Independence? Not yet.

Adulthood brings a whole 'nother set of problems. All of a sudden, Mummy can't step in and fix things.

"I'm sorry, I need to speak to Dreamer" the woman on the telephone says.

I recognise that tone of voice. It's the same one I get when, as Chief Financial Officer of the house, I stupidly try to do business with whichever company and forget that the account is in my husband's name.

Damn. Dreamer is 18. I can't do things for him any more. Officially.

This time, his memory-deficit had adult financial implications. He had a pre-paid mobile phone, which he continually forgot to buy new credit for. He was always out of credit. So I suggested he move onto the great plan that the rest of the family have. It's bundled with our household internet, so I'd set it up on my credit card, and he could pay me back with a monthly bank transfer. Dreamer agreed that it was a good idea.

So I set it up, paid for the new sim card, which duly arrived, and he duly put into his phone.

Next day, the woman phoned. She was from his old phone company, and wanted a copy of his bank statement.

Huh? What for?
I'm sorry. I need to speak to Dreamer.
Uh, he's not here. I'm his mother. Can I help?
Please get him to phone me back. Goodbye.

Oh yeah, said Dreamer. Last time I went to buy credit for the phone, they suggested an account, and it seemed like a good deal.
But what about the new sim that we talked about, and you agreed to?
Oh, I forgot about that.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Has he signed up for a 2 year phone contract?
What did you sign?
I don't know.

He was lucky. This time.
A website search told me that for a BYO phone, the contract could be cancelled anytime without penalty. A phone call to cancel was all that was needed. He'd have to pay for the first month.

He kept avoiding making the phone call. I kept reminding him that he would continue to be billed monthly for a phone plan he wasn't using until he cancelled the contract. The stand-off lasted a week.

In the end I sat him down, and I made the phone call. I was the one who had to explain what he wanted. Then I handed the phone to Dreamer for him to officially agree with me.

The whole episode left me numb. The way his memory problems led him to having two phone accounts. The way his communication skill level meant refusal to make the phone call to fix the problem.

Simple, important life skills for independent adults. He doesn't have them.
I'm gutted.
He's got a long way to go.

Sanity vs Holidays

And I said that I will not tolerate seven weeks of him sitting there on the computer, whining and yelling about how unfair it is that he doesn't win every, single, time.

OMFG it's the school holidays. He has no friends. He doesn't intend to leave the house. His idea of a holiday is to be on the computer for 18 hours a day, eat occasionally, and sleep sporadically.

Young Curly has been a teenager for one.whole.month and already I've had enough.

I've threatened a camp. Just to get him off the computer and out of the house. To get him out of earshot, mostly.  In my most vengeful moment, I've imagined a SPORTS camp. Bwahahaha. No. I couldn't really do that to him.**

Sigh.

Nothing has really interested him at school this year. Hopefully Year 9 with a few elective subjects will be better. As for the lack of friends, he's doing exactly what his big brother did - attempting to hang out with big bro's friends. Why are they never satisfied with age peers? Why are the older kids always looked up to? OK, don't bother answering that. I know. I know.

At least the olders aren't bad role models. They just enjoy, well, being older, and proving it by giving the youngsters a hard time. Then the youngsters try harder to fit in, and oh. damn. Why do the youngsters make it hard for themselves?

Anyway. So Curly's idea of being grown up is to win on computer games.

He is actually good. Even the older group grudgingly agree about that. It's just the tanties when he doesn't win that nobody likes.

At what age do people*** realise that 'winning' isn't everything? That being a good team member is important too? That having a go and improving is a worthwhile goal? That internet gaming the world is not a level playing field, and you can't expect it to be. That you often 'lose' for reasons beyond your control? That 'get over it' is a fair comment.

Right. Seven. Long. Weeks.

I can picture it being an endless loop of me talking myself blue in the face trying to get through to him, and he telling me that I know nothing.

I know that one day it will sink in, so I have to do it, and keep doing it.
Will my sanity last the distance?


** Medical reasons - mono vision means crap at ball sports, and heat is a major eczema trigger
*** People. Not kids, not teenagers. People.

The Traumatic Year Two and the Wicked Witch of the West

It was the Traumatic Year Two, when Speedy met the Wicked Witch of the West (henceforth to be known as WWW). At first she just looked like the WWW - all flaming hair and rainbow stockings.

Yes, Speedy hated her from the beginning, but we knew by then that he didn't suffer fools, and trotted out further 'life lessons' on how to deal with the fools you will inevitably meet, often, for the rest of your life.

Next thing you know, we were in the principal's office, where Speedy was suspended for two days for throwing scissors at the teacher. Say Wha'?

Does it sound better if I say (with hindsight):

After months of frustration and put-downs and verbal bullying, 6 hours a day, 5 days a week, by a person in a position of power, a 7 year old child couldn't take any more, and threw a pair of plastic, snub-nosed, child's safety scissors in the general direction of the bully.

There was a meeting.

The counsellor was chirpy, enthusiastic, and pushing for attendance at a Behaviour Management/Parenting Techniques Program.

The teacher was horrified and hurt and in punishment mode.

The principal didn't know where to look, but did look like he was in the cooking pot and the water was heating up.

We insisted that Speedy did not need a Behaviour Management Program, and wanted to know why he threw the scissors.

Of course, the answer to problem behaviour at school was to teach the parents how to parent, and so we were railroaded into agreeing to the Behaviour Management Program, and it was the best thing that could've happened.

Day One was a 'benchmark' exercise. Parents and child were locked into a room - very reminiscent of a padded cell, including the padding. Parents were instructed to direct the child to do something, while the program facilitators watched and listened from outside, via video camera. The parents were judged on their parenting technique. From this, the facilitators would plan a program to teach techniques for managing the behaviour of the child.

So, we played along. No choice, really.

At the end of the first session, when we were let out of jail, it was to find a group of facilitators with their jaws on the ground. But, you're already using all the techniques that we teach in this program! they said.

