Friday – Caesar Milan vs. Jo Frost
Sep. 10th, 2010 10:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
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I am ashamed to say that I get more helpful parenting advice from The Dog Whisperer than I do from Supernanny. This probably makes me a bad mother. Supernanny Jo Frost offers all kinds of useful tips for dealing the normal children who are out of control. Caesar Milan, The Dog Whisperer, teaches you how to keep your dog from attacking and biting people. I find his techniques kind of helpful in keeping my child from attacking and biting people, as well. I mean no disrespect to Jo Frost; I’ve watched her show and her techniques work under ordinary circumstance. Unfortunately, circumstances are not exactly ordinary around my house.
Jeff and I were discussing my son's tantrums at school. The faculty and staff at the school are figuring out what works and making much faster progress than I thought they might. They have dealt with extraordinary children before. Everyone’s life would be easier if all extraordinary children were extraordinary in the same way, but they are not. It takes some trial and error, and I have to give them credit.
“I think they’re trying to reason with him when he gets like that, and that doesn’t work with him,” Jeff commented. I agreed. When Sweet Pea is in melt-down mode, his brain is flooded with adrenaline (also known as epinephrine) and is on full blown, primitive, fight-or-flight autopilot. Logic and reason won’t get through. With a dog, Caesar Milan uses a quick jerk and makes a noise like “shhhh!” to get the animal’s attention, since the animal is not likely to respond to complex commands in that state. You also do not touch an animal in when it is in what Caesar calls “the red zone” unless you want to get nipped; any touch, no matter how gentle, is going to be regarded as an assault by the animal. This rule about touching also applies to my son. With Sweet Pea (who is more sophisticated than a dog), we say his name and a short command like, “Stop it!” to reach him. At home, we do this he first starts to show signs of agitation and generally it doesn’t progress to a full tantrum. He snaps out of it.
Yesterday, I kept my cell phone in my bra (my outfit had no pockets) so that I would have it on me and not miss the call when it came. I had three calls from the school the day before. Yesterday, it never rang. When I got home, I learned from Jeff and Sweet Pea about the new technique his teacher had come up with: his Quiet Spot. It wasn’t a perfect day, it turns out. He did have a few occasions where he “almost” had to go to the principal’s office. But each time he went to his Quiet Spot and the crisis was averted.
I asked what the quiet spot looked like. He told me it’s a square on the carpet marked by masking tape. “It's orange tape. No, I mean red! The tape is red,” Sweet Pea told me. Whenever he feels himself start to lose control, he is allowed to go and sit in this spot until he feels calm again. No one is allowed to talk to him or mess with him when he is sitting in the square.
“It works quick!” Sweet Pea said, obviously impressed and amazed. Instead of taking an hour or more to wind down, he is back in the game in a few minutes.
“My God, they’re crate training him,” I told Jeff this morning. I am pleased, not offended, by this. The “crate” may be imaginary, but it works the same way the crate that my father’s Schnauzer seeks refuge in does. With an animal, the crate is not just a means of confinement, but also a refuge. The door to the crate is left open, and on days when all the grandkids are there and the dog feels like he’s had enough, he goes inside of the crate to get away from it all. The grandkids have been instructed that when Hank the Schnauzer is in his crate, he must be left alone. The red square in my son’s classroom also has an “open door:” he can enter it at any time, and he does not have to ask permission to leave it, either. It is a safe haven in a room full of noises and people that get on his last nerve and stay there if he doesn’t have a means of shaking them off of it.
I know that this imaginary, magic box on the carpet is not going to solve all of our problems, and that there is going to be a long and sometimes bumpy road ahead of us as far as our son and his school go. But it gives me hope that with a little imagination and work, we can find solutions to some of the tricky problems we are facing. Previously, I said I wasn’t going to bother with hope anymore, because it lies to me and leads to disappointment. It’s a drug, though, and I crave it. Just a little nip of hope, now and then, to take the edge off. I’ll try not to get too drunk off it, but I love the warm feeling that courses through me when I have a taste of hope. It may not make all things possible, but for a few moments, it makes them feel like they are.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I am ashamed to say that I get more helpful parenting advice from The Dog Whisperer than I do from Supernanny. This probably makes me a bad mother. Supernanny Jo Frost offers all kinds of useful tips for dealing the normal children who are out of control. Caesar Milan, The Dog Whisperer, teaches you how to keep your dog from attacking and biting people. I find his techniques kind of helpful in keeping my child from attacking and biting people, as well. I mean no disrespect to Jo Frost; I’ve watched her show and her techniques work under ordinary circumstance. Unfortunately, circumstances are not exactly ordinary around my house.
