optimism

Plan A

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Yesterday my husband and I met with a quintet of professionals at Maddie’s school to discuss her attendance, or lack thereof. I’m pretty sure she’s missed at least 50% of the school days so far this year. Most of the time it was a result of my failed attempt to get her going (or alternatively, her successful attempts to resist). But for the last couple weeks I had just given up. I have talked about acceptance so much in the past, and tried to distinguish between that and giving up. There is definitely a difference. And this time, I was really just giving the hell up. I couldn’t take it one more day. After weeks and weeks of a migraine, I had started to think maybe I would just always and forever have a migraine, and that’s not acceptable. I had to give myself a break for once.

I didn’t have a particular outcome in mind when I anticipated this meeting. I just wanted a plan, any plan, whether it involved home schooling or online schooling or a high school proficiency exam in lieu of continuing school. Maybe she would in fact be done with high school and we could just move on to something else. What, exactly, I couldn’t fathom because the struggle is simply to get her to get out of bed and go somewhere on a somewhat regular basis. So would there be another somewhere she’d be more motivated to get to? Maybe–hopefully–someday, but certainly not now. So am I just trading in one headache (quite literally) for another, unknown, new and equally bad one? Who knows.

We showed up on this beautiful fall day and in the conference were the usual IEP team: Maddie’s teacher/case manager, the school psychologist, the assistant principal, her counselor and a teacher (in this case, her PE teacher, who mistakenly showed up our meeting instead of another IEP but gave his two cents anyway: “She’s great when she’s here!” The usual refrain.)

The meeting went like this:

Chris, what does her day look like when she’s not at school? Does she have access to electronics?

Well, normally I take stuff away, but the last couple weeks I had just given up. I let her do whatever she wanted. But I did hide her computer a few months ago and I just finally found it yesterday. (I failed to mention she’s just been using my laptop instead.)

Usually we advise making staying at home as boring as possible.

Madz doesn’t get bored. If she can’t use electronics she’ll craft, or work on a costume, or make a sword, or put stickers on her wall, or go pick flowers, or lie around with the cat.

(Looks of skepticism from the team. I know it’s the truth but I feel guilty anyway.)

Okay, what is the minimum she can go to school and still make it work? I asked.

Hmmm…that’s a very good question, they all agreed.

And it was a good question, because I do believe it led to the best possible solution that still involves going to school.

Thanks to this dedicated staff, who are always flexible and motivated to make things work, we decided to propose to Maddie a 2 1/2-day week, basically, beginning after Thanksgiving break. A shortened Monday, and then full days Wednesday and Friday. No two school days in a row. Hopefully having a recovery day in between school days will help. Hopefully a late start on Mondays will help. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

Some months ago we installed a hot tub in the back yard. In addition to the usual benefits of a hot tub–muscle therapy and general relaxation–I have found an even more beneficial outcome, and that is the time I spend with Maddie. She loves the hot tub and nearly every night she invites me to join her for a soak. I always say yes. Always. It’s quiet and peaceful and we’re alone out there, so there is literally nothing to do but talk. And when you have a kid who’s not much of a chatterbox, or who finds expressing herself either challenging or unappealing, it’s a gift to have a half-hour chat each night.

Sometimes we talk about astronomy (she teaches me things, for I know nothing). Sometimes she utters a phrase to be funny, and I find it appalling, and then I have to tell her what it means so she can make better choices about saying that phrase again. Sometimes we talk about boys. And sometimes we talk about school or living skills or what she might like to do with herself in the future.

Tonight, after proposing the new and updated schedule, I mentioned, when I thought of it, that if she’s enrolled in her high school, she could go to prom. “Huh,” she responded, clearly interested. I told her about how when I was in school, students could only attend prom as part of a couple. Now, I said, you can go with friends.

“How does a date work?”

“Do you mean to prom? Are you thinking of Aaron?” I asked.

She nodded. Apparently there is a mutual crush thing going on between these two. I have not met him, but I do know they both love art and work together in the cafeteria (that’s another story). The have gotten to know each other well. I think they’re both a bit on the outside, but they found each other last year when they both spent lunchtime in their science teacher’s classroom.

“Does the boy ask the girl, or the girl ask the boy?” she asked. Such a different conversation from those I have with my 14-year-old son, who’s savvy enough to realize that an eighth-grade “relationship” isn’t really much of one, so he’d rather wait until high school, at least, when he can actually date.

I assured her that either way is perfectly acceptable, and I even suggested how she might ask very casually, so she wouldn’t feel too nervous. “Well, I told Colton I liked him,” she reminded me. Colton is a boy she knows from camp, and she somehow conjured up the nerve to say those words to him. I’m pretty sure his response was “thank you.” I don’t think he has any more experience dating than she does, so overall I think that went pretty well. However it had gone, I would be proud of her. Such courage to put yourself out there like that, not having any idea what the response would be!

