Over the last few months, we had been getting signals from our kid's kindergarten teacher that he was having trouble at school. First it was just questions about how to get him to pay attention and focus on lessons (a common problem for kindergarteners, boys in particular). Then it was provoking other kids because he was annoying them. Finally, it was inappropriate touching--he touched someone's butt when they were at the drinking fountain.
We all noticed that he was "self stimulating" in various ways: fingers in his mouth, working spit around his his cheeks, scratching his arms, whistling, humming, and sometimes hands down his pants fiddling with his junk.
When we raised issues like this to our Battlestar Galactica-style pediatrician (sans smoking), he said, "I could send him to a child psychologist who will prescribe whatever you want... or, you could wait and see if he'll grow out of it. He's a five-year-old boy, after all." That seemed reasonable, so we just said, yeah, let's wait and see. We'll work on ways for him to cope with whatever is making him anxious.
"Take a deep breath."
"Fingers!"
"HAND CHECK!"
These things worked, for a time. But they were symptom-specific, and as soon as he'd master one urge, another would crop up. If he was particularly tuned-up, he'd do all the things ALL AT ONCE. One Friday evening, during dinner, he couldn't sit still to eat his food, and as I talked him through eating he was compulsively scratching my elbow, chewing his other hand while whistling, spitting, and humming at the same time all while tapping his feet and rolling his eyes ("googly eyes").
It was clear what was happening: the Wolf wasn't growing out of his nervous behaviors. He was growing INTO them.
We scheduled him for an ADHD assessment in the fall. There are apparently enough nervous parents out there that getting a kid vetted for ADHD takes some waiting.
We also had a 504 conversation with the school--that is, we invoked the kid's rights under the law for equal education. If he was assessed as having a condition that affected his academic performance, then the school was obligated to provide him whatever accommodations he needed to be successful. After that meeting, it was clear that he had some issues, but not so bad that he needs specialized help from the school.
The hard part of getting here was the stigma. Nearly everyone in this process has said "Yeah, but he's a boy." As if boys are supposed to be fidgety. I think they are, but maybe I just believe in the stigma? Anyhow, accepting that the kid might be ADHD has changed how we deal with his more frustrating behaviors.
The Wolf sometimes won't go to bed when he's supposed to. Sometimes being almost all the time. He comes out of his room for about an hour almost every night to TELL YOU SOMETHING or to GET A DRINK or because his ROOM IS SPOOKY. It's just because he doesn't know how to turn off his brain and get some sleep. I can relate. I have been an insomniac most of my life and it's usually because I have some SHIT TO DO or I might need to WORRY ABOUT THIS THING or maybe REPLAY AN ENTIRE MOVIE IN MY HEAD.
So, knowing this, instead of GET TO BED RIGHT NOW it's "tell me about it on the way back." We indulge his weirdness, let it play out, let him unwind the coiled up thing in his skull so he can sleep, maybe.
With food, it's all about bargaining. EAT THIS AND YOU CAN PLAY OVERWATCH.
With mornings it's all routine. Have breakfast and then get dressed.
Some of these tendencies may have been a part of why the Montessori experiment went so poorly, but that doesn't relieve them from my rage. Rather, I feel that they should have recognized this and tried different tactics beyond the exclusion and disappointment they worked on him.
We'll see how the assessment goes this fall. Hopefully he's in a range where therapy or medication will be unnecessary or very limited, and we can just get into a new routine.
The best part of these conversations so far has been when the kindergarten teacher (kind of an anxiety bundle in her own right) explained, she thinks he's doing okay as is, but she thinks he could be above and beyond. Let's just take away this obstacle and imagine what he can do.
So that's good.
Monday, April 15, 2019
A Year
Over the last year, a lot has changed. After enduring the bullshit of the Montessori school, we put our son into the daycare that took care of him up to the age of four. The ladies who run the place told us, "that's not our Jackson, but don't worry, we'll take care of him." Within a few weeks his tantrums and night terrors ended, and he was turning into the kid we knew from before.
Last summer, just as he was getting ready to turn five, we put him in the local summer day camp, run by a company called Kids After Hours (KAH). The stupid, yellow and black clock face mascot is a common enough sight, plastered across many a minivan or sedan throughout Montgomery County. Apparently, they have a thing where if they spot your car with the KAH magnet, they'll post on their Facebook and give your kid a free week of daycare or something. I was skeptical at first, because I am always skeptical of organized... anything... but it turned out to be wonderful.
We would drop the Wolf off at an elementary school gym (that was otherwise unused during the summer) and he would just play all day. Play with toys, with other kids, with the big, inflatable waterslides they rented, whatever he wanted. He came home excited and exhausted. He made friends, he got picked on by budding bullies, and became a favorite of some of the camp counselor people. The Wolf has a way with people.
Something we noticed over the spring and summer was that the Wolf had some mental scars from the Montessori school. He became much more eager to please everyone around him. He just wanted whoever it was to like him and... I don't know. Reassure him somehow? No, that's not it. This manifested whenever he thought he had disappointed you somehow. Any perceived failure turned into fearful eyes, tears, and choking apologies for whatever he thought he had failed at. He would throw himself into your belly and his knees would give out and he'd sob that he was sorry, saying "I'm a good boy" in such a miserable croak. It was clear that whatever happened, he was given a pretty heavy dose of disappointment-shaming at that school, and the effect is that he just wants whoever is criticising him to stop and tell him its okay.
