FOURTH ANNIVERSARY LISTS II: ATTACHMENT DISORDERS

Dear Persons,

There are not as many advocates for attachment disorder awareness as there are for the other areas of advocacy I explore, such as adoption, autism, and sensory processing differences. For this reason, I regularly revisit this theme for this one-topic anniversary post.

Over the years, I’ve tended in this blog to focus more on autism awareness and advocacy because our experiences with attachment disorder feel somehow more private, more inflicted. Attachment disorders cause children (and adults) to act in ways that are often unhealthy, even anti-social, all because of negative childhood or early life situations that did not allow them to form healthy attachments, or prematurely severed such connections.  Unlike autism and other neurological differences, typically inborn states that do not fundamentally need to be “cured” (I write a great deal on this elsewhere), attachment disorders are a sometimes incapacitating psychological condition that can benefit from intensive treatment, primarily through therapeutic parenting or work with an experienced therapist.

I share our Full Spectrum family struggles with my daughter Z’s attachment disorder for two reasons. First, because families all or partly formed by adoption or fostering may be facing this condition unawares, and may be desperate for help; and, second, because one of the central reasons we are a Full spectrum is because my children are so divergent – and this is partly because of Z’s attachment disorder. 

I will offer a little background. As you read about my daughter, please do so bearing in mind that her condition was/is not her “fault” – and is therefore nothing to be ashamed of...

When Z came home she was furious - with good reason. She was ultra-demanding, starving, relentless.  As she got older she began to steal, hoard, and lie compulsively. She became controlling - and a master manipulator. Constant power struggles with a tiny person were exhausting for the whole family (including Z!). Her tantrums continued to disrupt almost any environment she found herself in, well into her ninth year.

Her acting out was most overt with me, her mother, because she trusted me the most -- and thus needed to constantly test me. Highly challenging attachment-disordered behaviors may well be reserved for the home environment, or particular individuals, such as a parent or teacher.

While she was small of stature, adorable, and enormously charming – traits which her therapist pointed out were actually a disadvantage to healing, because they masked the ugliness of her behavior – Z’s behavior much of the time was destructive in subtle and not-so-subtle ways.

If you have a child who is exhibiting such behaviors, GET HELP. Trust me, you’re going to need to learn to do things very differently than you might expect! For example, many families with children who were adopted attempt to make up for any pain caused by the loss and turmoil of the adoption process by being indulgent and extra-doting with their children. Conceding to a child’s every demand, even with loving intent, can be a recipe for disaster with a child who has an attachment disorder. Look for a therapist with expertise in this area, and read everything you can find. I’ve talked about some specific strategies here and here and here, as well as below.

Children (and adults) with attachment disorders desperately need to feel SAFE. To that end, they try to control the things and people around them.  It might sound counterintuitive, but – in a very real way – such attachment disordered behaviors emerge in a painful search for safe, strong attachments. Unfortunately, attachment disordered actions tend to result in forming primarily conflict- and need-based relationships, rather than healthy, loving ones.

TMI? Successful therapeutic parenting in one sentence? Yes:

Create an environment with

CLEAR and

CONSISTENT

RULES and

BOUNDARIES

          so that your child can feel safe

-- and so can channel his or her energy into healing and growth.

As unknown as they are, attachment disorders are very real. They can be debilitating for families; they are also sometimes almost completely curable. In our family, many years of consistent therapeutic parenting, at times under the care of a therapist who specializes in attachment disorders, have resulted in a child who is light years healthier and happier than she would have been without this specific mode of therapy.

As Z heals, her true character – brave, loyal, funny, quick, loving - begins to emerge, unhindered by a condition imposed upon her by chance through her birth circumstances. She’s strong, in her own words, “Tiny on the outside but HUGE on the inside!” She’s a wonderfully practical girl, sometimes a bit more blunt than she was raised to be...but these things are characterological, part of her disposition, not just a result of trauma. In fact, we see a myriad of traits, such as being an astute judge of character, that merge positive aspects of her natural self with lessons learned from living through an attachment disorder. Perhaps best of all, while she’s never going to be the world’s most sentimental person, she’s cuddly in a way I could not have dreamed of even a few years ago.  

She feels safe enough to relax in my arms...versus her previous inclination to demand that I carry her around at all times. The wonderfulness of this shift cannot be overestimated.

