I hate this day but it has finally arrived and I am so glad. Boy is 17 today. Every year Boy struggles for the weeks leading to his birthday. It is such an unpleasant time for all of us. I remind myself that his angry words and obnoxious behavior are not personally directed at me. I remind myself that he is in pain and acting out because of some past trauma. I remind myself that this difficult period is finite – it only lasts for a month. Any yet, every year I am amazed at how difficult this time is for all of us. By next July, I’ll be thinking, “Why do I dread Boy’s birthday so much? How bad can it be?”
I wake Boy up at 5:30am with a birthday wish. He asks for his five more minutes, which is part of our daily routine. I grant him his five more minutes as I do every morning. Boy teaches Mom: Respect the Routine. Soon we are in the kitchen eating breakfast and discussing his birthday. We have already discussed each step of his birthday celebration several times but he needs to hear it over and over. Furthermore, after each step, we have to review the steps that have already occurred and those that are yet to occur. I’m not sure why this process is so important to Boy. Is he reviewing to remind me or to remind himself? Does he think there’s a better chance that they will actually occur if we continually review the steps? Does the sum of the steps have to equal some value in his mind? I don’t know the answers. I just know that this process brings content to Boy so I participate year after year.
Yesterday, Boy slept from 3:30pm until this morning with a short break for dinner. I prefer that he sleep to escape his feelings than tantrum, which has been his typical behavior for years. Even though we hardly interacted yesterday, each interaction was filled with anger, swearing, and threats. He was so determined to fight. He flew off the handle every few minutes. It was so absurd that it was hard to take him seriously. And yet, he was intensely serious. At these times, I wish I knew what was going on in his head. Something about his birthday has him so tormented that he relives it year after year. I wish I knew.
Not only is today Boy’s birthday, but it is the day of his first mainstream test in four years. Since he slept most of yesterday, he didn’t do any homework. Just before we get started on the morning study session, we get a text alerting us to a birthday email gift that should be delivered soon. Boy is suddenly happy. Study sessions are so much easier when we are only battling the disabilities – not the anger and the disabilities. We complete a respectable study hour and Boy is off to school.
In the evening I attend high school open house. I have a chance to meet with Boy’s teachers and walk through his daily schedule. As I move from class to class, I am so proud. Boy is doing it. He is in mainstream classes because he demanded it and I listened to him. He told me what he wanted and together we made it happen. Tonight I am hopeful. Tonight I am laying my head down with a smile on my face.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Burrito Boy
I’m sitting in my car with tears streaming down my face. Boy is sitting on the curb with his skateboard asking if I have a tool so he can tighten his trucks. I’ve just pleaded, “I can’t do this anymore.” That’s when my voice cracks and tears break through. I watch a smile flash on Boy’s face. Then he looks down. We remain like that for 10 minutes. Then, I tell Boy I will buy him a burrito if he gets in the car. After another 10 minutes of silence, Boy stands up and opens the car door.
My day started at 3am when Boy walked in the door. I hugged him and told him I was so worried about him. He didn’t respond. I asked him to take his medication and brush his teeth. He did. We talked for awhile. Mostly Boy talked and I listened. He talked of being depressed and scared. He wouldn’t tell me where he had been all night. Earlier, I spent two hours driving around looking for him. He wasn’t in any of the usual places. By 5am we where were both in bed. I zipped off an email to work requesting the rest of the week off and drifted off to sleep.
I finally prodded Boy out of bed at 2pm. I tried at noon and again at 1pm, unsuccessfully. This is Boy’s first Mental Health day of the new school year. We did some Geometry and then Boy met with his psychiatrist for an hour. He walked out of the clinic two minutes ahead of me and disappeared. At this point, I am determined to keep him at my side for fear that he will disappear for hours if I let him out of my sight. I call and text his phone. No response. My blood pressure is rising. I am getting angry but trying to hold on to my patience. I’m losing my grip. Suddenly, it starts to rain which is totally a “god thing”. Boy calls me. He wants me to pick him up so he’s not caught in the rain. If nothing else, he has the good sense to get out of the rain. I scoop him up half a mile away and ask him to stay with me.