We reassure him and tell him whatever the problem was isn't that big of a deal. We aren't disappointed or mad, we just want to know if HE is okay. We just want him to know it's okay to make a mistake now and then, and we use that as a chance to learn or help in some way. If there's something that's broken, we try to fix it or replace it, that's all. And take a deep breath. That's it. Another one. Okay, now can you help me clean this up?
It got better after he started kindergarten. The Wolf got into a summer program to fast-track kids into regular public school. He basically got an extra six weeks of kindergarten for free, with regular teachers. After a week or so of adjustment, he was flying. When he went into the Montessori school, the Wolf could write his name and spell all kinds of things. When he got out of it, he couldn't read but he could set a table (WTF???). After a few weeks of kindergarten, he was singing songs about multiplication.
The Wolf's confidence grew every week. He started getting the best marks you can get, and was identified as a "role model" for other students. He was excited to talk about what he learned and it was clear he was in good hands. Our local public school is staffed by some of the best-meaning people I've ever met in education, and I've known a bunch.
He started regular kindergarten in September and, while not perfect, has had an excellent time. The Wolf can read at about a second grade level already, and he's pretty good at math and science. He has friends who draw pictures for him. He writes notes to people. He looks forward to going to school every day.
A year later, there are still shadows of the damage. He doesn't plead and hope that he's a "good boy" anymore, I think because he knows we love him and have no doubts that he's a good boy, but sometimes he gets overwhelmed. A few weeks ago, he knocked over a cup of chocolate milk and was so embarrassed he started crying and dry heaving, even though we were calmly asking him to go get some paper towels. He got through it, but it was rough for a few minutes.
Now, he's sitting next to me while I write, learning to play our favorite game, Overwatch, in the training mode. His hands aren't quite big enough to work all the keys at once, but he's moving around the practice area and blowing up robots with a lot of excitement. He wants so desperately to participate in this game that I play, and he keeps telling me "I taught you to play this, right? I'm good at this, I'm good at all the characters!" And so on.
And now, this:
Last summer, just as he was getting ready to turn five, we put him in the local summer day camp, run by a company called Kids After Hours (KAH). The stupid, yellow and black clock face mascot is a common enough sight, plastered across many a minivan or sedan throughout Montgomery County. Apparently, they have a thing where if they spot your car with the KAH magnet, they'll post on their Facebook and give your kid a free week of daycare or something. I was skeptical at first, because I am always skeptical of organized... anything... but it turned out to be wonderful.
We would drop the Wolf off at an elementary school gym (that was otherwise unused during the summer) and he would just play all day. Play with toys, with other kids, with the big, inflatable waterslides they rented, whatever he wanted. He came home excited and exhausted. He made friends, he got picked on by budding bullies, and became a favorite of some of the camp counselor people. The Wolf has a way with people.
Something we noticed over the spring and summer was that the Wolf had some mental scars from the Montessori school. He became much more eager to please everyone around him. He just wanted whoever it was to like him and... I don't know. Reassure him somehow? No, that's not it. This manifested whenever he thought he had disappointed you somehow. Any perceived failure turned into fearful eyes, tears, and choking apologies for whatever he thought he had failed at. He would throw himself into your belly and his knees would give out and he'd sob that he was sorry, saying "I'm a good boy" in such a miserable croak. It was clear that whatever happened, he was given a pretty heavy dose of disappointment-shaming at that school, and the effect is that he just wants whoever is criticising him to stop and tell him its okay.
We reassure him and tell him whatever the problem was isn't that big of a deal. We aren't disappointed or mad, we just want to know if HE is okay. We just want him to know it's okay to make a mistake now and then, and we use that as a chance to learn or help in some way. If there's something that's broken, we try to fix it or replace it, that's all. And take a deep breath. That's it. Another one. Okay, now can you help me clean this up?
It got better after he started kindergarten. The Wolf got into a summer program to fast-track kids into regular public school. He basically got an extra six weeks of kindergarten for free, with regular teachers. After a week or so of adjustment, he was flying. When he went into the Montessori school, the Wolf could write his name and spell all kinds of things. When he got out of it, he couldn't read but he could set a table (WTF???). After a few weeks of kindergarten, he was singing songs about multiplication.
The Wolf's confidence grew every week. He started getting the best marks you can get, and was identified as a "role model" for other students. He was excited to talk about what he learned and it was clear he was in good hands. Our local public school is staffed by some of the best-meaning people I've ever met in education, and I've known a bunch.
He started regular kindergarten in September and, while not perfect, has had an excellent time. The Wolf can read at about a second grade level already, and he's pretty good at math and science. He has friends who draw pictures for him. He writes notes to people. He looks forward to going to school every day.
A year later, there are still shadows of the damage. He doesn't plead and hope that he's a "good boy" anymore, I think because he knows we love him and have no doubts that he's a good boy, but sometimes he gets overwhelmed. A few weeks ago, he knocked over a cup of chocolate milk and was so embarrassed he started crying and dry heaving, even though we were calmly asking him to go get some paper towels. He got through it, but it was rough for a few minutes.
Now, he's sitting next to me while I write, learning to play our favorite game, Overwatch, in the training mode. His hands aren't quite big enough to work all the keys at once, but he's moving around the practice area and blowing up robots with a lot of excitement. He wants so desperately to participate in this game that I play, and he keeps telling me "I taught you to play this, right? I'm good at this, I'm good at all the characters!" And so on.
And now, this:
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