To be nobody-but-yourself -- in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else -- means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
~ e. e. cummings
Here's Kiddo, ready for her last day of first grade:
I made her stand in the same place I had her stand for her first day of first grade:
(For the record, she's grown 2 inches and gained 3 pounds since last summer, and also lost another four teeth - all on top - and has a mouthful of new, gigantic, wonky, adult teeth coming in...)
She's excited about the upcoming summer vacation, with the trips and activities we have planned and the playdates that are already being lined up (seriously, the first one is this afternoon after school, and we have another one tomorrow!). She's also very sad that school is ending for the year. She was revved up something fierce this morning and went from tears in the bathroom while I was doing her hair to a giddy, spinning-spinning-spinning dance out in the driveway while waiting for the bus...
(Yes, that is a caribiner chock-full of Silly Bandz on a lanyard around her neck. This is apparently the preferred method of bringing one's Silly Bandz to school. Considering that some of them are small enough to be constricting on Kiddo's relatively toothpickesque arms, I was all for the carabiner-lanyard style of bracelet wearing.) Last year at this time, I was a bit nervous as we were starting our first summer without any services. It was our first summer without OT, without PT. This year, I'm not quite as worried. I just have to be sure to stay on top of things with lots of daily, added sensory input as needed. We'll do lots of swimming, walking, biking, playing, gardening, running around. Also lots of lazing about, quiet, relaxing and settling down. I'll be picking up her pressure vest from the classroom today. We've got a deck of yoga cards (which are an admittedly poor substitute for the yoga that her amazing, incredible, words-cannot-adequately-describe-how-awesome-she-is aide has done with her every day at school this year), her BodySox and a container of Theraputty.
Today was one of the first honest-to-goodness, feels like SPRING days we've had this year, so after collecting Kiddo from the bus stop after school, I threw her in the car and we took off for one of our favorite playgrounds.
You can tell Kiddo wasn't excited at all to be out in the sun and fresh air at the playground:
This picture cracked me up because it looks like she was posing, but it was completely candid:
I thought this shot came out kinda cool, the way only her face is in sharp focus and the rest is blurred by motion (we were bouncing on the see-saw at the time. Yes, *I* was on the other end. This seesaw has an industrial-strength spring and also is made of construction-grade metal girder-esque pieces. It can take my considerable bulk without a whimper!)
As always, I caught a shot of Kiddo completing her first slide run of the year...
Now, this park actually has two separate playground areas. The shots above were from the "younger kids" playground, and the ones below are from the "bigger kids" playground. Kiddo has played on the "bigger kids" playground for a couple of years now, with me growing slightly less nervous about a major disaster with each passing year. You see, the "bigger kids" playground has many more bits that seem like a surefire way to blacken an eye, skin a knee or two and possibly knock out a few of the burgeoning adult teeth as well. I tend to be a bit overly cautious about "spotting" Kiddo on such equipment, between her previous gross motor delays and her klutziness inherent to her SPD (her sense of where her body is in relation to space and everything around it is messed up; fortunately this has gotten better over the years thanks to her OT - there was a time when she couldn't even walk through a doorway without slamming into the edge of it, I kid you not), and a general neurosis about my one and only, precious daughter killing herself in a freak playground accident, well, let's just say I tend to be a bit more hover-y than the average playground parent.
This year, I watched from a greater distance than usual, trying to keep my heart down in my chest and not entirely in my throat as Kiddo dashed about the "bigger kids" play area. I did okay when she was over on this:
and didn't feel the same compulsion to keep a hand on/under her while she scaled this:
and I even stayed well out of "catching" distance while she successfully ran on top of this for the first time in her life -
Now, all of those are spots where I previously would've definitelykept myself within catching/spotting distance in the past. I just do not tend to relax when Kiddo is in a spot where there is such added potential for injury. But, like I said, I'm trying not to be such a helicopter mom and I was trying to back off a bit. By the time Kiddo had worked her way over to the swings, my heart was fully back in my chest and I was mentally patting myself on the back for not hovering and Kiddo surviving anyhow.
Yeah.
Silly me.
Of course the exact moment I relaxed completely, thinking what could happen to Kiddo on the swings? - I mean, she has swings at school and goes on them all the time - she went from this:
to a full-on face-plant right into the mulch. She overbalanced, grabbed at the swing and thusly didn't even have her hands out to protect her. Of course *I* was standing a good 4 feet away, out of swinging feet reach, so I couldn't even dive to save her.
And thus, the first Major Playground Fiasco of the year occurred approximately 36 minutes after Kiddo first set foot on the playground. I was picking her up before she even began crying. Her face was FULL of mulch - mouth, nose, ears, hair. Thank goodness she wears glasses now, because I cringe to think what might've happened to her eyes otherwise. She was dirty, covered in mulch slivers and bleeding, but stayed remarkably calm for one who typically busts out her best mini-diva when injury occurs in public. (And we had an audience, too - the park was pretty crowded for a weekday afternoon, including one threeish year old boy who stood six inches away from us as I was trying to dust off the mulch, rinse out Kiddo's mouth and assess the bleeding and damage levels and repeatedly yelled "WHY IS YOUR KID CRYING?" to me. Even Kiddo gave him a "WTF?!" look through her mulchy tears, I mean, it seemed it should be fairly obvious, even to a 3 year old...) We headed back to the car for a more thorough round of first aid (I keep a well-stocked first aid kit in the van for just such a scenario) and then decided to head home where we could get some ice on her rapidly swelling lips and nose.
Oh yes, the damage level was pretty darn good. Two fat lips, swollen nose and a plethora of scratches, especially on her chin and left cheek. After further medical attention and a cold pack (actually, two) at home, Kiddo posed for what Hubby called a "mug shot" when he saw it:
Oh, my poor, sweet baby. Fortunately, she bounced back quickly enough to kick my butt at a consolation round of Mario Kart Wii, and was back in her typical great spirits by bath and dinner time. Also fortunately, she is a remarkably fast healer, so there is a fairly good chance that she will look mostly normal by morning. (She did wish aloud in the car on the way home from the playground for a playground surface that was softer than mulch. I asked her what she thought would be better, and her answer was "Pillows. I mean, they wouldn't have to be *everywhere* you know, just at the bottoms of things where kids might fall. Or jump. That's all.")
Oh, for the record, I take pictures *every* First Trip to the Playground each spring. For example, here is last year's First Slide and First Seesaw, taken exactly one year ago today (on a day that was clearly much warmer, as looking through the folder of pictures I saw not only short sleeves in abundance, but Kiddo enjoying her first ice cream of the year, which reminds me how nice a day it actually was last April 16th!):
I also found First Seesaw of the Year from 2007 - boy, Kiddo just keeps on growing.....!
I hope that you and yours get a chance to enjoy some nice weather this weekend! (Assuming Mother Nature cooperates in your neck of the woods...) TGIF!!
Want to check out more Phriday Photo Phun? Head on over to Candid Carrie's blog for the Phiesta!!
Well, the big meeting was this morning. I have a small glimmer of hope, or at least I did when we walked out of the school.
For starters, all the wonderful women who actually work with Kiddo (teachers and therapists) were uniform in their feelings about how she is a very smart child who is a delight to work with. (Yeah, I know, that was grammatically incorrect, sorry but my brains, they are fried right now.) It was nice to hear that folks without the parental bias Hubby and I share about how wonderful Kiddo is actually agree on that with us! We also heard that, confirming what we've seen at home, Kiddo is progressing well with both her OT and her PT. So, yay for that.