Children are terrifically resilient and, like plants, they just want to GROW. They just need the right conditions to do so in the healthiest way possible for their unique needs.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

PAIN – SQUARED

Parents who have children who were adopted from orphanages often have to ‘teach’ their children to acknowledge pain to themselves and to express pain to others. Although Z came into our family at only nine months of age, she had already learned not to react to her body being hurt, or to express hunger or thirst through a baby’s only language (tears).

Instead, she expressed herself primarily through screaming if being put down at any time. Once she found someone to hold her at length, a single person devoted only to her and her brother (to whom she was immediately attached as well), she was not about to be abandoned. This was particularly acute during her first weeks with her family, during which not only did she demand to be held at all times but also to be walked around while being held, resulting in SEVERE sleep deprivation for all concerned.

Arriving home, we embarked upon a plan. I had heard that children whose most basic needs for comfort have not been met may present a range of developmental and emotional challenges and I had bright ideas to “fix” some of these potential issues. Reacting to pain came first: a strategy of exaggerated response to any possible injury quickly taught Z that if something happened to her that potentially did not feel good, and there was someone nearby to help, she could get a response to her feelings and be the beneficiary of comfort measures, such as an ice pack or the proverbial band-aid.

To this day, though, Z doesn’t even blink an eye at pain when she thinks no one is looking! I have watched from the kitchen window as she has fallen – hard, or been accidently but vigorously wacked with something from afar by her clueless brother. She never makes a sound…or even a face. I wonder: did she somehow never develop some important aspect of the neurology to feel pain because of those early months of neglect? Is she just brave as heck? Does she feel the pain, but less?

G and I, being highly sensitive personages, have to work really hard not to scream when we, like, step on a stray drop of water (no - really), so this is definitely a germane question in the Full Spectrum family.

Whereas a casual hidden observer could probably catch G or I writhing privately in agony several times a day, I’d wager that observer would never see the same in Z. Z has learned that public expression of discomfort leads to results, but when there is nothing to “gain” by reacting, she seems to have decided not to waste her energy.

Similarly, she doesn’t seem to notice hunger or thirst unless in the environs of potential indulgers, in which case she will avail herself of various and sundry treats. G and I, within an hour or two of not eating, invariably find ourselves starving, even trembling, with hunger. Much longer and we become vague, lightheaded, nauseous. I happen to be hypoglycemic, and G may be too; perhaps equally significant is the fact that we both had our needs met as infants. Our physiology (sensitive) and our early environments (sensitive to our needs) matched. 

Z, in contrast, seems to be able to function indefinitely without eating, unless food is offered to her. That is, her energy stays high, her focus sharp, her spirits strong -- whether she eats regularly or not…[Obviously, I haven’t performed experiments on her, I am going on seven+ years of observation.] It’s hard to imagine she could be experiencing hunger in the profound and extreme way that G and I do and still function so well, but, as must be asked vis-à-vis her pain, doesn’t she feel some hunger? She knows her situation now is one in which her needs can be met, and yet she still self-limits on those needs…unless – and this is a real possibility -- her physiology just really is that different.

That her response varies so widely according to context potentially indicates a reduced sensitivity to her own body’s cues and/or a self-imposed (conscious or un-) denial of self-nurturing and/or a really advanced mastery of social capital. Would Z be more sensitive overall, and therefore more vulnerable, had she been nurtured differently in her first months?

People sometimes ask me to blurb their books or products or blogs on this blog and I recently agreed to read a novel about reactive attachment disorder (RAD) by a reader named Michelle Weidenbenner. Her book is called Scattered Links (http://www.amazon.com/Scattered-Links-Michelle-Weidenbenner-ebook/dp/B00HP3X6R4) and it is about a Russian orphan’s journey. I haven’t finished it (and it seems to have some Christian undertones, which may be a plus or a minus or neutral for different readers), so I haven’t yet got a blurb. I was struck powerfully, though, by this sentence from the preface, which is written in the orphan’s voice:

“We never learn how to ask for what we need because when we do, no one listens.”

I’d never connected Z’s inability to acknowledge pain or hunger with her inability to ask for what she needs or wants. Z’s refusal to ask for things comes across as regal, but it’s at base a survival strategy, a sad concession to a disappointing start.

