There are a few words/phrases that Olivia simply cannot say.
A couple of years ago, we had a stand-off over her inability to tell me she was sorry for something.
These days, she is quick with “I didn’t mean to.” She says this in lieu of saying, “I’m sorry.”
She will tell Travis the turtle she loves him but she can’t say it to anyone else.
Don’t worry, I know she loves me. I don’t have to hear the words directly from her mouth.
She had a really hard time with Thank you for a while but seems to have gotten past that one.
But the other night, while we were in the car at the sketchy farm looking at the crap-mobile the two creepy dudes were trying to sell to Tom, Olivia did something that caused me physical pain and before I could even react, she said, “I sorry.”
That’s not a typo. She didn’t say “I’m.” She said “I sorry.”
It was said in a slightly baby tone but you know what? I don’t care.
She looked at me in shock after she said it. I stared at her. We were both stunned that those words had come out of her mouth. She smiled and I told her I was so proud of her for being able to say it.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to say some of these things. It’s just that there is some kind of mental block that stops her from uttering those phrases.
But the fact that she said that to me without prompting (sometimes, I think the prompting is what puts up the block) means that she’s continuing to grow, to learn, to mature.
I didn’t think she’d reached her peak but seeing actual progress is so heartening. It makes the struggles that much more worth it.
My girl is trying. She’s growing. She wants so badly to do right by us all and all we want is for her to do right by herself. Every day is a step forward…even if it’s a small step.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Showing posts with label OCD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label OCD. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 23, 2020
Wednesday, September 16, 2020
An Essay
Alyssa recently had to write an essay for school. The theme was to write about an event that made you change your mind about someone or something.
She chose to write about her sister.
She shared her essay with me and it brought me to tears.
The lines that resonated the most with me were: “And that was the day I learned that my younger sister was never a bad child. I always knew that she struggled with things, but at times I felt lie maybe she just needed to try harder, but it turns out she was already trying her hardest.”
I’ve mentioned a time or twelve that over the years Alyssa has voiced her opinion that we (Tom and I and even my mom) coddle Olivia. She believed that if we just expected more from Olivia, then Olivia would be able to do more.
I’ve replied to these sentiments that I hope, should Alyssa choose to have children someday, that she was a perfect mother and that her children were perfect too. And I’m not even being sarcastic. I really do hope that for her.
But I’m absolutely not perfect and Olivia isn’t either.
But you know what? Like Alyssa, I need to remember more often, especially when we’re at the height of frustration, that Olivia is trying her hardest. She’s doing all she can to please me and yes, even her teachers.
She doesn’t have 5p- syndrome AT us. Her inability to work on her own is not misbehavior on her part. She wants to be normal. She WANTS to be able to answer the questions posed to her at school and at home.
Hell, she WANTS to be able to use a reasonable amount of toilet paper, but sometimes, she just can’t help but pull seventy squares off at a time.
She’d love to able to shave her own legs like a typical thirteen year old. But she can’t.
And I need to be okay with that.
I’ve always thought I accepted Olivia for exactly who she is. I love her so much.
But I need to be more patient with her. I need to accept that she simply can’t do some things and find peace in that.
I had to fill out a questionnaire for her IEP at the beginning of the school year. This is a new teacher, a new aide, a new schedule. O is struggling and so am I. But my struggle is with my own expectations of her. Who knew that thirteen years into this special needs parenting gig I’d have to adjust my expectations yet again?
The questionnaire asked what we wanted for Olivia educationally. I wrote that I want her to be able to count her own change and know if someone is cheating her. I want her to be able to tell time so she can get places on time. I want her to be able to read, both for navigation and for pleasure.
Another question asked what I considered Olivia’s greatest weaknesses. Her concentration, her inability to work on her own.
What did I think Olivia needed from her educational team? Patience. The understanding that she’s not doing things AT any of us. She’s trying.
She’s trying…I am the one who needs to remember that the most. She’s trying and I need to give her credit for that. She’s trying and so I need to try too.
She chose to write about her sister.
She shared her essay with me and it brought me to tears.
The lines that resonated the most with me were: “And that was the day I learned that my younger sister was never a bad child. I always knew that she struggled with things, but at times I felt lie maybe she just needed to try harder, but it turns out she was already trying her hardest.”
I’ve mentioned a time or twelve that over the years Alyssa has voiced her opinion that we (Tom and I and even my mom) coddle Olivia. She believed that if we just expected more from Olivia, then Olivia would be able to do more.
I’ve replied to these sentiments that I hope, should Alyssa choose to have children someday, that she was a perfect mother and that her children were perfect too. And I’m not even being sarcastic. I really do hope that for her.
But I’m absolutely not perfect and Olivia isn’t either.
But you know what? Like Alyssa, I need to remember more often, especially when we’re at the height of frustration, that Olivia is trying her hardest. She’s doing all she can to please me and yes, even her teachers.
She doesn’t have 5p- syndrome AT us. Her inability to work on her own is not misbehavior on her part. She wants to be normal. She WANTS to be able to answer the questions posed to her at school and at home.
Hell, she WANTS to be able to use a reasonable amount of toilet paper, but sometimes, she just can’t help but pull seventy squares off at a time.
She’d love to able to shave her own legs like a typical thirteen year old. But she can’t.
And I need to be okay with that.
I’ve always thought I accepted Olivia for exactly who she is. I love her so much.
But I need to be more patient with her. I need to accept that she simply can’t do some things and find peace in that.
I had to fill out a questionnaire for her IEP at the beginning of the school year. This is a new teacher, a new aide, a new schedule. O is struggling and so am I. But my struggle is with my own expectations of her. Who knew that thirteen years into this special needs parenting gig I’d have to adjust my expectations yet again?
The questionnaire asked what we wanted for Olivia educationally. I wrote that I want her to be able to count her own change and know if someone is cheating her. I want her to be able to tell time so she can get places on time. I want her to be able to read, both for navigation and for pleasure.
Another question asked what I considered Olivia’s greatest weaknesses. Her concentration, her inability to work on her own.
What did I think Olivia needed from her educational team? Patience. The understanding that she’s not doing things AT any of us. She’s trying.
She’s trying…I am the one who needs to remember that the most. She’s trying and I need to give her credit for that. She’s trying and so I need to try too.
Wednesday, September 2, 2020
A Perfect Storm (aka Yet ANOTHER Vent about Homework - Sorry in Advance)
What do you get when you mix being out of school for 22 weeks, a new-to-you teacher, new aides, a new(ish) school (she’s in the same building but in the junior high wing instead of the elementary wing)?
Don’t forget to throw a kid like Olivia into the mix and guess what happens?
A perfect storm happens.
On the Wednesday of the first full week of school, Olivia and I sat at the kitchen table for two hours working on homework.
Oh yes, there were tears, hers and mine.
We both cried in frustration over the entire situation. See, here’s the thing: Olivia’s new-to-her teacher expects Olivia to act like a typical seventh grader in that she, Mrs. H, wants to be able to give Olivia a worksheet and then have Olivia actually complete that worksheet without someone sitting next to her keeping her on task.
Yeah. That’s probably not going to happen.
If it does? Well, awesome. I will be the first to throw a party. Seriously. I would be so, so happy. But I am not ordering the cake quite yet.
Another thing this teacher and her aides seem to think might happen is that they will give Olivia oral instructions as to what homework she has and how to complete it.
That’s it. They speak words to my child while she is at school and they expect those words to be retained by the dear, sweet girl so that when she gets home, she’s supposed to TELL me what needs to be done and how to do it.
But that doesn’t happen. She brings home worksheets with questions about ancient Greece and yet…there was no book. No instructions to look up the information on line…nothing.
I asked Liv what she was supposed to do and she shrugged. She had no idea.
She’s not being deliberately obtuse. She simply cannot retain that kind of information. I wish she could. Oh how I wish she could.
I know that her teachers probably think we baby her. Heck, her fourth grade teacher came and SAID that she thought Olivia was playing us. She used those words.
And I get it. Olivia looks so ‘normal.’ She looks perfect. I’m glad for it. I really am and yet, it’s frustrating that people, as in her teachers, expect her to act the way she looks.
She’s not doing this on purpose! If she could do the damned work, don’t you think she would? She doesn’t want to be different.
That evening that we were sitting there doing two hours of homework, one of her aides, Mrs. B, emailed me. This aide has worked with Liv for several years. She gets her. She’s very kind (that’s not to say these new teachers/aides aren’t kind, they just aren’t familiar with Olivia.) and in the email she explained that they’d tried to do the science questions in class but it just didn’t get done.
I replied that I appreciate all that she does for Olivia but I was very frustrated by the lack of written instructions on all the homework she’s been bringing home this year (we’ve had six days of school, for Pete Sakes!)
Mrs. B apologized for the lack of instructions and told me the chapter (14, why are they starting at chapter 14? For the love of Pete!) but said she didn’t have to book with her so she couldn’t tell me the page number. I thanked her for the chapter information and said we could figure it out with that information. But seriously, first of all, CHAPTER 14 at the beginning of the year is stupid. And second, how the hell was I supposed to know to look way the hell back on page freaking 570 for the information she needed to fill out that stupid worksheet?
Ahem.
Her other aide, Ms. P is new to Olivia this year. She seems fine. She goes to science with Olivia, which is great.
On Tuesday, she sent home the worksheet about Ancient Greece. I sent a note back with that blank worksheet and said that I didn’t know how to help Olivia with that work since there were no instructions provided. Ms. P replied to my note with a bunch of jargon I was probably supposed to understand. I didn’t. She went on and on about how they usually do those worksheets in class but the day of the sheet that had come home, Olivia had been taking some kind of placement test.
Okay, whatever. So sent it home but you HAVE to send home written directions so I can help my child.
I sent another reply. This time, I again thanked her for all she does for Olivia. I told her I appreciate that she works with Liv daily and blah blah blah. I then gently reminded her that Olivia is not able to retain instructions from school to home. That the only way I can help Livie with her homework is if she, the aide, and/or the teacher send written directions home with Olivia.
I want Olivia to succeed. I really do. I want her to be independent and to do her work herself. I want her to be able to sit down and do a math worksheet without me sitting next to her telling her to answer the question and then answer the next question and the next. I would love that so, so much.
But we’re not there yet and if they don’t help me help her, we’re going to continue to flounder and I’m going to lose my freaking mind.
And if my husband jovially heads out to pick fucking tomatoes the next time Olivia and I are heading into our second hour of homework, stopping at the door so I can THANK him for being so selfless as to pick those tomatoes FOR ME he’s going to wear those tomatoes. But that’s a vent for another post.
Don’t forget to throw a kid like Olivia into the mix and guess what happens?
A perfect storm happens.
On the Wednesday of the first full week of school, Olivia and I sat at the kitchen table for two hours working on homework.
Oh yes, there were tears, hers and mine.
We both cried in frustration over the entire situation. See, here’s the thing: Olivia’s new-to-her teacher expects Olivia to act like a typical seventh grader in that she, Mrs. H, wants to be able to give Olivia a worksheet and then have Olivia actually complete that worksheet without someone sitting next to her keeping her on task.
Yeah. That’s probably not going to happen.
If it does? Well, awesome. I will be the first to throw a party. Seriously. I would be so, so happy. But I am not ordering the cake quite yet.
Another thing this teacher and her aides seem to think might happen is that they will give Olivia oral instructions as to what homework she has and how to complete it.
That’s it. They speak words to my child while she is at school and they expect those words to be retained by the dear, sweet girl so that when she gets home, she’s supposed to TELL me what needs to be done and how to do it.
But that doesn’t happen. She brings home worksheets with questions about ancient Greece and yet…there was no book. No instructions to look up the information on line…nothing.
I asked Liv what she was supposed to do and she shrugged. She had no idea.
She’s not being deliberately obtuse. She simply cannot retain that kind of information. I wish she could. Oh how I wish she could.
I know that her teachers probably think we baby her. Heck, her fourth grade teacher came and SAID that she thought Olivia was playing us. She used those words.