Jeff and I were discussing my son's tantrums at school. The faculty and staff at the school are figuring out what works and making much faster progress than I thought they might. They have dealt with extraordinary children before. Everyone’s life would be easier if all extraordinary children were extraordinary in the same way, but they are not. It takes some trial and error, and I have to give them credit.
“I think they’re trying to reason with him when he gets like that, and that doesn’t work with him,” Jeff commented. I agreed. When Sweet Pea is in melt-down mode, his brain is flooded with adrenaline (also known as epinephrine) and is on full blown, primitive, fight-or-flight autopilot. Logic and reason won’t get through. With a dog, Caesar Milan uses a quick jerk and makes a noise like “shhhh!” to get the animal’s attention, since the animal is not likely to respond to complex commands in that state. You also do not touch an animal in when it is in what Caesar calls “the red zone” unless you want to get nipped; any touch, no matter how gentle, is going to be regarded as an assault by the animal. This rule about touching also applies to my son. With Sweet Pea (who is more sophisticated than a dog), we say his name and a short command like, “Stop it!” to reach him. At home, we do this he first starts to show signs of agitation and generally it doesn’t progress to a full tantrum. He snaps out of it.
Yesterday, I kept my cell phone in my bra (my outfit had no pockets) so that I would have it on me and not miss the call when it came. I had three calls from the school the day before. Yesterday, it never rang. When I got home, I learned from Jeff and Sweet Pea about the new technique his teacher had come up with: his Quiet Spot. It wasn’t a perfect day, it turns out. He did have a few occasions where he “almost” had to go to the principal’s office. But each time he went to his Quiet Spot and the crisis was averted.
I asked what the quiet spot looked like. He told me it’s a square on the carpet marked by masking tape. “It's orange tape. No, I mean red! The tape is red,” Sweet Pea told me. Whenever he feels himself start to lose control, he is allowed to go and sit in this spot until he feels calm again. No one is allowed to talk to him or mess with him when he is sitting in the square.
“It works quick!” Sweet Pea said, obviously impressed and amazed. Instead of taking an hour or more to wind down, he is back in the game in a few minutes.
“My God, they’re crate training him,” I told Jeff this morning. I am pleased, not offended, by this. The “crate” may be imaginary, but it works the same way the crate that my father’s Schnauzer seeks refuge in does. With an animal, the crate is not just a means of confinement, but also a refuge. The door to the crate is left open, and on days when all the grandkids are there and the dog feels like he’s had enough, he goes inside of the crate to get away from it all. The grandkids have been instructed that when Hank the Schnauzer is in his crate, he must be left alone. The red square in my son’s classroom also has an “open door:” he can enter it at any time, and he does not have to ask permission to leave it, either. It is a safe haven in a room full of noises and people that get on his last nerve and stay there if he doesn’t have a means of shaking them off of it.
I know that this imaginary, magic box on the carpet is not going to solve all of our problems, and that there is going to be a long and sometimes bumpy road ahead of us as far as our son and his school go. But it gives me hope that with a little imagination and work, we can find solutions to some of the tricky problems we are facing. Previously, I said I wasn’t going to bother with hope anymore, because it lies to me and leads to disappointment. It’s a drug, though, and I crave it. Just a little nip of hope, now and then, to take the edge off. I’ll try not to get too drunk off it, but I love the warm feeling that courses through me when I have a taste of hope. It may not make all things possible, but for a few moments, it makes them feel like they are.
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no subject
Date: 2010-09-10 03:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-10 03:27 pm (UTC)My instincts after meeting the teacher and the principal were that they were smart, caring, and professional. I might could ask for better, but I doubt I could find it. They seemed willing to work with us, and I could see the relief on their faces when we said we were willing to work with them, too.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-10 05:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-10 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 07:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 12:48 pm (UTC)You magic box is portable. He's small, so he needs one marked off with tape. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 12:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-12 04:05 am (UTC)