Curriculum?…Whatever.

Many of our friends and family members are educators, and many care intensely about what is taught in our schools. I myself am a teacher. So I feel a bit disloyal and even heretical saying this: as far as my own kids go, I don’t care, like, even at all about curriculum.

Actually, I had always planned to homeschool my children, but circumstances conspired to bring me one child who doesn’t necessarily want but desperately needs all the socializing he can get and one who would probably go postal within three consecutive days spent with Mama and without major social activity. For Z, adult acolytes will do in a pinch, but peer adulation and goose-stepped errand-running is preferred; for E, the biggest school lessons are ones he doesn’t necessarily learn at home: that while everybody is different, most people judge others for being different; that we can’t spend all our time reading; that people change their minds and plans change; how to "read" unfamiliar situations effectively…

                                    Figure I – Usefulness of Curriculum Excellence Pie Chart

As this scientific pie chart demonstrates, most learners benefit enormously from a thoughtful, organized curriculum.  I contend that my children, along with certain others such as perhaps some gifted students, or some with significant delays or learning differences, do not. It’s not that curriculum excellence always impinges on these students or is a negative thing, it just does not matter as it would for other students. My learners gain most from teachers of exceptional character and eagle eyes. So I don’t particularly care if they spend a day chasing caterpillars in the meadow or making 3-D models of the Green Mountains.

In my ideal world, time spent on curriculum development (not to mention test-prep – another post!) might well be used to consider and research how to teach contentment or generosity or ways to encourage curiosity.

However, in this reality, teachers don’t have that kind of freedom, regardless of whether they would willingly toe the Full Spectrum line. So I care that -- insofar as possible -- my kids have shining morning faces and don’t get dragged down by awful beastly kids or dreadful, serving-time-until-retirement teachers. 

G spends most of his time at home reading and learning thereby. At school, this direct absorption of knowledge is somewhat compromised by wide-ranging sensory and emotional overload.* In other words, much of his actual intellectual progress probably occurs at home.

Z isn’t too interested in books…yet. But she could efficiently extract all the necessary knowledge for an astronomical level of success from two potatoes, a rotten log and a maraca.

So, if not book-larnin’ and curricula, what can teachers offer such children?

What I hope for from teachers is:

1.     that they be kind, and

2.     that they model empathy,

3.     good judgment, and

4.     integrity; and

5.     hold an atmosphere where bullying is simply and absolutely not a possibility either for potential perpetrators OR victims.

Why?

1.     Kindness: I hope it is not too much to hope that the logic behind requesting kindness of elementary school teachers is a no-brainer.

2.     Empathy: Some non-autistic people SAY that people with autism lack empathy. This has not been my experience at all. G is the most softhearted person I know. I will say it is sometimes a stretch for him to understand what other people are feeling when his senses and neurons are feeling assaulted, but once G knows what's up he cares and understands and acts on those feelings. That is, he empathizes, often too much (so that his feelings become painful and he finds it hard to function...).  Z sometimes lacks empathy because she is in survival mode.  Teachers with healthy instincts for and expressions of this emotion offer lessons in positive, pro-social empathy that students can carry throughout their entire lives.

3.     Good judgment: discernment, moderation, discipline and common sense are elusive for G, optional for Z; as much as possible, they need to see them in action.

4.     Integrity: I want my children to see their most esteemed role models as people who follow their consciences and follow through on their word. In a classroom setting, this could be as plain as setting clear rules and consequences. When G kicked his cat because his cat knocked over his beloved fish’s tank and killed the fish, he felt guilty. I told him, “That was a natural thing to do – your cat will forgive you and you’ll do better next time.” When he told his teacher – a former Buddhist monk – about this incident, his teacher (in the context of an appropriate lesson for the whole classroom, in which many students apparently thought kicking a cat was funny) vehemently scolded him. I like that his teacher did this: he wasn’t trying to make himself popular, nor was he taking the easy, lame approach; he was speaking the truth as he knew it.