And I get it. Olivia looks so ‘normal.’ She looks perfect. I’m glad for it. I really am and yet, it’s frustrating that people, as in her teachers, expect her to act the way she looks.
She’s not doing this on purpose! If she could do the damned work, don’t you think she would? She doesn’t want to be different.
That evening that we were sitting there doing two hours of homework, one of her aides, Mrs. B, emailed me. This aide has worked with Liv for several years. She gets her. She’s very kind (that’s not to say these new teachers/aides aren’t kind, they just aren’t familiar with Olivia.) and in the email she explained that they’d tried to do the science questions in class but it just didn’t get done.
I replied that I appreciate all that she does for Olivia but I was very frustrated by the lack of written instructions on all the homework she’s been bringing home this year (we’ve had six days of school, for Pete Sakes!)
Mrs. B apologized for the lack of instructions and told me the chapter (14, why are they starting at chapter 14? For the love of Pete!) but said she didn’t have to book with her so she couldn’t tell me the page number. I thanked her for the chapter information and said we could figure it out with that information. But seriously, first of all, CHAPTER 14 at the beginning of the year is stupid. And second, how the hell was I supposed to know to look way the hell back on page freaking 570 for the information she needed to fill out that stupid worksheet?
Ahem.
Her other aide, Ms. P is new to Olivia this year. She seems fine. She goes to science with Olivia, which is great.
On Tuesday, she sent home the worksheet about Ancient Greece. I sent a note back with that blank worksheet and said that I didn’t know how to help Olivia with that work since there were no instructions provided. Ms. P replied to my note with a bunch of jargon I was probably supposed to understand. I didn’t. She went on and on about how they usually do those worksheets in class but the day of the sheet that had come home, Olivia had been taking some kind of placement test.
Okay, whatever. So sent it home but you HAVE to send home written directions so I can help my child.
I sent another reply. This time, I again thanked her for all she does for Olivia. I told her I appreciate that she works with Liv daily and blah blah blah. I then gently reminded her that Olivia is not able to retain instructions from school to home. That the only way I can help Livie with her homework is if she, the aide, and/or the teacher send written directions home with Olivia.
I want Olivia to succeed. I really do. I want her to be independent and to do her work herself. I want her to be able to sit down and do a math worksheet without me sitting next to her telling her to answer the question and then answer the next question and the next. I would love that so, so much.
But we’re not there yet and if they don’t help me help her, we’re going to continue to flounder and I’m going to lose my freaking mind.
And if my husband jovially heads out to pick fucking tomatoes the next time Olivia and I are heading into our second hour of homework, stopping at the door so I can THANK him for being so selfless as to pick those tomatoes FOR ME he’s going to wear those tomatoes. But that’s a vent for another post.
Monday, August 24, 2020
Just the Beginning
When we met Olivia’s new teacher on the evening 7th grade orientation, she very kindly mentioned, TWICE, that during the first week of school (all three days) there would be no homework.
Guess who had homework on the second day of school?
Yeah.
I should have known.
See, this woman, this lovely teacher who is new to Olivia has so very much to learn about the light of my life.
The ‘homework’ Olivia brought home was work she was supposed to do in class that day. What I’m imagining Mrs. H did was place the math sheet with approximately 25 addition problems in front of Olivia. Then, bless her heart, she expected Olivia to actually solve the problems…by herself.
Hahahahahaha.
No.
That’s not how Olivia works. She simply cannot sit there on her own and do this sort of work. She needs someone (me, apparently) to sit next to her and keep her on task by reading every single problem to her, which means, if the problem is 96 +24 I have to asked, “Okay, what’s 6+4? What’s 5+5? 6+4 is the same as 5+5. What’s 5+5? Okay, now that you’ve told me what 5+5 is, what is 6+4? Remember, 6+4 is the same as 5+5. Why did you write a five below the line? Did you say the answer to 6+4 is 5? Okay, Livie, if you erase every single number and then write it again, this is going to take us twice as long. But you still have to leave a little space, even if it’s tiny, between the numbers and letter so your teacher can read what you’re writing. You don’t have to have your numbers and letters hugging each other. It’s better if they don’t touch. Stop sniffing me. What is the answer to this question? Please stop poking the pretzels in the Chex mix with your pencil. Okay, that’s it, the Chex mix is being moved out of reach. But seriously, that is 6+4?”
And after we figure out what 6+4 is, we move on to what 9+2+1 is…and so on and so on and so on. I know.
Yes, this went on for an HOUR that first night.
And first, let me explain that I got home that night already frustrated because my phone was being stupid. Thankfully, Alyssa asked me if I’d turned if off and then back on, which, of course I hadn’t. Once I did that, it was fine. Duh.
Homework got better the longer we worked on it, if you can believe it. I settled down, stopped being a bitch and Olivia stopped sniffing me long enough to do her actual work.
My concern, though, is what happens when she starts having actual homework along with all the shit stuff she was supposed to do at school but just…you know, didn’t? Will we be sitting there for HOURS each night, doing her school work at home and then her homework? Because…no. I just don’t think I can do that. I definitely don’t want to. I want us to have a balance. It’s sort of like work/life except in this case it’s a school/life balance. I want her to be able to relax.
Okay, so I need to calm down.
It’s the first week of school. Her teacher is getting to know her. She has access to Dr. C, the wonderful teacher who worked with Liv over the last few years. They’ll figure this out or they won’t. If they don’t, we’ll figure something out at home. If it comes to it, I’ll ask for a conference and we’ll go from there.
School, like everything else, is a work in process. I need to remember that if I get home another night and find PILES of homework in Liv’s backpack.
Sigh.
Guess who had homework on the second day of school?
Yeah.
I should have known.
See, this woman, this lovely teacher who is new to Olivia has so very much to learn about the light of my life.
The ‘homework’ Olivia brought home was work she was supposed to do in class that day. What I’m imagining Mrs. H did was place the math sheet with approximately 25 addition problems in front of Olivia. Then, bless her heart, she expected Olivia to actually solve the problems…by herself.
Hahahahahaha.
No.
That’s not how Olivia works. She simply cannot sit there on her own and do this sort of work. She needs someone (me, apparently) to sit next to her and keep her on task by reading every single problem to her, which means, if the problem is 96 +24 I have to asked, “Okay, what’s 6+4? What’s 5+5? 6+4 is the same as 5+5. What’s 5+5? Okay, now that you’ve told me what 5+5 is, what is 6+4? Remember, 6+4 is the same as 5+5. Why did you write a five below the line? Did you say the answer to 6+4 is 5? Okay, Livie, if you erase every single number and then write it again, this is going to take us twice as long. But you still have to leave a little space, even if it’s tiny, between the numbers and letter so your teacher can read what you’re writing. You don’t have to have your numbers and letters hugging each other. It’s better if they don’t touch. Stop sniffing me. What is the answer to this question? Please stop poking the pretzels in the Chex mix with your pencil. Okay, that’s it, the Chex mix is being moved out of reach. But seriously, that is 6+4?”
And after we figure out what 6+4 is, we move on to what 9+2+1 is…and so on and so on and so on. I know.
Yes, this went on for an HOUR that first night.
And first, let me explain that I got home that night already frustrated because my phone was being stupid. Thankfully, Alyssa asked me if I’d turned if off and then back on, which, of course I hadn’t. Once I did that, it was fine. Duh.
Homework got better the longer we worked on it, if you can believe it. I settled down, stopped being a bitch and Olivia stopped sniffing me long enough to do her actual work.
My concern, though, is what happens when she starts having actual homework along with all the shit stuff she was supposed to do at school but just…you know, didn’t? Will we be sitting there for HOURS each night, doing her school work at home and then her homework? Because…no. I just don’t think I can do that. I definitely don’t want to. I want us to have a balance. It’s sort of like work/life except in this case it’s a school/life balance. I want her to be able to relax.
Okay, so I need to calm down.
It’s the first week of school. Her teacher is getting to know her. She has access to Dr. C, the wonderful teacher who worked with Liv over the last few years. They’ll figure this out or they won’t. If they don’t, we’ll figure something out at home. If it comes to it, I’ll ask for a conference and we’ll go from there.
School, like everything else, is a work in process. I need to remember that if I get home another night and find PILES of homework in Liv’s backpack.
Sigh.
Friday, August 14, 2020
Schooled
Gotta go back, back, back to school again...Ahem, sorry for the little Grease 2 flashback.
We’ve been talking about school for months now, right?
The girls’ last day of school was Friday, March 13. Sure, sure, they did online school until the end of May but please. That hardly counts.
It’s as if they’re currently on week 20 of spring break.
I’ve been waiting for the school to get their ‘reopening plan’ together and posted.
It’s happened. They posted it on July 30th.
The gist is the school will do their best to clean, clean, clean common surfaces. Kids will be encouraged to social distance as much as possible. Masks will be encouraged throughout the day, obviously during lunch masks will be impossible but the school will attempt to keep kids in the same groups at all times.
So…we’ll see.
About five days after the school dropped their reopening plan, Tom asked, “So, when does the online schooling start back up for the girls?”
*aside: He asked me this at 6:48am on a Tuesday (fucking Tuesdays). I’d just put my phone in my purse and was getting ready to walk out the door.*
I paused, put my purse down and went to the kitchen table where I’d laid the letter we’d received the day before addressed to “The Parents of Olivia Ordinary”. It was informing us of a parent/student meeting on August 17 for students transitioning into seventh grade. Alongside this letter were copies of both girls’ immunizations from our family doctor’s office. I am taking those to the school to have the nurse confirm that both girls are up to date on their vaccinations.
Look at me, all on top of shit these days.
I also mentioned the text we’d received the day before informing us of the day and time we were to drop off O’s Chromebook.
At this point, it occurred to him that there was, apparently, not going to be online school this year, that the girls are going to be IN school.
He mused, “Yeah, Olivia probably would do better if she were in school.”
You think?
I blinked at him. Where has he been these last twenty weeks?
I mean, seriously?
Was he not there during the tearful days that I was at home trying to keep her on task, both of us at our wit’s end, slowly losing our minds?
Can he not see the state of her cuticles, as she picks them bloody from the anxiety she’s feeling these days?
She needs the routine of school. She needs to be around her peers, even if through masks. She needs the patience of those teachers who know her, who care about her, who are trained to help her. She needs to be away from the news and the murder and the crime shows that are constantly blaring from the television in our family room day in and day out.
Yeah, she’s going to school. I hope and pray it’s the best decision. Obviously, remaining home and waiting out this virus would be best for all but…that just doesn’t feel possible right now, not for any of us. And it’s a shame that we’re having to choose between our physical health and our mental health.
Sigh…it feels very much like we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t.
We’ve been talking about school for months now, right?
The girls’ last day of school was Friday, March 13. Sure, sure, they did online school until the end of May but please. That hardly counts.
It’s as if they’re currently on week 20 of spring break.
I’ve been waiting for the school to get their ‘reopening plan’ together and posted.
It’s happened. They posted it on July 30th.
The gist is the school will do their best to clean, clean, clean common surfaces. Kids will be encouraged to social distance as much as possible. Masks will be encouraged throughout the day, obviously during lunch masks will be impossible but the school will attempt to keep kids in the same groups at all times.
So…we’ll see.
About five days after the school dropped their reopening plan, Tom asked, “So, when does the online schooling start back up for the girls?”
*aside: He asked me this at 6:48am on a Tuesday (fucking Tuesdays). I’d just put my phone in my purse and was getting ready to walk out the door.*
I paused, put my purse down and went to the kitchen table where I’d laid the letter we’d received the day before addressed to “The Parents of Olivia Ordinary”. It was informing us of a parent/student meeting on August 17 for students transitioning into seventh grade. Alongside this letter were copies of both girls’ immunizations from our family doctor’s office. I am taking those to the school to have the nurse confirm that both girls are up to date on their vaccinations.
Look at me, all on top of shit these days.
