middle school
-
XC boys are the best
J’s paras have a theory about short weeks. Short weeks mean trouble. The kids had no school Friday because it was a teacher development day and sure enough, it’s been a rough week. This meds change/no XC/short school week/who knows what else is up complications have been hard. The kind of week where Steve had to make a trip up to the school to help J sort out his behavioural issues. The last few weeks of XC have been hard too—not in the behavioural issue way, but J gets frustrated that he can’t run. I know he knows on some level that he needs it to make him feel even-keel.…
-
Firsts are hard: Part 1
The last few nights have been rough. My brain has been playing midnight showings of terrible dream sequences like old men with AK-47s shooting at me while I run for my life, me and J running up an AstroTurf cliff for cross country practice only to end up hanging from the top of that AstroTurf cliff for an “ab workout,” or suddenly finding out that I had mixed up my birth control medication with J’s anti-anxiety medication and consequently freaking out because 1) I just gave a bunch of female hormones to a boy going through puberty for two weeks and 2) I might be pregnant. I don’t think I’ve had a full night’s…
-
The transition
Two weeks and some change, J and W will be headed back to school and we’ll be doing that dance again. When J was younger (and I was younger) I would anticipate the coming school year to be “that year.” I would ridiculously hope/expect that in the new school year, miracles would happen. Even though I knew then as I do now that autism has no cure, some part of my heart hoped that this would be the year that J would be “cured” in some way. This would be the year where the speech delays would disappear, his behaviors would disappear, his sensory issues would disappear, and then we could really, really work on…
-
Boys and men
I’ll never forget that 20 week ultrasound (which was really at 18 weeks based on appointment scheduling). The ultrasound tech pointed to the screen, between what I was assuming was J’s legs and said, “See that right there (referring to J’s boy parts). It’s a boy!” Steve was ecstatic. I was terrified. It was overwhelming thinking about raising another human being and I knew nothing about boys. NOTHING. J’s baby shower was all blankets, diapers, onesies, and soothers, blue and sports. The perfect inauguration for a perfectly happy and healthy baby boy. And for a long time, for almost two years, J was exactly the baby boy we both expected him to be.…
-
The unofficial report card
When I fish J’s report card out of the mailbox, the first thing I always notice is that his envelope is stuffed thicker than W’s. I know what it looks like before I even open it. J’s report card is an excel spreadsheet of a few “real” letter grades mixed in with a whole lot of “S’s”–code for “satisfactory” aka “modifications” aka “not measurable to the other kids in his grade.” J’s report card is also stuffed extra thick because there’s extra documentation and reports for IEP goals included. Report cards are just another reminder that J doesn’t fit in the system the way other kids do. I really hate it. It’s funny to think…
-
J verses the tornado
I was anticipating things to get rough with J; the end of the school year is always a cataclysmic event. J’s anxiety breaks the charts because change equates the unknown and the modern day saber-tooth tiger response “is strong in this one.” J had already had a rough bout the week before, having a severe panic attack over the time “2:47 pm”. “2:47 pm” has haunted him all year, but with the end of track, the end of school, and everything else going on he just couldn’t deal with “2:47 pm”, resulting in an epic meltdown—the kind where I get a call from the school and I have to bring him…
-
Why it’s more than just running
Right now, I feel like I’ve gotten a little unnecessarily poetic about running. Almost borderline obnoxious. People ask what it’s like running with J or how it’s helping him and I feel like those questions open the floodgates. I get passionate. I get emotional. I talk about it like it’s some religion or diet everyone should try. What’s gotten into me? I’m an English major. I’m a writer. I’m passionate about literature, music, art, and drama. I’m a staunch advocate for the arts and get irate when funding for those programs gets cut while organized sports often remains untouched. Why am I falling in love with organized sports? Why do…
-
Where’s the Smart Boy’s Guide?
Emotions and middle school are such an awful combination–for parents and kids. W had the bulk of her frustrations at the beginning of this year. Understanding social drama is hard at this age. I looked online for resources for middle school girls and emotions, and not only did books come up for parents, but there were dozens of resources for middle school girls. I ordered three books from the American Girl Smart Girl’s Guide series: A Smart Girl’s Guide to Knowing What to Say, A Smart Girls Guide Drama, Rumors, and Secrets, and A Smart Girls’ Guide Friendship Troubles. I was SO impressed with all of them. “How to compromise with your parents and teachers. What to do…
-
Learning How to Learn
It’s taken the second semester of grade 7 to feel like I’m finally understanding how to reinforce what J’s learning at school at home. I feel like we’re starting to get a good system going with J’s paras and teachers in how to modify assignments, tests, and practice assignments that will help J learn the best. J’s strengths lie in memorization, and he does really well with flashcards (homemade ones or through Quizlet. Are you familiar with Quizlet? It’s a wonderful free little app that lets you practice through flashcards, matching, definitions, etc). He’s funny with the memorization though. You give him a map of Africa and he can…
-
Life Lately
When J was little I treated his life and experiences as a recovery. I was going to make him better. I knew there was no cure for autism and that because of the complex nature of the neurological disorder there might not ever be one. But I was on a mission to make as many of his symptoms disappear as I could. I was going to make him as non-autistic as possible. I was going to fix him. I cringe when I think about the perspective I had. I would like to think I’m independent and strong and noble, that I see the injustices of discrimination in the world and I stand up for “the…
