Friday, October 24, 2014

Dear Gwen: Month Seventy-Eight


Dear Gwen,
Today you are seventy-eight months old - six and a half years.



It’s been an astounding month, and I can’t find any way to write this letter without talking about the truly game-changing news we received this month, which is that you have ADHD. It’s not exactly a surprise, but it has shed a lot of light on who you are and how your brain works. The past few weeks I have been doing a lot of reading about ADHD and your behaviour and abilities are certainly well-reflected in the literature. Sometimes my reading leads me to major revelations, as seen in the following email I sent to your Dad a couple of weeks ago:

Just read online that “ADHD kids have trouble learning from past experiences.” OMG THIS EXPLAINS EVERYTHING.


And now, a short play that has been witnessed in our household approximately seven million times:

Gwen: *exhibits undesirable behaviour*
Me: Man, this behaviour is undesirable! How can we teach her not to do that?
Internet/Parenting Book/Knowledgeable Friend/Family Member/Magazine Article: Just introduce the following consequence whenever she exhibits that behaviour. Believe me, you won’t have to do it more than a couple of times before she gets the message!
Gwen: *exhibits undesirable behaviour*
Me: *introduces consequence*
Gwen: *is terribly upset but refuses to change behaviour*
Fin.

So, a lot of the frustrations and confusion we have had about your behaviour has been explained. We still don’t know what to do about it, but hopefully all these books and websites I am reading will help.
 

In the meantime, really, you haven’t changed at all, though our perception and understanding of you has grown a lot and will continue to do so.

Your Grade One year is well underway, and Dad and I were thrilled to learn that a good friend of ours, Kim, is your teacher for the year. She is a great teacher and a lovely person and I know that she will be great at creating accommodations for you. So far your year is going well, although there have been some bumps. We are starting to see some social problems which are upsetting for all of us. Your intensity and need for control, your hair-trigger temper, and your obliviousness to social cues – all of which are part of the ADHD package – are far less tolerated by your peers than they were last year, and you are experiencing frequent rejection. It’s heartbreaking to see or hear about. In some cases, your obliviousness prevents you from seeing that you’ve been rejected – for example, we saw you at your after-school club being instructed by some other kids that your “job” in the game was to run away from them to the farthest tree and then wait there for more instructions. Their game had nothing to do with running or trees – they just wanted to get rid of you. And you complied, enthusiastically, because you are so eager to be accepted. Clearly, we have a lot of work ahead of us.

Your academics, on the other hand, continue to be strong. In fact, your doctor feels that you may well be gifted. I confess that I didn’t understand until recently that “gifted” is a real concept that can be tested and valuated. Unfortunately, we don’t know yet how to go about having this giftedness tested, as the schools do not provide that testing. I am determined that we need to do everything in our power to make sure you are able to reach your potential, which I am convinced is great.   



In your last newsletter I mentioned that you are really enjoying gymnastics, and this continues to be true. I hope these classes are giving you some positive strategies about being in your body and controlling your movements. Your piano lessons have started again, and this year you are in private one-on-one classes with your first MYC teacher, Mrs. H. She is absolutely amazing and you are blooming in this environment. After watching you struggle so hard last year to stay on task and hear the teacher while five other kids (and their parents) provided a constant level of noise and distraction, it is a joy to see you and Mrs. H. work together. The fact that your lesson time is all yours means that Mrs. H. can meet you where you are at and tailor things to suit your needs, without having to “keep up” with anyone else. I’m so very, very glad we took this step. Here are some of the moments from your first month of piano class.

At your second lesson, while sitting at the adult-size piano, you dropped your pencil on the floor and immediately crawled under the bench to get it. Once on the floor, you became interested in the pedals and began to press them. Mrs. H. quickly adapted. While the pedals are not part of the curriculum until you are a few years older, she saw that you were interested and went with it. “Listen to this note. Now hold the pedal down while I play it again. How did the note change?” The two of you spent a minute or so on this and then she re-directed you back up to the piano to continue the lesson. I was in awe! She could have spent two minutes arguing with you, or one minute meeting you where you were and following your interest, then going back to what she intended to teach that day. I was so impressed!


