There is a special time that takes place in many homes each day, that precious time when the kids get home from school, the phone is ringing, other kids need to get to appointments and practices, the doorbell rings, the dryer buzzes, homework needs to be started and papers need to be signed, and dinner - if not already half-way started - has to be prepared. At our house those ninety minutes are from 3:45 to 5:15. Yesterday was a doozy.
On Thursdays, Sierra has violin lessons after school, so she, Cinque, and I arrive home where Eli, Evan, and Samara have already gotten off the bus, had their snack, and have started their homework - theoretically. Yesterday we were about ten minutes late getting home, and Eli had a friend over to study quizzing. Once getting everyone settled and started on homework, and after listening to Evan complain about having to read during homework time instead of at bedtime, the DHS case worker arrived at 4:00. She's a wonderful worker, and since things are moving along with Cinque's transition, I was really looking forward to speaking with her; so we sat down to talk.
About five minutes into our conversation, Fred came home and needed help to transition into unpacking his book bag and starting his homework. While I did that the case worker made a phone call, it was all good. Sierra also finished her homework about that time and wanted to watch a video, which was also good because she usually can sit quietly for twenty minutes to do that. So with Fred settled and the video started, we got back to our conversation.
Unfortunately, we were talking in the same space where Sierra was watching the video; she felt that the volume needed to be louder and would scoot to the television and turn it up, but I had the remote and from the other side of the room, would turn the sound back down - while holding the conversation with the case worker. Sierra and I continued this unspoken battle until I interrupted the conversation to threaten her with the ending of the movie if she turned up the sound again. She settled down.
But then Fred started up; he's not big on social niceties. From where he was working, he asked for a calculator. Time for the case worker to make another phone call while I worked with Fred to help him understand that he was not allowed to use a calculator for his homework. That issue was settled and then the phone rang. Checking caller ID, I saw that it was the pre-adoptive family with whom I had been playing phone tag in trying to schedule Cinque's next visit with them. The case worker told me to take the call, which turned out to be a fifteen minute conversation during which time Sierra cranked up the volume on the video and Fred finagled the calculator into his possession.
After hanging up the phone, turning down the video volume, and confiscating the calculator, we resumed our conversation and actually shared some helpful information with each other for about the next ten minutes. At that point, Eli and his friend entered the room, politely stood back and waited for an opening - apparently there were some pressing questions regarding the upcoming quiz meet. I asked them to wait a few minutes and I finished talking with the case worker who then met with Cinque for a bit.
Fred and I checked over his homework, and he cleared out. Eli, his friend, and I sat down to talk through some quizzing details, meanwhile Evan joined Sierra in front of the television - not usually a good combination. True to form, a few minutes later Evan was quietly instigating and Sierra was loudly protesting. Interrupting my conversation with the boys, I issued a warning to Evan and Sierra with a consequence to have to work together to clean the basement if they bothered each other again. We finished talking about quizzing, I got up to check on dinner - thank goodness for crock pots, the case worker came downstairs from talking with Cinque, Stan walked in the door from work, and Eli's friend was getting ready to leave.
On Thursdays, Samara and Stan have basketball practice at 5:30, so Samara is to be dressed and ready to go to practice when Stan gets home - she wasn't ready. She and Stan hurried upstairs to change, we said good-bye to Eli's friend, finished up things with the case worker and she left, and Stan and Samara headed out the door for practice.
I checked the clock: 5:15 - another successful navigation of those precious ninety minutes.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Which way do we go?
Six weeks and the transition continues. The visits between Cinque and the potential adoptive family have increased in length; this weekend should be the initial two-night visit with possibly several more to follow. Reports from all parties are very favorable, and everyone is cautiously optomistic and very hopeful that this match will result in the permanancy that Cinque desires and deserves.
Slow and steady is probably the best way to go, and gives opportunity for both child and family to make a well-informed, thoughtful decision. On the other hand, the longer the transition the more anxiety that may be induced as Cinque wonders and asks when he might be moving. There's also his felt need to have closure here as he moves on; which is also played out as a lack of care for everyday life here.
In a twelve-year-old's way of thinking, why should time and effort be spent on school work assignments that will be left behind before the year is over, why practice for a band concert that will happen after he's gone, or why use self-control in the classroom when the consequences won't follow him to the next school. And that same attitude is demonstrated at home: lack of attention to homework, needing to be prompted to complete routine chores, blatant refusal to care for personal hygiene, pestering and picking on the others kids. Understanding and some allowances are extended, reminders are given, attitudes are excused, explanations are provided to the other kids: this is not an easy time for him, we need to exercise grace.
Besides these somewhat predictable behaviors, some other interesting things have been happening...
Each of the kids have winter weather gear available to them - a winter coat, gloves and mittens, hat, scarves, boots. This child has chosen not to wear a winter coat all season, the preference is for hoodies - this practice is not at all uncommon with pre-teen kids, we see it all the time - and it is not a battle I choose to initiate; if a person is cold, he will put on the coat. The issue isn't even mentioned in our house. Since having overnight visits and the other mom requesting that the winter coat at least be sent along, strangely the child has worn the coat every day since.
