MIDDLE SCHOOL ORIENTATION -- THEN AND NOW

Dear Persons,

We remember our most terrifying life experiences all too well, right? 

My first Middle School Orientation as a parent was one such moment for me. 

My son, “G,” is now 16. He is a super smart, autistic, kindhearted 10th grader. 

My daughter, “Z,” is 12. She is allistic, very, very clever, and has some residual attachment-disordered behavioral traits that actually serve her well in her brutal 6th grade milieu. 

Four years ago, I attended G’s Middle School orientation. This spring, I attended Z’s. The differences between the two experiences were remarkable: 

Then: Abject terror for my child.

Now: Mild concern for other kids since, how shall I say this, Z and her friends are “still developing this skill” of the skill of empathy. 

Then: Both children sitting with me. I'm so tense that my little guy — not the most observant kid on earth — is sensing my alarm, and my little gal — showing her rare and dear soft side — is noticing the tears streaming down my face; trying to keep it together for them and for my own dignity, such as it was. 

Now: Sitting solo. G at another event. Z up on the balcony with her girl posse, all small but mighty. Scornful expressions masking…nervousness? Nah. 

Then: Tears.

Now: Yawns. Have already seen this presentation. Plus, not worried. 

Then: Curiosity tending toward fretting: Will these new teachers really see my child? Will he succeed here on his own terms? Will my child be bullied during this awkward time of life? Will G’s learning differences be scaffolded in such a way that his intelligence can shine? 

Now: Curiosity, pure and simple: What will those teachers I was in close contact with for G think when they meet Z? Will my child be actively kind to “different” kids like her brother? Will Z make an effort to do better if getting decent grades is easy for her? Will her developmentally appropriate “attitude” be toned down in class? In the lunchroom?

Then: All-out trepidation about the changes, from multiple classrooms to teacher-specific homework assignments.

Now: Relief, knowing I won’t have to intervene or oversee Z constantly—vis-à-vis homework or anything else. 

Then: Organizing Team Friendly Face.

Now: Admonishing (“Please try to look a bit less haughty — there are students here who feel intimidated and scared”).

Then: Praying.

Now: Sighing. 

My special “expertise” has always been around having two very different kids, but these four-years-apart experiences encapsulated that reality for me in the most striking way. It’s nice to see in this latest iteration that from time to time I am able to avoid having a total panic attack when a total panic attack is not warranted (I’ve wondered about that). 

Then: Despite all that, my kids are alright. More than alright! 

Now: Ditto!

Then and now, I am grateful for these two precious beings and for the ways we all persist in growing and trying, together. 

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

 Welcome to Voices of Special Needs Blog Hop -- a monthly gathering of posts from special needs bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about having a special needs kiddo -- from Sensory Processing Disorder to ADHD, from Autism to Dyslexia! Want to join in on next month's Voices of Special Needs Hop? Click here!

An InLinkz Link-up

SPD, ASD, ABC, DEFD....

Please note: this post is part of the Sensory Blog Hop, which is sponsored by the fabulous Jenny (what a great name!) over at The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. I accepted the invitation to participate as a way to get more exposure for FSM, but it has become a wonderful, inclusive, helpful community for all us SPD Blog Hoppers. Please do click on the links below for fresh and inspiring perspectives and meet some very worthwhile new pals.

When my little fella started seventh grade this fall, I very nearly had a nervous breakdown. 

However, it seems to be going very well..socially...which is...a surprise.

And then there are his grades. Which are terrible.

You see, his ASD and SPD are a big part of his DEFD and this causes a decline in his ABCs.

Get it? No? Please allow me to break it down:

ASD officially stands for Autism Spectrum Disorder. I don’t like “Disorder,” so I end the phrase with Difference. G is on the Autism Spectrum. He’s autistic in the way that used to be officially called Asperger’s.

Among other things, this means G has challenges in the social realm.

SPD officially stands for Sensory Processing Disorder. I do the same here, calling it Sensory Processing Differences. G has sensory processing differences, as most people on the spectrum do, as many people in his biological family – including me – do…

Among other things, this means that G is extraordinarily neurologically and sensorially sensitive in certain ways, while in other ways he may seem “undersensitive.” Put another way, the systems of people with SPD tend to pay more or less attention to feelings and sensory input than is “normal.”

Each person with SPD is different. (Sometimes when one area seems “undersensitive” it is because an individual with SPD is already overwhelmed from “oversensitivity” in another area!)

DEFD stands for Determinants of Executive Function and Dysfunction. Executive Function – the ability to process and enact a series of thoughts and actions in an effective way -  has never been a strong point for G. This fall, his already low levels of EF took a major dive.

So did his grades – his ABCs, if you will.

The way I see it, these acronyms and what they represent in my G (and others) are all intimately connected: Each person has a given amount of energy. When it takes More energy just to function socially, resources available for other aspects diminish.

I figure there’s only so much G to go around, and, currently, it’s almost entirely being utilized in this area of Social Skills -- which has been a lifelong challenge for him.

