Expert Needed

People have told me I am the expert when it comes to my children, but I am not. How can I be the expert when I have no idea what to do? I don’t know how to get Love Bug to cooperate and accomplish simple everyday tasks. How am I the expert when I have no idea how to help my daughter with her internal struggles and issues? I don’t know if we are coming or going, if we are up or down. I am holding it together with duct tape and sheer determination. If there is expertise in stubbornness, then yes, perhaps I am an expert. But, when it comes to helping my children, my only expertise lies in being able to describe what is going on, what might trigger them, and how the fall-out looks from my perspective. I have no clue how to stop it or make any of it go differently than I did the last time. I've read books and I am now reading one more; "The Explosive Child" by Dr. Ross Green. Maybe this will be the key to true expertise. Fingers crossed....

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This Is Love Bug

Love Bug is not liking school. He had a pretty bad day last week, which prompted a call from the teacher. She asked what I do to help him. Lady, if I knew what to do, you don’t think I’d be informing everyone and their mother? I did write her a list of things about Love Bug in a notebook. Maybe it wasn't enough? I was trying to keep it simple, just as an introduction to my little guy, not a comprehensive volume. I meant it for us to pass back and forth. She sent it home a few times and now kept it. Unless Love Bug lost it. But, here is the list I wrote to her for the first day of school.

 

This is Love Bug

 

Love Bug’s Strengths:

Love Bug is very smart at figuring out how things work. He is chatty, friendly, and fairly out-going. Love Bug is a hugger! His nickname at home is Love Bug. He is getting better at using his words to ask for what he wants. His favorite things are trains and he can turn any object into a train or train tracks. Love Bug is full of energy and when he wants to learn something, he can be very engaged. He asks a lot of questions, sometimes about things you hadn’t ever considered.  Love Bug is funny and has a great sense of humor.  He has a terrific memory.

 

Love Bug’s likes and dislikes:

Love Bug likes physical touch and is still learning how to ask for it appropriately. He likes holding hands and feeling skin-to-skin by rubbing his hands over someone’s arms. He will climb onto the lap of a trusted adult, forgetting to ask first. As mentioned above, Love Bug loves trains. He is not fond of arts and crafts and refuses to write letters or numbers. He hates cheese (he will tell people he is allergic, but he is not) and loves chips. He likes when someone reads to him, but sometimes gets distracted by questions he asks. He does not like waiting.

 

Love Bug’s triggers:

Love Bug gets triggered when he is not allowed to be first in line. He sometimes still struggles with transitions, but does better with timed prompts (5 minutes left, 10 minutes left, etc.) and being told ahead of time “you have x number of minutes to do this activity.” Often times not getting what he wants causes Love Bug to react negatively. I try to focus on what he can do (no, we cannot go outside, but we can play xyz game, something like that). He likes to help, so sometimes that can distract him from being upset about not getting his way (we can’t go outside, but can you help me put the blocks away). Being silly with him is also a way to distract him (funny voices, telling a silly joke, and he loves being tickled). When he is getting agitated, he will stick the pointer finger of his left hand in his mouth.

 

Safety issues:

When Love Bug gets really worked up, he does try to elope. A lot of it is posturing and getting you to chase him, but he does sometimes just run without thinking. He also sometimes throws things when he is escalated.  

