Memory of a Meltdown

14 06 2016

Parenting-Quotes

One thing that may sometimes be forgotten is how having a child with any sort of special needs affects a relationship. Having a child, in general, affects a relationship, but it seems that having a child with unique needs exponentially affects how you deal with a co-parent. Because I handle things differently than my husband, I sometimes feel totally alone. I feel like his approach to discipline is different than mine, and while neither are right or wrong, our general philosophies and/or personalities make it difficult to meet halfway. My husband and I were crazy in love when we first met, and we continue to be crazy in love. But oddly, that crazy-love makes it even harder on the days when I feel alone because he’s the person for me, and we are not sharing experiences in the same way that we usually do.

Last fall we had a pretty big situation. With the new school year starting– a recent move, a new school (middle school on top of that), and the fact that he chose to join cross country and football at the same time, Cameron was beyond overwhelmed. I knew something wasn’t right when he was acting so calm all week during his very first week week of middle school. He seemed so… happy. I mean, he’s a happy kid, but transitions typically lead to supersonic booms; it was eerily quiet and calm. So when he had an emotional meltdown mid-week, I wasn’t at all surprised. However, as I’ve stated before, this was not something found in any sort of parenting handbook (and I’ve read a library shelf full of parenting books); this was fly by the seat of your pants parenting. I’m not sure I did the best thing, but I felt so stuck that I didn’t know what else to do…

When Cameron signed up for football, we explained how hard it was going to be. Cameron becomes mysteriously “injured” or “sick” or “exhausted” whenever anything other than what he wants to do is asked of him. Knowing of his “ailments,” we told him from the start that he would go to football even when he was tired or didn’t want to you. We warned him and warned him, but, per the norm, our warnings went unnoticed. I knew right when he arrived off the bus that day, saying the coaches were mean and swore at him, that we were about to enter a “Sam I Am” situation. You know, will you try them on a boat? Try them with a fox? Try them in the rain? Sam I Am is persistent! Cameron is usually not persistent in completing tasks, but that kid can argue himself out of something or us into something like nobody’s business. He’s relentless. And it is exhausting! I was already preparing my counter-argument to stand strong against “Cameron I Am.” Just as predicted, next he said his ankle hurt, which he had sprained a couple of weeks before. By the way, as of posting this, 10 months after his initial ankle injury, our precious hypochondriac is still milking that ankle injury for moments when he needs an extra boost of attention or rest. After the ankle excuse failed, Cameron said that he was so tired and had a headache and stomach ache. He was full of excuses, which is classic Cameron. I’m always trying to think about future careers for him, and I’ve yet to find one where “excuse-making” is a prerequisite; maybe he has a future in politics? All of his excuses bounced off of my excuse-rejecting armour, as I told him to get his stuff and get in the car.  Cameron’s next line of defense was the ever-popular tears. They started about 10 minutes before we had to leave. Tears turned into sobs, but I stayed strong and made him get in the car. I was proud of how I spoke in my best Mr. Roger’s voice about how stress often comes out in tears, how difficult I knew the week had been for him, how it’s okay to cry about things like this, that even adults get to this point, but we all have to suck it up do what we have to do and then come back and cry it out some more. I even explained how exercising at football practice would probably help his stress. He seemed to be listening, until his sobs became even bigger and more dramatic.

Cameron has been dramatic literally since birth, prompting us to call him “Cameron Dramatacus” early on in his life. Obviously, we now know why he seemed dramatic as an infant , given all of his sensory, attention, and processing struggles, but even putting that aside, Cameron was, and continues to be, a drama-king. This makes it difficult for me to know when he’s just over-dramatizing or truly, truly feeling something. Also, I don’t know at which point to let him not do something he committed to because he truly is overwhelmed; sometimes, in fact most times, he acts overwhelmed only to be “forced” into something that he thoroughly and genuinely enjoys. Just weeks or less before this, I had forced him to go to the dog park when he was crying because he didn’t want to go. He ended up loving it and asking if we could go every week. Due to the fact that I do not possess a sixth sense for reading the brain of my pre-adolescent son, I never know what’s real. This makes appropriate parenting an extremely difficult task no matter how many parenting books I continue to read! In this situation, I went with the odds, which were that he was overdoing his drama. Again. I made him go.