5.     No Bullying: some kids, like G, are more vulnerable to being bullied or, like Z, to being bullies. Both kinds lose in a chaotic classroom. When teachers hold the classroom space as a safe one, everyone wins. This fall, I finally had an opportunity to enlist Z’s strengths in a positive fashion. A little boy from her preschool had enrolled in kindergarten and right off the bat was getting bullied on the playground by some fifth grade boys. Z hasn’t got a bit of “victim” on and I knew that by her patronage alone, this sweet little boy would be safe. As well, her kindest instincts would be called into play in caring for this wee friend. Now I just hope those fifth graders are ok.

I spend my advocacy, that tacit, somewhat-limited leeway every parent has, on the above qualities. As long as teachers are decent people and in charge of the classroom we’re good. We have done very well so far – after all, why do people choose to become teachers? (Hint: it’s not the lucrative salary.)  I figure the clan can always learn “the new math,” but if their hearts are hurting that’s a MUCH bigger issue. 

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Here is an example. At the end of fourth grade, G’s class had an end-of-school open house to share the students’ Native American projects.  There were So! Many! people in that classroom, and so many sights, bright lights and sounds to take in, that I began to get a migraine. Consequently, at this event, I could barely see people and when I could they made me nervous as I couldn’t even fathom or read what they were thinking and feeling in that context.  I had a compelling urge to flee.

Adding to that urge was the fact that G was wandering around aimlessly, talking loudly and constantly to anyone nearby without even looking at his putative listener to see if he was being heard.

Having cornered them in a relatively quiet spot, I asked his teachers, “Is he always like this in the classroom?”

“Pretty much,” they told me, with love in their voices, “Yes.”

With all due respect to G’s WONDERFUL teachers, HOW, then, can he LEARN?  I mean, I know he learns some stuff but there must be so much that is lost in the process!

 On our walk home that day I shared that being in that classroom was very challenging for me.

“Is it challenging for you?” I wondered, casually.

“Yes.”

“Is that why you talk a lot sometimes, and in a loud voice?”

 “Yes.”

 Having been so profoundly overloaded, I was daunted to realize that this is what G and all students and their teachers deal with every day. I am sure many – most -- kids are able to navigate such environments quite well, but G is not one of them.

Barring private school or a “separate-but-‘equal’” classroom for those with sensory and other neurological and/or emotional differences, what can one do to mitigate such overwhelming environments, with so many people, visual and aural and other stimuli, social and academic expectations to be met…??? How can students with sensory integration issues be effectively integrated in the classroom? If help is needed in the classroom, how can we de-stigmatize that help?

?

"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.

Autoimmune Disorders and Autism

As some of you may know, I have recently been definitively diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, the actual symptoms of which I have been experiencing for at least the last eight or nine years. Well, take a gander at this article, which totally blew my mind and really, what can I add except to say this makes sense to me on about a gazillion levels:
http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/26/opinion/sunday/immune-disorders-and-autism.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=general
Love,
Full Spectrum Mama

A Summer Idyll, Full Spectrum Style

This little vignette shows how Full Spectrum parenting is full of teachable moments...for Mama!

We have a decent swimming hole about five minutes’ walk from our house. We went there the other day when Z was just in a mood. Mama was not in the mood for this mood. 

So it wasn’t a great combination.

As G swam happily, Z threw sticks into the muck of a small rock pool and shot copious gratuitous dirty looks my way. I jumped in and joined G for a while, trying to enjoy myself despite one-third of our party being in a snit, and then slid out and approached Z.

“If you want to go swimming, now is the time,” I remarked.

From the water, G made encouraging river otter sounds and tried to make Z laugh.

She ignored him.

I am always hoping these two Spectrum opposites can be “therapeutically” complementary to one another. Z might help teach G how to relate to someone who is socially savvy (for instance, getting him accustomed to mild, good-intentioned ribbing); or G could show Z that being generous (i.e. taking the smaller piece of pie) isn’t a sign of weakness. Sometimes it feels like quite the opposite is occurring. At the river, G was being sweet and blatantly making himself vulnerable to rejection and it wasn’t swaying Z’s tough stance one iota.

My Great Grandmother Noni, a widowed mother of a huge family and a fantastic and irreverent and loving woman, gave her children the following sage parenting advice: “Don’t see everything.”

