You are probably not as interested in irises as I am. In fact, I'm not all that interested in them. Outside of the fact that they are pretty. And some varieties smell rather nice. And they remind me of my grandmother.
Actually, that's a lot of stuff that makes it sound like I am totally interested in irises.
There are other things far, far more important. My little family, for one. My work. Friends. Neighbors. Reading Harry Potter with my 7-year-old (who wants me to call him Jay now). Taking the kids to their sports and concerts and play dates. Heading out for a play date or two of my own.
But I like to garden. I like it so much that I manage to play in the garden about once every six months. Which means that in the 8 years I've lived in this one spot, I have played in my garden perhaps 16 times. Total.
And not once have I played with my irises.
Though I did accidentally spray a few with weed killer last year. That was not pretty.
I should play with them, though. They need moving, badly, out of the shade and into the sun. Which I may have mentioned last year, in the penultimate blog post before my rather long break.
I haven't moved them. And yet, somehow, they are defying the odds. They have budded. And in another week, maybe 2, they will bloom.
In the past year, while I have been not moving my irises, Peabo turned 14. He grew 4 inches, and given that he's suddenly gotten just a little bit rounder, I'm betting we're in for a killer growth spurt this summer. He started high school, and then started again in a place that makes him so happy he comes home smiling, even on a bad day. He is also learning the best lesson I can teach him: to identify what he needs to feel safe, accepted and competent, and to advocate for it appropriately. He reads voraciously, when he's not playing video games or listening to podcasts about them. He wants to be a journalist - a video game journalist, of course - and he's starting to figure out what he needs to do to get there. I find this to be pretty darn cool.
My diva turned 11. She no longer feels the term "veggie girl" applies, and given that she's abandoned broccoli florets and will eat only the stems, she is probably right. She's also leaving elementary school for middle school in another month. And the middle school she's going to is phenomenal. An arts school that will let her explore her inner writer, actor, musician and artist. My girl can sing. Have I mentioned that? She can sing. Beautifully. She can write, too. She writes songs, her own form of poetry. And she writes stories. She is creative and athletic and still impresses me daily with her willingness to jump in head first and try something new.
And Jay, my redhead, is now 7. He is tall and wiry and still redheaded, though the color has faded just another shade closer to brown. He's figured out that his eyes look green when he wears a green shirt. He now likes to wear green shirts. He tried 2 new sports and realized that neither one is soccer. So we're signing him up for more soccer. He does all his homework without prompting, can spell like a maniac, and absolutely loves math. Loves it. To the point where he asked me recently if he could please go to a middle school that specializes in math, and did I think he was going to get into a good college? He's in 2nd grade. Clearly he is a planner.
In the past year we have also acquired a puppy, a smallish fellow named Figglebob Lloyd, or Flloyd for short. He can chew through even the super-tough black Kong toys and is generally smarter than everyone else in the house. We're trying to make him stupid so we can train him properly.
So there you have it. Peabo is smiling. My diva is exploring. Jay is planning. And Flloyd is creating just enough chaos to keep things interesting.
And my irises are blooming again.
Showing posts with label middle school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label middle school. Show all posts
May 12, 2013
August 30, 2011
When Mother Nature Is Out to Get You
Last week, we started school. Which has led to some musings. Random musings.
First, math.
Do you remember 8th grade algebra? I do. Loved my teacher, Mrs. Vaughn, who taught me to enjoy math and take some pride in an ability to do it well. I still can't add long columns of numbers, and I'll never know my multiplication tables by heart. But at one point I could do both well enough that I managed a whole year of algebra with a cheap-ass calculator. Peabo and his generation, however, are apparently so mathematically challenged that their 8th grade algebra class requires the firm plunking down of $140. For a calculator.
A calculator that comes with a USB cord and 20 pre-installed apps. It's like an iPod, only, you know, not.
Actually, I could have bought him an iPod at that price. It has a calculator built in. And for a measly $4.99 you can get Angry Birds, too.
That thing does make graphs, though. For my fine-motor challenged Peabo, that's a plus. (Note: math pun. Ha ha.)
Second, the first day of school. Which should maybe be first, not second, except that we bought the calculator first. Or rather, hemorrhaged money in the direction of the local office store.
Our first day of school was rather interesting because after the full backpacks and the big breakfast and the cheery pictures of the kids, there was the earthquake. Because we live on the East Coast, and earthquakes are a fact of life out here.
Except they're NOT. Not ever. So my kids spent their first day of school diving under their desks and then sat outside for two hours getting sunburned for the sake of safety.
For which I am grateful.
My redhead's assessment of his first day of first grade? "The best part was when the earth started shaking! That was awesome! Can we do it again?"
