Archive for the ‘Twice Exceptional’ Category

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

Many thanks to Mad Eye Moody for the dead-on description of what it’s like to live with and raise gifted sons. People will watch them and comment, “Oh my, they keep you on your toes, don’t they?” Duh, random person making small talk, this is nothin’. I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead for the last nine years and failing miserably, so truly your comments are a paean to the High Priestess of Obviousness. Yes, it is terribly windy out. Have a nice day yourself.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

At home it’s ensuring they have not built a intricate fort of epic proportions, blocking the long-suffering dog from her crate. It’s putting double and triple security measures on the computer, so we don’t suddenly have an expensive paperweight. It’s preparing for a meltdown anywhere, anytime, because something has triggered the wiring in the gifted kid’s over-excitabilities sector. It’s being ready for a philosophical question at a moment’s notice, similar to the story Robyn shared at A 2E (Twice-Exceptional) Journey. I haven’t had that exact question, but I’ve had some doozies.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

At school it’s staying on top of everything. Everything. To the casual observer, I am a helicopter parent. That drives me to the brink of insanity, just daring me to jump in and get it over with. I’m not a helicopter parent, I laugh that I parent with benign neglect, but at 9 A still needs help remembering ABC and no amount of natural consequences work. Trust me, I’ve been to more parenting seminars that you can imagine. He just needs more guidance, and me emailing teachers so that we’re all on the same page.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

Part of CONSTANT VIGILANCE! is reviewing graded work that returns home because the boys sure aren’t running in the door with papers in hand, begging for them to be displayed on the fridge. A got his book report on Albert Einstein back the other day and he knocked it out of the park (helped that he saw a lot of himself in Einstein). His multiplication page was awesome; got all but four completed, but every single one was correct. Got a Theme Progress Test back and only missed one, but…what the hell? Ohhhhh…further proof that gifted kids think differently. Hm. How would you answer this question?

What does it mean to draw conclusions when you read?

1. decide the main point of the reading
2. use what you know and what you read to make a decision about the text
3. relate the text to other texts, your life, and the world
4. ask questions to determine the author’s purpose for writing

I see three arguably correct answers. A’s answer (#3) was marked incorrect. Tom and I can’t figure out which answer is the “correct” one. Now, it’s 3rd grade and it’s one answer on a test and I’m not going in to the teacher to argue it. That would be helicopter parenting. But I would like to know, for my own brain, which it is. Because I think #3 could be correct and because I can’t see an obviously correct answer. Unfortunately, because of the way public education is set up, where there are “right answers” and “wrong answers,” shades of grey (thinking) aren’t valued.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

I’ll be so glad when the school year ends in a few weeks. For the first time ever, I am glad that school is ending. For the CONSTANT VIGILANCE! will then be home-based for a few months.

I finally did it. After years of struggle, and months of putting it off, I sent A’s teachers/counselors/principal a detailed email describing what we’ve been going through and begging for help. I finally came to the conclusion that I can do all the reading and researching and implementing here I want, but without the help of the people with him for the better part of the day, I’m just Sisyphus. This was the first time I sent an email to everyone. Before now, it was just a “please help” email to a single teacher, maybe two. This time was “PLEASE HELP AND HERE’S WHY” to anyone who could help him. Vague promises of accommodations are no longer enough. Not for this kid. I want it in writing, I want it in an IEP, I want it to follow him to any school he may attend.

Tom and I have ideas of what he needs to succeed, but as this is our first trip to this particular amusement park, we know there are things we’ll miss without guidance. Here’s where you all come in. If you could have any accommodations for your child at school, what would they be? Aim high, money no object, flip off the state testing. What would your perfect accommodations be? What is the perfect world for a gifted kid in elementary school?

Tweet this, stumble it, shout it to the heavens. Let’s get a discussion going. Our kids can all benefit.

For those of you following along at home, yes, I am slathering myself in sunscreen after the OHMYFREAKINGGOD aging photos I saw at the museum on Saturday. SPF 100, as a matter of fact. Face, neck, and upper chest. I may go broke buying sunscreen year-round, but I won’t be mistaken for a cow’s ass when I’m 70. Oh, hello there, Bessie, I wanted to ask you….AGH! Jen! It’s you! I thought…I think I’d better leave now…

In addition to the OHMYFREAKINGGOD aging photos at the exhibit, there was a cool brain waves thingamabob, similar to this Star Wars one, but for two people. Each person puts on a headband-like thing, and the object is to get the ball in the middle of the lane to the other person’s side using brain waves (look, dude, I don’t get it. There’s obviously science going on there somewhere, it’s in a science museum, but don’t ask me to explain the damned thing). I sat down with A, we got our headbands on, and he frakking smoked me. Three times. The docent came over, laughing, and said she had never seen one person whip another like that before.