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Shared Son

Primero has been spending a lot of time with his friend's family. It's something a lot of teens do but, in addition to my concerns about the age difference between him and his friend (she will be 15 the end of this month), I have also discovered he calls her mother "mom." I've actually heard him do it, just before he put me on a video chat with her. I think he thinks it's a gag. Only, when I talked to her (she does not speak English and Primero speaks only a little Spanish), she jokingly said he wasn't just my son but that we shared him. He was "our" son. I guess for ordinary people, this would be just a silly joke, haha what a lark. But, for me, it does not feel that way. It gutted me to hear him call her mom, to refer to her as "Mom" to his friend. Our family therapist suggested I try talking to him about it but I just can't. The pain from the past makes me feel too fragile to bring this up as something that bothers me. To be honest, I just couldn't take him acting like it's nothing, like I'm an idiot for feeling some type of way about it. He wants me to be friends with his friends mom, but I have thus far avoided meeting her. It isn't her fault, but when she said he was her son too, I just couldn't stomach sitting in front of her and acting like I was totally cool with that. Maybe I am an idiot. Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I just feel like I've worked so hard to earn the title she was given so freely. Primero has lived with me for five and a half years. He has been adopted for nearly three years. And yet, he still introduces me as his adoptive mom and never, not once, has he called me "Mom." He met this woman like three months ago and she get's called "Mom." What's not to love about that?

Previous Co-worker

Today, after a morning training, I went to the funeral of a former co-worker. He had retired a few years ago when the county didn't take the contract that covered his position. He really didn't want to retire but he also didn't want a different job. He loved his job as a workshop facilitator. Sadly, last week he suffered a heart attack and passed away suddenly. It was a shock because he was very fit, having been a ref for various sports for many years. There were many people attending the service. We thought maybe he had been cremated because there was no casket, just many pictures and mementos from his life. We discovered he had been an organ donor. Another co-worker and I attended the funeral and met with many other former co-workers. It was a sad occasion to see some wonderful people.

Remembering 9/11

I thought after 18 years this day would not impact me as much as it does. I thought it was Tuesday today because it was Tuesday 18 years ago. I remembered the beautiful bright blue skies and white puffy clouds. And I remember the terror and fear watching on TV what was happening. I was a sophomore in college, sitting in Spanish class when the first plane hit the tower. I was in a history class when the professor stated, "I guess you've all heard by now about the plane hitting the World Trade Center." I thought he was talking about a small bi-plane getting stuck in the weather equipment on the top of the tower. I had no idea. After class, I went back to my dorm room and found my roommate with the TV on, two very strange occurrences. My roommate was never in during the day and she never put the TV on. "Are you seeing this?" she asked incredulously. I thought it was a movie, as I stared unblinking at the two towers with flames and black smoke billowing into the azure sky. Before I could grasp what was happening, the tower came crashing down.

On the radio this morning driving into work, they talked about an article from the Atlantic about how mundane decisions made a world of difference on 9/11. I've been dwelling on it all day, how these random decisions, made without any understanding, changed the course of someone's life, literally life or death. How often do we make decisions that might have such a drastic outcome?

On the ride home tonight, the little ones and I talked about why they had a moment of silence at 8:46 this morning. I told them, in an age appropriate way, what I remembered. And I told them, the best thing we can do it to never forget. I know I never will.

Stereotypical

My family could not be described as stereotypical, however, when we went back-to-school shopping my kiddos were the quintessential gender stereotypes. Love Bug needed new sneakers for school. He is not a fan of “tight” shoes, so I found a few sneakers that had the expendable laces and Velcro closures at the top. He had to choose from a blue pair or a black pair. He asked for black and we asked he sales associate for his size. Chica Marie was going to get a pair of flats because she already had sneakers in good shape. Or boots. She wanted the ankle-high boots. So, we got a pair in her size. Love Bug sat down, tried on his sneakers, declared they fit and he was done. Chica Marie tried on the boots but said they were too small (I did the toe test – you know, the one where you make the kid stand up straight then poke their toes through the shoe?) but they seemed to be fine. We asked for the next half-size up, only they didn’t come in half-sizes (what kind of shoe, besides flip-flops, does not come in half-sizes?). So, we tried the next whole size. Chica Marie said they fit, only I thought they looked sloppy and too big. When I easily snatched it off her foot, I proved my point. So, I suggested she try a different shoe, since no size in the boot seemed to feel comfortable to her. Meanwhile, Love Bug, content with his new sneakers, decided to crawl under the seats and shoe displays declaring he was invisible. I heard a chuckle behind me and when I turned I saw a man probably close to my dad’s age sitting in a chair waiting on his wife/girlfriend/significant other who was trying on a stack of shoes. “I too wish I were invisible” he said winking at Love Bug. I heard a murmur of agreement from another man across the room, also waiting on a female companion to decide on what foot ware to purchase. As I turned my attention back to Chica Marie, who brought over a pair of flats, I smiled to myself. Love Bug was being the typical male, find shoes, finish shopping. And Chica Marie tried on three different shoes in varying sizes before making a decision. I remember listening to a TED talk which expressed how consumers are not necessarily happier with more choices. Love Bug also seemed to fit this mold. Regardless, we managed to buy both kids shoes and Love Bug entertained the waiting men. An no one had a melt-down.  