On we went. Subversively. Now aware of what the program was about, we enlisted the help of the intelligent Speedy. We discussed what they were aiming for, and how to give it to them. The chats in the car while driving there and back were of more use than the Program.

We learnt more about the WWW during this time - from Speedy, and from other class parents, and from parents who'd previously had a child in her class. A classroom helper confided that she hated the way the WWW treated Speedy. We heard that the WWW was heard to say to the class "Oh, the girls are my sweeties- they're so neat at colouring in". Speedy reported that an artwork he'd done, involving action figures and guns, was confiscated as being 'inappropriate for year 2' and told that "he should draw flowers and animals". You get the gist.

Meanwhile, back at the Program, we were getting on very well with the facilitators. I think they may have picked up some new behaviour management techniques!

Not that they were stupid. They were looking at a bright kid, and parents who knew and could apply all the latest parenting techniques. So they puzzled out where the problem may lie. And being an education department program, they announced that as well as working with the parents, they'd like to work with the teacher. All under the guise of managing the behaviour of this 'orrible little kid in class, right?

You see where I'm going here?

Now, a school principal's duty is firstly to their staff. They are not allowed to side with parents or students against a teacher. Conflict of interest and all that- have to support your staff. The facilitators were education department colleagues, consultants, if you will. They were able to go places that we couldn't. They started doing classroom observations. I expect they were horrified.

The WWW started taking sick leave, and more sick leave. She started looking stressed and losing weight. And taking more days off. And pulling her head in when she was in the classroom.

I'm sorry to say I enjoyed that term.

Nothing more was said to the parents. By anyone. Ever after. But at the end of the year, when it came time to allocate classes for the next year, the principal wanted a long chat about who would be best suited to teach Speedy. I believe it was his only way of apologising.

For the next 5 years at that school, Speedy was allocated hand-picked, fabulous teachers. He learned to love school and learning. It did take all of year 3 to catch up academically, but once the spark was back he powered along and hasn't looked back.

I don't believe in a Normal Life

I believe that 'normal' is something that people pretend. A social construct. Conform  to the average, aspire to the above-average.

I don't believe that most people (or families) think much about it. They go on pretending, and aspiring, watching the neighbours, the newspapers, the TV, and most of the time they come close enough, without too much effort. It's the done thing. Just do it.

For some, though, the reality is too far away from the normal. Aspire as they might, it isn't going to happen. Sometimes never. Sometimes maybe one day.

What do you do?
Try harder? Rail at the injustice?
Yearn for the moon? Wish it wasn't you?
Yes.

Then you have to get off that road to nowhere, and take the road less travelled.
Ouch. Sorry 'bout that. But now that I've gone there, I may as well continue. Ha ha.

You get sneered at on the road less travelled.
You get left behind.
You lose bragging rights about winning.
You lose sight of those on the main road.

But
You don't have to worry about the traffic jams, speeding, hustle, stress of keeping up with the traffic.
You see others on the road, and have time to meet them.
You can pull over whenever and wherever you need to.
You can take your time and go at your own speed.
You'll get there in the end.

Where is 'there'? I don't know. I'm not there yet.

I believe that those on the road less travelled are the thoughtful ones. Instead of speeding along conforming, they have chosen another way. They are not doing what they are supposed to do, or what society tells them is normal. They can't just follow the car in front. They must think deeply about every little thing, and make their own choices. Choices that are right for them, and nobody else.

It may be easier if you just stay in your lane and keep going straight, at 100km/hr, but you miss out on so much.

So if you've been forced off the highway onto the side-roads, don't sweat. Have a picnic, stop and chat with the other drivers, enjoy the scenery, choose your own direction at every crossroads, oh, and watch out for the pot-holes.

Another day, Another dollar

It is another day, and it's calmer around here. After I wrote yesterday's post, I got down-and-dirty practical. No use sitting around with the 'whatifs' spinning and multiplying in my brain. A few phone calls later, I found out what I'd lose if I quit my job. This close to retirement, it's a big number of dollars.

Well, it's not really that big, but it's much bigger than anything else I could make in the next few years, and I could double that number by switching back to full-time work. Now that would be hard. Work, sleep, work, sleep, do NOT get involved in office politics, let the bad days go, wave hello to the kids in passing. Nickname would be in charge of the household. Not much different to now, he says. (I hate housework.)

Time to suck it in. Keep my eye on the big number. I can always blog and play computer games after I retire.

So that was that. Funny how it was such a weight off my mind - making a decision. A sunny mood burst out from the storm that had been raging since Saturday.

As part of the decision making, I went trawling online for jobs - researching what type of jobs I could possibly get, and what pay rates were out there for comparison purposes. (It wasn't pretty).

I was searching by location, looking for work close to home, because I also hate my current 45 minute commute. I was hating everything about my job, as you do while hiding in a black storm cloud.  Apprentice caught my eye. Electronic. Suburb (close to home).

Now Dreamer has applied for another job.
That's not quite correct, is it? I did the online deed, and then I told him what he had done. Sneaky mummy tactics.

Keep moving, keep moving, and serendipity happens.

New = Scary

Work is on my mind.

We managed to get some feedback on Dreamer's failed job application. It was the yawning gap in his resume- nothing between finishing school last November until now- that was mostly what failed him.

He needs to do something. Anything. Enrol in a course, find a part-time job, volunteer, whatever.

Me too. After a month's holiday, I don't know how many people look forward to going back to work, but I was dreading it. Then shit happened, and it became a return to hell. Management style has long been on a trend to where the job was almost untenable. I think it's just tipped over the edge.

I did spend a bit of time on holidays browsing the online job boards. Damn it if I didn't find something interesting, and believe it or not, it's with a company related to my current employer.

Now I don't know what to do. Carry on in my current job, trying not to let management niggles get to me, and take a punt on the likelihood of being made redundant? Or jump ship now?

