69 posts tagged “mama drama”
Tonight I actually spent time online researching whether or not it is typical for a six-year-old to wet the bed (2-4 times per week) and pick his nose and consume the findings. Welcome to motherhood 101.
The day's dramas wouldn't have been all that insurmountable -- oh, they were mounted and surely so there's no worries, really -- if he didn't also get a whopping 5/18 smileys in the afternoon. He did not make "goal" for the day and the daily sheet reads like a misanthropic grunge-ster inhabited my son's body and went to school with him. That, plus he sassed the Nanny, which is something One Should Not Do, because the Nanny is Awesome. She took it in stride and had no problems with it -- she was able to handle it, which is what she is supposed to do -- but it bothered ME.
*I* wanted a good day so we could hang out and play games and watch a Nature show together. Instead there was a time out and extra schoolwork and extra laundry, because along with the angsty day came a rare pants-wetting experience (his, not mine) to compound onto the recent bedwetting laundry.
I will say this: after an afternoon of apathy the C pulled of a surprisingly mature and lucid conversation with me about the day's issues and was able to pull himself together for it. We discussed bedwetting -- I pointed out his father was right, look see the research -- and nosepicking, respectful conversation and how to behave. He garnered an extra 20 minutes of free play, which meant mostly goofy pictures with the digital camera.
I am truly lucky if these are my biggest problems.
C's second unmedicated day at school was yesterday, and he had a green card. Then his after school care called and informed us they couldn't handle him and could he please not come back until Monday.
He wasn't fighting. He wasn't doing anything, really, except running around and electing not to listen to the camp counselors. Well, he has ADHD and you can't pussyfoot around it; he seems to listen just fine when his father or I, or his aunt and uncle, or pretty much any one of my friends ask/tell him to chill. When these people say they are watching kids for you, they literally are watching: they'll watch them run around.
The school has chimed in with their opinion that this after school care is not adequate for C, and the overall vibe is that it is barely adequate for anyone. Charming!
I started looking for a nanny last night. I stopped this morning when I met up with X, who informed me Miss Lucy (his fiancee) has volunteered to pick up C after picking up her 2 kids and watching the gaggle on the two crucial days I can't cover. Yay for X! and Yay for Miss Lucy!
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go finesse my budget, as I am no longer taking the bus anymore with the revised schedule I need to make, which means I pay for parking and lose a stipend I got for not parking. Fun!
Sometimes I feel like I don't blog enough about my life with the C. It's not that he's not important -- he's the most important thing, really -- it's just I live it so much that I worry I will make my friends permanently sterile just by way of reading it. Therefore, I would say if you are "Team No Babies" feel free to read...
X and I are back on decent terms. I don't think it will ever get as chatty as it used to, and that is, I think, healthy. Getting 3-4 calls a day was not good for me, and it can't be good for a relationship for him, so I'm good with that. We also have come to an agreement on the meds, which is to say, if the school can provide all sorts of allowances (already available via their budget and we've offered to help supplement any costs), we can try naturopathy for as long as we've tried medication, which is about a year. What finally convinced me was that the C was having multiple red-card days on the same meds and under the same circumstances (food, sleep, clothing, day of week, activities, parent's house, etc.) as days where he'd have "green" cards. Upping the meds is not the answer, which is what modern medicine would have us do, as it makes him flat and zombie like. I do not want to zombify the boy to make a teacher's job easier; if she can't handle it I'm certain (having spent the last 3 months stewing in IEP and 504 legal matters) the school can supply someone who can.
Armed with this agreement, we decided to give the school notice in an email. We let them know that we didn't want to spring it suddenly, but we did want to do it in time for their evaluations for his potential IEP to take it into consideration, and so the 20th would be his first unmedicated day. Their email response thanked us, offered some suggestions (team sports), and I thought that was pretty cool.