Oh, please no.
But that wasn't enough. Because into the chaos of tracking down med forms and prescriptions and picking up last-minute supplies for the middle schooler, we also added a hurricane.
Yeah, that was fun. We spent hours stocking up on non-perishable food and water in case the power went out (oddly enough, ours didn't - I say oddly because pretty much the whole rest of the world around our one little block is still dark). And then I dragged all the deck furniture inside and stowed my trash cans and pulled my basketball hoop down so it wouldn't blow over.
My kids freaked out. My au pair freaked out. They asked me about flooding and thunder and wind. They stayed up late and panicked. And that's with me firmly NOT telling them there might be tornadoes. Aren't I a good mom?
Of course, I knew there might be tornadoes, so I didn't sleep a wink. My basement is uninhabitable, so I put my kids in a room that was safe from falling trees and spent the night listening to the radio for tornado warnings.
Brilliant recipe for a cranky weekend. Stressed out, sleep-deprived kids combined with physically exhausted, sleep-deprived mom. Fun fun.
And then they stayed home from school. Because although our area was spared the floods that hit farther north, so many trees are down, so many homes and businesses are without power, that school's been canceled for two days now. Likely with more to come.
After the chaos of a vacation that bumped headlong into the back-to-school weekend frenzy of shopping and haircuts and more shopping, school should have been a break. It should have gotten us back to the routine. And we love that routine. I love it. My kids love it. My aspie especially loves it. Even my new au pair loves it.
So far, no routine. Only natural disasters. And a $140 calculator.
First, math.
Do you remember 8th grade algebra? I do. Loved my teacher, Mrs. Vaughn, who taught me to enjoy math and take some pride in an ability to do it well. I still can't add long columns of numbers, and I'll never know my multiplication tables by heart. But at one point I could do both well enough that I managed a whole year of algebra with a cheap-ass calculator. Peabo and his generation, however, are apparently so mathematically challenged that their 8th grade algebra class requires the firm plunking down of $140. For a calculator.
A calculator that comes with a USB cord and 20 pre-installed apps. It's like an iPod, only, you know, not.
Actually, I could have bought him an iPod at that price. It has a calculator built in. And for a measly $4.99 you can get Angry Birds, too.
That thing does make graphs, though. For my fine-motor challenged Peabo, that's a plus. (Note: math pun. Ha ha.)
Second, the first day of school. Which should maybe be first, not second, except that we bought the calculator first. Or rather, hemorrhaged money in the direction of the local office store.
Our first day of school was rather interesting because after the full backpacks and the big breakfast and the cheery pictures of the kids, there was the earthquake. Because we live on the East Coast, and earthquakes are a fact of life out here.
Except they're NOT. Not ever. So my kids spent their first day of school diving under their desks and then sat outside for two hours getting sunburned for the sake of safety.
For which I am grateful.
My redhead's assessment of his first day of first grade? "The best part was when the earth started shaking! That was awesome! Can we do it again?"
Oh, please no.
But that wasn't enough. Because into the chaos of tracking down med forms and prescriptions and picking up last-minute supplies for the middle schooler, we also added a hurricane.
Yeah, that was fun. We spent hours stocking up on non-perishable food and water in case the power went out (oddly enough, ours didn't - I say oddly because pretty much the whole rest of the world around our one little block is still dark). And then I dragged all the deck furniture inside and stowed my trash cans and pulled my basketball hoop down so it wouldn't blow over.
My kids freaked out. My au pair freaked out. They asked me about flooding and thunder and wind. They stayed up late and panicked. And that's with me firmly NOT telling them there might be tornadoes. Aren't I a good mom?
Of course, I knew there might be tornadoes, so I didn't sleep a wink. My basement is uninhabitable, so I put my kids in a room that was safe from falling trees and spent the night listening to the radio for tornado warnings.
Brilliant recipe for a cranky weekend. Stressed out, sleep-deprived kids combined with physically exhausted, sleep-deprived mom. Fun fun.
And then they stayed home from school. Because although our area was spared the floods that hit farther north, so many trees are down, so many homes and businesses are without power, that school's been canceled for two days now. Likely with more to come.
After the chaos of a vacation that bumped headlong into the back-to-school weekend frenzy of shopping and haircuts and more shopping, school should have been a break. It should have gotten us back to the routine. And we love that routine. I love it. My kids love it. My aspie especially loves it. Even my new au pair loves it.
So far, no routine. Only natural disasters. And a $140 calculator.
