Speak for yourself!

  Georgia may be getting out of mic work today simply because I cannot string more than three words together without coughing up my spleen. I'm considering making up a turban soaked in Vicks VapoRub and wearing it EVERYWHERE until after flu season. I'd be like Professor Quirrell walking around with a smelly Voldemort on my head, only hopefully the VapoRub wouldn't be hissing orders at me to kill Harry Potter. After a few months of donning my odiferous headgear though, I imagine someone might want to do ME in!



  And speaking of things that don't smell quite right, I have only recently been made aware of some information that Autism Speaks isn't exactly the organization I believed it to be. (Shout-out to PDDWorld/Moms!) Now, this blog was never intended to be used as a forum for promoting, or bashing, any particular agency or therapy that might believe itself doing good deeds to further autism awareness, or improve the lives of those on the spectrum. But A.S. evidently has only just begun using the term "awareness", having been founded on the premise of "curing" autism by funding a ton of research to that end. They seem to be trying hard now to cover their tracks, as the autism community at large has called them on it. As I've seen on the Autism Self Advocacy Network site, ("Nothing about us, without us" http://autisticadvocacy.org/ ), it's not a cure they want, but acceptance. Being autistic is being themselves. This was echoed in an old NPR interview I dug up where a young man on the spectrum said "What the rest of the world needs to know about autism is that it's not something that can be separated out from the person, it's part of the person. And so you cannot meaningfully say I love my child, but I hate the autism. That's like saying I love my child, but I hate that she's a girl and I'd like her to be a boy instead." When asked if there were a cure for autism, would he take it, he answered "No. Never will. I love the way my brain works."


  On the A.S. site under "initiatives" they state "...In fact, many experts agree that a collaborative approach to autism research is the only way science will solve the mysteries of this devastating disorder." The definition of "devastating": 1) highly destructive or damaging. 2) causing severe shock, distress, or grief. The synonyms are destructive, and ruinous. You can see why someone on the spectrum might take exception to the A.S. approach. Now, the man in the NPR interview did state that he knows his life would be "easier without his Asperger's. He would understand social cues. He would get along better in work and everyday interactions." But he's "come to like being autistic. He even celebrates it." I know there are parents out there who might have felt shock, distress, or grief at first hearing a diagnosis of autism, but that doesn't mean the child's life, or the family unit ends in a ruinous state. For me the diagnosis was just validation, and then it was time to keep seeking out therapies which could help Georgia unlock all of her potential. I am not a shout-in-the-streets activist. I just quietly go about my business. So if Autism Speaks is shouting for a cure for autism, I will shout back in the form of not funding their research.

   A friend of mine with an Aspie son told me "You know the saying, 'If you've met one kid with autism, you've met one kid with autism.'" I do not claim to know all there is to know about autism, or every intricate detail of every advocacy group. I've done enough research to know that I don't know half of what's out there! What I do know is my child. I do know that, even though I want to help her overcome her learning problems, I do not want to help her overcome who she is at her core. She's silly, and goofy, and funny. She talks incessantly, (and obsessively!) on the way home from school. But sometimes she says the most amazing things! Yeah, sometimes she's a pain-in-the-ass, (Yep. I said it out loud.), but I usually put most of that down to being a teenager. The autism thing I can handle. This teen thing? OY VEY.

                                                                                 

                                                                         
                                                                     

                                                                       

Wheeling and dealing

 
   I've gotten fairly adept at cutting deals with Georgia for just about anything. And she's picked up my talent for it pretty well. I'm hoping the devil isn't keeping tabs, as I would not enjoy being offered a training position in his fiery corporation. Besides, I know quite a number of people who would be way better suited for the job than me. And anyway, I abhor that kind of heat! Yes, I am aware that I live in the deep South, but contrary to popular belief, it is not *typically* hotter-than-hell here. Well, with the exception of the month of August.