The other day we saw a “Wild Women Don’t Get the Blues” bumper sticker and Z asked what it meant. I explained that women have often been taught to do as they are told and that doing so, just for the sake of obedience, makes women unhappy. Women should follow their own dreams and beliefs, I told her, and then they won’t get “the blues.” But sometimes the other people who make the rules -- and the other people who follow the rules -- don’t like when you make your own rules, and they might call you “wild” or “different” or “crazy,” even. And that’s okay, because you will be happier -- and stronger -- for following your own heart.

Of course, she’s still too young to make up her own rules. And I assured her I still get to boss her around for a Long Time. But I want her to know, and I will continue to say to her:  if something (or someone!) hurts you, or if you are hungry for something, speak up, my daughter!!!! How we feel – in our hearts, our bellies, our bodies, our beliefs – matters. YOU MATTER.

Now, let’s eat!

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

Second Anniversary Lists II: Attachment Disorders

I posted my first second-anniversary list, on Advocacy, about two weeks ago. Immediately following that post, I had a startlingly depressing IEP meeting, hence, the delay in this second list – and this disclaimer: none of us knows what to do all the time! Sometimes life is hard, and there are major and minor disastrophes, however hard we try.

It was “funny” to have this second second-anniversary post in the back of my mind as I endured one of the most attachment-disordered weekends we have had in recent memory.  The drama was epic, with violent and threatening tantrums starting Friday afternoon - and the consequences (effective or not) were many. Still, I stand by my lists – I just may need to adhere to them with more vim and acumen myself!

This time last year, I wrote about attachment disorders in general and listed some of the things I wished I’d known about them before embarking on some painful and discouraging times with very little knowledge of how to help my child. I had moments of desperation, regret and despair that I would not wish on anyone. If you are looking for general definitions and tips, or are new to attachment disorders, here is the link to that post: http://fullspectrummama.blogspot.com/2013/01/first-anniversary-lists-ii-attachment.html.

This year, I decided to write about our current state of slightly more advanced (partly more healed…and partly more “subtle,” as fine-tuned by Herself, La Z) mild to moderate* attachment disordered-ness.

Thoughts on “Advanced”Attachment Disorders

1. Therapeutic Parenting helps.

Thanks to what we’ve learned and implemented about therapeutic parenting, Z’s tantrums are down to once a week or less. They usually (usually – hahahaaaaaa) occur on Sundays, when we have spent what feels to G and me like a relaxing weekend. While G and I both desperately need such extended sensory/social breaks, they entail much less stimulation/world domination than Z, even on a purely kinesthetic level, craves and needs. Either “side” usually has to compromise on a given day, but on slow weekends tantrums are likely…Less likely, however, than they were during the Pre-Therapeutic Parenting Era!

2. The Sooner the Better.

I know: they say this with ALL interventions…And sometimes you just don’t know what is going on.  (For example, G wasn’t diagnosed with autism until second grade.) But if you do know that your child has an attachment disorder, and are dilly-dallying…Don’t. I know single moms who are raising teenagers with attachment disorders -- big, male teenagers – and it’s a lot harder to tackle in that dynamic than it is for me with Ms. Puny Stuff over here.

3. Cycles/Patterns.

It’s so important to bear cycles and patterns in mind when things seem bleak: change will come, for better or worse (hopefully the former!).  Z, as I have explored at length elsewhere on this blog, has certain times of year (spring in particular) and certain types of events (holidays) that seem to trigger her most disordered behavior. Other times, we may have positively peaceful stretches; these are what we look forward to – if we can remember to do so – when times are rough.

4. Presumed Omniscience.

Presumed omniscience seems to be a hallmark of many people with attachment disorders, including Z. I’ve recently had to disavow her of the habit of saying “I was thinking that,” or, alternatively, “I was just about to say that,” every few minutes. She tells her friends she has done/seen [fill-in-the-blank] “about a thousand times.” Also, she openly pities those pathetic and inferior individuals – and this is not limited to fellow children -- who have not done/seen/known [fill-in-the-blank].

“I’ll be the mom” is a phrase that is in common usage chez the Full Spectrum, especially when Z (8) mimics my instructions to G (12) regarding his “teenager practice” activities (you know, eye-rolling, grunted replies to all questions, slouching at all times…). As one might imagine, G does not take kindly to his bossy peanut of a sister’s reprimands.

Omniscience also encompasses the alleged inability to make (admit) mistakes. So when Z and I are working together on learning a new skill, say…sewing, mistakes are not made in the usual sense. Rather, the thread often “needs help” – or the fabric “has a problem.”