And that, my friends, is what I deal with every.single.day. A has a force about him that defies description. Some people call it “strong-willed,” but it’s more nuanced than that. It’s not stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, and it’s not defiant, it’s just…his will is so determined. Again, defies description. We started that brain waves thing, and I didn’t stand a chance. The ball didn’t even hesitate, it just whipped to my side. I was stunned. C’mon, the docent couldn’t believe it, and she stands there and watches people do it! When it’s something he wants, get out of his way. When you’re making him do something he doesn’t want to do, duck. I get nauseous when I think about his upcoming teen years, when I can’t just pick him up and haul him off when he’s out of control.

This is what is worries me about homeschooling. While I know it would probably be best for him, I don’t know if it’s best for me or the family as a whole. I may have found a wonderful private school, but my money tree is dormant right now, and jobs are scarce.  The charter school we want is in the process of appealing the school board’s denial to the state, so we’re in a holding pattern.

The Force is strong in this one. It’ll serve him well as an adult. It’s the remainder of childhood that I’m worried about.

After eight weeks, we’ve decided to pull A off the Intuniv. Unlike pretty much any other decision we’ve made concerning him, this one was damned easy. There just weren’t the results we had hoped for. I consulted with his teachers, since they see him for so many hours every day, and what I heard was that they hadn’t seen much change in his focus since starting the meds in October. In fact, the teacher he has the most commented that the biggest difference was when he got his glasses and ear filter for the CAPD. So, not a noticeable difference. If she had said that suddenly a different child showed up mid-November, then that’d be a different story.

Along with the lack of focus difference, we were still dealing with the trauma of actually getting the pills down. Those rants can be seen here, here, and here. We gave up long ago and just told him to chew the damned things, not something the FDA recommends, but hell, they needed to get down somehow.

But what really convinced us to throw in the towel were some frightening behavior issues we were seeing. Things like A crying hysterically for hours on end, unable to stop, because his best friend in the whole wide world amen moved away several weeks ago. Things A said like “I want to go to sleep and never wake up” and “I wish I was never born” and “I hate my life.” Red.Flags. He rarely, if ever, cried out such phrases before starting Intuniv. I don’t know if there’s a correlation, but it was frightening enough for us to tell the doctor we wanted to stop, especially since there wasn’t a dramatic change in focus.

So we’re slowly weaning him off the meds. He’ll be off by Christmas and have a couple weeks to recalibrate before going back to school. And…deep breath…we’re not going to pursue any other ADHD meds at this time. While I believe that there is some ADHD something-or-other going on here, I also believe that a great deal of it may just be him being gifted and asynchronous. I’m no longer going to medicate him so that he can try to sit still in school and focus on crap that he’s already learned, or is so simple his brain asphyxiates from lack of something challenging. I’m sure his teachers will notice some increase in lack of focus, and tough shit on them. Ahem.

No more medicating his giftedness and intensities out of him, just to make things easier on us. If this is the way he’s wired, then so be it. Time for us…teachers, family, and friends…to recognize that. He cries that there’s nothing wrong with him, and we shouldn’t change him.

And he’s absolutely right.

The charter school’s application was denied. The steering committee is appealing to the state Board of Education. This is where we stand right now. The school I think would be best for our sons is in limbo. Still.

I know every gifted and twice-exceptional learner is different…ohhhh, do I ever know this!…but does an ideal educational situation for such a child exist? I know every school and teacher is different, but I’m convinced that public schools aren’t the best option for divergent learners, gifted, or 2e kids. My sons attend a “Gifted and Talented Focus School”…public, our neighborhood school…and it is a terrible fit. I see my 3rd grader’s love for learning ebbing dramatically. The ONLY thing he talks about is the 1 hour A WEEK he goes to the GT pullout program. Last week A created a podcast, reading aloud to kids. Next he wants to upload it to iTunes. Everything else is boring, or stupid, or just not talked about. Can’t say I blame him. If I had to learn to skip count to 100 for the third year in a row, I’d be bored to tears too. The school appears to be achievement based for giftedness, not ability based, and that’s just wrong.