   Thursday afternoon I made a deal with Georgia that we could skip mic work, if she promised to make up for it on Sunday. After all, I was anxious to meet up with my LWDC peeps later (Liberal Women's Drinking Club. Whether you're a liberal, or you just drink that way, we welcome you!), I'd had a really long, tiring day of wrangling second graders, and frankly still had a cough and sore throat.(Have I mentioned I'm also good at rationalizing just about anything?) Geo hemmed a bit, then agreed, and we shook on it- but with a dangerously impish twinkle in her eyes. I said "You think I'm gonna forget by Sunday, don't you?!" I don't know how or why, but somewhere along the way I've managed to instill in my children the concrete certainty that Mommy will always forget things she is supposed to remember. Important things. They are convinced that I will forget to show up to retrieve them from school, or sign an important life-or-death form, or - heaven forbid- WASH THEIR SCHOOL CLOTHES. I honestly can't recall an event that would have imprinted this fear so indelibly on their little brains, and so I've decided to just blame it on my father-in-law, who actually DID forget to pick them up from school one time. Not my fault!          

   You will be relieved to know that I did not forget our Pact Of Procrastination! After letting Georgia have an entire morning of uninterrupted screen-time, I called to her that it was time for our mic work. She did not go quietly, but I could tell that her whole heart wasn't in the whine, and she was cracking a smile. We got right down to business. This was a difficult lesson, but she did such a great job! We went over that pesky "tion" ending, Me: Holds up card: "This is the word 'mention'. The 't-i-o-n' says 'shun'...." Georgia: Blank stare: "HUH?!" Me: "What part says 'men'?" Georgia: "m-e-n". Me: "What part says 'shun'?" Georgia: "s-h-u-n?!" Me: "No, sweetie, remember the 't-i-o-n' says 'shun'. Georgia: Looks at me like I'm insane. Me: Thinks: "Oh, yeah, this is the ever-confusing, always ridiculous English language!!" Honestly, who came up with these rules? I WAS impressed she could distinguish the sounds though, and spelled it like she HEARD IT. She did eventually catch on, after ten more words ending in "tion", and we kept our cool for the most part. The reading passage in this lesson was more challenging, and she was irritated that she had to spell so many words, but she gained a little more confidence once she read a bit from her chapter book. It's always nice when we can end a session on a positive note!

   Only two and a half more weeks of school until the Christmas break. I know because Georgia obsessively goes over this information with me every day. I'll do my best to keep on track with our Stowell work over the holiday, and Georgia will do her best to help me forget!

 

Tightrope Walking

  HOLY MACKEREL what a month. The school year is underway, and we are caught in an undertow. Well, maybe it's more kin to a rip current! The jump from Middle School to High School for a student such as Georgia is like trying to leap across the Grand Canyon. You might get a few feet out from the ledge, but then you plummet straight down like an overweight, drunk Wallenda on a dare. The work load is nearly insurmountable to Georgia, and we're barely keeping her together.

  Here in Baldwin County, in the Great State of Alabama, kids must choose one of several "diploma track options". Our High School offers an IB (International Baccalaureate) track, Honors track, A/P track, Standard track, (insert another track here, haven't found out what it's labeled), and Occupational track. What they advised us at our end-of-year IEP (Individualized Education Plan) meeting was to start on the Standard track, because "you can always move down a track, but you can't move up." Since our two older girls went IB, we had absolutely NO IDEA what the Standard track entailed. But we thought "Hey, she'll have her aide, and she'll be in inclusion classes, so how bad can things be?" Uh.....bad. I'm convinced that her IEP coordinator (who is also her Lit. teacher) didn't even glance at the report from Stowell. I'm beginning to wonder if she even really thoroughly read her IEP! The pace of these "inclusion" classes is so fast that it's no wonder the drop-out rate is so high. (34% in Baldwin County last time I checked) There doesn't seem to be any concern on the part of the teachers whether the kids are getting the information or not, they just keep moving on. I understand there are standards that have to be met, material that MUST be covered in a certain time frame. But MY KID can't keep up with that time frame, and I'm certain there are others who would be considered normally functioning kids who are getting lost in the shuffle.

  In addition to her high-stress, fast-paced school day, we are spending three or four hours a night on homework, and skipping our Stowell work because of it. (I handle work for Science, Lit & the "7 Habits of a Successful Student" classes. Brad tackles math.)This is NOT productive, nor is it beneficial to Georgia in any way. When we sit down to do homework I start to feel like I've been put into a very dark, very small, metal box where every time I try to yell "THIS ISN'T WORKING", all I get is my own voice echoing back on me. No one seems to hear me! Except Brad, 'cause the lid to my box is slightly ajar so that I can gulp some oxygen occasionally. We need to fix this, to slow the pace for her, extend the time frame, to be HEARD.