I had seen Z’s sourpuss and her unwillingness (inability?) to respond to G’s overtures and I just couldn’t take the rudeness.

“In this family we treat each other with kindness,” I snapped. “Period!”

As Black and White and Spectrum-y as I can be, I have to wonder whether some of the moral boundaries I set for my family fit the individuals concerned.* I am always telling G, “Use your most powerful [pokemon-style] move: Ignore!” when he feels that Z is tormenting him, yet here I was denying her the right to this mighty move – and big-time incapable of it myself! Maybe the kids were learning from each other in ways that weren’t so obvious to me; maybe I should have simply accepted – “not seen” -- the interaction and, as Noni’s son-in-law (my Grampy) used to say, “Leave it lay where Jesus flang it.”

Is it true, as a dear friend recently told me, that for parents the acts of holding a moral center and loving unconditionally are irreconcilable? If so, which do I value more?  As with many in my raised-by-busy-boomers generation, I felt at times a dearth of both in my upbringing.  Am I now, in attempting through the ways I treat my children to right certain wrongs done to me in those realms, thereby inadvertently creating other wrongs?

In a word? Yes. (At least becoming a parent sometimes helps us to better understand and empathize with our own parents!)

Home we walked, Z stomping and screaming the entire way. I could not carry her, because I was walking her bike. G, though, was on his bike, and I very reluctantly let him ride away from the ruckus. Since Z’s walk-yelling slowed us down, G got home maybe four minutes before we did.

He awaited us at the very edge of the driveway. Hesitantly, looking slightly uncomfortable, G asked, “Did that woman give you my message?”

“What do you mean?”

I looked over at my filthy car: “Help, my Mama is gone” was written in the dust on the back hatch.

But Z was radioactive and I needed to get her inside. A public tantrum can be remarkably depleting for all concerned. Safely in the house, she proceeded to glower her way through dinner. She lost the privilege of dessert after refusing to respond to basic queries and jovial repartee. After several further chances she also lost the popcorn, DVD, and nightly reading of Harry Potter privileges and was banished to the bathroom to prepare for bed. Which she also refused to do. As I was lifting her onto the toilet in the hope that she would deign to use it (channeling Xiao Chuan Ayi all along: “You know what? Now I am going to have to lift your body onto the toilet,” stated very, very dispassionately), she pulled hard at my thumb and I heard, through the din, a ripping sound.

Z had torn a ligament in my thumb.

Funny how one can painstakingly remove oneself from all sorts of negative situations and then find oneself feeling violated by a small child in the home that houses you both. As Z gets older, the violence of her tantrums is increasing, along with her capacity for destruction. Still, there is hope here: she seems to be gaining more security and so is tantruming somewhat less frequently while enjoying more healthy reactions overall.

I can imagine a time when Z will have learned to calibrate and refine her social persona to the point where her behavior – at least in public -- is entirely ordinary.

As for G, I am not so sure. It turns out that while he had been waiting in the driveway for us to return from the swimming hole, he had run out into the road and flagged down a car to tell the (female) driver that his “Mama had disappeared,” and asked her to “please, try to find her, and tell her that I am looking for her.”

In subsequent conversations G admitted that his actions had not made a lots of sense, considering that he had seen me mere minutes before at the swimming hole and had known Z was having a colossal tantrum. He just could not put all the relevant information together through his anxiety. Perhaps this was a Theory of Mind** Moment.

Come to think of it, a woman had slowed way down and peered at me in a strange way as we were walking home.

And here I’d thought she had given me the look because of my beet-red, wild-haired, screamin’-like-a-banshee daughter!

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

*  I love this quote from The Autism Revolution, by Martha Herbert, MD, PhD with Karen Weintraub: “I’d rather spend time with someone who is interested in me than someone who is trying to fix me or always telling me to do stuff that doesn’t make sense” (p. 162).

