O Come All Ye of Little Faith

Well, my worst nightmare came true and it wasn't so bad.

My son's nursery school teacher had a little chat with me, expressing her "ideas" for how to help him. Help him in what way, you ask?*

He might be happier if he can learn how to interact with other people, specifically children, better. For his sake, and for all our sakes. From very early, B has been incredibly touchy/feely, and seemingly unable to listen and honor boundaries. Like, "Please don't spit on me. I don't like that." Or "Ouch! Biting hurts!" Or "I don't like that, please give me some space." Etc. I've watched him, many times, glom onto a kid at the playground and be relentless, chasing, touching, getting in their face and not listening to their pleas to "Stop!" until that kid or their parent got frustrated and I had to intervene. So that.

He is bright. Hilarious. Creative. Physical. Clever. And he sucks at giving people room to breathe.

When his early preschool teacher had a similar chat with us, over a year ago, I was devastated. She was speaking far outside her scope, and used terms like "Aspergers" and "Autism" and "Sensory Disorder" and "Special Needs." I was horrified. As I've said in this blog before.  I grew up with a sister who was severely, profoundly brain damaged and had very, very clear "Special Needs." We had Occupational Therapists coming to our home for a time, and she was badly abused in public schools by both students and Special Ed teachers; I do believe that our understanding and attitude toward children with disabilities has gotten better out there by now, some 40 years later, but then? It was a fucking horrible and compassionless disgrace.

So my reaction to the first teacher's assessment was to fall into a deep, endless spiral of despair and fear.

And  I'm not done with it yet.

But it is getting better, as they say, all the time.

That teacher, who is not a bad person, but is a terrible communicator, actually apologized to us (me and my husband) for speaking outside of her scope. But I did agree with her, that she should have interpreted B's behavior as telling us "I'm really not happy being here" in her school. Because that was, beyond a doubt, part of it. He was tired of being there, and/or it wasn't for him.

So I'm considering that as a possibility even now.

Maybe it's that school is still such an enclosed, structured place, and he craves action and space.

OR

There may some neurological problem that he needs help for.

Maybe part of his problem is a neurological glitch that occurred during our long labor and forceps delivery, after which we made no skin-to-skin contact, which has been shown in innumerable studies to be so crucial  to neurological development. It's just a hunch I have. That he makes up for that lack of contact after being born by making too MUCH contact now. And frankly, if this "misbehavior" he is exhibiting now is a result of that, and the ONLY result of that, I will die complete.

But it's just a theory I have, not, as you might worry, a way of beating the shit out of myself in some sort of self-blame. Though that is definitely a danger.

I also think that, in part due to my "scare" from the first teacher, and my subsequent falling-in-love with the principles of RADICAL UNSCHOOLING, I am not ready for him to be in a school situation. Period. In spite of how truly wonderful the school, the teachers, the director, the other parents and children all are. WONDERFUL, I tell you.

Yet I'm told by my parenting guru, and the literature does seem to confirm, that  children who are preschool-aged (think about that term for a minute) really DON'T need to be in any sort of socialization setting.

Scary thought, huh?

That our little ones actually don't need the socialization we subject them to from birth on. Not until about kindergarten age (most) and really not even  until first grade age (some but not all). 

For me this continues to be a paradigm shift.

My own mother so strongly believed in putting us in daycare to help us "get socialized" that this has been a fundamental tenet in my parenting. You know, the Fundamental Tenets of  Parenting you have before you actually become one? That.

So.

Back to the wonderful teacher I had the conversation with a few days ago, and the wonderful SCHOOL where she teaches, and where my son is currently enrolled.

She was careful not to use any labels or terminology. Which I more than appreciate. She was gentle and compassionate, and gave me clear examples of behavior where Bodhi was pestering (my word) a child who didn't want to play, until one who did came along and solved the problem. But really, who wants their kid to be the one on the playground that all the other kids dread because he pours sand on their head even when they're not playing? Not me!

So then she suggested that we find "professional help" for him. To give him, and to give all of us, tools that we can use to help him learn HOW to honor boundaries, how to control his compulsion to touch, how to help him calm himself and be okay  when he is presented with the word "NO!"

Now the thing is, I've been vigilant. Too much so. I don't know if any of you other parents out there know what it's like to have a kid like this, who you must constantly police to make sure he doesn't harm any other children, or run gleefully into the street or in front of the train when you've clearly said "No" to that. I know that teethbrushing, hairbrushing, going to sleep and getting dressed, all the little rituals at home that we must learn to maintain ourselves and to interact healthfully with others, I know that all those little battles and their winners will come and go. They already do. And in fact, the pestering and pushing and biting, all of that, has actually grown exponentially less and less troubling. Or frequent.

