Planning for Parents

I know I’ve talked a bit here about planning. It’s become a bit trendy nowadays, but I have needed and used a planner since my undergrad days, with rehearsals scheduled thither and yon, and assignments due; as my husband says, “people to see, things to do, and dogs to scratch!”

That said, figuring out how to organize all the parts of my life – it’s still a challenge. I’ve been bullet journalling since November of 2015, and found that it really works for me. I’m much more able to keep track of when things are due, upcoming events, and even tracking how often I do x, y, or z, which can come in very handy when I’m, say, working on a goal to read more, or exercise more, or be a better human being.

Recently, I’ve decided to track my moods, as well as the moods of those in my household, as their moods have an effect on my mood (as I’m sure you’ve experienced), and also because I’m getting to that age where moodiness is part and parcel of being a woman and all of the lovely things we go through that bewilder the men in our lives. I realized tracking “moods” would be an excellent thing to do for The Boy, and would help us spot some triggers. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of setting up a “home base” journal for The Boy: notes from meetings, school schedules, records of emails from him (a strategy he uses to regulate when he is upset at school), “hang-out” dates, progress on our Independence Challenge, and plans for the future. Now that we are tracking work and volunteer hours for his high school program, this journal will be perfect for that, too.

Some planning friends suggested that, ideally, The Boy would do this for himself, to which I replied that just getting him to do homework was like pulling teeth, but I think I can find some common ground by letting him know I’m doing it, and allowing him to see, add or change things as he feels the need.

I found this excellent resource for autism parents of any age that would like to do something similar over at andnextcomesl.com – a site that’s new to me, but looks like a bevy of great resources.

When I get it set up and operational, I’ll make sure to come back and share what’s working, what’s not, and how it’s helping me be a better parent (I hope!) 🙂

 

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The Truth is

We’ve been settling into our new summer routine this week, as The Boy’s Summer Day Camp run by the Autism Society started on Monday. We are working out our timing and logistics to get him there and get him home, and allow him time to transition. He has been rolling with it.

Until today.

Literally seconds before we were to walk out the door, he complained that he couldn’t find his key.

Uh-oh.

He has a collection of mis-cut keys from the hardware store and he pretends that each belongs to a vehicle that he “owns.” The various vehicles come in and out of favor, but he never forgets one. His pretend vehicle du jour is a Dodge Ram van that has been retro-fitted to be an ice cream truck. And apparently, he misplaced the key at some point between the time he left camp yesterday and the second we were leaving the house this morning. Unbeknownst to me.

90% of the time he has misplace something, he ends up finding it at Grammy’s house, usually under the bed. I tired to encourage The Boy to “look again” at Grammy’s and if he didn’t find it there, to “look again” at Camp, and we would “look again” at home this evening before we determined that it was “gone forever” and he would have to “get a new vehicle”. He insisted he had already looked, and it was gone. (If your kiddo is anything like mine, he scans the room at eye level and if he doesn’t see the thing he is looking for, it has grown legs and walked away. Heaven forbid he actually pick up the myriad things on the floor to look underneath for the missing thing.) He said he didn’t want to go to camp and began making a general ruckus. Then miraculously, the key appeared there at the end of the bed, even though Grammy knew it hadn’t been there before…

The thing is, we can try to prevent meltdowns all we want, but sometimes, they just come flying at you like a brick out of nowhere. And you just have to roll with it the best you can, and try to de-escalate the situation and keep your wits about you, always thinking about the next possible steps. We’re “if-then”-ning in our heads the whole time, instantly coming up with plans b-g just for every contingency. Would it have helped if I had helped him prepare for camp the night before? Maybe. But knowing my kid, even if we put the key in a safe spot last night, that doesn’t guarantee he gets it out after bedtime and moves it. And it doesn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t have been something else he decided he needed at the very last minute this morning.

The truth is, sometimes your best option is to just roll with it and forgive yourself for not having seen the brick before it hit you in the head. Sometimes bricks happen.Keys to the Sonic

He Melted

Last Sunday, I found a flyer in The Boy’s backpack that said he had a performance this past Thursday, at the orientation for incoming 6th graders. I was a little annoyed at the lack of advance notice, but we rolled with it. I made sure his band shirt was clean, cancelled my Thursday lesson, and made arrangements for transporting his tuba.

Thursday evening came, and I picked The Boy up at Grammy’s. We rode out to his school, and I reminded him that it was ok if he didn’t see all of his friends after the concert (which has been a big source of anxiety and mini-meltdowns in the parking lot after events like this all year). He was anxious about it, but at least we were talking about it. When we got to the school, there were curiously no parking spots, so we parked a ways away, and headed toward the gym. As we got closer, I could hear drums, and I knew we were in trouble. Sure enough, we walked in, and his band was already playing. We waited for the song to be over, and I tried to get him set up behind the band, in the percussion section, quickly so that he could play along with at least the next song. He wasn’t having it, and knocked his binder to the floor. He was angry and feeling left out, and rightfully so. “I missed it! They played without me!” I told him I must have read the flyer wrong, and asked if he wanted to leave.