I was given the floor to speak first at the meeting, since the principal knew I had "many concerns" about things. (Woo, there's understatement of the year number one!) I was concentrating so hard on not throwing up that I lost a lot of my edge. I did take out the document I wrote up last week that detailed the exact timeline of everything to do with Kiddo's IEP - every time they didn't return a call or an email, all the things we were told, all the noncompliance, the lack of doing her sensory diet - but I never handed it to anyone else, I wound up just keeping it for me to refer to once or twice. Ditto the pages Hubby printed out citing the specific state law sections that apply to IEPs which pointed out how egregiously they were out of compliance. (Hmm, guess that means if they're not following the law, they're breaking it, so....... illegal, eh?) I said my piece, including how I found it difficult to understand how we could be ten weeks into the school year and how a simple, 5 step, clearly outlined sensory diet that takes 10 minutes to complete couldn't be successfully completed three times a day. I pointed out that I had seen the occupational therapist train people for this and how she was quite competent at training. Hubby also spoke about how we have been so frustrated with the poor communication on the administrators' end of things. I tried to clarify on that point that this has nothing to do with the actual "front line" staff, specifically Kiddo's teacher, who has gone above and beyond to keep lines of communication open. (At one point, it seemed like certain folks were trying to pin the lack of communication on her, and I didn't go for that one bit. Neither did she. That was the only time anyone tried to lay responsibility for anything on anyone, because neither the principal nor the Special Ed coordinator ever once apologized for any of this whole mess, as apologizing would mean accepting the responsibility for it, if not creating it - which the SpEd lady did by changing the IEP over the summer - and then for perpetuating it and not remedying the situation much more expediently than they did. Well, I mean, than they claim they will now, as it hasn't yet actually been remedied...) I was trying to be careful about what I did say because I certainly did not want to get Kiddo's teacher in trouble, but I wanted to defend her as it was NOT she who didn't call us for over a month!
More tellingly, every single one of the "front line" members of Kiddo's team - the teachers and therapists - concurred and said the same, exact thing: When Kiddo has her sensory diet, she is able to function without difficulty in the classroom. Without her sensory diet, she has difficulty. So, for all that certain people involved would like to chalk this whole mess up to nothing more than us being an overdemanding, difficult parents with unrealistic expectations, there it was, out of the mouths of the professionals sitting at the table: KIDDO NEEDS HER SENSORY DIET and that is ALL that she needs in terms of help/accommodation to be successful. When the principal parroted that back to us after the fourth member of her team had said it? I kinda wanted to barf in her general direction, just a little bit. Because, well, DUH, that is exactly what everyone has been saying since last May at Kiddo's CSE meeting, when we wrote the IEP.
Anyhow, we were given all sorts of promises from the SpEd coordinator and the principal. I think they might even have promised to give me George Clooney's phone number, had I asked for it. The principal went so far as to offer to include me in the interviews for the new position, and she and the SpEd coordinator were full of talk about how they're going to be doing the paperwork TODAY as SOON as the meeting was over and how the interviews would be starting by Wednesday of this week so someone can be trained and on board to start the Monday after Thanksgiving (which is the first day after the current aide leaves). The principal and SpEd coordinator expressed an interest in the book the Special Ed teacher for the school, OT and I mentioned. (I must plug it once again: Sensational Kids: Hope and Help for Children with Sensory Processing Disorder by Lucy Jane Miller, Ph.D, OTR. The best of the books on the topic of SPD.) We also made plans to set another official review meeting for January, once we have had a chance to get the new aide in place and presumably, have Kiddo's IEP actually be in compliance for a few weeks... So, with promises of "we'll keep in touch; I'll email you soon" ringing in our ears, Hubby and I left the school. If they actually do what they say they will, then things will be fine. Of course, the rest of the day passed without hearing from either the principal or the SpEd coordinator, either via email or telephone, so you know, good thing I'm excellent at holding my breath and believing in the impossible...
So, yesterday was day two of Kiddo's new sensory diet aide. (Monday was day one, then Tuesday there was no school.) Well, Kiddo came home bouncing off the walls, which made my afternoon plan of taking Kiddo to the post office and butcher shop with me a bad idea in hindsight. Kiddo went from banging around in line at the PO to literally spinning in circles at the butcher's - way beyond typical 5 year old behavior, we're talking a disregulated sensory system kind of a thing. Behavior that shouldn't be happening with Kiddo getting her complete sensory diet as set in her IEP and for which the aide was hired to administer.
When we got home, I looked in Kiddo's notebook where the aide is supposed to complete the checklist sheet for each part of her sensory diet each time it is done. It was only checked off ONCE. I was more than a little WTF? about it, so I asked Kiddo how many times she had her SD yesterday. She confirmed once in the morning. I hopped on the computer and emailed her teacher to see if I could get confirmation of the SD not being done three times and if there was any explanation as to why, and then later wound up just calling her teacher instead (because, you know, her teacher doesn't exactly linger at school all afternoon and evening waiting for me to email...).
Well, I just heard back from Kiddo's teacher that Kiddo and the notebook were accurate; she only had her SD *once* yesterday.
Now, this aide was specifically hired to work with Kiddo. Her primary job responsibility is to DO THE FLIPPING SENSORY DIET THREE TIMES A DAY. I explained the importance of this to her when I met her Monday morning. Kiddo's OT explained the importance of this to her on Monday morning as well (I was standing right there at the time). I reiterated the importance of it again before I left on Monday. So, how the heck could she NOT DO the MAIN THING she was hired to do on the SECOND DAY of work?!? Kiddo does not need an "aide" aide; by which I mean she doesn't need someone shadowing her every move - she doesn't require that level of assistance. She is eminently capable of doing everything herself outside of the sensory stuff. Yes, the aide is supposed to function as a second set of eyes for the teacher where Kiddo is concerned and provide extra sensory input/support if Kiddo is acting disregulated. (You know, like leaping off the top step of the bus and crashing into me or spinning around in circles and banging into displays at the butcher shop...) That is her secondary job function, with her primary job function being to take Kiddo down to the therapy room not once, not twice, but THRICE a day for her sensory diet.
I am fairly sure that by this point, Kiddo's teacher is just as frustrated as Hubby and I are with this whole thing. I am afraid I'm turning into a thorn in the teacher's side as well, which I so do not want to be - it's just that the teacher is the only one who gives me any information. At the rate we're going, we'll have to get Kiddo's teacher a weeklong trip to Hawaii for the holidays - we're getting way beyond "gift card" level here!
So, now I'm waiting to see how Kiddo is this afternoon. I'm planning to take her outside and let her run herself ragged, as it is nice and sunny again today. I'm hoping she is on an even keel (her teacher did report that Kiddo was on her way for her SD when she emailed me earlier this afternoon) and that she gets her sensory diet completely, as she needs it. As, you know, her IEP says she should, and as, you know, they specifically hired this woman to do.
In the meantime, in lieu of a nice, solid brick wall against which to bang my head repeatedly, I'm going to take some deep breaths and maybe a walk around the block outside myself, because I seriously think I am going slightly mad from all this. How hard is it to follow a kindergartener's IEP??? AAAAAAAAARGH!!