We stop for an errand and he tries to wander off. I ask him to get back in the car. He refuses. I try to wrestle him back in the car. I see the brief smile. Something about the struggle is pleasing to him. I demand his phone and music player, he becomes angry. We tousle and argue. He runs away. If I thought he would cool off for a couple hours and return home, I would let him go. But he has not come home before midnight in quite a while. He has school tomorrow and I intend to get him there fully rested.
I drive around looking for him. I’m not hopeful. If he doesn’t want to be found, he can easily hide from me. After some time, I return home to see if he’s there. I find him sitting on the curb with his skateboard. I ask him to get in the car. He refuses but he doesn’t move. He complains and swears and yells but still doesn’t move. I am at a loss. I’m frustrated and I don’t know what to do next. My gut tells me to leave him there. My heart tells me to stay. I ask him again to get in the car. Again, he refuses. My frustration mounts. With my voice cracking I call out the window, “I can’t do this anymore.”
After a burrito, we return home and tackle World History homework which is painless for both of us. Boy answers the questions and I write them down. We move on to Geometry and make good progress. By 10:30pm, Boy is showered, medicated, and in bed. As I climb into bed, I exhale.
My day started at 3am when Boy walked in the door. I hugged him and told him I was so worried about him. He didn’t respond. I asked him to take his medication and brush his teeth. He did. We talked for awhile. Mostly Boy talked and I listened. He talked of being depressed and scared. He wouldn’t tell me where he had been all night. Earlier, I spent two hours driving around looking for him. He wasn’t in any of the usual places. By 5am we where were both in bed. I zipped off an email to work requesting the rest of the week off and drifted off to sleep.
I finally prodded Boy out of bed at 2pm. I tried at noon and again at 1pm, unsuccessfully. This is Boy’s first Mental Health day of the new school year. We did some Geometry and then Boy met with his psychiatrist for an hour. He walked out of the clinic two minutes ahead of me and disappeared. At this point, I am determined to keep him at my side for fear that he will disappear for hours if I let him out of my sight. I call and text his phone. No response. My blood pressure is rising. I am getting angry but trying to hold on to my patience. I’m losing my grip. Suddenly, it starts to rain which is totally a “god thing”. Boy calls me. He wants me to pick him up so he’s not caught in the rain. If nothing else, he has the good sense to get out of the rain. I scoop him up half a mile away and ask him to stay with me.
We stop for an errand and he tries to wander off. I ask him to get back in the car. He refuses. I try to wrestle him back in the car. I see the brief smile. Something about the struggle is pleasing to him. I demand his phone and music player, he becomes angry. We tousle and argue. He runs away. If I thought he would cool off for a couple hours and return home, I would let him go. But he has not come home before midnight in quite a while. He has school tomorrow and I intend to get him there fully rested.
I drive around looking for him. I’m not hopeful. If he doesn’t want to be found, he can easily hide from me. After some time, I return home to see if he’s there. I find him sitting on the curb with his skateboard. I ask him to get in the car. He refuses but he doesn’t move. He complains and swears and yells but still doesn’t move. I am at a loss. I’m frustrated and I don’t know what to do next. My gut tells me to leave him there. My heart tells me to stay. I ask him again to get in the car. Again, he refuses. My frustration mounts. With my voice cracking I call out the window, “I can’t do this anymore.”
After a burrito, we return home and tackle World History homework which is painless for both of us. Boy answers the questions and I write them down. We move on to Geometry and make good progress. By 10:30pm, Boy is showered, medicated, and in bed. As I climb into bed, I exhale.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Early Morning
I wake at 1:45am Saturday morning to the sound of my front door opening. I call out, “Take your medication and get in bed.” Boy calls back, “I don’t take medication anymore. It doesn’t work.” As the parent of a teen with prescribed psychotropic meds, I’ve had very little experience with this refusal to take medication. Over a ten year period, Boy has rarely refused to take his medication. I get out of bed and meet Boy to assess his condition. I ask him how he is. He says OK. I tell him its not OK to be out until 1:45am. He says he needed to be out. I tell him he has missed his curfew by eight hours. I don’t know why I like to calculate that time difference and verbalize it. He says he didn’t plan on coming home at all and then changed his mind.