Until I dropped the C off at school the next day. His teacher said "Well I got your email, obviously, since I replied to it, and that's... that's pretty big. I think something like that... you know... a phonecall, or a meeting, rather than an email..." She kind of trailed off, and I kind of let her. I pointed out that we wanted to make sure everyone was copied, we wanted to do it as quickly as possible, and we wanted to be fair and give them some time to prepare. "Well, I don't know what we're going to do to prepare, it'll be pretty much the same..."
Now, let's analyze those two statements.
She wanted to call a meeting or have a phone discussion about our decision to take him off meds, but she doesn't think there's anything they can do in the way of planning. Then what point in a phonecall? So she can object in an undocumented way? (NB: The school can't legally require C be medicated as part of his provisions). Further, if she objects to us taking him off meds, which is the (unstated) issue, what does she mean "it'll be pretty much the same"? She can't have it both ways: either the meds have an effect or they do not. (C had two "red card" days this Mon and Tues, and two green card days last Mon and Tues. Same food, same schedule, same clasroom, same parent...) I think she's feeling defensive, as her ADD daughter (which she shared earlier on, when we were still in "friend" mode) has been medicated since she was, I think, 7, and is now attending Stanford. What I wanted to say was, "look, we're not making a value judgement here, obviously we thought meds were something worth trying, but they don't seem to work with our son. They help somewhat with the attention piece, but not the hyperactivity, and frankly I'm not going to dope him like those kids on that Frontline special. I'm sorry it means you will have to make allowances and/or deal with a specialist in your class helping him; but that's the system you work for and have tenure with. I didn't write it."
But I didn't.
Update: he has been suspended from school again. I don't have much in the way of details but apparently it's an unprovoked fight, after a long day of wiggliness and not listening and redirections and distractions. Crap!
Yesterday I was called from the school at 11:30am to come and retrieve the C, who had got into (yet another) fight with his 'friend', J.
This is the friend he was throwing rocks at on Thursday (because his friend was throwing pinecones at him). This was the friend he shoved into a pole on Friday (because his friend shoved him into a wall). No one knows why or even how it starts, but these two get along just fine one minute and are knock-down, drag-out fighting the next.
The coolest thing has happened.
After Thursday and Friday, I was sure that J's mom would hate me and diss me. The parental mechanisms at this school are weird, and navigating them is like navigating black water at midnight in the middle of the Pacific; I don't know how or when or on what I am being judged but I do know that I am. So imagine my surprise when, at the morning line up, J's mom sought me out and requested we get together over the holidays to help these two get along.
Whoa. There is life!
I must admit I am a little relieved to be dealing with a "normal" school issue. When C acts up in class or distracts or what have you, it's not something he is able to control (without some 1 on 1 attention) that well and it's not something I'm willing to medicate him into zombie status over. The whole proactive mechanism we're trying to put in place is special and weird and full of loopholes and obstacles, and you don't plan on that when you're planning on getting pregnant. But you do plan on little boys fighting and little girls playing dressup (and then fighting), and so you can fall back to socially normal established positions and the tried and true parental coffees and apology notes.
This is much more welcome than, say, the pseudo-shut-out I'm getting on the Art Committee Chairing Adventure.
Attend me:
The Chairperson of Finding Chairpeople sent out 3 emails requesting help for the Art Night Committee (Art Night is in March). The emails went along the lines of, "If we don't find someone we're not having it". So I volunteered.
And discovered it was to be me and one other mom. Well, cool!
And then discovered it was to be me and two other moms. Hey, 3 heads are better than 2!
In the interest of showing that I wasn't some slacking, doc-marten-wearing misanthrope, I sent an email to Mom's 1 and 2 (and the CofFC) saying "hey isn't this fantastic let's get together sometime before the holidays to get started" (in a really officially cool way). Which was summarily ignored.
Then Mom 2 sends out an email saying pretty much EXACTLY THE SAME THING, only for the week after New Year's (during the day on a school day, of course), and everyone responds. Clearly, I am at the low end of the totem pole and overstepped my bounds. Having somewhat mastered ignoring the political environs of my workplace I now must apply that to the environs of the PTSA. This, I know how to do.
