FOCUS!!!!

As I strolled into the school office to pick up Bella early for an appointment, I was greeted by another Mama.  One I have grown very fond of over our elementary school years together.    I don't know her really well, but she puts out a good vibe, you dig?

"You grabbing your kids?"  I asked.
"Yep.  We're going to the Orthodontist," she replied, "How about you?"
"Me?  Oh, we're going to the Psychiatrist."

I felt like I was playing a game called, "Who's Family is More Mentally Unstable?"  I mean, how many 10 year olds do you know that go to a PSYCHIATRIST?  Let me clarify by saying that  I am not ashamed, embarrassed, or freaked out that we go to counseling or the Psychiatrist.  But most folks, who are being seen by mental health professionals, keep it on the DL. 

Not me.  Let's talk about the big pink elephant in the room, shall we?  In fact, just the other day, one of my Weight Watcher members said, "Michelle, I have had about 6 different WW leaders.  But you're the only one who says, let's be real with ourselves.  Let's figure out the REAL reason why we are using food."  Cause we can talk about points, and snack tips, and exercising til we are blue in the face...and STILL STRUGGLE because we refuse to dig deeper.

I simply replied, "Well, I'm sure your other leaders didn't spend thousands of dollars in therapy, like I have."

When I became a mama, I didn't think for a second, that any of my kids would have a Learning Disability.  That is NOT the kind of shit you see on the Pampers commercials, you know?  By the time the twins entered Kindergarten, I was jumping for joy, naively thinking, "I'm FINALLY going to get a break!"  I had just given birth to Cosette, Emma had started Preschool, and I had two 5 year olds in school for 4 hours...I actually considered it a "break".  HAHAHA.

There were definitely little red flags that the girls were struggling, that I just didn't recognize at the time.  Mainly, because I was a sleep deprived, first time mama of school age kids.  And partly because, Kindergarten had changed two-fold in the last 30 years.  Expecting my 5 year olds to read, seemed, a little...um....overzealous.  I thought, "What the hell happened to Circle Time?"

By the time, Bella hit second grade, she "got" that she had fallen significantly behind.  She would come home and sob about it.  "Mama, it's so hard.  I don't understand.  Everyone else is ahead of me."  Do you know how that tore me up?  My baby's confidence was crumbling, and she was only SEVEN years old.

 Calmly, I told Bella, "Honey, you have so many other gifts that are not being graded in school.  You are an amazing artist, singer, and a kind, and caring friend.  All Mom and Dad ask is that you do your best."  But these words didn't matter because she didn't believe them. 

We all know what if feels like to be left behind.  When everyone else is "getting it" except us.  Or when we are picked last for the team.  It sucks.  It doesn't feel good.  And it feels like the world is coming down around us.

You would think that the school district wants the best for your child, right?  Especially if they are falling behind?  Especially if their confidence is dwindling faster than a Kenyan running a hundred yard dash?  NOPE.  I had to fight, tooth and nail, to get the twins tested to determine where their inefficiencies were.  I felt like I had to convince them, "I'm not making this shit up.  My girls are struggling....please HELP me, so I can help THEM."    But testing costs time and  money.... After realizing that I was not going to stop stalking them, the twins were tested.  It seems that they were both "low", but not "low" enough to receive Resource help or a tutor.  In fact, a child must be TWO years BELOW grade level to qualify for help.  WTF?

Feeling frustrated and defeated, I took Bella to see a Developmental Pediatrician, hoping he could shed some light on why Bella was struggling so much.  (Side note, Abby was still having a hard time, and was behind, but was holding her own.)  He looked at her testing from the district.  He asked Bella a few questions.  He diagnosed her with ADHD, inattentive form.  He recommended meds.  All in about 20 minutes.

I walked out thinking, he could take a flying F'ing leap, because there is NO WAY I'm drugging my baby.  The Hell If...  F Off.  You know, all the typical "denial" type monologue we play in our heads, when we are not ready to deal with the truth. 

