The Year of Living Hopefully

Happy Friday, everyone! Especially Happy Friday to me. This has been an extra challenging week, and it’s finally over. A much needed break is upon me. I am so thankful.

As you know, Monday and Tuesday Maddie refused to get up and go to school. Without access to screens, she still managed to relax the days away while I fretted about her attendance problems. Last time I wrote it was Tuesday, the day of the play.

Mid-morning on Tuesday I managed to contact Maddie’s drama teacher about the attendance requirement for participating in after-school activities. He confirmed there is such a policy but that (1) the attendance officer would never know and (2) he really needed her at the play. Such good news!

With most kids, parents would probably want the opposite news. If you don’t do what’s required of you, we would want them to understand, then you can’t do the fun stuff. There are consequences. Truant students don’t get to be in a play after school, Maddie. I admit I was ambivalent about this at first. I do like the idea of attempting, at least, to reinforce this idea with her. But I also wanted her to have the experience of the play, to reinforce the positive experiences associated with school, and to help her feel more connected to it.

Miraculously I managed to get her to shower in the afternoon. I’m not sure how that occurred to be honest. She seemed resigned to it, which is unusual.

And then, as departure time became imminent, she said the most surprising thing: “I’m tired, but I must go.” I don’t know if she’d ever strung the words “I” and “must” together un-ironically in her entire life. I was full of hope and gratitude in that moment, but those feelings were tinged with a healthy dose of realism. Oh, sure, she says that now. That doesn’t mean she will ever say that again.

We were just ready to leave when I asked, “Do you need to bring anything?” I had a feeling she did.

“Yes, a sword,” she replied. Of course.

She headed downstairs to retrieve the desired duct-tape masterpiece and returned upstairs. Then she had another thought. So she exchanged her sword for sword-making supplies: two long sticks of bamboo and two rolls of duct tape.

“What’s up with that?” I inquired.

“Well, in the play I’m supposed to be making a sword,” she said. “Plus I have to make one for Nick anyway. I can just work on it during the play.”

“How long does that scene last?” I asked.

“Just a couple of minutes.”

“I think it would better to just bring a completed sword and some matching duct tape and you just add a couple of pieces. You  need to focus on performing, not making a sword.” I imagined in her on stage, fumbling with her props, making all kinds of noise with the tape.

“But I need to make one anyway,” she insisted. She has a way of doing that: insisting.

I soon accepted that this line of reasoning wasn’t going to get us anywhere, so I ran to her room and grabbed the sword she’d chosen originally. “Just bring both, and then you can ask your teacher what he wants you to do.” There! No longer my problem. Man, that felt good.

One thing at a time, I thought to myself. Little hurdles all day long. Some big ones, too, but it seems like everything with Maddie is a hurdle. And unfortunately I’m not very tall nor athletic, plus the hurdles keep moving, so the race is particularly challenging, even if I’m not trying to win. I’m just trying to finish. With minimal injury to us both.

The play was great. Her teacher had written it especially for this class, which consists of five special ed students and seven kids from the general population. It began with a boy named Nathan, whom I hadn’t met before. Such an adorable boy, most certainly a freshman, but he looked about ten due to Downs Syndrome. His primary role was to start the show with a solo dance to “Thriller.” My heart was suddenly full. Full of adoration for this kid and for the teacher who so lovingly allowed him to shine doing what was very likely Nathan’s idea.

The teacher had decided some years ago that he wanted his classes not to only act, but also to learn something else in the process. He wanted his plays to have meaning. The play was about kindness and inclusion, an especially appropriate theme for this bunch of kids.

Maddie had the largest role of the special ed students, by far, mostly because she can remember all her dialogue. It was so interesting to see her up there, not only acting without fear (as usual) but also really as a leader of her peers. Towards the end of the play, Maddie showed up on stage with her completed sword and a roll of duct tape, as I had suggested. When she was getting out of the car, I said to her, “Let your director decide, and don’t argue.” She agreed and apparently stuck to her commitment. Apparently teachers have more influence. Thank goodness for that!

It’s a small theater, and it was mostly full. Of course everybody’s parents were there, but also a number of students there to support their friends. All the actors were kind and generous with each other, too. What a good night!

There was another play immediately following, but Maddie chose to skip it and go home and to bed. A wise choice, I thought.

The dreaded Tuesday was not only behind us now, but it ended on a high note, and the next day was Fun Wednesday (every Wednesday is fun), so I knew she would get up the next day and the rest of the week would be a success.

Wednesday came and I wasn’t particularly anxious when I got up. My husband has been suffering from insomnia the last few days so I’ve taken over wake-up duty again, and I dragged myself out of bed (also sleep-deprived) and woke Maddie up cheerfully.

You’d think after all these years I would know better than to count on Maddie doing anything in particular. But I was still surprised Wednesday when she did not get up. She did not go to school. I was infuriated. I got my husband up to help. He too was infuriated.

But I can see in times like this that such a response not only doesn’t work, it often backfires. I don’t think there was anything we could have done to change the outcome of that morning, and our boiling blood only makes her dig in deeper. Not wanting to go to school becomes Oh, yeah? You think that’s going to do anything? Watch me as I sit here forever. 

And so it went. Another day of truancy. After all that.

That day, however, I had decided that no matter what Maddie did, I was going to go about my business. I could not put one more ounce of energy into that particular problem. And so I didn’t.

First I had to take my son to an early-morning dentist appointment, which dragged on and on. He was too loopy on laughing gas to return to school, so I brought him home.

And then, it was time for me. I met a friend for a pedicure and lunch, a much needed mini-vacation from my frustrating home life.

When I got home, Maddie wanted to glue herself to me. But I wasn’t interested. I needed distance. She wanted solace and I didn’t have any to give. I was still angry.

My son, however, had something to say to Maddie, apparently. I learned later that he had given her a bit of a pep talk. Maddie’s little brother told her how important it was that she go to school, and asked her to do her best to at least go the rest of the week. Two days, he suggested. Just start small.

And so she did. It’s Friday morning and the second day in a row that Maddie is where she is supposed to be. Last night I reminded her that she absolutely had to go to school today. “Oh, I will!” she promised. “I need to give Nick his sword.” I know a sword delivery isn’t going to be a motivator every single day, but I’ll take what I can get.

This morning was a mad rush with lots of frustration, a cab driver who knocked at the door and sent the dogs into a barking frenzy, and surely some heart palpitations on my part.

“Maddie, you have to get up and eat some breakfast!” I had finally spit about seven minutes before the cab was to arrive.

“Aren’t you happy that I at least got up?!” Maddie scolded. I shouldn’t get mad at her if she’s up, she thought, even if she’s just sitting there in her underwear staring at the wall or petting the dog instead of eating.

I guess she has a point, but getting up is only part of the equation. Pants are required, for example. As are shoes. As is walking upstairs to the cab. You can’t just sit up in bed and call it good.

When I started this entry I was going to savor the quietude of the upcoming weekend. I was looking forward to sleeping and relaxing and not having to push Maddie for a couple of days. And then I remembered she has three days of schoolwork and homework (well, four really) to get done. It’s all on me, as usual. There is much to do.

The long, agonizing week is over, but the struggle continues. At least we can all get some sleep. I hope.