Sparks and Butterflies

Logan had a 3rd grade “performance” this morning. Including percussion instruments. It was… painful and enthusiastic all at the same time! Cymbal players are very enthusiastic. Logan played the vibes, and I really need to get him into percussion class. The kid has an inherent talent. No, I’m not just taking about my kid ’cause he’s perfect. Joseph has absolutely no rhythm whatsoever, but is a talented artist. I know percussion (band geek) and he’s got “it.” So, the morning was spent reminding Poe not to laugh every time there was this random enthusiastic cymbal hit out of no where.

We were second into the auditorium, which meant we sat right in front. So Poe, being Poe, went up the mom who was there first to congratulate her. Don’t ask. Poe’s just like that, and when he’s had no sleep from working all night, I pick my battles. Anyway, we start talking to this mom, and I’m trying to be cool. Mom talk – school talk – who’s your kid, what class, any other kids… You know, parental chit chat. Why is this surreal? Because she’s an Academy Award winning actress we’re having this long conversation with. I won’t say who, ’cause lots of folks know where I live, and I don’t want to invade her privacy. She was lovely. What’s funny is, I’ve seen her around the school, and I thought to myself, “I wonder if anyone’s ever told her she looks just like…” Doh. And then the PTA President came up and we were talking about a job I do for the school.

And now I’m home working.

Surreal day. I look forward to seeing if anything else happens today. It’s just that kind of day.

Fabulous.

My son had to write a story for school that he made up. It will eventually be published in hardback with his illustrations. I won’t tell you the story verbatim, but here’s the basic gist: A boy is out on a boat, and he’s having troubles, so his three friends come to help him. As they’re bringing the boat back, limping along, they come upon a shark (IT WAS A SHARK! – My son has already mastered the “caps is yelling rule.”) So, the three friends harpoon it to save their lives. The come back to shore to have shark sushi. The end.

The rough draft came back.

No harpoons. No killing. Or come up with a different story all together.

We aren’t talking about a killing rampage. Or of a murderous person. Or of random animal killing for fun. Boys on an adventure in a ship kill a threat on the sea, thus saving themselves.

Apparently, this is the result of the “no tolerance” ban on weapons in the school. I’m surprised he wasn’t suspended, what with that threatening weapon on the page and all.

I have no idea of what to do. It’s not like I want to make my son the poster boy for free speech, or the poster boy in creativity without censorship. Apparently, if that’s not what I want, I have to instead teach my child the art of bending over gracefully and say, “Thank you. May I have another.”

I kind of hate parenting right now. And the school. And the school district. This is a fight we can’t win, so we’re not even going to try. Frankly, I have quite enough to deal with thanks… what with the psychiatrist appointment for my oldest later this week, and my mother trying to fry her dentures in flour last night (she wanted fried chicken. seriously.). Homeschool never looked better, frankly. But I kind of don’t have time for THAT too.

Sundays are lazier than weekdays for me, but more active than Saturdays. On Sundays, I do some fun stuff (DVDs or playing WoW). But I also do household chores, and basic things to get ready for the week so all is not chaos on Monday.

So, today… Laundry and dishes will be done. Bills will be paid. Grocery lists made, and coupons cut. Basically, that’s the plan. But if I don’t get to it all, that’s OK too. The whole point is to make the week easier – but to be nice to myself at the same time.

The biggest hitch to the bliss of weekends? The children. The boys get along great – until they don’t. And that cycle continues all.day.long. Both the boys are good, kind, smart folks. But with each other? The mind boggles at how they can get so mean so fast to each other. They treat each other worse than they would even consider treating anyone else in their lives. I just don’t understand it, and I have yet to come up with a way to solve it. Siblings. Ugh.

I hate the fact that I have to be a momma bear. But hey, what can I say? If I don’t advocate for my kids – who will?

Joseph is on something through the state called AB3632. What that basically means is that the state recognizes that my kid needs more help than an IEP can give him, and so the state pays for his therapy (a certain amount of hours). A lot goes into the decisions as to what’s in the programs. What I mean by that is, it’s not rubber-stamped.

