Luckily, I am able to follow up my Pay Attention lectures to G with Anti-Pay-Attention lectures to Z because G is not listening 93.75% of the time.

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama


* I believe one calculates this as follows: there are four options for each shirt if the dresser is paying ZERO attention:
1. backward, right side out
2. backward, inside out
3. forward, right side out
4. forward, inside out.

Therefore, there is a one-in-four chance of randomly donning a shirt backward and inside out (BIO). So for two shirts, since options are not mutually exclusive (vs flipping a penny, for example), we multiply. The chance, then, of wearing two shirts in this way on a given day (DBIO, again, assuming one pays NO attention to proper shirt wearing) is .25 x .25 or .0625. Just over six percent.

As for the pajama-calculation, I estimated with a higher, set rate of inside-out chancedness. In seven possible dressings, I generously eliminated the right side out option for Four, but retained the backwards/forwards measure for those days, resulting in the following calculation: (.0625 x 3) + (.25 x 3) or .1875 + .75 or .9375 for overall chance of the DBIO Pajama Top. I divided this by 7 to get your average chance on a given day: .13392857 or about a 14% chance. From this we may conclude that for a week, random incidence of DBIO-shirt-wearing would be almost assured (93.75%), and not out of the question on any particular day.

Hi! If you are still reading this you might want to ask yourself some questions. Hey, I’m the one who *wrote* it…Just saying.

"Laugh Like a..."

“Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Interrupting Cow.”

“Interrupting Cow—“

“--Moo!”

If you don’t think this joke is funny, or if you think it should be told Only Once, you are probably on a different part of the humor spectrum than we are. Lucky you. We are a very corny, silly family with penchants for repetition and nonsense. Z’s sense of humor tends toward the witty, G’s toward the baffling and awkward; both love a good potty joke. As for me, sometimes I feel as a Full Spectrum Mama that if I am not laughing I might well be crying…So when my head is clear enough to make that choice (which is not a given), I choose the giggle. That shared sense of humor may well be our saving grace.

This happened when Z was four years old. In order for the story to make sense, a few preliminary details are necessary. First, we do not have any broadcast television and live in a pretty idyllic and sheltered rural area. Second, we do not cuss in our home. I believe I may have said the “S” word once or twice, but that’s it. I manage to eff up on a daily basis in plenty of other ways, but non-cussin’ is one area of success. It is possible that Z and G have heard profanities at their father’s house, but always as exclamations, never as vernacular. Finally, at the time this incident occurred, my now-husband (henceforth referred to as “Pardner”) and I were dating, and the kids called him “Shushu” (uncle in Mandarin).

We are at a cute little restaurant in trendy, charming New Hope, PA enjoying some adequate Mexican food on our way home from visiting with family. Again, Z is four, a sassy, going-on-25-going-on-75-four, but nonetheless she is barely as tall as the table at which we are sitting. Our little family – Pardner, G, Z and me – is enjoying some jovial repartee and eating tacos and sides. Z likes her food spicy and G likes his bland, so I have apportioned the food accordingly.

In my memory, I am looking at my yellow rice and lumpy brown pile of beans when Z turns to me and says, “Mama, Susu Pardner makes you laugh like a bitc#!”

I turn to Pardner, sotto voce, “Did she just say laughlikeabitc#?” I feel, simultaneously, a very wide range of emotions. The dominant feeling is: I am about to crack up laughing worse than ever before in my life in a way that will be highly inappropriate on many levels. Also, I will not be able to stop laughing, either, should I start.

I lurch into autopilot-damage-control: “Snitch,” I say, “Where did you learn that funny, funny word?”

“I said Bitc#.”

“Oh, hahahahaha, ditch, yes, that IS funny. Hahaha.”

“Bitc#.”

Has it ever hit you full on that your child, your tiny little child, is already much cooler than you ever have been or could hope to be? The best part was how she said it, all feisty and ghetto, and like she knew what she meant. Head bobbing a little from side to side and the pointed finger going. For real.

Let’s face it, hearing babies and little kids swear is funny. It just is. Cute, too. Yet of course Full Spectrum Mama has to protect her daughter from her own precociousness and from apparent insidious influences. As much as Z has seemed all her life to need nobody, nohow, she’s still a child and she needs guidance.