At bedtime there are different routines with the different kids, but there is at least a "good-night" for and from each. Not with this child, there hasn't ever been any sort of evening or morning greeting, just a move-about-the-house-and-do-your-own-thing kind of attitude. However, during the first overnight visit we received a nine o'clock phone call to wish us a good night.
Due to his past family experiences, this child is guarded when it comes to forming bonds and trusting. The extent of his tie to our family is that we are a safe place where needs are provided and there are other kids for entertainment. Very obviously little emotional bonding has happened. Yet since beginning to visit with the other family, this child has made it a point to ask me several times a week, "So mom, how was your day?" as we are walking home from the bus stop. The first time I heard it I had to check to see which child was walking beside me to ask such a question; this is the child who either runs way ahead or is lagging far behind.
So I'm not sure which way to go with this. Certainly, we continue to address behaviors and attitudes that are unacceptable and issue the expected consequences, and we understand the feelings of anxiety that may be causing some of what we are seeing. And I also appreciate and enjoy all the cooperation and pleasantries - whatever the source or motivation. The hope is that very soon we will all know for sure which way we are headed and can focus on making it a very positive experience.
Slow and steady is probably the best way to go, and gives opportunity for both child and family to make a well-informed, thoughtful decision. On the other hand, the longer the transition the more anxiety that may be induced as Cinque wonders and asks when he might be moving. There's also his felt need to have closure here as he moves on; which is also played out as a lack of care for everyday life here.
In a twelve-year-old's way of thinking, why should time and effort be spent on school work assignments that will be left behind before the year is over, why practice for a band concert that will happen after he's gone, or why use self-control in the classroom when the consequences won't follow him to the next school. And that same attitude is demonstrated at home: lack of attention to homework, needing to be prompted to complete routine chores, blatant refusal to care for personal hygiene, pestering and picking on the others kids. Understanding and some allowances are extended, reminders are given, attitudes are excused, explanations are provided to the other kids: this is not an easy time for him, we need to exercise grace.
Besides these somewhat predictable behaviors, some other interesting things have been happening...
Each of the kids have winter weather gear available to them - a winter coat, gloves and mittens, hat, scarves, boots. This child has chosen not to wear a winter coat all season, the preference is for hoodies - this practice is not at all uncommon with pre-teen kids, we see it all the time - and it is not a battle I choose to initiate; if a person is cold, he will put on the coat. The issue isn't even mentioned in our house. Since having overnight visits and the other mom requesting that the winter coat at least be sent along, strangely the child has worn the coat every day since.
At bedtime there are different routines with the different kids, but there is at least a "good-night" for and from each. Not with this child, there hasn't ever been any sort of evening or morning greeting, just a move-about-the-house-and-do-your-own-thing kind of attitude. However, during the first overnight visit we received a nine o'clock phone call to wish us a good night.
Due to his past family experiences, this child is guarded when it comes to forming bonds and trusting. The extent of his tie to our family is that we are a safe place where needs are provided and there are other kids for entertainment. Very obviously little emotional bonding has happened. Yet since beginning to visit with the other family, this child has made it a point to ask me several times a week, "So mom, how was your day?" as we are walking home from the bus stop. The first time I heard it I had to check to see which child was walking beside me to ask such a question; this is the child who either runs way ahead or is lagging far behind.
So I'm not sure which way to go with this. Certainly, we continue to address behaviors and attitudes that are unacceptable and issue the expected consequences, and we understand the feelings of anxiety that may be causing some of what we are seeing. And I also appreciate and enjoy all the cooperation and pleasantries - whatever the source or motivation. The hope is that very soon we will all know for sure which way we are headed and can focus on making it a very positive experience.
Monday, January 23, 2012
What we learn
Today is Evan's birthday. It's my nature to be reflective - not to analyze, if only, then there might be a purpose in it - to remember and ruminate, and sometimes to learn. So on the kids' birthdays, and adoption days I think back...
Before Evan was born, when I was five months pregnant, Eli was eighteen months old, and Fred was four we were called to take an emergency placement for two brothers: T was 10, and C was 7. An emergency placement means that the kids were removed from their home without warning or preparation, that the county did not know the whole story, our agency knew even less, and we were told next to nothing. We knew that the older child had some sort of disability, that court would be scheduled for the next week, and that both boys needed to be enrolled in school.
A county case worker brought the boys to our house, and when she saw Eli and Fred seemed surprised and remarked that she hadn't been told that we had children. That comment should have raised some concern, but it got lost in the shuffle of welcoming the boys into the house and the exchange of some information about the upcoming court hearing. We were assured that the placement would be very short-term, but that we should go ahead and enroll at least the younger brother in school. Since T, the big brother, had Down Syndrome, we were told not to worry about getting him into school as it would take longer to have the necessary documents transferred.