July 4, 2011
Inner Peace
Next Tuesday, my Peabo starts his Extended School Year program. For most kids, this would be summer school, and it would be full of extra math and reading and other academic gobbledygook. For Peabo and the kids who go to school with him, though, Extended School Year means summer camp. It's outdoors. There's swimming and canoing and trips to the bowling alley. It's fun, loads of fun, because it's all about the social skills.
And that's exactly what these kids need.
For those who don't know, Peabo attends a terrific school that is just right for him because it focuses on kids with Asperger's. It gives them the social, language and fine motor skills they need, along with constant behavioral feedback, and even homework assignments meant to help them fit in - like "wear deodorant" or "shower every day" (when you realize that most of these kids are middle school-aged boys, that assignment makes total sense). And they are working slowly toward mainstreaming, because this private school is set smack dab in the middle of a public school, so the kids attend at least a handful of classes each day with their neurotypical peers.
I love this school.
I love it for many reasons, but the biggest is that now, Peabo has friends. Real ones. Friends he can call and chat with. Friends he can play video games with and have inside jokes with and even small tiffs with.
Last week, Peabo came up with the great idea of getting the gang together before they meet up again at camp. He wanted to have a party at my house, which I am not up for at this point, as I'm still recovering from my 56-day odyssey. So I said, hey, why not get everyone together at the movies?
Which he did. He arranged the whole thing. He called his friends and agreed on a movie and a day. He talked to parents, and handed them off to me when he needed to. He arranged a ride for one friend, set up a meeting place for the others, and made sure his siblings and the one more who joined us were occupied with each other so he and his friends could hang.
All that left me, my increasingly awesome new au pair (seriously - she rocks), and one other mom shepherding 8 kids - 6 of them on the spectrum - through the mall.
It was chaos. As we wandered through the Food Court, and the book store, and then up to the theater, you could see me and Mom 2 doing constant head counts and then calling, "wait, wait, we've lost one" (usually it was my redhead, who has of late decided that listening and staying in sight are overrated skills that he needn't be bothered with). It was friends talking over one another, laughing too loud, talking Manga and music and battling each other on their DSi's. And battling in real life, too: We went to see Kung Fu Panda 2, and if you're a tweenager who's just seen a kung fu movie, you're going to come out of it believing in your soul that you're the Dragon Warrior and your companions are the Furious Five.
It was awesome.
I spent years fighting to get this for my kid. This exact thing. An afternoon at the mall with his friends, getting goofy and eating too much popcorn.
Today, I watched my diva and my redhead, so accustomed to their brother's kind of normal, accept and enjoy his fabulously quirky friends as just that and nothing more - his friends. And I spent time with other parents who just get it, innately, because they live this life, too.
The movie is all about Inner Peace and how you achieve it (and then kick the ass of the mortal enemy you did not even know you had).
This is my inner peace. This day, and the days like this to come.
And yeah, I liked the movie, too.
And that's exactly what these kids need.
For those who don't know, Peabo attends a terrific school that is just right for him because it focuses on kids with Asperger's. It gives them the social, language and fine motor skills they need, along with constant behavioral feedback, and even homework assignments meant to help them fit in - like "wear deodorant" or "shower every day" (when you realize that most of these kids are middle school-aged boys, that assignment makes total sense). And they are working slowly toward mainstreaming, because this private school is set smack dab in the middle of a public school, so the kids attend at least a handful of classes each day with their neurotypical peers.
I love this school.
I love it for many reasons, but the biggest is that now, Peabo has friends. Real ones. Friends he can call and chat with. Friends he can play video games with and have inside jokes with and even small tiffs with.
Last week, Peabo came up with the great idea of getting the gang together before they meet up again at camp. He wanted to have a party at my house, which I am not up for at this point, as I'm still recovering from my 56-day odyssey. So I said, hey, why not get everyone together at the movies?
Which he did. He arranged the whole thing. He called his friends and agreed on a movie and a day. He talked to parents, and handed them off to me when he needed to. He arranged a ride for one friend, set up a meeting place for the others, and made sure his siblings and the one more who joined us were occupied with each other so he and his friends could hang.
All that left me, my increasingly awesome new au pair (seriously - she rocks), and one other mom shepherding 8 kids - 6 of them on the spectrum - through the mall.
It was chaos. As we wandered through the Food Court, and the book store, and then up to the theater, you could see me and Mom 2 doing constant head counts and then calling, "wait, wait, we've lost one" (usually it was my redhead, who has of late decided that listening and staying in sight are overrated skills that he needn't be bothered with). It was friends talking over one another, laughing too loud, talking Manga and music and battling each other on their DSi's. And battling in real life, too: We went to see Kung Fu Panda 2, and if you're a tweenager who's just seen a kung fu movie, you're going to come out of it believing in your soul that you're the Dragon Warrior and your companions are the Furious Five.
