What Goes Up...

Mere minutes after I published the fluff that masqueraded as a post yesterday, I got an email from Olivia’s teacher.

She’d (Olivia, not her teacher) had a potty accident at school yesterday. The first of the year. Her teacher asked that we discuss the classroom restroom policy with her. The policy is very lenient. If the kids have to use the bathroom, they don’t have to ask to do so. There is a bathroom attached to the classroom and they can go whenever they need to.

Her teacher also asked that we talk to Olivia about telling a teacher if she does have an accident since yesterday, O stood around in wet shorts for some time before a teacher discovered it. Yikes. And ewwww.

There was a worksheet in her folder last night that Olivia had done at school that day. There was a note from her teacher at the bottom of the page. It read, “I worked one on one with Olivia on the back of this sheet. She did really well at not adding ‘extras’ to the sheet when reminded often of the task at hand.”

Huh.

It only took four weeks of school for them to learn what I’ve been saying all along. Olivia needs constant reminders of the task at hand. If she doesn’t have those reminders, her mind wanders and her crayon goes crazy on the paper. She can do the work, but she needs someone on hand to keep her on task. I realize how frustrating that must be to her teachers. Hell, I’m her mother, I love this child more than anything in the world (other than her sister, whom I love equally, though perhaps differently) and I get frustrated with her.

This morning, after reminding O yet again that she can go potty any old time she wants, Tom was trying to get her to eat her breakfast. I packed lunches while he cajoled, threatened, pleaded and spooned food into Olivia’s mouth.

When they were almost done, I said to no one in particular, “I think poor Dad had the worst job in the house this morning.”

He muttered, “I’d rather pack the lunches.”

Ha! I am not trading jobs, dude.

Alyssa had no sympathy. “I pack my lunch AND eat my breakfast. You just have to make Olivia eat her breakfast.”

He wants her to eat because we know she probably won’t eat her lunch and so we want her to have as much nutrition and calories first thing in the morning as possible just to get her through the day.

Around noon today when I got back to my desk, there was another ‘Note from Kindergarten’ email message waiting for me.

Another potty accident. Again, she didn’t tell the teacher when it happened. This was discovered right before lunch so her lunch time was shortened because she needed to be cleaned up and changed.

Sigh.

I wonder if this is a control thing. I mean, I think the potty issue and the eating are things Olivia can control and the rest of her life is pretty much dictated to her. When to sleep, when to write her name, what to wear, when to bathe, when she can go to recess, when she is supposed to work on writing her numbers. Her entire life is scheduled for her.

I need to figure this out for her, though because while yes, having potty accidents and not eating her lunch is getting her all kinds of attention, it’s not good attention.

I still read three books to this child every single night. I sit with her hand Alyssa while they eat their dinner, talking to them, asking about their day. I wait with them at the bus stop, discussing their day, asking how they slept.

I help O brush her hair and teeth each morning. I rub her back as she falls asleep each night. I do not know how I can give her more attention than she already gets.

What do I do? How do I get through to her that this is not okay? I don’t want to punish her for something I’m not sure she’s doing on purpose (though she did not have a potty accident at all this past summer, not even one, so…she has complete bladder and bowel control…it makes me wonder.) I just want to figure her out so I can help her and make whatever is stressing her better.

I know this a universal wish among most if not all parents out there. We want to make life easier for our littles. We want to take some of the challenges and smooth the edges. I know we can’t always do this but I have to try.

I have to.

Not Much

Today, I’ve got nothing. Things are good. School seems to be going okay for the girls. Alyssa loves it and Olivia asked this morning, “When are we going to have a day off?”

She’d been awake for five minutes and wasn’t especially happy about it. And let me remind everyone that today was their first day this week. They had Monday off for “Fair Day” and Tuesday was just a free day off. I know, whatever, right?

So yes, she wants another day off even though she just had four days off. I think she’s still getting used to being at school for the entire day. It’s hard on a little body to take, don’t you know?

Tom declared yesterday that he is never, ever going to preserve grapes in any form again. Never.

We picked twenty gallons of grapes last weekend and Tom’s been dealing with them all week. He’s discovered that the work involved is not equal to the amount of juice produced. He asked me a couple of days ago how much it costs to buy a bottle of grape juice. I laughed and told him, “Not enough to justify all the time you’ve spent on those grapes.”

But hey, live and learn. He’s still all about canning salsa and green beans and even blackberry goo, as he calls it. It’s basically a lumpy syrup he and Olivia enjoy on their ice cream.

Olivia still isn’t eating much of her lunch at school and we’re working on that. Tom wants me to weigh her every day to make sure she isn’t losing weight. I told him once a week will have to do because who wants their six year old to become weight conscious? Not me, that’s who. Right now, she’s holding steady at 46.5 pounds. I keep telling Tom that all we can do is provide the food. She has to eat it.