Boy hugs me. Weird. I hug back but mostly I’m sniffing, try to identify where my son has been and what he has been doing - through scent. I don’t smell smoke or alcohol - only body odor. It’s not horrendous, just typical teenage boy body odor. I ask Boy where he has been. He says, “Where do you think I’ve been?” I say I don’t know and ask again, “Just tell me where you were.” Boy responds, “Where do you think I was?’ I don’t want to play this teenage game of deflection. I tell him to go to bed. I head towards my bedroom silently willing Boy to follow my instructions.
But no. Boy wants to talk. He says he’s afraid of turning 17. He says he doesn’t know how to act 17 and its very close to 18. He says he’s depressed. He says he wants a new therapist since his last therapist moved on two weeks ago. I like that he wants to talk to me. I don’t like that he wants to talk to me at 2am. I let him ramble for a few more minutes. I remember being a teenager and having very important things to say in the middle of the night. There must be some physiological explanation for it. Boy is finally in bed.
It’s Saturday afternoon and Boy has been up for a few minutes. He takes his morning medication and eats breakfast. Boy asks me if he’s grounded today. I calmly say yes. Boy says, “Good, I was afraid I would be grounded all weekend.” This is a set up for a fight and I’m about to walk right into it. “Of course you’re grounded for the whole weekend. You got home at 1:45am - eight hours after curfew.” Boy challenges, “You’re lucky I came home at all.” And so it goes until Boy retreats back to his room.
At dinner time, Boy emerges from his room once again. Boy eats and asks what he has to do to earn his phone, music player, and free time - all of which were confiscated at 1:45am this morning. Homework. Before I will entertain any such discussion, he must do his homework. We start with Geometry. I say “we” because Boy has never been able to do work independently. I open Boy’s Geometry notebook and see that Boy has written the assignment on top of the page and numbered the page with the appropriate assigned exercises. I praise Boy for taking this initiative. Ours are little victories.
Boy completes two Geometry exercises and then shuts down. I ask him what’s wrong but he doesn’t respond. He turns away from me and draws himself in. I try to encourage him back to Geometry. When Boy drops to the floor and balls up against the wall, I close the Geometry book and open the World History book I’ve been reading to him for the past month. I read. Boy loves to be read to and he remembers almost everything he hears. History is Boy’s favorite school subject. Boy is taking SpED World History this year but the book I’m reading is entitled “Cracking the AP World History Exam“. Boy doesn’t know the title of the book. I’m reading it from my Nook so he can’t see it. I read for awhile and then take a break. Boy asks me to keep reading. By now he has moved to the couch and covered himself with a soft blanket.
Sunday morning Boy is up and asking how he can earn his phone, music player and free time. I tell Boy that I will not entertain this discussion until his homework is done. Boy grunts and storms away. I fire up the audio book we’ve almost finished - “1984” by George Orwell. I turn the volume extra loud so Boy can here it from his bed room. After 10 minutes, he joins me in the living room and asks me what he has missed. I rewind and we listen to the final hour of the “1984” together. By 4pm, Geometry and Conceptual Physics homework lessons are complete. I return the phone and music player to Boy and give him permission to attend his Sunday night young people’s meeting. I record it as a successful weekend.
Boy hugs me. Weird. I hug back but mostly I’m sniffing, try to identify where my son has been and what he has been doing - through scent. I don’t smell smoke or alcohol - only body odor. It’s not horrendous, just typical teenage boy body odor. I ask Boy where he has been. He says, “Where do you think I’ve been?” I say I don’t know and ask again, “Just tell me where you were.” Boy responds, “Where do you think I was?’ I don’t want to play this teenage game of deflection. I tell him to go to bed. I head towards my bedroom silently willing Boy to follow my instructions.
But no. Boy wants to talk. He says he’s afraid of turning 17. He says he doesn’t know how to act 17 and its very close to 18. He says he’s depressed. He says he wants a new therapist since his last therapist moved on two weeks ago. I like that he wants to talk to me. I don’t like that he wants to talk to me at 2am. I let him ramble for a few more minutes. I remember being a teenager and having very important things to say in the middle of the night. There must be some physiological explanation for it. Boy is finally in bed.
It’s Saturday afternoon and Boy has been up for a few minutes. He takes his morning medication and eats breakfast. Boy asks me if he’s grounded today. I calmly say yes. Boy says, “Good, I was afraid I would be grounded all weekend.” This is a set up for a fight and I’m about to walk right into it. “Of course you’re grounded for the whole weekend. You got home at 1:45am - eight hours after curfew.” Boy challenges, “You’re lucky I came home at all.” And so it goes until Boy retreats back to his room.