The first day or two went okay, we were able to set a routine and some boundaries. But we did not have much experience in caring for a child like T; he was almost non-verbal (most of the words he used were foul anyway, so it might have been a blessing), was easily frustrated, and became aggressive. Once he became comfortable, he was resistant to bed-time, refusing to go to and stay in his bedroom with his brother. He was also a large child, and so it was difficult to 'make' him stay anywhere he didn't want to.
We found that coloring with crayons seemed to be a calming activity, until he began to throw the crayons. It was on Saturday, so Stan was home. I took the crayons away and put them on top of the refrigerator; this frustrated T even more and he picked up a cup and threw it at me. At that point I took Fred and Eli and we went to our bedroom while I left Stan with T and C to call the agency on-call worker. The worker arrived, and having no information about the boys or the placement, and seeing that T had calmed down, and since it was a weekend, the worker left an hour later leaving us to think that this was an isolated incident - and if not, we could handle whatever might happen until Monday.
The next morning was Sunday, we got up and ready for church. I don't remember what, but something didn't suit T so he began a tantrum that included cursing, yelling, and throwing things. We decided that I would take the other boys to church and Stan would stay home with T and call the agency again. When we arrived home after church, the worker was there and this time T was still visibly agitated. Again the case worker talked about how we could handle these situations and told us to call the office the next morning. I and the boys were in the livingroom as he walked out with Stan. That was enough time for T to see me, get his hands on my neck and push me onto the sofa. I yelled for Stan and he and the case worker came back in time to see what was happening. Apparently this was enough for the worker to decide that T could not stay in our home. Phone calls were made and T left with the case worker for placement in a residential program where his needs would be better met.
When the county case worker followed up with us on Monday, she said she wasn't surprised that T had needed to be moved, that she was surprised that our agency would have placed him with us since, due to his violent history, it was unsafe for him to be in the house with small children and a pregnant mother. When we questioned our agency, they knew nothing about this child's violent tendencies. So not only were we a bit traumatized, but a child who had been removed from his family without being able to understand why, and had now been moved again.
Thankfully, both boys were eventually reunified with their family. At court the next week, we were able to meet their mother who thanked us for caring for her boys. C was able to go home that day and T followed soon after.
When I think about this experience, I'm not sure what I've learned. Sure, we've learned some behavior management techniques, but I might still do things the same way. Those boys would be welcome in our home, we would do our best to keep all the kids safe, the agency would get phone calls until we got help. If I had stopped to think about bringing our baby into this kind of life... well, I guess God knew what kind of baby would add joy to this kind of life, so He provided us with Evan.
Before Evan was born, when I was five months pregnant, Eli was eighteen months old, and Fred was four we were called to take an emergency placement for two brothers: T was 10, and C was 7. An emergency placement means that the kids were removed from their home without warning or preparation, that the county did not know the whole story, our agency knew even less, and we were told next to nothing. We knew that the older child had some sort of disability, that court would be scheduled for the next week, and that both boys needed to be enrolled in school.
A county case worker brought the boys to our house, and when she saw Eli and Fred seemed surprised and remarked that she hadn't been told that we had children. That comment should have raised some concern, but it got lost in the shuffle of welcoming the boys into the house and the exchange of some information about the upcoming court hearing. We were assured that the placement would be very short-term, but that we should go ahead and enroll at least the younger brother in school. Since T, the big brother, had Down Syndrome, we were told not to worry about getting him into school as it would take longer to have the necessary documents transferred.
The first day or two went okay, we were able to set a routine and some boundaries. But we did not have much experience in caring for a child like T; he was almost non-verbal (most of the words he used were foul anyway, so it might have been a blessing), was easily frustrated, and became aggressive. Once he became comfortable, he was resistant to bed-time, refusing to go to and stay in his bedroom with his brother. He was also a large child, and so it was difficult to 'make' him stay anywhere he didn't want to.
We found that coloring with crayons seemed to be a calming activity, until he began to throw the crayons. It was on Saturday, so Stan was home. I took the crayons away and put them on top of the refrigerator; this frustrated T even more and he picked up a cup and threw it at me. At that point I took Fred and Eli and we went to our bedroom while I left Stan with T and C to call the agency on-call worker. The worker arrived, and having no information about the boys or the placement, and seeing that T had calmed down, and since it was a weekend, the worker left an hour later leaving us to think that this was an isolated incident - and if not, we could handle whatever might happen until Monday.
The next morning was Sunday, we got up and ready for church. I don't remember what, but something didn't suit T so he began a tantrum that included cursing, yelling, and throwing things. We decided that I would take the other boys to church and Stan would stay home with T and call the agency again. When we arrived home after church, the worker was there and this time T was still visibly agitated. Again the case worker talked about how we could handle these situations and told us to call the office the next morning. I and the boys were in the livingroom as he walked out with Stan. That was enough time for T to see me, get his hands on my neck and push me onto the sofa. I yelled for Stan and he and the case worker came back in time to see what was happening. Apparently this was enough for the worker to decide that T could not stay in our home. Phone calls were made and T left with the case worker for placement in a residential program where his needs would be better met.