I also mentioned the text we’d received the day before informing us of the day and time we were to drop off O’s Chromebook.
At this point, it occurred to him that there was, apparently, not going to be online school this year, that the girls are going to be IN school.
He mused, “Yeah, Olivia probably would do better if she were in school.”
You think?
I blinked at him. Where has he been these last twenty weeks?
I mean, seriously?
Was he not there during the tearful days that I was at home trying to keep her on task, both of us at our wit’s end, slowly losing our minds?
Can he not see the state of her cuticles, as she picks them bloody from the anxiety she’s feeling these days?
She needs the routine of school. She needs to be around her peers, even if through masks. She needs the patience of those teachers who know her, who care about her, who are trained to help her. She needs to be away from the news and the murder and the crime shows that are constantly blaring from the television in our family room day in and day out.
Yeah, she’s going to school. I hope and pray it’s the best decision. Obviously, remaining home and waiting out this virus would be best for all but…that just doesn’t feel possible right now, not for any of us. And it’s a shame that we’re having to choose between our physical health and our mental health.
Sigh…it feels very much like we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t.
Thursday, August 6, 2020
Lulled (alternate title: False Complacency)
I feel like we’re in the quiet before the storm.
Things are calm right now. We’re muddling through the summer and doing our best.
I still get frustrated with Olivia on a daily basis. I fuss at her over the water all of the bathroom floor (she washes her hands and then shakes them all over the floor. It drives me insane.) as well as her over-use of toilet paper. One day a few weeks ago, she went to get Alyssa to help her unplug an upstairs toilet. O had basically put an entire roll (sans the actual cardboard roll) in the toilet and then tried to flush. Sigh.
But really, those are just annoyances. Her moods have settled. *Knock on wood*
Alyssa’s in band camp, so we’re watching each other closely since we’re all around people more and more these days.
Alyssa and I attended her prom. She was beautiful. It was fine. I worked with other mothers (there were some dads in attendance but they didn’t really work so much as they stood around watching the moms work…seriously.) We served the kids their dinners, we made sure their drinks were full. We wore masks most of the time but there were times when we didn’t. So…
I’ve filled out the survey put out by the school asking what type of school we’re looking for this coming year.
Alyssa insists she is going to school. She does NOT want to do online learning. I don’t blame her. It’s her senior year.
Olivia needs to be back in school. But I also need to manage her and Tom’s anxiety over her being in school.
The survey asked if we wanted in-school learning, online learning or a blended version. I checked blended. Alyssa balked at that. She said that there was not blended option.
But wait, there was! I told her that the survey wasn’t locking us into anything. I reminded her that everything is negotiable. We’ll figure it out. If Lyss goes to school five days a week and Liv goes three that would be perfect.
Olivia will not be riding the bus this year. Since Lyss drives, Olivia can ride with her. There is no need to put her on the cesspool that is the school bus. That’s on less area of anxiety we’ll have to manage.
Olivia is perfectly willing to wear a mask to school each day. She’d love it if they could just eat lunch in their classrooms. She said she’ll actually eat if that’s an option. She’s even said she’ll speak louder from behind her mask so everyone can hear and understand her.
Her classroom is already small. I think there are a total of nine kids in the class where she receives individual instruction. It should be fairly easy for those nine kids to social distance.
I don’t know. I want what’s best for all of us. Just like every other parent out there facing these decisions.
Obviously my girls’ physical health is important but their mental health is important too. Their social health, while not quite as important as their physical and mental health, is still something we need to take into account. They need more than just to be wrapped in protective layers and kept at home. I wish we could do just that but it’s not healthy for any of us, not in the long run.
Things are calm right now. We’re muddling through the summer and doing our best.
I still get frustrated with Olivia on a daily basis. I fuss at her over the water all of the bathroom floor (she washes her hands and then shakes them all over the floor. It drives me insane.) as well as her over-use of toilet paper. One day a few weeks ago, she went to get Alyssa to help her unplug an upstairs toilet. O had basically put an entire roll (sans the actual cardboard roll) in the toilet and then tried to flush. Sigh.
But really, those are just annoyances. Her moods have settled. *Knock on wood*
Alyssa’s in band camp, so we’re watching each other closely since we’re all around people more and more these days.
Alyssa and I attended her prom. She was beautiful. It was fine. I worked with other mothers (there were some dads in attendance but they didn’t really work so much as they stood around watching the moms work…seriously.) We served the kids their dinners, we made sure their drinks were full. We wore masks most of the time but there were times when we didn’t. So…
I’ve filled out the survey put out by the school asking what type of school we’re looking for this coming year.
Alyssa insists she is going to school. She does NOT want to do online learning. I don’t blame her. It’s her senior year.
Olivia needs to be back in school. But I also need to manage her and Tom’s anxiety over her being in school.
The survey asked if we wanted in-school learning, online learning or a blended version. I checked blended. Alyssa balked at that. She said that there was not blended option.
But wait, there was! I told her that the survey wasn’t locking us into anything. I reminded her that everything is negotiable. We’ll figure it out. If Lyss goes to school five days a week and Liv goes three that would be perfect.
Olivia will not be riding the bus this year. Since Lyss drives, Olivia can ride with her. There is no need to put her on the cesspool that is the school bus. That’s on less area of anxiety we’ll have to manage.
Olivia is perfectly willing to wear a mask to school each day. She’d love it if they could just eat lunch in their classrooms. She said she’ll actually eat if that’s an option. She’s even said she’ll speak louder from behind her mask so everyone can hear and understand her.
Her classroom is already small. I think there are a total of nine kids in the class where she receives individual instruction. It should be fairly easy for those nine kids to social distance.
I don’t know. I want what’s best for all of us. Just like every other parent out there facing these decisions.
Obviously my girls’ physical health is important but their mental health is important too. Their social health, while not quite as important as their physical and mental health, is still something we need to take into account. They need more than just to be wrapped in protective layers and kept at home. I wish we could do just that but it’s not healthy for any of us, not in the long run.
Wednesday, June 24, 2020
Literally Olivia
Remember that exercise where you have to describe how to do something and the person following the directions is really obnoxious about it?
We did it during RA training back at IU a hundred and twelve years ago. We, the RA trainees, had to tell our trainers (the ACs – aka Assistant Coordinators) how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
But we had to be REALLY detailed because they acted like they didn’t know how to open a stupid jar of jelly or what to use to spread the peanut butter.
Yeah.
So.
That’s kind of what it’s like to raise a child like Olivia.
She can be so sweet and so funny and these days she’s REALLY loving.
And yet…she is so literal. You have to watch every single word that comes out of your mouth because if you misspeak even one word in a sentence of eleventy hundred, she’ll latch on to that one word you messed up and won’t let it go.
And sometimes, I swear to Rob Thomas, she deliberately mishears something just so she can argue with you.
It’s beyond frustrating and into infuriating.
There have been times when I have to step out of the room before I lose my freaking mind.
Yes, I am mother of the century over here.
I know. I know. I AM grateful that she speaks so well and often so eloquently. I am grateful that she can be so deep as to pick up on nuances and inflection.
But the literal stance she takes on your word choices is insane.
She also had to make sure everyone hears and acknowledges everything she says. She has a lot of good ideas. I love that she’s so imaginative. She’s clever and smart and is always thinking.
But she often thinks out loud and she wants EVERYONE to hear her thoughts.
Even if we’re all in the same room, she’ll say something and if I’m the only one to reply to her comment, she’ll go stand in front of Tom and repeat herself and then she’ll go stand beside Alyssa and repeat it AGAIN, just to be sure everyone in the room can appreciate her brilliance.
And wait, one more bit of… grievance? Is that what this is, a bitch session about O’s idiosyncracies? Maybe. Maybe I’m just documenting her personality at 13. Yes. Let’s go with that. I’m not complaining so much as I’m documenting.
Except this next one is a complaint and I’ve told her more times than I can count that it irritates me.
We can be in the middle of a conversation. We’ve had several exchanges where she talks, I talk and then she talks some more but then, all of a sudden, she’ll have to start her next statement with, “Mom?”
And then she waits until I say, “What?” before continuing.
Guys, we were talking…to each other! She doesn’t need to ‘get my attention’ because she already had it. She doesn’t need to make sure I’m still listening because we were conversing. That’s how conversations work, for the love of Meatloaf!
Ahem.
And that’s a little bit of life with 13 year old Liv.
We did it during RA training back at IU a hundred and twelve years ago. We, the RA trainees, had to tell our trainers (the ACs – aka Assistant Coordinators) how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
But we had to be REALLY detailed because they acted like they didn’t know how to open a stupid jar of jelly or what to use to spread the peanut butter.
Yeah.
So.
That’s kind of what it’s like to raise a child like Olivia.
She can be so sweet and so funny and these days she’s REALLY loving.
And yet…she is so literal. You have to watch every single word that comes out of your mouth because if you misspeak even one word in a sentence of eleventy hundred, she’ll latch on to that one word you messed up and won’t let it go.
And sometimes, I swear to Rob Thomas, she deliberately mishears something just so she can argue with you.
It’s beyond frustrating and into infuriating.
There have been times when I have to step out of the room before I lose my freaking mind.
Yes, I am mother of the century over here.
I know. I know. I AM grateful that she speaks so well and often so eloquently. I am grateful that she can be so deep as to pick up on nuances and inflection.
But the literal stance she takes on your word choices is insane.
She also had to make sure everyone hears and acknowledges everything she says. She has a lot of good ideas. I love that she’s so imaginative. She’s clever and smart and is always thinking.
But she often thinks out loud and she wants EVERYONE to hear her thoughts.
Even if we’re all in the same room, she’ll say something and if I’m the only one to reply to her comment, she’ll go stand in front of Tom and repeat herself and then she’ll go stand beside Alyssa and repeat it AGAIN, just to be sure everyone in the room can appreciate her brilliance.
And wait, one more bit of… grievance? Is that what this is, a bitch session about O’s idiosyncracies? Maybe. Maybe I’m just documenting her personality at 13. Yes. Let’s go with that. I’m not complaining so much as I’m documenting.
Except this next one is a complaint and I’ve told her more times than I can count that it irritates me.
We can be in the middle of a conversation. We’ve had several exchanges where she talks, I talk and then she talks some more but then, all of a sudden, she’ll have to start her next statement with, “Mom?”
And then she waits until I say, “What?” before continuing.
Guys, we were talking…to each other! She doesn’t need to ‘get my attention’ because she already had it. She doesn’t need to make sure I’m still listening because we were conversing. That’s how conversations work, for the love of Meatloaf!
Ahem.
And that’s a little bit of life with 13 year old Liv.
Friday, March 27, 2020
Just Another Day
You know the day before was a rough one when your first thought upon waking to a new day is, “Please don’t let me yell at her like a crazy person again today.”
But damn it.
I guess I just wish my youngest child could step outside her own head for a few minutes and see what her actions affect others.
But even if she could do this (she’s thirteen, even if she were typical, I think this would be hard for her) I don’t think it would apply to me. I’m mom. In her eyes, I’m really only there to serve her needs. I’m pretty sure she feels the same about her dad but he’s infinitely more patient than I am.
Or, maybe he’s just not as tired as I always am. See, he deals with the after school demands. I deal with nighttime and first thing in the morning demands.
And you know? She’s not that bad. It’s just…I get so beyond tired and frustrated and I just want things to be easier than they are. I wish things weren’t such a production sometimes.
I’ll announced, “We’re going to bed in five minutes.”
Five minutes later, I turn off the television and get up, stating, “I’m going to bed.”
Then the drama begins. “Wait!” she shriek, rushing to plug in her tablet, gather the crap she sleeps with (all kinds of insane, pointy shit that can’t possibly be comfortable to have in bed with you, but whatever, it’s her bed so…)
Then we brush her teeth and then we go upstairs and she has to pee and make sure the stupid toilet lid is closed.
Finally, she makes her way to her bed fifteen minutes after I’d turned off the television.