This omniscience may represent efforts to make sense of a world that feels unstable. It’s something we, as individuals with attachment disorders (or in interactions with those who have an attachment disorder), or as parents of children with attachment disorders, should consider.

5. Control.

Children and adults with AD may feel the need to control their environments because on a very basic level they feel unsafe. Although the connection may not always be evident, that fear impels a state of constant inner vigilance and is expressed in controlling behaviors.

If we don’t have any potential human servants non-family people at the house, much of the time Z spends at home is spent corralling one or both of our cats. She will – for long stretches of time - hold one cat very close and march him or her around the house, ignoring any wiggling or desire to escape, and “showing” him or her the views out of our windows and so on. Alternatively, she will bring both cats into a small, enclosed space and “play” with them.

We have really nice cats.

Adults need to set impeccable boundaries so that, on the one hand, a child with these challenges may feel more safe and, on the other, the child (and their pet{s}) really is safe. With attachment-disordered adult relationships, this may be more tricky. In my experience, though, the principles of boundaries and consistency will hold across quite a Full Spectrum and so it certainly cannot hurt to try this sort of healing work.

Here is a really fascinating example of boundary setting: last night, I politely asked Z to put away the deck of cards with which she was playing. She continued to spread out the cards. I reminded her of my request and she explained that she “wanted to show [me] the cards.” I insisted that she do as I had asked. Therapeutic parenting? Done! For that moment at least…

As potentially boring, relentless and annoying as such boundaries may feel in their enactment – and from day to day it can feel endless -- these baby steps help heal that frightened impulse toward constant control.  

6. Subversion.

The first thing I learned about therapeutic parenting was that everything I was doing as a progressive, choice- and respect-offering parent was wrong. To put it in less-loaded language, it was not working. My child needed me to set strong boundaries and make most choices on her behalf in order to feel safe and learn to trust. Bit by bit I got this down. But Shawty is SMART. She turned it around on me!

Ergo:

Z: “Can I go in [G]’s room?”

Mama: “Sure.”

Z: “Can I take three steps in the hallway?”

Mama: “Z, come on.”

Pause.

Z: “Mama!…Mama! Can I walk through his door?”

Or--

Mama, shouting (nicely) upstairs to bathroom while doing 17 other things: “[Z], please wash your hair now!”

Z: “Okay.”

One minute later, Z again: “Mama?”

Mama makes way back to bottom of stairs from doing 19 things: “Yes?”

Z: “Should I now rinse my hair?”

I think you can see where I am going with this.

[Insert informative “Answer Section” with instructions on how to handle this development.]

7. Refusal to Ask.

Does Z need me to charge one of her contraptions? Does another toy need batteries? Does she know how to sew a complicated project without ever having been taught? Is there something important that she wishes or requires? I won’t know unless I ask her. Because she Will. Not. Ask. For. Anything (Help-Related). See: Control. See: Presumed Omniscience…

That being said…is this an “Attachment Disorder” thing? Or is it…

8. Temperament

Z is a strong personality in a family of strong personalities. It’s hard to imagine she would have been the shy, retiring type under any circumstances. Some of Z’s less-pro-social behaviors are personality-derived, some are rooted in her attachment disorder. I have to try to strike that elusive balance between accepting Z as she is – obviously not a unique issue in any relationship -- and helping her to heal those aspects of her being that are affected by her attachment disorder. Whereas with G, who has aspergers syndrome, I use general health-promoting practices and promote radical acceptance of neurodiversity, I do actively want to “cure” Z of her attachment disorder, insofar as that is possible. As we grow together, I hope all the different parts of Z’s life  - personality, environment, history, dreams… -- will come together in increasingly healthy ways.

The main themes here can be summed up in a two concepts:

TRUST – and trust promoting actions, and

BOUNDARIES – and setting them consistently.

This latter should, ideally, set a foundation for the former. NB: this process may unfold in a remarkably extended and painstaking fashion! I hope someday Z, as her trust in the world grows, will be able to look upon such things as letting go a bit, or needing help, or not knowing something as normal human activities – both in herself and in others.

Meantime, do you know everything? Do you never need to ask for information or help? Do you never make mistakes? Are you in command and control at all times? Do you not need new batteries? Just in case the answer to any of these is “no,” I will leave you, dear reader, with these words, uttered by Z when I lost a mean game of Apples to Apples: “Sorry you’re kind of a loser.”