When the county case worker followed up with us on Monday, she said she wasn't surprised that T had needed to be moved, that she was surprised that our agency would have placed him with us since, due to his violent history, it was unsafe for him to be in the house with small children and a pregnant mother. When we questioned our agency, they knew nothing about this child's violent tendencies. So not only were we a bit traumatized, but a child who had been removed from his family without being able to understand why, and had now been moved again.
Thankfully, both boys were eventually reunified with their family. At court the next week, we were able to meet their mother who thanked us for caring for her boys. C was able to go home that day and T followed soon after.
When I think about this experience, I'm not sure what I've learned. Sure, we've learned some behavior management techniques, but I might still do things the same way. Those boys would be welcome in our home, we would do our best to keep all the kids safe, the agency would get phone calls until we got help. If I had stopped to think about bringing our baby into this kind of life... well, I guess God knew what kind of baby would add joy to this kind of life, so He provided us with Evan.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Praying for Patience
While in the bank drive-thru the other day, I was reminded of my ever-present short comings in the patience department. The driver in front of me was already at the window, and continued to talk with the teller inside even after the metal drawer had opened and closed not once, but twice. Even though I wasn't in a particular hurry, I found myself feeling agitated.
Patience has never been my strong suit. It's always been a matter of prayer and half-hearted discipline, and when people comment on how patient I am, I usually respond with, "No, I'm just tired." Which is kind of a true statement; not often physically tired, but mentally drained and tired of arguing with and explaining myself to my kids, tired of working - it feels like against - a system when what I want is to work with the system.
During a pull-myself-up-by-the-bootstraps phase a few years ago, I decided to dig in and work at developing more patience. My prayers and Bible study revolved around it, and I tried to be more aware of my attitude with the kids, especially. The timing is blurry to me now, but around that time - months before or after - we took a placement for three siblings.
At the time we had in our family: Fred, Eli, and Evan, and two brothers - Raymond and Deante. The ages of these five boys were: 8, 7, 5, 3 and 2 years old. The three siblings were two sisters and a little brother, named Dante (try keeping track of Deante and Dante for a bit.) As interesting as that name combination seemed to me, the name of the one sister really struck me - the older sister, age 7, was Patience. Her little sister, age 5, was Nicole.
These kids came to us because their dad did not have health insurance for them - period. That's all we were told and it certainly seemed that the kids were well-adjusted: understood limits, responded to discipline, played well with our kids. Little Dante was more fearful since he was not quite 2 years old and didn't understand what was going on, but after a few days he was fitting in and we had the new normal going on.
A few days into the placement, we noticed that Patience was struggling with one aspect of her health and while I had one of the boys to the doctor for a check-up, I took Patience along hoping that they would squeeze in a quick look at her "off the record" since the state health insurance for the kids had not kicked in yet. (A side note here: our pediatrician's office has been phenomenal to work with since we began fostering; even though they are usually technically 'closed' to new patients with medicare, they will take any kids that come to our family and they've seen a number of kids on the side like in this situation.)
It took the pediatrician a few minutes before he looked at me and said something like: "Mrs. Heisey, you need to get this child down to CHOP straight from here." And I said something like, "Huh?!" Stan was at work, I think my mom was at home with the other kids, and this kid had no health insurance. So I went home, filled in my mom, called Stan and he came home. We contacted the agency and the county, and Patience and I headed to CHOP.
Patience was admitted almost immediately and underwent a series of tests and procedures. For part of this time, the case workers were at the hospital with us to help answer the on-going questions for which I had no answers since I had only known Patience for a week and we had been given very little family information. The results of the testing determined that the situation was definitely treatable, and me being totally medically ignorant assumed that that meant we would get a prescription and get home in time for the bed-time routine.
Enter patience (with a lowercase 'p'). Sure, that whole day had taken some patience what with having to rearrange our schedule, have Stan come home from work, find my way to CHOP (I am also directionally challenged), try to comfort a child who hardly knew me, deal with questions for which I had no answers, and try to understand medical terms. But after all that, we could not go home. Patience was given a bed, and I a make-shift cot-type thing, in a room for the night. We had not planned for an over-nighter; I had no extra clothes for either of us, no comfort items for her, no way to take out and store my contacts.
It turns out, I didn't have to worry about taking out my contacts since I didn't sleep. Between Patience being uncomfortable (she was having some procedures continue throughout the night) and scared, and the addition of our roommate at around two in the morning, who had time to try to get comfortable on that plastic covered, too-short cot-bed. Sometime during the next day, Patience was discharged with a list of directions for us to follow.
As I mentioned earlier, I am fully medically incompetent; taking temperatures and administering cold medicine is about as far as I go. So... more patience as I cared for Patience at home. The fact that she did not understand the need for all the things that we had to do, or what could happen if we didn't, was also trying as I attempted to explain in little girl terms what I barely understood myself. Thankfully, her health did improve, her daddy secured insurance for all the kids, and Patience, Nicole, and Dante were reunified with their family after a few weeks with us. And I was again reminded to be thoughtful when praying because God is faithful in providing what I need - sometimes in ways that I can't help but notice.