Anyway, back to school. I’m hoping that with the modified schedule and the temptation of going to prom with Aaron, perhaps she can manage to get up and go enough to make it work. I’m feeling a teeny bit optimistic, uncharacteristically, but I think that’s perhaps more wishful thinking than anything. I just want this to work out so much, mostly because I think it’s the best thing for Maddie, but also because the idea of figuring out something else to do and then embarking on a whole new scenario is daunting. I’m not sure if that’s even the right word. Or maybe it is. Maybe daunting and depressing and just a giant bummer, just a new battle to fight, a new source of stress, a new source for migraines.

But for now, we have a plan. We’ll look into Plan B, which–for now, at least–does not include boarding school. I don’t even want to think about alternatives, but I have to be prepared for disappointment and frustration, and perhaps if I have a Plan B in my pocket, saying goodbye to Plan A won’t be so painful.

Fingers crossed, though. Fingers crossed.

Winter Camp

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

It’s December 30th and Maddie is at winter camp. She loves this camp so much that as soon as she gets home she starts the countdown until next time. Last year was her first time doing the winter session, and after two years of balmy weather, a cold snap that particular week took us both by surprise a little bit. The whole time she was gone I worried that she would be warm enough. She managed, apparently, by wearing everything she could pile on. But she was cold.

It’s cold again this year, and although that didn’t come as a surprise, I didn’t help her pack that much because I wasn’t feeling well that day, so I have no idea if she packed gloves or a scarf. I know she has a down jacket, hats, and Uggs, though, so I think she’ll be OK. Still, I couldn’t help hunting down a pair of gloves and enclosing them in a box with some Cheetos, M&Ms, and glow sticks for New Year’s Eve. I hope she’s happy! Last year’s care package was a big pile of new wool socks. Not very exciting apparently, but I was in a panic about her survival, I guess, so I overnighted some directly from Amazon. I now imagine her delight at receiving a package followed by bewilderment upon seeing what was inside. Apparently the other kids got cookies and stuff. Oh, well. I try.

So today I’m thinking a lot about Maddie in her absence. I know she’s having fun. I hope she’s staying warm and dry. I hope she got her care package today and was delighted instead of deflated by the contents. I hug her in my mind. I tuck her in and kiss her at night. She’s not here, but I feel her anyway.

It’s pretty quiet around here. Mellow. Easy. Frankly either kid without the other is easier than both together, so I try to enjoy the quiet. I asked my son if he missed Maddie. I was joking. He just laughed. Fair enough.

But when Maddie is away, I really do miss her. I miss her in the sense that it’s weird for her not to be here, but I also miss her liveliness, her spirit, and her sense of humor. I imagine she’s yelling “CAMPFIRE!  I LOVE CAMPFIRE!” as loudly as she yelled, “I GOT A CAT BAG!” when she opened the cat-tapestry duffel bag my mom made for her Christmas gift. Oprah-style yelling. Or “HOLY bleep!” when she opened the box of maybe 60 rolls of duct tape I gave her, which, incidentally, she packed in her CAT BAG! to take to camp. It was so heavy that I sneaked a few rolls out before she left. She had to carry that thing quite a distance to her cabin. She didn’t care when she packed the bag, but she might have cared halfway to her destination when a heavy bag, a rolling suitcase, a sleeping bag, and her backpack might have suddenly become too much. Hopefully, though, she didn’t look in the bag and think, “Hey! Who took out that fourth roll of blue I packed?” I wouldn’t put it past her.

Last summer on the last day of camp, I showed up for the usual end-of-week celebration. In the first 30 minutes, at least two people asked Maddie for duct tape. She had come prepared, and she had now become The Girl with the Duct Tape. It’s nice to have a recognized role in society, isn’t it? Especially when it’s a helpful or meaningful one. I’m so glad she discovered the importance of duct tape! I imagine her at camp now, rolls of duct tape around her arms as far up as she can comfortably wear them, always at the ready for a repair or prop construction, feeling like a queen because she really matters. I love that thought.

As this cold and wintry week continues, and the year 2015 is wrapping up, I anticipate Maddie’s return with somewhat mixed feelings. It feels right to have her home. The dogs will attest to that: when the pack is together, all is right in the world.