Another tale of success at piano was actually my contribution. Again while sitting at the adult-size piano, I could see your feet swinging around, reaching down towards the floor, which then pulled your torso out of balance and made it hard to play the keys. Having shared a bazillion mealtimes with you, I knew what the problem was: it was bugging you not to have a place to rest your feet (as they don’t reach the floor while sitting up properly). I looked around and saw a small stool by the door, and suggested to you that we put it under the piano as a footrest. This had the extra benefit of preventing you from fidgeting with those fascinating foot pedals. These are the types of accommodations you need in all of your daily activities, and it’s just a matter of us figuring out what they are and convincing the people around you to help us implement them.


Well, I guess that’s it for this month, Gwen. I am fiercely proud of you, entirely in love with you, and so grateful to be your mom.


Love,
Mama

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Dear Gwen: Month Seventy-Seven



Dear Gwen,

Today you are seventy-seven months old.


September has seen a return to routine and the creation of new routines. Here is a list of all the logistical changes that have happened in our lives in the past few weeks:

-        You started gymnastics classes
-        You spent three weeks at strike camp after summer camp ended, then at last …
-        … You started Grade One (just yesterday!)
-        You start piano lessons (today!)
-        Your dad got a job at VIU

That’s a lot of new stuff going on! You like to be busy, though, and you like routine, so I think that once we get all the kinks worked out of this new normal, you will be pretty happy and hopefully your behaviour will reflect that too.


You are loving your gymnastics classes. I wasn’t sure how you were going to do in a 90-minute class but you are having a great time and I haven’t heard any complaints about your distractibility, so I’m guessing that the class keeps you active enough to not get bored and antsy. Hooray! Karate has basically imploded for you over the past couple of months, so I’m glad we have found a physical activity that is filling that need a little better. Enormous thanks go to Grannie who bought your gymnastics classes for you as a gift.


A couple of weeks ago, you were supposed to test for your red stripe at karate. They gave you the notice the week before so you had been looking forward to it for seven days (let alone the last two grading cycles that you didn't qualify for, where you had watched all your classmates progress and leave you behind). In the car on the way to class you confidently told me about the things you would have to do to at the testing today. About 2/3 of the way through class, the teacher came out and asked Dad to step into the office for a minute. When Dad came back, he told me that because your focus was completely absent that day, you would not receive your stripe. Your listening was terrible and we had overheard the teachers trying to redirect you SEVERAL times. The teacher also mentioned to Dad that she has had to do the same thing (not give a stripe, at the last minute) for a few other students and that it has always been a “gamechanger” with the student showing great improvement after that point. Dad and I agreed with the decision that you would not get your stripe, but were under the impression that you would still have to do the grading/performance portion, just for good practice. When parents were invited into the dojo we saw all the kids lined up in order in the middle of the dojo, except for you – you were seated on the floor in the corner, facing the wall. The kids were put through their paces as a group. You started to sob about halfway through. Then the kids were called up one by one to receive their certificates and their stripes. You were the only kid left out. No one spoke to you or acknowledged your crying through the testing. When they were done, one of the teachers invited you to join the line of kids so they could bow out and say "goodbye" which is the usual ending ritual. Then all the kids rushed to their parents to show off their goodies, and you sobbed your way over to us, inconsolable. Conversation on the car ride home revealed that although the teacher had come out and spoken to us about your not testing, no one had spoken to you about it, so you'd had no idea you were being left out until the testing began.

We decided to give karate a few more weeks to see if, indeed, this disciplinary action had been a “gamechanger”. It has not. Your karate “game” has not improved at all. It is my view that you are either not capable of doing any better at karate right now, or you are not sufficiently motivated to do so (and let’s leave aside my feelings on whether ‘public humiliation and disrespect’ is an appropriate way to motivate any child; it didn’t work for YOU, so that’s enough of that). This week will be your last karate class for a while. You may want to revisit it in the future, and that’s fine, but Dad and I agree it’s time for a break.


For the most part, you continue to be a very joyful and exuberant child, and you make us laugh all the time. Here is the latest joke you made up:

What is a muscle man’s favourite donut?
A strong john!