Every other year a social worker and Psychologist come in and have meetings with Joseph and us to determine if he still qualifies. They will also meet with his teachers, psychiatrist, and therapists, all separately. So far, they’ve never denied him the program. Then, every six months or so, his teachers, his therapists, the principal, and the lead of the special school he’s in meet with us and we hack through his IEP. Everything from his education, his testing, how he’s doing, goals – progress and new ones, down to specifically how many hours a month he needs in therapy. I used to just HATE those meetings, but that’s changed since we switched to the new school. Instead of feeling like I have to fight for crumbs, me against them, I actually feel like a member of the team. And then of course, conferences and meetings as needed. If stuff comes up for him that puts him in crises, that usually falls under the therapists. We’ve had several crises moments, and his therapists were there for us and him on the phone on a weekend.

These are things he needs. Our goal is for him to be able to be an able bodied, independent adult, who can hold a job and live on his own.

Well, now, it turns out that his therapy center might not have AB3632 funding any more after the first of the year. You can imagine the conversations I’ve been having. Serious.Momma.Bear. Especially when the therapy center decided to just stop anyway – you know, since we probably won’t have any funding later. Seeya.

Excuse me?

Yeah. No. You don’t get to slough us off without creating a plan with us, and assisting us with finding the people who DO have the funding. My son is on prescription meds someone at YOUR center prescribes. Your center provides HALF of his therapy hours that everyone agrees he needs. You don’t get to make us go away ’cause it’s more convenient while you wait to see what the state does with the program. Because you still DO have funding.

Ahem. He still has his therapy. He still has his Psych. (meds). It just took 3 separate intense conversations with the supervisor at the center during which I made her realize I don’t do what others tell me to, and I don’t go away because it’s convenient for them. I also don’t play well with others.

I understand the funding issues. We have to wait on the state for that. You just don’t throw the literal baby (MY BABY) out with the bathwater. He’s not a “case,” “Case Number,” or “statistic.” He’s Joseph. He has a mother named Michele. And she will damn well make sure you know it.

Yeah. That title is a little dumb. Kind of like saying the sky can be blue… Water can be wet. Ya think?

So, where the hell have I been? Right here. I work from 5am to 5pm with some breaks for things like picking up the kids. Work is rather demanding at the moment, and I’m still trying to get my feet under me. I’m learning to not make my clients’ emergencies my own personal emotional emergencies, if that makes sense. But? We need the money.

In addition, my mother needs much more care. So, that’s thrown in there, and I had to drop a few clients for that reason. I just couldn’t keep up.

And to the “friends” on Facebook who I don’t know who are friends simply to be game neighbors (ie, I don’t know them)? Your comments of “Where are you, I sent you stuff?” Unappreciated. It’s a game. I can’t play right now. Deal.

Then? Joseph had another 5150. For those not in the “know” – that’s the famed 72 hour Psych hold in the hospital. I simply don’t want to get into the details at the moment, as we’re still in the midst of the mental and physical cleanup and logistics. Suffice it to say though, it was nowhere near the nightmare it was last time. That… was the worst week of my life (and I’ve had a hard life).  So – that’s positive – it wasn’t anything like that. Short story, we spent 30 hours under guard. Joseph was under guard, not me, but we weren’t exactly going to leave him there. And finally one… ONE… social worker LISTENED to us. The first one after 4 shifts, and no doctor seen. She saw something in us that no one else who just wanted their papers off their desk saw. And she made the personal decision to advocate for us. Other that Joseph’s current personal team, she’s the first who I felt cared. Really cared. I hope she never loses that. Joseph is home because we convinced them to break the hold. Let me say that again, because it might be foreign to those familiar with 5150s. We convinced them to break the hold.

Minor miracles. Sometimes I think those are the only reason I’m still alive.

Before I share the link with you, let me explain where I’m coming from.  I have a child with mental issues.  I told the school going in that they were there, and they refused to provide services, an evaluation, or early intervention.  As a result, due to their “zero tolerance” policy, my child was almost expelled from school for expressing his anger.  At the age of 5.  Unable to attend another district school.  What I did in that case was fight tooth and nail for an IEP, which would then provide him protections under the disabilities act.  It forced them to help my son rather than kick him out.  And yet, another child tormented mine for YEARS.  But he never did anything that came under the “zero tolerance” policy.  The result of that?  My son being institutionalized when he couldn’t take any more.  Then one of the “patients” tried to kill my child by choking him to death.  That was a fun middle of the night phone call.