I mean, sure I had to yell "FOCUS BELLA" at least 20 times during homework.  And yes, several times, I had to clap my hands in front of her face, to bring her back to reality.  But the doctor diagnosing her, was like saying she was "damaged goods".  You can't tell a mama her baby is broken, and expect her to accept that info with open arms, you know?

And so, there I lived, in Denial.  I researched on the Internet for hours on end, trying to find a way to help my daughter.  I tried a high protein diet.  I added Omega vitamins into the mix.  After Bella started wearing tinted glasses to reduce glare, we started Vision Therapy.  And as 2 more years passed, Bella's learning gap became bigger.  Her confidence plummeted.  And I started to understand and accept that what I was doing, wasn't working.

In the meantime, I pursued getting a 504 Plan in place for each one of the twins.  For those of you not familiar with LD lingo, a 504 Plan includes modifications and accommodations drawn up by the teacher, parent, and school official, and is supposed to be honored as a legal document.  But you know what I realized?  A 504 Plan in the San Jose Unified School District, is a fucking Boy Scout Pledge.

Bella would bring home a TEN page Theme test that she had...gasp...failed, and I was asked to go over it with her at home, and fix the mistakes.  During that process, I asked her,

"Did the teacher give you extra time?"  NO.
"Was the test broken in to smaller pieces and given in chunks?"  NO.
"Did you feel overwhelmed, and you just filled in the bubbles and answers so you could be done?" (And make the torture STOP?)  Yes Mom, and then I had to still finish it during recess.

THAT is when I saw RED.  These were modifications that were clearly listed on Bella's 504 Plan, but either no one cared, or no one was paying attention.  And see, here is what really pisses me off.  I'm not fighting just for MY kids.  For every kid like Abby and Bella, who takes a little longer to complete work, and processes differently, there are at least 5 more kids just like them.

I became a full time Advocate/Master Communicator/Stalker, to ensure that while the teachers understood I was supporting them at home, I would be holding them accountable at school.  And if something like the prior ever happened again, you better be damn sure, you will be hearing from me about it.  And I probably wouldn't be wearing my patience panties.

BTW, teachers are a HUGE part of this equation.  For the amazing teachers out there, who are willing to teach to ALL kids abilities, I applaud, and thank, and love you. 

But having the twins in different classrooms each year, makes it nearly impossible NOT to compare teachers and styles.  Typically, Abby receives the fabulous teacher.  And Bella gets the one who is stuck in the Stone Age Days...resistant to change, resistant to incorporating new techniques, and resistant to using technology that is readily available to help kids learn!  It doesn't help my frustration level that I actually worked in the teaching profession.  And gosh, may know a thing or two, about how to effectively teach kids using different modalities.  For example, while teaching my 6th graders Vocabulary, we acted out the word, drew an illustration for the word, AND wrote out the definition for the word.  I know, crazy, huh?

Finally, I came to terms with the fact that I needed to revisit medication for Bella.  But I also realized that we would also benefit from counseling.  Through this process, Bella could learn coping strategies when she feels overwhelmed or frustrated.  So now, 2 months after starting,  when my 10 year old is having a "Postal" moment, she can identify her feelings, journal about them, and move on.  I don't know about you, but I was about 35 when I learned how to do that.  It doesn't hurt that Bella's counselor is a twin mom...she ROCKS.

We also have a phenomenal Psychiatrist, who is no-nonsense, like me.  She invested 90 minutes during our initial consultation, wanting to meet the entire family, and really talk to Bella.  This sat much better with me, than the initial 20 minute diagnosis, 2 years earlier.  Dr. F also has kids in SJUSD, and so we covetched.  She explained to me, that if I didn't mind essentially, being a pain in the ass, there were some other ways I could get Bella what she needed at school.  I liked this lady.  I liked her alot.  She was on OUR side.  She cared about my baby.  She wanted what was best for us.  And yes, it included a trial prescription of Adderrall.