At dinner time, Boy emerges from his room once again. Boy eats and asks what he has to do to earn his phone, music player, and free time - all of which were confiscated at 1:45am this morning. Homework. Before I will entertain any such discussion, he must do his homework. We start with Geometry. I say “we” because Boy has never been able to do work independently. I open Boy’s Geometry notebook and see that Boy has written the assignment on top of the page and numbered the page with the appropriate assigned exercises. I praise Boy for taking this initiative. Ours are little victories.
Boy completes two Geometry exercises and then shuts down. I ask him what’s wrong but he doesn’t respond. He turns away from me and draws himself in. I try to encourage him back to Geometry. When Boy drops to the floor and balls up against the wall, I close the Geometry book and open the World History book I’ve been reading to him for the past month. I read. Boy loves to be read to and he remembers almost everything he hears. History is Boy’s favorite school subject. Boy is taking SpED World History this year but the book I’m reading is entitled “Cracking the AP World History Exam“. Boy doesn’t know the title of the book. I’m reading it from my Nook so he can’t see it. I read for awhile and then take a break. Boy asks me to keep reading. By now he has moved to the couch and covered himself with a soft blanket.
Sunday morning Boy is up and asking how he can earn his phone, music player and free time. I tell Boy that I will not entertain this discussion until his homework is done. Boy grunts and storms away. I fire up the audio book we’ve almost finished - “1984” by George Orwell. I turn the volume extra loud so Boy can here it from his bed room. After 10 minutes, he joins me in the living room and asks me what he has missed. I rewind and we listen to the final hour of the “1984” together. By 4pm, Geometry and Conceptual Physics homework lessons are complete. I return the phone and music player to Boy and give him permission to attend his Sunday night young people’s meeting. I record it as a successful weekend.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Boy Closed
Boy closed out the first week of school today. Fortunately, we have Labor Day 3-day weekend to pick up the pieces and regroup. Boy is teetering on the brink of psychiatric crisis. He says he’s depressed. I see signs of intense stress. It sounds bad but this is typical new school year struggle for Boy. A friend who raised two boys told me that a parent’s job is to keep them alive until age 21. Four years to go.
Boy missed his 6pm curfew last night but answered his phone when I called. He gave me his general location. I was able to pick him up and have him home by 7pm. He was clearly sad – on the verge of tears. Boy rarely cries so I took note. When I inquired, I got no response. I was pleased that Boy was safe and with me, so I let it drop. Boy ate dinner, growled at family for a few minutes and was in bed by 7:30pm. I recorded it as a successful night.
I set my alarm for 5:30am, an hour early, allowing time to complete Geometry homework. I never tell Boy that it’s earlier than usual. I just proceed as normal. We have a very specific morning routine. Boy is very attached to his routines. I pay the price when I try to change his routines. Boy teaches Mom: Respect the Routine.
He’s not very aware in the mornings. This morning is no exception. The Geometry assignment is not difficult for Boy. One problem is a brain teaser and Boy glommed on to it and showed me how to get the right answer. I calculated an incorrect answer but Boy proved me wrong with a diagram. It’s exactly these moments that convince me that Boy has a big brain masked by disabilities.
Starting Tuesday, Boy will be in a mainstream Conceptual Physics class in addition to his mainstream Geometry class. I am so happy with this development. It has been four years since Boy sat in a mainstream classroom. And he has never been in a classroom without an aide, other than 1st grade. Boy has also been given the option to shadow the grounds crew rather than sit in study hall. He will earn elective credit either way. I thought he would be happy with the shadow option but he’s not because its not his first choice. His first choice is to shadow a PE teacher. Initially, I was disappointed with Boy’s ungrateful stance. The school staff and I have jumped through some flaming hoops to make last minute scheduling changes per Boy’s wishes. But really, what teenager is grateful for parental effort? I’m over it.