It was awesome.
I spent years fighting to get this for my kid. This exact thing. An afternoon at the mall with his friends, getting goofy and eating too much popcorn.
Today, I watched my diva and my redhead, so accustomed to their brother's kind of normal, accept and enjoy his fabulously quirky friends as just that and nothing more - his friends. And I spent time with other parents who just get it, innately, because they live this life, too.
The movie is all about Inner Peace and how you achieve it (and then kick the ass of the mortal enemy you did not even know you had).
This is my inner peace. This day, and the days like this to come.
And yeah, I liked the movie, too.
January 2, 2011
Sleeping into the Sunset
It's been 16 days since my last blog post.
You know what I've been doing? Aside from working, raising three kids, managing Christmas and New Year's, and - oh yeah - dealing with a resurgence of head lice (which, fortunately, struck over the holidays when the risk of contagion was low and the time available to nitpick was high).
I just distracted myself. Wait, what was I doing? Oh, right!
I've been sleeping. S-L-E-E-P-I-N-G. Which deserves every capital letter I can find.
I meant to be on vacation, so the sleeping thing would have maybe made sense. Except for, you know, the raging insomnia. But that vacation didn't work out quite as I planned, and I wound up working. I did my work the easy way, though. Started late. Kept it to the daytime. Didn't bring out the computer at night. And you know what happened? I got tired. I got tired, so I got up off my sofa and I went to bed. I made myself horizontal by midnight every single night. Well, except Christmas Eve. But that's only because I was tracking Santa with NORAD and couldn't go to sleep until he was finished.
I'm well rested. Which means I'm not blogging. And I hope it doesn't offend you if I hope for more of the same in 2011. I'd call it a New Year's resolution, but I'm not so good with those.
Since I'm awake now, though, I proudly present my 2010 Done List.
In the past year, I have ...
You know what I've been doing? Aside from working, raising three kids, managing Christmas and New Year's, and - oh yeah - dealing with a resurgence of head lice (which, fortunately, struck over the holidays when the risk of contagion was low and the time available to nitpick was high).
I just distracted myself. Wait, what was I doing? Oh, right!
I've been sleeping. S-L-E-E-P-I-N-G. Which deserves every capital letter I can find.
I meant to be on vacation, so the sleeping thing would have maybe made sense. Except for, you know, the raging insomnia. But that vacation didn't work out quite as I planned, and I wound up working. I did my work the easy way, though. Started late. Kept it to the daytime. Didn't bring out the computer at night. And you know what happened? I got tired. I got tired, so I got up off my sofa and I went to bed. I made myself horizontal by midnight every single night. Well, except Christmas Eve. But that's only because I was tracking Santa with NORAD and couldn't go to sleep until he was finished.
I'm well rested. Which means I'm not blogging. And I hope it doesn't offend you if I hope for more of the same in 2011. I'd call it a New Year's resolution, but I'm not so good with those.
Since I'm awake now, though, I proudly present my 2010 Done List.
In the past year, I have ...
- Said good-bye to a beloved friend - our dog, Moose, who passed away in January. We still miss her.
- Survived the 80+ inches of snow dumped on our area last winter. With help.
- Got my kids eating real food, at a real table, with real manners. They put their napkins in their laps and only talk with their mouths full when they have something really important to say.
- Saw my diva into - and then back out of - vegetarianism. Along the way, she learned there's not a veggie grown that she does not love. Even better - she dragged her brothers kicking and screaming into the veggie madness with her. Now I can serve broccoli, cauliflower, green beans, brussels sprouts, peas, corn, cucumbers or carrots ... and everyone eats them. Last week, I introduced sauteed spinach and lima beans - on different nights, of course - and got nothing but yums from the peanut gallery. Hats off to Veggie Girl, because I'm pretty sure none of that would have happened without her.
- Fixed my plumbing. And my car. And my lights. And my computer. And my microwave. I got jiggy with the home repairs.
- Made new friends - a few who actually live near me (yay!), and one who lives with me. I've had lots of great au pairs, but only a few have become true friends - and the one who's living with me now is among the best of them.
- Hired a boy. That's right - our next au pair is a fella! And he's got the URL to my blog, so if he's reading this - we're pleased as punch that you're coming, and the kids can't wait to make you play soccer with them. Every. Single. Day.
- Got my oldest into the Right School, with the Right People. Which means he's now attending a school where every single person on staff understands Asperger's Syndrome and not only accepts my son but loves him for exactly who he is. So far he's brought home straight A's and a girlfriend and a few best friends who call him just to chat and sometimes to invite him to the movies. His joy at getting on the school bus every day is palpable. (And, a nod here to the local middle school, because they did everything they could to support him and make sure he got where he needed to go.)