A few days ago, you told me you wanted to have a private conversation with me. You said, “I’ve noticed that you are giving Dad way more kisses than you give me. And I thought, ‘Does Mom love Dad more than she loves me?! I thought she loved us both the same!’” It was very very hard not to laugh at this charming display of rivalry (I guess sibling rivalry comes out this way in only-child families!). I assured you that I do love you and Dad very very much, but in different ways, and that you could ALWAYS come ask for a hug or a kiss or a cuddle anytime you needed one, in addition to the dozens I give you without your requesting them. I hope you are feeling equally loved, now!


It’s been a very long and strange summer with the teachers’ strike, and I wasn’t sure you’d get to start Grade One this fall at all. You got a nice grounding in political activism when we went to a few different rallies and posted enormous banners at your school to support your teachers. We also bought you a Grade One curriculum book and started working through it a few pages at a time. This extended break allowed me to see how very, very smart you are – academics are not going to be a problem for you at all. Your reading is stellar, your writing – though messy – is appropriate, and your math is incredible. A day of baking helped you learn fractions, and you grasped the concepts of ‘greater than’ and ‘less than’ immediately.


We were all really excited on your first day of school, though you were a little nervous as well. You wanted me to stay with you until you were ready, and I was happy to do so. Once we got to the school – all the kids and parents assembled in the gymnasium – you felt a little better as you started to spot some familiar faces, especially the beloved teachers you’d missed saying goodbye to at the end of last year. We gave them lots of hugs and appreciation and some Dollarama gift cards to help them supply their classrooms. We’re not sure yet who your teacher will be or which classroom you’ll be in, but by the time I said goodbye you were excitedly hugging all your old friends from kindergarten and looking very happy about the day ahead.

Last weekend, you woke up one morning calling me piteously from your bed. “Mama! Mama! My mouth is so dry I think I’m turning into a cactus!” Your appetite and energy were low, which is always a sure sign of sickness, and a low fever followed in the early afternoon, so Dad took you to a walk-in clinic where you were diagnosed with strep throat. That was the easy part. The hard part is getting the medicine into you. You are supposed to take 5 mls of medicine three times a day, and each dose can require up to an hour of full-on bodily fighting with a very limited success (e.g., only 70-90% of the dosage goes into your body). At one point I was trying very hard to pin your arms and force your mouth open, which didn’t work AND felt absolutely awful. It doesn’t matter how much cajoling we do beforehand or how much ice cream, peanut butter, or other rewards we promise afterwards – you get yourself wound up about how awful it’s going to taste, and you just can’t make yourself co-operate. Though I’ve explained it to you several times, if you would just open your mouth and let me get the medicine in, it would all be over in ten seconds, but you just can’t do it. As I was trying to explain to your Dad (who has even less patience about this than I do), you are young enough that you lack the understanding we, as adults, have that sometimes you have to do something shitty for a moment or two (or, sometimes, longer) in order to have a long-term positive effect. After a day and a half of this battle, Dad went back to the pharmacy to see if we could get the same medicine in pill form, as you can actually swallow pills pretty successfully (thanks to melatonin, which you take occasionally to reset your sleep schedule). He couldn’t get a swallow capsule – they were too big – but he got a chewable, which you choked down at your next dosage time and insisted it was almost as bad as the medicine. We’ve now just accepted that grinding the pill up and mixing it in ice cream – even at breakfast time – is the only successful way to get the medicine into you. The take-away here, kid, is HOLY SHIT DON’T GET SICK because dosing you is a NIGHTMARE!!


Your third day of taking the medicine was also your first day back at school. In theory, you are supposed to take a pill at lunchtime, so I sent one in your lunchbox. I didn’t really expect you to take it, without the forty-five minutes of nagging and bullying beforehand, but you proudly told me that afternoon that you had. I heaped you with positive reinforcement and immediately invited you to do something you’d been wanting to do for weeks: painting each other’s nails. We enjoyed a lovely time together and I told you often how proud I was of you for taking your medicine.

That night, of course, we found out you’d been lying.

That was (as far as we know?!) your first big lie to us. We were both furious and devastated that our trust had been betrayed. I honestly thought you would do the same thing with your medicine that you do with a good half of the lunch Dad packs you every day: leave it untouched in your lunchbox. The idea that you had the forethought to go put the pill in the garbage – for this, you confessed that evening, is what had happened – upset me so much. Now we had TWO problems to solve: disciplining you for lying, and STILL struggling to get you to take the damn medicine! 