Patience has never been my strong suit. It's always been a matter of prayer and half-hearted discipline, and when people comment on how patient I am, I usually respond with, "No, I'm just tired." Which is kind of a true statement; not often physically tired, but mentally drained and tired of arguing with and explaining myself to my kids, tired of working - it feels like against - a system when what I want is to work with the system.
During a pull-myself-up-by-the-bootstraps phase a few years ago, I decided to dig in and work at developing more patience. My prayers and Bible study revolved around it, and I tried to be more aware of my attitude with the kids, especially. The timing is blurry to me now, but around that time - months before or after - we took a placement for three siblings.
At the time we had in our family: Fred, Eli, and Evan, and two brothers - Raymond and Deante. The ages of these five boys were: 8, 7, 5, 3 and 2 years old. The three siblings were two sisters and a little brother, named Dante (try keeping track of Deante and Dante for a bit.) As interesting as that name combination seemed to me, the name of the one sister really struck me - the older sister, age 7, was Patience. Her little sister, age 5, was Nicole.
These kids came to us because their dad did not have health insurance for them - period. That's all we were told and it certainly seemed that the kids were well-adjusted: understood limits, responded to discipline, played well with our kids. Little Dante was more fearful since he was not quite 2 years old and didn't understand what was going on, but after a few days he was fitting in and we had the new normal going on.
A few days into the placement, we noticed that Patience was struggling with one aspect of her health and while I had one of the boys to the doctor for a check-up, I took Patience along hoping that they would squeeze in a quick look at her "off the record" since the state health insurance for the kids had not kicked in yet. (A side note here: our pediatrician's office has been phenomenal to work with since we began fostering; even though they are usually technically 'closed' to new patients with medicare, they will take any kids that come to our family and they've seen a number of kids on the side like in this situation.)
It took the pediatrician a few minutes before he looked at me and said something like: "Mrs. Heisey, you need to get this child down to CHOP straight from here." And I said something like, "Huh?!" Stan was at work, I think my mom was at home with the other kids, and this kid had no health insurance. So I went home, filled in my mom, called Stan and he came home. We contacted the agency and the county, and Patience and I headed to CHOP.
Patience was admitted almost immediately and underwent a series of tests and procedures. For part of this time, the case workers were at the hospital with us to help answer the on-going questions for which I had no answers since I had only known Patience for a week and we had been given very little family information. The results of the testing determined that the situation was definitely treatable, and me being totally medically ignorant assumed that that meant we would get a prescription and get home in time for the bed-time routine.
Enter patience (with a lowercase 'p'). Sure, that whole day had taken some patience what with having to rearrange our schedule, have Stan come home from work, find my way to CHOP (I am also directionally challenged), try to comfort a child who hardly knew me, deal with questions for which I had no answers, and try to understand medical terms. But after all that, we could not go home. Patience was given a bed, and I a make-shift cot-type thing, in a room for the night. We had not planned for an over-nighter; I had no extra clothes for either of us, no comfort items for her, no way to take out and store my contacts.
It turns out, I didn't have to worry about taking out my contacts since I didn't sleep. Between Patience being uncomfortable (she was having some procedures continue throughout the night) and scared, and the addition of our roommate at around two in the morning, who had time to try to get comfortable on that plastic covered, too-short cot-bed. Sometime during the next day, Patience was discharged with a list of directions for us to follow.
As I mentioned earlier, I am fully medically incompetent; taking temperatures and administering cold medicine is about as far as I go. So... more patience as I cared for Patience at home. The fact that she did not understand the need for all the things that we had to do, or what could happen if we didn't, was also trying as I attempted to explain in little girl terms what I barely understood myself. Thankfully, her health did improve, her daddy secured insurance for all the kids, and Patience, Nicole, and Dante were reunified with their family after a few weeks with us. And I was again reminded to be thoughtful when praying because God is faithful in providing what I need - sometimes in ways that I can't help but notice.
Friday, January 20, 2012
When I'm Ready
It's no secret that our oldest child has special needs which include: ADHD (attention deficient hyperactivity disorder), ODD (oppositional defiant disorder), PDD (pervasive developmental disorder), ID (intellectual disability), a processing disorder, and epilepsy. The epilepsy is well-controlled with medication, which ironically can cause or exacerbate behavior problems. It's also not a secret that Fred has a very gentle spirit and generous heart; he has always been great around younger children and loves to be helpful.
After being told for several years that he would 'catch up' academically and socially, while watching him struggle and fall farther and farther behind his peers, we sought expert advice. With the assistance of doctors and an attorney we worked with the school district to find a more appropriate educational situation. Translation: We spent a lot of time and money to research, track and document performance of the school, meet with professionals and the school personnel, submit paperwork for state and federal complaints, meet with the school district some more, visit the options the district was willing to offer, and eventually - after nine months of rabbit-trailing - file a petition for a due process hearing. Amazingly, once the district realized we were not backing down, we were offered placement in an excellent out-of-district educational program for which the district would foot the bill.