I'll just have to be careful what kind of quiche to bring to the first meeting...
Somewhere in the ethersphere, a technician just received a frantic phonecall from a frenzied festivity planning party person. (I heart alliteration). Said technician logged an issue, which transferred to some other geek who will fix it, and report it to a product manager, who will acquire 3 new pubic and 6 new head grey hairs. I speak of Evite being down, because I tried to go there and it said to me:
An error occurred while processing your request.
Reference #99.df1cb4a.1223349013.ba52e97
Which is unromantic and unwelcome. I wish to see who is attending a get together in two weeks. The bastard won't let me. And it doesn't have the decency to show a shiny error, it shows me this dumb reference number shit.
I identify, however, with the product manager, because of late I have discovered that being teased over and over for OCD does not a diagnosis make; but when your son's psychiatrist and your son's pediatrician suggest you are, and then you have the back up of your boyfriend etc. agreeing with it, well, it's the Yiddish proverb about the camel**. And so I started obsessing about *that*.
It crops up in weird ways. My house is fairly clean and neat but when worried I go into overdrive and seriously consider starting projects the logical part of me has to stop me from actually doing, like taking down all two thousand plus books and logging their ISBN numbers, or ripping out the moldings because I don't like them, or painting (these are all projects in plan). I have been known to chart my sons days in an Excel spreadsheet (medication, dose, food intake, sleep, mood, other notes), I have balanced and rebalanced my 401k in the space of one month (this economy does NOT help). I have started obsessing about money because it isn't enough to obsess about the C and my romantic life is no longer laden with ulcers so I can't obsess about that; so my little game of How Frugal Can I Be goes into weird roller coaster rides. I took the bus to Seattle but spent money on going out once there, I brought lunch but drove; Jim Jubak is redoing his portfolio so maybe I should, too... again. Honestly, I'd obsess about my weight but I don't know that I'd know the difference between that and Normal, as it is my understanding it is Normal for a woman to weigh herself 3 times in the morning and 3 times at night and pick over how well her jeans do or do not fit.
I'm worried that it takes me too long to finish house projects and fabric projects, I'm worried my dogs don't get enough attention, my son doesn't get enough attention, my weight isn't where it should be, my savings aren't where they should be, that my portfolio is too aggressive/not aggressive enough, that acne keeps returning, my nails are breaking, I don't see my friends often enough, there's a level 3 sex offender in the neighborhood directly to the north of the school, I don't run fast enough, my code is messy, I don't see GH often enough, I'm at work too long (or not enough), my nutrition sucks, and I haven't started on my holiday cards.
I have to go and clean something now. Maybe I'll vacuum the couch and check for loose change...
(PS if I were really worried about my finances, though, I'd totally can Alex. Garden help is the Last Great Luxury).
One of the tentets of parenting your active alert child is to reverse how you look at things: it's all about spin control. Making negatives into positives. Lead into gold. You know, outlook alchemy.
To readjust how I look at things, let me just work through this, publicly. "This" being the C's suspension for the day from school for having run away, yet again. (He only got as far as the inner courtyard, he didn't make it past the double doors).
- He is determined.
- He is able to commit to a task over a period of time.
- He has an excellent memory.
- He is a problem solver.
- He is creative (he offered up 5 separate exuses for his attempted absence, including:
- school is too hard
- he wanted to go home
- he wanted to go get his "take a break" card from home
- he wanted to go home and remove his transdermal patch, because it itched
- he was just lost on the way to the library)
- He facilitates conversations between his father and I.
That last is intrinsic to my current mood, as I have spent the better part of an hour calming X down. X saw excuse number 4 and stated that the C should go off his medication altogether, because 1. it probably wasn't working if he was running away and 2. it would remove the excuse. So, back to the doctor(s) we go, but not until Dr.Mak gets back from vacation. Sigh.
