Within a small space of time things change. It is human nature to change and it is human nature, I believe, to find this a tad annoying. As being one of those little people that hates transitioning, Connor loathes much change. With that being the case I fully expect next week to be a pain in the rear.
Late last Friday afternoon the county school system called to say they had finally found proper placement for Connor. The rise in specials needs students was such that is took several months to place everyone. I find the whole thing rather interesting that all of the sudden the county has so many special needs students, mainly 3 yr olds. Surely it hasn't always been that way.
Anyways, new schedule is 9:30am - 12:40pm, Monday through Thursday, meaning all therapies now have to be rescheduled. I spoke to the scheduler thinking this was going to hard to accomplish. Restricted times were 9 - 12, Mon - Thurs, and 2 - 3 Mon - Fri. Doesn't leave alot open does it? The scheduler was a pro and had it sorted in no time. Speech on Thursday right after school and OT on Friday.
I am excited and scared all at the same time. I have fantasies of the 3 hours I will have all to myself. Time to put my feet up and relax, or catch up on a few of the many things that get neglected on a regular basis. I also have fears that I will barely return home before I am called back to retrieve my son. I fear all the different scenarios that could arise; meltdowns, hitting, kicking, biting, non-cooperation, hiding under tables, running.
My mantra for the week, He will adjust and will be making huge progress. He will be playing with other children his age. He will do great!
Occupational Monday will be no more, instead it will be Occupational Friday. Monday, or least this coming Monday will be Blubbering, Crying, OMG, My Babies First Day of School Monday.
I will be sure to take pictures.
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Monday, October 8, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Routine of routinely having routine messed up
We have a schedule in our house. It isn't a strict schedule laying out every minute of the day. Connor doesn't seem to need such strenuous steps taken for routine. He has come to expect when a certain event happens that another particular event will follow. Human nature I think to expect things a certain way, we all do this to a certain degree.
When he gets up in the morning he knows I will take him to the bathroom. I will help him get dressed and groomed. After he knows breakfast will be on the table. I have come to expect that depending on the bread and sugar content, it may or may not be eaten.
He knows when we will play and when therapies are coming. A pitiful little timer helps us transition through. Sometimes there are discrepancies when Connor thinks the timer is wrong, sending it flying across the room when it sounds time is up.
His favorite part of the daily routine is getting in the car and picking up his sisters from school and seeing the elephant statue at the local putt-putt. So as always, I put him in his car seat, I walk around, get in and fasten my seat belt. The car would not start. It sounded like it was trying but just couldn't fire up. I call Hubby and tell him the problem and he offers to go get the girls.
No sense sitting in the car any longer so I get out and go around to get Connor. I unbuckle, he rebuckles. This happens a few more times and then he decides to climb over the backseat into the hatchback. I keep myself calm and chase him through the car all the while explaining that we can't go, the car wont start.
I finally get a hold on him and take him back into the house. Once inside he is furious and goes into a fit of turning toy tubs over and throwing and screaming. I could just imagine what he was thinking...You didn't do it right Mommy! Where's Gracie? Where's Melody? I've already said Bye-bye to the duck! I wanna see the elephant!
I try to console when I can and stay out of the way when I can't. I let him have his fit, because honestly it ticked me off a little too. Dumb thing said it had over a half tank of gas when in fact it was empty. I more than empathised with him.
After awhile things became more normal and Connor was returned to his calmer state. I pick this moment to have him help clean up the destruction of his fit. He wasn't happy about it at all, but it was expected.
Hopefully his Mommy will get things right tomorrow and realize the logical thing to do after getting into the car, is to leave the driveway.
When he gets up in the morning he knows I will take him to the bathroom. I will help him get dressed and groomed. After he knows breakfast will be on the table. I have come to expect that depending on the bread and sugar content, it may or may not be eaten.
He knows when we will play and when therapies are coming. A pitiful little timer helps us transition through. Sometimes there are discrepancies when Connor thinks the timer is wrong, sending it flying across the room when it sounds time is up.
His favorite part of the daily routine is getting in the car and picking up his sisters from school and seeing the elephant statue at the local putt-putt. So as always, I put him in his car seat, I walk around, get in and fasten my seat belt. The car would not start. It sounded like it was trying but just couldn't fire up. I call Hubby and tell him the problem and he offers to go get the girls.
No sense sitting in the car any longer so I get out and go around to get Connor. I unbuckle, he rebuckles. This happens a few more times and then he decides to climb over the backseat into the hatchback. I keep myself calm and chase him through the car all the while explaining that we can't go, the car wont start.
I finally get a hold on him and take him back into the house. Once inside he is furious and goes into a fit of turning toy tubs over and throwing and screaming. I could just imagine what he was thinking...You didn't do it right Mommy! Where's Gracie? Where's Melody? I've already said Bye-bye to the duck! I wanna see the elephant!