- Left my heart in San Francisco. And brought some yummy chocolate home.
- Saw my redhead off to Kindergarten. And only cried a little. And now he's reading. Kindergarten is magic.
- Knit stuff. This year I finished - yes, I said finished - my knitting Olympics project and a handbag, plus the three hats and a scarf I just gave as Christmas gifts. And I finished those last four on time. Barely. But it counts.
- Picked hundreds of nits from the heads of various of my children. And thanked my au pair for doing the same, for them and for me. (Ew.)
- Wrote another 57 blog posts. Which seems to be about all I'm good for in any given year, seeing as that's the exact number I wrote in 2009, too.
August 28, 2010
First Days
My kids started school this week. One kid at a time. Which means we had three - yes, that's THREE - first days of school. Three days where mom woke up at the crack of dawn and lovingly prepared a breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes with bananas and sausage. Three days of snapping pictures and stuffing backpacks to the gills with school supplies. Three days of nerves and joy and the general angst that comes from changing your whole schedule around from one day to the next.
And the next.
And the next.
Monday was my diva's first day of third grade. It was also the day my new Kindergartner went in to meet his new teacher and see his new classroom. The ex came too, which tickled the kids pinker than my daughter's hot pink polka-dotted leggings. The whole group of us walked to school together.
She had a great day.
I, apparently, did not. I walked right past all the "here's what to do for the first day" papers in the Kindergarten classroom. All of them. Which was a problem.
But not till Wednesday.
Tuesday was all about my Aspie. He's in 7th grade. And that scares me. Because I remember 7th grade. I remember getting thrown up on by the girl on the riser behind me in the spring chorus concert. I remember roller skating and school dances and "going with" a cute, slightly geeky, very tall boy named Jeremy for about a week. I think I dumped him, but it's hard to say because I also can't remember having an actual conversation with the guy. It was all about the intermediaries in 7th grade.
(Note: cute, geeky and tall remains my type to this day. )
So, heck yeah, 7th grade scares me. Puberty and tweendom and all that. But what I'm not scared about this year, for the first time since my Aspie hit Kindergarten, is school. School is good. School is great. My Aspie is in a place where he is cared for and supported and loved. Where he's learning and active and making friends. The transition from summer is still rough, and he's been a bit of a tired, tantrummy mess most days this week. But he'll adjust. And that's the minor miracle. He will adjust.
And then came Wednesday. The day I sent my baby off to Kindergarten with his new red backpack and his name tag, and no stuffed animal for show and tell. Because I totally missed the paper.
Oops.
He was fine with it, though, when I told him. He's that kind of kid.
I stood back and watched him, standing in line in front of his new teacher, waiting for the kids from the last bus to arrive. He was pensive and nervous and looked so very young. And then, just before the teacher led her line of students off into the bowels of the school, he turned to me, shot me an impish grin ... and stuck his tongue out at me.
I burst into tears.
How did my kids get so grown up?
Damn. I think I blinked again.
And the next.
And the next.
Monday was my diva's first day of third grade. It was also the day my new Kindergartner went in to meet his new teacher and see his new classroom. The ex came too, which tickled the kids pinker than my daughter's hot pink polka-dotted leggings. The whole group of us walked to school together.
She had a great day.
I, apparently, did not. I walked right past all the "here's what to do for the first day" papers in the Kindergarten classroom. All of them. Which was a problem.
But not till Wednesday.
Tuesday was all about my Aspie. He's in 7th grade. And that scares me. Because I remember 7th grade. I remember getting thrown up on by the girl on the riser behind me in the spring chorus concert. I remember roller skating and school dances and "going with" a cute, slightly geeky, very tall boy named Jeremy for about a week. I think I dumped him, but it's hard to say because I also can't remember having an actual conversation with the guy. It was all about the intermediaries in 7th grade.
(Note: cute, geeky and tall remains my type to this day. )
So, heck yeah, 7th grade scares me. Puberty and tweendom and all that. But what I'm not scared about this year, for the first time since my Aspie hit Kindergarten, is school. School is good. School is great. My Aspie is in a place where he is cared for and supported and loved. Where he's learning and active and making friends. The transition from summer is still rough, and he's been a bit of a tired, tantrummy mess most days this week. But he'll adjust. And that's the minor miracle. He will adjust.
And then came Wednesday. The day I sent my baby off to Kindergarten with his new red backpack and his name tag, and no stuffed animal for show and tell. Because I totally missed the paper.
Oops.
He was fine with it, though, when I told him. He's that kind of kid.
I burst into tears.
How did my kids get so grown up?
Damn. I think I blinked again.