I need to do something.

I keep yo-yo-ing Should I stay or should I go now? Pros, cons, pros, cons. The idea of going back to full time work is frightening, not least because it would mean I lose my 'own time', my house-to-myself, write a blog, no interruptions time.

Applications close Friday. I don't even have a resume, because I've been in the same job for 20 years. I can't even decide if I want the new job. It might be worse than the current one.

But... a resume would be a good thing to have done. And it's only an application - it doesn't mean I have to take the job (talk about getting ahead of myself, I haven't even applied yet!).

I'm feeling much more sympathetic towards Dreamer's avoidance and inaction today. I understand.

I need to just do something. I need to not worry about failure. I need to not double-triple-guess what the future holds. I need to not be frightened of the unknown.

It'll be good role-modelling for Dreamer.

Wanted: One Career

Dreamer applied for an apprenticeship, and was going through the process, so that was one less thing to think about. For a while, anyway.

Hey, mate, have you checked your email lately?
No, not lately.
Can you go do it?
OK.

And damn. There it was - "Thank you for your application. However..."

Dreamer's future is back on the worry-list. We need to get the blob out of the house, at least occasionally.

Find him a McJob? Something simple, non-stressful, and very part-time, so he can get back into a bit of a
daily routine. Restocking shelves at the supermarket? He could just do a few hours each week, not lose his pension, dip his toes into the world of employment.

On the other hand, could he start off immediately towards some form of trade/skills base that could lead to a long-term future? The problem with this hand is... finding a direction and a starting point.

Wanted: One career.

Must not involve people, or sunlight, or heat, or grubbiness. Oh, and must not require speed (of movement or thought). Preferably should not require much abstract problem-solving or planning.
May include science, computers, shiny things, books, words.
Precision (aka obsession) guaranteed.

Bwahahahaha. I have to be joking, right? But I have to try.

I've though of  locksmith, jeweller, lab technician, photographer.

Lab technician may require a bit much efficiency (read: speed) but it's the only science-related thing I can think of! Locksmith and Jeweller apprenticeships aren't exactly thick on the ground, and Photographer would require him to be more of a self-starter than he currently is.

Then there's the issue of whether or not to get the disability employment services involved, or try to keep control of the process. Would long term plans be hijacked in the name of employment at any cost?

I just keep thinking around in circles. Any brilliant (or ludicrous) ideas out there?

Anyone want an apprentice/assistant/work experience person?

Speedy vs The World

Speedy is, well, speedy. He has two speeds - 100 miles per hour and asleep. He was himself before he was born- either asleep, or kicking me.
He hit all his physical milestones early - he was walking at 9 months, and running around at his first birthday party.

Determined? Stubborn? Yes, to the extreme. Smart little bastard? Yep.
He was difficult, to put it politely, as a baby.

I became frustrated at the lack of success I was having with parenting strategies, especially the one that has it that tantrums are attention seeking, and if you ignore the child, they'll lose interest. Ha.

It was getting dark, and Speedy was on the back deck, but wanted to go downstairs and play in the yard. I said no, and he threw himself to the ground in a classic tantrum. Right, I thought, let's play ignoring and see how long it takes for him to lose interest.

Thirty minutes... he spent 30 minutes lying on the deck, kicking and screaming and yelling that he wanted to go downstairs.

He was just 12 months old.

For 'time outs' we'd put him in his cot. By the time he was two, he'd kicked the wooden bars out of the cot.

We moved him into a bed, cleared the room of anything that could be broken or thrown, and would shut the door for time out. Before he was three, we had to re-screw the hinges on the bedroom door. Speedy would just stand at the door and kick it.

Language development was a wonderful thing. Finally, he was able to communicate his feelings, and we began to understand the why's of the behaviours.

It really boiled down to fairness, and not suffering fools. When he was able to explain what he wanted, or why he didn't want to do something, it made sense. He really, really did not tolerate being told 'no' without logical reason.

Road safety lessons worked when they went "I know you are fine, but you just can't trust the drivers of those cars. They don't look carefully enough, and they are stupid and drive too fast, so you have to be the smart one and make sure you look out for them. Also, I'm taller than you, so I'm easier to see, so how about you stay next to me and hold my hand."

Physically, he'd attempt the ridiculous, but had an innate sense of his own limitations. Friends and relatives thought we were crazy not to stop him climbing this that and the other, but we had to trust him. The only time I saw him hesitate and almost fall was when an adult gasped loudly and yelled his name in a frightened tone. He was halfway up a tree, and it broke his concentration.

Then he went to school, where (some of) the adults believed that children should comply without question.

(I found this lurking in my drafts folder. Half finished? Or is Speedy at School a whole 'nother story?)

Slam.Horror

A year ago, I dipped my toe into the blogosphere. I wrote a few, and 'followed' some. Twenty-three to be precise. Then I flitted off to other things, with nary a thought about blogs for over a year.

My eldest son had a birthday, and I wanted to record the milestone so I logged back in, wrote and posted '18'.

But oooh, shiny! There was my Reading List of 'followed' blogs. Some seemed to have continued posting regularly, some sporadically, and some just not. I can understand that, after all, I haven't posted anything in over a year.

Gleeful Random clicking.
Like popping in to catch up over a cup of tea with old acquaintances.
Hey! How ya been? Haven't caught up with you in ages. What's new?

Slam.Horror.
It just can't be possible.

One year. Twenty-three blogs. Subtract two which are professional, newsletter type blogs. Twenty-one personal blogs.

Lori - is still blogging about the suicide death of her husband.
Lulu - wrote her last blog post about the funeral of her sister. Comments on that post revealed that she had
died shortly afterward.
Jen - is now solo parenting, and I'm hoping like hell that nothing awful happened to her husband.

I'm stunned. I'm appalled. I keep thinking about the snippets of lives that have been shared because of
blogs. I've never even met these people. Their writing has made them real, and is the reason I feel like
I've been hit with a sledgehammer.