** Theory of Mind is a philosophical/psychological concept that is sometimes used by neurotypical theorists to describe some expressions of autism wherein an individual may be – or seem to be -- unable to project or attribute mental states beyond his or her own to others.  Here, one might say that G was unable to conceptualize where we were if we were not at home with him  (as we should logically and historically have been). This theory, though, can be turned around to accuse neurotypical people of not having a Theory of Mind that would fit in a more autistic-centric world…

If you do go to this link, please read to the bottom of the autism part, where you will find a more nuanced view:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theory_of_mind

Diet II – A Poem

We were driving home from Grandmother and Grandfather’s house in one of those monsoon-like storms that seem to be getting less uncommon when G informed me that he had to go, “really this time.” Through the downpour, I could barely make out that the next exit claimed to have a gas station; even the exit itself was barely discernable. Somehow we found our way to the first – closed – gas station then turned around to try to find the alleged gas station in the other direction. When we couldn’t find that one, we pulled into a likely-looking lot, surrounded by promising woods and a bit secluded. A police car pulled in after us. I explained to G that getting out of the car in the pouring rain and heading for the woods wouldn’t be appropriate at that particular moment. As I drove my courageous, whimpering son back onto the highway at a snail’s pace, the following poem popped into my head, almost in its entirety:

Villanelle -- Mad Diarrhea

(with apologies to Plath*)

I ate some food, therefore my insides churned

I bade my time, held what I held too long

(I thought that I could fart – but I was wrong)

The probiotics go sliding in with happy song

And also I ingested some sweets, and that was wrong

I ate some food, therefore my insides churned

I dreamed I ate some gluten and then cheeses round

And in the roadside woods “released” both upon the ground

(I thought that I could fart – but I was wrong)

Fermented food topples from my fridge, fibers abound

Exit possible allergens and yet…not diarrhea

I ate some food, therefore my insides churned

I fancied certain diets for our health and to live long

But I grow hungry and I want some bread

(I thought that I could fart – but I was wrong)

I should have stopped at the gas station instead

At least when you go there they’ve got tp

I ate some food, therefore my insides churned

(I thought that I could fart – but I was wrong)

Alllllrighty then…I promise, no diarrhea posts for at least a month.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* This was one of my favorite poems back in the day:

Villanelle - Mad Girl's Love Song

            By Sylvia Plath

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,

And arbitrary blackness gallops in:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:

Exit seraphim and Satan's men:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,

But I grow old and I forget your name.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;

At least when spring comes they roar back again.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Our Spectrum Through a Lens of Rules

Do you obey rules?

Why or why not?

What about the children you know – yours or others’?

Continuing on the trajectory that began in my next-to-last post about boundaries, we now turn to those more concrete, explicit boundaries known as “rules.”

Figure I: Chart of Obedience

This chart describes some of the main ways individuals react to rules.

People may obey rules out of a sense of justice or fear or respect. They may do so for the sake of appearances -- or because it has not occurred to them to do otherwise. People may disobey rules because they are not aware of them – or are aware and simply do not care. Or they may do so because they are rebellious and see rules as made to be broken. They may enjoy being sneaky, or feel that they need to be sneaky in order to do what they want to do.  In this chart, the motives of justice and injustice meet on the spectrum, as do two expressions of apathy.

Finding ways to help my Full Spectrum household follow those rules I deem important has been an ongoing challenge. In fact, when I consider getting my children to obey rules, the classic notion of “herding cats” comes to mind. G cares deeply about justice and will sometimes follow rules for this reason, but he tends toward the “Lack of Awareness/Who Cares?” quadrant of my chart.  Z typically obeys rules for the sake of appearances or out of fear or respect, while having a very strong propensity toward sneakiness and rebellion. I’ve yet to determine if, for Z, defiance is based on a feeling of injustice. 

In basic societal terms, it seems that G wants to be “good,” and is sometimes unable to figure out how, while Z seems to want to be “bad,” and is only sometimes successful due to constrictions which force her to act “good.” Obviously this is an oversimplification, and not language I would ever actively use in parenting, but it does reflect how I often feel as we try to navigate the world of rules as a family.

I was fortunate to encounter my parenting idol, Xiao Chuan Ayi (Auntie [given Chinese name]), when G was but a lad of two.  Xiao Chuan Ayi is unflappable, serene, as stable as I have always been high strung.  And she has two brilliant, active sons.