Well, that's enough ranting for one letter ... we love you very, very much and are so glad you are our daughter. (We are also glad, these days, that there is only one of you.) Here's hoping the next month will see a settling into routine and an evening-out of behaviour.

Love,
Mama

PS Tooth#3 fell out on the first day of school!

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Dear Gwen: Month Seventy-Six



Dear Gwen,
Today you are seventy-six months old.



This stage is proving very difficult for you. Part of it may be the change of routine that happens in summer; part of it may be different sleeping and eating habits. But I think the largest part of it is that YOU ARE SIX and there are crazy hormonal things happening in your body and they make you MISERABLE. You have been throwing tantrums the likes of which I have not seen since you were three years old, and since you are now twice as big, twice as loud, and twice as strong, THESE TANTRUMS ARE AWFUL. Many times you have kicked or hit me – sometimes because you were just busy flailing and didn’t think about who might be near you, but other times quite deliberately because you wanted to hurt me. Your dad and I still love you madly, but you are sometimes not easy to like these days.


Here is an example of the rapid and violent mood swings you are subject to, these days. One day, I asked you to clear some of your art supplies off the kitchen table. You were happy to do this. I even volunteered to move the bead project that was under construction, as these are very difficult to move safely and I knew you would be upset if it tipped over. You asked, “Where did you put that bead project?” and I showed you. You then moved to place the big box of beads you were carrying on the shelf right next to your project. Unfortunately, I could see immediately that there wasn’t enough room on the shelf as it was too narrow for the box, and that if you were to let go it would fall, probably opening and/or breaking and spilling your carefully sorted beads all over the floor. I quickly said, “Wait, Gwen, that shelf isn’t big enough.” Before I could finish by suggesting that you use another shelf to store your beads, you flew into a rage. “You want me to put it on my desk! But there isn’t enough room on my desk! Look, my desk is a mess! There’s way too much stuff on it!” While saying this, you swept your arm across the desk and pushed art supplies, projects, and more onto the floor, then continued your tirade. I kept trying to interrupt you and show you the shelf I thought your beads could go on, but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. You stormed across the room and flung your whole body onto the couch (which is something you KNOW you’re not supposed to do, as it could break the couch) and continued raging. I walked towards you, still trying to get you to hear reason, and that’s when you struck out and kicked me, HARD, on the wrist. Immediately, I sent you to your room. My wrist was throbbing, and I was close to losing my temper. The entire incident had taken less than thirty seconds – that’s all the time it took for you to go from cheerful and compliant to raging and violent.



The tantrums have also happened at other places. When I was on vacation earlier this month, we went to a number of playdates together. Two of the playdates included enormous tantrums from you – fortunately, neither of these fits were of the hitting-other-people variety. Instead, you stormed off to be on your own while you sulked and sobbed about whatever particular injustice had set you off (in one instance, it was the fact that your friend was better than you at pumping his legs on the swings). While I applaud the fact that you removed yourself to go work through your emotions, I don’t like it when you walk out of my eyesight in a public place, nor do I appreciate your expressing your emotions by rolling around in the dirt of a playground. Again, this seems like behaviour more appropriate for a two-year-old.


But the more I talked to other parents, the more I discovered that this was pretty typical for your age. Apparently six is pretty nasty, across the board. Why no one told me this ahead of time, I don’t know, but now that I know this, it’s a little easier to accept, all the while hoping madly that the storms will pass soon. It really seems hormonal to me: you are acting for all the world like a fourteen-year-old with wicked PMS. Your dad has a theory that kids who are really difficult at this stage will be easy as teenagers. I guess we have seven more years before we find out if he’s right.