Somehow I kept a straight face. I used the famous parental move “ignore and move on,” (a.k.a. “Cuban Missile Crisis”). Afterward, I did do my best to figure out where she got the idea to say “laugh like a bitc#,” although I never did find out. I believe she has forgotten this particular phrase, though she still can be plenty fresh. I remind myself on the daily that Z may seem like a cooler, more socially-adept peer, even, ahem, someone who might’ve been mean to me in high school but – she isn’t. She is my little girl. So I need to be the grown-up.


I thought about “laugh like a bitc#” the other day when we were walking home from school. There is a beautiful forested area right next door to our house and I sometimes allow G to walk through it en route. That day he asked, “Mama, may I venture into the woods?” “Why, yes, my son, go in peace,” I replied.

Wonder where he gets his quirky turn of phrase?

G, a major bookworm from birth, has always talked as if he lives in medieval times, or is in a Poke´mon program (he sees them chez the ex). Back in preschool, he would literally ask the other kids questions like, “Would you care to engage in a playful interaction with me?” (Sample, highly effective Z preschool utterance: “Gimme that if you wanna play with me…whatever.”)

How did it evolve that my two children – who have the same parents* -- express such a Full Spectrum of speech patterns? Ways of speaking -- how we tap into the vernacular (or not), how we draw from our reading and other parts of the world around us…how we hit the coolness nail on the head or NOT -- can be seen as more Full and rich Spectrums.

(*Oops, I totally forgot that Z was adopted for a moment there – but let’s agree that certainly she has had the same parental environment as G since she was 9 months old…)

Z remains the sharp-witted queen of kindergarten, whilst G’s courtly language flies about as well in fourth grade as it did back then. Oh, someday he will find his tribe. But…Goddess? PLEASE get him through middle school with his sweet soul intact. And please, please -- I know it is not my girlbaby’s job, but she can handle it -- make Z protect him once they are in high school together.

I will do anything!!!

Laughing like a bitc#,
Love,
Full Spectrum Mama

A Spectrum Rainbow

Let’s scratch that linear spectrum from my first entry. I’m feeling now that a better visual model would be a circular rainbow pie chart deal, with everything connecting in the center and closely related qualities connecting along the perimeter.


Figure 1: An Amended Spectrum


One nice thing about this new and improved circular spectrum is that proximity can be quite telling. I pointed out that the difficulties in connection on the far end of the autism side of that original spectrum reminded me in some ways of the inability to connect on the far end of the attachment disorder side of the spectrum. Within a circle, these two pie slices – far as they might be from “normal” on the perimeter -- might themselves be quite close, with some “unknown” slices in-between. The “normal” slice might be on the opposite side of this thus-far-undefined area.

Here are some ideas for some other Full Spectrums, a veritable Spectrum Rainbow, with illustrations from my own family:


A Dance Spectrum
We do a lot of dancing in our house. All sorts of music. Sometimes we’ll even have a dance-off! I could expound at length on kinds of movement, hip-shakers and non-hip-shakers, rhythm, etc. but it basically comes down to this: If Z is Beyonce, G is Steve Martin in “The Jerk.” ‘Nuff said.

On second thought, it occurs to me that although I personally think I would fall closer to Beyonce than the Jerk on this spectrum, G definitely fancies himself quite the dancer too. Hmm.

A Spatial Self-Awareness Spectrum
Part of my project here is to distinguish and clarify, but I do so more in the ultimate aim of connection than separation. For example, most everybody has some sort of self-awareness in space, so that is a connection. Yet, for a child with Asperger syndrome, self-awareness in terms of place in the physical space one inhabits is fundamentally very different from that self-awareness for a child with an attachment disorder.

I would place Z in a position of extraordinarily high, vigilante-esque self-awareness that is connected integrally with an extraordinarily high level of awareness of others. G would seem to land close to the opposite side of this pie, with little consciousness of his weight and size and position, or of his spatial relations to others.

I am not a neurologist or psychiatrist, just a Mama wondering at and about her children (and children [and people] in general). I do wonder if this self-awareness thread relates in some way to the ways severely autistic children and children with severe attachment disorders may seem similar in their apparent disengagement with the outside world? How might their awareness of self-in-space and self vis-à-vis other people differ? How might it be useful to think of self-awareness in space and in relationships as a way IN to children’s minds and hearts? To healing, where needed?