Her standard admonition is very simple: “You know what? That is not safe [or kind or polite or…],” said with great poise and tranquility and authority. Her boys could be breaking all sorts of rules -- swinging from a chandelier with machetes, making war cries and sprinkling those below with water balloons -- and, with a word and a Special Look from their mother, they are standing at attention. On the ground! She would surely argue that they don’t get off the chandelier immediately 100% of the time but, trust me, they listen more than most.

 Following the admirable Xiao Chuan Ayi, “You know what? “ became my earliest go-to phrase. “You know what? That is not safe/kind/polite/[fill-in-the-blank]…” was a relatively effective way to at least communicate rules and boundaries. if not to actually enact them in each instance.

The problem was and remains that I have neither what Xiao Chuan Ayi terms, “The Chinese Look of Death,” nor its Whitey McWhiterson equivalent.

“What if I got angry?” my demeanor and past conduct seem to say to my kids, “Oh yeah? Well…What if I-I-I…raised my voice to a fairly loud volume and then told you, um, you couldn’t have any dessert but, uh, you could certainly have some blueberries with a teensy bit of Hershey’s syrup on them? Huh? Huh??? What then!”

Very threatening.

“You know what?” Infractions in areas I really care about – kindness, respect, safety – may call my Full Spectrum of Doom down upon my chilluns. In those instances I am able to invoke a fearsome aspect of myself without, indeed, really even trying. I just – some stuff I just don’t care about, even though I am supposed to.  Sure, I would like my children to know how to properly set a table.  I have a hard time, however, mustering obedience-ensuring wrath over a fork in the wrong place.

But I should not imply that my friend rules through fear. To be clear, Xiao Chuan Ayi’s Chinese Look of Death may be most remarkable in how unnecessary it is -- because the woman just exudes calm. To wit, G, Z and I were recently at her house on a lovely summer morning and, through a series of stomach-related mishaps, managed to cover her entire bathroom floor (heck, her entire bathroom) in diarrhea. After cracking up big time (now that’s a good friend), she whisked G and Z away so I could deal with the disastrophe at hand.

While I scrubbed away upstairs, the children – those same children who had not stopped flapping their jibs for the first three weeks of July -- stayed downstairs with their Ayi, quietly entertaining themselves.  As I attempted at length to restore my dear friend’s bathroom to some semblance of cleanliness, not a peep was to be heard. Meanwhile, Xiao Chuan Ayi was…accomplishing things!

Or consider G’s kindergarten teacher, Mrs S.* Mrs. S is of small stature and looks like a stereotypical blonde angel. She is gentle, kind and quiet. Yet she was in complete control of a classroom that consisted of eleven rambunctious boys and two girls. Imagine the boy-filled, first-time-in-school chaos, and the tiny teacher in its midst. Yet: “Now girls and boys,” she would say softly, and the Entire Room would Instantly hush!

News flash: that type of gentle admonition leading to thrall does not often happen in our household, despite a much more favorable child-to-adult ratio.

Sometimes kids don’t listen. As parents, we must choose our battles. One task, then, is deciding which rules matter to us. The second is figuring out how to convey their importance in a way that makes sense, so that our rules are clear, just, fair and compelling.  Then we try to follow through with consistency and regularity.  If we can begin to do so with the inner authority and peaceful mien of a Xiao Chuan Ayi or a Mrs. S, so much the better.

I’ve heard tell my paternal grandmother (who taught first grade) had this gift, but such subtleties do not come naturally to me. From where I stand on the spectrum, rules that are just and good are meant to be followed and those that are not just and good are to be disregarded. Simple. Explaining why this is so feels alien.

Modes of enforcing rules seem either mysteriously subtle or ham-handed or violent.  Also, ineffective: yelling, exhortation, protracted explanations and dire consequences all have little impact given Z and G’s Spectrum locales. The way they handle rules could ultimately affect their overall well-being and chances of success in life, ergo, the need to cultivate new approaches.