I try to console when I can and stay out of the way when I can't. I let him have his fit, because honestly it ticked me off a little too. Dumb thing said it had over a half tank of gas when in fact it was empty. I more than empathised with him.
After awhile things became more normal and Connor was returned to his calmer state. I pick this moment to have him help clean up the destruction of his fit. He wasn't happy about it at all, but it was expected.
Hopefully his Mommy will get things right tomorrow and realize the logical thing to do after getting into the car, is to leave the driveway.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
The things people say
There was a time in our lives that we thought things could not be better. The day after my youngest daughter's seventh birthday we were blessed with a bouncing baby boy. Two beautiful, wonderful girls and a beautiful boy, our family was complete. My young mothers in training were in awe of him and I in them. They were so gentle and caring.
Blissfulness and glee came to a screeching halt just three short weeks later when their perfectly healthy brother left us for no reason. Our family and friends rallied around us, but they said things that I think must be ingrained in human DNA. Things that force their way from our mouths when we don't know what else to say.
"God doesn't put anymore on us than we can handle"
"You can always have another one"
"You didn't have your tubes tied did you?"
"He is in a better place"
The grand prize goes to my cousin "Hey, wassup?"
I may sound like an ungrateful person that these things irked me so. I do know they were meant to be words of support, caring, and love and I genuinely appreciated the gestures. But surely you can see the flaw in all the statements when said to a bereaved Mother.
Three years later in an attempt to fill my aching arms, we had another bouncy baby boy and though it was a very happy time it was also a very nerve racking one. It was bliss like before but laced (or laden) with fear. Poor thing was not left alone for a minute without someone checking that he was still breathing.
We got past the three week mark and the fear started to ease a bit, a microscopic bit. I started noticing as he got older that he was not like the other babies I had raised. He would not make eye contact with me while breastfeeding. He would look at me while I talked or sang to him but only if I put him in his carrier. He would not sleep laying flat on his back in his crib. He had to be wrapped tight and place at an incline in his carrier well past the swaddling stage. Vacuums scared him terribly and I think it was the main motivation in becoming mobile. When he got to a point where he could sit in a highchair he started to laugh hysterically for no known reason.
Even though babbling and some words cropped up they were lost soon after and I struggled to find out why I couldn't get this boy to talk. I let denial that anything was wrong keep me from really questioning the pediatrician that told me "Each kid is different, he will start talking in his own time." Or the dentist's wife "His sisters talk for him right now. He will talk when he needs to."
He was two by the time we started getting any services and four months from his third birthday he was diagnosed with Autism. Not many of our family members or friends rallied to our sides this time. My Mother, his father, and my sister were about it. Maybe it's because I could tell by the looks on some of their smug faces at family gatherings, that they thought my son was a brat and I had let him go wild. Maybe because they don't understand what Autism is. Maybe they just don't know what to say.
Blissfulness and glee came to a screeching halt just three short weeks later when their perfectly healthy brother left us for no reason. Our family and friends rallied around us, but they said things that I think must be ingrained in human DNA. Things that force their way from our mouths when we don't know what else to say.
"God doesn't put anymore on us than we can handle"
"You can always have another one"
"You didn't have your tubes tied did you?"
"He is in a better place"
The grand prize goes to my cousin "Hey, wassup?"
I may sound like an ungrateful person that these things irked me so. I do know they were meant to be words of support, caring, and love and I genuinely appreciated the gestures. But surely you can see the flaw in all the statements when said to a bereaved Mother.
Three years later in an attempt to fill my aching arms, we had another bouncy baby boy and though it was a very happy time it was also a very nerve racking one. It was bliss like before but laced (or laden) with fear. Poor thing was not left alone for a minute without someone checking that he was still breathing.
We got past the three week mark and the fear started to ease a bit, a microscopic bit. I started noticing as he got older that he was not like the other babies I had raised. He would not make eye contact with me while breastfeeding. He would look at me while I talked or sang to him but only if I put him in his carrier. He would not sleep laying flat on his back in his crib. He had to be wrapped tight and place at an incline in his carrier well past the swaddling stage. Vacuums scared him terribly and I think it was the main motivation in becoming mobile. When he got to a point where he could sit in a highchair he started to laugh hysterically for no known reason.
Even though babbling and some words cropped up they were lost soon after and I struggled to find out why I couldn't get this boy to talk. I let denial that anything was wrong keep me from really questioning the pediatrician that told me "Each kid is different, he will start talking in his own time." Or the dentist's wife "His sisters talk for him right now. He will talk when he needs to."
He was two by the time we started getting any services and four months from his third birthday he was diagnosed with Autism. Not many of our family members or friends rallied to our sides this time. My Mother, his father, and my sister were about it. Maybe it's because I could tell by the looks on some of their smug faces at family gatherings, that they thought my son was a brat and I had let him go wild. Maybe because they don't understand what Autism is. Maybe they just don't know what to say.
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