DETECTIVE WORK

The Full Spectrums went to see a movie a few weeks ago, which is, in itself, a rarity. We went with my Meeting Friend and her family, and chose the only movie that was playing in a matinee, Mr. Holmes.

During a sad, moving part of the movie where Sherlock is really, really old and feeble and decrepit and does something pathetic, Z suddenly laughed aloud. I cringed. Perhaps she was uncomfortable, but it just felt very awkward and inappropriate...I tried to convince myself it was a mistake, but it happened again a few minutes later during a similar part. Everyone else in the theater was quiet...real quiet.  

“Good luck getting old,” said my Meeting Friend as we left the theater. As we always do, my dear MF and I looked for the bright side: “She’s very practical and realistic!” we assured one another; “Great sense of the absurd!”

On another note, the Full Spectrum children are very into any and all Secret Agent/Detective-y stuff, and were absolutely fascinated by the way Sherlock Holmes can detect things about people just through observation. As we walked back to the car, I asked them what Sherlock Holmes could know about them just by using his powers of discernment.

Z answered immediately:”That I’m a sister, and that I was adopted.”

All G had to say was, “That I’m awesome!” [See forthcoming post, “AND MODEST, TOO.”]

I wanted to hear more from both children, though I found Z’s response quite touching, so I told them, “For me, I think Sherlock Holmes could tell that I am a mother, wife, and artist. Those are the most important things to me.”

“I’m awesome,” G repeated.

“I’m mean,” said Z. Though it’s sometimes true, I don’t think mean is who Z is. I looked at her skeptically. “Well...I can be mean,” she amended.

“Don’t you want to change that?”

“What do you mean?” One thing that IS who Z is is a master obfuscator.

“Don’t you want to not be mean?”

She paused. For a while. “...Yeah.”

“Do you think you can change? I do! You’re just a kid still!”

“I think” – very matter-of-fact – “I will always be a little bit mean.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell I always will.”

“Well...that is something you will always have to work on then,” I assured her. “I know you can do that.”

“Huh?”

Hmm. Guess that conversation was over. (WHO, exactly, is in control all up in here?)

When I started writing this blog, I did not know anyone “like us;” I felt alienated, alone, and, much worse, so confused about parenting my two very different – from each other, from the “norm” -- children.

I felt like a failure in the most important role I’d ever had: motherhood.

I did not know, back in the day, that Z’s seemingly cruel laughter, her obfuscation, her self-proclaimed meanness are all attachment-disordered behaviors. I would have blamed myself for not raising her to be kind...I would have blamed her for being unkind and manipulative.

A number of factors (my own kinds of detective work: reading, researching, developing an online community, meeting others through the blog, finding a good specialist in attachment disorders, having a Meeting Friend) have helped me to become someone who is able to share the fruits of my detective work  in hopes of reaching people who feel as I have felt in the past (confused, alone) and feel now in the present (confused, alone, AND inspired, connected, and – every so often – just a little wise in my old age).

As for Z, if I were to name a third fundamental aspect of her identity that Sherlock Holmes might have discerned, I would say that she has a fabulous, quite broad sense of humor. That may be her, and OUR, saving grace.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

MILCS

I recently spent a morning meandering and gabbing with a beloved friend. As we walked along a magical, secluded trail, she showed me some special spots where her children play together. “We are here a lot because we can’t be in public right now,” she confided. One of her children is going through a period of strong tantrums and the effort and strain of it in the social scene is just too much. She admitted how ashamed she feels when her child throws a public tantrum and how her fear of getting caught in that situation has vastly limited her social life. How isolating it can be…Having read some of my experiences here (and heard about them in person and seen them in real life), she added, “You know how it is!” Oh yes, Mama, I know how it is.

This conversation reminded me of some instances when I had no choice but to be out in the world while my children were going through changes. Bleak times filled with helplessness, anger, sadness and humiliation for all…Happily, what also came to mind were the times when someone – often a complete stranger – gave me love, peace and strength just when I needed it.

Everybody knows what a MILF is, right? Well, I want to talk about MILCS: Mothers I’d Like to Celebrate. I don’t even know if some of these people have children…But they are MOTHERS, for sure. See if you don’t agree.

Once, Z was having a ghastly tantrum and I had taken her outside to avoid disturbing G’s tae kwon do class.  People kept walking by and either totally avoiding us or looking pityingly at the poor, poor little girl.  Poor, poor little girl was so angry (no idea why, this was a daily occurrence at the time…) that nothing I knew of (not hugs, not threats of Consequences…) would stop the screams of rage. I was near tears.

As I stood there, trying to shrink as small as possible while still indicating that the tantruming child had someone watching her (for what that someone was worth), a woman came up to me and said, simply, “Mom, you are doing okay.” She wrapped me up in her arms and rocked me a little from side to side and then went on her way.