The gentle authority of teachers like Xiao Chuan Ayi, Mrs. S, and my Grammy seems a tricky, elusive, extremely worthwhile art, and certainly one to which I aspire. 

Subtly!!!

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* Mrs. S will be Z’s first grade teacher in the fall, and her placid, earthy solidity promises to be a great match for X’s mountain-moving attempts.

A Petite Follow-Up Spectrum

Ah, summer: that special time when school is out and those of us who are primary caregivers to young children and who either cannot afford to send them to camp all summer or choose not to (or both) find ourselves faced with long days full of endless possibilities of a nonetheless limited sort. The luxury of choosing to be at home with the children during the summer is not one I have during the school year, and its result for now is a piquant combination of gratitude and exhaustion.

The other morning, Pardner was about to leave the house for a fourteen-hour day that would start at the farmers’ market and end with restaurant cleanup. He asked me what my plans for the day were.

I pictured the day ahead of us – a minefield of possible tantrums and stomach upsets for starters, the dull hours of the “I have nothing to do” chorus, the sweet and cherished snuggles, unexpected giggles and opportunities (responsibilities) to create memories of a carefree, wonderful childhood.

“Well, we’ll probably head to the farmers’ market later and we do have some parties to go to...” I ventured.

“Must be nice,” he chuckled.

“Well, if you must know, I might like to do some writing for my much-neglected blog or tackle my course prep or practice yoga or take a nice long run or even sit in the hammock and read a book while eating bonbons today but those things are not among my options,” I retorted, somewhat defensively…

At said farmers’ market I ran into a girlfriend who was there with her “surprise” child – conceived while she was on birth control in her early forties and her two daughters were in their early tweens and her life had begun to free up. I told her about the above exchange and she laughed heartily, resignedly, only slightly bitterly…

Some school-less days, we spend the whole day looking forward to that treasured half hour after the kids are in bed, that bit of time we have to ourselves before we pass out. In summertime, official bedtimes stretch out -- for us, 7 and 8pm become 9 and 10 and later.

And then sometimes, as soon as they are in bed, we miss them! Right?

That said, here’s what I currently am able to offer, given my summery circumstances: a petite follow-up spectrum to selected past posts:


“Tommy” (from “Would you rather…I”)
I found out that I was right: Tommy’s elderly mother did pass away and he did have to move. However, he didn’t have to go too far: he was taken in by his Aunt, who lives closer to the center of our small town. He has brothers who are very devoted to him in the neighborhood to boot! He now strolls happily with his walking stick around the town square, which has been called one of the most lovely in New England.

Figure I: The Empty House up the street, which was Tommy’s home. It is no longer quite so sad to see.

Tripping/Boundaries (Toilets)/Diet/Diarrhea

We have been gluten and casein free for over a month.



Those of us with weak stomachs still have ‘em – G’s is about the same and mine is noticeably worse. Migraines? Worse. Red mask-like skin? Worse. Reflux?  Worse.

Compensatory eating has also become a factor, insofar as we resent not eating certain foods and those substitute items we do eat are generally awful (so naturally we need to eat more of them).


I understand, though, that this process can take at least three months, so we are sticking with it for now. As for the fake-gluten and fake-dairy items- avast ye terrible products (with a few notable exceptions, such as GLOW cookies). I wager it’s time to focus entirely on whole foods, not wheat/dairy replacements.  I also wager we ultimately will end up moving toward a diet much lower in wheat and dairy, much as we did with soy after Mothering magazine published a damning article about soy in 2004 (and we realized we were eating 6-8 servings a day of soy!).*

It being summer, we have ventured a few perhaps ill-advised jaunts to visit the ocean and family. Restaurants are pretty much out of the question since the only vegetarian item ever available for kids seems to be macaroni and cheese. Mac and cheese seems to hold great desirability and nostalgia for G in particular: “Remember when we used to eat maccy?” he recently asked with a tear, subsequently admitting that our “adventure” with this GFCF diet has been “really, really hard.” I wondered aloud if Z felt the same, and was met with a sheepish, sad nod. That kind of suffering seems hard to justify without any surety around whether a GFCF diet is a solution for us; still, we will go the three-plus months needed for a clear indication.

