Hannah has been with us for six months today. I count every moment of those six months as a success. Every moment she isn't living with her former addict mother. Every moment she has a room of her own, a roof over her head, good food to eat, clothes that belong only to her, and always shoulders to cry on and ears that will listen. Every moment that she's learning to live her life for herself, as a teenager should, while learning respect and her place in a big family unit.
I'm not bragging. I now believe that Hannah has everything that a teenage girl should have. And we aren't talking about new cars and fancy shit spilling out of her closet. This girl works for what she has, and does it with respect and appreciation.
Ideal teenager? Just about. Normal teenager? Well, we're getting there.
She thanks me every night for making dinner. Thanks me a million times a day for stuff my other kids expect. She helps out, isn't a punk (amen and thank you JESUS), and does well in school.
If anyone thinks I'm EVER letting her go back to Texas, they've got another think coming.
Her stepfather, sister, half-brother and sometimes her mother (who, the rest of the time is still in a halfway house), are now living in a Motel 6. Their 2084758th residence in a year. Haley has to repeat the 10th grade. Hannah's mother is constantly playing head games and putting the girl on horrid guilt trips on the phone. Rehab WERKS.
Six months of win. Maybe we can start to make up for all the years we had no clue what was going on. Our fault? You bet. 1700 miles is nothing. We should have paid more attention, trusted less, talked more.
Becoming an instant full-time parent to a teenager was like splashing cold water on your face. But I wouldn't trade it for the entire world.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Nicholas
So, a few weeks ago, Tony and I went to observe a classroom in a nearby school district as an example of the ED class that will be starting in OUR district this fall. ED. That's, "Emotionally Disturbed" for those of you not down with the lingo.
Yes, we are considering sending Nicholas to a class for 'emotionally disturbed' children.
Stop. Deep breath. Exhale.
I don't know about you, but when I hear the words 'emotionally disturbed', I think of children who have been through unspeakable horrors. Child abuse. Witness to a mafia murder. Having every image of Christmas fantasy being ripped from their minds because they accidentally saw Bad Santa. I do not think of either of my sons. And the wild part is, I'm so not politically correct. I'm not about making sure the wording of something is neutral enough that no one will ever be offended. So why does this tag bug me so much? I don't know.
Anyway, the class we saw was pretty cool. And, hard as it is to admit, it's a fit for Nick, I think. His behavior is a big barrier to his success, despite his brilliant mind. Or maybe because of it? Hmm. I find myself weighing now the many sides of Nick's life and development, and trying to decide which is most important at this stage.
There's no question about Nick's intelligence. The kid is off the charts in some places. Others, he's right on target for his age. But the things they can't (or maybe don't) measure in school are the parts that amaze me. His intuition. His understanding of things that are just way beyond his age. His sensitivity. His savvy. I know he's a sponge who's going to soak up every bit of information that passes under his nose, whether or not he was seeking it. Which is why I have to be extra careful what crosses his path, because like it or not, he's gonna remember it, and remind you that he remembered it later. Often at the worst possible moment.
But then...there's Nick's emotional age. He's six. He has the heart of a six year old, and the maturity of a six year old...maybe younger sometimes. He knows what he's supposed to do, he knows what to expect, and what consequences may be in store for him if he doesn't do what he's expected to, and yet...it makes no difference. Same routines for some things for years...protest anyway. Loudly, often. His impulse control is zip. His temper is red-hot with a half-inch fuse. He knows when he has to do something but he lacks that little voice that says, "Okay, this sucks, but I know I have to do it, so I'm going to just do it, and get it over with." If something doesn't have real, practical application to Nick in his mind, he's of the mind, "Why the heck should I do it?"
Most of all, he wants to please the people in his life. He knows when he's doing wrong, sometimes even arguing with himself in the middle of it. "Okay, I wanna be good...no, I'm sorry, I wanna be good!...I'll be good!" It seems he literally cannot control what he's doing, saying or expression sometimes.
I hurt for him.
Thursday, he sees Chez again. Gonna talk about his meds, and try to nail down a solid diagnosis. In my heart I think most of his problems are a compounded effect from uber-intelligence and immaturity, but I'm no doc.
And in the fall, as it sits now, he'll be in a classroom with kids from K-5th grade (which is good, because he can work on higher grade levels) who are 'emotionally disturbed'. God, I hope he doesn't catch wind of that moniker.
Yes, we are considering sending Nicholas to a class for 'emotionally disturbed' children.
Stop. Deep breath. Exhale.