I'm hoping that the other bloggers who have stopped posting have done so because their lives have become
fuller away from their blog, or that they've taken up crochet instead. (Not looking at you here, Ro).

I'm grateful that my family and I are still alive. Crazy, frustrating, battling. Still here.

What difference does a year make?

I could be doing my tax. I could be looking for a new job. I could ask you to note that I'm using the word 'could' and not 'should'. I could be planning world domination.

In the true spirit of procrastination, I fire up blogger. Wow, has it really been more than a year?

The different brainspace has been ... in other brainspaces.

I have an adult son now. Sort of. The dreamer reached a chronological milestone, and had a bunch of friends meet up with him at a bar to celebrate his 18th birthday. OK, it was a gaming bar, which isn't such a bad thing. Gamers don't tend towards punch-ups and glassing, or anything physical, really. And he didn't even have a hangover the next day.

For the purposes of posterity, I should take this opportunity to reflect on how his different brainspace intersects with the larger world view. Ahem.

Let's run through the NT checklist:
Enrolled to vote - check.
Income - check.
Job - has applied for an apprenticeship, and made it through three sets of interviews and aptitude tests. Awaiting the yea/nay letter due in November.
Social life - check.
Relationship - check.

Sounds great? And it is.

Oops. I must have my Parental Bragging Hat on. That's the one I wear when acquaintances and distant relatives ask me "How are things going?", just before they start telling me about Their Dear Johnny, who has just graduated with honours in and become engaged to and is already an executive at and he's only sixteen.
Alrighty then.

Reality Hat on, and let's try that again with some other popular markers of adulthood:

Driving licence - 4 attempts so far on the written test.
It's multiple choice ffs. He tells me he 'overthinks' the questions, and that it couldn't possibly be that easy. It's possible that he's terrified of the next step - actually being in control of a tonne of fast-moving metal. He just doesn't think that fast. I'm more than slightly nervous about that part too, so I'm not pushing the licence test too hard.

Education - I can say he 'finished school', but usually omit the part about how he failed to complete any assessment in any subject, so doesn't actually have an official piece of paper.

The income -  It's a disability pension. It gives him a bit of spending money. Which he does. Spend, I mean. Usually the day he's paid. Can you say 'impulse spending'? On the bright side, his impulses tend toward good books.

I'm terrified about the job application. It was for an apprenticeship with a large company. I'm sure that he did well in the aptitude tests - considering that they were basic numeracy and literacy tests. I can even stretch to imagining that he was as capable as most incoherent teenagers in the interviews. Where I see impending doom, if he was offered the job, would be his capability to be 'present' for 8 hours at a stretch, 5 days each week. He wouldn't have enough time left each day to shower and eat! I have no idea whether it's the medication, or the drifting away on the computer at nights and needing sleep during the day, I just know that it's impossible to keep him upright. Turn away for 5 minutes and he's asleep again. He still doesn't have either the self-discipline, or the short-term memory, to remember to eat breakfast.

Aside from that, he has a wonderful life.

The girlfriend (I think I'll call her 'Red') decides on their social life, walks in the front door, nags him into getting out of bed and getting dressed in time. If she doesn't come and get him, he doesn't leave the house (or often, the bed). He still takes 2 hours to have a shower and get dressed. Minimum. She knows that if a social event begins at 2pm, she'll have to be here at 10am and spend the next 4 hours nagging and threatening.
Luckily, Red is a 'type A personality'. She bullies, nags, decides, tells him what to do, threatens a bit more, and it works. It takes hours, but they go out and have a good time.

Maybe I'm a bit over the nagging after 18 years,  but she's stuck around for 8 months now and seems to be enjoying it.

I think I may have to hand over my Carer's Allowance.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll move on to the more immediate crisis of three Year 11 assignments due Monday. Yesterday, they were 'easy' and 'almost done'. Now, they are 'impossible' and he 'may as well quit school now'.

Passing it on

The following arrived in my inbox this morning, courtesy of an email list, mostly inactive, that I've been lurking around for years.

It reads to me like the author would like it passed on, and though I usually hit the delete button the moment I see the words 'send this request to ... people you know', this time I think I will post it here.

Lisa

It's never just about Ability…?
 
A call for reflection - a few minutes at lunchtime 29 July 2010 –
Let’s make lunchtime today a time of inclusion, not exclusion. Let’s think about recognising and supporting all special needs people, regardless of their abilities or inabilities.

I believe that from birth to death everyone has the opportunity to experience the wonders of ability, as well as the frustrations of inability. We all experience the wondrous diversity of the human mind. For some, the extreme zones of ability and inability are infrequent or short visits. Others are trapped in, or find themselves leapfrogging between, the extremes.

People at either extreme of the ability / inability spectrum are generally recognized as having ‘special needs’. Most commonly, special needs people are associated with having visible disabilities. Yet, the majority of people who have abilities also have disabilities, often hidden from sight. All too often, we fail to see the weaknesses in those with abilities, just as we fail to recognize the strengths of those with inabilities. These difficulties are not always medical or biological. They can also be systemic, situational, sociological or political.

Each person is an individual, with a unique degree of ‘ability’ and ‘inability’. Stereotyping often restricts people to one end of the spectrum. Sadly, this denies recognition of their other abilities and or inabilities.

As a community, how we face these ‘special needs’ helps to shape our culture and attitudes to life long learning. As individuals with special needs, how we feel and how others treat us affects our character, general wellbeing, stress levels and how we cope with life.