June 13, 2010
Sex and the Single Aspie
I have this cousin who is One Smart Cookie, and who is also, for various reasons, interested in the subject of Asperger's Syndrome. We haven't talked about it much, but given that we're friends on Facebook, he sees my posts, and I see his.
He posted something today that, well, it was interesting. I'm not ready to share it with my own general public on Facebook. But I am very comfortable sharing it here, where I can give it some context.
The article, "Asperger's Syndrome Sex: Love's Outer Limits," was posted on CarnalNation.com. It's part one of a multi-part series.
And it's fascinating.
I can't speak for the other moms of tween Aspies. Mine is in middle school. He's learning about hygiene and puberty and how his body will change. And he's thinking about girls. He's asking about first kisses and why unmarried teens have babies and whether I have a boyfriend. (And no, those last two are not related topics.)
Sex and relationships are part and parcel of growing up, no less for him than for other kids his age. A lot of his coming of age will and should be private - i.e., not bloggable. But as his mom, I do have some thinking to do about how to talk to him about this stuff. And that thinking should be okay to share.
I don't know about other parents, but I want my kids - all three of them - to have healthy and fulfilling relationships. I don't care whether my kids are gay or straight or ambiguous, but I do care that they find a way to connect, a way to be loved, a way to get hugs and kisses and the fulfillment that comes from a loving physical relationship. I want them to be respected and respectful. To know themselves, their hearts and their bodies. To know what they need and be comfortable saying so. To know when to say no, and when to say yes. To make good and responsible choices.
And I've wondered how all of that might be different for my Aspie. Because it will be. Any interpersonal relationship works differently for him.
And it hurts me when I think that my Aspie, who already struggles so much to make friends, may struggle so much more to find love.
This article gives me a beginning, a place to start from when talking to him about this stuff. And I'm thinking I may forward it to the guidance counselor at his school, where there are eight other tweenage boys starting the same journey.
For the record? I had my first kiss at seven (apparently, so did my daughter ... the things you learn over breakfast!). And I successfully dodged the boyfriend question. The subject of teen pregnancy came up after the season finale of Glee. I told him that unmarried teens like Puck and Quinn have babies when they make poor choices. My older two then asked me what those poor choices were, and I said something like "it's called 'having sex'," and both of them promptly changed the subject. For which, I am thanking my lucky stars. And thinking madly about how to answer it when the subject comes up again.
He posted something today that, well, it was interesting. I'm not ready to share it with my own general public on Facebook. But I am very comfortable sharing it here, where I can give it some context.
The article, "Asperger's Syndrome Sex: Love's Outer Limits," was posted on CarnalNation.com. It's part one of a multi-part series.
And it's fascinating.
I can't speak for the other moms of tween Aspies. Mine is in middle school. He's learning about hygiene and puberty and how his body will change. And he's thinking about girls. He's asking about first kisses and why unmarried teens have babies and whether I have a boyfriend. (And no, those last two are not related topics.)
Sex and relationships are part and parcel of growing up, no less for him than for other kids his age. A lot of his coming of age will and should be private - i.e., not bloggable. But as his mom, I do have some thinking to do about how to talk to him about this stuff. And that thinking should be okay to share.
I don't know about other parents, but I want my kids - all three of them - to have healthy and fulfilling relationships. I don't care whether my kids are gay or straight or ambiguous, but I do care that they find a way to connect, a way to be loved, a way to get hugs and kisses and the fulfillment that comes from a loving physical relationship. I want them to be respected and respectful. To know themselves, their hearts and their bodies. To know what they need and be comfortable saying so. To know when to say no, and when to say yes. To make good and responsible choices.
And I've wondered how all of that might be different for my Aspie. Because it will be. Any interpersonal relationship works differently for him.
And it hurts me when I think that my Aspie, who already struggles so much to make friends, may struggle so much more to find love.
This article gives me a beginning, a place to start from when talking to him about this stuff. And I'm thinking I may forward it to the guidance counselor at his school, where there are eight other tweenage boys starting the same journey.
For the record? I had my first kiss at seven (apparently, so did my daughter ... the things you learn over breakfast!). And I successfully dodged the boyfriend question. The subject of teen pregnancy came up after the season finale of Glee. I told him that unmarried teens like Puck and Quinn have babies when they make poor choices. My older two then asked me what those poor choices were, and I said something like "it's called 'having sex'," and both of them promptly changed the subject. For which, I am thanking my lucky stars. And thinking madly about how to answer it when the subject comes up again.
April 7, 2010
Making Friends
I've been afraid to put this in writing. I didn't post it on Facebook. I didn't put it in the blog. Thought I might jinx it, I guess.