You tell me, which was worse?  What did the most damage?  My son getting pissed off at his teacher at the age of 5 (when they still get naps in school for God’s sake) or my son being driven into a mental institution?  We have had to fight long and hard for my son to have an atmosphere where they are helping my son instead of “managing” my son.

Think about your kids, what they do, what the consequences should be, and what they currently are.  What is it going to do to their psyche in the long run?  I am very far from the touchy-feely earth momma, terrified to allow their precious child’s “creativity” be stifled.  We’re highly disciplined around here.  We maintain serious control.  Because of my kids’ issues, it provides safety and sanity for them.  However – as “mean” as we are, we are able to understand the difference between play and violence, toys and firearms, playacting versus intent, and when they are just being kids.

This isn’t about politics.  This is about my child.  This is about how it effected my son.  The long term issues have been such a struggle stemming back to that one day.  And now?  Will he be able to have his dreams?  Since it wasn’t a criminal matter – even though the police got involved without ever talking to me – because he wasn’t charged with a crime, I can’t have his “record” sealed.  Background checks will now show mental institutionalization.  He has wanted for years to become a Marine like his dad.  Will he ever be able to now?

Here’s the article: Zero Tolerance Policies: Are the Schools Becoming Police States?

So, I raided the cocoa puffs.  I needed the chocolate fix.  I only do this during that time.

Logan:  Mom?  Are you having chocolate issues?

Me:  Yes.  Yes, I am.

If you’ve been arou d the block with me, you know that one of my kids is on medication for mental health issues. That medication is not a cure, but in his words, “it makes my head calm.” It makes it so he can concentrate easier, think more clearly, and allows him to pause and make choices. He has therapy twice a week plus psychiatric care since he’s on medication.

We came to the medication decision after literally years of discussion, research, and prayer. He has a growing body and growing brain. We take his medication rather seriously. We expect others to do the same – especially his medical providers.

Last week I ran out of meds. There weren’t any refills. I called the psychiatrist. I got his nurse. His voicemail etc goes through her since he has patients most of the time in his office. I told her the problem. “But I see here he has an appointment next week. ” “Well, yes he does. But he doesn’t have enough pills to make it.”. “I’ll tell the doctor, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say ‘no’.”

I knew he’d say yes. This medication is working, we’d not discussed taking me off, and he’s been very clear he trusts my parenting instincts. When I didn’t hear back, I knew what had happened. The nurse decided she knew what was best. When I called back she told me I would just have to wait to talk to the doctor at our appointment. “Oh don’t worry, I will.”

I had a feeling that she never talked to the doctor. Sure enough, I get there and he didn’t know he was out of meds. And the reason? Because she didn’t put the refill in the system to begin with. He checked that because he specifically didn’t want us without meds. So, yeah. I totally got he in trouble. And he then told me how to get around the gatekeeper to get straight to him should we have trouble in the future.

It is so rare, as a special needs parent that I’m feel vindication. I think I’ll bask.

Disembodied Child Voice:  “Moooom?”

Me:  “Yeah?”

Logan:  “That was the cartoon, Mom.”

Apparently I even answer to cartoon characters.

1. It sucks to have the Most Wonderful Time of the Year snatched from your clutches by a kid with a fever.

2. My son (who never stops talking) never stops talking with a fever.

3. I’m desperately praying it’s “just a virus that will take a few days” since we have no insurance.

4. If I succumb to this, I don’t want to know what my house will look like on the other side.

5. Speaking of, I forget to buy zicam.

6. Childrens mucinex is “spicy and disgusting.”

7. Buying day/night meds for kids and adults (in case we all succumb) cost $60 we didn’t have.

8. Ears and throat don’t hurt (good). He also said that when he had an ear infection, sinus infection, eye infection, and the flu all at once (bad.). I took him to the doctor when the mystery fever got to 105 and “nothing hurts.”

9. I hate when they’re sick and I all I can offer is medicine and juice. I thought the cape I wear is supposed to give me super powers. I should get my money back.