I’m wondering how school was today for Boy. I haven’t heard from him. I’ve tried calling and texting. No response. It’s an hour past curfew. I don’t expect him to come home tonight. It’s just a gut feeling. Boy was very cranky this morning. He was yelling before 7am. He told me that when he is 18 next year, he will not invite me to his IEP meetings because I just mess things up. He’s angry because he is still stuck in two SpED classes: English and World History. I’m not sure if I should be listening to Boy for a message or if I should consider his words an angry tirade - teenage tantrum. He’s out the door a few minutes early to catch his bus. I record it as a successful morning.
Boy missed his 6pm curfew last night but answered his phone when I called. He gave me his general location. I was able to pick him up and have him home by 7pm. He was clearly sad – on the verge of tears. Boy rarely cries so I took note. When I inquired, I got no response. I was pleased that Boy was safe and with me, so I let it drop. Boy ate dinner, growled at family for a few minutes and was in bed by 7:30pm. I recorded it as a successful night.
I set my alarm for 5:30am, an hour early, allowing time to complete Geometry homework. I never tell Boy that it’s earlier than usual. I just proceed as normal. We have a very specific morning routine. Boy is very attached to his routines. I pay the price when I try to change his routines. Boy teaches Mom: Respect the Routine.
He’s not very aware in the mornings. This morning is no exception. The Geometry assignment is not difficult for Boy. One problem is a brain teaser and Boy glommed on to it and showed me how to get the right answer. I calculated an incorrect answer but Boy proved me wrong with a diagram. It’s exactly these moments that convince me that Boy has a big brain masked by disabilities.
Starting Tuesday, Boy will be in a mainstream Conceptual Physics class in addition to his mainstream Geometry class. I am so happy with this development. It has been four years since Boy sat in a mainstream classroom. And he has never been in a classroom without an aide, other than 1st grade. Boy has also been given the option to shadow the grounds crew rather than sit in study hall. He will earn elective credit either way. I thought he would be happy with the shadow option but he’s not because its not his first choice. His first choice is to shadow a PE teacher. Initially, I was disappointed with Boy’s ungrateful stance. The school staff and I have jumped through some flaming hoops to make last minute scheduling changes per Boy’s wishes. But really, what teenager is grateful for parental effort? I’m over it.
I’m wondering how school was today for Boy. I haven’t heard from him. I’ve tried calling and texting. No response. It’s an hour past curfew. I don’t expect him to come home tonight. It’s just a gut feeling. Boy was very cranky this morning. He was yelling before 7am. He told me that when he is 18 next year, he will not invite me to his IEP meetings because I just mess things up. He’s angry because he is still stuck in two SpED classes: English and World History. I’m not sure if I should be listening to Boy for a message or if I should consider his words an angry tirade - teenage tantrum. He’s out the door a few minutes early to catch his bus. I record it as a successful morning.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
School Starts
Day three of Sophomore year. Boy's life is very eventful. I don't think most people believe all the happenings. As Boy's mom, I take it in stride most days. My patience and perseverance amaze me. No, that's not right. I've always had patience and perseverance. What amazing me is how my patience and perseverance are applied to my life today. Oh, the places my life has taken me. Remember the 1980's Talking Heads song line, "This is not my life... How did I get here?"
I do get stressed some days. For instance, yesterday I spoke to Boy at 3pm. He was skating to Axis Group which starts at 4pm. He said he wanted to go. Great, check that battle off my list. "Mom, don't be so paranoid. I'm skating to Axis right now." Boy's new word is "paranoid". Must be a 16 year old word. He uses it to describe himself and me. So, I get a call from Axis leader at 5pm, "Where's Boy?" OK, Boy told me two hours ago that he wanted to go to Axis Group and he was en route. Now I'm stressed. Why? Because I sense that Boy needs my help and I feel more comfortable with the "let them make their mistakes" method of parenting. So I do the drive - skate park, mall, school, no luck. I text Boy's buddy, Tug, asking for an honest response to Boy's location. Honest response - Tug hasn't seen Boy since 5th period PE. I decide Boy may be at Axis Group by now so I go there.