I really, really want to be hopeful and optimistic here. You see, I just got back from meeting the new, supposedly permanent aide that the school has *finally* managed to hire to work with Kiddo for her sensory diet. Today was this woman's first day. She has no actual work experience in terms of providing sensory support to children; from what I hear her last job was a lunchroom monitor position at one of the other district schools. I'm cool with that, after all I didn't have any experience in providing sensory support to children prior to Kiddo either. I am wondering, however, exactly what and how much she was told about this specific position for which she was hired... it sure didn't seem like much when I met with her this morning. The OT (whom I adore - we've been so lucky in the OTs we've worked with over the years) and I demonstrated how to do Kiddo's sensory diet, going through all the steps. I added extra explanation and gave her a nutshell description of SPD - mostly in terms of how it affects Kiddo, and also offered to give the aide some materials on SPD, which she said she'd like, so those will be going to school in Kiddo's backpack on Wednesday. (No school tomorrow.) She does have some personal, life experience with children with special needs, as she told me her son (now an adult) has Tourette's, so that should at least give her some good insight into things.
Why is it, then, that I'm not leaping for joy over this match? Maybe the way that she seemed surprised to hear that Kiddo is not cognitively impaired in any way - because that makes me wonder what she may've been told and how misinformed she was. (Please note: I am in no way denigrating those children who are DD or MR; I only mean to explain that in Kiddo's case, this is not the issue at hand, yet the aide seemed to think it was.) When I explained that Kiddo, for example, is eminently capable of eating her lunch all on her own (this after I witnessed another aide literally spoon-feeding Kiddo her yogurt in the lunchroom the other week, which made my jaw drop, as Kiddo's been able to feed herself since she was a baby) she seemed surprised to hear that news. So, like I said, I wonder exactly what this woman was told in terms of Kiddo's abilities, challenges and needs. I wonder and I worry about how this is going to go.
Kiddo's IEP is very clearly written. The *only* thing for which she needs assistance, and the *only* thing for which the aide is required, is her sensory stuff. This means doing her five step sensory diet (swinging, yoga, body sock, bear walk and deep pressure) three times each day and keeping an eye on Kiddo in the classroom to see if she needs any extra sensory input - things like her air cushion to sit on or putting on her pressure vest. She doesn't need help picking out which crayon to use, or eating her yogurt, or anything else. The fact that this new aide seemed surprised to hear that makes me worry. I don't know if she has a preexisting relationship with any of the staff at the school that may have led to her being misinformed about Kiddo's needs or what. (There certainly are some misconceptions about Kiddo's abilities and needs, despite attempts by her team and I to correct them. This is the actualization of the fear that some folks have about their child being "labeled" as special needs - people assume "special needs" to mean one thing that it doesn't necessarily mean, and can't get past their incorrect preconceptions. I didn't want to be one of those parents who worried about the labels - the goal here is to get Kiddo the support she needs so she can be successful in school. Unfortunately, just because I wanted to be optimistic about the whole "classified/label" issue, there are people who give credence to those concerns, which just makes me want to beat my head against the wall some more.)
I just really hope that she turns out to "get" Kiddo and catches on to her sensory needs quickly. I hope that she *likes* Kiddo and I hope that she has the energy and general wherewithal to work with Kiddo successfully. I hope that this works out, because it is now the ninth week of school and it is high time that the school has someone in place and can finally comply with Kiddo's IEP and meet her needs. I am a little leery that this woman (who was, by my best count, at least the FIFTH person offered the job) was just hired because she was willing to take the job and not necessarily due to her qualifications or because she'll be a good fit in the position or with Kiddo. There, I said it. I'm afraid she is just a willing, warm body so the school can say they are in compliance.
I hate not feeling more hopeful about this. I want this to work, I want this woman to be kind, aware, quick on the uptake, able to do what needs to be done. I want her to "get it" and get Kiddo and be a help and a support so that Kiddo won't have to struggle with a disregulated sensory system in school any more. I want her to be more than a warm body who fills a requirement. I guess I'm not as optimistic as I was the first day of school because of all the nonsense that has occurred since then. (Oh, I didn't even mention that I was NEVER informed by anyone in the administration *or* at the Special Ed office that this woman had been hired and was starting today, and not because I haven't repeatedly asked to be kept informed, either. I found out, once again, from "unofficial" sources who shouldn't have been the first to tell me. Seriously, WTF?) There seems to be a LOT more concern about not getting blamed for the noncompliance, for not taking the heat for the screw-ups than there is for doing what is best for the student with the IEP. That's why I'm worried that this aide wasn't hired for any reason other than to get the school in compliance by having a person in the job. That's why I'm not as optimistic or hopeful as I should be. At the same time, I don't want to prejudge this woman. I don't want a less than stellar first impression and my ongoing issues with the school to color my perspective. To quote Fox Mulder, I want to believe. I want to believe that this woman can handle things, can learn quickly, can do what needs to be done and meet Kiddo's needs. I'm hoping and praying it works out, but I'm just not as hopeful as I might be. *sigh*
I guess there's nothing more I can do but wait and see what happens...
Well, we're two thirds of the way through a three day weekend, and I have lots of odds and ends rattling about in my brain, none of which in and of themselves feel worthy of an entire post. I shall, therefore, collect them all here in what is guaranteed to be a long-n-rambly entry. Without further ado, let the rambling commence!
*** First things first: want some fun-n-exciting bling for your blog? Check out the brand spankin' new button I made over there in my sidebar on the left! You can copy the code to your own blog and be the first on your block to have my spiffy button!
*** Kiddo fell the other morning, on our way to the bus stop. She was, as per usual, ignoring my repeated suggestions that she walk, not run, down the sidewalk and BAM, down she went, tearing a hole in her pants and skinning knees and palms. She was more upset by missing the bus and having to have Mommy drive her to school than she was upset about her injuries. (I was more upset about the ruining of an almost-new pair of khakis, myself.) To cheer her up, I told her the following story, something I'd forgotten about for years but that popped into my mind as I was comforting her and getting her cleaned up:
When I was in kindergarten through second grade, I walked to school along with a group of other children in the neighborhood. One day in mid-October when I was in first grade, my grandmother (who was staying with us as my parents were unavoidably out of town) decided she would drive us instead of having us walk. It was cold and rainy and we had school pictures, so we were all dressed up and looking spiffy. This was a treat regardless of the situation, so the six or seven of us kids gleefully crowded into her old, boat-like sedan. (I'm not sure what the car was - I'd have to ask my dad or my uncle. I just recall it was dark green, large, four door and had those fins on the tail lights that have always struck me as really cool. Remember, this was the mid-70s.) Two girls sat up front, leaving the other four or five of us plus my younger sister to jam into the back seat. This being back in the era before seat belt laws were mandatory and also due to the large number of grade schoolers wedged into the back, none of us were secured by any means other than by being squished in place by our companions. I was on the far right, up against the door. Nana pulled out of our driveway and headed through town to school. As she steered around curves or turned corners, the row of us in the back would sway against each other, and we exaggerated the amount of "tipping" as kids are wont to do in such cases. Well, a little more than halfway to school, we turned and everyone shoved over into me, and the next thing I knew, the door I was pressed up against opened up and I went tumbling out of the car! I landed face down in a drainage ditch full of sodden, muddy leaves at the side of the road. I scrambled up in time to see the door swing shut as Nana completed the turn and then kept on driving. Convinced that she would stop at any second and back up to retrieve me, I stayed put. I was unhurt, but my dress and tights were filthy and I was covered in bits of leaves from my hair on down to my shoes. I was amazed when Nana didn't stop or turn around to come back for me and instead drove on out of sight. I later learned that even though all the girls were screaming for Nana to stop, that I'd fallen out of the car, when she glanced in the rearview mirror, all she saw was that the door was closed and that there were a bunch of heads in her view. She was convinced that we were playing a trick on her and that I was just hiding. It wasn't until she pulled up at the school, several blocks later, that she realized I was not, in fact, still in the car. She dropped off the rest of the girls and circled back to find me, pissed off and shocked beyond tears to have been deserted as I was, standing on the side of the road. She collected me and brought me home to change, and then proceeded to add insult to injury by making me wear an outfit that was not the one my mother had carefully selected before her trip for class picture day, and one that I didn't even much like. Inexorable as my grandmother was, she didn't even have the good grace to either apologize or allow herself to be guilted into a trip to the 5 & 10 for consolation candy, either.