Then she has to move her pillows around and get situation. But last night, before she could get into bed, she had to run back downstairs to ‘look for something.’
She didn’t tell me what she was looking for. If she had, I’d have been able to save her ten minutes of searching and three minutes of yelling on my part. Sigh.
She finally came back upstairs empty handed after I’d yelled down that I was going to bed without her and she could tuck her own self in.
She screamed from the bottom of the stairs, “Mom! Wait!”
I was in my bed and she came in and stared at me. No words, just staring because obviously, I wasn’t going by the script.
I asked her what she’d been looking for downstairs.
“My sunglasses,” she confessed.
I rolled my eyes (because I’m a bitch) and said in stilted tones, “Go down the hall to your room, look in the purple bag that’s on the trunk at the end of the bed.”
She skedaddled down the hall and what do you know? She came back less than a minute later with two pairs of sunglasses to add to the pile of toys in her bed.
I asked her why she needed sunglasses since she was going to sleep. She shrugged because, duh, don’t ask stupid questions, Mom.
I got out of bed, made the turtles and Gub kiss her goodnight and then told her that Barbie was too tired to sing that night and to just go to sleep.
Yes, please do be polishing up my Mother of the Year award. I’ll collect it next week.
I sulked for a few minutes and then apologized to her. I told her I hoped tomorrow night would be smoother and that I hoped Barbie would feel like singing to her.
She asked me if I was still mad at her.
I sighed and told her I wasn’t.
She deserves so much better.
So today and tonight, I’m going to pretend to be better. Fake it till you make it, dude.
But damn it.
I guess I just wish my youngest child could step outside her own head for a few minutes and see what her actions affect others.
But even if she could do this (she’s thirteen, even if she were typical, I think this would be hard for her) I don’t think it would apply to me. I’m mom. In her eyes, I’m really only there to serve her needs. I’m pretty sure she feels the same about her dad but he’s infinitely more patient than I am.
Or, maybe he’s just not as tired as I always am. See, he deals with the after school demands. I deal with nighttime and first thing in the morning demands.
And you know? She’s not that bad. It’s just…I get so beyond tired and frustrated and I just want things to be easier than they are. I wish things weren’t such a production sometimes.
I’ll announced, “We’re going to bed in five minutes.”
Five minutes later, I turn off the television and get up, stating, “I’m going to bed.”
Then the drama begins. “Wait!” she shriek, rushing to plug in her tablet, gather the crap she sleeps with (all kinds of insane, pointy shit that can’t possibly be comfortable to have in bed with you, but whatever, it’s her bed so…)
Then we brush her teeth and then we go upstairs and she has to pee and make sure the stupid toilet lid is closed.
Finally, she makes her way to her bed fifteen minutes after I’d turned off the television.
Then she has to move her pillows around and get situation. But last night, before she could get into bed, she had to run back downstairs to ‘look for something.’
She didn’t tell me what she was looking for. If she had, I’d have been able to save her ten minutes of searching and three minutes of yelling on my part. Sigh.
She finally came back upstairs empty handed after I’d yelled down that I was going to bed without her and she could tuck her own self in.
She screamed from the bottom of the stairs, “Mom! Wait!”
I was in my bed and she came in and stared at me. No words, just staring because obviously, I wasn’t going by the script.
I asked her what she’d been looking for downstairs.
“My sunglasses,” she confessed.
I rolled my eyes (because I’m a bitch) and said in stilted tones, “Go down the hall to your room, look in the purple bag that’s on the trunk at the end of the bed.”
She skedaddled down the hall and what do you know? She came back less than a minute later with two pairs of sunglasses to add to the pile of toys in her bed.
I asked her why she needed sunglasses since she was going to sleep. She shrugged because, duh, don’t ask stupid questions, Mom.
I got out of bed, made the turtles and Gub kiss her goodnight and then told her that Barbie was too tired to sing that night and to just go to sleep.
Yes, please do be polishing up my Mother of the Year award. I’ll collect it next week.
I sulked for a few minutes and then apologized to her. I told her I hoped tomorrow night would be smoother and that I hoped Barbie would feel like singing to her.
She asked me if I was still mad at her.
I sighed and told her I wasn’t.
She deserves so much better.
So today and tonight, I’m going to pretend to be better. Fake it till you make it, dude.
Monday, March 23, 2020
She Comes By It Naturally
The week before the school musical was rough.
I don’t know why the slightest adjustment to our schedule messes me up so much but damn.
A Tuesday (big shocker) evening was stressful from beginning to end. O and I spent about 45 minutes at my mom’s which was the least stressful part of the day. Rain fell and we watched a rainbow appear. It was lovely.
Then…we went home and it all fell apart. We got home around 6:15. Guess who had homework. If you guessed that I was the one who had homework, you’d be right because obviously if O brings home work that has to be turned in the next day, I am basically the one who does it. I’m so over that shit. I actually wrote question marks on two of the questions because they were stupid and I couldn’t figure out how, from the boring-ass article sent home, one would figure out the answer. One such question was something like, “How could the original settles of the near the Indus river have avoided the flooding of their area?”
I mean…? What? They could have maybe, I don’t know, not settled there? What a stupid question.
Ahem.
Part of what annoys the shit out of me during ‘our’ homework time is that the more frustrated I get, the more Olivia acts out. I know she’s responding to me. I know if I’d just calm myself down it would go much more smoothly but the more she acts out, the more irritated I get and it’s just builds until I want to scream.
After the homework fiasco, it was time for Olivia to eat dinner.
You guys….I just don’t know. This child asks for snacks every ten minutes all freaking day long. But the minutes you put food in front of her that is an actually meal, she acts like she’s three years old. She reads and writes and plays with whatever is in front of her but she doesn’t actually EAT HER FREAKING FOOD. She screws around and then complains that the food is cold.
It’s infuriating. She is thirteen years old and has hands that work, why will she NOT pick up a fucking fork and feed herself?
Finally, she was done eating (sort of but whatever) and she and I could go upstairs so she could take a bath.
Please note that nowhere in the above paragraphs do I mentioned eating dinner myself. Oh hell no. I had to pack lunches (mine and Alyssa’s because she’s decided that when she was in fifth grade and wanted so desperately to pack her own lunch that this independence as premature and these days she’s simply too busy and put-upon to pack her own lunch.) while Liv was eating.
The bath took FOREVER but at last, she was clean and hey, would you look at that, she hadn’t flooded the bathroom. I’m calling it a win.
That was our Tuesday evening.
Then...Wednesday at work…OMG.
I go to the post office every single day at 10am.
Except on this day, at 9:22, the owner of the company brought an envelope down to be mailed and mentioned having more and confirming that I usually go at 10am.
I confirmed that I do go at 10 but said (stupidly) that if he needed me to wait a few minutes, I could go a little later than 10.
At 9:57, he came down with one more envelope (how freaking long does it take to write checks is what I want to know?) and said that if I could give him five to ten more minutes he'd have more. Obviously, I said sure because, hello, owner of the company.
I went into the restroom at 10ish.
I came out at a few minutes after 10ish. Still no more mail.
I waited.
And waited.
Suddenly, I realized I’d heard his voice in the conference room, which is around the corner from my desk.
It was 10:15 at this point, almost twenty minutes after he’d asked me if I could give him five or ten more minutes.
I was twiddling my stupid thumbs waiting for mail that obviously wasn’t coming any time soon.
Damn it!
I had a project that I needed to start at 10:30.
I know the post office isn’t going anywhere and it’s open all day but I have a schedule and a routine and I HATE it when it gets messed up.
Obviously, Olivia comes by this naturally.
I finally left for the post office at 10:23, having confirmed that the owner was not, in fact, going to be giving anything else that needed to go out. Actually, though, could you maybe just take these three letters/checks later in the day?
Sure, why not? It’s not like I need to rush home each evening and do homework or anything.
Gah, I’m such a bitch these days.
I don’t know why the slightest adjustment to our schedule messes me up so much but damn.
A Tuesday (big shocker) evening was stressful from beginning to end. O and I spent about 45 minutes at my mom’s which was the least stressful part of the day. Rain fell and we watched a rainbow appear. It was lovely.
Then…we went home and it all fell apart. We got home around 6:15. Guess who had homework. If you guessed that I was the one who had homework, you’d be right because obviously if O brings home work that has to be turned in the next day, I am basically the one who does it. I’m so over that shit. I actually wrote question marks on two of the questions because they were stupid and I couldn’t figure out how, from the boring-ass article sent home, one would figure out the answer. One such question was something like, “How could the original settles of the near the Indus river have avoided the flooding of their area?”
I mean…? What? They could have maybe, I don’t know, not settled there? What a stupid question.
Ahem.
Part of what annoys the shit out of me during ‘our’ homework time is that the more frustrated I get, the more Olivia acts out. I know she’s responding to me. I know if I’d just calm myself down it would go much more smoothly but the more she acts out, the more irritated I get and it’s just builds until I want to scream.
After the homework fiasco, it was time for Olivia to eat dinner.
You guys….I just don’t know. This child asks for snacks every ten minutes all freaking day long. But the minutes you put food in front of her that is an actually meal, she acts like she’s three years old. She reads and writes and plays with whatever is in front of her but she doesn’t actually EAT HER FREAKING FOOD. She screws around and then complains that the food is cold.
It’s infuriating. She is thirteen years old and has hands that work, why will she NOT pick up a fucking fork and feed herself?
Finally, she was done eating (sort of but whatever) and she and I could go upstairs so she could take a bath.
Please note that nowhere in the above paragraphs do I mentioned eating dinner myself. Oh hell no. I had to pack lunches (mine and Alyssa’s because she’s decided that when she was in fifth grade and wanted so desperately to pack her own lunch that this independence as premature and these days she’s simply too busy and put-upon to pack her own lunch.) while Liv was eating.
The bath took FOREVER but at last, she was clean and hey, would you look at that, she hadn’t flooded the bathroom. I’m calling it a win.
That was our Tuesday evening.
Then...Wednesday at work…OMG.
I go to the post office every single day at 10am.
Except on this day, at 9:22, the owner of the company brought an envelope down to be mailed and mentioned having more and confirming that I usually go at 10am.
I confirmed that I do go at 10 but said (stupidly) that if he needed me to wait a few minutes, I could go a little later than 10.
At 9:57, he came down with one more envelope (how freaking long does it take to write checks is what I want to know?) and said that if I could give him five to ten more minutes he'd have more. Obviously, I said sure because, hello, owner of the company.
I went into the restroom at 10ish.
I came out at a few minutes after 10ish. Still no more mail.
I waited.
And waited.
Suddenly, I realized I’d heard his voice in the conference room, which is around the corner from my desk.
It was 10:15 at this point, almost twenty minutes after he’d asked me if I could give him five or ten more minutes.
I was twiddling my stupid thumbs waiting for mail that obviously wasn’t coming any time soon.
Damn it!
I had a project that I needed to start at 10:30.
I know the post office isn’t going anywhere and it’s open all day but I have a schedule and a routine and I HATE it when it gets messed up.
Obviously, Olivia comes by this naturally.
I finally left for the post office at 10:23, having confirmed that the owner was not, in fact, going to be giving anything else that needed to go out. Actually, though, could you maybe just take these three letters/checks later in the day?
Sure, why not? It’s not like I need to rush home each evening and do homework or anything.
Gah, I’m such a bitch these days.
Tuesday, March 10, 2020
Sanctuary
The services for my aunt Nell were on a Friday. The visitation was the Thursday evening before the services.
Tom and I decided that Olivia is old enough and mature enough to attend both the visitation and the services.
Alyssa had to work Thursday evening so she couldn’t come to the visitation but she did come to the services.
Because I’m that mom, I sent the girls to school for two hours that Friday. I mean, it was only fair, I went to work for three hours so…
The service was lovely. Grammy Dotty was adorable. She arrived about ten minutes late, made her way to the front row, talking to everyone she passed, saying, “Ohh, hi, sugar!”