Enough of the negativity, though. This month has also been full of a lot of fun times. It started off with a trip to Powell River to visit Grannie and Grandpa, and for the first time ever, stay with them all by yourself for a couple of nights. You were nervous about this idea at first, and we spent many weeks talking about it and boosting your confidence so you would be ready. When the time came for Dad and I to say goodbye to you in PR, you were very happy and excited to spend time on your own with your grandparents. While in Powell River, you played mini-golf, went to the farmers’ market, rode on a small train, watched movies, and ate many ridiculously delicious treats. Grannie and Grandpa say you behaved perfectly (!!) and were an absolute delight to have around. You say you had a great time and will definitely go back next summer. I’m hoping that next time around we can leave you for four to five nights, which will end up being enough of a break for us to actually be worth all the back-and-forth travel, and maybe even save us some money on summer childcare.

video

When your grandparents brought you back to the Island, the four of us (poor Dad had to work) went to Chemainus to see the murals. We ended up doing a horse-drawn carriage ride, which wasn’t really part of the plan but turned out to be a terrific idea, as the tour guide gave us so much information about the murals that made them so much more enjoyable. It was a really interesting and educational tour – plus, you know, a HORSE! It was a lovely way to spend the day.

One fabulous Gwen moment I need to record happened while your grandparents were visiting after your time in Powell River. We were talking about birthdays, and since you have recently learned the actual month and day of your birthday (instead of just saying it is in the Spring), I was quizzing you about it. You correctly named the date as April 24th. “What year?” I asked. “Every year!” True enough!



The next couple of days, in addition to various playdates, also held a new experience for you: I’d signed you up for a “Body Smart” sexual health workshop for you to learn about your body and how to take care of it. The workshop was held outdoors at a park for one hour a day for two days. I was really impressed with the program leader, who did a great job of engaging the kids and keeping things at an appropriate level. You learned about the proper names for your body parts, which is not new for you, and about different kinds of touches (safe, unsafe, and secret), which was new for you. I think you enjoyed the class, especially the two songs we learned (My Body is My Body and I Love My Body).


You have often said that you wanted to have a beach party, and this month, we finally did it. We invited a bunch of friends to meet us at Long Lake for an afternoon of fun, food, sun, and swimming. It was a great time! We might have to make that an annual tradition.

And the final adventure of the summer was, of course, the Vancouver Island Exhibition. We had an absolutely great time at this event! We enjoyed midway rides, great entertainment, delicious (and very unhealthy) food, interesting exhibits, and all manner of fun. There is always so much to see and do at this fair. I think your favourite thing was the “Farmer for a Day” game in the Kid Zone, which you probably did about 12 times in the two days we attended the fair. For some reason, you are kind of obsessed about milking cows, and after milking the plastic cow for a while, you wanted to move on to the real thing. It turns out you can’t do that at the fair … in fact, the only cow-milking that goes on is done by machine, which did NOT impress you. But by sheer luck, we were in the right place at the right time to milk a goat, so at least you got to milk something!


What a full and fun month. I guess your dad and I just wish that all this fun and enjoyment would lead to better behaviour and appreciation, but that doesn’t seem to be the case at this point. We’ll keep trying. Next month will hopefully see the beginning of Grade One for you, and a whole new set of transitions and activities, with all the challenges that will bring. Even on the difficult days, we love you and are proud of you and will keep doing our best to teach you what you need to know.


Love,
Mama

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Dear Gwen: Month Seventy-Five

Dear Gwen,
Today you are seventy-five months old.


The age of six is pretty different. You have always been an independent child, but that is ramping up even more now. A couple of weeks ago, we went to one of our favourite summer events: a free outdoor movie, shown on a giant inflatable screen, at a local park. It just so happened that you ran into a familiar face – an older girl who goes to your school and had been at the same birthday party as you just a week earlier. You were fast friends and watched the whole movie together on her blanket (and sometimes cuddled up together in your new sleeping bag). This was a real switch as usually you spend the whole time sitting on my lap.


On the same evening, you and I were walking together through the park and you asked my permission to run ahead. I agreed that you could, then watched you run towards our destination. When you reached a park roadway, you stopped, looked both ways, and then crossed safely. I was SO impressed! We talk about road safety all the time, but there’s no better way to know that you’re actually taking it in, than watching you demonstrate it without any prompting. Way to go, six-year-old!

On Preston's Batman birthday card, you wrote:
"Have the Battiest birthday make sure the Joker doesn't get you birthday boy. Love, Gwen."
 On Canada Day, we all went out to the parade together, which was a lot of fun. It’s sure great to have Dad around this summer to join us in our family outings. This is the first summer since you were two years old that he’s been able to do that, and it’s pretty terrific.