On 29 July 2010, I am giving a talk at the 11th Asia Pacific Conference on Giftedness. My paper is about suggestions regarding school policy for special needs children, at either end of the ability spectrum. I decided that to coincide with this presentation, I would run a Call for Reflection campaign. I believe that there is not enough understanding of the difficulties of special needs people. I believe that there is too much stereotyping, and that this needs to be raised in the public eye.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you are either in this position, or know of a friend, relative, partner, work colleague, and you would like to take some action on their behalf, then please:

1.     Reflect on these problems and solutions at lunchtime on 29 July 2010. 
2.     Send this request to as many people as you know. 
3.     Send a message of hope to these people, so they know they are not alone.  
4.      Visit our website www.g3n1u5.com for more details.
5       Facebook Event. http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=109599895757172
6.      Facebook Cause  http://www.causes.com/causes/506402/members 
7.      Email Tony  tony@g3n1u5.com 

About the Author


Anthony Nolan, OAM, JP, who scored a perfect score in an IQ test at 99.9 percentile, is the current treasurer of the NSW Association for Gifted & Talented Children, and the gifted children's coordinator for MENSA Australia, the high IQ society. He runs online support groups for gifted adults and visual spatial thinkers, mentors children, contributes to gifted publications, and has advised members of parliament. Tony has Aspersers, Dyslexia, and ADHD difficulties. Tony received recognition from Rotary, NSW Parliament (Lower House), a Local Hero Award (Lane Cove), and received an OAM in 2001, for his contributions to community. 

Absentee Note

I've been away for a while, haven't I? Excuses forthcoming -
It was school holidays and my computer is in the main living room, so I had NO PRIVATE TIME, and I can't write about the boys when they're reading over my shoulder.
Once the school holidays finished, the first week of school was just horrible.

I've almost recovered from the trauma of last week, but now I'm on holidays, and have been learning to play on eBay in an attempt to clear the junk from our garage. And isn't eBay a black hole? I'll just do a bit of price research, and take some photos of the junk, and ooh, look, a bid... it's time for dinner already. At least it's a fun black hole, unlike the one I fell into last week.

You see, it goes like this - Dreamer is doing a University chemistry subject while at high school. They have classes after school once a week taught by their regular teacher. We'd received paperwork last term about the need to attend the Uni for 3 days to complete laboratory assessments. Said paperwork was promptly filed under 'worry about that after the holidays'.

Picture me making my first morning coffee on the pupil-free Monday at the end of the school holidays. I'm very relaxed, and plonk myself in front of the computer to do my usual email check. There's one from the University coordinator, with attached schedule of what experiments are to be done on which days.

I'm on holidays, the kids are on holidays, do I know what date it is? Nope. But a little warning bell goes off, and I check my diary...

Watch the coffee go flying. Watch Lisa look at the date, and the clock, and run around the house like a headless chook.

It was 7:30am, and Dreamer had to be at Uni by 8:30 to start day one of the practical assessments, and up until that minute, we'd ALL believed that it was going to be a quiet, last day of the holidays, and Dreamer was still asleep, and Dreamer has a - let's say difficult - time with transitions and coping with the unexpected.

I don't know how I did it. I have NO idea how Dreamer did it, but we made it, through peak hour traffic no less, to the University on time. Ideal preparation? Reading the provided workbook for the experiments? Calm and ready for an assessment? No, no, no.

Day one went surprisingly well, and Dreamer received great marks for his two experiments. During the drive home, however, he looked exhausted, and hardly said a word.

Day two was a disaster. It was probably a delayed reaction to the stress of the Monday, something that is a bit of a pattern here. He went all passive resistance, and just didn't get out of bed, and said he had a headache, and dragged his feet, and I pushed and pulled and nagged... but he got there. Fail marks on the first experiment, and scraped through on the second.

Day three was a half-day with only one experiment to do. Dreamer woke, ate breakfast, cleaned his teeth and went to his room to get dressed. I dropped my guard, and popped onto the computer to check emails.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.
He didn't get dressed - he went back to sleep.
I didn't realise until I called him when it was time to leave.

Recriminations, frustrations, encouragement, hair-tearing.

I remembered reading that the lab. doors opened at 8:30am, and closed at the beginning of the assessment at 9am. We were never going to make it in time, but we kept going. I dropped him off at 9:05, and parked nearby, expecting a call to let me know he'd been locked out and missed the assessment.

He didn't call. In fact, he did extremely well in that last experiement.

I felt completely wrung out. I felt like I'd been dragging a dead weight for three days.
He says he really, really wants to do something, and yet continually self-sabotages with his passive resistance.

Was the stress of unfamiliar surroundings and the pressure of  assessment that hard on him? He was at the Uni. from 8:30am until 4pm for two days, and 9am until midday on the third. He was effectively non-functional for the rest of those days.

Very soon, I have to stop dragging him and pushing him, not least because I'm exhausted by it.

If that's what's ahead in his life (and mine) if he goes to University, then I don't think he'll be going to Uni for a few years yet.

She canna take it Cap'n

What did you say?

And what did you really mean?

The boys walked down to Blockbuster yesterday, and rented a few movies.
I arrived home from work last night to find them all lined up along the sofa, engrossed in No Country for Old Men.

At the end of the movie He-Who-Has-No-Nickname, feeling all warm and fuzzy, said "It's wonderful how you boys are starting to watch good movies."

A nice compliment on how their taste is developing? Well, no.

The night went pear-shaped.

Dreamer launched into a defensive tirade about how No-Nickname was wrong, and listing 'good' movies they'd watched before. Curly started in also, and everyone was talking over the top of everyone else.

Poor No-Nickname, who'd had a long day of chores* and kid-wrangling** while I'd been at work, lost it and went back at them for being ungrateful, interrupting, not letting him finish, and stomped off outside.

I was in a better place (having had a pleasantly quiet afternoon at work), and was left to pick up the pieces. Thank Maud for tag-team parenting.

Dreamer and I sat and talked.

I had to explain that 'starting to watch' meant 'starting in the last year or so', not 'starting now'.
Dreamer's eventual response, once he'd calmed down, was "Why didn't he SAY so, then?"

The explanations and calming took about half-an-hour. All over one, little, throw away, one sentence, compliment.