                       Figure I – Allocation of Energy Pie Chart                

He's enjoying seventh grade (?!)  – and “extremely popular.” I should note that from what I can see and from what G tells me (limited!) this all seems to be happening on G’s terms, that is to say he is popular and liked For Himself, the quirky and brave kid that he is [sniff!].  Given this turn of events, I pooh-pooh EF and the desire for As (…and Bs…).

For now.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

An InLinkz Link-up

GRADUATION

Today is my son’s last day in elementary school. G graduates – with a formal ceremony and all -  from sixth grade this evening. He has grown more in the last year at his new school than I ever could have expected.

His confidence has soared in this diverse environment where he is no longer the “different” kid.

He can hit a wiffle ball. With a bat!

Yesterday, no less than “seven girls” deemed him "good boyfriend material."

Who is this self-proclaimed "popular kid" with sportsability (okay, let's not go too far, but he might not be the last person picked -- and that's not nothing!) and a modicum of social ease (in certain contexts)?

For one thing, he's the once-doting son who now answers my every utterance with a groan of "mo-o-om" -- before I even finish:

"Clean your --"

"Mo-o-om…"

"Finish the--"

"Mo-o-om!"

"Want some--"

"Mo-o-om…"

"Well, I was gonna say, ‘Want some cookies…’"

"[Grunt]."

The distance between the earnest, affectionate “Mama” of the always-cherubic child (am I blacking something out? Nah…) and the grunts and moans of the sullen tween is – infinite.

Yet he's still the guy who thinks he wants to stay up a little later “because I’m a big kid now,” and who falls asleep with his nose in a book, and, then, sleepily opens his arms wide for a snuggle when I come to tuck him in…

He’s still a guy with a lot of challenges ahead of him in middle school and life, but he feels really good about right now. Who wouldn’t, with “about twenty friends”????

Graduation. How did this go so fast? It’s certainly not a new or original story, but, like any rite of passage, it feels big to those of us involved. We’ve got his tie tied and his shirt pressed and hanging in his closet at the ready. In ways I could not have imagined a year ago, G himself is ready.

But I am not.

Stand with me, my friends, even those readers I’ve yet to meet. I’ll be the one bawling while my horrified son tries to avoid me in the school gym tonight.

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.

The Least Popular Kid in the Class – Part One

As we got ready to head back to school this morning after “vacation,” Z was bouncing off the walls: “I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait,” she chanted.  G was more circumspect, and his little face was tight.

I hugged him and asked, “Whatsa matter, buddy?”

“I just don’t wanna go back to school.”

Oh, parents everywhere, hear my cry. Wide. Range. Of. Emotions. (W.R.O.E.)

We talked some about it – wonderful teachers…learning, importance thereof…how we can’t just play aaaaaaaaaallllll the time – but still…W.R.O.E.

Since dropping him off (did his sister even notice my leaving? I think not.) I’m stuck on an incident from a few weeks ago:

“I hope you are feeling better,” G’s beloved teacher from third and fourth grade had called out to him as we left school.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Nothing,” G responded, too emphatically.

“Then why did Mr. __ ask you that?”

“Nothing! No reason!”

I pushed. It felt right this time (sometimes it’s better to let go, I know).

At length, this story, as according to G, emerged:

G’s teacher likes to start off the day by asking thought-provoking questions during “morning meeting.” Often, these questions are like koans,* in that there is no “right” answer.

That particular day, the discussion was led by the teacher’s aide (who happens to work with G) and the question was, “What would you do if you we're the least popular kid in class? What would you do if you were the parent of that kid?"

G’s answer? “I think I am the least popular kid in class and I do nothing because I don't care about being cool; I would say to my child, 'Don't worry about it because when you grow up the weird will triumph!'"

His response, so brave and wise, took my breath away. (Mothers are so objective.) Also, the whole thing made me want to throw up, especially after what he said next:

“Then,” he continued, “for some reason, I started crying.”

You know how you’d do anything on earth for your baby (whoever your baby is, maybe it’s your partner, your cat…)? At that moment I promised the universe ANYTHING if it would only show me what to do to fix this situation. 

As we shift into the tween and dread middle school years, I fear social issues can only gather weight. As it stands, we drive hours to play with kids G has really connected with; plus we have carefully sought-out play dates in other local school districts.  And it’s not like G’s no fun to play with! He’s a really fun kid, if sometimes a bit fixated on Pokemon. He’s just stuck in a small school right now, where the particular mix of kids has left him…friendless.

Later, G asked me, “So how did you feel when I told you that?”

I thought about “that” for a minute. “First, I felt proud and happy, because you are so wise. But, also, I felt sad, because you felt that way and you must’ve been through quite a journey to get to feeling that way. I guess I also felt hopeful, that you will be around a more diverse bunch of kids soon.”

I paused and then asked, “How did YOU feel after all that drama?”

“I had mixed feelings.”

“Like what?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

I pressed him a little bit more.

“Stuff.”

…”STUFF???!!!”

Now that’s a “normal” tween answer!

(To be continued…)

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Merriam-Webster defines koan as, “a paradox to be meditated upon.” The concept arose from the Zen Buddhist tradition.