I didn't jinx it.
Yesterday, my beautiful, wonderful, totally stressed out Aspie started over.
About a month ago, give or take, I got a call from the middle school (yes, we love middle school). He'd been struggling. He was frustrated and getting more so by the day. He was spending less and less time in class and more and more on suspension. He wasn't eating his lunch or his snacks. His grades, straight A's at the beginning of the year, were sinking like a stone. He stopped working. The kids he thought of as his friends started dropping away.
And he noticed. He noticed all of it.
So the school called. Or rather the district called. They wanted to consider an alternative placement for my son. A different kind of school. A school that welcomed kids on the high-functioning end of the spectrum. Very small classes. A protected environment. Heavy emphasis on social skills. But set smack dab in the middle of a strong public middle school, with full access to the great academics my bright kid needs to feel challenged and engaged.
Best. IEP. Meeting. Ever.
Because he got in.
I cried. I made three other people cry. I have fought for this exact thing for three straight years. I fought for new evaluations. I got statements from every professional I could find. I hired an advocate. And I still failed.
Until now. Until they called me.
And when I told him about it for the first time, expecting a tantrum or at least a bit of confused self-doubt, what I got surprised me. What I got was a great big giant sigh of relief from a kid who was sufficiently self-aware to know he needed more help than he was getting. He was happy. Nervous as a cat. But happy and excited and ready to move on.
So yesterday, he started over. Yesterday, he took his first-ever ride on a school bus and traveled to a whole other town. He came home with an empty lunchbox, a passion for Yu-Gi-Oh, and a great big smile.
It won't be all sunshine and roses. Transitions kinda suck, you know. But this transition, it's the good kind. And we're ready, more than ready, to make it.
You go, kid.
I didn't jinx it.
Yesterday, my beautiful, wonderful, totally stressed out Aspie started over.
About a month ago, give or take, I got a call from the middle school (yes, we love middle school). He'd been struggling. He was frustrated and getting more so by the day. He was spending less and less time in class and more and more on suspension. He wasn't eating his lunch or his snacks. His grades, straight A's at the beginning of the year, were sinking like a stone. He stopped working. The kids he thought of as his friends started dropping away.
And he noticed. He noticed all of it.
So the school called. Or rather the district called. They wanted to consider an alternative placement for my son. A different kind of school. A school that welcomed kids on the high-functioning end of the spectrum. Very small classes. A protected environment. Heavy emphasis on social skills. But set smack dab in the middle of a strong public middle school, with full access to the great academics my bright kid needs to feel challenged and engaged.
Best. IEP. Meeting. Ever.
Because he got in.
I cried. I made three other people cry. I have fought for this exact thing for three straight years. I fought for new evaluations. I got statements from every professional I could find. I hired an advocate. And I still failed.
Until now. Until they called me.
And when I told him about it for the first time, expecting a tantrum or at least a bit of confused self-doubt, what I got surprised me. What I got was a great big giant sigh of relief from a kid who was sufficiently self-aware to know he needed more help than he was getting. He was happy. Nervous as a cat. But happy and excited and ready to move on.
So yesterday, he started over. Yesterday, he took his first-ever ride on a school bus and traveled to a whole other town. He came home with an empty lunchbox, a passion for Yu-Gi-Oh, and a great big smile.
It won't be all sunshine and roses. Transitions kinda suck, you know. But this transition, it's the good kind. And we're ready, more than ready, to make it.
You go, kid.
September 2, 2009
Conspiracy Theory
Last night, I had three Oreos and a cup of low-fat blueberry yogurt for dinner.
That's because they found me. The back-to-school germs, that is. They found me, and now I'm sick as a dog.
Two of my three kids started back to school last week. That's the only reason we have Oreos in the house in the first place: for lunchboxes. Usually I buy the icky green mint ones. The kids love 'em, I don't, so they stay safely in the pantry where they belong.
But for the first week of school I wanted special. I wanted the golden double-stuff Oreos.
I like those.
I don't think the Oreos brought the germs, though. I think the kids did that, even though not a single one of them has this bug. Oh, my redhead ran a fever for a whole 36 hours last week. But that was it. And it's not what I've got.
They're carriers, these kids. Human petri dishes. I think it's all part of an insidious conspiracy. The germs attack me, the kids stay healthy, and then when I'm at my weakest the kids strike. Seems a lot of work for a few extra hours in front of the TV, but I suppose to them it's worth it.
So here I am. It's barely the second week of school, and I'm coughing so hard I can't sleep, unable to take a deep breath, and so hoarse no one can hear me.
I'm also too weak to stand up and make myself food. Hence the yogurt and Oreos.
Gotta love it when the kids head back to school ...
