Basketball Begins

Oct 30, 2010

Basketball Begins

Today was the first day of basketball for both of my children. Neither of them has ever played before so their dribbling skills are a little rusty, but there they were at 9:00am ready to go with the rest of the group. It was a fantastic hour of play.

The morning before practice could have gone a little better. My son has been having a lot of trouble off and on for the last few weeks and I think I've finally figured out what it is. It's new stuff. Today he was so excited to go to basketball but I knew before the meltdowns began that something was wrong. We coasted through the morning until it was time to get dressed. Enter meltdown city. What was the catastrophic event? What to wear, sweatpants or shorts. Yes, that was the big question of the day. The underlying problem was that if the wrong pants were chosen, someone would make fun of him.

It's so hard to explain to a 6 yr old that pants vs. shorts just doesn't matter when they view it as the most important event in the world. Finally, I tossed my child to the floor, put pants and socks on him and carried him to the minivan screaming.

Does this sound familiar to anyone? At age 2 my son started crying because he didn't want to go to McDonalds for lunch. When I said we wouldn't go, he started crying because I wouldn't take him. At age 6, we sometimes repeat this loop.

I have been cautioned and reminded by our therapist to not confuse son's chronological age with his emotional age but I so rarely see such a good example. I guess this week, my son will sometimes be emotionally 2 years old. While this isn't ideal, it's ok. I remember when he was emotionally 1 year old and this is better.

What happened after we entered the minivan screaming, you might ask? The same thing that happened when he was 2. When the decision was taken out of his hands, he adjusted and had a great day. It's strange how all kids sometimes need parents to just step and take over. While my children don't always like me making the decisions for them, they gain a massive sense of security that I can and will make the decisions if necessary.

The rest of the day was... fantastic.

It Will Get Better

If you have a child with SPD, this is a great post to read. 

Take a look.


http://www.mamapedia.com/voices/it-will-get-better-sensory-processing-disorder

My Child Is Like An Onion

Oct 29, 2010

My Child Is Like An Onion

Sure, everyone has layers, but my kid has LAYERS! At the ripe age of 4 he was diagnosed with Attachment Disorder. We had all of the classic symptoms: no eye contact, shopping for a new mommy, rages, etc. We started a regime of Theraplay. (I cannot recommend Theraplay enough.) As we got started on the basics of therapy, my therapist kept asking, 'are you sure your son doesn't have SPD?' No, was always my response. See, I had read 'The Out of Sync Child' and my son didn't fit. In reality, I simply didn't understand what I was reading.

We took a simple test and my son scored off the charts for sensory seeking. Hmm, another therapy to integrate. Now this is when the interesting part happened. As Theraplay got underway and progress was made, my son's SPD ramped up. He was touching and mouthing everything. Rages actually increased while we made progress with Theraplay. What???

Enter occupational therapy. Into the therapy room went my bouncy, bumpy little boy who was looking forward to swinging and climbing and everything else. Out came a toddler who needed his mommy. Who needed to held and hugged and snuggled. Who needed quiet and very little sensory input. WHAT??

How in the word did attachment therapy send my kid into rages and O.T. turned him into a toddler? And were these reactions consistent? Of course not, what a silly question. This was when I first learned that my child was like an onion. When his senses were out of whack, none of the attachment activities could penetrate his storm of senses. He couldn't feel my love or concern. He couldn't attach.

Also, when his attachment was out of whack it created more of an internal storm which fueled his SPD. The more you don't love me, the more rage I feel, the more dis-regulated I am, the more I spin out of control.

Wow.

After 4 weeks I started to get a feel for the pattern that I would be facing with my child. After about 6 months the different therapies finally began to integrate. The mood swings were not as wide as before. We were getting somewhere.

Three years later (aka, today) the swings are still present. The mood swings look different and are evolving with my son, but they are always there. Someday, I hope everything will integrate for my child, but for now we handle the swings and the progress that they bring us.