This spectrum emerges as useful in helping me see that I, as a Full Spectrum Mama, need to help each child move closer to a healthy level of self-awareness in this regard. That’s not always true: sometimes I want to nurture that distance from the “normal” slice of the spectrum. Here, however, I would like to help Z relax her vigilance -- and G to become more attentive.

A Scotch Tape Spectrum
Some people feel perfectly comfortable using reams of scotch tape. Who are these people? Oh, pardon. I meant to write that there are different ways of approaching scotch tape use. Some of us view scotch tape as a precious, non-renewable and expensive resource that must be monitored and used in minimal, just-barely-adequate increments. Others have a “normal” take on tape. They use it when they need it, a reasonable amount…and buy more with little or no angst! And, much as it pains me to admit this, there are those who are quite “free” with their usage. [No need to let me know if you fit in this slice. I accept you. I just do not want to know.]

Z, as you might imagine, is highly responsible and abstemious in her tape-related-habits, even unto the point of Putting the Tape Back; G is a tape-waster par excellence. Left to his own devices, he would use tape for many, many non-approved purposes – and I would never be able to find the roll in any “emergency.” From time to time I have generously bought him his own roll, said roll never to be seen again.

Matters of scotch tape and self-awareness are related, yes they are: ideally I’d like to assist Z in relinquishing her control-freak position on this spectrum, while gently nurturing G in his scotch-tape consciousness.

A Style Spectrum
Here we have Z, dressed always with a flair and pizzazz and ultra-originality that nonetheless manages to scream, “I have fantastic taste!” She may be wearing seven necklaces, but they perfectly complement her nine bracelets. A cape? But of course. And matching veil. Anything she puts on, Z instantly elevates and imbues with sheer gorgeousness and chic.

Next to Z, we have people with some style and then we have a series of “neutral” or “regular” style slices eventually veering toward a lack of style…and then we have G.

My son, despite being conceived, gestated and living the first few years of his life in the East Village, has never looked right in anything fey or trendy. Something about him calls for classic, regular, GUY garb. When G was a baby, we came to call this genre “football-teddy bear clothes.” I have recently managed to sneak him into a skinny cord without too much protest although he has a really, really hard time getting in and out of this particular pant. In fact, G’s pants are usually pulled up to just under his nipples, His shoes are probably on the wrong feet. Anything he puts on looks like it was put on by mistake. Obviously, we are moving away from “normal” here…but where are we going, exactly?

I contend that we are actually edging back closer to the high style slice! I further contend that G may well be edging into what we, in our house, call “meta-cool.” He is so on his own fashion planet that he may well have crossed the pie-border into the slice just adjacent to Z’s super-flair section!


Figure 2: Flair de La Z (with brother)


A Sexuality Spectrum
The increasing acceptance of a rich, full spectrum of sexuality, gender identification and sexual orientation seems to me to be one of the great leaps forward of this new millennium. Nevertheless, so far, my kids have not been taking advantage of the wide range of available options.

We live in a super-liberal area where I would wager the vast majority of parents would answer the questions “Can girls marry girls?” and “Can boys wear dresses?” in the enthusiastic affirmative, Still, Z lives in a pink world of princesses and fairy costumes and Prince Charmings. NB: her favorite doll is named “Donna Poodle Itchy,” which does give me hope for her independent future.

When G was under one year old, he leaned over from his clip-on high chair and kissed a female model on the back of a magazine that was lying on the counter. Although he does sometimes hug his (male) best friend a leetle too long, he seems to be firmly on the hetero slice of the pie and has "always" wanted to “marry” a gal he met in kindergarten.

Wherever they ultimately end up on this spectrum is just fine with Full Spectrum Mama; the only remarkable thing here is that this is one area where Z and G reside in the most average part of the spectrum.

A Sassy Spectrum
Z is monumentally sassy. G is not, in any way, sassy. When I imagine a full sassiness spectrum with these two opposite slices, one intervening side might be varying degrees of silly sass, and the other side might be mean sass. Having abandoned all hope of reducing Z’s sassiness quotient, I now try to steer her more toward the silly side and away from the mean. And I know it wouldn’t hurt for G to develop a sassy quip or two. We’re workin’ on it!

We all fit in somewhere -- and we are all connected.