I told him that he needed to go and talk to his coach is about his stress and how he feels. At that point, if he and the coaches decided it would be okay for him to miss, that would be fine. But he needed to be his own advocate; it was not my responsibility. We pulled into the parking lot, and he refused to get out of the car. I went to the field where the kids were practicing and left him in the car, thinking that the car is hot, and he would be joining me shortly. He didn’t come. I waited for about 20 minutes at the side of the field, until I walked back to the car and got a phone call from my husband, Jon. Jon talked to him and told him he needed to go. Cameron didn’t move. So here’s where all I’d learned from the myriad of parenting books just exited my brain and freely floated into the universe. Because at this point, I literally drug him out of the car by his football pads–even though he is significantly stronger than me–and explained to him again that if he didn’t go to practice, he still needed to talk to his coaches about what’s going on. I reminded Cameron that I’d already talked to his coaches about his processing issues and that they were very nice about it. I’ve always tried to teach Cameron that he needs to tell people himself, though, because in the end it is him that will need to advocate for his needs, not anyone else. At this point, Cameron was out of the car and following me like a sad sloth (if there is such a thing– I feel like sloths are perpetually happy animals) while I walked up ahead of him. I gestured to a coach and asked if I could talk to him. “Me?” he asked. “Anyone,” I replied. Then I rambled while holding back my own tears, “Cameron wouldn’t get out of the car he’s upset he’s overwhelmed maybe you heard he has some sensory and processing issues I just don’t know what to do so would you talk to him?!?!?!” It should be noted that at this point in the catastrophic event, I was so overwhelmed myself, that I, the captain of the Manners Police, didn’t even say “please” or any other nicety. I was borderline rude.

The mild-mannered coach sat next to Cameron and asked him what was going on. He spoke to him for quite awhile, sharing that his own son has issues, and that his family has not moved even though they’ve wanted to, because he knew his son couldn’t handle it. He shared that his other son has ADHD and that he learned after 15 years that yelling does not work [insert sad trumpet sound]. He said he knows that parents push their kids, and they should–when it comes grades–but not when it comes to football. At this point, I felt pretty much awful. I yelled AND I was pushing him to go to football! However, I truly didn’t even want him in football, so I was definitely not pushing him to participate in football; I was just trying to get him to follow-through with the commitment he made. I still don’t know when that line of pushing or letting him decide what happens should start and when it should stop. In the end, that coach was amazing. He told Cameron that Cameron’s number one concern should be his happiness, followed by grades, then followed by football, if that’s what Cameron thinks should come next. He told Cameron to take a break– that it’s not that big of a deal, and that it’s okay, and that the coaches won’t be mad at him if he misses a couple of practices because he is feeling so overwhelmed.

In the midst of all of this I realized that I was going to be over an hour late for dinner with a friend. I only realized this because she called me after I was 20 minutes late, making me feel even worse about all that was going on. Then I realized that I had forgotten about dinner for a very good reason, and that was that Cameron needed me there in those moments even if I wasn’t doing the best parenting job in the world. I was still present for him and not preoccupied with the fact that I was late for dinner.

When we got home, Jon was clearly unhappy that Cameron did not stay at practice. The whole night was basically destroyed for the family, as Jon was infuriated while I escaped to dinner with my friend–which I think was probably the best option for us all at that point. It didn’t occur to me until I got home that Jon had been dealing with the aftermath of this on his own. However, while I was unhappy about the meltdown, Jon was unhappy that Cameron didn’t go to football practice. I was also worried about the choice that we had made to move our kids– at that point I was very much doubting whether or not the move was the right choice, even though Cameron hadn’t had a lot going on for him at the old school, where he was frequently bullied and came home crying. I was also just feeling really sorry for Cameron and for my reaction to him when he really needed me to be more understanding. However at that point, Jon was focused on how Cameron spent the rest of that evening walking around “smugly” because he got what he wanted and his coach agreed with him. I didn’t see that because I wasn’t there. Our differences in opinions and perspectives left me feeling like I couldn’t talk to my partner about the most significant situation that had happened in our family– the move and its effects on our children. My frustrations were exacerbating Jon’s frustrations, leaving him to think that I was angry with him when I wasn’t.  The fact of the matter was that this was a big move for all of us, and my emotions about the move–whether or not I thought it was a good move or not– were directly related to my children’s emotions. Because they were having a bad week, I had guilt about it. I can now say this was a good move for our family, but it’s been nearly a year now.