But two days after she gets back, school starts again and so does the stress that comes with it. I know it’s coming. I’m thinking about that knowing now. Knowing. Maybe I can find an ironic sense of comfort in the knowing, even though I’d prefer the truth to be otherwise. I know what’s coming, though. I do. Perhaps I can relax into the knowing, the predictability, and just let it go. At least for a day. And let 2016 start off in the best way possible, with a lot of love and appreciation for my kids, and a mixture of optimism and acceptance for whatever is to come.

And a lifetime supply of duct tape.

 

The Magic of Tuesdays

Chris Irvine, Parent Coach1 Comment

Well, at least this Tuesday was magic.

The prior two Tuesdays, Maddie wouldn’t go to school. At all. My friend mentioned last week that Tuesdays are hard for her, too, because she really felt like the week was underway but there’s still a lot of it left. She really feels the work load of the week on Tuesday. I guess the weight of the week feels heaviest at that point. I’d never thought of it that way. Maybe that’s also true for Maddie. I don’t know that she could articulate it that well (my friend is an EXCELLENT articulator of her feelings), but it’s an interesting theory.

Unfortunately Tuesday will always be Tuesday. It will almost always be the second day of the school week, and likely the second day of her work week, so there’s no way around it. However much you might hate Tuesdays (or Mondays or whatever), you still have to get up and go. You have to do it anyway!

Since Monday was a day off, Tuesday was more like a Monday this week, and now it’s a Wednesday, so it seems we have escaped the Tuesday problem for once!

I will call the last two days successes on all fronts. Yesterday was a bit stressful as Maddie got up at the last minute and I had to put her shoes on her feet and tie them, in the interest of time. And homework was a little bit of a struggle because we were both pretty tired in the afternoon.  Even though yesterday was a bit stressful, I got her to school, which is my ultimate goal. And I didn’t have to lose my temper, which is a close second. Maybe they’re tied for first!

Today she got up in plenty of time and we had a leisurely morning. She was able to sit and eat breakfast and brush her hair and go outside before her taxi came. Woohoo! And then this evening she did her homework willingly, took a shower when she was asked (there were a couple new rolls of duct tape at stake, which helped). And she even stopped in the middle of an important project (using duct tape, of course) to get ready for bed. She was cheerful and cooperative and adorable and charming. Right now she’s upstairs singing loudly to a Florence and the Machine song. Life is good.

Maddie doesn’t know why she was motivated today, so there’s no way to know how to repeat our success. I just rejoice in the good days, as always.

Of course I’m kidding about any magic being involved with any of this. Everyone has good days and bad days. We all hesitate to get out of bed sometimes, or eschew responsibilities because we’re just not up to taking them on. There may be an identifiable reason. Or not.

We’re working on pushing through those times. Just doing it anyway.  I guess those are the days I should really rejoice in–the ones when she’s reluctant and tired but gets up anyway. When she’s too tired, but does her homework anyway. Those are the days when Maddie will learn grit, and learn to do it anyway.

When she was younger, writing anything at all was probably her worst enemy. I think there were just too many aspects to conquer – both thinking up what to write, and then the physical act of writing it down. Her fine motor skills were weak and her pencil grip was terrible, so her hand would get fatigued quickly. And abstract thinking of any kind was nearly impossible for her. So when she would come home with a writing assignment, the homework session would inevitably dissolve into panic and tears. A blank piece of paper was the worst possible thing she could face.

So I figured something out to help her: Fold the piece of paper in half. Then the blank paper looked more manageable. I called it “Maddie-sized.” That seemed to relieve some of the stress, at least enough to allow her to write down something. Anything, even if it wasn’t much or wasn’t particularly good. My goal was to get her over the hump, to let her build enough confidence to not be so paralyzed by this very important activity.

Over the years, she has developed a passion for writing. Can you believe it? She still isn’t crazy about expository writing, or any kind of compulsory writing. But she spends her time in the taxi writing stories on her phone. It can be an awfully long ride, so I offered to pick her up from school instead, but she insists she likes it. She enjoys the writing time. That is what I call a success!

And that is how I look at our journey together. Success doesn’t lie in the things that come easily. It also doesn’t necessarily lie in conquering something, achieving anything, or winning anything. Success comes when times are tough and you make it through. When you think you can’t do something but try it anyway. When you are afraid, and then you try it and eventually find out you might even like it.

It also comes in building a solid relationship with your kid. “You’re adorable,” I tell Maddie. “You are too,” she says to me. She smiles and hugs me tightly, making sure both of us are standing up for the maximum possible contact. We squeeze each other. We appreciate each other. And we both know it. I guess if I never make any more progress with Maddie, I can still be proud of that. And happy.

So this week has been successful. I’m happy and proud and hopeful. More successes will come if we keep trying. Maybe this will be one of those times when good days turn into an entire good week. But if not, that’s OK. We’ll keep plugging away.