For the first time ever, Bella feels good about school.  She doesn't dread it.  She is able to FOCUS.  She starts and finishes her homework.  Meltdowns still happen occasionally, but are infrequent.  It's not perfect, but just for a moment, I feel like I can breathe...Until one of the other girls will need me.  And they will.  It is such an interesting dance to be an advocate for one or two children, while not forgetting about where the others are. 

If anyone has figured out how to be  the perfect parent, without becoming a  full-fledged alcoholic, I would like to hear from you. 

But for those of you, who are struggling like I am, let's remember we are not alone.  More than anything else, we are here to support eachother. Without judgement, but rather, with love and understanding.   And I for one, can say, that I have felt this support from family and friends.  And it is the only thing that has gotten me through this endeavour, without jumping.

Perspective

Let me tell you about a little question that everyone keeps asking me that is really starting to piss me off...

"How are you feeling?" 

It doesn't seem like a loaded inquiry.  I truly understand that everyone from family, to moms' at school,  to the cute little Trader Joe's cashier who's bagging my groceries, are genuinely curious to know, how I'm holding up.  "How are you?" is code talk for,  "It must really suck right now to be you.  Tell me about it."

But see, here's the thing.   I'm not so sure most of the world is really ready for my uncensored version of "how I am feeling." at 36 weeks pregnant, with my fifth kid.

Here is what I want to say when someone innocently asks, "How are you?"

Fat.  I don't like weighing more than my spouse, alright? 

Ginormously swollen.  From my breasts that look like they belong on someone else's body, to my belly which is displaying the lovely Linea Nigra (or whatever the F it is called), right down to my cankles.  I feel like I could earn money at the Fair right now..."Step right up!  Step right up!  Tell us where this prego's legs end, and her ankles begin and YOU WIN A PRIZE!!!"

Tired.   I grew a skeletal system today, what did you do?  I don't care what ANYone says:  growing a human being at age 38 is NOT the same as it was at 28!  Thank GAWD I had the twins first.

Uncomfortable.  Does your uterus feel like it's slapping between your knees?  Can you carry on a conversation, without gasping for air, sounding like you may go into cardiac arrest at any moment?  Do your panties become sweaty with perspiration from walking down the God Damn hallway of your house?  Do you make random grunting and groaning sounds as you try to "drift off to sleep?" 

If you answered yes to any of the above, you also must be knocked up.  Isn't it F'ing GREAT?!!!!

Seriously though, time really is going by quicker than I imagined, and I am working hard on "being in the moment" during this LAST pregnancy.  But I won't lie when I tell you that I had to make one thing crystal clear to my husband recently. "You sir, will not be getting any of this, (me, motioning to my entire body, while I snap my fingers) until you get snipped." 

He made his vasectomy appointment the next day.

Recently, my sister in law was sharing with me that after each of her 2 kids were born, she made it home the same day in time for dinner.  I sat listening, in shock....WHY would you want to go HOME?  To laundry, and groceries, and your OTHER kids?  Ohhh hell nooo.  I view the entire labor and delivery process as an extended vacation AWAY from my immediate family.

After my vaginal birth with Cosette,  the doc popped into my room the next morning to give me the okay to leave.  The hospital.  Now.  Someone else needs your bed, and you're taking up space AND costing us money.

Doc:  How's your pain today, Michelle?

Me:  Doc, before I give you the details of my pain, let me tell you about what's going on at home.  I have 3 small children aged 5 and under.  You can't even gage my pain level right now.  I mean, where do I start?  How much time do you have?  (Do you hear the violin music?) 

Doc:  Okay, I understand.  Why don't you leave day after tomorrow?

Me:  YOU ROCK.  You have just been officially added to my Christmas card list.

Why in the world would I leave a place that does the following:  Brings me food when I request it.  Yes, you read that right.  I push a red button, and some nice person brings me juice and graham crackers with peanut butter.  At home, this scenario is reversed. 

I also get to watch TV, uninterrupted, in the MIDDLE of the DAY.  OMG!!!  Seriously? 

I can have the baby taken to the nursery so I can actually get some sleep, and someone will bring the baby back to me when it's time to nurse.  I think I must be dreaming.