Kiddo was shocked by this story, mostly by the fact that none of us had seatbelts or were in booster seats like the first graders she knows use today. It was one of the first times that she ever truly seemed to get the concept of "back in the day" - to her the seventies are the equivalent of Little House on the Prairie to me, I guess!
*** We've been enjoying some serious Indian summer weather this weekend, so how did Kiddo and I take advantage of it today? By going to the movies, of course! (In my defense, we were outside for a good portion of the day yesterday and plan to be outside all day tomorrow as well, and she played in the back yard for a decent amount of time today too.) Hubby had some work to do (being in the financial services industry, needless to say, there is never an end to the work in these ridiculous and scary economic times), so I took Kiddo over to the local IMAX theater where the movie Dolphins and Whales 3D: Tribes of the Ocean is playing to give him some peace and quiet in which to concentrate on his work. I'd seen an ad for it in the paper earlier in the week, and Kiddo is all into 3D movies after our trip to Disney World, where we saw "the Donald Duck movie" and the Muppets 3D movie more than once, so I thought this would be a cool, albeit expensive, thing to check out. Turns out it was indeed cool - at times it seemed like the gigantic whales were coming right at us and we really got the feeling of being underwater with the various animals - and educational as well. The fact that stuck with Kiddo the most? Manatees, due to their diet consisting mainly of vegetation, are very flatulent creatures. Yes, we were treated to the sight of manatees farting (oh sorry, "tooting" in Kiddo parlance) underwater, in glorious, 3D technicolor. The gas bubbles - they're coming right at us! (And yes, Kiddo tried to pop the bubbles, as she also reached out to pet various dolphins and whales and she even squeaked back in "dolphin talk" to the pods on the screen a few times.)
*** Kiddo broke her glasses on Friday. I'm not sure when the actual breaking occurred, but while she was washing up before dinner, she looked down at her hands and - clink! - a lens popped out. The frame itself was broken, right at the temple, which is a first. I chose these specific frames for their super-bendy properties, and as we've been in to the optician's office about once a week since August when she got her glasses for adjustments, I think it was a good investment since this was the first actual break. Luckily for us, the frames are under warranty so replacing them will only cost us $5, and even luckier, the optician put Kiddo's lenses into one of the "demo" frames so she has glasses to wear in the interim. The loaner pair were the runner-up choice when Kiddo was picking out her frames; they're the same frames except in purple (hers are pink) and seeing them on her as we have since yesterday morning, I'm very happy we did choose the pink, as the purple are much more "HELLO! WE'RE HERE! ON KIDDO'S FACE! YOO-HOO!" than her regular frames. Once we find out if she will need glasses for the long term (we go back to the eye doc next month), I think I'll get a spare pair for a back-up just in case they can't do a loaner pair the next time her frames break. I remember all too well from my own childhood how often glasses break, so I'm sure there will be a next time!
*** I'm presently in reality TV heaven, with my three favorite reality shows all on right now. I am addicted to The Amazing Race (and seriously, are these teams the stupidest contestants ever on the current race? The mistakes they make, it's like they've never seen the show before - read the flippin' clues, folks, yeesh!), Project Runway (I'm totally rooting for Leanne and absolutely cannot stand Kenley) and America's Next Top Model (McKey is my favorite, though Marjorie and Elina are both possible contenders). I'd love to do The Amazing Race, but never, ever could. Number one, I'm not in nearly good enough shape; number two, I have that whole issue with heights which always is at least one of the Detours or Road Blocks; and number three - the big one - I couldn't bear to be away from Kiddo for a whole month (I don't think they allow families to join teams down in Sequesterville, so even if we were the first team eliminated, I still wouldn't see her for way too long). Maybe if they do another Family Edition someday, the three of us could compete together...
*** Just so you don't think my brain is entirely rotted by reality TV viewing, I've been reading, too - grown-up books, not just my beloved Entertainment Weekly and Ramona the Pest (Kiddo's developed a penchant for "chapter" books thanks to her kindergarten teacher reading them Junie B. Jones books at school). The book I'm reading right now is quite interesting - My Lobotomy: A Memoir. (The link takes you to an NPR story about the author.) As the title says, the book is the memoir of a man who had a lobotomy as a child, and as an adult, gained access to his medical records while on a quest to learn why he was lobotomized (there was no valid reason, his stepmother who hated him was the driving force behind the whole idea!) and how his father could have let it happen. It is hard to read in some places, but from the preface, I know there will be a good outcome at the end - as good an outcome as there can be for someone who had to endure such a horrible miscarriage of medicine and justice, so I'm going to finish it.
*** Last week, Kiddo went on her first kindergarten field trip, and I was one of the moms who chaperoned. (The other two chaperones are the class moms, and boy, was I bummed to learn that I'd missed out on the opportunity to be the class mom myself! I totally wanted to be the classroom parent - actually, I'd always dreamed that I would be the classroom parent when my children were in school, the way my mom was for me and for my sisters when we were little.) Anyhow, we were standing in the classroom while the kids were sitting at their tables before the field trip, and one of the other moms asked me which kid was mine. I pointed Kiddo out to her and she looked from Kiddo to me, then said "Oh yes, you two look like each other, I should've been able to figure it out." I responded "Well, it's actually purely coincidental that we resemble each other at all, because Kiddo was adopted." I didn't say this with any snark or tone, mind you, I said it easily with a smile on my face, but sure enough, the other mom looked quite discomfited by hearing this and began to stumble over herself in an attempt to correct what she perceived to be her faux pas. As I sincerely took no offense and didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable, I went on to say that I too was adopted, and growing up, I didn't in fact resemble my family - they're all tall, light haired, light eyed WASPy looking people, and I'm not particularly tall, and am dark haired and dark eyed. I also told her that Kiddo's birthmother and I have some resemblance to each other, and that even though Hubby and I were completely prepared for our child to not resemble either of us at all, by pure chance, we do "blend" as a family. I mean, no one has ever questioned whether she is our child or commented on Kiddo not looking like she "matches" us, anyhow... So, I tried to put her at ease, but I guess the larger world is still unused to the world of adoption and views it therefore as some Big Deal, so as soon as she could, she excused herself and went to the other side of the room, and then didn't really speak to me directly again the rest of the day.
Here's the thing: it isn't a Big Deal. I grew up with this, the "sticky issue" of genes and resemblance, and I know it can make people uncomfortable to discuss. But, what is the alternative? Should I just have nodded and changed the subject? Ignored the comment altogether? Lied? I don't think so. Throughout my life as an adoptee, I never avoided the subject when it came up, and I refuse to treat it like the elephant in the room it can otherwise become. So, since Kiddo was born, I've chosen to always take the honest route, even if it is the less comfortable route, and give credit where credit is due. (Kiddo certainly does NOT get her artistic abilities from me, for example, but from her birthfather, who is quite talented artistically. Likewise, her gorgeous brown eyes, while they may look similar to my own, come from her birthmother, who looked like a cross between Catherine Zeta-Jones and Valerie Bertinelli back when Kiddo was born.) I don't want Kiddo growing up thinking that there's anything wrong with her genes, wrong with her heritage. I guess I haven't figured out the proper amount of finesse yet, but I will continue to be open about giving credit where credit is due when it comes to Kiddo's biological family - they are the ones who created her as she is, after all.