I don't know about you, but when I hear the words 'emotionally disturbed', I think of children who have been through unspeakable horrors. Child abuse. Witness to a mafia murder. Having every image of Christmas fantasy being ripped from their minds because they accidentally saw Bad Santa. I do not think of either of my sons. And the wild part is, I'm so not politically correct. I'm not about making sure the wording of something is neutral enough that no one will ever be offended. So why does this tag bug me so much? I don't know.
Anyway, the class we saw was pretty cool. And, hard as it is to admit, it's a fit for Nick, I think. His behavior is a big barrier to his success, despite his brilliant mind. Or maybe because of it? Hmm. I find myself weighing now the many sides of Nick's life and development, and trying to decide which is most important at this stage.
There's no question about Nick's intelligence. The kid is off the charts in some places. Others, he's right on target for his age. But the things they can't (or maybe don't) measure in school are the parts that amaze me. His intuition. His understanding of things that are just way beyond his age. His sensitivity. His savvy. I know he's a sponge who's going to soak up every bit of information that passes under his nose, whether or not he was seeking it. Which is why I have to be extra careful what crosses his path, because like it or not, he's gonna remember it, and remind you that he remembered it later. Often at the worst possible moment.
But then...there's Nick's emotional age. He's six. He has the heart of a six year old, and the maturity of a six year old...maybe younger sometimes. He knows what he's supposed to do, he knows what to expect, and what consequences may be in store for him if he doesn't do what he's expected to, and yet...it makes no difference. Same routines for some things for years...protest anyway. Loudly, often. His impulse control is zip. His temper is red-hot with a half-inch fuse. He knows when he has to do something but he lacks that little voice that says, "Okay, this sucks, but I know I have to do it, so I'm going to just do it, and get it over with." If something doesn't have real, practical application to Nick in his mind, he's of the mind, "Why the heck should I do it?"
Most of all, he wants to please the people in his life. He knows when he's doing wrong, sometimes even arguing with himself in the middle of it. "Okay, I wanna be good...no, I'm sorry, I wanna be good!...I'll be good!" It seems he literally cannot control what he's doing, saying or expression sometimes.
I hurt for him.
Thursday, he sees Chez again. Gonna talk about his meds, and try to nail down a solid diagnosis. In my heart I think most of his problems are a compounded effect from uber-intelligence and immaturity, but I'm no doc.
And in the fall, as it sits now, he'll be in a classroom with kids from K-5th grade (which is good, because he can work on higher grade levels) who are 'emotionally disturbed'. God, I hope he doesn't catch wind of that moniker.
Gregory
Emily Perl Kingsley wrote:
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo "David". The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!" you say. "What do you mean, Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, digusting, filthy place,full of pestilence, famine and diesase. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would have never met.
It's just a different place. It's slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around...and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills...and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy...and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life,you will say,"Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever, go away...because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.
But...if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things...about Holland.
I love this writing. It grounds me every time I get sad or begin to again mourn the special needs my Gregory has. When I am faced with a new challenge with him, or a new reality. And as he gets older, the realities and challenges become harder, and more difficult to take.
I sat the other night and thought about the possibility that he may never be able to live alone. And that cold stone condensed in my gut...who will care for him? How do I cultivate the loving responsibility in my other children that they must always take care of their brother after Tony and I are gone? How do I raise them to understand him, and not resent him? How in the world am I ever going to be able to leave this world if he isn't independent...
And, as fears often go, my mind wandered into the irrational and ridiculous. The thought somehow hit me that if Gregory were to be taken from this world and me as a child, (God forbid), who would take care of him? I had that image, that I mostly blame Hollywood for, of him emerging from the light toward heaven, and he's alone, and confused. My spirituality makes me believe that an angel, or Jesus himself would be waiting for him, and that moreover, his autism would have vanished. But my mama's heart was terrified that he'd be exactly as I know him now, and lost. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm half nuts for this train of thought, but it scared me just the same.
My sadness/stress/anxiety/worry over Gregory is recently renewed because his doctor and I recently decided to up his dose of risperidone. So, as usual, I researched the med again, to remind myself of the side effects and the general use of the drug. And, as usual, it all scared me to death. The internet is a wonderful resource, but it has the ability to scare the hell out of me.
I weighed the risks and benefits of putting my 7 year old little boy on an antipsychotic. I feel that the benefits outweigh the risks. But it's still not an easy choice. It's not black and white. It's not a clear cut path. Will I feel it was a good decision, even if it does help him, if he ends up with a serious side effect some day? Will HE be glad I made the decision if he ends up sicker? Will the benefits it's had NOW be worth the possible long-term effects LATER? I just don't know...
I'll wrap this note up. I'm going to put my babies to bed...
My enchanting, whimsical four-year-old daughter who still believes she'll be a princess when she grows up and still finds magic everywhere. On seeing the sparkly trails the snails leave behind, she stopped on a sunny day and pointed to the sidewalk. "Oooh look, Mommy! There's MAGIC on the ground!"