Yes, he's here, in line for a drug test. Boy looks sad, like he's out of options. I ask him where he's been. Blah, blah,blah. Lie, lie, lie. I tell him it's a bad lie and he should just be honest and say stuff like, "I don't want to be here," or "Last session ended badly so I was afraid to come back," or "I'm afraid the other kids are gonna laugh at me again." Sometimes Boy gets a sad look that I know is closer to depression than teenage funk. I don't want him to start the school year off in-patient. I shift into rescue mode. How can I alleviate stress from Boy? He says he doesn't want to be in Axis Group. I say, OK. He says he doesn't want to be in SpED classes. I say OK. He says his best class is Geometry because it's mainstream and there's no drama. He says he wants to do the right thing at school but it's hard in the midst of chaos. He's making sense. I'm happy when Boy has reasonable thoughts. The flickers of maturity are so gratifying.
As it turns out, I had a chat with Boy's SpED teacher after school. I sensed something was not right about Science class - he's suppose to be in Conceptual Physics. He came home after first day of school talking Earth Science. I hate that SpED classes are not as straight forward as mainstream classes. Boy's SpED science class is spilt in two groups - Biology and Physical Science. Boy has taken both courses already. Seems to be a perfect opportunity to move him to mainstream Conceptual Physics. Need to convince IEP team of that. Course changes permitted until end of week. Wish me luck.
Boy's only homework last night was Geometry. The assignment was very easy for him. Nice. Oh, one more thought. After school Boy said, "Taking Chemistry is a tall order." Those are not Boy's words. You know when your kid is just repeating something he's heard. I suspect school staff said that sentence to Boy yesterday. Boy has been talking about taking Chemistry all summer. Now he tells me it's a "Tall Order" meaning it is too hard for him. I read recently that 75% of all high school graduates in the United States have taken Chemistry. But someone at my son's school told him today that he should not reach that high. Grrrr.
I do get stressed some days. For instance, yesterday I spoke to Boy at 3pm. He was skating to Axis Group which starts at 4pm. He said he wanted to go. Great, check that battle off my list. "Mom, don't be so paranoid. I'm skating to Axis right now." Boy's new word is "paranoid". Must be a 16 year old word. He uses it to describe himself and me. So, I get a call from Axis leader at 5pm, "Where's Boy?" OK, Boy told me two hours ago that he wanted to go to Axis Group and he was en route. Now I'm stressed. Why? Because I sense that Boy needs my help and I feel more comfortable with the "let them make their mistakes" method of parenting. So I do the drive - skate park, mall, school, no luck. I text Boy's buddy, Tug, asking for an honest response to Boy's location. Honest response - Tug hasn't seen Boy since 5th period PE. I decide Boy may be at Axis Group by now so I go there.
Yes, he's here, in line for a drug test. Boy looks sad, like he's out of options. I ask him where he's been. Blah, blah,blah. Lie, lie, lie. I tell him it's a bad lie and he should just be honest and say stuff like, "I don't want to be here," or "Last session ended badly so I was afraid to come back," or "I'm afraid the other kids are gonna laugh at me again." Sometimes Boy gets a sad look that I know is closer to depression than teenage funk. I don't want him to start the school year off in-patient. I shift into rescue mode. How can I alleviate stress from Boy? He says he doesn't want to be in Axis Group. I say, OK. He says he doesn't want to be in SpED classes. I say OK. He says his best class is Geometry because it's mainstream and there's no drama. He says he wants to do the right thing at school but it's hard in the midst of chaos. He's making sense. I'm happy when Boy has reasonable thoughts. The flickers of maturity are so gratifying.
As it turns out, I had a chat with Boy's SpED teacher after school. I sensed something was not right about Science class - he's suppose to be in Conceptual Physics. He came home after first day of school talking Earth Science. I hate that SpED classes are not as straight forward as mainstream classes. Boy's SpED science class is spilt in two groups - Biology and Physical Science. Boy has taken both courses already. Seems to be a perfect opportunity to move him to mainstream Conceptual Physics. Need to convince IEP team of that. Course changes permitted until end of week. Wish me luck.
Boy's only homework last night was Geometry. The assignment was very easy for him. Nice. Oh, one more thought. After school Boy said, "Taking Chemistry is a tall order." Those are not Boy's words. You know when your kid is just repeating something he's heard. I suspect school staff said that sentence to Boy yesterday. Boy has been talking about taking Chemistry all summer. Now he tells me it's a "Tall Order" meaning it is too hard for him. I read recently that 75% of all high school graduates in the United States have taken Chemistry. But someone at my son's school told him today that he should not reach that high. Grrrr.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)