*** Finally, thanks to everyone for your comments of support and encouragement with the ongoing struggle to ensure Kiddo's needs are being met per her IEP at school. The latest is that I've been assured that there will be a temporary sub who will be trained by Kiddo's occupational therapist in the classroom for the coming week to do her sensory diet, and then the permanent person is supposed to start next week. I've been asked to come to school next Monday morning to meet with the OT and the new aide to make sure everyone's on the same page about what needs to be done for her sensory diet. I didn't think it was so vague or unclear, what with it being spelled out step by step and having a checklist and all, but apparently the lack of compliance with the IEP is being chalked up to a "miscommunication issue" between me, the annoying parent, and the school/school district. I'm a little annoyed (as befits my title, right?) about the buck-passing and refusal to accept responsibility that is going on at their end. I'm frustrated because they really seem more concerned about not getting in trouble or taking the blame for the noncompliance, rather than being concerned about failing the children for whom they are responsible, which should be the priority, you know... it really isn't a miscommunication at all, but whatever - so long as Kiddo's needs are being met, that's all that matters. Right?
Okay, that's enough for now. I guess this was enough for a couple separate posts - hope your eyes aren't crossing with fatigue! I'll end by saying keep an eye out for my blog on Tuesday when I'll be taking part in something exciting that is happening over at the fantabulous SITS - it's going to be wild and even includes chance to win an autographed picture of George Clooney, be still, my beating heart!
Today is officially the end of an era, the closing of a chapter in my life. Kiddo starts kindergarten tomorrow, which is full day. She will be getting on the school bus at 8:10 and not be home until 3:22. Yes, she has been in preschool for the past two years, and last year she went five days a week, but it wasn't the same - preschool was just 2.5 hours a day and I drove her, so I was there for every drop off and pick up. From here on out, she is officially a Big Kid, a kid who waves goodbye and hops on a school bus without a backwards glance, no longer part of the Mommy-and-Kiddo team that we've been since she first came home from the hospital at 15 days old. I am really, really sad about this. (Seriously - I've got tears in my eyes just writing this.) I know that every chapter ending is a new chapter beginning, and this next one will be a long one - thirteen years or so - but this is the first significant change to our life, and especially with Kiddo being my one and only, I'm really feeling it.
It doesn't help matters that Kiddo developed a runny nose yesterday that this morning appears to be a full-on cold. I blame the airplane ride on Sunday - three hours of breathing recirculated air is something that all the Purell in the world can't combat - but dagnabit, I didn't want her first day of school to come with Niagara Falls Nostrils! Ew! I debated letting her sleep in this morning because of the germies, but opted to wake her up at 6:30 because she will have to get up early tomorrow for school. (Ordinarily she is up by 6:30 on her own.) Hopefully the excitement of the first day of school will counteract any germ-induced sleepiness or crankiness tomorrow...
This morning, we're going over to school as we missed the big Check Out the Classroom and Meet the Teacher day last week since we were in Florida. Kiddo will get to meet her teacher and the aide who will be providing her sensory diet three times a day, and I will have a chance to go over the sensory diet with them, as well as hopefully with Kiddo's new OT. I'd asked to meet with the OT and PT as well as the teacher, but my one email account is giving me problems so the emails I'd sent a few weeks ago never got to the teacher (and presumably the principal, with whom I also spoke about meeting), so this is all happening on shorter notice than I'd wanted. Thank goodness her teacher was willing to spend a week playing voicemail tag with me while we were in Disney World, or we wouldn't even have this morning's meeting set up.
Kiddo and I went to the butcher shop yesterday and picked up some cold cuts and cheese for her school lunches (she'll be brown-bagging it, or more accurately, pink bagging it) and per her request, she'll be bringing a bologna (ick) and provolone sandwich on whole wheat tomorrow. This is the first time I've ever bought bologna, as I can't stand the stuff, but I figured she should have whatever she would be most likely to eat as she'll be eating on her own without Mommy watching to make sure food is actually going into her body. So, her first day of school meal will be the aforementioned bologna sandwich, green grapes, pretzels, a cheese stick and water (she prefers water to juice). I'm going to put money into her school cafeteria account so that she can get milk at school. If we have time this afternoon, I may bake cookies so she has a cookie for dessert tomorrow... All her school supplies are labeled and packed and ready to go in to her cubby this morning, I've got an outfit in mind for her to wear tomorrow, her bus pass came in the mail while we were gone so we got that with yesterday's mail bonanza (we sure get a lot of mail in one week), and we're all set and ready to go tomorrow.
One day more, wow. It's going to be hard to get through today and tonight - for ME, not her. I've got choir rehearsal tonight so I won't be home for bedtime, which is probably a good thing. Hubby is much more calm and less emotional about this than this pathetic, emotional puddle of goo I've turned into in the past few days! I just hope I manage to not cry in front of Kiddo - it will take a lot of will to keep the tears at bay in the morning!
Oh, I'm so pathetic. I don't recall my parents being sad over any of our first days of school, though my dad told me yesterday that it was. I'm the wimpiest Mommy ever, I think! I'm sure that a few years from now, I'll be doing that Staples commercial "Most Wonderful Time of the Year" dance when the first day of school rolls around, but for now? This is my baby, how can she be such a big kid? Where have the past five years gone?
I can't wait until tomorrow is over, as much as I wish it never would come...
This is the kiddo inside a "Body Sox" during her OT session today. (I happened to stay through her OT session and was messing around with my new camera, so this is a sort of "two birds with one stone" thing - Look! A picture from the new camera! Look! A picture of the kiddo!) This is a great way for her to get her system regulated and calmed, and I'm really glad her (amazing, wonderful, can't speak highly enough about) OT for this summer has one and uses it.
What? You aren't satisfied with that picture of Kiddo? Okay, here's one more:
Seriously though, I'm not planning on posting any good, identifying sort of pictures of Kiddo here on the blog for the whole, wide world to see (and I get hits from every last corner of the globe, too) but if you're jonesing for more pictures of the light of my life, shoot me an email and I can hook you up with my albums over at Facebook. (Unless you are a weirdo of the pervy sort, in which case, sorry, or if you already are a Facebook friend o' mine, in which case you can see all the albums already.) And it must be said, my kid is seriously cute. Yeah, I'm biased but in this case, it's just plain fact. Plus, her new glasses? Flippin' adorable. She got them today and thankfully, she loves them (so far) and hasn't given us any grief about wearing them. Whew. Now let's just hope that they work so she won't need eye surgery!
I have to take the kiddo to an eye doctor appointment today. This is not her first time going to the eye doctor (actually that is why I'm more than a wee bit frazzled at the thought - Experience, she is a good teacher) but it is the first time going to this particular eye doctor, so there is also a bit of "fear of the unknown" added into the mix.
You see, the kiddo? Not such a good eye patient. This despite having accompanied me to many eye doctor visits (when I was dealing with my horrific eye malady over the past year) and having seen Mommy being brave and calm and not freaking out at all over more horrible eye examining than she ever would be subjected to in her own exam. When she's watching me as the patient, the kiddo is positively fascinated. She's also helpful, pitching in to read the lines on the eye chart for me so I don't have to and asking me "better? worse? One or Two?" She always wants a turn looking through the doctor's side of the machinery (he's never let her though) and loves to play with the giant, 3D eyeball model in the exam room. (Whoops, where'd that cornea go?) When my exam is done, she climbs up into the chair requesting a turn, even. Oh yes, she looooves going to the eye doctor... as long as she isn't actually the patient.