(Imagine the Mission Impossible theme in the background for this, 'kay?)
The Layout:
Imagine a pentagon. On three adjacent sides of the pentagon are 3 kindergarten classes. On a fourth side are the restrooms. On a fifth side are the doors to the greater inner courtyard of the school, and beyond that the doors to leave the school. Distance from pentagon doors to courtyard doors: about 40 feet. Distance between the C's kindergarten door and the doors leading out from the pod (as the pentagon is affectionately called): about 10 feet. Distance from C's cubby where he is to deposit his jacket and backpack first thing in the morning, and the doors exiting the pod: about 4 inches. (To answer how he got out of class without the teacher noticing? 21 students in each of 3 classes swarm in and out of those rooms into the pod and back. 3 Teachers. 63 kids. And here we are, five weeks into school, and no one has ever pulled anything like this).
The Buildup:
On the other side (the non-pentagon side) of his class I wait with him in line (the line up is official at 8:25 and kids are in their classroom by 8:30) and chat. He gives me one last firm hug and I tell him I'll watch him go in. I go over to the window, where he tries to run out of the class (first time for that). He frowns at me as I tell him I have to go.
What He Said Happened/What I Was Told as of 11AM Yesterday:
By about 9:40 he had nearly escaped from school (made it about 100 yards out the main front doors, still technically on campus). He was handed to the school counselor, then the psychiatrist, then the principal. He indicated he had learned enough, school was stressful, and he wanted to catch a bus to go see his mom. She works at BTCo and while he realized it was a long way he could make it.
What Actually Happened (as related 6PM Last Night, by a call from his Teacher):
After I left to go to my car, he was told to go put his stuff away in the pod. He walked straight out the doors, and kept going. He was caught 100 yards out the main front doors, was caught by a teaching assistant, returned to the classroom. The TA said, "I've brought C back" and the teacher, thinking this meant he was lollygagging in the pod (he *had* done that before) said, "Oh Great, C please put your stuff away". Then, as C left to do that, the TA proceeded to say where she brought him back FROM. Realizing the Houdini potential, they found C just outside the main front doors. He was escorted back to class, then to the counselor, psychologist, and principal's office. I got the initial call.
He tried again at recess.
He tried again at lunchtime when he was to go throw his trash away.
This is after it's been impressed upon him by many grown ups, including his mother, that there are dangerous creepy people outside of school and they are just waiting for an alone little boy to take him away. That everyone would be very very sad and Mommy and Daddy would be incredibly hurt and scared.
The Wrap Up:
Last night the C pointed out that he could get into the house from the dog door, that Kumi and Thumper were home, and it wasn't that far to walk (all true. We live about a quarter of a mile -- tops -- from the school, in a straight line). I pointed out he doesn't know what days they go to the vet/groomers, and when I do that I block off the dog door, and anyway the creepy strangers could get him between school and home. He said he could see them ahead of time and run, and I said that's the thing about creepy strangers: you don't see them until it's way too late. "Ok", came the solemn little voice, "I won't do it again."
The Aftermath:
This morning I stood in line with the C and deposited him into class, and ran as fast as I could around the bend to the double doors and edged close to the pod doors. But this was not his teacher's first time at the rodeo and she had someone in the pod check him, make him go back to class and unpack, and close the pod doors (Close the Pod Bay Doors, Hal!) (Had to say it). He then put his jacket and backpack away, and laid on the ground a bit until he realized that I could see him, and wasn't happy about it, and that his teacher could see him, and wasn't happy about it.
It's 11:23 and I haven't heard from the Principal or his teacher.
You have to hand it to him for perseverance and self-confidence. I just wish I could get him to understand!
C ran away from school today. He asked to be excused to go to the bathroom and afterwards just kept going... out the door to catch a bus, so he told the school psychologist and principal. They were not amused. Sistah Girl listened to my frenetic flurry of sputtering and stated simply, "Your son is hard core".