Remember, she’s 94, mostly deaf and blind in one eye. She deserves a lot of slack.
My mom and all but one of my aunts got up to talk about their sister Nell. They told stories from their childhood, talked about Nell’s candor and her strength, her enormous capacity to love.
After each person finished speaking, Grammy Dotty asked, “Oh, I wish I could hear! Can I get a transcript of that?”
It lightened the tone of the service and made people chuckle.
After the service, we all headed down to the basement of the church where the ladies of the community had prepared food for us. Well, okay. The ladies of the community DID prepare food but my mom, her sisters, my cousin’s wife, and even I made plenty of the food too.
The girls and I managed to get to the bathroom first immediately after the service. Ha on all the ladies who were waiting outside that door when the three of us filed out, like a mother duck and her little ducklings. Sorry, ladies, you snooze, you risk peeing your pants!
After we spent a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom, A and O and I made our way to the basement.
For reference, this is the church I grew up going to vacation bible school in. It’s also the church where Tom and I got married. We had Amy’s funeral service there two years ago.
Though, let me be honest here, I don’t remember it smelling vaguely of urine any of those times. This time…the urine smell was quite unpleasant…vague but unpleasant.
Also, this church has not been updated in, oh, at least 40 years. Same carpet as when I attended for VBS, same pews, same tables and chairs in the basement.
But it’s kind of nice that some things never change. I do so hope, though, that someone will Fabreze the hell out of the carpet and pews some time soon. That urine smell could change and we’d all be happy. Just saying.
After partaking of the luxurious lunch provided by the lovely ladies of the Metz community (I am only being slightly sarcastic here…) Olivia was bored.
She’d had two and a half servings of beef and noodles, half a brownie, two cups of sweet tea, a cup of green jello with melted whipped cream. She was stuffed and ready to recline.
She’s also sat there listening to Jaxon lament the woes of young love. Apparently, there’s a girl in his class (he’s in 5th grade…FIFTH GRADE, for the love of Pete!) and they talked a bit, then he ‘caught feelings’ and then she ‘caught feelings’ and now she’s his girlfriend. (Is ‘caught feelings’ a thing the young pups of this world are saying? It’s weird, but whatever.)
Then he started standing on one foot, leaning like a fool, stating, over and over and over again, telling us that he’s the only one in his class who has to lean like that when they stand on one foot. What are they doing in his fifth grade class?
I, fool that I am, suggested that perhaps he has scoliosis, which is why he has to lean in order to stay standing when he’s only on one foot. This set him off an a scoliosis tangent that is probably still going even all these days/weeks later. Sigh.
So Olivia asked me if I had any paper and a writing implement with which she could doodle.
I told her I had something in my purse, which was in my car. She lit up. We could LEAVE that basemen (and, coincidentally, Jaxon and his new scoliosis fear) and go get the pen and paper from my car.
Which we did. Because I’m an accommodating mother. Also, I was really looking for an excuse to escape that boy too. We’re bad relatives but he’s also an odd duck.
Once we’d retrieved the notepad and pen, Olivia suggested we go to the sanctuary, which was blessedly quiet. There were a few people in there, but not nearly as many as were in the basement. The sun was shining in the tall windows and there was just a sense of peace in the air.
Olivia kicked off her boots (tangent: she needs to start wearing socks with those boots. When she doesn’t her feet REEK after she takes off the boots) and her the smell of her feet competed with the smell of urine in the air.
I didn’t stick around long to see which odor won.
I talked to my cousin Chet (he’s Nell’s son). I helped my mom and her sisters take down the displays they’d put up the day before. I carried vases of flowers out to my mom’s car. I hugged my cousin’s wife and thanked her for all she’d done.
I checked on Olivia and her feet a few times but she told me that I didn’t have to stay around her. She’d found a quiet place to doodle and was happy as a stuffed clam in that sanctuary.
I loved watching her in that pew. She seemed peaceful, relaxed. That’s not a state Olivia is usually in when we’re out and about.
I don’t know if it’s the meds, the calm of the church, the presence of God. But something about that moment struck me. My girl is growing up. We’ll have times when we backtrack but right now, we’re moving forward and I thank God for that every single day.
Tom and I decided that Olivia is old enough and mature enough to attend both the visitation and the services.
Alyssa had to work Thursday evening so she couldn’t come to the visitation but she did come to the services.
Because I’m that mom, I sent the girls to school for two hours that Friday. I mean, it was only fair, I went to work for three hours so…
The service was lovely. Grammy Dotty was adorable. She arrived about ten minutes late, made her way to the front row, talking to everyone she passed, saying, “Ohh, hi, sugar!”
Remember, she’s 94, mostly deaf and blind in one eye. She deserves a lot of slack.
My mom and all but one of my aunts got up to talk about their sister Nell. They told stories from their childhood, talked about Nell’s candor and her strength, her enormous capacity to love.
After each person finished speaking, Grammy Dotty asked, “Oh, I wish I could hear! Can I get a transcript of that?”
It lightened the tone of the service and made people chuckle.
After the service, we all headed down to the basement of the church where the ladies of the community had prepared food for us. Well, okay. The ladies of the community DID prepare food but my mom, her sisters, my cousin’s wife, and even I made plenty of the food too.
The girls and I managed to get to the bathroom first immediately after the service. Ha on all the ladies who were waiting outside that door when the three of us filed out, like a mother duck and her little ducklings. Sorry, ladies, you snooze, you risk peeing your pants!
After we spent a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom, A and O and I made our way to the basement.
For reference, this is the church I grew up going to vacation bible school in. It’s also the church where Tom and I got married. We had Amy’s funeral service there two years ago.
Though, let me be honest here, I don’t remember it smelling vaguely of urine any of those times. This time…the urine smell was quite unpleasant…vague but unpleasant.
Also, this church has not been updated in, oh, at least 40 years. Same carpet as when I attended for VBS, same pews, same tables and chairs in the basement.
But it’s kind of nice that some things never change. I do so hope, though, that someone will Fabreze the hell out of the carpet and pews some time soon. That urine smell could change and we’d all be happy. Just saying.
After partaking of the luxurious lunch provided by the lovely ladies of the Metz community (I am only being slightly sarcastic here…) Olivia was bored.
She’d had two and a half servings of beef and noodles, half a brownie, two cups of sweet tea, a cup of green jello with melted whipped cream. She was stuffed and ready to recline.
She’s also sat there listening to Jaxon lament the woes of young love. Apparently, there’s a girl in his class (he’s in 5th grade…FIFTH GRADE, for the love of Pete!) and they talked a bit, then he ‘caught feelings’ and then she ‘caught feelings’ and now she’s his girlfriend. (Is ‘caught feelings’ a thing the young pups of this world are saying? It’s weird, but whatever.)
Then he started standing on one foot, leaning like a fool, stating, over and over and over again, telling us that he’s the only one in his class who has to lean like that when they stand on one foot. What are they doing in his fifth grade class?
I, fool that I am, suggested that perhaps he has scoliosis, which is why he has to lean in order to stay standing when he’s only on one foot. This set him off an a scoliosis tangent that is probably still going even all these days/weeks later. Sigh.
So Olivia asked me if I had any paper and a writing implement with which she could doodle.
I told her I had something in my purse, which was in my car. She lit up. We could LEAVE that basemen (and, coincidentally, Jaxon and his new scoliosis fear) and go get the pen and paper from my car.
Which we did. Because I’m an accommodating mother. Also, I was really looking for an excuse to escape that boy too. We’re bad relatives but he’s also an odd duck.
Once we’d retrieved the notepad and pen, Olivia suggested we go to the sanctuary, which was blessedly quiet. There were a few people in there, but not nearly as many as were in the basement. The sun was shining in the tall windows and there was just a sense of peace in the air.
Olivia kicked off her boots (tangent: she needs to start wearing socks with those boots. When she doesn’t her feet REEK after she takes off the boots) and her the smell of her feet competed with the smell of urine in the air.
I didn’t stick around long to see which odor won.
I talked to my cousin Chet (he’s Nell’s son). I helped my mom and her sisters take down the displays they’d put up the day before. I carried vases of flowers out to my mom’s car. I hugged my cousin’s wife and thanked her for all she’d done.
I checked on Olivia and her feet a few times but she told me that I didn’t have to stay around her. She’d found a quiet place to doodle and was happy as a stuffed clam in that sanctuary.
I loved watching her in that pew. She seemed peaceful, relaxed. That’s not a state Olivia is usually in when we’re out and about.
I don’t know if it’s the meds, the calm of the church, the presence of God. But something about that moment struck me. My girl is growing up. We’ll have times when we backtrack but right now, we’re moving forward and I thank God for that every single day.
Monday, February 10, 2020
Placebo
I wonder if I should have told Olivia’s teacher that we were putting her on medication and then, you know, NOT given Liv the meds right away. Just to see what happened.
See, I think maybe the medicine is working but not necessarily in the way we think it should work.
I think that knowing she’s on medication, it’s making me and her teacher both more patient with her.
That’s not really fair to her, is it?
Let me give you tell you a homework story (there are already so many of those but this one is different):
We sat down to do social studies homework. Olivia told me that they’d been in groups that day in class and each student had read aloud a paragraph of the article we were using to do her homework. She pointed out that the members of her group didn’t make her read aloud. Ha. That’s my girl.
So I read the questions on the back of the article than turned it over and read through the article to find the answers. I’d ask Liv if she agreed with the answers I’d found, she’d nod and then she’d write the answers.
She erased maybe three times over the course of the five questions that required full-sentence answers and three definitions.
Let me repeat, she erased maybe three times.
This is the child who has been known to erase the same number five times before I lose my stupid mind and scream at her to, for the love of Pete, STOP ERASING!
So, was this non-erasing event due to the Lexapro taking affect in her brain, letting her relax and not NEED to erase every other letter or was it due to my patience and kindness and loving attention that kept me from being a raging bitch and hovering over every single word she wrote?
Maybe we’ll never know.
But whatever the case, it seems to be working for school too.
Her teacher writes me a little note each day just reporting on whether Liv had a good day or a rough day.
Since starting the medicine, she’s had good days.
In fact, her teacher reports that she’s completing her work each day and has, in the span of a week on the medicine, moved up a level in reading.
Is it her? Is it us? Is it a combination of the two?
I don’t know and I don’t really care. I’m just glad FOR HER that her days are calmer, better, that the people around her are kinder and more patient with her.
See, I think maybe the medicine is working but not necessarily in the way we think it should work.
I think that knowing she’s on medication, it’s making me and her teacher both more patient with her.
That’s not really fair to her, is it?
Let me give you tell you a homework story (there are already so many of those but this one is different):
We sat down to do social studies homework. Olivia told me that they’d been in groups that day in class and each student had read aloud a paragraph of the article we were using to do her homework. She pointed out that the members of her group didn’t make her read aloud. Ha. That’s my girl.
So I read the questions on the back of the article than turned it over and read through the article to find the answers. I’d ask Liv if she agreed with the answers I’d found, she’d nod and then she’d write the answers.
She erased maybe three times over the course of the five questions that required full-sentence answers and three definitions.
Let me repeat, she erased maybe three times.
This is the child who has been known to erase the same number five times before I lose my stupid mind and scream at her to, for the love of Pete, STOP ERASING!
So, was this non-erasing event due to the Lexapro taking affect in her brain, letting her relax and not NEED to erase every other letter or was it due to my patience and kindness and loving attention that kept me from being a raging bitch and hovering over every single word she wrote?
Maybe we’ll never know.
But whatever the case, it seems to be working for school too.
Her teacher writes me a little note each day just reporting on whether Liv had a good day or a rough day.
Since starting the medicine, she’s had good days.
In fact, her teacher reports that she’s completing her work each day and has, in the span of a week on the medicine, moved up a level in reading.
Is it her? Is it us? Is it a combination of the two?
I don’t know and I don’t really care. I’m just glad FOR HER that her days are calmer, better, that the people around her are kinder and more patient with her.