Unfortunately, the kiddo seems to be having problems with her vision and thus we are headed to the eye doctor again. This is actually a second opinion visit; we just suffered through her routine check-up two months ago. She's been going to the eye doctor since she was an infant; Hubby and I thought that her eyes weren't quite lining up and focusing in the same direction and the pediatrician thought he saw what we thought we saw, so eye exams are old hat to her by now. (There also is a family history of eye issues on her birthfather's side, which added to our concern.) The eye doctor we've taken her to for the past five years has consistently reassured us that there is nothing wrong with her vision beyond being slightly farsighted (not enough to require correction), and that what we see when we think her eyes are wonky is merely an optical illusion caused by the fact that her eyes are shaped slightly differently. We've always accepted this and felt reassured, but earlier this summer, Kiddo's occupational therapist shared with me her concerns about the kiddo's vision, specifically that she has noticed Kiddo is squinting "a lot" and that her tracking seems to be off, especially in the one eye. (That'd be the same eye that we thought wasn't quite in tune with its mate back when she was a baby...) So, I got a referral to a new pediatric eye doc and made the appointment. Which is for today. Which is why I'm filled with such anticipatory dread right now.
Two months ago, Kiddo was all about telling me how much she was looking forward to it being her turn to go to the eye doctor. "I'm such a brave, big girl, Mommy!" (famous last words) she kept telling me. "I don't even CARE about the eye drops!" "It is MY turn to read the letters, Mommy, so you have to be quiet!" "I get to sit in the chair today!" It was all good until the eye drop bottle came out. Then, as always, things got ugly.
Have I mentioned that my kid is that kid when you're at the doctor? Yeah, I thought so... Well, she's that kid at the eye doctor, too. The one who is screaming SO loudly that you think surely they're stabbing her with hot pokers, if not plucking out her nasal hairs one at a time or doing that horrible finger torture they did to my beloved George Clooney in Syriana. All over the eye drops - things she sees me putting into my own eyes twice a day (down from six times a day, and she saw that too). And her eye doctor is a pediatric specialist, so his office is a child's paradise - toys, toys, and more toys! Flat screen TVs on every wall (which always seem to be playing one of the Shrek movies, something Kiddo hasn't been allowed to watch at home yet, so there's the thrill of the forbidden too)! Overflowing candy dishes on the receptionist's desk AND in the exam rooms! None of that matters to her once that tiny, little bottle comes into view.
Needless to say, I'm not looking forward to this morning's trip. I will feel obliged to warn the doctor (sotto voce) that she doesn't take well to the eye drops, so if they have a soundproof exam room, they should put us in it. I've been working on a list of bribes - erm, I mean rewards, too - things I'll gladly promise the kiddo if only she doesn't scream. If only she cooperates. If only she'll be good. Oh please, let today be the day that she is good. Ice cream for dinner! Play Doh in her bedroom! Two TV shows tonight! Anything, just please, no screaming! I am so not above trying to induce good behavior via lavish bribes in situations like this...
So, if you hear a piercing shriek echoing across the Great Lakes in a few hours, you'll know the source. I apologize in advance for any eardrums that may be ruptured. I'm also fervently hoping that this second opinion agrees with her regular eye doctor and there is no problem... Fingers crossed!
First, some background. About 20 years ago, my parents went to Germany for a week, leaving me, the Oldest Daughter, in charge of my younger siblings and the various critters who dwelled with us on the farm. It was the first time my parents had gone overseas without getting some sort of More Responsible, Older Person to stay with us. I had my driver's license, I'd already worked as a nanny for other people - yes, other people had paid me to take care of their kids! - so I was deemed mature and responsible enough that they decided to leave me in charge.
Not two hours after we stood waving in the driveway as my parents drove off to the airport, I had my first crisis as Commander in Chief. My then 11 year old sister came downstairs in nothing but a towel, dripping wet, and very calmly said "Um, Heath? I think we need to go to the Emergency Room." I took in the sight and at first decided she was pulling my leg, as she didn't appear to be injured and she was, as I said, very calm. She then showed me the hand she had wrapped in a second towel, more specifically the finger that was spouting blood on that hand. Turns out she'd tripped getting out of the (stall) shower and had sliced her finger open but good - from nailbed almost all the way down its length - on the metal lip at the bottom of the shower door. This would definitely require more than a Band Aid or four.
So, we headed off to the ER. Her hand required multiple stitches and a bit of extraneous jabbing with a syringe for irrigation/cleaning and then numbing to boot. My sister remained very calm throughout this adventure - she actually handled the needles jabbing into her finger (and I swear I could see bone at one point, though that might've been my admittedly overactive imagination) better than I did. I had to look away even as I tried to be brave on her behalf, holding her non-injured hand as she lay on the gurney being treated. One huge bandage later, we were on our way home, with me plotting how best to break this news to my parents when we heard from them. (Just because this was entirely an accident and I wasn't even on the same floor as my sister when it occurred was no reason for my parents not to somehow blame me for this happening on my watch. You know how parents can be utterly irrational at times...) I was dreading their call the next day, but it went quite well. They were concerned, of course, about my sister but reassured that everything was taken care of and all would be well. I was thanking my lucky stars from start to finish - from the no tears (on my sister's part, anyhow) at the ER to the no overseas histrionics from my parents. Whew. I was pretty sure I'd dodged a bullet, and I was thrilled.
I told you about all that so that now I can tell you this... Yesterday, that bullet finally boomeranged its way around and hurtled through time to strike me firmly in the butt. This was not how I'd planned my day, with karmic retribution from two decades ago, but there you have it.
You see, I had a lovely day planned for the kiddo and myself yesterday. First, she had her summer program - aka "farm school" - followed by an OT session (and by the by, I adore her occupational therapist. Adore. She also was Kiddo's therapist last summer and she is utterly fantabulous) after which I collected her with "car picnic" at the ready and bottles of water chilling in the cooler. The plan was to head downtown and meet up with the kiddo's best friends for a playdate at a playground we hadn't been to before. (Didja hear that distant warning bell? Yeah, not me...) We chose this playground for its proximity to our friends' previous engagement that day as well as for its sorta-kinda-midway point location between their home and ours. Considering I spent over $70 for gas yesterday - first time I've topped $70 and my tank was almost empty at the time... - I was fine with checking out a new place to play that didn't mean one or the other of us hauling our minivans across the county.
So, we arrived at the playground at the appointed hour. It wasn't as large as I remembered from driving by it in the past, and it was wooden. (Yep, that was a much louder warning bell. Big Ben, even. I did hear that one, but I opted to ignore it.) Well, the base of it was wood, but the slides and ladders and whatnot were the standard plastic or plastic-coated metal, so I figured it should be okay.
I am not kidding you when I say it wasn't even a full minute after Kiddo climbed up onto the first tier of the playground that she was back at my side, holding out her right hand. She had, naturally, wiped out while jumping from one level to another. This is par for the course, and true to form, she was barely crying. It's partially due to her SPD, but also she's a tough cookie, not prone to easy tears when injured. She did, however, want a bandage for her hand (she's a Band Aid junkie), which looked to be dirty and also scraped at a first glance. We trotted over to the car, where I keep a first aid kit, and I proceeded to try to clean off and Bactine the wound before slapping the bandage over it. Upon the slightly closer inspection that Kiddo allowed, I saw what appeared to be splinters in her palm. Crap. Well, I wasn't about to drive straight home just for what would invariably be an agonizing splinter removal process (and oh, I didn't know the half of it yet), so I Bactined the heck out of her palm and then covered the whole area up with a bandage and we rejoined our friends.