Coming Soon: Anniversary List III: Choosing Your Battles…

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* I have written elsewhere on the differences between severe and mild attachment disorders, and there is much available on this subject online. Z has what is known as a “mild to moderate” attachment disorder.

The Finding Fairies

I dedicate this post to my Gram, Merlin Lorene Cunningham Shaffer, 10/20/17-5/22/13. The giant rocks on her tiny fingers from her adoring husband were the LEAST spectacular thing about her. Love you, Gram.

Z has a history of jewelry…interest.

So, when my favorite talismanic rhinestone necklace disappeared, I had a pretty good idea of the perp. I also knew it would do exactly zero good to question said individual. Like, have you ever tried to convince a narcissist of something that doesn’t fit their view of reality? Or tried to get your Tupperware back from – oh, wait, you don’t know her…

Z is the most convincing person you may ever meet. Unless I have 100% conviction to back me up, I don’t even broach any marginal subjects.

In fact, I almost took her to have her hearing checked out because girlfriend is so convincing she doesn’t even hear you if she isn’t tryna hear what you are saying. Over the course of several days her ignoring me and then saying, casually, “Oh, sorry’ [but being, definitely, not sorry] happened so frequently that I became concerned. Schedule a hearing test? Sure, until I realized she was testing me. Cheeky.

Had I asked her about my necklace, the conversation would have gone like so:

“Say, Z, you haven’t seen my special blue sparkly necklace have you”

Wide-eyed: “No.”

[Possibility that cat has batted necklace behind shelf enters mind of mother.] “Okay.” [Result: Daughter knows Mother is not omniscient.]

For contrast, let’s examine an interaction wherein FSM knows the facts with certainty:

The setting is the walk home from school last Friday.

Z announces, nonchalantly, “Mama, Mrs. S said we should tell our parents we are supposed to go to pizza night tonight.”

“Oh, really?” I query, knowing that the event in question is entirely optional – and geared toward the upper elementary classes. “Should I speak with Mrs. S about that?”

“Well, she didn’t really say…I’m not sure what she said, exactly.”

“Did she say you should go to pizza night?”

“…No.”

Did she feel like she was telling the truth when she told me what her teacher said? No. Z admitted she hadn’t been thinking about that (truth), just wanting pizza.

We don’t want our families to live in a climate of suspicion. This is a struggle when a family member has an attachment disorder! I do want to show Z, though, that lying is something that will be discovered and is not an effective means of communication. So, in this sort of context (grey areas of truth) I only want to ask her questions to which I basically know the answers. I don’t want to teach her that she can successfully fool her mother and take things with impunity. 

Also, gimme back my necklace!

Ahem.

Not only was this necklace Most Spectacular, it had been given to me by Swan Ayi to remind me of her friendship during a thorny time. I’d clutched that necklace through a series of “Clutch Pearls!” moments, trust me.

                                            Figure I – Most Spectacular Necklace (circled)

I searched far and wide. I can find anything at any time. Because my house is soooo clean. Not.

It is tiny, though, so there’s not that many places to look.

One day my precious necklace suddenly appeared on my (locked) closet floor, where it had decidedly not been before – and precisely where it might have been slipped under the door by small fingers. 

But, meanwhile, we’d begun a conversation about the existence of “Finding Fairies.” Z’s eleven-year-old brother contends that, “fairies aren’t real, except the tooth fairy,” but we gals felt pretty confident about these FFs.

I decided to do a little experiment.

Z wrote a note to the FFs about my necklace and how it had disappeared. We put it by her bed with some little gifts – flowers, sparkles, etc. The very next morning, there the necklace was!

What does this all mean? Like some other Z/truth conundra, this feels like a grey area I am unqualified to elucidate.

The whole thing, though, did feel a wee bit…fun.

Confrontation avoidance? For once not feeling obliged to Lecture? Something about magic and second chances?

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

Springtime at the Orphanage

Tra la la…”Sweet lovers love the spring…”*

Tra la…

Let’s see…

This time last year, we were in discussions about a possible 504 Plan** for Z. The year before that, we sought attachment-disorder-specific therapy for a situation that was spiraling out of control – and out of the range of bearable.