My amazingly brilliant six-year-old son, who is struggling to find a balance between the beauty of his mind and how uncomfortably far ahead of his age it is. A child with a wit and sense of humor that amazes me and makes me laugh insanely every day. My sister asked him, "Nick, what do you want to be when you grow up?" Nick replies, "A MANIAC!" Some days he's well on his way...
And my Gregory. My seven year old angel, with a stubborn streak a mile wide, and eyes just as big. And a heart that dwarfs both.
You know, 99.9% of the time, I love Holland just fine. But I would very much have liked for Gregory to see Italy.
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo "David". The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!" you say. "What do you mean, Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, digusting, filthy place,full of pestilence, famine and diesase. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would have never met.
It's just a different place. It's slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around...and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills...and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy...and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life,you will say,"Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever, go away...because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.
But...if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things...about Holland.
I love this writing. It grounds me every time I get sad or begin to again mourn the special needs my Gregory has. When I am faced with a new challenge with him, or a new reality. And as he gets older, the realities and challenges become harder, and more difficult to take.
I sat the other night and thought about the possibility that he may never be able to live alone. And that cold stone condensed in my gut...who will care for him? How do I cultivate the loving responsibility in my other children that they must always take care of their brother after Tony and I are gone? How do I raise them to understand him, and not resent him? How in the world am I ever going to be able to leave this world if he isn't independent...
And, as fears often go, my mind wandered into the irrational and ridiculous. The thought somehow hit me that if Gregory were to be taken from this world and me as a child, (God forbid), who would take care of him? I had that image, that I mostly blame Hollywood for, of him emerging from the light toward heaven, and he's alone, and confused. My spirituality makes me believe that an angel, or Jesus himself would be waiting for him, and that moreover, his autism would have vanished. But my mama's heart was terrified that he'd be exactly as I know him now, and lost. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm half nuts for this train of thought, but it scared me just the same.
My sadness/stress/anxiety/worry over Gregory is recently renewed because his doctor and I recently decided to up his dose of risperidone. So, as usual, I researched the med again, to remind myself of the side effects and the general use of the drug. And, as usual, it all scared me to death. The internet is a wonderful resource, but it has the ability to scare the hell out of me.
I weighed the risks and benefits of putting my 7 year old little boy on an antipsychotic. I feel that the benefits outweigh the risks. But it's still not an easy choice. It's not black and white. It's not a clear cut path. Will I feel it was a good decision, even if it does help him, if he ends up with a serious side effect some day? Will HE be glad I made the decision if he ends up sicker? Will the benefits it's had NOW be worth the possible long-term effects LATER? I just don't know...
I'll wrap this note up. I'm going to put my babies to bed...
My enchanting, whimsical four-year-old daughter who still believes she'll be a princess when she grows up and still finds magic everywhere. On seeing the sparkly trails the snails leave behind, she stopped on a sunny day and pointed to the sidewalk. "Oooh look, Mommy! There's MAGIC on the ground!"
My amazingly brilliant six-year-old son, who is struggling to find a balance between the beauty of his mind and how uncomfortably far ahead of his age it is. A child with a wit and sense of humor that amazes me and makes me laugh insanely every day. My sister asked him, "Nick, what do you want to be when you grow up?" Nick replies, "A MANIAC!" Some days he's well on his way...
And my Gregory. My seven year old angel, with a stubborn streak a mile wide, and eyes just as big. And a heart that dwarfs both.
You know, 99.9% of the time, I love Holland just fine. But I would very much have liked for Gregory to see Italy.
Opening A New Door...
...into the five worlds of my parenting adventures. Odd way to say, "I'm a mom," but it's the only way to summarize my parenting experiences.
I have five children. Three came from my body, two came from my husband. They are Haley, 16, Hannah, 15, Gregory, 7, Nicholas, 6, and Sofia, 4. Each of them is a separate, brightly shining star in my world, and each provides unique challenges to my role as mother and stepmother.
I'll begin each entry titled with just the child's name I want to focus on for that entry. Forgive me now if my words tend to run into babbling, stream-of-consciousness thinking. I do that a lot. And often, where emotions are concerned, it's all I can do.
I have five children. Three came from my body, two came from my husband. They are Haley, 16, Hannah, 15, Gregory, 7, Nicholas, 6, and Sofia, 4. Each of them is a separate, brightly shining star in my world, and each provides unique challenges to my role as mother and stepmother.
I'll begin each entry titled with just the child's name I want to focus on for that entry. Forgive me now if my words tend to run into babbling, stream-of-consciousness thinking. I do that a lot. And often, where emotions are concerned, it's all I can do.
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