Now, at this point, Kiddo had more sense than I did. She refused to go back onto the "old, bad playground" and as it was midday and ridiculously hot and un-shady, we grown-ups concurred. We bagged the playground plan, went to a nearby Wendy's for itty-bitty Frosties instead and then headed for our respective homes. When we arrived at home, I decided the time was right to deal with the palm situation. I told Kiddo that once we took care of her boo-boo, we'd throw on our swimsuits and head up to the pool at the camp. Ha.
Once in the nice, strong light of the bathroom, as the kiddo moaned and groaned her way through a more thorough washing of her rather grimy hands, I realized that what I'd initially thought were two splinters and a lot of dirt were many splinters. Many large, deeply embedded splinters. Like more than half a dozen. And the scrape that I had Bactined so optimistically back at the playground? It was not just a cut, but a ravine full of splinters. Oh crap. It also looked red and swollen and Kiddo was complaining that "this boo-boo really HURTS, Mommy." Not good at all. I could see the ends of two of the splinters above the surface, so I quickly grabbed the tweezers.
And this is the point at which Kiddo freaked the heck out. Now, I am a drama queen. It's true. I can pitch a hissy fit with the best of them. I can out-drama Meryl Streep in her Sophie's Choiciest moment when I feel the need. So I suppose it is only fitting that my kid would be capable of making my Streeping look positively Jessica-Simpson-in-The-Dukes-of-Hazzardian. (I've only seen brief snippets of TDoH movie on HBO in passing, but whew, she sure seemed to stink.) It certainly didn't help that Kiddo had a Splintery Badness experience just three short weeks ago, when it took Hubby, my mom and me teamed up over an hour and a half to remove three splinters from her foot. In the next twenty minutes, I managed to extract exactly one of the protruding splinters. This, as Kiddo screamed and squalled and worked herself up to the point of near-barfing. After the first splinter came out and Kiddo clutched her palm into a fist so tight that she could've turned coal into diamonds, I realized there was NO way I was going to get the rest of them out. Not on my own, anyhow, and Hubby had a softball double-header on his agenda that would mean he would not be home until quite late. As Kiddo alternately clutched at my legs and ran screaming from the room, all at top decibel levels (thank goodness the windows were closed due to the AC being on), I did the only thing I could think of: I called the pediatrician's office. An hour later, we were on our way. Kiddo had brought herself marginally under control by then, though the tear streaked face ("Don't wipe off my teeeeeeears, Mommy! I'm not done with them yeeeeeeet!!") under ominously furrowed brow, choppy breathing and still tightly clutched fist warned that this calm was just an illusion.
Our pediatrician wasn't available, but I'd told the receptionist (over the kiddo's wails) that we'd see anyone. Anyone who could get these splinters out would be fine, thanks. I didn't care if it was one of the billing ladies, frankly, I just wanted someone professional, someone affiliated with a medical office, to take care of this bad, bad situation. So, we saw the head doc of the group. He's been a doctor longer than I've been alive, and I dare say that he's seen his share of child hysterics. He examined her palm as she sat up on the table, then left and came back with his Implements of Torture and Destruction. He angled a bright light over her hand, strapped on these gigantic, magnifying glasses and got ready to get busy on the splinter removal.
I had been hoping that they'd have some sort of numbing agent they could use, but alas, it wasn't the case. I didn't even have a chance to ask him about this possibility, because the exact second he picked up the first pair of tweezers (and they were twice the size of mine with a sharply angled end, so they were far more eeeevil looking than Mommy's tweezers at home) she went nuts. The screaming was louder than a jet engine at close range. Mainly howling, it also had the occasional "NOOOO!" or "YOU'RE SO MEAN!" or "LEAVE ME ALONE! BAD DOCTOR! I WANT TO KEEEEEEEP MY SPLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINTERS!!" thrown in for added effect.
You know how when you're at the doctor's office and you hear some kid crying in one of the exam rooms, while you may sympathize with that kid's parent, you are also relieved and glad that it isn't YOUR kid making that noise? Yeah, that was my kid yesterday. It wasn't just the volume of her screams, either. It was the length that they went on, unceasingly, whether the doctor was actually touching her hand or not. He quickly decided that she shouldn't remain on the table, but rather sit in my lap, so with Mommy the Human Straitjacket attempting to hold her three uninjured limbs still and keep her from blowing ferocious raspberries on the doctor, he held her other hand in a death grip as he did his thing.
It was somewhere during this period of pure hell that I wondered why they don't have at least one soundproof room at the pediatrician's office, or at the very least some acoustical tiles to deaden sound. Within the next hour, the doc removed almost all of the evil, long, deeply embedded splinters. He gave up shortly after the second time she caught him in The Place Men Never, Ever Want to Be Kicked, Ever with a flailing foot. (She wasn't aiming, just thrashing about. Not that his groin area appreciated the difference.) He told me that the remaining splinters were superficial enough that they should work themselves out without incident, and that it wasn't worth, and I quote, "torturing us all any further" to try to remove them too. After a hefty application of polysporin and a character Band Aid slapped over her palm, he assured me that today's wooden playgrounds aren't made "of the bad stuff" anymore, so he was fairly sure that her hand wouldn't get infected, but to keep it clean and covered in polysporin and bandages 'til it healed. Then he fled the room, likely to hide under his desk and dictate a retirement letter, possibly while availing himself of an ice pack or two.
As soon as the door closed, the hysteria ceased. Kiddo is that good - as quickly as she can turn it on and ramp it up to DefCon 1, she can shut it back off. As we headed down the hall to the exit, all the other people left in the office fell silent. The nurses were standing about in groups, clearly talking about the Screams Like They'd Never Heard Before. A few of them, barely able to contain their amusement, asked Kiddo how she was. "I had splinters in my hand from the bad, old playground, but Doctor X took them out and I was SO VERY BRAVE" she replied, without batting an eyelash. That did it - the nurses were doubled over in paroxysms of laughter as we rounded the corner for the check-out desk. I have never paid a copay more quickly - I practically flung my Visa at the clerk, and I couldn't bear to make eye contact with any of the other people in the waiting area. Kiddo was cheerfully picking out her sticker of choice from the basket and telling the billing ladies about Ectobert, her lion (who had accompanied us for this excursion), without a single smidgen of embarrassment about her previous behavior. That's the thing about my little drama queen - she gets over it pretty quickly without holding a grudge. Well, except against the playground, anyhow - as soon as we got home, she insisted on calling her friends with whom we'd made the unfortunate playdate and informing them that we must NEVER go back to that playground again.
(Oh, and the character bandage the doctor applied to her hand? It was a Looney Tunes bandage covered with the Tasmanian Devil. Now, you might think Kiddo is deprived, but we've never let her watch Looney Tunes. Even though I myself would watch Bugs and crew every Saturday morning as a child - mostly because that was the channel that also would play Schoolhouse Rock rather than because we were diehard Bugs or Daffy or Wily E. fans - as an adult, I don't feel it is appropriate viewing for the kiddo yet. Too violent and un-socially redeeming. Call me puritanical if you must........ Anyhow, she looked at the bandage and inquired "Who is that mean guy?" So, I explained he is Taz, the Tasmanian Devil and that he is silly, not mean. She said "Why is he shouting with his mouth open and all his teeth out?" Because, you know, he was being all Taz-y on the bandage. I explained that he doesn't talk as much as yell "AAAAAAAH!" and spin around in circles, really fast. (You try doing a decent Taz impression after holding onto the Most Squalling Kiddo Ever through a procedure for which she was behaving as if instead of wielding tweezers on her palm, the doctor were winding her intestines onto a rack ala the finale of Braveheart...) Well, that wasn't good enough for the kiddo, and as soon as we got into the car, she requested that the bandage be replaced, as obviously Taz "isn't kind" - she was shocked that the doctor would have bandages featuring such a mean guy, but too polite to reject it on the spot. And seriously, how many kids her age really are that well acquainted with the Looney Tunes crew? Are they even on TV any more? Would it kill the pediatrician's office to stock more commonly recognized character bandages, like Curious George, Dora, Diego, Backyardigans....?)
