attendance

Voices

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

As I was tucking Maddie into bed tonight, after a rather frustrating and exhausting couple of days with her, she shared this little nugget:

“At school I read a bunch of symptoms of disease in my Smeagol voice.”

“What?” I asked. Seriously, what?

She repeated it.

“When?” I asked. I still had no idea what she was talking about. I also didn’t know what a Smeagol voice was (I had to Google this to get the spelling, by the way).

Her P.E. class is currently doing Red Cross First Aid and CPR certification, which I love. I also love her P.E. teacher. And now I love her even more.

Maddie was to read aloud from their textbook, and began reading in her Marvin the Martian voice (remember that little guy in the Bugs Bunny cartoons?).

Ms. B asked if Maddie could do any other voices.

“Yes, Smeagol.”

“How about reading some in that voice?”

And so Maddie did. (Smeagol, I now understand, is Gollum from The Lord of the Rings, that weird little guy with an unhealthy obsession with the titular ring.) And when she was finished, everybody in the class clapped.

That was last Friday, five days ago. And in typical fashion, it took Maddie that long to tell me. And I am so happy she did. What a nice way to end the day–with a smile and some hope.

Today I spoke to the educational consultant. My husband I are meeting with her next week to discuss potential boarding schools. I still do not intend to send Maddie away. I want her to stay home and continue at this wonderful public school where the teachers and kids like her swords and appreciate her ridiculous voices. I’ve wanted so badly for her to find it in herself to make this work. And now I want that even more. But ultimately it’s up to her.

I hope she makes it work. I really really do.

Life As I Know It

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Yesterday was such a long day. I think I might have aged a year in 14 hours. I’m certain a few gray hairs have appeared and my frown lines have become more pronounced since yesterday morning. It was just one of those days that needed to END. I needed a fresh start today. Fortunately every day is an opportunity for a fresh start, and every day I take it.

After I got Maddie off to school yesterday, after several hours of dealing with her opposition to that idea, I was exhausted in ever way. I was immobile for most of the afternoon, lacking the energy and desire to see anybody or do anything. For a moment I thought a little retail therapy sounded good, but I was too depressed to go anywhere. So I went home and did nothing. Well, I wrote a blog entry and watched an episode of The Voice. Good choice on my part for a number of reasons, including the fact that writing and watching On Demand didn’t cost anything.

Soon it was time to pick up my son, and not long after that Maddie arrived home in the cab. I was dreading the afternoon all day. I knew she would have quite a bit to accomplish because she hadn’t finished some of her work from the night before. And I was right. She had a pretty hefty math assignment and science to complete. Plus a shower.

Ever since homework became part of our lives when Maddie was in first grade, I have spent some of the day dreading it. And the moment I see her after school, it is on my mind. I always give her a warm welcome home and ask her about her day, but then I dive into the homework questions. And we make a plan. Or rather, I make a plan.

So we dove in around 4:00 and nearly three hours later I was still sitting with her while she did her math. She needed a little help with a couple problems, but mostly she needed help staying on track. She’s been better about that lately, but yesterday everything was a challenge for her, so I just gave in to the idea of sitting with her to ensure success.

I did not, however, anticipate how long it would take her. There were an awful lot of problems to do, She was also very unfocused. I spent a lot of energy helping her be productive. It was hard. I was patient. It was long. I got tired. When she finally finished her math, it was time for a little science work, but she also had a long overdue shower to take, and I sent her off to do that.

And then the shit hit the fan. She decided she wanted to watch the newest episode of The Flash. But it was too late to both take a shower and watch the show. By that time I had given up on the science; she could do it the following day during Academic Workshop (study hall). She would have to stay up late in order to watch the show.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Well, you skipped school yesterday and missed half the day today. You do not get special privileges unless you earn them. You don’t even have your usual privileges,” I explained calmly.

And then I saw it. Her body stiffened, and the expression on her face changed. Her eyes looked determined and her lips smirked. Everything about her said, “Oh YEAH?”

“I really want to watch The Flash,” she insisted.

“I’m sorry, but the answer is not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I already told you why not,” I said, and then repeated my explanation from a moment before.

Maddie was not giving up, but instead becoming increasingly determined. She would not budge. She looked me straight in the eye, challenging me to defy her wishes. How I wanted to just say, “Oh, forget it, go ahead.” That would have been so easy and relaxing. She could go do her thing and I could do mine, and everybody wins!

Except everybody doesn’t win. She has to understand that her choices have natural consequences. If you haven’t finished the things you are required to do, you will not have time for fun. That’s just the way it is. I have said that a thousand times. But as we’ve learned, her mind doesn’t work that way.

“But why?” she asked over and over. I explained that special privileges are earned, and staying up late is a special privilege that she had definitely not earned.

She was desperate. She wanted to watch The Flash so badly. “How about if I stay up late tonight and then get up in the morning? Then you’ll see I can do it.”

Stupidly I have fallen for this logic more than once. It sounds wonderful, but it’s a trap. It NEVER happens that way. Why do the work when the reward is already in your pocket? I got my reward, so see ya!