And the fact that all of these troubling behaviors have shifted, one by one, as time goes by, is basically what I hang my happiness on.  That he really is "outgrowing" (or growing into) a lot of it.

But still.

I finally, truly, DO want to find someone who may recognize what is going on with my boy. Who, as my dear therapist Gail says, "Can see differences and not disorders." I hear many parents happily tossing around the terminology: "My kid has Aspbergers" or "He's on the Spectrum." And do mean MANY. I am sure that once these parents get a bonafide diagnosis, and learn that there is HELP on the way, their hearts sing. I can totally dig it. The label names the problem that has been making everyone miserable, and offers a course of action.  

I just can't do it.

And yes, I do wonder what happens if kids are just acting out or reacting  to an uncomfortable situation, like being in daycare or school, when what they really want and need is to be in a freeform playspace at home, and not be in a school setting till they are older?

(By the way, I don't give a fuck if my thinking that or publicly saying that makes anyone angry. I really don't. Just like you don't give a fuck whether I homeschool, unschool, or public school my kid and feed him gluten free cookies. Got it?)

I don't mean to insult  anyone who chooses to send their kid to school and/or to Occupational Therapy. Some of my best and loved friends send their kids. And some of my best friends are OTs. And one of them, who had to design a curriculum for rich white kids (not that I'm biased) that was all about Sensory Integration Disorders, told me bluntly that most of it, that is the cottage industry of Sensory Issues or Autism Spectrum Disorder,  is  basically bullshit. But also, that some of it isn't. And just like with the 80s and 90s epidemic of ADD and ADHD, some kids who suffer from it really do suffer and get better with medication and therapy. And some kids are misdiagnosed and do therapy and take medication when they shouldn't.

I just won't accept one teacher, or even two teacher's, assessment or observation of my son's behavior as "wrong." I choose to see it another way. And that is my right and my privilege as a parent and as a person.

The moment he is labeled as having "issues," or rather the moment the issue gets labeled, he will be in danger of being seen through the filter of that label. Period. No matter how progressive and cool the teachers are.

That is what I do not want. That is what I will not allow. 

Where my mother saw my sister's condition as being a HUGE family tragedy, as an adult I've grown to see it as a gift, and that her life, my sister's life, is deeply meaningful to her. And to us. She lives in a state run facility, one they are thinking of closing, and my hope is to move her to a care situation where she will be closer to us and more a part of our lives. As a child, she was sent to this place in the hope that she would have 24 hour medical and therapeutic care, as well as friendship. I've never quite recovered from the gap that left in our childhood, to lose her like that after knowing her for nine years. Even with our frequent visits, my mother always mourned for her "life lost." That is a powerful message to send to children. That the life of a "retarded" person is a life lost.

As my dear friend, the aforementioned OT said to me when I was bemoaning the prospect of there being something "wrong" with Bodhi: "Liz, there's NOTHING wrong with ANYONE."

That is the label I choose, the paradigm I want to live by.

So let's see if we can find someone who wants to help him feel and live better, who can recognize his beauty and quickly help him integrate and regulate so he can vibrate with full intensity and light.

Or, I can do the radical thing, like I usually do, and unschool him and nurture his wild nature so that he can be free to save the world or simply unfold into who he is meant to be...at his own pace.

Or, even more usual, I may take what I can use and leave the rest. After all, I go to talk therapy every week, do physical therapy, journal, get and give every type of bodywork under the sun, practice/study/teach yoga and meditation, and eat a vegetarian diet free of gluten, as well as free of alchol and usually sugar. So I do a fuckload of stuff that was suggested for me to do in order to maintain my wellbeing. Why wouldn't I want that for my son?

 More on this to come, I bet.

Happy Holidays!

(Ugh.)

*on that same day she told me she wanted to "chat," his gardening camp teacher reached out to me in total frustration about his behavior of pestering and bothering another camper to the point where she was worried about the quality of the other camper's experience. sigh. when it rains it pours! but i'm listening, Universe, to what you are trying to tell me.

Once Again, Ladies and Gentlemen, The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Having a moment to breathe and blog while my car gets fixed.

I want to applaud the genius who put a coffee shop right next door to the car mechanic. KU-DOS! Also, coffee shop plays the best music. A moment ago, it was Billie Holiday. Right now it's Pink Floyd. And the barista looks like the 23 year old version of a great friend of mine.

I really hoped to write my entire show before this Friday, but it's looking rather grim on that front, I'm afraid. It is exciting that I've got this little creativity buzz on. I'm going with it.