The Mighty Schedule

The Mighty Schedule

I've started to wonder which came first, the mighty schedule or the inflexible child? Alright, I know that my son was born inflexible whereas my daughter is much more normal in her ability to handle change but still I wonder, does our inflexible schedule make my son worse?

One day I needed to travel the 4 hours to see my mother in law (who lives here now) and my husband was to pick the kids up after school and a brief stint in after-care. My son threw a terrible tantrum and refused to go to school. His reason? Mom was supposed to pick him up, not dad. I did my trip on the upcoming Saturday instead without any problems, but that was the day I started to wonder, was I making my inflexible son worse?

I always walk my children to school. I always pick them up. I always stand in the same place on the playground. I've done this to cut down on the separation anxiety and build confidence but my son now seems to think that I am the only one who can perform these tasks. Earlier this week I sent my husband to pick up the kids without me. My son was ANGRY. “Where is mom!” he demanded. “I don't want you. I want mom!”. After this I was positive, I am making my son worse.

This week I'll be starting a program of inconsistency. I will stand in different parts of the playground. We will be both late and early to school. (Ok, not too late.) We will walk with the children in the neighborhood and walk without them and I will handle the resulting meltdowns.

Never in my life have I heard of a parent having to teach their child how to be flexible but I think this is turning out to be one of the most important lessons that my son will learn. I also think it will be one of the hardest.

Wish me luck.

ps. Tonight is night #3 without melatonin. Last night it was 1:45 until sleep. Tonight, I just don't know.

The Mother In Law

Oct 26, 2010

The Mother In Law

From the title alone you might wonder what this post has to do with adoption or special needs children. It doesn't. Feel free to skip this blog if your not interested in the rest of our family dynamics.

My MIL moved to the area this past weekend. Well, moved might be too strong of a word. We have coerced her into a 'rehab facility', code word for assisted living. For the last 18 months the doctors have been telling her time and again that she cannot live alone. She has been informing us that she can live alone just fine. It's been a tough 18 months for all of us.

After each fall or each breathing attack (she is on oxygen 24 hrs a day) she would inform us all that she was fine, could take care of herself, did not need a caregiver, did not want meals on wheels, did not want anything. Then as her family we would sit back and watch her deteriorate over the next 6 - 8 weeks, waiting for the next fall or ER visit. Ask me how I spent every holiday last year? It was horrible.

This most recent fall was the worst. It entailed broken ribs, bruised knees and a banged up head. A friend took her to the ER where MIL insisted that she was fine and checked herself out that night. The next day she was back in the ER due to the pain. 6 weeks of rehab and she was ready to be released from the nursing home. Where would she go? Home, of course.

Not this time. We have told her that she has to do additional rehab and have brought her the 200 miles to be closer to us. Being sharp as a tack, she knows we're lying but is unsure what to do. In her mind she knows she can't live alone but she wants to so she resists staying. She has been here for 3 days. On day 2 she packed in the morning because 'aren't you taking me home today?'. We unpacked again. In the evening of day 2 she asked for trashbags to pack her belongings in because 'we're going home this weekend, right?'. No again. At the same time, she can't stand long enough to make a cup of coffee without a fear of falling down. While opening the fridge, she cut herself and bled terribly. Luckily, a nurse was at the facility.

For the last 18 months the family has known that MIL was a danger to herself and was consistently making poor health choices. Everything from refusing to have food delivered when she was not strong enough to cook herself to refusing to take her medication. We have run the gamut. During this time we have all looked for advice and help on how to get MIL to let us help or get her help. Never once did I find the answer 'force the issue, make her move'.

We did force the issue. We did make her move. We won't take her back. We also feel like dog crap for doing it. But interestingly, after we did this people have come out of the woodwork to tell us their own personal stories like this. How they had to force an aunt or father or other loved one into a nursing home or assisted living facility. Two and three years after the fact you can still see the hurt on their face and in their voice when they talk about the abuse heaped upon them for making their loved one get help.