It’s almost football season again. Upon reflection of this awful day, Cameron has decided not to join football this year. He wants to be in cross country too, and he was too overwhelmed when he did both. He liked the football games, where he rarely played, but didn’t really like the practices. It’s a lot of work and he recognizes that he doesn’t want to do it. Whew! We think he’s more of an individual sport kid anyway, although there are other team sports he’d like to try. While this could have been handled better, and while it put strain on the relationships in our family, the positive outcome is that Cameron is able to recognize his needs and make a decision based on them, even when I couldn’t. Cameron I Am persists!

Blog Hop Pic

Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo! Want to join in on next month’s Sensory Blog Hop? Click here!

Advertisements




Confessions of a Mom Who Signed Her Son Up for Football (Don’t Bother Judging Me, I’m Already Judging Myself)

5 10 2015
The football obsession started before his first game in 2011.

The football obsession started before his first game in 2011.

Please allow me to explain myself. Perhaps I’m just trying to make excuses or make myself feel better, but this anti-football (until high school) mother just signed her sixth grader up for football, and I’m still a bit sick to my stomach about it. I’ve read the articles about the dangers of football and passed those articles to my son to read. So why did I do let him play this year when I’ve told him no for the past two years? Honestly, his Nonverbal Learning Disability (NLD), with the Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) and ADHD sprinkled in is why.

This summer, we moved from a place where Cameron knew to a place he doesn’t. He started middle school this school year with not one soul he knows. He does not do well with change, so I thought he’d be the one struggling most with the move, but it turns out his seven-year-old sister was the one crying like I’ve never heard her the night we said good-bye to our house. I should add that we moved only 20 minutes away from our old house, so the kids still go to visit the old neighborhood, sometimes as often as once weekly. I should also add that Cameron’s best and maybe only true friend also moved away from the last district, so Cameron was going to have few solid connections with friends he could trust at his old school.

After the move, Cameron seemed to transition well, although he told me that while he may look fine, he feels like crawling into a ball and screaming most of the time. And he did have some rough days a couple of weeks after the move where he was relentlessly mean to and critical of his sister. He made us promise to never move again, partially because it’s been difficult and partially because he says he loves the new house and he’s happier than he’s ever been. We moved from a tri-level with a one-car garage and close neighbors to a two-story colonial in a small neighborhood with big wooded lots situated in the middle of a country field, and he loves the space. He loves having room to move and run and play. He has even met another kid in the neighborhood and they seem to get along well.

So I signed him up for football because of all of this. I didn’t realize until after I’d done it that this town is hugely into football. This made me very nervous since subcultures freak me out, and I think some parents with kids in sports are dangerously close to a subculture. But I signed him up so he wouldn’t go into his first day blind; he may actually know some kids when he starts school. I signed him up because I know how he struggles with social situations and I want to arm him with everything I can to help him fit in a little. I signed him up because we actually missed the deadline by a lot and he cried and said he knew kids who play sports are more popular and that might help him. I signed him up because someone from the team called us to let us know he could still join even though we were way past the deadline (like by months), and the 3% chance I told Cameron he had to play actually happened. I signed him up because a mom once said to me that her sensory-seeking fifth grader was joining because it was actually a place that he could run into things without being told not to. I don’t have to tell Cameron to keep his hands to himself in football. I signed him up because he is football-obsessed and has wanted to join for years. And maybe the kids on the team will accept him for who he is and maybe even become his friends—even if only one does, it’s a win for our family.

His first week of football, I made a decision. Last year he played flag football and the coaches were really hard on him. They expected him to read a map of plays off his wrist, which works for most kids but not for someone with processing issues. He didn’t know where to go until he actually ran the plays several times, and then he was actually pretty good. The coaches didn’t know how to work with him though, so they were frustrated, as was Cameron. It was painful to watch. This year I made a choice to tell the coaches about how he learns best. When the opportunity arose, I explained his processing issues and that he will learn the plays but may take longer than other kids. I explained that what he has is a “cousin” to Asperger’s and may have actually been diagnosed as such depending on the psychologist. The coach’s eye lit up at this and I felt like I struck a chord. I know that NLD is not Asperger’s but when it comes to explaining it to people who don’t know, it’s easier to say it’s a cousin to it than trying to list all of the things that NLD means to our family. People know Asperger’s; they’ve usually never heard of NLD.