We are half-way through the first full year at this school, and the honeymoon appears to be ending. Up until recently, the comments from and conversations with the teachers at this new school have been very similar to what we have experienced in the public schools. Teachers seem very taken with Fred's sweet little boy looks and innocent disposition; these characteristics have helped him get shuffled along and excused from some consequences that he deserved and needed to experience.
Just last week the teacher sent an e-mail, as she does most days (the consistent contact is a source of satisfaction for me and a source of frustration for Fred), to explain a new procedure they had begun to use in the classroom. Apparently there are instances when my son does not want to complete - or even begin - certain assignments; he claims to be too tired or have a headache when the task presents a challenge. No surprise there, why do you think we fought for this placement. In the public school there were times when he was given answers for assignments and tests because he claimed he couldn't do the work. The new procedure includes allowing Fred to choose whether or not he wants to do the assignment with the class or wants to wait, and then he may tell the teacher when he's ready to work.
What? Seriously? My child is deciding whether or not or when he'll do the assigned classwork? We're not talking about allowing 'wait time' for him to process; we are talking about a belligerent and bossy attitude. I understand and appreciate the concept of the IEP (Individualized Educational Plan) when it is utilized, but it is not up to the student to set the tone and expectations. Unfortunately, Fred has learned how to manipulate - when to turn on the charm, or the victim mentality, or use health concerns to work in his favor. For a young man who on paper appears to be quite delayed, he certainly has mastered the art of using his disabilities as an excuse and crutch which is something we do not allow to happen at home. Not for this child or any others.
Together, Fred and I read and discussed the e-mail from the teacher. I explained that if he was given the luxury of waiting until he was ready, then I would also take that attitude - I will fix dinner... when I'm ready; I'll check your homework... when I'm ready; I'll pack your lunch... when I'm ready; I'll do your laundry... when I'm ready. Then it hit home for him and he seemed to grasp the selfishness in this method of doing things.
He's a kid with common sense and a great memory - don't ever challenge him to a game of Pictureka or I Spy. He's been taught and knows right from wrong. He's like any other kid trying to make life easier by taking short cuts, and he's got more crutches than most. Slowly and surely he's getting it, this thing of living life with others. I think he's more ready than he knows.
After being told for several years that he would 'catch up' academically and socially, while watching him struggle and fall farther and farther behind his peers, we sought expert advice. With the assistance of doctors and an attorney we worked with the school district to find a more appropriate educational situation. Translation: We spent a lot of time and money to research, track and document performance of the school, meet with professionals and the school personnel, submit paperwork for state and federal complaints, meet with the school district some more, visit the options the district was willing to offer, and eventually - after nine months of rabbit-trailing - file a petition for a due process hearing. Amazingly, once the district realized we were not backing down, we were offered placement in an excellent out-of-district educational program for which the district would foot the bill.
We are half-way through the first full year at this school, and the honeymoon appears to be ending. Up until recently, the comments from and conversations with the teachers at this new school have been very similar to what we have experienced in the public schools. Teachers seem very taken with Fred's sweet little boy looks and innocent disposition; these characteristics have helped him get shuffled along and excused from some consequences that he deserved and needed to experience.
Just last week the teacher sent an e-mail, as she does most days (the consistent contact is a source of satisfaction for me and a source of frustration for Fred), to explain a new procedure they had begun to use in the classroom. Apparently there are instances when my son does not want to complete - or even begin - certain assignments; he claims to be too tired or have a headache when the task presents a challenge. No surprise there, why do you think we fought for this placement. In the public school there were times when he was given answers for assignments and tests because he claimed he couldn't do the work. The new procedure includes allowing Fred to choose whether or not he wants to do the assignment with the class or wants to wait, and then he may tell the teacher when he's ready to work.
What? Seriously? My child is deciding whether or not or when he'll do the assigned classwork? We're not talking about allowing 'wait time' for him to process; we are talking about a belligerent and bossy attitude. I understand and appreciate the concept of the IEP (Individualized Educational Plan) when it is utilized, but it is not up to the student to set the tone and expectations. Unfortunately, Fred has learned how to manipulate - when to turn on the charm, or the victim mentality, or use health concerns to work in his favor. For a young man who on paper appears to be quite delayed, he certainly has mastered the art of using his disabilities as an excuse and crutch which is something we do not allow to happen at home. Not for this child or any others.
Together, Fred and I read and discussed the e-mail from the teacher. I explained that if he was given the luxury of waiting until he was ready, then I would also take that attitude - I will fix dinner... when I'm ready; I'll check your homework... when I'm ready; I'll pack your lunch... when I'm ready; I'll do your laundry... when I'm ready. Then it hit home for him and he seemed to grasp the selfishness in this method of doing things.
He's a kid with common sense and a great memory - don't ever challenge him to a game of Pictureka or I Spy. He's been taught and knows right from wrong. He's like any other kid trying to make life easier by taking short cuts, and he's got more crutches than most. Slowly and surely he's getting it, this thing of living life with others. I think he's more ready than he knows.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Are You Smarter Than...