That's because they found me. The back-to-school germs, that is. They found me, and now I'm sick as a dog.
Two of my three kids started back to school last week. That's the only reason we have Oreos in the house in the first place: for lunchboxes. Usually I buy the icky green mint ones. The kids love 'em, I don't, so they stay safely in the pantry where they belong.
But for the first week of school I wanted special. I wanted the golden double-stuff Oreos.
I like those.
I don't think the Oreos brought the germs, though. I think the kids did that, even though not a single one of them has this bug. Oh, my redhead ran a fever for a whole 36 hours last week. But that was it. And it's not what I've got.
They're carriers, these kids. Human petri dishes. I think it's all part of an insidious conspiracy. The germs attack me, the kids stay healthy, and then when I'm at my weakest the kids strike. Seems a lot of work for a few extra hours in front of the TV, but I suppose to them it's worth it.
So here I am. It's barely the second week of school, and I'm coughing so hard I can't sleep, unable to take a deep breath, and so hoarse no one can hear me.
I'm also too weak to stand up and make myself food. Hence the yogurt and Oreos.
Gotta love it when the kids head back to school ...
August 17, 2009
Mom Fears
Do you remember middle school?
I do. It was hell. I got hate mail from girls I thought were my friends. Kids made fun of my name and my complete and utter lack of athletic ability. One day I even got a face full of shaving cream when I got on the bus.
Torture is fun, isn't it?
I don't often talk specifically about my Aspie or the way his different abilities affect him or our family, because really it's all just a part of our life. But less than a week from today, he heads off to middle school. And I'm terrified.
He's going to be dealing with things he can't possibly understand. Kids with hormones and cell phones - he has neither as yet. A massive new school - when lots of people and sound set him on edge, something he doesn't really get about himself. And a schedule that rotates every third day. Every third day. Yeah, 'cause that makes sense in a five-day week.
His ADHD means he still dashes into the street without looking. And now he's expected to walk to school by himself every day.
His Asperger's means he's got limited social skills. And all that non-verbal stuff? Goes right over his head. He doesn't understand when people are sarcastic with him, or mean to him. He thinks bullies are his friends.
There are definitely bullies in middle school.
He's smart, and he knows when he's being left out or ostracized. And it hurts.
He has a very hard time staying organized. And now he's expected to track assignments in six core classes plus extras.
He needs frequent breaks to keep his sanity - and now his school day is longer, with no recess.
He's got a raging high metabolism, thanks to the ritalin and his own biology. He needs protein and carbs constantly. Yet he won't get lunch until 1:30, and snacks aren't allowed.
He's also a sweet kid with a big loving heart. I think it makes him vulnerable. But maybe that's not a bad thing. Maybe he's smart enough to figure it all out. Right? And the bigger school may mean he'll find his niche and a few friends, real friends. Maybe even some kids like him.
And he thinks he's ready. He really does.
Maybe he is. Most likely, it's just me who's not.
I do. It was hell. I got hate mail from girls I thought were my friends. Kids made fun of my name and my complete and utter lack of athletic ability. One day I even got a face full of shaving cream when I got on the bus.
Torture is fun, isn't it?
I don't often talk specifically about my Aspie or the way his different abilities affect him or our family, because really it's all just a part of our life. But less than a week from today, he heads off to middle school. And I'm terrified.
He's going to be dealing with things he can't possibly understand. Kids with hormones and cell phones - he has neither as yet. A massive new school - when lots of people and sound set him on edge, something he doesn't really get about himself. And a schedule that rotates every third day. Every third day. Yeah, 'cause that makes sense in a five-day week.
His ADHD means he still dashes into the street without looking. And now he's expected to walk to school by himself every day.
His Asperger's means he's got limited social skills. And all that non-verbal stuff? Goes right over his head. He doesn't understand when people are sarcastic with him, or mean to him. He thinks bullies are his friends.
There are definitely bullies in middle school.
He's smart, and he knows when he's being left out or ostracized. And it hurts.
He has a very hard time staying organized. And now he's expected to track assignments in six core classes plus extras.
He needs frequent breaks to keep his sanity - and now his school day is longer, with no recess.
He's got a raging high metabolism, thanks to the ritalin and his own biology. He needs protein and carbs constantly. Yet he won't get lunch until 1:30, and snacks aren't allowed.
He's also a sweet kid with a big loving heart. I think it makes him vulnerable. But maybe that's not a bad thing. Maybe he's smart enough to figure it all out. Right? And the bigger school may mean he'll find his niche and a few friends, real friends. Maybe even some kids like him.
And he thinks he's ready. He really does.
Maybe he is. Most likely, it's just me who's not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)