Monday, February 3, 2020
January 14
Alyssa turned 17 on this day. (She deserves her own post about this awesome event...it will happen.)
On this day also, Olivia started a very low dose of Lexapro. We’ll see what happens.
I communicated with her teacher that this was happening. She’s going to keep a daily log of O’s attention, her anxiety, her willingness to work.
She takes the pill in the evening.
The first day after the first pill, her teacher reported that Olivia seemed attentive and finished all her work.
Well, sure, but it was also her first day back to school after being out for two days due to illness. So take that for what it’s worth.
I did not see any difference in her ability/willingness to write spelling words. She still erased every other word at least three times. So yeah, that was super fun for me.
I finally just stopped watching her do the work. I still sat next to her but rather than sigh and grumble and make awful faces at her, I checked FB, Instagram, etc. while she wrote and erased and wrote and erased, and on and on. Every so often I’d tell her how great she was doing and then stop watching her again. It worked and it only took her twenty minutes to write eighteen words. I’m calling it a win.
But obviously, it couldn’t have been the medicine. I mean, one pill isn’t going to work miracles. We have to give it time.
I have this grand fantasy that this medicine will suddenly break down her walls, rewire her brain and let her shine. I imagine all the thoughts in her head finally being able to come out, spewing forth all that is so amazing about her but that is currently stuck inside her because of whatever blocks 5p- has built up in her.
I realize this probably isn’t going to happen but I can’t help but dream, hope, pray.
And then I realize that if it does all happen, if she makes a huge breakthrough, I’m going to feel awful for not seeking medicinal treatment years ago.
A couple of years ago, one of the school psychologists suggested we medicate Liv. I resisted. I didn’t (and honestly, still don’t, not really) want drugs flooding her system. But these days we’re having more bad days than good and so we have to try something to help her.
Our doctor also said he could refer O to a psychiatrist.
I didn’t take him up on that. Not because I don’t like psychiatrists, but because I don’t think, at this moment in time, Olivia would speak to a psychiatrist. She wouldn’t get anything out of seeing someone because her inability to speak to anyone other than a select few people would keep the doctor from helping her. So…if the Lexapro helps, if it breaks down those barriers and allows her to start speaking to more than her immediate family, we’ll see about that psychiatrist.
One step at a time.
On this day also, Olivia started a very low dose of Lexapro. We’ll see what happens.
I communicated with her teacher that this was happening. She’s going to keep a daily log of O’s attention, her anxiety, her willingness to work.
She takes the pill in the evening.
The first day after the first pill, her teacher reported that Olivia seemed attentive and finished all her work.
Well, sure, but it was also her first day back to school after being out for two days due to illness. So take that for what it’s worth.
I did not see any difference in her ability/willingness to write spelling words. She still erased every other word at least three times. So yeah, that was super fun for me.
I finally just stopped watching her do the work. I still sat next to her but rather than sigh and grumble and make awful faces at her, I checked FB, Instagram, etc. while she wrote and erased and wrote and erased, and on and on. Every so often I’d tell her how great she was doing and then stop watching her again. It worked and it only took her twenty minutes to write eighteen words. I’m calling it a win.
But obviously, it couldn’t have been the medicine. I mean, one pill isn’t going to work miracles. We have to give it time.
I have this grand fantasy that this medicine will suddenly break down her walls, rewire her brain and let her shine. I imagine all the thoughts in her head finally being able to come out, spewing forth all that is so amazing about her but that is currently stuck inside her because of whatever blocks 5p- has built up in her.
I realize this probably isn’t going to happen but I can’t help but dream, hope, pray.
And then I realize that if it does all happen, if she makes a huge breakthrough, I’m going to feel awful for not seeking medicinal treatment years ago.
A couple of years ago, one of the school psychologists suggested we medicate Liv. I resisted. I didn’t (and honestly, still don’t, not really) want drugs flooding her system. But these days we’re having more bad days than good and so we have to try something to help her.
Our doctor also said he could refer O to a psychiatrist.
I didn’t take him up on that. Not because I don’t like psychiatrists, but because I don’t think, at this moment in time, Olivia would speak to a psychiatrist. She wouldn’t get anything out of seeing someone because her inability to speak to anyone other than a select few people would keep the doctor from helping her. So…if the Lexapro helps, if it breaks down those barriers and allows her to start speaking to more than her immediate family, we’ll see about that psychiatrist.
One step at a time.
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
Anxiety
The first couple of weeks back to school after Christmas break have been tough. Olivia’s stress levels seem to be up.
A few IEP sessions ago, the school psychologist suggested giving her something for anxiety.
At that time, I was skeptical. I didn’t see her as anxious.
But these days…well, there might be something to it.
She gets anxious as the slightest hint of a change to her routine. The moment someone seems to maybe, even a little bit, be mad or annoyed with her, she shuts down. I can almost see her walls go up and her brain shut down. Once that happens, she’s completely derailed from whatever task someone wants her to do.
It drives me crazy and it breaks my heart.
I know she doesn’t do any of this on purpose but if maybe, just maybe, we can give her something, a medicine, that will help ease the anxiety that causes her this stress, well, wouldn’t it be worth it? I think yes. It will be worth it to me, to her teachers, and most of all, to her. To give her some relief from her constant worry, the stress of what comes next, the anxiety of how each day is going to unfold.
So we’re going to try.
My nephew has been on ritolin (she’s not going to be taking ritolin) for years. My brother tried taking him off it at the beginning of the year and it has been a disaster. He just can’t concentrate. So he’s going back on his meds.
There is no shame in using the tools available to help our children reach their fullest potential.
I have fought to keep Olivia off medication for most of her life but it’s time to give her some relief. If it doesn’t work, she doesn’t have to keep taking the meds. If there are side effects that outweigh the benefits, we can stop the meds. But we have to try.
A few IEP sessions ago, the school psychologist suggested giving her something for anxiety.
At that time, I was skeptical. I didn’t see her as anxious.
But these days…well, there might be something to it.
She gets anxious as the slightest hint of a change to her routine. The moment someone seems to maybe, even a little bit, be mad or annoyed with her, she shuts down. I can almost see her walls go up and her brain shut down. Once that happens, she’s completely derailed from whatever task someone wants her to do.
It drives me crazy and it breaks my heart.
I know she doesn’t do any of this on purpose but if maybe, just maybe, we can give her something, a medicine, that will help ease the anxiety that causes her this stress, well, wouldn’t it be worth it? I think yes. It will be worth it to me, to her teachers, and most of all, to her. To give her some relief from her constant worry, the stress of what comes next, the anxiety of how each day is going to unfold.
So we’re going to try.
My nephew has been on ritolin (she’s not going to be taking ritolin) for years. My brother tried taking him off it at the beginning of the year and it has been a disaster. He just can’t concentrate. So he’s going back on his meds.
There is no shame in using the tools available to help our children reach their fullest potential.
I have fought to keep Olivia off medication for most of her life but it’s time to give her some relief. If it doesn’t work, she doesn’t have to keep taking the meds. If there are side effects that outweigh the benefits, we can stop the meds. But we have to try.
Friday, January 24, 2020
Cocky
Okay, so I admit it. I felt pretty darned good as we went to bed that first Monday back from Christmas break.
We’d gotten a lot done. I’d freaking rocked the domestic goddess thing.
When I got home from work that evening, Olivia and I pounded out her homework in record time. We went to my mom’s house to visit for a bit, went back home where I heated up dinner for both girls and myself. Tom’s on his own for meals, he tends to work right through the regular dinner hour so…he’s a grown up, he can figure it out.
After dinner, I packed lunches and then took Olivia up so she could take a bath. She was only vaguely stinky but I know that a vague funk can turn into a vicious funk very quickly.
I helped her wash her hair and then, by 8:30, we were downstairs where I washed the dinner dishes, got Olivia her evening serving of pie and ice cream and by 9:10, we were heading back upstairs to bed.
And, get this, I’d accomplished all of the above with minimal bitchiness. Go me!!
So it only makes sense that the very next day, a FREAKING Tuesday, was a disaster.
I got home after at 5:20 after having to stop at Walmart for cereal, batteries, Tums, bagels, a rotisserie chicken, oatmeal cream pies and Suzie-Qs. Yes, that was the list. Ugh!
Olivia and I sat down to do homework.
I lost my shit pretty much right off the bat, which made her put up a block that kept her from writing $1.35 on problem number 3.
I stopped her from erasing something because the erasing, the constant erasing, the never-ending erasing drives me insane.
But the derailed her almost completely.
We sat there for a half hour trying to complete five math problems that were something along the lines of: “Write the number in standard form: 9 hundreds, 3 tens and 7 ones.”
Which I read aloud to Olivia and then say, “Write 937.”
That was the first one. It was fine.
The second one was similar…and yet harder.
The third one asked her to write a number sentence and then said something like, “Miguel had $.85. He earned $1.35. How much money did he have?”
All she had to write was, “$.85 + $1.35 = $2.20.”
Easy, right?
No.
Because I’m a terrible person who stopped her from erasing the $ before the 1. We sat there for fifteen minutes with her just looking at me.
By the end I just wanted to cry. I wanted to cry for me and I wanted to cry for her.
I hate that this is so hard for her. I hate that I sometimes make it harder still.
Before bed that night, I told her I was sorry for being so cranky.
She said, “Well, at least you’re only cranky when you’re talking to me.”
…
My heart broke into a thousand pieces.
My sweet, beautiful, funny, smart girl thinks, feels, and believes I’m only cranky when I’m talking to her.
That says a lot, doesn’t it?
It means I have to work hard, in the long term, to STOP being such a bitch to this child. She deserves so much better. She deserves a loving, patient, kind parent who doesn’t take her idiosyncrasies personally and works out ways to help her around the blocks her brain puts up when things don’t go exactly as planned.
So yeah…that happened.
We’d gotten a lot done. I’d freaking rocked the domestic goddess thing.
When I got home from work that evening, Olivia and I pounded out her homework in record time. We went to my mom’s house to visit for a bit, went back home where I heated up dinner for both girls and myself. Tom’s on his own for meals, he tends to work right through the regular dinner hour so…he’s a grown up, he can figure it out.
After dinner, I packed lunches and then took Olivia up so she could take a bath. She was only vaguely stinky but I know that a vague funk can turn into a vicious funk very quickly.
I helped her wash her hair and then, by 8:30, we were downstairs where I washed the dinner dishes, got Olivia her evening serving of pie and ice cream and by 9:10, we were heading back upstairs to bed.
And, get this, I’d accomplished all of the above with minimal bitchiness. Go me!!
So it only makes sense that the very next day, a FREAKING Tuesday, was a disaster.
I got home after at 5:20 after having to stop at Walmart for cereal, batteries, Tums, bagels, a rotisserie chicken, oatmeal cream pies and Suzie-Qs. Yes, that was the list. Ugh!
Olivia and I sat down to do homework.
I lost my shit pretty much right off the bat, which made her put up a block that kept her from writing $1.35 on problem number 3.
I stopped her from erasing something because the erasing, the constant erasing, the never-ending erasing drives me insane.
But the derailed her almost completely.
We sat there for a half hour trying to complete five math problems that were something along the lines of: “Write the number in standard form: 9 hundreds, 3 tens and 7 ones.”
Which I read aloud to Olivia and then say, “Write 937.”
That was the first one. It was fine.
The second one was similar…and yet harder.
The third one asked her to write a number sentence and then said something like, “Miguel had $.85. He earned $1.35. How much money did he have?”
All she had to write was, “$.85 + $1.35 = $2.20.”
Easy, right?
No.
Because I’m a terrible person who stopped her from erasing the $ before the 1. We sat there for fifteen minutes with her just looking at me.
By the end I just wanted to cry. I wanted to cry for me and I wanted to cry for her.
I hate that this is so hard for her. I hate that I sometimes make it harder still.
Before bed that night, I told her I was sorry for being so cranky.
She said, “Well, at least you’re only cranky when you’re talking to me.”