I used to feel sorry for servers who have to deal with “picky” people at their tables. Now my feelings are more mixed, knowing, as I do, how hard it is for families with possible intolerances who are trying to have a rare treat: a nice, non-depressing meal out with their kids.

If, for instance, after close perusal we find that the only vegetarian, gluten free, casein free item on a menu is a frittata with potato crust and then are told, “Oh no, we don’t have that today, we only have the bacon-cheddar quiche,” are we, Full spectrum Mama, justified in going into a fugue state?

Also, we are coping with G’s anxiety around driving anywhere further away than 20 minutes. I don’t want car travel to become a phobia for him, so we have a policy now of stopping as often as he even suspects he might need to go. Two hour trips can turn quickly to four, but then again he only needed to stop twice en route to Cleveland (ten hours). Go figure. I cannot decipher if there is any correlation with any particular types of the limited foods we are still eating.

The other day I was reading The Autism Revolution (not entirely uncritically) during my lunch and I found out that several factors in G’s life -- including birth by C-section, being gestated by a mother with an autoimmune disorder and antibiotic use during the first month of his life (in the NICU) -- may be affiliated with compromised immunity, increased inflammation and allergies, and, finally, autism.

A few minutes later I checked my email and my beloved cousin, Loon, had sent me a link to “Tending the Body’s Microbial Garden,” by Carl Zimmer
(http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/19/science/studies-of-human-microbiome-yield-new-insights.html?_r=1&emc=eta1), which basically makes very similar points. For instance, Zimmer describes how vaginal chemistry changes during pregnancy so that when babies pass through the birth canal they are coated with and ingest Lactobacillus johnsonii, thereby promoting a healthy immune system through the skin and facilitating digestion. Babies born by C-section do not receive these benefits. While we may take some steps to improve the health and population of gut bugs, baseline gut health is set to some degree during the first month of life.

I resolved to learn more about which foods and supplements might be at least somewhat helpful, and to at least try to reset our baselines! Zimmer’s article, however, questions the efficacy of currently available probiotics and discusses the emerging field of fecal transplants as an increasingly accepted procedure in the medical field.

So I was telling Pardner about all this reading…and he began to look increasingly uncomfortable. As it began to dawn on me that he apparently suspected I might be contemplating something rather “out there,” I decided to take this very concept – which, actually, up to that moment, had not occurred to me -- and roll with it:

Figure II: Horror, dread, incredulousness: Pardner, at the very moment I suggested he place some of his excrement in capsules for G and me to use as suppositories in a sort of “at-home fecal transplant,” since, “after all, I am a doctor!” **

“You need help!”/ I need help!

I am raring at the bit to try out my handy new phrase, “I need to find a way to get us out of this trap,” which was offered by a dear friend in response to my overuse of “You need help.” Of course, Z has chosen the last few weeks to be a shining beacon of peace with sporadic detours into insta-mega-tantrums far too shattering to bow in the face of gentle words. It’s as if she can sense when I feel I have our situation somewhat under control and is able, however briefly and incompletely, to relax and/or sidestep my handy new tools. Smartypants.


Bike Riding
It is with profound ambivalence that I share with you the news that G is now at long last able to ride his bike. He himself is jubilant and wants to go faster and faster!

However, the question remains as to whether or not he should ride a bike. That is, he is able to balance and peddle, yes. Other stuff, like stopping the bike, turning, riding on the proper side of the road and listening for cars remains elusive.

Paying Attention
Yesterday, G said, “When you said that it sounded like you were upset.” What was wrong? Nothing! We-e-ell, maybe I was being simultaneously talked-at by two small persons, but otherwise I was FINE.

So he picked up on that tiny bit of irritation? Amazing, especially for what may have been the first time he has ever noticed such a thing.  Oh, happy (not even slightly persnickety) summer day!

Love,
Full Spectrum Mama

* I couldn’t find the article, "The Whole Soy Story, The Dark Side of America's Favorite Health Food," by Kaayla T. Daniel, in the Mothering archives, but I did find this response: http://www.foodrevolution.org/mothering.htm
** (of philosophy)