After the performance, the principal released the 5th grade families to tour the building on their own, and The Boy just lost it. He began walking quickly, shoving people out of his way, giving me the finger, saying he was going to throw his tuba at his band director and cut off his head. I could do nothing but follow and apologize to the people he was shoving out of the way. Apparently, at one point I got too close, because he grabbed me by the neck and shoved me against some bleachers, knocking my glasses off. I picked them up and continued after him. After much walking around the school, and a few hugs from band friends he saw, we headed back to the gym, where he did pick up his tuba and threw it across the gym floor towards his teacher, who was speaking with a woman at the time, and it hit her in the ankles. Again I apologized, and attempted to get The Boy to sit. He did, and the band director approached, hoping to assist me in calming him down. At this point, he revealed that it was, indeed, his fault. That the time had changed and he had announced it in class, but failed to let me know.

The Boy was still agitated, and got up to leave the gym again. But this time, it was for the parking lot. He was calming, and we were heading to the car. I had called The Man at some point for help, and he was on his way, although I’m not sure what kind of help I was looking for. I began to cry. The Boy asked why, and I said, “Because I hate to see you this way.”

We ended up leaving his tuba and music there – let them deal with it for now, and headed home where it took about an hour for The Boy to calm down. By then, he was ready for pizza, and even played my trumpet a bit.

This didn’t have to happen. I’ve told school personnel, including the band director for multiple years that The Boy cannot reiterate to me what is said at school. Apparently saying it ad infinitum is not sufficient. But the band director learned from this. He apologized three times that night (and not once did I say it was “ok”), and called on Friday to express his apology again. I can forgive a young teacher who knows he messed up big time, if it looks like he learned from it. I cannot forgive the principal and assistant principal who initiated the change, made no accommodation for affected students (how many robocalls do I get from the school per week, and this wasn’t on any of them?), and didn’t lift a finger to do a thing on Thursday night. In any school, the buck stops with the principal, and this woman and I are like oil and water. She is not my friend, nor is she a friend to any special needs student. And she quite likely will be the subject of a letter to the Superintendent before the end of the year.

In any case, we are lucky that we do not experience these catastrophic meltdowns on a more frequent basis. The last time something like this happened, The Boy was about 10. The problem is, he is now almost 15 and bigger than me, and can apparently remove me as an obstacle (or at least attempt to). This scared The Man, but not me. It just is.

But it is a helpless feeling, and it is something that requires recovery.

vintage-music-closed-shop

 

Behavior Analysis for Dummies

I opened yesterday’s post with a series of oft-asked questions of parents of kiddos on the spectrum, the biggest of which I suspect is “Why in the hell is he doing that?”

There’s a lot of guilt one feels as a parent to a kiddo on the spectrum.  After the meltdown, or public incident, or whatever the negative behavior that just occurred was, we often think, “Was that my fault?  Did I do something wrong that caused that?” While feelings of guilt are rarely productive (although feelings are feelings and we can’t control them, really), this questions is a good starting point for a little behavior analysis.

You see, most autism parents already do this naturally, but may not know it had a name.

observation.jpgWhen your kiddo starts to have a problem at school, the IEP team may suggest a functional behavior assessment.  This is where someone (probably with a lot of credentials) will come in to observe your child over several days, and collect data about his/her schedule and routines, and more specifically, exactly what happens before the negative behavior occurs.  The reason they do this is to figure out the “trigger” for the negative behavior, so that we can better understand what the child is attempting to communicate through the negative behavior, and then plan strategies to avoid or minimize the trigger so that the negative behavior decreases, or plan strategies for how the kiddo can cope with a trigger that cannot be reduced or avoided.

Let’s say I get a phone call that The Boy is repeatedly attempting to escape from science class (yep, this happened in real life).  A functional behavior assessment would serve to identify if this is occurring at a consistent time, and what the cause might be – is it another child with lots of body spray sitting next to him? Is it the brightness or noise of the projector that is turned on next to his seat at the beginning of class each day?  Does he have to pee?  Does he have anxiety about being late to his next class?  Does he feel like he is missing something important elsewhere in the building? Is he frustrated because he doesn’t understand the material? Is there too much handwriting so he is falling behind?  Through observation, they can determine what the constant variable is whenever he escapes, and then come up with a plan (move the projector, move his seat, allow him to use a study buddy or word processor to take notes, have a talk with the teacher of his next class about being welcoming and not marking him late, or allow him to use the restroom when he needs to, rather than at passing time).  Strategies often include the use of motivators and rewards, as well, to give your kiddo positive reinforcement to keep up the good work. For instance, if The Boy uses the strategy put in place, and stopped escaping from science, he could earn some extra iPad time in social skills class.

You see, we autism parents often do the same thing at home.  It’s how I know to expect some hyperactivity after we have Goldfish, especially the multicolored kind – I discovered that through careful observation of my own. The triggers for negative behavior I mentioned yesterday came from careful observation of my own, as well.

So if you are ever ready to throw your hands up and scream “WHY??”, take a deep breath, grab a notebook, and start observing.  You already do this fancy thing called Behavior Analysis, and no one knows your kid better than you. You are no “dummy”.  It may take days, weeks, or months, but you’ll get to the bottom of it. You got this. 😉