I told the C we could catch a bus any time he liked -- just not from school. I reminded him that there are cruddy people out there who would try to take him away, and that he is safe in school. He didn't seem to get what all the fuss was about but was amiable enough, promising not to do it again.
If he does it again, and gets off campus, they have to call the police, and they have to suspend him.
This dadratted mercury in retrograde thing needs to clear up soon!
This week at work I have got absolutely nothing done that I wanted to. Not a thing. Hampered by increasing requests and vague requestors (outside of my group; the ones inside my group know what they're on about), I have had zero success in creating a data dictionary. I have had some success in smacking down a few of those requestors, though, particularly one who decided to flex her jaws at my new guy. My new guy is awesome, and she is not intelligent, and I had to give her the written what-for. You don't mess with my homies.
Oh, and X is going back to Saudi Arabia. What a garden spot that is just right now. To add insult to injury this means my plans are all in uproar: I have to reschedule my only dive between now and La Paz, and I have to explain to the C that he's going to be stuck with Mom for 2 weeks in a row.
I'm still running -- I ran despite a cold and have kept it up largely because I'm stubborn -- and slowly but surely I'm up to five miles. Race Day (30 November) has me a bit scared because of the quantity of hills -- I can run some hills on a smaller run, but last weekend's five-mile-plus-huge-hill had me in considerable discomfort.
Tomorrow night (my one of 2 C-free nights for the next 2 weeks) I will be seeing the Rancoteurs, whom I didn't know I liked until I looked them up and saw that they are responsible for "Steady as She Goes", among other songs. I am the benefactrix of an extended friendship through GH and one of her friends' not wanting to go to an "anklebiter" (read: all ages) show. Saturday marks my early morning run, then a brunch with the gals from my old high school, and then suiting up to go see Phantom of the Opera. At least I can say I'm keeping active.
I end this post with quite possibly the best thing ever, and that is that I have new Docs, and they are beautiful. Wipe your chin, you're drooling.
Orange means Alert, and Yellow means Slow Down. I am not defining traffic lights and signals, I am illustrating Colored Cards at C's School.
Each time a child has to be told not to do something -- e.g., given a warning to pipe down or listen up or do something directional -- they have to change the color of their card. Each morning they begin with a green card, the idea beging to keep it thus. A warning and it turns to yellow; a second it turns to orange, a third it turns red. Since the child in question has to go and turn his/her own card, each time, the impact of their actions is immediately evident. (The fact that the C is red-green colorblind makes this a little weirder for him).
We celebrate yellow and green at home, admonish orange, and fret over red. Thus far we have only had one orange -- but today may be a red, for I have an email from Mrs. Kindergarten that the C has kicked someone, repeatedly. I'm hoping it's angst coming off of a turbo-disney-dad weekend, and that he will settle in a bit more tomorrow. There will, naturally, be the discussion about keeping one's appendages to one's self, the value of friendship, the utter shame of having to sign a communication slip, and the consequences of further signatures on mom's part. Mom doesn't like to sign checks, and checks come with an endorphin high of shopping. Communication slips come with no such high. They don't send you a communication slip for good stuff, now, do they?
I must admit that I had the foolish hope that Kindergarten was going to Change Everything, and that magically all of the drama of parenthood would effectively switch to the urgency of say, procuring 24 pink cupcakes by 2pm. However, the issues remain and must be dealt with, and I am once again back to having my phone at my side, a daily reminder that I have an Active Alert Child who is sweet, funny, smart, and a total pain and attention hog when he wants to be. At least with our Public Tax Dollars there are all sorts of programs and help and encouragement and we are getting all kinds of positive feedback and help from his teacher, so I am not worried about expulsion (or not really). I *am* just a little tired, though, of being *that* mom. You know, *that* mom, the one always in serious side-conference with the teacher, the one who gets near-permanent worry lines in the forehead, the one who gets up every morning and wonders what fresh cheek her son will turn on the world.