But last night I remained strong. I would not give in. But she’s a tough nut to crack. She wouldn’t give in either, and she is the most determined person you could ever meet in a moment like that. She followed me around the house, looking me in the eye, challenging me. She wouldn’t let me out of my room, blocking each door as I tried to exit. She announced she would do it all night if need be. And you know what? She is perfectly capable of that. I could feel panic start to set in (What am I supposed to do now?) but I worked to retain my calm exterior. I was not going to give up or give in or be upset. I would stay firm and strong and calm.

“I’m done with this conversation,” I announced. “I’m not going to answer you anymore if you talk to me about it.” I had to do my part to put this issue to rest.

But the conversation wouldn’t stop. I kept repeating that I was done, and she kept going. She was going to WIN.

Finally, Rachel (my niece) said, “I’m going to the store. Wanna come with me?”

Oh thank you, my dear Rachel! Something had to give here. Somehow this needed to stop. I was trying to extricate myself, but Maddie wouldn’t allow it until that moment.

We were only gone 15 minutes, but it was a very valuable 15 minutes. I had been trying to leave, but wasn’t able. It was a good instinct. When I got home, Maddie was calm and remorseful.

I looked at the clock. We had spent an hour and 15 minutes in this cycle of questions and explanations. I pointed that out. She could have accomplished so much during that time or even gotten some sleep. She announced she was now ready to shower, but then it was late, so I suggested she just get into bed.

“I just want to sit here and mope,” she said.

“What are you feeling right now?” I asked.

“Guilt. Regret. Sadness,” she answered. Well, that’s something. Emotions identified and communicated! Nicely done.

“Do you know what you do when you have feelings like that?”

“No.”

“Well, when you have guilt and regret, you think about what you did. You think I don’t want to feel like that again, so I won’t do that again.”

“Oh.” News to her, as usual.

“Let’s start fresh tomorrow,” I suggested. “We’ll just start over. If you’re awesome all day, starting right now, and you get up in the morning on time and do your homework and shower without any arguing, you can stay up a little late to watch The Flash.”

I have learned that if she has already lost any chance at a reward, there is no more leverage. I try to keep that in mind. There has got to be something fairly immediate at stake, and even then, as we know, the outcome is not guaranteed. Not even a little bit.

“Okay,” she said. I hugged her and we talked and I said goodnight.

It was a hell of a day. I am glad it’s was over. I wish I could be optimistic that tomorrow will be a better day, but reality and experience tell me it’s a crap shoot. It seems to me that a third morning in a row like this can’t possibly happen. I’m not sure I could take it. Maybe I would give up. I can’t do this forever. I can’t even do it the rest of the year. And I’m not sure even another day would be survivable. I might need to take my puppy and run away, as I sometimes think to myself.

But I won’t. I’ll be here. I will get up in the morning and give it a try. And hope for the best, or at least something better than the worst.

Tuesdays and Thursdays

Chris Irvine, Parent Coach2 Comments

And here we are again. The cab driver has come and gone and Maddie’s still in bed. She went to sleep on time. I even thought she had an incentive: She wants to stay up to watch The Flash tonight, and I said she could as long as she did a great job today. Her very first opportunity to prove herself has passed. And she failed.

I woke her up in the usual manner, stayed there and chatted for a few minutes, put everything she needed to get dressed on her bed, and went upstairs to make her breakfast and lunch. On my second visit to her room, I told her it was my last warning for her to get up. She would need to get going or the deal was off. She nodded and said, “Don’t close the door.” I assumed that meant she was heading to the bathroom shortly.

Just before pickup time, I returned to her room after packing her lunch and water bottle into her backpack. She was still cocoon-wrapped in her blanket.

And then it happened. I lost it. I couldn’t be nice and patient anymore. I’m done. I’m out. I grabbed her blanket, yanked it off her, and yelled, “Maddie! What are you doing?!”

“Lying in bed,” she answered dryly. Duh.

I don’t remember what I said after that, but I know I was yelling. My patience and kindness aren’t readily available today. For some reason I haven’t been sleeping well for a few weeks, and I’m feeling it. Last night I took melatonin, which usually works, and slept on the couch where nobody would disturb me, but somehow our puppy ended up in my space and, although he’s normally a good sleeper, last night he woke me up a couple times. I’m desperate for a good night’s sleep. It’s like the days of having an infant.

Especially today. Except that my child is almost as big as I am. And she can talk back.

When Maddie was a baby, I thought, “How could I ever be mad at her?” It was unfathomable. She was so sweet and innocent and helpless. Then when she was about two, I realized I could get plenty angry at this kid. It takes me awhile to build up to that, but the frustration your child can cause is probably equal to the love you feel.

And that’s where I am this morning. I am at my wit’s end. I don’t have a solution. Just when everything seems to be going great, there’s a major stumble. A roadblock. An insurmountable problem that comes seemingly out of nowhere. Like Mount Shasta. Except Mount Shasta’s pretty to look at.