You have started summer camp and are enjoying it a lot. You went to the same camp last year and had a great time, but I think this year you are even more excited about it. You even told me that you look forward to going every day! Despite your excitement, you are invariably shy and clingy at the morning drop-off, holding tight to my arm and very hesitant to join the other kids in their activities (even when they are doing stuff you LOVE, like Rainbow Loom). I saw the same pattern when you were going to preschool: when we arrived in the morning, the other kids would be involved in some kind of craft activity together, but you never wanted to join them right away, preferring to sit at your own table and do your own thing for a little while. Then, when you were ready, you would join the group. One of the leaders is absolutely great at helping you feel at ease during this time. He always has some task or another to do – bringing out more board games, setting up an activity, choosing which toys to use that day – and he always invites you to help, which you are happy to do. Dad pointed out that he was the same way as a kid: he was always more eager to spend time with adults than with other children.


Every day you come home from camp with great stories of what you have done that day. You always have so much fun, and no wonder: the camp schedule is jam-packed with enjoyable, and sometimes educational, activities. This week alone you’ve gone ice skating and bowling, had a science day and a summer sports games day, and enjoyed a pancake party! No wonder Dad wishes he could go to summer camp, too!


Another sign of your independence is the shrinking of the bedtime routine. As your interest in reading has grown, you have started to request that you be allowed to read for a while after I tuck you in and say goodnight (in addition to the story I read you beforehand). Because you are excited about getting to read, and because my tucking-in and prayer-saying and lullaby-singing is no longer the last thing you do before sleep, you are way less interested in drawing out that part of the routine. Many nights, all you want is a quick hug and kiss and then for me to get the hell out of there so you can do some reading. Sometimes this is a relief for me as I have lots to get done, but I’m also not going to let go of our nighttime snuggles without a fight! I can see the time coming – it’s distant, but it’s coming – when I will just have to say, “Time for bed, honey, goodnight,” and you trot off to take care of all your nighttime routines yourself with no assistance from me. So I better get those cuddles while I can.


Earlier this month you took swimming lessons. Sea Otter is the first parent-free level, and the one that most kids have to take multiple times before they pass – this was your second time at the class. Back in March, when summer registration began, I signed you up for the daily-lessons-for-two-weeks format, rather than the twice-a-week-for-six-weeks format, because I didn’t know what our vacation plans might be and didn’t want them to interfere with lessons. This turned out to be a BRILLIANT plan, and I would never go back to the other lesson format. The consistency of going swimming every single weekday worked so well for you. You enjoyed the sure knowledge that every day was a swimming day, and you were able to retain the learning so much better. To nobody’s surprise, you passed with flying colours and will be moving on to Salamander next time around. One thing I noticed with your lessons, though, is that you were consistently far more interested in swimming around and doing your thing than you were in listening to your teacher. Your swimming ability is incredible, but focusing and listening to safety rules is important too.


This month we discovered that you can quote entire chunks of dialogue from The Lego Movie. I have decided that I very much prefer watching your renditions than watching the actual movie. It is pretty hilarious!


One thing we have struggled with lately is that you are starting to get kind of spoiled, with all these great adventures going on. I’ve noticed this with you before, and I’m sure lots of people could point out that it’s a widespread phenomenon with “kids these days”: a real attitude of entitlement. Where it bugs me the most is when we go out and have a super fun, Gwen-centric day together and everyone’s having a great time and then suddenly you decide that you want ICE CREAM on top of everything and if you don’t get it, you are devastated and furious and inconsolable and hell-bent on destroying everyone’s good mood. Instead of being grateful for all the stuff that went RIGHT, you are enraged about the one or two things that didn’t go your way. In an effort to curb this habit, we are really encouraging you to be more grateful, both inwardly and outwardly: insisting that you say thank you at EVERY opportunity, and also reflecting before bed on at least five things you are grateful for that day. You often list things that are really thoughtful and lovely, such as “parents who love me,” so hopefully you will start to make gratitude a habit and lose the entitlement attitude.


Well, it’s been a great month as always, Gwen. We love you so much and are so proud of you. Till next time!

Love,
Mama

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