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama

Control and Therapeutic Parenting

Maybe it was the “vacation” weekend on the Cape when I spent two out of three nights in the car with Z because she refused to stop screaming and was keeping other motel guests awake. And didn’t care. At all. Didn’t care about her crying, sleep-deprived big brother, or even the entreaties of her beloved “Papa” (I believe her exact words were, “Shut up, Papa!” {NOT standard words in our family}).

Or maybe it was when we were in the car and I had a migraine and Z was having a tantrum and I got her attention by explaining very, very quietly, that Mama had a migraine and that “every sound out of her mouth felt like a knife in my brain”…and then she got very, very quiet, took a deep breath, leaned forward and yelled as loud as she could into my ear.

In any case, at a certain point, my partner – who grew up oldest of eight and is, I assure you, unflappable – got the name of a therapist who specializes in children who were adopted and have associated concerns.

In Vermont, heck, in standard liberal parentland everywhere, we like to Respect our children, right? We talk to them about things, reason with them, offer them Choices. In previous generations, this might have been viewed as permissive or, um, irrational, but we are Modern Parents, Enlightened Parents and we know that our children are Human Beings.

I had noticed pretty early on that Z seemed to really like choices. She would think about them and weigh them and often contribute her own additional option. In fact, she liked choices so much that her choosing had become an exhausting element of my life.

For example, if I suggested that Z go upstairs and get ready for bed (pajamas, brush teeth, toilet), she would typically ask, “Can I pee downstairs?” Well, sure…why not? "Can I choose a goodnight book first?" "...OK"

Or if I let her choose toys for the bath, she would choose an entire bathtub full (many of which I had previously told her couldn’t get wet), so we’d have to go through a long negotiation process.

Or –- and this was my stock story whilst commiserating with other mothers of daughters – if I would ask her to put her dishes in the sink, inevitably she would respond, “Can I put them Next To the sink?”

Everything was open to negotiation. Still, this felt progressive to me, especially as compared with other elements of our life together (many of which felt challenging and disconnective). So even though I sometimes wanted to say, “Just do it! Because I said so!” I didn’t.

Meanwhile, Z’s tantrums and certain other habits – hoarding food, stealing, sneaking, lying, general mayhem and human enslavement – continued to escalate. Z seemed profoundly angry and, quite frankly, did not seem to be developing a conscience. I knew that while she might pretend to toe the line when I was in the room, she would do whatever she wanted the instant she was unwatched. I didn’t care so much about most of the basic practical aspects of this, such as spoiled food or ripped clothing (well, the theft and destruction of jewelry was problematic), but I worried about the implications for her later life - and I did worry about safety.

The bottom line was I had NO idea what to do. I had tried all the suggestions of friends and family and none of it had worked. Some of the things she did were developmentally appropriate but many were not. Even the developmentally appropriate things were, when done by Z, on a larger, more Machiavellian scale. The whole Z package was just so over the top: brilliant, adorable, charming…and so, sooo incredibly poorly behaved.

Full Spectrum Mama was accustomed to G, the first child, who lived to do the right thing. G’s very loving, stable start in life, coupled with his innate literalness and natural sweetness, had produced a child who was liable to happily do what was asked of him, so long as he didn’t get distracted en route. Lest you think G is Mr. Perfect Child, I should add that he does indeed get distracted, oh, say half the time – and let’s not get into multi-step instructions.

It seems to me that toward the middle of a Full Spectrum of Doing the Right Thing (according to parents, anyway), children sometimes do what is right and sometimes do not, in either case sometimes because they want to and sometimes because they feel forced. I had one child who was glad to do what FSM asked, basically at all times, because he genuinely believed Mama had her finger on the pulse of cosmic rightness; and one child who didn’t give a rip about right and wrong and only ever did what she was told when directly observed. And often not even then. Her urge to do or get what she wanted felt to her, I suspected, like a matter of survival.

Consequences – another tenet of Modern Parenting – meant NOTHING to her. I would start with the threat of reasonable consequences and sometimes, in the avalanche toward the ridiculous, end up going to extremes. A dispute over whether Z had done something with 2/3 of my $54 jar of Clinique Redness Solution – a huge, wedding-based splurge – resulted in absolutely no admission of guilt from her and my having to enforce no dessert for a month. Because, as you know, Consistency and Follow Through are further tenets of Modern Parenting.