This spring we are facing a renewed cycle of tantrums and other behaviors, many of which have lain dormant since as long ago as, well, last spring. I’ve had to write Z’s teacher several times explaining that she had not had breakfast due to a meltdown; now I know to pack extra snacks – stuff like that.

While Z sometimes says things she intends to be very hurtful (a wee bit embarrassingly for all, these things often seem funny to adults in the vicinity: “You stupid poopoo mother I will hate you forever and kill you With! This! Doll! And then I will never! Ever! Eat the BAD, DUMB dinner you cook again!”), she more often proceeds directly to the pre-verbal, with growls, shouts, kicks and screams prevailing.  We’ve come to understand that this regressive behavior demonstrates Z’s ongoing need to be nurtured as (if she were still) a baby.

The cycle of the seasons clearly has deep meaning for Z.  The merry infant who smiled back at us from her taken-in-February referral photo had, by the time we arrived in China in July (this was as fast as the process allowed) to bring her home, seen and felt things no child should endure. I cannot say whether Z endured any definite abuse. We were not allowed to enter the orphanage in Fuzhou (Jiangxi province). Certainly there was a significant level of neglect, and, judging by how skinny Z was -- and how voracious – a bona fide shortage of food.

Z’s orphanage experiences are still reverberating in her body and mind in ways unfathomable to those of us who at the very least had adequate food and some constant presence in our infancies.

Sure, we’d all like to have been loved unconditionally and to have known we came first to our parents and maybe some of us didn’t get that and yeah, that sucks. No, it really does. And we - some of us - do have cavernous, terrible, enduring holes inside where that love should have gone. But anyone privileged enough to be reading (or writing) this blog probably had their most basic needs met. Z didn’t. She’s traumatized. It comes out in the spring.

As the years have gone by and we have been able, with the help of our therapist, to identify this pattern, it has helped all of us feel less hopeless. It’s given us some context, rather than leaving us flailing in the dark as our family degenerates, seemingly out of the blue. I can say to Z, “Springtime is sometimes hard for you,” and that might let her know both that she is accepted and that this, too, shall pass.

We are not alone in having a child who hits a rough patch in the spring (or in some other cyclical context). Whether through embodied trauma, allergies, transitions…certain times of the year can trigger strong, often unhealthy behaviors and feelings.

This spring, partially to address these issues and partly because we’ve put our house on the market, we embarked on The Deep Cleaning of the Bedrooms. While each child cleans his or her room weekly, with some help from Mama, this was a whole different endeavor. I swear, between recycling and straight up trash I hauled several hefty bags out of each child’s room.

G’s room was a giant mess, but Z’s room was a project. A certain kind of masterpiece, actually. Millions of tiny twists of paper had been squirreled away in every possible crevice. There were a lot of unfamiliar (to me, anyway) toys, and pieces of candy and candy wrappers and Oreos (Oreos??!) in hidey-holes and in bags within bags (whenever I come across a snazzy second hand purse or am given one, it goes straight to Z). 

Progressing from irritation to wonder, and back and forth again, I stood in awe at the complexity and skill of Z’s hoarding.

When we were done (after many, many sensory breaks for all) and we’d dealt with the garbage and recycled the recycling, Z was as happy as I’ve ever seen her. You could actually see how light she felt, how purged. Without prompting, she expressed her desire to “be really peaceful all the time now!” and to “draw instead of ripping and hiding things!”

Nice ideas. Let’s hope they work, at least a little. Spring cleaning is traditional in many cultures and maybe there is a deeper source to this impulse than just the practical, cleaning-cleaning part.

In any case, I do believe we will aim for a Deep cleaning every Spring from here on in.

I’ve always suspected that when parents try to correct for the wrongs done them by their parents they probably will be causing equal yet opposite forms of wrongs to their own children. Butanyway, I try to work on the heart level too, because my generation is big on endowing our children with unconditional love.

Sometimes we have this exchange, which both children find quite boring:

FSM: “Do you know what is the most important thing on earth to me?”

Children: “We are.” (Ho Hum.)

FSM: “Do I love you completely in every way no matter how you act?”
Children: “Yeeees.” (With ennui.)

FSM: “What do I think you are?”
Children: “Marvels.”

Marvels! The great cellist Pablo Casals said this about children:

Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel? You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy of its children.