Evan recently went through a phase of interest in the T.V. game show, "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader". Since he's in fifth grade, it was interesting to see how much easier the questions were for him to answer than his parents.
When Evan was in pre-school, we had the pleasure of having a set of sisters live with us. The oldest was fifteen and she had a phrase that she liked to use on me when working her teen-age wiles: "Don't let me outsmart you!" That was my warning that she was planning, preparing, scheming... nothing really bad, this girl still makes me proud today - but that's another story.
In the past weeks my awareness of being outsmarted has been heightened as my kids seem to be throwing down challenges to see if I'm really smarter than a fifth grader, or second grader, or sixth grader, or seventh grader, or ninth grader.
Daughter knows because she's been repeatedly reminded, that she may not wear rings or bracelets to school (necklaces are fine) because they tend to come off and may become a distraction or lost. As we get out of the car at school one morning I notice that daughter seems to be struggling to take off her seat belt, only to discover that she is trying to adjust the bracelet that she has 'hidden' in her underwear so that it won't fall out as she gets out of the car. Outsmarted that second grader!
Son has spelling homework every night to study and review for a test each Friday. After several weeks of below passing grades, we adopted a vigorous, new study routine. Monday night went fine, Tuesday night was a bit of a struggle. On Wednesday son comes home and says, "Oh, my. I accidentally forgot my spelling list at school." "Oh my," I replied, "good thing I saved the paper we used yesterday to practice the words." Smarter than that student!
Daughter has been volunteering to hand out snacks in Sunday School class. On week one I commend her for being helpful. On week two I hear that she has volunteered again, and other daughter says she is giving everyone a double snack. By week three I have deduced that my volunteer is interested in receiving a double portion for herself and by being generous with the whole class, she can be generous with herself. This one took me a little longer, but I outsmarted my other second grader.
One of the kids takes great joy in instigating: causing siblings to fuss and fume, lose their tempers, yell and scream; then takes satisfaction when the sibling reacting is the one to receive a reprimand. Sometimes the stealth of this child has worked, but the established pattern has blown that cover, and I have proven to be smarter than that child, too.
At our house, breakfast is served every morning before school. While having a conversation with a teacher, information was shared in an innocent manner regarding one of our son's habits of purchasing breakfast at school each day. When confronted, our son initially denied it until I suggested that we e-mail the teacher to clarify the information.
It certainly helps to have the eyes and ears of our village out there. The look of amazement on a child's face when they realize that mom knows what they've been up to is priceless. It is a gentle reminder to them that honesty and respect are always worth it and that yes, I am smarter than them.
When Evan was in pre-school, we had the pleasure of having a set of sisters live with us. The oldest was fifteen and she had a phrase that she liked to use on me when working her teen-age wiles: "Don't let me outsmart you!" That was my warning that she was planning, preparing, scheming... nothing really bad, this girl still makes me proud today - but that's another story.
In the past weeks my awareness of being outsmarted has been heightened as my kids seem to be throwing down challenges to see if I'm really smarter than a fifth grader, or second grader, or sixth grader, or seventh grader, or ninth grader.
Daughter knows because she's been repeatedly reminded, that she may not wear rings or bracelets to school (necklaces are fine) because they tend to come off and may become a distraction or lost. As we get out of the car at school one morning I notice that daughter seems to be struggling to take off her seat belt, only to discover that she is trying to adjust the bracelet that she has 'hidden' in her underwear so that it won't fall out as she gets out of the car. Outsmarted that second grader!
Son has spelling homework every night to study and review for a test each Friday. After several weeks of below passing grades, we adopted a vigorous, new study routine. Monday night went fine, Tuesday night was a bit of a struggle. On Wednesday son comes home and says, "Oh, my. I accidentally forgot my spelling list at school." "Oh my," I replied, "good thing I saved the paper we used yesterday to practice the words." Smarter than that student!
Daughter has been volunteering to hand out snacks in Sunday School class. On week one I commend her for being helpful. On week two I hear that she has volunteered again, and other daughter says she is giving everyone a double snack. By week three I have deduced that my volunteer is interested in receiving a double portion for herself and by being generous with the whole class, she can be generous with herself. This one took me a little longer, but I outsmarted my other second grader.
One of the kids takes great joy in instigating: causing siblings to fuss and fume, lose their tempers, yell and scream; then takes satisfaction when the sibling reacting is the one to receive a reprimand. Sometimes the stealth of this child has worked, but the established pattern has blown that cover, and I have proven to be smarter than that child, too.
At our house, breakfast is served every morning before school. While having a conversation with a teacher, information was shared in an innocent manner regarding one of our son's habits of purchasing breakfast at school each day. When confronted, our son initially denied it until I suggested that we e-mail the teacher to clarify the information.