**Dreamer's friend C has been staying with us for most of the week. C is  seventeen also, but has not been trained in the ancient arts of avoiding the piss-and-miss, or even in cleaning up if you make a mess, or opening the blinds in the bedroom in the morning and closing them before you go to sleep, or hanging up your towel after a shower instead of leaving it crumpled on the bed, or it might be a good idea to look for yesterday's towel before getting a fresh one from the cupboard, or ...
His mother asks us "Is he normal", and we say "No", but she doesn't believe us.

*Chores included getting the kids to help make dinner. It goes like: C would you slice the cheese please? OK. Dreamer, would you slice tomatoes please? OK. They both do exactly, precisely what they've been asked, and when your back is turned, drift silently out of the kitchen. You go and find them back on the Xbox, and ask them to come back to the kitchen, and they say "But I've done what I was asked."

Meanwhile, Speedy and Curly do their bits, then turn and ask "What do I do next?" And whinge later about how they always end up doing most of the work, which is true.

The Education System with a capital 'S'

I don't hate it. It's the only way. If you have masses of children to 'educate', you have to design a system that will work most effectively and efficiently for the largest part of the population.

So, I'd guess that the traditional system works OK-to-great for about 80% of the population.

Now, what to do with the other 20%?

The general system will fail them. It has to. It is not designed for them. Statistically speaking.

Oh, there are PC nods towards the minorities, but they are so thinly spread. I doff my cap to the many wonderful special ed. teachers and learning support specialists, who are given maybe 4 hours per week per student to work miracles, and keep trying.

Let's take a hypothetical inclusive school. They have 100 students. Of those, 80 are catered for in 4 classrooms. Great. What happens to the other 20 students?

For the kid in the wheelchair, the school must build ramps and paths. For the one blind kid, railings along the paths, purchase expensive technology, deliver all resources in braille.
For the sole deaf kid, the media teacher has to re-write the assessment piece that had the students analyzing radio advertising.
For the gifted child, there will need to be university level maths courses taught, while not clashing with the timetable for her physical education classes.

Have I mentioned the dyslexic child, the autistic child, the ADHD child, the sensory child, the ... I'm nowhere near 20 unusual children, am I?

Has the school exhausted it's budget and teachers? Yes.

Does each of these 20 children need a truly individual education plan, with ample resources to implement it, to gain an equivalent education to the 80 who are able to (more-or-less) benefit from the 'system'. Yes.

Is it easier just to educate the majority, and treat the 20% as an acceptable number of failures for society?  I think that'd come under the heading of Risk Management Strategy.

I'm sure some will struggle through despite the system, and manage to develop some ability to contribute (albeit not to their full capability) and therefore the actual failure rate - those who are never able to function in society - will be lower.

Toss them to a sheltered workshop, or unskilled 'work', and don't worry about them. Pay the rest social security, and let their parents take the burden of caring.

I really do wonder if the cost of 12 years of intensive, individual education would be greater than the cost of 50 years of social security payments. Call it 'early intervention'. Or 'preventative education'.

Delay

Delay. Developmental delay.

Have you noticed that ASD's are medically described as a 'delay'. Yes, I'm repeating that word. I tend to do that when the delay is looking like a yawning chasm; when the race leaders are so far in front that I can hardly see them in the distance.

Delay. Delay. Something which can be overcome with time. Your flight is delayed - it'll get there, but not quite as soon as you'd hoped.

Not deficit - which has uglier implications of falling short, gone.

Delay. When I realise at the end of the day that I've been giving Speedy and Curly more responsibility than my eldest son Dreamer, and they've coped and Dreamer has not.

I have to say delay. I have to remind myself that those 12 year old skills today are so much better than the 8 year old level skills of last year.

There is progress.

I remind myself that after the rest of the world finishes their developmental process and arrives at the finishing line of adulthood, Dreamer can, and will, keep jogging along, getting back on track after regular distractions by the side of the road to get to the finish line.

It's just a longer journey.

(This blog post brought to you by: Year 12, Semester One report cards)

Birthday party wrap-up

The birthday party waS very teenage. Just teenage. Possibly not normal for a bunch of seventeen year olds but damn close.

I arrived home from work about half-way through. There were about half-a-dozen girls, and one boy. Dreamer's best-friend-since-age-seven was under house arrest to study, and for the second year running, not even allowed out to attend his best friend's birthday party. Don't get me started on my opinion of how he's being raised. Another boy failed to get an invitation due to Dreamer forgetting. The boy who did attend had glandular fever and had to go home early exhausted.

Which left the girls.

Out the back, in the BBQ area, standing around, sitting around, chatting, drinking Vanilla Coke, waiting for the pizzas to arrive. Oh how almost-adult.

They played on the Wii, they all crowded onto the sofas and watched some anime DVD's while eating their pizza. Someone raided the cupboards for doonas and the heater. I suspect that was the ever-organised Speedy - he is very good with parties and hosting duties. All very cosy.

At the allotted witching hour, cars began to arrive outside. I was sitting on the front balcony enjoying a glass of red.

A car pulled up. Stopped. Nothing happened. Two minutes later, a party guest emerged from our house, got into the car, and the car drove off. Odd.

Then it happened again, and I laughed - the parents were sitting in their cars texting their daughters. A distance of about all of 10 metres. Ohhhh. One, and one only, parent actually made it to the front gate before being hustled away. Maybe they were in their pyjamas, or maybe they'd been ordered by their children not to embarrass them. Either way, it's a new generation.

In other news to hand this week:

Curly has been home sick all week, and due to the kids' habit of trying to read over my shoulder when I'm on the computer... no writing has been done. I'm rattling through this early on Sunday morning while the boys are still asleep. Shhhh.

Curly now has an asthma diagnosis, to join his eczema (those words never look right). Does this mean that we'll have to investigate the third of the holy trinity, Allergy?? Probably. Grumble. Who wants to take bets that we'll find allergies to gluten and casein in the boy with the 'white food' diet?