Is homeschooling the best option? On the one hand, I’d never have to deal with the unholy homework battles again, or doing the school’s dirty work in forcing him to do more of things that he’s already done a gazillion times before. On the other hand…frankly, for my own sanity, I need them to be someone else’s responsibility for a few hours a day. Tiffani, at Child’s Play, had this to say about 2e kids and learning today:

One thing I know is that if you have a 2e kid–creative, right brained, divergent thinking, gifted with significant learning differences–regardless of where they go to school, you are a homeschooler. You have to take their homework and then reteach it so they understand. You have to work, hard, with them to help it make sense and stay relevant. They may go to school every day, but the real learning probably only starts once they’re one on one with you.

She’s absolutely right, of course. I’m already a homeschooler, I just don’t get to choose the curriculum. Right now I’m making A learn what the school wants him to learn, while the school ignores the things that interest him, such as science. This morning we sat down to watch Bill Nye’s new educational series on algebra. How much do my boys want to learn? They RACED through their morning chores so they could watch a DVD on algebra before school. They loved it. A was excited to learn about exponents, and ratios, and how negative numbers are just numbers on the number line, on the other side of zero. What will he do in math today? Drill and kill on multiplication and division, where he’ll maybe hit 60% accuracy and feel like a failure. Here at home? Watch out, he’ll smoke you in Monopoly, using those very same skills and not know it.

Winter break is going to be a break from the homework battles (and really, is there a better way to kill the love of reading than filling out a reading log?), but an increase in actual learning. Museums and learning games and reading for fun (RULE #1: NO.READING.LOGS.). If you think you’re playing me in Spore on Facebook, um, no, you’re playing an eight year old who hijacks my account every afternoon.

I’m still 100% behind the charter school as it goes through the appeal process, but I’m also actively investigating private schools and homeschooling. If it wasn’t such a raging PITA, I’d consider moving to be closer to a great school.

I’m just sick of sacrificing my sons’ education at the alter of their schooling.

You know how, in the winter, you’re outside playing in the snow on a sunny day and you gradually become accustomed to the sharp brightness? And then someone joins you, and they stumble around for awhile, snow blind, until they give up and go back inside? And you’re all, “What? It isn’t that bright out here! It’s fine, nothing to it, this is just how it is!” And they tell you, “Dude, you have any idea how bright it is out there? I don’t know how to tell you, but it’s really really blinding out there and boy, I don’t know how you do it.”

I need to remember this in relation to A’s giftedness.

It’s Gifted Week at the House of Chaos! Last night Tom and I had our weekly twice-exceptional parenting meeting (which we love), tonight I’m attending a presentation on the emotional well-being of gifted kids, then tomorrow night our last 2e meeting. All this unusual weeknight activity left us without a sitter for the boys, so I had to hunt around for a new one. A grandma in the area watches kids, she was available, she was hired. She even helped A with some of his homework; I should have offered her hazard pay.

We got home and when I asked how the boys were, she said they were fine…then hesitated.

“I helped A with his homework probably more than I should have (I assured her that was ok). But…(and she was having a hard time putting this into words)…he’s really bright, brilliant, probably smarter than me.” I could tell she was trying to say gifted without saying it, and I explained to her in 30 seconds or less what his situation was, with a side dish of 2e.

She had never met him before last night. I hear this so often from people who meet A for the first time and talk to him for longer than five minutes. He’s so bright! Yes, yes he is, and I forget that. I don’t see it anymore. It’s just who he is, and I don’t spend a lot of time with other kids his age other than volunteering in the classroom every other week. I no longer see the gift of giftedness, but only see the difficulties of twice-exceptionalities.

It’s been a hard few days with A and school, and I know it’s going to get much MUCH harder after Thanksgiving when his best friend is no longer there. I am so afraid of losing his spirit, and his thirst for learning is already starting to dry up. He is the smartest child I know, and I see him giving up that side of him because of school. Do this, not that. Here’s a page crammed full of math problems…go! Yup, writing is hard, we’ll make some accommodations for you, but you must copy this off the board (sorry the vision therapy hasn’t caught up yet to make this quick and easy for you) and if you don’t you must miss recess to catch up. Oh, and that busy work worksheet you didn’t finish? Take it home and complete it, please. Nevermind that you have the homework packet and a book report waiting for you there, as well as vision therapy and Cub Scouts and who needs downtime, anyway?

My heart breaks for him, and I know there are so many other families in the exact same boat. Our education system is not geared for outside the box thinkers, and outside the box thinkers are exactly what are needed in the outside world. I don’t know if I have it in me to homeschool him, but I can’t sacrifice his education for his schooling.