…
My heart broke into a thousand pieces.
My sweet, beautiful, funny, smart girl thinks, feels, and believes I’m only cranky when I’m talking to her.
That says a lot, doesn’t it?
It means I have to work hard, in the long term, to STOP being such a bitch to this child. She deserves so much better. She deserves a loving, patient, kind parent who doesn’t take her idiosyncrasies personally and works out ways to help her around the blocks her brain puts up when things don’t go exactly as planned.
So yeah…that happened.
Tuesday, November 5, 2019
Almost Thirteen
We have a running joke in our house.
When Olivia is being especially difficult or deliberately lazy or just glorying in her idiosyncracies, one of us will say, “It’s hard to have a four year old for eight years.”
She’ll laugh, things will be reset and we’ll go on with our day.
And sure, it’s funny. It lightens an otherwise stressful situation.
But it’s also true.
Chronologically, Olivia will be thirteen in just over a month. But socially, she’s about eight years old. She has no desire to attend or even host a sleep-over. She’s perfectly happy to hang with Mom and Dad on the weekends. She’s shown no real desire to wear makeup. She’s very fashionable and makes decisions about her wardrobe but she still wants help putting on some of her clothes.
She doesn’t NEED help but she wants it.
She’d much prefer to have someone spoon feed her rather than feed herself. This is exasperating, and sometimes, admittedly, infuriating.
I remember when she was a baby and not crawling when she was a year old. It was like having an infant for almost two years.
My cousin’s sweet daughter is a year older than Olivia. S is in a wheelchair and she’s still tube fed. My cousin has had an infant for almost fourteen years.
I shouldn’t be complaining about my thirteen years with a four year old.
But I am; because I can. And because you can’t actually compare O and S.
See, the thing is, I KNOW Olivia is capable of so much more than she actually does. I know she can dress herself. I know she can feed herself. I know she can bathe herself.
But…I can’t trust her to wash her own hair. I don’t know if she’s capable of changing the toilet paper roll. Those things take some serious coordination and I just don’t know if she’s got it.
I don’t know if she can stop herself from scribbling on her work at school. I want to think she can but I just don’t know.
She is physically capable of taking out an old pad and putting in new one on when she’s having her period but I don’t think she truly know when she’s supposed to do that. I’ve tried to explain it to her but it just doesn’t happen without help.
I joked the other night at a Music Boosters meeting that I only have one more year after this year because after Alyssa graduates, I won’t have a child in the music program. Olivia is not a joiner. I don’t know if she wants to be or not but I do know that she simply isn’t able to force herself to speak above a whisper while at school. There’s a block that affects her physically.
It makes me sad because I think she’s capable of so much more but her brain and body won’t work together to let her do all she could do if they would cooperate.
So we celebrate her strengths. I read her fiction, I listen to her imaginations, I laugh at her jokes and enjoy her laughter when she’s in on the joke.
We let her express herself through her fashion and exclaim in wonder when she always gets it right.
I know how lucky we are that she is who she is and she is capable of so much but I also grieve the person Olivia would have been had that fifth chromosome not had a deletion.
I know these amazing kids of mine are not done doing awesome thing. I know that this coming year, the year she is thirteen, could bring amazing achievements. I won’t stop trying to teacher her, to lead her toward growth and accomplishments. But I’ll also continue to try and celebrate exactly who she is.
When Olivia is being especially difficult or deliberately lazy or just glorying in her idiosyncracies, one of us will say, “It’s hard to have a four year old for eight years.”
She’ll laugh, things will be reset and we’ll go on with our day.
And sure, it’s funny. It lightens an otherwise stressful situation.
But it’s also true.
Chronologically, Olivia will be thirteen in just over a month. But socially, she’s about eight years old. She has no desire to attend or even host a sleep-over. She’s perfectly happy to hang with Mom and Dad on the weekends. She’s shown no real desire to wear makeup. She’s very fashionable and makes decisions about her wardrobe but she still wants help putting on some of her clothes.
She doesn’t NEED help but she wants it.
She’d much prefer to have someone spoon feed her rather than feed herself. This is exasperating, and sometimes, admittedly, infuriating.
I remember when she was a baby and not crawling when she was a year old. It was like having an infant for almost two years.
My cousin’s sweet daughter is a year older than Olivia. S is in a wheelchair and she’s still tube fed. My cousin has had an infant for almost fourteen years.
I shouldn’t be complaining about my thirteen years with a four year old.
But I am; because I can. And because you can’t actually compare O and S.
See, the thing is, I KNOW Olivia is capable of so much more than she actually does. I know she can dress herself. I know she can feed herself. I know she can bathe herself.
But…I can’t trust her to wash her own hair. I don’t know if she’s capable of changing the toilet paper roll. Those things take some serious coordination and I just don’t know if she’s got it.
I don’t know if she can stop herself from scribbling on her work at school. I want to think she can but I just don’t know.
She is physically capable of taking out an old pad and putting in new one on when she’s having her period but I don’t think she truly know when she’s supposed to do that. I’ve tried to explain it to her but it just doesn’t happen without help.
I joked the other night at a Music Boosters meeting that I only have one more year after this year because after Alyssa graduates, I won’t have a child in the music program. Olivia is not a joiner. I don’t know if she wants to be or not but I do know that she simply isn’t able to force herself to speak above a whisper while at school. There’s a block that affects her physically.
It makes me sad because I think she’s capable of so much more but her brain and body won’t work together to let her do all she could do if they would cooperate.
So we celebrate her strengths. I read her fiction, I listen to her imaginations, I laugh at her jokes and enjoy her laughter when she’s in on the joke.
We let her express herself through her fashion and exclaim in wonder when she always gets it right.
I know how lucky we are that she is who she is and she is capable of so much but I also grieve the person Olivia would have been had that fifth chromosome not had a deletion.
I know these amazing kids of mine are not done doing awesome thing. I know that this coming year, the year she is thirteen, could bring amazing achievements. I won’t stop trying to teacher her, to lead her toward growth and accomplishments. But I’ll also continue to try and celebrate exactly who she is.
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Hearing Bells
Olivia will often announced, “I have a new Jingle Bell song.”
I try hard to stifle the groan when she says this.
You’ve all heard the Jingle Bells, Batman smells song right?
Well, she just inserts random characters from her favorite books and shows into the song and then expects praise, like she’s done something brilliant.
I know.
I am proud of her. She’s amazing.
But these songs are so stupid. The ‘original’ one is stupid. They’re all inane and annoying and I would like to never hear another.
Except, Liv loves them. They crack her up.
She’ll belt out, “Jingle bells, Weston smells, Gage laid an egg. The aide’s car lost a wheel and the teacher ran away.”
And then she’ll laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever.
So okay, that one was kind of clever but then she’ll insert Marinette, Adrian, Adam F. Goldberg and Barry. It’s usually Murray that smells and Beverly always lays the egg but sometimes the roles of the three kids will be rotated.
It’s just…parenting can be so boring, even with all the joys and beauty.
Over here in the Ordinary household, we celebrate all the little things. She’s tying her shoes! We got rid of the cushy tushy. Sure, she’s twelve but these things were/are big things to us.
But jingle bell songs? Sometimes, silence is golden.
I try hard to stifle the groan when she says this.
You’ve all heard the Jingle Bells, Batman smells song right?
Well, she just inserts random characters from her favorite books and shows into the song and then expects praise, like she’s done something brilliant.
I know.
I am proud of her. She’s amazing.
But these songs are so stupid. The ‘original’ one is stupid. They’re all inane and annoying and I would like to never hear another.
Except, Liv loves them. They crack her up.
She’ll belt out, “Jingle bells, Weston smells, Gage laid an egg. The aide’s car lost a wheel and the teacher ran away.”
And then she’ll laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever.
So okay, that one was kind of clever but then she’ll insert Marinette, Adrian, Adam F. Goldberg and Barry. It’s usually Murray that smells and Beverly always lays the egg but sometimes the roles of the three kids will be rotated.
It’s just…parenting can be so boring, even with all the joys and beauty.
Over here in the Ordinary household, we celebrate all the little things. She’s tying her shoes! We got rid of the cushy tushy. Sure, she’s twelve but these things were/are big things to us.
But jingle bell songs? Sometimes, silence is golden.
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
Flash Back to the Fifth Grade Field Trip That Didn't Happen
Fifth grade is the year that kids are introduced to D.A.R.E. At least that’s the case at our local school.
Olivia had actually enjoyed the monthly programs throughout the year. She’s come home each time with all kinds of stories about the day. I think her favorite was when the officer presenting one day was dividing the kids into pairs.
He pointed to two kids and said, “You’re a pair.”
Then he pointed to another couple of kids and said, “You’re an apple.”
Olivia got such a kick out of that one. She loves puns and ‘clever’ jokes.
Last week, with only two weeks left in school, she brought home a paper that described a fifth grade field trip. They were going on a day trip to a D.A.R.E. camp. And it was only going to cost each child $5 to attend.
The very first activity listed was…
Animal handling.
If you know Olivia at all you can imagine her reaction to that one. The face she made was priceless.
The next activities were things like ropes course, rock building, fire starting, canoeing…
You get the picture. It was a list of all the things that Olivia hates.
Then, the worst fate of all, according to Olivia, is that the kids were instructed to pack a sack lunch.
She brought this form home on a Friday. It was a full week and a half before the field trip was scheduled.
She worried all weekend long about how she’d eat lunch if she was expected to do so OUT OF A BAG. Let’s remember that she did not eat at school in kindergarten and first grade. She finally started eating a little of her lunch in second grade because they moved her from the regular class table to a table by herself. In third grade, she moved invited select classmates to join her at her exclusive table.
In fourth grade, she was integrated back into the regular table with the rest of her classmates, which is where she sits and eats these days. However, she never takes her food out of her lunchbox. She leaves the container inside the lunchbox and hovers over it, surreptitiously moving the food from the lunchbox to her mouth, hoping against hope that no one will actually see her eat.
She’s weird.
I told her on Friday evening I’d email her teacher Monday morning but she fretted all weekend about that field trip and the lunch involved and how much she did not want to go to that day camp. I also told her that even if her teacher said she thought Olivia should go, well, of course we’d just keep her home that day. We weren’t going to pay $5 and send her on a trip we KNEW she’d hate. We’re perfectly capable of torturing her at home for free. No need to pay some camp to do it for us.
I kept my promise and emailed her special ed teacher on Monday morning saying basically, “Olivia does not want to go to the D.A.R.E day camp. She’s suffering quite a bit of anxiety over the thought of having to attend. Help.”
Her teacher, bless her, replied immediately, “She does NOT have to go to that camp. She can spend the day in my classroom. I was planning to take my non-fifth graders to the Dairy Treat that day. Olivia can go with us.”
When I got home that evening, I informed Olivia of the new plan.
Her relief was palpable. She gave a sigh and said, “Yeah, ice cream is way better than animal handling.”
Oh gurrrrl. I feel you on that one.
In the end, none of this even mattered because the field trip was canceled due to inclement weather. Did you know that's been raining the Midwest since about mid March? Yeah.
Monday, April 15, 2019
Spectical Drama
I had to take a trip to the eye doctor one morning last week and drop of Olivia’s glasses.
This is the second time in three weeks that she’s had to have her glasses fixed. She’s had these glasses for just over two months.
The first time, she wiggled the arms (also called temples, for those in the know) to the point that the screws came lose and one fell off.
When I took them in to have the screws replace, the lady at the eye doctor’s lab broke the glasses entirely, so she had to replace them for free.
We’ve had these new glasses maybe three weeks…maybe.
While sitting around watching America’s Next Top Model, I can hear Olivia take her glasses off, wiggle them and then put then back on. The sound makes me cringe. I scold her each time and she looks at me like I’m crazy.
This morning I picked up her glasses to clean the lenses, which is what I do each morning and I noticed that the end of one of the arms, the end that goes over her ear, is cracked.