Wait, I also told him that if he’s that concerned, the school is four miles from our house. She eats lunch at 10:30. He is welcome to go there every day and make her eat. Go for it, dude, is that I told him.

He has not yet taken me up on that. But if O’s weight dips beneath 45? He might just do it. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s already threatened her with that very idea and Olivia is adamant that, “Daddy is not coming to my school during my lunch to feed me.”

Ha! I’m sorry but the image makes me laugh. She’s so positive she can stop him and he’s so sure he can make her eat if he’s there and I’m all, “Liv, just eat the lunch we provide you and it won’t be an issue.”

We’ll see.

Alyssa thinks the entire situation is funny and reminds me every Wednesday that it’s O’s weigh-in day. She also packs her own lunch this year. Did I mention that?

Yes, she does. Alyssa still refuses to buy lunch at school so, even though I told her way back in second grade that she’d be packing her lunches herself by fourth grade, I managed to get suckered into doing it for her until just this year, when, hey, look at that, I have to pack O’s lunch instead.

Alyssa seems to enjoy packing her own lunch. Though I think she’d enjoy it even more if she actually had a say about what goes in there. We came up with a list of things she has to pack to make sure she’s getting more protein than sugar and more fruits and vegetables than cookies. So yes, she packs the lunch we want her to pack. But who am I to complain? At least the girl eats what she packs, which is more than her sister can say.

Ahem. Yes. Not much going on here at all.

The County Fair

We hit the county fair yesterday. The girls get every Monday after Labor Day off to attend the fair and I always take the day off too so I can take them.

We get to see the animals (read: horses and ponies), ride the carnival rides as provided by Poor Jack’s Amusements and eat fatty/sugary fair food.

A great time is had by all.

Well, by all except that little brats who run around and try to cut in line and get called out by the mean mom (me) who tells them, “Hey, the back of the line is that way!”

It’s taken me to this point in my life to do that.

In years past I’d have rolled my eyes, sighed and shrugged at the girls, saying something like, “I’m sorry some people are so rude, Sweetie.”

But these days? Forget it. I’m so sick of rude kids thinking it’s okay to just step in and take the place of someone who has waited their turn.

Olivia and I were waiting in line to ride the ferris wheel. Two boys ahead of us called out to two boys who had just gotten off the ferris wheel. The boys who’d just ridden came over to talk to the boys in front of us. As we moved closer to getting on the ride, one of the boys who was standing talking to the boys who were actually in line announced, “I’m going to ride it again.”

“Really?” I asked. “You’re going to cut in line?”

He grinned this obnoxious grin and said, “Yeah?”

“Really?” I asked again. I looked deliberately back at the line snaking through the crowd. “You’re going to cut in front of all these people who have waited their turn?”

He had the grace to leave the place he’d tried to take and go to the end of the line.

I was really proud of myself. I’d stood up for myself and my child and all the people who were waiting in line like we were supposed to do so.

As we were leaving the fair, Alyssa asked if she’d be allowed to run around the fair with her friends when she’s 13.

“You mean without an adult?” I wondered.

She nodded.

I suggested that she’ll be ready when she’s 16. She rolled her eyes. Someday, that girls eyes are going to roll right out of her head.

I know this is a rinky-dink county fair but there are some sketchy characters hanging about. I can’t possibly say how I’ll feel in three years but right now? I’m not letting my kid run around with a few other kids her own age. But then I remind myself that I only see her as ten. I don’t know how I’ll feel when she’s 13 or 15 or yes, even 17. She might be a really mature (emotionally, I hope, hope, hope, she’s not overly physically mature at 13) 13 year old. Or she might be a really emotionally immature 17 year old.

I told her I wasn’t going to make any hard decisions about that right then. I reserve to make these decisions at the time they’re needed. Right now? No, my ten year old is not going to run around the county fair with her friends and no adult supervision. Not going to happen. I don’t care how many groups of her classmates we run across who are doing just that.

I’m not ready and I definitely don’t think my kid is ready.

And seeing all those brats who cut in line in front of kids littler than they are? They’re not ready for the responsibility of being without adult supervision either.

I don’t know what to say about the parents who WATCH their issue walk up and cut in front of other people. I just…I can’t fathom thinking that is okay. What is wrong with some people?

Watching Her Tumble

I spend two hours at the girls’ gym every Thursday night. I know there are other moms out there (Julie, I’m looking at you) who are probably thinking, “Pshaw! Two hours are nothing, talk to me when you’re there four hours a night for four nights a week.”