Hey you, lady who just hugged a pariah, you are doing more than ok.

Oh, here’s a good one. You know when someone thinks your child with an attachment disorder has autism and that your child with autism is neurotypical, or vice versa? Yeah, that happens to me sometimes.

I was at this fantastic storefront Aztec-Mexican restaurant in Norwalk, CT called Molcajetes (http://www.ctbites.com/home/2009/9/18/los-molcajetes-seriously-authentic-mexican-in-norwalk.html) with extended family when Z threw one of her most remarkable, powerful tantrums of all time. Full Spectrum Grandmother tried to intervene and got kicked for her troubles…Pardner tried joking her out of it with no luck…

Over the course of the next [period of time, I am not sure how long!] or so I spent with my rocking, growling, kicking, screaming daughter out on the stoop, not one but TWO women with autistic sons walked by at different times and commiserated with me over what they thought was a textbook autistic tantrum.

“Oh no,” I told each kind mother in turn. “The one with autism is sitting inside eating nicely!”

When Z was good and ready she pretty instantly stopped being upset and went inside and, with a big smile on her face, devoured enough food (fresh, garlicky guacamole and soft tacos and just-fried chips with that incredible slightly sweet cabbage salsa) to feed an army, which is kind of what she was. You need fuel for that kind of sally!

When Z was younger, I often felt as if people judged me as a mother for her behavior. I wished I could maybe wear a sign that said, “This is not a normal tantrum. I have tried everything you (or I, or anyone) could imagine to stop this tantrum and many others like it. Yes, my daughter was just hitting me and screaming as if I was hitting her but I was not, actually, hitting her…, as you can see right here with your own eyes. In fact, your staring at us might even fuel this little situation we got going on here. Now, please, I just have to sit here and wait it out so I would be so grateful if you would stop giving me dirty looks.”

Now that Z is a little older, people can tell her tantrums are not just run-of-the-mill. They can see that she is older than a “normal” age for tantrums, and that she is writhing and screaming, extensively, without any input. They seem somewhat less likely to be appalled -- and rather more likely to feel compassion for both the parent who stands helplessly witness to such an event and the child who cannot extricate herself from it – or let herself be extricated...

G has his moments too, whether from his really rare but quite memorable public tantrums to his more common general inappropriateness/cluelessness, not to mention flailing.

One time, after a hard day, I said to G as we were leaving a local co-op, “You have the most important thing, a kind and loving heart. Now you just need to pay attention to the world around you and work on your common sense.” (This is one version of my ad-nauseam-aforementioned Pay Attention to the World lectures.)

We had gotten into the car and had just begun to pull out of the parking lot when a woman with a silver bob wearing a striking purple jacket and lots of chunky silver jewelry waved me down, practically throwing herself in front of the car. Thinking maybe I had forgotten one of my organic, vegan, sustainable, equal-exchange, wallet-straining purchases, I stopped and rolled down my window.

 “That was one of the most inspiring things I have ever heard,” she told me. “It will echo inside me for a long time. Thank you.”

No, thank you, Ms. Silver-Purple Angel-Person. I will never forget you.

I tell these tales not to brag or make it seem like I am doing such a great job that was duly appreciated by these wise women (ha!), but to share that these women actually made it possible for me to Go On. Their simple acts of generosity have resonated in my life for months and years. They allowed me the space and peace in which I could settle my heart back into love for my children instead of fear. They made it possible for me to celebrate my children, just as they are, and so I celebrate them.

Just so, I hope when my friend who is stuck in the woods for now with her clan reads this she will know how truly I honor her finding a way to celebrate her children through it all. In addition, I hope she will encounter surprising (yet very welcome) love and acceptance when she does have to put herself and her family “out there,” just as I did with these MILCS: huge-hearted strangers, generous-spirited everyday angels who just

Went For It.

And guess what? We can all – in some way - do the same.

We all have the mental capacity to recognize opportunities to grow our hearts, to stretch a little or a lot. Sometimes it seems like we don’t have the emotional capacity to execute such acts of kindness and generosity, whether it’s due to emotive stinginess (high on the fear spectrum, no?) or the shyness of those on the awkward end of the social spectrum. It’s probably easier to be surprisingly kind to strangers, as these women were to me, but we encounter countless such opportunities of all sorts every day. And I am not talking about the somewhat trite “random acts of kindness” trope, because these acts are more than random. They are necessary.

You never know when your small action may make a real difference in someone’s life. Plus, I suspect our capacity to be generous and kind grows with the PRACTICE.  Be grateful for any everyday angel you meet…and pass it on!

Lest this seem preachy, I should add I’ve no idea what a generous spirit means to you in particular and no advice beyond the suggestion that choosing kindness at a given moment may resonate more than you’ll ever know.