She can’t wear cracked glasses to school.
Tom offered to duct tape them but since we didn’t name our youngest daughter Gertrude Millicent Ordinary, she couldn’t go to school with duct taped glasses.
I made her wear her old ones to school and brought the frames with me to be dropped off and replaced.
This time, the tech isn’t the one who broke the stupid things so we have to use our warranty.
If Olivia breaks this next pair, we’ll have to pay for replacements.
Sigh.
Kids are so freaking expensive. Who was the one who told me to have all these (2) kids anyway?
This is the second time in three weeks that she’s had to have her glasses fixed. She’s had these glasses for just over two months.
The first time, she wiggled the arms (also called temples, for those in the know) to the point that the screws came lose and one fell off.
When I took them in to have the screws replace, the lady at the eye doctor’s lab broke the glasses entirely, so she had to replace them for free.
We’ve had these new glasses maybe three weeks…maybe.
While sitting around watching America’s Next Top Model, I can hear Olivia take her glasses off, wiggle them and then put then back on. The sound makes me cringe. I scold her each time and she looks at me like I’m crazy.
This morning I picked up her glasses to clean the lenses, which is what I do each morning and I noticed that the end of one of the arms, the end that goes over her ear, is cracked.
She can’t wear cracked glasses to school.
Tom offered to duct tape them but since we didn’t name our youngest daughter Gertrude Millicent Ordinary, she couldn’t go to school with duct taped glasses.
I made her wear her old ones to school and brought the frames with me to be dropped off and replaced.
This time, the tech isn’t the one who broke the stupid things so we have to use our warranty.
If Olivia breaks this next pair, we’ll have to pay for replacements.
Sigh.
Kids are so freaking expensive. Who was the one who told me to have all these (2) kids anyway?
Monday, October 15, 2018
Anxious
Our school teaches the whole Cusp of Puberty thing to fifth graders. I think perhaps they should start a little younger but I’m not in charge so, whatever.
Olivia’s class was presented with this just last week.
Let me remind all four of you (ha! I amuse myself in thinking that four whole people read here anymore. But thank you, Julie for being so faithful. J ) that Olivia has been living the life of Puberty for over a year.
So this shouldn’t have been a big deal for her.
Yeah, you know what’s coming.
It turned out to be a big deal.
The night after the class, she was having trouble sleeping. I could tell because she rambled on and on for about a half hour after I tucked her in. I finally asked, “Livie, is anything bothering you?”
She sighed and said, “Well, you know how the girls went with the nurse to a classroom and the boys went with the gym teacher?”
“Yeah?”
“The nurse showed us a video about how our bodies are changing and it was weird. And then she said that our voices might change and crack.”
“Oh,” I replied. “Well, I think that mostly only boys have to worry about their voices changing and cracking.”
“Yeah, but if my voice is going to change and crack, what day will that happen?”
Aww, my little sweetheart. I get it. She just wants to be able to prepare for yet another change. I much prefer to know what’s coming too.
I reminded her that when she started her period, we didn’t know exactly day that would happen but that it was no big deal, we handled it together and it was fine. Though she acknowledged that I was right about it not being a big deal, she still asked a couple more times what day her voice would change.
I considered telling her that it would change next Tuesday, just so we could both go to sleep but decided that would be mean.
We continued to talk. I let her get it all out and when we finally fell asleep, I felt like I’d had a Good Mom moment.
My girls both like to talk at night, when it’s dark, when they don’t have to look at me and can just let it all out. I’m so glad we have these moments, this time to connect. I hope I’m laying foundations for them, building their confidence, giving them strength and confidence to face whatever life throws at them. They deserve that and if I don’t have decades like I want to think I do, I need to continue to make the most of these days that we do have together, these quiet nights where we connect and my love for them goes deep inside them where it will continue to give them strength even if I’m not here to continue to feed into it on a daily basis.
Huh…it seems that Olivia is not the only one who is anxious about a few things these days.
Olivia’s class was presented with this just last week.
Let me remind all four of you (ha! I amuse myself in thinking that four whole people read here anymore. But thank you, Julie for being so faithful. J ) that Olivia has been living the life of Puberty for over a year.
So this shouldn’t have been a big deal for her.
Yeah, you know what’s coming.
It turned out to be a big deal.
The night after the class, she was having trouble sleeping. I could tell because she rambled on and on for about a half hour after I tucked her in. I finally asked, “Livie, is anything bothering you?”
She sighed and said, “Well, you know how the girls went with the nurse to a classroom and the boys went with the gym teacher?”
“Yeah?”
“The nurse showed us a video about how our bodies are changing and it was weird. And then she said that our voices might change and crack.”
“Oh,” I replied. “Well, I think that mostly only boys have to worry about their voices changing and cracking.”
“Yeah, but if my voice is going to change and crack, what day will that happen?”
Aww, my little sweetheart. I get it. She just wants to be able to prepare for yet another change. I much prefer to know what’s coming too.
I reminded her that when she started her period, we didn’t know exactly day that would happen but that it was no big deal, we handled it together and it was fine. Though she acknowledged that I was right about it not being a big deal, she still asked a couple more times what day her voice would change.
I considered telling her that it would change next Tuesday, just so we could both go to sleep but decided that would be mean.
We continued to talk. I let her get it all out and when we finally fell asleep, I felt like I’d had a Good Mom moment.
My girls both like to talk at night, when it’s dark, when they don’t have to look at me and can just let it all out. I’m so glad we have these moments, this time to connect. I hope I’m laying foundations for them, building their confidence, giving them strength and confidence to face whatever life throws at them. They deserve that and if I don’t have decades like I want to think I do, I need to continue to make the most of these days that we do have together, these quiet nights where we connect and my love for them goes deep inside them where it will continue to give them strength even if I’m not here to continue to feed into it on a daily basis.
Huh…it seems that Olivia is not the only one who is anxious about a few things these days.
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Those Damned Math Sheets
There were so many tears last week and they were mostly due to half-page math worksheets.
Every single freaking day, Olivia brought home a half-page math worksheet. This worksheet was supposed to have been done that day at school during ‘morning math work’.
It was never done while at school. What was done at school was a bunch of doodling and scribbling upon the half-sheet of paper.
I asked Olivia so many times last week what her teachers/aides were doing while she was scribbling all over her morning math worksheet.
She’d shrug at me.
She did take the time to explain that the worksheet she was doing was different from the worksheets the rest of the class were doing.
I don’t know if this bothered her but it seemed as if she thought this was enough of an explanation for why she was scribbling all over hers. I mean, we’re talking SCRIBBLING. She’d write random words, lines, squiggles, circles. You name it, she wrote it on her math worksheets. Wait, unless you name numbers. There were no numbers on her math sheets. It’s almost as if she’s allergic to numbers.
So yes, these math sheets were sent home every single freaking day last week with a note asking, “Please have Olivia complete the morning math sheet that she didn’t complete at school today.”
And to do this, I’d have to erase ALL.THE.SCRIBBLES each evening. Most of the time, not all the scribbles would come off but I could get it fairly clean and we’d sit down to do the work.
Sometimes this math work was complicated. Like story problems such as, “Eric had 75 cents. He bought a candy bar for 45 cents. How much money does he have left?”
Olivia’s brain doesn’t quite compute how to figure what the actual problem is.
I mean, she can do 75 minus 45 if it’s written as:
75
-45
But figuring out the starting point in the story problem is difficult for her. I mean, duh, girlfriend has a chromosomal deletion! Let’s give her a little break, ‘kay?
On the second day she brought home a scribbled-upon math sheet, we took away her tablet. I mean, there had to be some kind of consequence, right?
She lost the tablet from Tuesday evening until Saturday morning. She didn’t seem to think it was that big a deal.
Friday, though. Oh, Friday. I checked her folder. There was another math sheet. This time, there would be no erasing. She’d gone after that thing with crayon. I was lucky I was going to be able to read it well enough to rewrite the whole thing.
At that point, I informed her she was losing all doodling privileges. Oh, the tears fell when she heard that. She loves doodling (as shown by the doodling on the math sheets.) I informed her that the day she managed to come home from school without a destroyed math sheet, she’d get her home doodle pad back.
We talked about it all weekend long. I reminded her each time she asked for a pad of paper and a pen that she couldn’t have it because she wouldn’t stop doodling on her math.
I honestly don’t know how much of the doodling/scribbling is in her control but I will say, there was no math sheet yesterday.
I wonder if her teachers took the email I sent yesterday to heart or if Liv just learned a little self-control. My email suggested that Liv needs more help at school during morning math work than she was getting. That if there was an aide or a teacher available to guide her in the math work, maybe she wouldn’t decide that doodling was a vial option since she couldn’t figure out the problems on her own.
Whatever the reason, she didn’t bring home a math sheet and for that, I’m so very grateful. And for the record, I did get her back her home doodle pad. She was one happy doodler.
(She got around not having paper this weekend by drawing with chalk on the driveway but…shhhh, let’s not talk about that.)
Every single freaking day, Olivia brought home a half-page math worksheet. This worksheet was supposed to have been done that day at school during ‘morning math work’.
It was never done while at school. What was done at school was a bunch of doodling and scribbling upon the half-sheet of paper.
I asked Olivia so many times last week what her teachers/aides were doing while she was scribbling all over her morning math worksheet.
She’d shrug at me.
She did take the time to explain that the worksheet she was doing was different from the worksheets the rest of the class were doing.
I don’t know if this bothered her but it seemed as if she thought this was enough of an explanation for why she was scribbling all over hers. I mean, we’re talking SCRIBBLING. She’d write random words, lines, squiggles, circles. You name it, she wrote it on her math worksheets. Wait, unless you name numbers. There were no numbers on her math sheets. It’s almost as if she’s allergic to numbers.
So yes, these math sheets were sent home every single freaking day last week with a note asking, “Please have Olivia complete the morning math sheet that she didn’t complete at school today.”
And to do this, I’d have to erase ALL.THE.SCRIBBLES each evening. Most of the time, not all the scribbles would come off but I could get it fairly clean and we’d sit down to do the work.
Sometimes this math work was complicated. Like story problems such as, “Eric had 75 cents. He bought a candy bar for 45 cents. How much money does he have left?”
Olivia’s brain doesn’t quite compute how to figure what the actual problem is.
I mean, she can do 75 minus 45 if it’s written as:
75
-45
But figuring out the starting point in the story problem is difficult for her. I mean, duh, girlfriend has a chromosomal deletion! Let’s give her a little break, ‘kay?
On the second day she brought home a scribbled-upon math sheet, we took away her tablet. I mean, there had to be some kind of consequence, right?
She lost the tablet from Tuesday evening until Saturday morning. She didn’t seem to think it was that big a deal.
Friday, though. Oh, Friday. I checked her folder. There was another math sheet. This time, there would be no erasing. She’d gone after that thing with crayon. I was lucky I was going to be able to read it well enough to rewrite the whole thing.
At that point, I informed her she was losing all doodling privileges. Oh, the tears fell when she heard that. She loves doodling (as shown by the doodling on the math sheets.) I informed her that the day she managed to come home from school without a destroyed math sheet, she’d get her home doodle pad back.
We talked about it all weekend long. I reminded her each time she asked for a pad of paper and a pen that she couldn’t have it because she wouldn’t stop doodling on her math.
I honestly don’t know how much of the doodling/scribbling is in her control but I will say, there was no math sheet yesterday.
I wonder if her teachers took the email I sent yesterday to heart or if Liv just learned a little self-control. My email suggested that Liv needs more help at school during morning math work than she was getting. That if there was an aide or a teacher available to guide her in the math work, maybe she wouldn’t decide that doodling was a vial option since she couldn’t figure out the problems on her own.
Whatever the reason, she didn’t bring home a math sheet and for that, I’m so very grateful. And for the record, I did get her back her home doodle pad. She was one happy doodler.
(She got around not having paper this weekend by drawing with chalk on the driveway but…shhhh, let’s not talk about that.)
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