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Windshield or Bug

Somedays you are the windshield and somedays you are the bug. Yesterday was a pretty buggy day. At work, an attempt made by myself and another coworker to uncover a fellow coworker who appears to be abusing time out of the office by taking exorbitantly long lunches and breaks, was met with a prove it attitude. This is how government employees get a bad rap. I felt totally disheartened after the conference call with our reginal director. Nothing will be done and this person will continue to take 90 minute lunches when we are only allowed 30 minutes. Meanwhile, the rule followers like me will get more and more disillusioned and demoralized. Time to look for another job, it seems.

I usually leave work ish at work, so I figured the rest of the day would improve. After work, the kids and I went to the back-to-school night so the kids (and me) could meet their teachers. I planned for us to have dinner afterwards, since I didn't think we would be there all that long. We found Chica Marie's classroom fairly easily, after getting a map in the cafeteria. She is on the second floor of the school this year. According to the map, Love Bug was also on the second floor. Only, we could not find his room. A different teacher helped us figure out that Love Bug's teacher and another teacher switched rooms. So, Love Bug is actually downstairs. We walk into the room to meet his teacher and start chatting with her. I mention something about attending the kindergarten orientation with Love Bug the next day and she looks at me like I have 3 heads.  Apparently, the special education classrooms, like autism support, do not have orientation. In fact, the kids start a full day right on day one, while their regular education classmates are only there for 2 hours. I was upset by this for many reasons, but I tried to piece things together, including how I need to drop this kids off at different places in the mornings. And still figure out how to get to work on time. We trekked back upstairs to see where third graders enter the building in the morning. And then back downstairs. We bumped into Love Bug's mobile therapist, who has three kids in the school. She reminded me we would meet at our place at 7 for a ISTP meeting with the insurance company representative on the phone. After talking to multiple staff about the whole no kindergarten orientation thing - and being told I should just go for a mani-pedi since I took the day off - we ended up in the classroom of the teacher Chica Marie had for the last two years. She was psyched to have Love Bug just down the hall from her. And she wanted both kids to come visit with her when they could. The teacher who helped write the IEP came to find me, with the kindergarten teacher and eventually the principal. There was a mistake. Love Bug was supposed to be assigned to a regular education teacher. So, they suggested I let him where he was and attend the kindergarten orientation solo.

As we were leaving, the mobile therapist called. It was already 7 and we were not home. We walked to the school, so we hurried home. The mobile therapist was waiting on our porch. We rushed inside and tried calling the insurance representative but she didn't answer. We were too late.

After the mobile therapist left, I made a quick dinner. I got the kids bathed and fashioned Chica Marie's hair into the style she asked for. Then we left to pick up Primero. He had text me earlier in the day, asking to get picked up after work. He mentioned later he might be sent home earlier. He never confirmed, so I went to get him at the regular time. I was slightly agitated because it was getting late for the kids. I text him we were there. He said he wasn't ready to leave but didn't respond when I asked if we should wait or just go home. We waited for 30 minutes before he finally text to say he had a ride home. I was so angry. We got into a fight when he got home.

The windshield won. I was the bug, all squished and depleted, stuck without hope, buffeted by the winds pushing me further into the hard place.