  So Brad and I began mulling over, discussing, hashing out ideas on how to slow things down so that Georgia has the time she needs to actually ABSORB and process all of this information being thrown at her. We agreed that continuing with our Stowell work is the most important thing. When Brad said "How important is it that she get her diploma in 4 years?", it was like an ephiphany. Oh, my goodness. What a radical, AWESOME thought! By law she could stay in school until the age of 21. I can't imagine letting her do that, but if we look at it that way it certainly buys her more time. While chatting with several of her former Resource teachers in the last few weeks, one of them suggested "Why can't she just take TWO classes per semester, instead of four? Or have her spread out something like Algebra over the whole year?" So if we determine that getting her diploma in 4 years (or at all) is not a priority, can't we just pick and choose her classes and work load? Sort of buffet-style education!

  Of course another road to follow would be homeschooling. I have to admit that when Brad and I started delving into that idea, I initially felt lost. Then when I imagined days of setting our own schedule, doing the Stowell work every day, going over a subject until Georgia "got it"...I felt so peaceful. THINK OF IT! Days of NOT STRESSING about getting homework in on time, of NOT cramming for a test on material you barely comprehend that you end up failing anyway. A very appealing thought indeed.

  We've finally gotten a meeting set up for tomorrow morning, so all of our concerns - and ideas on how to deal with them - can be discussed. If, for whatever reason, we can't *personalize* her plan more, and keep her in the public school system, then we'll be looking into what it will take to pull her out. Or...I don't want to say we may be looking for a lawyer....but....

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

    At times this week has seemed to slog and stick like so much caramel in my teeth. I hate caramel. One day would see Georgia happily cooperating (ironically, one of her vocabulary words  this week), and the next her feet firmly planted in cement. Oh, she does the work. But on the cement-planted-feet-days she would whine and fuss and growl through each session so that it seemed she wasn't getting any benefit from the work at all. After too many days of this uphill slogging, Mommy had a breakdown! We were pounding away at the AST Reading lesson where she has to repeat syllable pairs after me: "splash-clash", "batch-hatch", "snitch-snatch". She was so bent out of shape, and irritated about having to work, that she absolutely could not distinguish the different sounds. She devolved into further ickyness. Finally I threw my hands up, cut off the CD, unplugged the sound board and said "That's it. I'm done. I can't stand the whining and complaining one minute more! I cannot help you if you refuse to help too." Then I brought the hammer down. "No more screen-time for the rest of the day!!" I slammed out of the room, into my room, dove onto my bed like a pouty teenager, and thought "I. CAN. NOT. DO. THIS." Now, after the "no more screen-time" edict I fully expected to garner a complete ranting, raving lunatic-type rage. And I waited for it to begin. But it didn't. Something completely astounding happened instead. I heard Georgia talking (not raging) in her room for a few minutes, then she opened her door and called "Mommy?" I replied "In here." She came in calmly, and with a completely modulated voice said "I'd like to try again please." She climbed up on the bed and began to voice her frustrations in an almost hushed tone. She apologized. Finally after talking things out, I said "OK, I'll give it another try." Remarkably, she was able to not only breeze through each syllable pair, she could tell me what made one word vary from the other. "So, what letter changed to make "'clutch' say 'crutch'", her eyes flitted away for a minute and she said "Change the 'l' to a 'r'!" Wow. I even pushed it so far as to ask her what the vowels sounds were, and she could tell me! After we finished, we talked together about the difference it made from when she was irritated, to when she was calm. We determined that it was, in fact, better to remain calm.

     And so we had a really great afternoon session on another day, and were both remarking on it. I said "Yes! Isn't it so nice when things run smoothly and we don't have any drama? NO DRAMA! WATCH OUT FOR THE DRAMA LLAMA, IT'S SPITS!" Georgia was walking out of the room when I boomed this, but as she got into the kitchen I heard her start to giggle, and giggle, and then say to herself "Drama llama. It spits!" Then she started doing that hilarious hiccoughing, snorting giggle she does when she finds something particularly amusing. To see her gaining in maturity, self control, and growing in her sense of humor is quite something. My friend Judy recounted to me how she always made note when her kids were little of when they were particularly irritable, unmanageable or just plain pains-in-the-ass, because it usually meant that they were about to conquer another developmental milestone. I'm keeping that in mind with Georgia during all of these ups and downs, hoping the sticky caramel days mean she's morphing through into a higher developmental stage. Morphing into smooth rainbow sherbet days! I LIKE rainbow sherbet.