Because Cameron was late to start, he wasn’t allowed to do any contact for his first five practices, which is the norm. This put him right up to the first scrimmage. He forgot to tell us that he had to be there at 7:15 for his 8:00 am game, so we rushed him out the door in 15 minutes immediately after he woke up. Even at 7:15 we were sweating in the sun, watching our recently-awakened son stare into space as the team ran through plays he didn’t know because he hadn’t received the playbook via email because, again, we were so late to sign him up. My husband, Jon, grew frustrated watching Cameron stare at the other teams, the trees, the sky, anywhere except where he should be, so when it was Cameron’s turn to practice a play, Jon actually had to walk away. We heard how the coaches were yelling at the boys for not doing what they were supposed to, and we were prepared for that to happen to Cameron. Natural consequence. Then a miracle happened. When Cameron was up, the coach went to him, looked at him, told him exactly what to do, and said he’d stay there with him while he ran through the play. Cameron caught the ball and had to be reminded what to do next, but was rewarded with “knucks” and a pat on the back from his coach. I cried. I mean not just tears welling up in my eyes, but straight up crying. Who knew such a simple act could conjure up so much emotion? Those little things count so much when you have a child with challenges in any way.

At the first opportunity I had, I thanked the coach and told him how much it meant to me. This is the part that gets a bit hairy… He said he knows Cameron has Asperger’s so he’s going to learn it differently than other kids and some kids don’t respond to his intensity so he is able to bring it down for them. I did not correct him. Literally as I write this, my son is at football practice where they think he has Asperger’s because of me! I didn’t write that on the form I filled out, I wrote NLD, ADHD, SPD. But I’m assuming they didn’t read that. Does this mean I have Munchausen by proxy?

I knew I’d read somewhere that Asperger’s are NLD are interchangeable, so here’s what I found on “NLD on the Web”

(http://www.nldontheweb.org/nldadvancedreading/aspergersdisordernld.html)

       “There is clearly a great deal of overlap between Aspergers Disorder (AD) and Nonverbal Learning Disabilities (NVLD), so much so that it is possible that the symptoms of each describe the same group of children from different perspectives—AD from either a psychiatric/behavioral perspective, and NVLD a neuropsychological perspective. The specific conventions of these diagnoses may lead to a somewhat different group of children meeting diagnostic criteria, but it is not clear that this reflects something ‘true’ in nature. That is, it may only be convention that separates these two groups.”

So that means I’m in the clear, right? It is important to me that he Cameron is accurately “labeled,” but maybe here it doesn’t matter because it’s semantics. Whatever I said to the coaches, they’re seeing it in Cameron and they are helping him grow because of what I pointed out to them.

I should add that the other parents are not a subculture, but rather they sat with their bags of food and sun umbrellas for four hours in the 90 degree heat and watched their sons without saying too much. That made me feel better too. I am so hopeful that the move we made will be a positive one for both of our kids. It was the most emotionally draining, physically exhausting summer ever, which may explain why I had influenza as I wrote this post. So far, uprooting our family seems like a step in the right direction, but it’s too early to know for sure. Cautious optimism…








Parham Eftekhari

Tech. Food. Art. Life.

just a dad with disney questions

reading into things way too much...

systemsforsensorykids.wordpress.com/

Solutions for Parents and Families of Sensory Kids

My Out-of-Sync Child

Raising my ADHD, PDD-NOS, Out-of-Sync Daughter

Jill Kuzma's SLP Social & Emotional Skill Sharing Site

Ideas for Educators Supporting Social/Emotional Language Skills

pumpkinblossoms

A happy place for my heart

Sensory Smart Parent Blog

Insights, support, tips, and news for parents of kids with sensory issues

The True Power of Parenting

Emotional Intelligence for a Bright and Successful Future

Motherhood Is An Art

Motherhood takes a lot of creativity and humor!

The Immature Man's Guide:

How to survive in a mature world.

The Runaway Mama

For all the moms with a bag packed just in case.

...said the blind man...

Just another WordPress.com site

Outlaw Mama

My rules. My transgressions. My stories.

The Sensory Spectrum

For SPD Kiddos and Their Parents

Sensory Speak

Just another WordPress.com site

I Made A Human, Now What?

the perils and products of parenting

Voices of Sensory Processing Disorder

Giving a Voice to the Sensory Processing Disorder Community

The Jenny Evolution

Join the Jenny Evolution. Because We Never Stop Evolving As Parents or As People

mommysaidaswearword

writer turned mommy, mommy turned wife.

staydaddy

Being a parent everyday

Sensory Smart News Blog

Where Sensory Smart Parents Go For The Scoop

Musings, Observations & Anecdotes

Listen up. Or sh*t is gonna get real.

notjustaboy

A Mom vs. Alphabet Soup (SPD, NLD, ADHD...)