And best of all, the nice nurses at Kaiser offer me Vicodin ever 4-8 hours.  That's what I'm talking about. 

Yes, you too, can do this each and every time you have a baby if you so desire.  The invitation is open: please come see me after I deliver.  Because if history repeats itself, I'll be at Kaiser,  for at least 3 days.

We can catch up, watch Oprah, and play Scrabble.  But would you please do me a favor?  Bring some wine.

Rascal the Rabbit: 9/15/09 - 9/5/10

I'm sure many of you are already aware that our bunny, Rascal, has gone to God.  He's met his maker.  He's doing the big binky jumps in the sky. 

He had a good life.  That is...until he got eaten.  By something.  We're not sure exactly what got him.  But guessing by the...um...remains that were found at the crime scene, it could have been anything from a common house cat to a polar bear.

Thank God the murder took place when the girls and I were up North, visiting my folks.  Tom, on the other hand, groggily walked out back that morning, to sit down and enjoy his morning cup of Joe.  Nothing would prepare him for what he was about to witness. 

Midnight came bounding up to greet him, like usual.  But no Rascal.  Hmmmmm....Tom thought.  Where IS that other bun?  Much to Tom's dismay, shortly thereafter, he discovered the body.  Or should I say, parts of the body, strewn across the backyard.   I'm telling you right now, there is just some shit that husband's are supposed to handle, because there is NO way I would have handled that situation without screaming.

So Tom delivers the devastating news to me.  And it is then my turn, to pass it on to our offspring.  Well, my M.O. with stuff like this is simply, "Just do it.  No time's a good time, so bite the bullet, and get it over with."

Surprisingly, every one of the girls took the news better than I expected.  I mean, sure, there were sniffly noses, teary eyes, and the occasional, long drawn out moan, pleading, "WHYYYYY RASCAL?  WHYYY YOU?!"  But for the most part, I thought I had the hard job...you know, being the Bearer of Bad Tidings, so to speak.  Is that even a phrase, or did I just make that up? 

Anyways, little did I realize that on our way home, Tom would be grilled on the cell phone for information regarding this horrific homicide.  It was like, CSI, Who Killed Rascal the Rabbit?  The conversation that followed went like this:

Abigail:  "Daddy, how do you know for sure that Rascal is dead?

Tom:  "Well honey, I found a feather and a little bit of blood.  I think an owl got him."

Abigail:  "Maybe he's still alive Daddy.  Maybe he's injured and hiding under the shed."

REALITY:  Tom found Rascal in pieces.  All over the yard.  Decapitated, head severed and partially consumed.  There's NO way you tell that to your kid.

Emma:  "Daddy, were Rascal's eyes open or closed?"  (Note, at this point, I'm trying not to crash the car, while I think, Poor Tom!)

Tom:  "They were closed sweetie.  He died peacefully."

REALITY:  Which eye are you referring to?  Because both of them were eaten out of his skull. 

Up until this point, I gave my husband 5 stars.  I mean, he was deflecting.  He was thinking on his toes.  He was consoling the girls, without giving out too much info.  Lastly, the cell is handed to Isabella, Rascal's rightful owner.

Isabella:  "Daddy, did you bury Rascal?"

Tom:  "No, honey, I picked up what was left, and threw him into the garbage."

Isabella:  "You THREW him into the GARBAGE?!!!  WHYYYY Rascal?  WHYYYYY YOU?!!!"

I mean, we were sooo close.  And then he had to be honest.  Shit, tell her, you gave Rascal a Viking burial, out at sea, with a little wood raft set adrift, enraptured by flames.  ANYthing, but the garbage can.  The truth is so overrated sometimes. 

Midnight is currently back in her bunny hutch.  She will be let out only with supervision.   But honestly, I have to say, those rabbits had a good run for about 3 months.  Eating our yard.  Lazing in the sun.  Doing the binky jumps.  Rascal didn't live a long life.  But he certainly had one helluva party while he was here.