Anyway, I’m there for two hours each Thursday, watching them practice the skills they know and learn new skills.

O’s class is full of five and six year old girls. While Olivia will be seven in November, she fits into this class really well. She’s a little taller than the other girls in the class but not so much that it’s really all that noticeable.

I stand at the window with all the other parents, waving when Olivia looks up to make sure I’m watching. I stand there and I look for the 5p-. I watch her somersault and walk the beam and dangle from the bar and I realize…she’s pretty much right there on par with the other five and six year olds in the class.

Sure, she’s a little less sure on the beam but I think that’s mostly because of a lack of confidence rather than a lack of ability. She’s much quieter than the other girls but that’s thanks to the selective mutism (or, maybe, just maybe severe shyness that she very likely got from her dear mother) more than the 5p- syndrome. See, I know that verbal ability is very much affected in kids with Cri du Chat but Olivia is spectacularly verbal at home and like any other shy kid, can and will talk when she wants but just stands there and smiles when she doesn’t want to talk.

It surprises me when I realize that all the other parents watching all the little girls just see seven little girls tumbling and playing and laughing together. They don’t see six typical girls and my special girl. They see these girls and have no idea how far my O has come. They don’t know that she didn’t walk until she was almost two and a half years old. They have no idea that she didn’t crawl until she was seventeen months old. The just see a tallish little girl with blond pigtails running around with her peers.

They have no idea she’s missing part of a chromosome. And even if they did, I feel incredibly lucky that they probably wouldn’t care. They see these beautiful girls, the sweet little kindergarteners and first graders and they, like me, enjoy watching their own kids learning, growing, being social (even without words, O socializes with her gymnastics classmates) and doing something that is fun for them.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the need to tell Olivia’s story to strangers in a waiting room. I don’t feel like I need to explain why she needs a little extra help on the beam because that extra help is so very little that the other parents don’t even notice.

And I’m so, so grateful for that.

Speaking of Talking

My girls go to a very small school. This school is small enough that the gym teacher who teaches Alyssa’s fifth grade class also teaches Olivia’s kindergarten class.

I believe I’ve mentioned before that Alyssa loves rules. When I told her the day before her first day of kindergarten that one of the rules at school was that if a teacher talked to her she had to reply back to him/her. She took my word as gospel and has never had trouble talking to her teachers after they’ve asked her a question.

As we all know, Olivia on the other hand, shrugs in the face of rules. Rules, schmules, she says.

Alyssa came home the other day and told us, “My gym teacher told me today that my sister won’t talk to him.”

I laughed, “Well, duh! She won’t talk to anyone at school.”

She continued, “He asked if she talks to me.”

“Did you answer?” I wanted to know.

She rolled her eyes at me (she’s getting pretty good at that eye-rolling business), “Of course I did. You know if a teacher talks to you, you have to answer back.”

I nodded.

“I told him that sometimes Olivia talks so much at home that I beg her to be quiet.”

“Did he believe you?”

“He laughed and said he hopes she’ll talk to him someday.”

I sighed, “Don’t we all?”

Through all this, Olivia listened and when Alyssa was finished with the story, she informed Olivia, “You know you’re supposed to talk to your teachers when they talk to you, right?”

Olivia grinned and shrugged. I'm surrounded by grinning shruggers and eye-rollers. I’m just trying to keep it together from one day to the next.

Story Telling

Olivia loves to tell stories. Her imagination is always in overdrive.

Tom took the girls to my mom’s yesterday afternoon so he could pick blackberries and pears (we have sort of community gardens/trees around here. We give my mom and stepdad cucumbers and tomatoes and they give us blackberries and pears.)

While Tom was picking produce, the girls were inside watching television. My mom was in town and my stepdad was in his garage.

The moment I walked through the door, Olivia raced to me, her excitement palpable.

“Mom!” she almost shouted. “While you were at work and Daddy was outside picking berries, Gram’s phone rang. And then! Then it TALKED to us.”

Alyssa rolled her eyes. “I think it was Gram calling and leaving Pawp a message.”

Olivia didn’t care for that logical explanation. She LOVED that she could hear the message as it was being left and she was enamored of the idea of the phone TALKING to them. She told the story three more times, once to Tom, once to my stepdad and finally to my mom, the one who’d left the message. Each time she said exactly what she wanted to say without getting flustered by being the center of attention.

I hope this is a step in the right direction for speaking at school. I want her teachers and classmates to see how animated she can get when she’s telling a story. I want them to hear her excitement and appreciate her humor.

This morning at the bus stop, Alyssa and I were talking. I don’t even remember about what.

Just before the bus rolled up, though, Olivia had had enough. Finally, she called out, “Guys! Mom, Lyssie!”

We looked at her.