It certainly helps to have the eyes and ears of our village out there. The look of amazement on a child's face when they realize that mom knows what they've been up to is priceless. It is a gentle reminder to them that honesty and respect are always worth it and that yes, I am smarter than them.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Happy Birthday!
January 16: My mom's birthday. The day holds more significance for me now than ever. As a kid, I realized that my mom had a birthday like the rest of us, but grown-ups didn't seem to celebrate in the same way. There were years that I made a card, and later when I had money of my own, purchased cards and small gifts. I remember trying my hand at baking birthday cakes, and my mom seemed to appreciate whatever we did, or didn't do to celebrate her special day.
My perception of my mom changed drastically in 1999 when I became a mother. Not only did I begin to realize and appreciate what hard work it is to parent and how some sacrifices were easy to make out of love, but that others bring fears and tears. My mom seldom seemed to fear and rarely shed tears; to me that was and is a sign of her quiet strength and strong faith in God.
As we entered the journey of foster care, our most staunch supporter was my mother; babysitting, advice, a listening ear - she did it all. During one particular placement of two young brothers which lasted for more than two years, I called my mom almost daily. At the time we had five little boys in the house of all different personalities, dispositions, and stages of development. Who else could I call on who would listen to me vent about the holes in the drywall and broken toys, give me ideas for discipline and potty-training, be available to watch the crew when I had to be at visits.
As we've gained experience, and as I've tried my best to fashion my parenting skills from everything I've learned from my mom, the form of my neediness has changed. As the kids have grown and we've faced new and curious challenges, my questions and concerns have also evolved. When Angel died, my first phone call was to my mom; she didn't say much and didn't need to - I wouldn't have wanted her to. She cried and hurt along with me, allowed me to ask hard questions, and mourned Angel's loss as well.
Several years ago we cared for a seventeen year old girl who was struggling to live with our white family in our suburban home. She wasn't connecting in school and claimed to be 'bored' at our house even though we suggested many activities. Having some artistic interest, she eventually decided she wanted to sew a patchwork bag - with which I could offer absolutely no assistance beyond driving her to the store for supplies. But Grammy sews! She agreed to spend most afternoons with this young lady; together they worked on and completed the project.
That situation demonstrated to me the characteristic that I admire most in my mom: loving patience. Not the kind of patience that includes foot-tapping, sighing, and eye-rolling; or reminding, prompting, and nagging - because that's the kind of patience my kids have endured from me. On the other hand, I am hard-pressed to recall a time when my mom raised her voice or grew impatient with me. Oh, there was discipline - well-deserved punishments, consequences that were of no surprise to me.
Over time and with much prayer - offered by me and my parents - God has blessed me with a measure of loving patience which on my own is not possible. With God's continued help and my mom's continued example, I am hopeful that my children will be able to experience, grow from, and pass along this wonderful, strong, gentle heritage. Happy Birthday, Mom!
My perception of my mom changed drastically in 1999 when I became a mother. Not only did I begin to realize and appreciate what hard work it is to parent and how some sacrifices were easy to make out of love, but that others bring fears and tears. My mom seldom seemed to fear and rarely shed tears; to me that was and is a sign of her quiet strength and strong faith in God.
As we entered the journey of foster care, our most staunch supporter was my mother; babysitting, advice, a listening ear - she did it all. During one particular placement of two young brothers which lasted for more than two years, I called my mom almost daily. At the time we had five little boys in the house of all different personalities, dispositions, and stages of development. Who else could I call on who would listen to me vent about the holes in the drywall and broken toys, give me ideas for discipline and potty-training, be available to watch the crew when I had to be at visits.
As we've gained experience, and as I've tried my best to fashion my parenting skills from everything I've learned from my mom, the form of my neediness has changed. As the kids have grown and we've faced new and curious challenges, my questions and concerns have also evolved. When Angel died, my first phone call was to my mom; she didn't say much and didn't need to - I wouldn't have wanted her to. She cried and hurt along with me, allowed me to ask hard questions, and mourned Angel's loss as well.
Several years ago we cared for a seventeen year old girl who was struggling to live with our white family in our suburban home. She wasn't connecting in school and claimed to be 'bored' at our house even though we suggested many activities. Having some artistic interest, she eventually decided she wanted to sew a patchwork bag - with which I could offer absolutely no assistance beyond driving her to the store for supplies. But Grammy sews! She agreed to spend most afternoons with this young lady; together they worked on and completed the project.
That situation demonstrated to me the characteristic that I admire most in my mom: loving patience. Not the kind of patience that includes foot-tapping, sighing, and eye-rolling; or reminding, prompting, and nagging - because that's the kind of patience my kids have endured from me. On the other hand, I am hard-pressed to recall a time when my mom raised her voice or grew impatient with me. Oh, there was discipline - well-deserved punishments, consequences that were of no surprise to me.
Over time and with much prayer - offered by me and my parents - God has blessed me with a measure of loving patience which on my own is not possible. With God's continued help and my mom's continued example, I am hopeful that my children will be able to experience, grow from, and pass along this wonderful, strong, gentle heritage. Happy Birthday, Mom!
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