I cajoled. I punished. I warned her. I gave her her own creams. She was invariably back in the medicine cabinet within hours.

Extrapolate from the medicine cabinet to almost every other area of our lives -- I was lost.

During our very first therapy session, the therapist taught me the single most important thing I ever learned as the parent of an attachment-disordered child: [in this context] “therapeutic parenting is control freak parenting.” It turns out that the main thing my daughter needed from me was to help her feel safe. And by what felt to me like honoring her as an individual – giving her choices - I was actually showing her that I didn’t have the answer! Z needed me to tell her what to do. What a revelation!

Have I mentioned I am an extremely controlling person by nature? Knowing this, I have always gone out of my way to Not be a controlling person. It’s not about power for me (as it somewhat is for Z) it’s about my part of the spectrum, self-diagnosed long ago (pre-G!) at being juuust at the tip of the autism range. I am very literal, and there are right and wrong ways to do things. In the abstract, I do know that other people have their own ideas about right and wrong and, in principle, I honor that. But, given half a chance, I could definitely be a total control freak. Drop the constant negotiation and lengthy discussions about every move? “I can do that,” I assured myself.

How could I have known that by allowing my child to make her own choices I was sending her into a tailspin of uncertainty in which she would constantly and anxiously feel the need to exert the control that I was apparently incapable of managing? I began to give her clear direction – and she began to heal.

I explained to G that different children need different rules sometimes, and I think he understands. His particular spot on the spectrum sometimes calls for extraordinary monitoring as well. Figuring out just how to balance control and respect in these relationships is an ongoing project.

In the meantime, as for everybody else, you, too, may put the dish IN the sink, goldang it! Except glasses. Glasses and other breakables Next To the sink, please. And silverware in that cup with the soapy water? Thanks.

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama

Later, I am going to write a very serious poem. About death. But first a few words about the most alive people I know, Z and G, and about living and laughing with them and the most good crying jag ever.

Last spring, a bantam rooster from the stables next door came over to our yard. He was devastatingly handsome and conceited and all 6” of him vibrated with rooster power.

I called over to the stables to let them know he was at our house. “He’s on his own,” they told me, “He’s a jerk!”

I guess he was just too much man for those bantam hens…G and Z fell totally in love with him and G named him “Erk.” We fed him uncooked 10-grain hot cereal and delighted in him for a couple of days.

On the day that the kiddoes spend with their father, I went on a crazy mountain bike ride with my world-class athlete beau. Just a quarter-mile or so from my house, almost home, I hit a washboard and went over the front of my bike, knocking out both a tooth and myself. Fast-forward through the hospital, the initial grappling with concussion, the first sight of my ravaged face (Figure 1) to the next day, early afternoon.


Figure 1: My Face, May 2011


Picture me, a fairly slim, white, blonde woman. Without ever having been overtly aware of it, a woman imbued with major non-dangerousness (except during my punk rock days – and that’s another story!). I have decided to do some gardening, despite being somewhat physically and mentally depleted. I am still in my pajamas: skin tight red velvet bellbottoms and a concert shirt from my friend’s band. The design on the shirt is one of those ornate heavy metal jobs, with umlauts and gothic script and ram’s horns, but the band itself was a pop/folk band and the design is tongue-in-cheek. Anyway, I have a missing tooth, a black eye, and a cut down the center line of my face. I am carrying a shovel and a hunk of bee balm that I plan to plant just across the dirt road next to my mailbox. Oh, and Erk is by my side, my trusty sidekick awaiting the next sprinkle of grain.

Figure 2: Erk


Suddenly a giant SUV with New York plates comes barreling down the road, windows down. I step back into my driveway, shooing Erk along as well.

“Watch out for the roothter!” I shout to the couple in the SUV, who are looking at me with horror in their eyes. My definitely-compromised mind starts racing: why are they looking at me like that? No one has ever looked at me like that! I’m—well—me! What…the…heck…is…going on???

And then I get it. Or so I think: “Well, it’th not MY roothter!” I loudly inform the couple, as they drive away as quickly as possible under the circumstances.

I have had many a laugh with friends and family over the conversation that might have ensued in that SUV: “Darling, this is why we don’t LIVE in Vermont!”