Dreamer has completed his end of semester exam block in spectacular style - he FORGOT to attend his final exam. I'd sent him off in the morning, and reminded him that he had two exams on Wednesday, and made sure he had his printout of his exam timetable and room numbers. He did the first exam, and walked home, by which time the second exam was well underway. @#$%#

It's OK. I'm breathing deeply. One more week until holidays.

Birthday Party

It's two weeks post-birthday, and the party is still not organised. No present yet either.

It used to be easy - set the birthday budget, invite the same three or four friends for pizzas, movies, and a sleepover, spend the remainder on items from the always-growing list of 'must have' Xbox games and books. Done.

He's 17. Things have changed. There is a wider social circle, and girls involved.

We ask questions about what he wants to do - actually we started doing this a month ago.

What do you want to do for your birthday party this year?
Dunno. Have some people over.

Coming up to birthday weekend -
Have you invited anyone?
Ah, no. Well, some can't come.
OK, well how about next weekend?
Yeah, ok.
And what do you want as a present?
Ah, dunno.

OK, so he ended up having a cake on his actual birthday. Nothing else was organised. No way would I buy an unsolicited birthday present for a teenage Aspie. It'll have to wait.

The following week -
What do you want to do for your party?
Umm, have some people over, and maybe a couple can sleep over.
OK, so can you invite them?
Yeah.

Have you invited anyone?
Yeah, ah, no. Some can't come this weekend.
Right, so how about the following week, the long weekend?
I'll check.

The following week, and we're starting to pressure him -
Saturday or Sunday?
Err, everyone is doing different things, and none of the days work.
OK, well Sunday then.
OK.

Friday afternoon -
How many people are coming? 'Cos I need to go shopping and get drinks and munchies and stuff.
I dunno.
Well, how many have you invited?
Everyone.
How many is that?
I dunno. Should I phone them?
Yes, please. I need to know how many are coming so that I can shop. Have you told them when?
No.
Ohhhh K. (plucking numbers from the air) Tell them 7 'til 11.
Right.

Saturday morning, now.
I've still got no idea. He's been doing all this on his phone.
I'm longing for the good old days, when I could just phone his friends' parents. Now I don't even know half of the friends, let alone the parents.

More coffee.
I'll have to sit Dreamer down and not let him move until he tells me who he's invited, and what he's told them. If he remembers.
Then off to buy the supplies.

I still have no idea about a present.

Changing Obsessions

My life was overrun by Dinosaurs. They were everywhere. Plastic dinosaurs underfoot, the bookshelves filled with dinosaur books, and it seemed the only conversation within these four walls was about dinosaurs. Heaven help me if I said something wrong- if I didn't know my T-Rex from my brontosaurus.

I only used T-Rex and brontosaurus as examples there because I don't remember any others. The dinosaur era ended, and I promptly forgot it. Dreamer probably still remembers each and every one.

We did Pokemon. How many are there? Over two hundred, and they all bloody well evolve so you have to remember multiple names and who evolves into which.

The Legend of Zelda game. I blame that one for Dreamer's long hair. He wanted a long floppy fringe like Link, and during the growing process got out of the habit of haircuts and hasn't been able to get back into it. It was alright though, because by the time the Lord of the Rings obsession arrived, his hair looked just like Legolas'.

Shiny things. That one was more of a collection, and they also doubled as fiddle toys. Pockets full. At least my memory circuits were spared during this phase - all I had to do was provide shoeboxes, and remember to always empty his pockets before doing the laundry.

Yu-Gi-Oh cards.

Runescape.

Dragons.

Mediaeval period. During his mediaeval period, Dreamer learnt archery and tried hawking. We never got around to the horse riding.

Now we have anime and manga and zombies.

The odd thing is that once you get to these more adult interests, there are actually a surprising number of people out there in the world who share them. Put a few in a room, and yes, they're talking another language but they share it. They even hold conventions where they gather in their thousands.

They sure aren't the 'normal' Australian interests - going to the footy, and hotting up the Commodore- and it would have you labeled weird to talk about the latest in anime around the water-cooler while the blokes are discussing this week's footy tips.

Hang on. In depth discussions of Japanese film techniques vs. discussions of the on-field punch ups at the football?

I am more than thrilled about Dreamer's choice of interests.

Oh, and Pokemon is back. Apparently, it's a cool retro thing for teens, although I suspect we're only talking geeky teens here. At least by, now he's learnt not to expect Mum to know or care about Pokemon evolution.

End of Semester Review

Six months ago, Dreamer was a bit of a mess. Dragged his feet out of bed each morning, off to school (usually late, because he'd get distracted and not have his shoes on when it was time to go), arrive home, fall on the bed, sleep. Nagged awake, nagged into the shower, he'd stay there through dinner time, and be out in time to microwave re-heat his food and eat alone. Sleep, rinse and repeat.

Ugh.

We found a nice psychiatrist, to help with his disability pension application, and she promptly diagnosed him (on top of his ADHD and Aspergers) with major depression and OCD, and talked him into trying an SSRI
(Zoloft).

He was rapt. He thought it was more than wonderful. He's only missed about two days since February, which is amazing considering he has the attention span of a goldfish.

He told me that the kids at school were rapt that he started talking back to them. His social life has improved ridiculously. Amazing what happens when you actually talk to people.

I've been enjoying the change so much, so happy to see him happy, and thrilled to have him going out and doing normal, teenage, social things. For the first time in his life.

I suppose I knew that we'd have to address the academic issue eventually, but no way was I going to slam down on his new social life to have him catch up on school work. One thing at a time...I wanted him to enjoy his new-found confidence and self-esteem first.

So this week is end of semester exam block, and I can see the reality-check hitting him over the head. He's probably an inch shorter each day when he gets home from school.