Thanks and love forever, MILCS, and all you others trying to make sure your heart isn’t several sizes too small, and all y’all who are just plain trying,

Full Spectrum Mama

 

At Home

I got A Dreaded Call the other day. We all know what those are for our particular family spectra, if sometimes only subconsciously. This was not The Dreaded Call but it was one I have been anticipating with trepidation since Z started kindergarten.

“Z has been taking food from the other children,” her teacher told me. “I have spoken with her and it hasn’t done any good. One time she said she was hungry and the other times she wouldn’t even answer me.”

“Taking.” What a nice word choice compared with “stealing.”

Filled with irrational shame, I mentally enumerated her lunchbox for the day (hard boiled egg, yoghurt, cheese stick, whole grain crackers, baby carrots, applesauce, clementine, small treat – all organic!). I then explained that Z (45 lbs.) gets the same lunch as her brother (95 lbs.) -- and that the hunger is emotional, not physical. I assured her teacher that I would look into solutions.

The next afternoon, Mrs. ___ happily told me that Z had a “good day.” I had given Z extra sweets in her lunchbox as a short-term solution to the “taking” of other kids’ food.  Mrs. ___ admitted that Z had tried to eat the sweets first thing in the morning, but had stopped when told to do so; then she “needed extra time at snack time because she wanted to first arrange the treats in an artistic pattern and then show everyone and then enjoy them very slowly…”

No, that was not a good day.

“Z needs to abide by the same rules as the rest of the class,” I explained. “When you give her special privileges she will feel that she is the one in control and will push – further and further.” This pushing promptly ensued.

In fact, Z’s behavior at school subsequently seemed to explode. I received calls or emails from the school nearly every day. Around the same time that a little girl was handcuffed in Florida  (http://www.latimes.com/news/nation/nationnow/la-na-nn-six-year-old-handcuffed-20120417,0,765665.story) I had to pick Z up in the classroom because she was very upset. I counted myself lucky to have been available. At another pick up, I found her hunched over her Hello Kitty backpack shoveling stolen candy into her mouth with one hand, a handful of crumpled wrappers in the other.  She kicked her best friend and when she finally calmed down announced the whole thing was best friend’s fault for “making me upset” and “making me do it.” She pushed other students, continued to take food, ignored her teacher, lied flagrantly, and so on; she continues to do so.

Another teacher, who has fostered children with attachment disorders, suggested that Z’s behaviors are escalating because she has come to feel comfortable in the classroom. This made sense: at home, she feels most attached to me and therefore needs to constantly test me. Her kindergarten teacher, however, had never dealt with a child with an attachment disorder and was – quite understandably -- bewildered and overwhelmed. I tried to explain some of the underlying factors, but we were and are struggling with how to actually reach Z and create positive change.

Grandmother* (a gerontologist) and Grandfather (an educator, currently teaching fourth grade in a public school in CT) recommended that we consider the possibility that she might need a paraprofessional.

“Ma! Two kids in one tiny elementary school with paras???” I sputtered. “That’s like 12% of the school’s budget! No!”

I imagined myself in a meeting at school wherein this two-for-two issue might arise: assuming the voice of a Borscht Belt comedian from the ‘50s, I’d say, “You think this is bad? You should see us at home!” Ba dum bum!

The truth is, though, that our current educational paradigm holds that public education is for all.  Mainstreaming students with most educational and/or emotional and/or physical special needs is our goal. Ergo: IEPs (Individualized Education Programs; which is what G has) and 504 plans (accommodations, not necessarily special education services; which is what Z may need).  Please see also: http://specialchildren.about.com/od/504s/f/504faq2.htm.

Also true: things are not necessarily harder at home. In G’s case, his schools came to me with concerns over his development and social interactions. Had life consisted of just G and me (or G and me and Timson Hill) I never would have noticed a thing (please see aspergers, genetic links with biological parents…or if there are any websites about people who just want to read all the time with cats on their laps and a nice bowl of pudding).  In Z’s case, struggles at home had always far outweighed those at school.

I envisioned a spectrum in which some people were equally comfortable at home and at school, some were more at ease at school, and some at home. I had come to think of Z as more “at home” at school whereas G seemed more “at home” at home.

Z’s first preschool, which she attended just a few mornings a week, was a sweet, in-home joint, run by a mild, affable woman. Z was – gently but firmly -- asked to leave that preschool for monopolizing all of her teacher’s time and energy.

Her second preschool (http://www.timsonhillpreschool.com/ -- may they live long and prosper) was one of the top-rated in the state and a most wonderful and accepting place. G had gone to Timson Hill in his final preschool year, and it was the one place where they never suggested he be evaluated (he had been evaluated by Essential Early Education [“Triple E”] services at his previous preschool, before we moved, and was subsequently evaluated in kindergarten).  G was relatively at ease in that utopian environment – and unconditionally loved. Likewise, the teachers at Timson Hill accepted his sister Z wholeheartedly and – I might add – effectively, as her behaviors improved in that context.