So, we got home, the reverberations of her yells still pounding in my brain. I'm really, really hoping that the remaining splinters (there's actually one larger one and a few, scattered much smaller ones, I just noticed upon bandage-replacing inspection) do work their way out and not get infected. Because if we have to go back to the doctor for further splinter removal, I'm going to be requesting drugs. I don't care which one of us they knock out, but there's no way I'm going through that again without either Kiddo or me being unconscious.
I am swearing, right here, right now, a solemn vow never, ever to let the kiddo near a wooden playset again. Ever. In the meantime, karma caught up with me with interest, as clearly all the caterwauling from yesterday was psychic payback for getting off the hook so easily all those years ago when my sister sliced open her finger. So, at least I'm back to even now, right?
In the wee, small hours of this morning, the kiddo came in to our bedroom to announce that she had just thrown up. She was carrying the "barf bucket" that we'd set next to her pillow last night at bedtime, and sure enough, the paper towels lining the blue, Tupperware bowl were no longer pristine.
Naturally, no parent ever particularly wants to hear the words "I'm going to throw up!" or "I just threw up!" spoken by their child, especially when those words rouse them from a nice, quiet sleep. This invariably leads to a scene similar to the one that has now occurred twice in our household in recent hours: one parent grimly stripping down bed linens, checking stuffed animals for spatter, marching down to the washer with the assorted contaminated items and then scrubbing up the spots on the carpet while the other (looking equally grim) waits for the barfing to subside, provides the necessary comforting and calming (which may involve getting spattered or doused oneself) then strips and cleans up the kiddo, usually involving a shower, thorough tooth-brushing and complete change o' jammies.
There is some good news to the barfing announcement in our family, however. You see, there was a time not too long ago when our kiddo couldn't tell that she was throwing up, either before, during or after the act. The first time she ever threw up (like from a stomach bug, I mean, not just like spitting up as an infant), she was about 16 months old, and she had been sitting on the floor playing with some toys while I sat on the couch a short distance away. She got up, came over to me, and said in this confused and questioning-y sort of way "Mommmmmmmy?" and then proceeded to vomit all over my lap, the couch and herself. She then turned back around, completely calm, and returned to the spot on the floor where she'd been playing, while I sat stunned and dripping. As I was trying to figure out the best way to get to the necessary cleaning supplies - this was going to require a LOT of paper towels at the least - she turned her head to the side and vomited again. (Isn't it weird how a kid can barely have anything in their system, yet somehow manage to yack up gallons upon gallons of stuff that doesn't even resemble anything they had eaten in recent memory?) Once again, she was utterly calm and not in the least concerned about the volcanic eruptions pouring forth from her mouth. She barfed and then went right back to her blocks, wholly unfazed. It was just....weird. No tears, not the least bit upset, certainly not any sort of reaction I'd ever witnessed in a person involuntarily vomiting before.
In the years that followed that first vomiting episode, the kiddo had a few other stomach bugs. As with that first time, she never seemed aware of or bothered by them. More than once, we didn't discover she'd thrown up until the next morning, when we'd walk in to find her sleeping soundly in a bed covered in hours-old, drying ick. (I warned ya - this post is not for the squeamish!) It still seemed odd that throwing up would rank so low on the "child upset-o-meter" but it was the way it was.
It wasn't until the kiddo was three and a half that we learned why she was so under-responsive to the whole vomiting thing. It was at this point that we had her evaluated by an occupational therapist and learned that our kiddo has Sensory Integration Dysfunction, nowadays more commonly known as Sensory Processing Disorder. Basically, this means that her brain doesn't process the information it receives through the various senses in quite the right way. In her case, the kiddo is a sensory seeker, who tends to be under-responsive to sensory stimuli. This would include the "oh my goodness I'm about to barf!" sense. Another, less icky example is that for the longest time, the kiddo's brain didn't register the sensation of being dizzy. She could (and would) spin and spin and spin and never feel dizzy, even when her body would physically react the way anyone's would after such spinning around. She'd be weaving like a drunken sailor and still want to spin (or be spun) some more.
When we first learned of this diagnosis, I did a crash course on SPD. I read every book I could get my hands on about the topic. (If you're interested in learning more about it, my favorite book on the subject is Sensational Kids: Hope and Help for Children with Sensory Processing Disorder by Lucy Jane Miller, PhD. Well written and not too dry, it is comprehensive and easy to read without getting caught up in technical terminology or highly academic language that would go over the average reader's head.) Not every person with SPD has the same issues. Some people go the other way of our kiddo - they are hyper-responsive instead of under-responsive, whether it be to the way clothing feels on their body to noises or lights or commotion. In our world, though, we've got a classic example of a sensory seeker. The kiddo needs more (in some cases, waaaay more) sensory input than the average person to be able to register the different sensations properly. This, as you can imagine, led to some difficulties for her, especially once she was out in the world outside our home (like, say, preschool or church or a shopping mall).
The good news is that occupational therapy is doing wonderful things for the kiddo. In just over a year of OT, she has made some huge improvements. They say that there is the possibility for the brain to "rewire" itself to a certain degree when kids with SPD receive the appropriate OT type help, and we can see that this is true. One example is that now when the kiddo spins and spins, eventually she feels dizzy. Yes, it still takes her brain a lot longer than the average person to recognize the sensation, but two years ago that sensation wasn't there at all. Also, the barfing - she now feels that horrible "I'm gonna barf" feeling, often times with enough advance notice to make it to the bathroom or the barf bucket, and to alert us to the coming ick.
They say that one in every twenty children has some form of SPD. They are finding that many children on the autism spectrum have SPD (though not all children with SPD are on the autism spectrum). Even with this prevalence of SPD, it is still a largely unknown, under-researched and understudied disorder, though there are a few places out there trying to change that. There are people out there too, though, some of them "experts" even, who don't believe that SPD is real, or who think that it is a lot of hype - that the folks who are talking about it are making it up, or blowing "bad behavior" out of proportion, and others who think this is just the "new ADD" or something, like a fad or the latest train to jump on - the latest excuse parents use for the less-than-perfect-appearing behavior of their coddled child(ren). (The kiddo even was evaluated by an occupational therapist who didn't "believe" in SPD and gave us a line of hooey about what the kiddo's supposed issues were. While we knew enough at the time to know that she was full of crap, we still wound up losing several months of OT time because of her, and yes, I'm still angry about that more than two years later.)
To those people, those detractors or disbelievers who think that SPD is a load of bull, well, I say take a look at my child. Look at how she was two years ago, and look at her now. There is no denying the signs, the behaviors and the improvements since she began OT. Otherwise, we never would've gotten that early morning wake-up call about the barfing today. I hope that someday in the not-too-distant future, people know and understand SPD the way they do ADD or dyslexia or any other number of issues that impact children in their formative years, but for now I'm just glad that we know about it and that the kiddo is getting the appropriate services to help her with it and hopefully remove some of the challenges that she might face as she enters elementary school in the fall.
(Oh and PS - the barfing? Not the way I'd have chosen to start off the kiddo's Spring Break from school. Not at all!)