Pablo Casals (1876 - 1973)***

Springtime at the Orphanage might’ve been terrible, but, here, it’s got marvels too.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* "It Was a Lover and His Lass"

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

It was a lover and his lass,

   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

That o’er the green cornfield did pass,

   In springtime, the only pretty ring time,

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;

Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,

   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

Those pretty country folks would lie,

   In springtime, the only pretty ring time,

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;

Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour,

   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

How that a life was but a flower

   In springtime, the only pretty ring time,

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;

Sweet lovers love the spring.

And therefore take the present time,

   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

For love is crownèd with the prime

   In springtime, the only pretty ring time,

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;

Sweet lovers love the spring.

** 504 Plans relate to a wide range of “impairments” to learning, the variety of which may or may not fall under “Special Education” criteria. Z’s disruptive classroom behavior -- which stemmed from her attachment disorder -- was impairing her ability to learn as well as disturbing her teacher and fellow students.

Here is a good definition of a 504 Plan from http://specialchildren.about.com/od/504s/f/504faq1.htm :

Question: What Is a 504 Plan?

Answer: The "504" in "504 plan" refers to Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act and the Americans with Disabilities Act, which specifies that no one with a disability can be excluded from participating in federally funded programs or activities, including elementary, secondary or postsecondary schooling. "Disability" in this context refers to a "physical or mental impairment which substantially limits one or more major life activities." This can include physical impairments; illnesses or injuries; communicable diseases; chronic conditions like asthma, allergies and diabetes; and learning problems. A 504 plan spells out the modifications and accommodations that will be needed for these students to have an opportunity perform at the same level as their peers, and might include such things as wheelchair ramps, blood sugar monitoring, an extra set of textbooks, a peanut-free lunch environment, home instruction, or a tape recorder or keyboard for taking notes.

*** http://blog.gaiam.com/quotes/authors/pablo-casals/55416

"Mom, try to find me!"

First, the corny bit: I walked into the ocean late this summer in a foul mood and, seeing how vast and impervious she was, had the tremendously novel idea of dropping my burdens into her salty depths. Then, crying and exhausted and overwhelmed and a little relieved, I sent out a prayer/question, “How do I live a life of peace?” The answer washed over me right away: “The way to live a life of peace is to live a life of peace.” I probably read this in a Dalai Lama book or some such but still it actually sank in at that moment.

The answer was simple, maybe obvious, but, for me, to truly feel it was revelatory. As an erstwhile yoga student and teacher, I have often noticed how many times we humans can hear the same thing but never really listen. One day, if we are lucky, we actually hear a teaching – “Listen to your breath,“ or “Relax your diaphragm or “Let go”…”  – and it’s, um, deep.

So of course I then thought to ask ANOTHER question, because I am greedy like that. “Okay,” I conceded, “That’s a great idea, but just how exactly do I ride the waves of my amazing yet zany life?”

“Ride the waves,” came her reply.

Now it’s good old back to school time and the waves are in full force. G hearing me say “It’s almost time to go,” and slipping his sneakers on the wrong, sock-less feet and running out the door in his underwear and pajama shirt, Z making her teacher wait an extra ten minutes at the end of the day because she is “helping” her friend pack her backpack and making sure she, Z, is in total control.

At the end of each day, I try to sort of gather together the turbulences – good and less-so -- of the day and settle the clan into a smooth, peaceful sleep.

First comes Z’s bedtime routine. Since she has excellent executive function, she can be given ten steps at once and she will follow them -- efficiently and in order. She might potentially add two or three nefarious and unwanted (by parent, teacher, etc.) steps as well if left to her own devices, but she can keep lots and lots and lots of instructions and information in order in her mind. She needs no prompting to follow an impeccable bedtime routine in which all the right parts get cleaned, voided, brushed and rendered ship-shape.

Yet putting Z to bed is sometimes an unhappy time, a time of struggle. Most days, worrisome and/or upsetting behaviors have occurred and I wonder if I should process them with her at bedtime.  As I am tucking Z in, I may remind her of certain things I am trying to teach her. Just as many social rules that seem obvious to neurotypical people do not seem naturally clear or obvious to people with autism, Z, as a small person with an attachment disorder, needs help navigating the ethical universe most people try their best to share.

I might tell her, “You need to follow the same rules as other students, like when it is time to leave the classroom everybody leaves together,” or “During school it is a time to listen and respect your teacher.” Variations on the phrase, “Telling the truth sometimes seems harder than lying but in the long run it’s a better thing to do – and you will get in less trouble, too!” are frequent contenders for this nighttime slot.