So far, we're doing better than that but I'm sure the big guns will come out soon. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll get the brunt of her anger because as the daughter-in-law she can't hurt me nearly as much as she can hurt her son. I hope that she settles in and likes where she is staying. I hope that I can use my cute children and cute dog to cut into her resistance. Only time will tell.

Bedtime, bedtime, how I hate thee, bedtime

Tonight is a mixed bag for bedtime. My son typically takes 1 mg of melatonin an hour before bedtime. This helps him transition into sleep very, very easily. Melatonin has been a god-send for our family. My son has a history of very bad sleep habits dating back to babyhood. He doesn't seem to be able to slow down his thinking enough to fall asleep. This lack of sleep has caused some really bad stuff over the years. We've gone through the hallucination phases, the schizo – like phases and the out of control, kicking out windows phases. In retrospect I can attribute all of our really, really scary times to a lack of sleep on his part.

Enter melatonin a few months ago. Now, my son still has a lot of issues and tantrums and rages but he actually sleeps at night again. This is great for his mental health and is amazing for mine. However, I've recently started to worry about his ability to sleep without the medication and for some unknown reason, I decided that tonight was the night to test out 'sleeping without medicine'. *sigh So, we have had a perfect night. Supper was fantastic, then straight to bubble baths and homework, looking at photo albums, into bed and a small story from mom. No better evening exists for us. Of course tonight there is a problem. No melatonin and so far, no sleep.

I give my son high marks and massive credit, there has been no meltdown. He has wiggled around his room, read a book in the dark and tried to re-hang some pictures... quietly. He is laying in bed, doing his best while I sit outside his door and hope that he will sleep. It's been 42 minutes now. Not really a lot in the grand scheme of things. Problem is, now is when the doubt starts in.

Should I have given him the medicine? Should I have given him half a pill? Would a lavender scented bath have worked better? Should I have a rum and coke now or later? Or both?

The hardest part of being the mom (and the dad for some of you) is the second guessing. What if, what if, what if! I can ask this question 100 times in a day. How could I have been a better parent, a smarter parent, more loving or more firm? What could I have done different to make everything alright for my child. Some days I exhaust myself on this question and I have to work very hard to give myself a break.

I also have to remember to give my son a break. He is also doing the best that he can. If tonight is not successful, then another night will be. If he cannot make it without medication, then he will make it with medication. Together we will find the right solution, the right answer. It will not be the 'pie in the sky' that I want, but it will be enough. And sometimes you get what you need.

So tonight, I am sitting in the hallway, sipping a rum and coke and silently encouraging my son to sleep. One way or another, we'll be alright.

 

ps.  73 minutes until sleep.  What a great night!

The Birthmom

I planned to tell you about my Mother In Law who moved to the area today. Health-wise, it has been a very rocky year and we have tricked her into moving into an assisted living facility near us. I promise to come back to this topic very soon, but instead, we will be discussing 'the birthmom'.

In our house my childrens' birth family has been a topic since day one. During all of our homestudies and course work it was pounded into our head that it was important to acknowledge the birth family and to let our children express their thoughts and opinions. We agreed wholeheartedly... of course, it's easy to agree when they are 8 months old and hard to ignore when they have a different skin color.

When my son was 3, the birth family became a very big topic. My son started to draw pictures of me with him in my belly. He was shy and embarrassed about it. He explained to me that he knew it wasn't real but that he just wanted to pretend. My comment... 'shouldn't you draw your twin sister in there too?' He immediately drew her in and was in love with this picture. There were several more pictures of me with a big belly and two babies.

At age 4 my son wanted to know how babies were made and born. Thank you so much to friends for these answers. 'Babies are made when a mommy and a daddy do a special hug which creates a baby' and, heaven help me this was the best answer 'There is a hole that opens up on a woman's bottom between the poop spot and the pee spot. This is where the baby comes out.' Do you know how many times my son yelled 'mom's poop out babies, ew!' in some completely inappropriate place? Come to think of it, there is no appropriate place.