She continued, “Now we’re going to talk about something that I like, okay.”

Again, Alyssa rolled her eyes. I laughed and said, “Okay.”

Then Olivia decided to test me. She asked me, “Do you even know what I like?”

I ran through a quick list of things Olivia likes, “You like Hello Kitty, the colors pink, red, purple and sometimes black. You like ballet and gymnastics. You like Barbies and princesses and reading. You love having your back scratched and being pretty. You like to read and watch iCarly with your sister.”

I paused for a breath and she grinned at me. “You do know what I like!” she exclaimed.

Of course I do, silly girl. I hugged her just in time for the bus to arrive to take them to school.

I hope she went away knowing how very much she is loved, how very lucky I feel that I do know her, that I do get to hear her stories and watch her grow and learn and change every single day.

Doctoring

Way back in the day when Olivia was an infant, we saw the pediatrician who cared for Alyssa. He was a great doctor for diagnosing strep and ear infections. To his credit, he even opened his office for me one Saturday morning to test Alyssa for strep when I called the emergency line to report she had a fever and a lacy rash all over her upper chest. Yes, it was strep.

But…he wasn’t convinced there was anything wrong with Olivia. He finally diagnosed her with reflux when she was four months old. This diagnosis came along once she’d developed a dry cough, the result of the acid irritating her throat. He hadn’t been convinced by the months and months of our appointments at which I’d report that Olivia cried all the time. He told me often (as in at every single appointment) that she probably didn’t really cry that much more than your average baby, but instead I was a very tired mom, caring for an infant and a preschooler.

Ugh! What the hell ever. Obviously, this still pisses me off.

Anyway, this doctor not only poo-pooed me about the crying due to reflux issue, he also told me, over and over again, that Olivia was just a little delayed, she’d catch up eventually and we didn’t need to worry. He was never, ever proactive. When she was nine months old and still wasn’t holding her head up, let alone sitting on her own or close to crawling, he only went along with an MRI to appease me.

This is the same doctor who didn’t seem concerned at all when she was two years old and not walking. I don’t think he actually rolled his eyes at me when I requested a referral to Riley Hospital for Children but I think he might have wanted to.

My step sons take their kids to this doctor. And you know? It’s fine because these kids are healthy and like I said, Dr. H is great at diagnosing regular childhood illnesses. He just sort of sucks at figuring out rare chromosomal disorders that don’t present in a typical way. The problem he had with diagnosing Olivia is that he wouldn’t look past her physical beauty, her facial features that presented in a typical way and look at her actual symptoms. Her cat cry at birth, her low birth weight even though she was nine days overdue. He didn’t see her low muscle tone or her obvious delays. He saw a very pretty baby who was a little floppy and he looked at me and saw a nervous, overwrought mother.

Tom talked to D, his younger son last week. D’s son, N just turned a year old. N isn’t quite walking yet and he’s not talking much. But…he’s a year old. He is walking behind push toys and grunting while pointing. He has a three year old brother who talks for him. Typical second child stuff.

D told Tom that at N’s one year checkup, Dr. H told D and his girlfriend that when he (Dr. H) sees N at his 15 month checkup, N needs to be walking independently and talking in full sentences. When we saw Dr. H for O’s one year checkup she wasn’t sitting up, she wasn’t crawling and obviously, she was nowhere near walking. She wasn’t babbling either. He said she was fine, that she was a little behind but he was sure she’d catch up. I had to ASK for a referral to an early intervention program to start Olivia on therapies. He gave the referral and sent us on our way.

When Tom told me about N’s appointment and what Dr. H wanted to see from N in three months, it made me laugh. But then, it kind of pissed me off.

Then I gave it even more thought and wondered if maybe, just maybe, Dr. H learned from me and Olivia. We were still seeing him as our regular pediatrician (for ear checks and weight checks) when we finally got Olivia’s 5p- diagnosis. He admitted that he was very surprised by the results.

He also had to be reminded at every single appointment that she was his patient with 5p- syndrome.

I hope he learned from her and from me. I hope he takes his patients and their parents more seriously these days. We don’t see this doctor anymore because we moved and now the girls see the doctor I’ve seen for years. This doctor delivered Alyssa and he was the one who was there when Olivia was born. He was the one who admitted that he couldn’t care for her and sent her to a bigger hospital with a NICU. He still often needs to be reminded of O’s syndrome when we go in for regular checkups or for sick visits but I’m used to that. Olivia doesn’t present with 5p- in a typical way so she’ll probably always have to remind her doctors and I’m learning to be okay with that.

I really do hope he learned from us. I think it’s a good thing for doctors to continue learning and growing and if his experience with our family helps him be a better doctor to his current patients, well, all is not lost.