BOTH children think this is the funniest story ever. They will inevitably ask me to tell it in any social gathering. But I remember this time more because it was the first time Z ever really cried. Not that non-attachment-promoting, angry, demanding cry of the attachment-disordered child, but pure sadness and compassion.

My parents had come up to help (I couldn’t drive) and brought the kids home from school later that same afternoon. I was sitting in the armchair and Z came toward me, slowly. Right there I knew something was going on – she usually zings when she moves. She climbed into my lap, took one look at me, and began to wail. She curled up in my arms and continued to cry for a very long time.

Four years after coming home, at five years old, my daughter was crying for the first time. I was very proud. It felt so good and natural to hold her and keep holding her. I told her how brave she was to feel her feelings, as I petted her and held her as if she really was my baby who really needed me in a way I could innately understand. Some part of me released that day, the scared and angry part of me that had shriveled when my daughter came into our family pissed and stayed that way despite my best efforts.

Sometimes we still reminisce about Erk. We’ll talk about how beautiful he was, how small, how dapper and self-important… I will usually say, “Wasn’t Erk the best rooster ever?” and G – literal to a fault - will say, “Mama! He was our Only rooster! “

Although Erk left our home a day or two later (having gone “back home” – if by “back home” one means “probably eaten by a fox”), he was our one and only rooster of enduring laughter and tears.

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama

Full Spectrum Mama - II

Disclaimer: I am not a medical doctor, neurologist or psychiatrist. I am a Ph.D., but in sociology. This is all from my own speculation and observation. So let me explain a bit more about how I think this Full Spectrum makes sense.

One lens through which to observe this spectrum is that of relationships. Those in the “normal” area of this spectrum want to connect and are able to do so, more or less, on a “normal” level and in a more or less “normal” fashion. Those closer to the ends of this spectrum I have devised can seem less interested in connecting, while those somewhat closer to the “normal” center, such as those with mild attachment disorders or Asperger’s syndrome (please note: such labels are only acceptable and useful insofar they serve as tools for us, NEVER weapons) may connect in less-effective ways. Both of my children want very much to connect, but face major challenges in doing so in a healthy and successful fashion.

Z sees and knows everything. Within an instant. She is the ultimate skilled observer. She can read people better than anyone I know and determine pretty quickly what she can get out of them and how far she can push them. She is compelling, convincing...profoundly, brilliantly manipulative. She is always, always up to something or making a plan. One of my best friends calls this her “continual boundary-testing.” Being as she is – have I mentioned this? – incredibly cute, her acolytes are legion.


Figure 1: Z’s Art (at age 6)
Observe the precision and focus of this piece: Is there any doubt that this child will one day be the ruler of the known universe? Or at least that in +/- 6 years she will be demanding to know why I dragged her away from China to this third-world, second-rate country?


She connects, for sure– relentlessly! What she wants includes total attention at all times and possession of all potentially desirable, valuable or edible items in her vicinity. She will do whatever it takes to obtain these items. Why? I think partly because she didn’t get to make the connections she needed in the first year of her life. She self-soothes through control. My job is to set firm boundaries for her so that she feels safe – and can spend her energy on other things!


Figure 2: G’s Art (at age 6)
This is entitled, “The Evil Robot.” Note the friendly smile.







G, having had the luxury of having all his needs met from birth, and being of a naturally unacquisitive nature, is deeply uncalculating. He would give someone he just met his most precious possession. And it is surprising how many people (to be fair, more children than adults) are willing to take a precious possession, when offered with a smile and very detailed description (“This is my dual-deck-super-nature-power-booster-deck! I made it for you with grass- and steel-type Pokemon! The top card has multiple moves to take down all opponents! Especially evolved water-types!”). Eager to make friends, he throws himself into every interaction at the top of his voice and with all conversational options – emphasis on Pokemon and Legos -- on the table. He is almost entirely unable to read social cues that are more subtle than a sledgehammer. So boundaries are equally important for G so that he can act within the bounds of “acceptable” human interaction and actually Be safe.

As I have mentioned, these two, being so different, need two completely different parents in one: a Full Spectrum of parenting. At the same time, and parents of all sorts I know you feel me, it often also seems that each needs the entire parenting capacity of at least one parent just to get through the average day. Luckily, Full Spectrum Mama is occasionally up to this mighty task! Though not always.