Sure, there were the several times I had to go get Z when she was “possibly catatonic” or “might be having a seizure of some sort” because she wouldn’t respond or speak to her teachers but once we were in the car she’d revive. Using her own words for what she was doing, I would ask, ”Were you just tricking your teachers?”  [Giggles…] “Yes.”

But they never minded! They were just glad to know she was okay! And, day-to-day, they celebrated her for Expressing Herself and Exploring her Power, just as they had celebrated G’s various quirks and peccadilloes as originality, pensiveness, brilliance…

Ah, would that the whole world were made of Timson Hill.

On the first day of kindergarten, Z -- alongside her big brother -- proudly walked into the school she’d been anticipating attending for years. Her pink Hello Kitty backpack was almost bigger than she was.  It was an exciting and happy event.

                                               Figure I – Backpack to Child Ratio: 4:5

 There were other idyllic moments, like when Pardner and I both elected to serve as “Mystery Readers” in the classroom. I bawled uncontrollably (though [I hope] subtly) throughout those simple and unspoiled occasions.  I had so much hope that Z would be able to self-regulate in positive ways at school.

Still, fairly early on, Z’s teacher had to move her cubby to a more visible place because of some sneaking behaviors. And she was having some dominance and conflict-resolution challenges too. Then again, Z could certainly be relied upon to “run circle time” if Mrs. ___ had a small group activity to attend to.  Overall, kindergarten seemed to be going relatively well.

One morning in November, after some small incident, we stopped to greet the principal at the front door. “Z is planning to be very well-behaved today,” I announced. Z’s face got flat and stormy. “Hey,” I told her as we walked into school, noticing her expression, “You need to behave – and we are all here to help you.”

On the way back out, I stopped again and said to the principal, “I hope that was okay…I just want to help Z do her best and her knowing that everybody is in on that seems like a good idea to me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much,” he assured me. “She’s only been down in to see me a couple of times.”

Um. A couple of times? It was November. And she’s in KINDERGARTEN??? G has been to the principal’s office once in five years; I’d been once: in fifth grade, for kicking Jamie Chickaverry in the braces. (I’d been aiming lower.)

After a weekend from h-e-double-toothpicks, and the above-mentioned calls and concerns from Z’s teacher, I scheduled an emergency phone appointment with the attachment disorder therapist. While I was on the phone, Pardner ran into the woman who had referred us to that therapist in the first place in town. She has a son about Z’s age who was also adopted and has similar issues with anger, among other things. “How’s it going?” she asked Pard. He told her a little about recent events.

She got it. Wasn’t any kind of, “Oh that’s ‘normal’’’ – she got the whole threatening-to-kill-Mama (and everyone else), house-destroying aspect of the situation. Apparently, her son calls her a “F-ing B___” On the regular. Sigh. My people.

Pardner said she then uttered the words, “support group.”

“I don’t really think FSM is the type for that…” Pardner ventured.

“Yeah,” she said, “I wasn’t either. It’s just that you get nuggets of information. AND you meet people who get it.”

This is why sometimes I cannot talk to people: I mentioned a bit about some current behaviors to someone. “Mavbe Z was having a rough day at school,” this innocent person suggested.

No, innocent person, Z was not “having a rough day at school.” Z was possessed. By the exorcist? Or – I mean – she was possessed by whatever the girl in that movie is possessed by – that’s my daughter when she’s mad? Which is a lot of the time? The clinical term is “shame rages”?

So…About that support group?

Our therapist differentiated for us between shame and guilt. Guilt is a pro-social emotion, which makes learning and progress possible. When children feel guilt, they naturally want to do better. In time more pro-social behavior becomes ingrained. Shame is a dead end, and children with that feeling see themselves as helpless and hopeless. They have, therefore, nothing to lose. Shame is an anti-social emotion.

When Z clams up and refuses to respond to teachers and family it is with shame. Her “shame rages” are the tantrums of someone who believes all is already lost, which is the main reason they are so extreme.

Our therapist said one of the most important gifts one can give a child with an attachment disorder is to create the chance to “do a repair.” A repair can make a child feel more safe, more at home, wherever he or she is. It is not too much of a stretch to hope that a child who feels at home (whether in a place or a relationship) would lose the need to attempt to destroy their surroundings or companions.

When one has been dealing with relentless testing and pushing and tantrums all day where does that energy – the energy to not only come up with an idea for a repair but to then carry through -- come from?  What if the one who might be able to “do a repair” is a teacher with twenty other students to worry about?

Better go get some chocolate. It’s for the sake of my child.

Love,

Full Spectrum Mama

* I should note this is the same Grandmother who – despite being Liberal and by and large Left-leaning -- is convinced that Z must be descended from royalty due to her great beauty, intelligence and imperiousness.