I don't know, maybe he thought that with everything going so well, he'd magically pass his exams, and his assignments would magically get done in 10 minutes.

Uhuh. I'll wait for the report card next month, but my feeling is that the marks will be better (as he's been more available for learning in class), but they won't be pass marks. I haven't actually seen him doing any assignment work or homework.

Current status:
Social life - big tick
Happy and confident teenager - tick (except for exam week).

Next priority:
Getting the OCD out of the house.
Maybe in the holidays I'll help him sort out his room, and possibly even throw away some of the junk thats so 'precious'. There are things lurking in the cupboard that have been there for eight years - paperclips, silver paper and other 'shiny things' that were the collectables of the day back in Grade Four.

We could symbolise some fresh starts. Change some habits. He has admitted that (since medication) he doesn't have to do things, but is doing them from habit. Some days he's fabulous, and others he slips back into old habits. 

We could also do some work on timetables. Previous attempts have been abject failures. That'd be something to do with the fact that you actually have to read them (not put them away under a stack of books), and keep track of time.

Next semester:
Academics. Making attempts on things that have been brick walls for so long that he's afraid to even try. It's going to take bucket-loads of encouragement. And reminders. And probably timetables.

Do you think I could get a 'My Frontal Lobe' app for his phone? Because mine is sorely over-taxed.

Basket Case

Today I remembered a book I bought many years ago, and which has been hiding downstairs in a bookcase for the last few years. A book I credit with saving my sanity, and possibly Speedy's life. No, really, I was about to kill him.

Upstairs it came, for a re-read. It's called The Explosive Child (Ross W. Greene). Just look to your right for a clicky. Dr. Greene's "basket" concept has been underpinning life here for such a long time now that I'd almost forgotten it.

Quote:
Children do well if they can. If they can't, we need to figure out why, so we can help.

Your child is drowning in a sea of frustration and inflexibility. You are the lifeguard. If you child could swim, he would.

He sets about teaching swimming... no, not really. It's about communication skills, negotiation, and problem-solving.

He advocates beginning with a user-friendly environment. If water was involved, you wouldn't start out being thrown in the deep end, in an unheated pool, in the middle of winter, with the coach yelling at you. Nope. A nice, warm pool, with Mum holding you, and talking calmly is a more user-friendly environment.

If I come home from work tired and hungry, I'm likely to react badly to being told that Curly needs a costume for an assignment presentation due tomorrow. Especially if he demands it before I have five minutes to pour a glass of wine and sit down. "I'm too tired and overwhelmed and I have 25 things to do before yesterday, and I can't do it" would be about my thoughts. Then I'd start ranting irrationally back at him about how poor his planning skills are. When I calmed down, I'd probably be able to think more clearly, and decide that 24 things could wait. Oh, and that he probably had reminded me last week, but I'd forgotten.

Have you ever had someone yell at you, and have your mind just go blank? Where you just can't think, and have no idea what to say? And later, when it's all over, your brain suddenly starts working again, and then you can think of 17 cutting responses, but it's too late.

Do either of those situations remind you of your kids' meltdowns?
Damn, am I still having meltdowns? (Answer: um, maybe, yes, only when I'm stressed out)

This Dr. Greene's contention is that some kids (err, adults), for whatever reason, get overwhelmed, and can't get their thoughts straight, can't process the thoughts fast enough, can't get the words out, or don't know the right words. Their brains get stuck, frustration builds, they explode.

His book outlines the concept of three baskets to teach kids ways to get out of 'stuck' before the explosion:

Basket A is for really, really important things. Safety. Basket A is for times when you say "No", or "you have to", and mean it. Even if you know it's going to trigger an hour long meltdown. For sanity, you don't want to go there very often. I put sibling violence here.

Basket B is for learning. This is the hard one. A couple of high-priority things go here. Pick something that you know often triggers a meltdown, and practice what Greene calls 'collaborative problem solving'. Pick something small at first, because you're learning, and if it goes badly a meltdown will happen. It takes time and effort to negotiate, so choosing something time-critical is also a bad idea first up. If possible, do some collaborative problem solving ahead of time, but be ready to negotiate on the fly as well.

Basket C is for later. Yes, you'd like to solve these behaviour sticking points, but it's triage - some things can wait. Ignore them, let them go, find workarounds. In my Basket C were going grocery shopping, finishing homework, writing legibly, refusing to wear climate-appropriate clothing, not eating what I'd cooked for dinner, messy rooms.

I read a great example today:
Billy had to go on a school excursion, so he and Valerie worked out what problems could be expected, and what Billy could do, and how he could be prepared to avoid them. Billy showed terrific self-advocacy by loading up with his anti-noise hat, headphones, and checking that Valerie had her iPhone with music loaded.

At my house, it was likely to go like this:
"Turn off the TV and get into the bath."
"NO I'M NOT HAVING A BATH"
(Now, I could go inflexible right back at 'em, and just know it's going to go pear-shaped, or make it a Basket B moment.)
"Why not?"
(hmm, may or may not get an answer here)
"Is it the middle of a show?"
"Yes"
"You don't want to miss the end of the show?"
(modelling nicer, more expressive language than a flat NO)
"Yeah"
"Well, I want you to be clean before dinner, and you want to watch TV... How are we going to make this work?"
"I'll have a bath tomorrow."
(insert negotiations...)
"How about if you watch the end of this show, but then you'll have to have a very quick shower instead of a bath, to be ready in time for dinner"

Yeah, it takes time, but less than the meltdown overall.
And hopefully, eventually, when you yell "Bath time", the kid will yell back "Middle of a show, can I finish it and then be really quick?"

And if they get the idea that you won't ask them to do stuff that they really can't do, and you'll listen to them if they try to tell you why they can't do something, they might not get to that horrible overload state where the words disappear, the brain shuts down, and you have an incoherent, irrational mess on your hands.

And that's just me, when I don't get my glass of wine in time.