I always try to remember to add, “Tomorrow will be a better day,” especially on the really rocky days. After all, hope is so important! As defeated as I may feel, I also try to sing her a song, sometimes a very short song, and give her a kiss. Then I escape before she can get me with “puny arm!” (If she puts her [puny] arm around me I pretend to fall asleep.)

I know rationally that the primary caregiver is the one with whom the child with an attachment disorder displays the most reactivity and testing. Some nights, though, I desperately wish we could just snuggle, that my snuggling wouldn’t feel like it was transcending another rough day, that it would just feel simple.

You know, like living a life of peace. *

As Anne Morrow Lindbergh says, in Gift from the Sea, “Don't wish me happiness --

I don't expect to be happy all the time...It's gotten beyond that somehow.

Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor. I will need them all.” With this daughter of mine, how I pray for courage and strength and – above all - a sense of humor.

Then it is bedtime for G. G does best being told one to three (max!) steps at a time and is very literal. His bedtime routine requires some oversight to make sure he enacts the most basic aspects – brushing teeth, using the toilet…Order of direction is important, too: he will not think twice about taking his fluoride pill before brushing his teeth, for example, if that’s the order in which they are mentioned.

After he gets ready for bed, as I am walking into his room, G often runs in, leaps into his bed, pulls the covers over his head and shouts, “Mom, try to find me!”

”Mom, try to find me”??? I am sitting on the edge of your bed, from whence your voice is clearly issuing!

I hate when he does this. It makes me catastrophize and project that he will never, ever be able to be all right on his own.

But on this particular night of which I write, the night of the leaving-the-house-in-underwear day, I – as usual -- laugh and tickle him and cuddle up to tell his nightly story:

Once upon a time, there was a brave and noble knight named Sir G-ahad, and he was known far, far across the land for saving unicorns, and seals, and anything else in need, and for being a little bit different, and for being brave and kind. [All of his stories start in this way.**]

One day, as Sir G-ahad was sitting in the court at Camelot, a beautiful Princess came running in and cried, “Sir G-ahad, Sir G-ahad, a terrible dragon has stolen my unicorn!!!”

Then she looked at Sir G-ahad and started laughing because Sir G-ahad was in his underwear and a T-shirt and the shirt was tucked into his underwear. AND he was wearing his noble knight boots on the wrong feet and without stockings! The Princess was laughing so hard she lost her faith in the brave and kind Sir G-ahad and left to find another champion for her cause. [G looked very sad as I told this part of the story.]

Well, that Princess searched far and wide and no knight was able to help her, though many tried and failed, because no knight was quite as brave and noble and kind as Sir G-ahad. Finally she returned to Camelot, and found Sir G-ahad at the round table wearing a more normal outfit.

“I am sorry,” the Princess told Sir G-ahad. “I think I have learned my lesson that I should never have judged you because you were a little bit different.”

“You were right in a way too,” admitted Sir G-ahad. “A knight should pay at least some attention to his noble attire.”

That said, Sir G-ahad set off on his noble knight steed, Corny the unicorn, found the terrible dragon, drew his mighty sword and – lickety-split -- the dragon ran crying home to his Mama.

And everyone said, “Thank you, Sir G-ahad. You saved a unicorn…again.”

I sing him a little song and eventually start to get up. G grabs me and almost knocks me out with a headbutt from his giant, rock-hard head.

“Oh, G,” I groan. “Can you please try to be more aware of where my body is?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

Fair enough.

There’s a lot I don’t know too. Our Full Spectrum runs from the gifts and challenges of aspergers to the wounds of -- and efforts to heal -- reactive attachment disorder. Before either of my children had a label, I spent even more time feeling tumbled in this ocean of parenthood. A lot of parenting advice besides

1.     Love your children, and

2.     Be consistent

is useless in my situation. At least now I know why a lot of the standard stuff doesn’t work  -- and a few things that do, thanks to the insights that came with those labels. Now I also know “ride the waves” and “live a life of peace,” which feel like they can be applied to just about any situation if I can remember to do so amidst the unruliness of daily life.

Waves, try to find me! I’ll be hiding under this here Living a Life of Peace blanket,

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Joke.

** Z gets the same format: her chivalrous deeds are done under the banner of Sir Shawty.