She was doing something on her phone, so I tried to take it away from her, but it was turning into a wrestling match, something I can’t win anyway. Maddie is a lot stronger than she looks. Plus, it’s not really healthy to have a physical altercation with your kid, so I gave up. Maddie would never give up, and I realized that, too.  She would be good under interrogation. Oh, yeah? You think that’s going to work? Think again, mister!

The boarding school idea popped into my head. How many times can I bring that up without actually doing anything about it? It’s meaningless at this point, I think. She doesn’t believe we will send her away. And I don’t want to send her away. It’s not a punishment. It’s a white flag. I give up. I give in. I am not capable to fighting this battle anymore. And today it feels like a battle.

“Why are you doing this?” I plead.

“I don’t like Tuesdays and Thursdays,” she declares.

“Well, you can’t just skip them. That’s forty percent of school!”

Huh, good point, apparently. But it doesn’t matter how good of a point I make; Maddie has decided. 

Is there such a thing as a stress aneurism? Because I’m about to have one. I tell her again about the boarding school thing. “I’m serious,” I say. “I wouldn’t be giving up on you. I’d be giving up on me. Apparently I can’t teach you what you need.”

“Well, if I go to boarding school,” she counters, “I won’t get up and go to school there either, and they’ll just send me back.”

“Maddie, there are schools where people specialize in this kind of thing.”

“Huh,” she says. She is digging in her heels at this point. “They haven’t dealt with me before.”

This apparently has turned into a battle, and she is going to win no matter what.

“Really, Maddie? What are you going for here?” I ask. “You want everyone to just pass you off to somebody else? Really?”

This probably isn’t a good road to take, this particular line of questioning. But I’m just out of ideas. It seems to me she doesn’t take skipping school seriously, so I feel obligated to change her attitude. Somehow or other I need her to see that school isn’t optional, and that there will be consequences for her choices.

My body is tense and my brain is shorting out. I can’t do this for one more minute. I get my husband up to help me. I’m out of ideas. I’m out of patience. I feel powerless. I am powerless.

——————-

Fast forward 30 minutes.

My son has a broken finger and has a cast. He usually rides his bike to school but for now I’m driving him. Just as we are about to depart, I hear my husband shout, “She’s almost ready!” A miracle has occurred. The one thing that sometimes works in times like this is role playing, using characters from whatever Maddie is into at the moment. Right now it’s that anime show she loves so much. I suck at role playing. My husband doesn’t love it, but he’s better at it. And sometimes it works. It’s absolutely absurd that we should have to take on other characters to motivate Maddie, but we do the absurd all the time if that’s what’s required.

So now we run out the door, up two flights of stairs to the car, and high-tail it to the middle school. Henry leaps out at his first opportunity, and to my relief, we are on our way to high school. Maddie will be a bit late, but that’s okay.

About three minutes later Maddie announces, “Just so we’re clear, I’m not getting of the car when we get there.” You have got to be kidding me.

It’s 8:15 and I want to go back to bed until today is over. I can’t do this for one more minute. I consider just turning around and going home. What’s the point? I wonder. Seems like a waste of time to drive halfway across the county for a disappointing and frustrating outcome. But I’m not quite ready to give up. Oh hell no. She’s going to school.

So I tell her we are going, and if necessary I will go to the office and get someone to help me. I’m serious. I will wait there and talk to whomever I can until this matter is sorted out. I am not leaving until Maddie is out of the car and checked in at the office.

It’s her phone that finally saves the day. I have left my own cell phone at home. So a number of times Maddie has called home to talk to her dad. As we are arriving at school, I ask for her phone so I can talk to him. I thank him and hang up. Then I take her phone and slide it into my purse as I’m getting out of the car.

“My phone!” she panics. “Can I have it? I need to write my story for school!”

“Is it due today?” I ask. I am wondering now if late homework is factoring into today’s events.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you can finish it at school. It’s better to turn in homework late and be at school.”

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Once you have checked in at the office and are leaving for class, I’ll give it to you.”

And that’s how it goes. I walk her to the office, and she checks in, having to admit she is late because she “slept in,” although that’s not really the truth.

Can I quit now? On days like this, I feel like I’ve done a full day’s work by 9:00 in the morning. I’ve been up for 2 1/2 hours. A very long 2 1/2 hours. And I’m tired.

Now, as I’m writing this, one thing becomes clear. Words aren’t going to solve this problem. I could talk about this for a week straight and it’s not going to change her mind. She needs concrete information, and that is going to come in real-life consequences. So for now, I need to see what I can accomplish with the administration at her school. Somebody over there needs to make a point. Maybe it’ll work, and maybe it won’t. But I can’t do this alone.

Today will be about communicating with the school and doing a lot of deep breathing. Maybe a nap. I need to figure out how to relax now. My head hurts. I feel like crying, but I can’t. It would be such a relief, but the tears aren’t there. I just feel heavy and tired. Stressed out and defeated. I’m not sure what the appropriate way is to express all that.

Tomorrow should be easier. It’s a shorter day, and on this particular Wednesday, there is a series of entertaining events scheduled. I hope she sees that as a reason to go to school, not another reason to stay home. I hope I get some sleep. I hope I am better equipped to handle whatever comes my way.