For example, picture us at the grocery store. If Full Spectrum Mama’s attention lags from her children a little too long, say, while in the produce aisle dreaming of gourmet meals that are probably not going to happen, the scenario might look like this: here is G, extending his hand and introducing himself to some eye-rolling fellow ten-year old, “Hi! My name is [full name]! I like Pokemon and Legos!” And here is dear little Z, stuffing those gross, orange-flavored Tums into her pocket. See, it looks like candy and Z doesn’t yet read, despite being a total genius. Her considerable mental prowess is mostly devoted to her adorable kindergarten domination project.

I keep a vigilant eye on these two…except when I don’t. Then I see the eye-rolling ten-year old turning around and sneering and mimicking G’s slightly-off cadence to his smirking ten-year old companions. Then Full Spectrum Mama marches over, using incredibly good judgment, and tells those kids they are “Cruel and I hope some day someone treats you like that so you can see how it feels!” Meanwhile G – who, thankfully and let’s admit, characteristically, has not noticed any part of this sordid exchange – has gotten lost an aisle away and is calling, very loudly, “Mamaaaaa!!!!!”

Later, at home, I catch Z with the Tums and, after a lengthy exchange (in which the victor is unclear), get her to fess up. I try to handle it in what seems to be the best way by returning to the store and offering to pay for the Tums with Z in hand. Z, with the most sullen, flat expression imaginable, refuses to speak to the clerk – who, of course, thinks she is just the most adorable girl child ever, which she is -- and throws a marathon tantrum that lasts well into the night.

Well, I needed those Tums anyway!

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama

Full Spectrum Mama - I

There is a range of ways of being known intimately to me as a person, woman and mother, a Full Spectrum, if you will. As a mother of two high-needs children, I need to access a Full Spectrum of being in order to parent my children. That seems to me only natural: we as individuals and families manifest so much that is unique - and so much that we share. As well, in the larger picture, human beings embody a vast, diverse ocean of commonalities and divergences.

For some time I have been thinking about the spectrum of human beings and in my mind simultaneously making more connections and broadening what we are offered when we are diagnosed as different…or have children who are diagnosed as such – or we or they are perceived as such…or we or they feel different. Where do we fit in? I see rainbows and oceans of interrelations.

Without – please! -- assigning any value to the various labels, imagine the Autism Spectrum. Let’s say it extends from mild Asperger Syndrome to PDDNOS (pervasive developmental disorder, not otherwise specified) to severe Autism, sometimes presenting with other conditions. And then let’s place Sensory Processing Disorders just outside of this spectrum, to the left. Now let’s imagine that just as this spectrum extends to the right, it also extends to the left, and this hypothetical spectrum runs from so-called “normal” people (more on this later) near the middle, just beyond the “sensory processings,” to mild attachment disorders to severe attachment disorders.
Figure 1.

If I had better computer skills, this would be So much more luscious, but you get the idea. My intention is to show connections, more than distinctions.

In any case, I have two children, and I think of them at fairly opposite ends of this spectrum. My son has Asperger Syndrome and my daughter has an attachment disorder. I don’t want to in any way exploit them, so this blog will remain somewhat anonymous and I will refer to them only by initials (um, the wrong initials). I know there are other people out there who think that the wide range of humanity is fascinating; and I know there are other parents out there stretched thin. You are my people!

Son, G, was born under challenging circumstances in New York City weeks after 9/11. He was on a respirator in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit with severe meconium aspiration for a week. He is now ten years old. He is the kindest and most caring child I have ever known. Generous to a fault...and deeply socially awkward. He talks really, really loud and basically wants to talk about his special interests at all times. He would give you his most treasured possession in a heartbeat.

Daughter, Z, was adopted from China at nine months of age. She is six years old now, and stunningly beautiful, with the most perfect features I have ever seen on any human being. She is incredibly intelligent and observant. She has a terrific sense of humor and exudes glamour. We call her mini-Satan. And by “we,” I mean Me, because, you see, these two children require Two Completely Different Mothers.

So that is what you will find here – stories about my daily multiple-personality life – and how I mother the Full Spectrum. I aim to be inclusive and non-judgmental and never, ever sanctimonious…but you may find me irreverent. I will tell you why we laugh and cry around the house (oh, and in public, for better or worse!) and about our mishaps and triumphs and would love to hear your stories too.

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama