ninanevermore: (Motherhood)
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The report from the Meyer Developmental Center arrived in the mail over the weekend. The doctor there was kind, but she wasn’t much help. She specializes in ADHD and Autism Spectrum disorders. She thinks my 6 year old is more likely just nuts, and referred us to a psychiatrist to drug him into submission.

“I could write you a prescription for an anti psychotic medication, if you like,” she said sweetly, “But I think you would be better off getting it from a psychiatrist who specializes in these types of conditions.” Not that she could say what my son’s condition is. She also offered to write a prescription for an ADHD stimulant-type drug, if I liked that idea better. Her willingness to let me, a person who has never been to medical school, chose whether my son was prescribed a stimulant or an antipsychotic drug made me trust her judgment about as far as I could pick her up and throw her.

Doctor, doctor, there’s a hole inside my head… )
ninanevermore: (Bite Me)
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Sweet Pea has forgiven his father, and I am glad. Just last night he said he never would, and that he planned to run away and never see his dad again. He was serious. His face was long and flushed like he was trying very hard to be brave and not cry. But can you blame him? What if your father were as cold hearted and cruel as his, and told you that there would be no TV or time on the computer FOR A WHOLE EVENING?

You’d hate that person, too.

But officer, my Behavioral Intervention Plan says I can go up to 19% over the speed limit. )
ninanevermore: (Bite Me)
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I don’t think the average jerk knows he or she is a jerk, or feels at all like a jerk even at their jerkiest moments. They aren’t trying to be jerks. They aren’t trying to be self righteous or small-minded or hateful. Life just hasn’t handed most of them a mirror and forced them to see themselves for what they are. Last week I was handed just such a mirror, and I'm holding it up just in case anyone else out there needs to take a look in it.

I've discovered that phone calls from my son’s school have a way of changing my viewpoints. I should be thankful for the opportunities to gain these wisdoms and insights, but I’m not: I liked being ignorant. Being a jerk is easy. Being kind and insightful is a lot of work, and the self examination leading up to it is painful, to boot.

Riding the Bus to Wisdom )
ninanevermore: (Motherhood)
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I have a terrible confession to make: my son’s IEP meeting was not so terrible. The school was very reasonable. They accepted my input and he got two extra accommodations because I thought they might be a good idea and everyone else in the room agreed. All of the advice that people who have had to fight tooth and nail for their kids gave me (“Don’t sign anything!” “Don’t accept what they offer – demand what he needs!”) had to be set aside, because the team presented a very good plan filled with reasonable and practical solutions.

Nice Schools Finish First )
ninanevermore: (Motherhood)
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ARD stands for Admission, Review, and Dismissal. It’s what the state of Texas calls an IEP meeting. IEP stands for Individualized Education Program. I will attend my first one tomorrow to go over what his school things might help him learn and function a little better. I am neither looking forward to or nor dreading it. I guess, to borrow a phrase from Pink Floyd, I have become comfortably numb.

Sweet Pea is suspended from the YMCA After School care again for throwing a Lincoln Log at another child and hitting him in the eye. Jeff is on vacation this week, so we are okay as far as childcare goes. When I got the call from the Y today, I didn’t even ask what was wrong, I just said, “Oh, God,” and the girl spilled the beans on what had been going on. I called my husband and told him, “You need to go pick up your son.”

And then the numbness set in.

No one here is practically perfect in any way at all. )
ninanevermore: (Bite Me)
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My husband showed up at 8:35 for our 8:40 interview with the school psychologist, the occupational therapist, and the educational diagnostician. We could have waited to show up until after 9 since that’s when the three of them were ready to see us, but that would have made us look like we weren’t very concerned about why we were there. Sitting in the front office, I looked at the framed photos on the front desk of the principal, the vice principal, and the school counselor, each with a stack of their respective business cards in front of it.

“Look,” I pointed out to Jeff, “Three pictures of people who have been hit, bitten and kicked by our son.” It was like a photo lineup of his frequent victims.

Jeff made a kind of pained groaning sound. I get a kick out of it when I hear one of those women tell me they love having my son in their school. I wish they could look me in the eye when they say that, but I think it’s sweet that they say it at all. They are trying their best, and God love them for that.

Finally, the psychologist, who I’ll call Ms. Psych, came around the corner and called us back. So, tell us about your son. )
ninanevermore: (Default)
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Tomorrow morning my husband and I will be interviewed by the school therapists who are assessing our son. This is the last little get together we all get to have before the ARD meeting (what IEP meetings are called here in Texas) in early December.

“I say we douse ourselves in alcohol on us before we go. And I’ll put makeup around my eyes like they’re bruised. Then we stumble in there and pretend to fight the whole time. Then they can go, aha! No wonder the kid’s a wreck!

“You mean splash vodka all over us? That’s an idea.”

“Yeah, like it was cologne. Make their eyebrows go right up when we walk in.”

I don’t know if the glass is half full, or if I’m half cracked. )

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