We had a wonderfully low-key Christmas. We had an evening celebration at home with Grandma Doris and Uncle Mike and a simple feast, then we drove to Houston to celebrate with the extended fam (my side) at my Aunt Marie's house. Bodhi really hit it off and played well with his cousin Richie, who is just about two years older than Bodhi. They are both very gentle-spirited boys. But boys nonetheless. They wrestled, played with trucks and toys, and went on a rowdy cold outside walk with us.

It's so weird to think of celebrating Christmas,  because we don't go to church, and I don't think Bodhi knows who Jesus was. He definitely knows Buddha, and Krishna, and Santa Claus; in fact, we got treated to a home visit from Santa at our friend's house just before Christmas. Bodhi was hilarious with Santa. He refused to sit on his lap (good going! I don't even need to teach him Stranger Danger, he already knows!) but was fine with sitting *next* to him. And when Santa asked what he wanted for Christmas, Bodhi had a list at the ready in his front pocket. He is going through a SPACE and ALIEN phase. And DRAGONS. Big time. So he got lots of space-related and dragon-themed booty from Santa. It was very cute.

Dragon Costume, Spaceships

Sisters!

 Our drive to Aunt Marie's was uneventful. Fun. Repeated listening to "The Jungle Book," Bodhi's favorite. Both there and back. By the time we were on our way home, Bodhi was READY to go HOME. We stopped at Richmond State School, which is now called Richmond Supported Living Facility, where my younger sister Shanna lives. She is a sweetheart, though very profoundly brain-damaged. She has lived in this place since she was nine years old. We brought her gifts, and my mom and grandmother met us there. We had a little snack and hung for a couple of hours. My preference is to bring her home for Christmas, but it's not always possible. I love my sister so much. It is really hard to see what terrible physical shape she is in, but I'm so overwhelmed as it is I can't figure out exactly how to help her just yet. We tell ourselves she is happy, and safe, and content, and she seems to be, but I would love to have her living closer to us so we can visit her more often. Is it crazy to want that? I do think it's best for everyone if she is not living with us, but if push came to shove I think I could live with that. Perhaps having a toddler has made me think I am invincible.

And maybe I am.

Or maybe I'm just barely making it as it is. 

I did the Maya Abdominal Massage self-care workshop training last weekend, and it was life-changing. Where to begin to tell you. How about that it rocked my world? The techniques are simple, but deep. It is a Mayan tradition passed down from centuries of Mayan healing and medicine. It has been passed down with blessings and with great reverence. The founder of this technique, Rosita Arvigo, has done tremendous work to preserve and save the rainforest in Belize, the site of countless herbal remedies that are being lost as they cut down the vast, dense acreage of the forests. I can't quite recall the statistic, but in a film we saw about her work, they said it was something like less than one percent of ALL the plants the pharmaceutical industry is researching are being used to create all of the known plant-derived pharmaceuticals. GULP!

I guess I'm just reinvigorated to live from my liberal radical environmentalist heart.

So anyway.

The workshop. We learned a self-care belly massage, and great details about the male and female reproductive systems, and the spiritual component of the healing, and the herbal component, all the benefits, contraindications, and anecdote after anecdote about Mayan healing. I'm a huge fan of solving systemic issues by mechanical means; that is, hormonal or digestive issues getting resolved by massage and bodywork with perhaps some support from herbs. Food and nutrition are key, just as they are in Ayurveda. I think if I didn't drink so damn much coffee I'd be a test tube. I'm that clean. Oh, except for french fries and cheese. And the occasional gluten free cookie.

So I've been doing my daily belly massage and well, it made for a very sweet cycle. I was running late on Shark Week, which was BUMMING ME OUT, and she came a mere three days late. Yay! I just want to continue to ovulate and bleed for another five years, is that so much to ask?

My gyno put me on estrogen/estrodiol for a week. I have to admit it seemed to help with my HYPERIRRITABILITY, but I'm considering weaning off everything except the massage and some rainforest remedies. I dunno, it seems worth a try.

I remember getting angry whenever I googled "first time mom over forty" and I got so many hits on "hot flashes and chasing your toddler, etc" I just thought: "That will NOT be me!" So here I am. Hot flashing, night sweating, hair trigger rage, and wrestling my boy. It is a sublimely strange combination. I do envy the younger moms, you know, the 38-year olds, who are not also dealing with the hormonal Grand Canyon. As in, deep chasms of rage/bliss/depression/helplessness/confidence. It's Space Mountain, baby, rolling up and down the hills in the dark.


Okay, there's more, but I have to put some energy toward getting my resume done and writing my show, This Body of Words, Spoken: A Post Partum, Pre Menopausal Quasi Retrospective.

Details HERE:
FRONTERAFEST! 
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26th @ Hyde Park Theatre.