Minor questions about birthmoms sprinkled the 3's, 4's and 5's for my son. He also felt a need to tell everyone. 'Hi. I was born in Guatemala. My birthmom still lives there. She's brown too. Can I have a sticker?' The checkout lady was speechless. I'm not sure which I felt more, an overwhelming desire to laugh or pity for her confused look.

Throughout all of these questions and these years of inquiry from my son, my daughter has never asked anything. She has never commented. She has never seemed to care... until tonight. Tonight, while watching Planet Earth for the billionth time while we settle down for bed, my daughter started to cry. She told me that she missed her birthmom. Could we go back to Guatemala to see her? I asked what she would say when she saw her. My daughter answered 'I would just hug her. I miss her so much.' And I picked up my daughter and hugged her because it was all that I could do.

For years our therapist and adoption websites and newsgroups have tried to explain the grief that adopted children feel for everything they have lost, even if it happened before they were old enough to truly remember. I've worked with my son on so many issues that this grief is simply part of the fabric of everything else going on with him, but to be blindsided by the grief that my daughter expressed to me today made me realize how powerful of an emotion it is for my children and how difficult it must be for them. I feel sad and lost for my daughter but as her mother I know that I must be the strong one. I held her and rocked her through this first of what I suspect will be many such episodes over the years.

Nobody Said Being a Mother would be THIS hard.

Ok, so I understand that being a mom can be a pretty tough job. You're the good guy and the bad guy every single day. It's great that I get to make the majority of the decisions in the house, but really, most days, I'd rather pass.

Today was not a stellar day. The morning started with blue skies and singing birds... ok, maybe a bit dramatic, but all was well with Son, my early riser. There were cartoons coupled with the morning nebulizer treatment. Daughter awoke and joined us. Breakfast was simply uneventful. Now enter homework.

Now, I realize that some of you are wondering what homework is doing in the morning hours. Yes, I had not had enough coffee yet to help with complex algebra but luckily I have two first graders and I know how to spell 'sing' without a lot of effort. Also as an early riser Son prefers homework in the morning.

Anyway, enter homework and Son. Within 15 minutes we have escalated from 'where are the pencils' to screaming 'my teacher said I didn't have to do this line'. I cave to the screams. Don't do the line, just do the rest. Not good enough. My son has become 'stuck'. No level of agreement will convince him to move forward with homework, to skip homework, to get dressed. Nothing. It is my fault. I have done this to him. I am a terrible mother.

Really, I'm unsure why there is a ban on alcohol at 8:00am.

Progress another 15 minutes and Son is throwing things at the walls and threatening. If you have never been in this situation, thank your lucky stars and run far from this blog. This is not a flowers and sunshine blog, this is a blog of our life. The good, the bad and the very, very bad.

Back to throwing... I've called our therapist for help while my son destroys my bedroom. Pillows can be kicked and thrown. It simply isn't important. After speaking to Son, Therapist says 'he's not out of control, dress him and take him to school'. This may sound like harsh advice, but Therapist is right and I recognize the ring of truth in her words.

Screaming all the way, I walk my son the 3 blocks to school and hand him over to the teacher who is ready for this. I walk away.

My day has begun.

My Crazy Life In the Mix

Welcome to my crazy life. I'm the mom of twins who are almost 7. They were adopted from Guatemala at the young age of 8 months. My son is 'in the mix'. He is currently diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) and Attachment Disorder, sometimes called Anxious Attachment and has been recommended for evaluation for Pediatric Bipolar Disorder, ADHD, Separation Anxiety and possibly OCD in addition to asthma which sends us to the ER frequently. My daughter has no diagnosis at all. She is a thriving 6 year old who is handling a pretty tough family life. I'm mom... a little bit crazy and a little bit stressed, but still here.

This is a blog about our life, ups and downs and all of the twists in between. Grab a drink and read on.

• Mom of Two