I know I’ll be reminded in the future of A’s giftedness, through the comments of others. They’re good to hear, because I do forget, or doubt, or ignore that part of him. I just don’t see it anymore, that’s simply how he is. But I hope to remember, through those comments, that there is a gifted person in there, buried beneath some of those challenges, and it’s my job to help him shine.

…and I’m not sharing.

Oh, sure, it looks like a harmless piece of blue paper from the school, but it’s a unicorn. The room is full of rainbows, glitter litters the floor, the delicious aroma of fresh-baked cookies permeates the air, and soft music soothes the senses. I have a unicorn. I think I will name him Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent.

A was accepted into the Gifted and Talented program for reading.

Awww…Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent just nuzzled me, gave me a backrub, and brought me a cup of hot chai! How nice of Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent! I woooove him!

I knew Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent existed, but it’s difficult to explain him when you’re constantly told of your child’s difficulties, of his failures. You know the unicorn is out there, but you get the impression that it’s tied to achievement and not ability, and that’s just wrong.

But Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent is here and like Snuffleupagus finally being “seen” and acknowledged (HAPPY BIRTHDAY SESAME STREET!), he can’t be ignored.

Welcome, Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent. I knew you existed, and thanks for the cup of chai.

You know what’s really awesome? Losing your shit with your  eight year old son before 8:30 am. Losing it so badly that he’s in hysterics and you are sobbing like an overwrought soap star. Losing it so badly that many loud and profane words are said after he leaves for school and you notice the ear filter for his CAPD sitting on your effing desk, where you’d remember to hand it to him in the morning, forgot because of the drama, and then get a phone call from the school that he needs it and crap, it’ll just have to bloody well wait.

There’s a special place in hell for pharmaceutical companies that manufacture ADHD medications that are available only in pill form. Medications for kids that already have an extremely difficult time focusing, for kids that likely have sensory issues that make swallowing a pill an exercise in futility. We put a man on the moon with a slide rule and less computing power than my iPhone, and you’re telling me you can’t come up with a way for these medications to be available in an easier to swallow form? Bullshit!

We’re into week 2 of A’s introduction to Intuniv, and it seems to be working. So far the only side effect has been fatigue, but that’s tolerable as it only hits in the evening and the end of daylight savings has screwed up everyone’s sleep patterns. The most improvement is supposed to come in weeks 2 and 3, and boy howdy, I’d sure like to see it! I know this will be a good fit for him, if we could just get past the issue of taking the damned pill! Last week, once he mastered taking the 1mg dose (smaller than a mini M&M), we were golden. Then came Saturday and the dose increased to 2mg. With a larger pill size (about the size of a Tic-Tac). Oh my hell. Two hours of torture on Saturday, THREE hours of misery on Sunday, and my losemyshitapalooza this morning. And it gets better. Next week he increases to 3mg, which (for the intro pack from the doctor) is two pills, a 1mg and a 2mg. I’m nearly hysterical even thinking about it.

This morning as he walked out the door (after an hour of trying), he chewed it and freaked the hell out (oh my god I chewed it I’m going to get sick I’m going to die please call the doctor I don’t want to get sick). So now I get to call the doctor and find out how bad it is that he did that. From what I can tell from the literature, it just means the extended release medication will be released too quickly into his bloodstream.

This is all getting tiresome, as you might imagine. Eight years. Eight years of fighting for him, helping him, trying to find the answers to help him, experts and doctors and meetings and consultations and medications and seminars and parenting classes and books and websites and…and I feel we’re getting nowhere. When does he improve? When are we no longer fighting his ADHD, his digestion, his sensory issues…when does he get to use and appreciate how gifted he is? When does he no longer have to fight against what holds him back and just soar?

When does it get easier?

I know parenting isn’t easy, I get that. I expected that. But this… And I know how well we have it, too! My kid isn’t disabled, he’s healthy, he’s happy, he’s awesome. We can (for the most part) afford the treatments he needs. But everything, and I mean everything, is a struggle for him. And that saddens me, because I feel I’ve failed him. I’ve failed in finding the “magic bullet” that would help him. I’m envious of other parents whose kids have improved, and feel guilty that I feel that way. I still feel there’s an answer out there for him, I’m just tired of searching for it.

I need to get his ear filter to him. Ten bucks says his first response isn’t “thanks mom!” but “it’s about time!” Sigh.