The Po Show

22

Ross and I have been together for 22 years today. It's the anniversary we celebrated before we got married, and though that anniversary superseded this one, but we still think of it as our anniversary as well. I call it the anniversary of our being a couple, but that's really just a euphemism for the anniversary of our having sex for the first time.

This morning I had a funny thought of us getting matching T-shirts that said, "Po and Ro: Doin' It Since 1985." But then, we're really not the matching T-shirt type.

Our anniversaries of the past few years all seemed fraught with meaning to me. Three years ago, it was our Parity Day, since we'd been together for 19 years and we were 19 years old when we hooked up, so we had been together for half of our lives. Two years ago, we had been together for 20 years. Our wedding anniversary last year marked 18 years, so I said that if our marriage had been a person, it would have been an adult. Also last year, I said that if our relationship had been a person, it would have been old enough to gamble and drink. Next year will be our 20th wedding anniversary, and I want to go to Amsterdam.

But I can't think of anything clever to say about 22. Now the years just pile on without metaphor, and that's perfectly okay. It's enough that by some cosmic miracle, we have beaten so many odds and stayed together long past the statistical average. It has much, much more to do with his goodness than mine, but we've both worked very hard. It helps that we like each other a lot, and enjoy almost all the same things. Almost all of our time together is devoted to family time, to thinking about the kids, but we do have the couple of hours after they go to bed each night, to be just us.

He's still the funniest person I know, the kindest person I know (other than my mother, but she's out of everybody's league), and I am blessed beyond words, in a non-theistic sense, that he sees fit to continue loving me.

Happy Anniversary, Ro.

My Comment Response :)

I started a comment response to TC's comment to the entry below, and it just got way too long to be a comment :).

Regarding the meds, I've wondered whether his being on Ritalin and Zoloft contributed to his Spring Breakdown. They were both prescribed by the Bad Psychiatrist, and the Good Psychiatrist said he should not have been on either. He was on ramped up dosages of both by the end, and was on for a total of 6 months of Ritalin and 5 months of Zoloft. I pulled the Ritalin after he hit the girls in gym and got suspended back in March, and the Good Psychiatrist told me to stop the Zoloft after she made her assessment. Anyway, they were definitely the wrong drugs for him, and may have been a factor in the physical aggression, since he had not hit a kid since the very beginning of first grade. I felt like such an idiot once I thought the whole thing through. It just goes to show how trapped we get by lure of insurance coverage, which kept us going to the Bad Psychiatrist, whom I'd had reservations about from the first visit (after she unceremoniously told me that she didn't think Matthew had Asperger's, despite a lengthy report from one of the most world-renowned experts in Asperger's saying he did. The Bad Psychiatrist's response to that was "Well, I don't put much stock in the evaluations of psychologists." Ack), since she was covered by our insurance and was the ONLY child psychiatrist around here who was taking new patients and was in our plan.

I honestly cannot tell you whether he's been better on Seroquel or not. He's been on drug for 6 months now, but up to full therapeutic dosage for less than 3 months. The Good Psychiatrist (the one who charges $250 a session) feels that we haven't maxed out on the drug yet. But I don't think it's made a negative impact (other than contributing to him gaining 11 pounds this summer!). He's certainly no MORE agitated, irritable, prone to lashing out. He did stop chewing on everything he could get his hands on, but he did start stimming more (he walks around in circles even more now, clapping his hands and jumping up and down. He was doing it non-stop on the playground at recess when I arrived for pick-up the first week of school and I thought, "Great, now the kids are going to think he's even more of a freak."

But I digress. And thanks.

Update

Thank you all, so very much, for the hugs and good wishes and hopes for understanding.

So I actually got more information from Matthew than he usually gives, though that information is still very confused and confusing. He said that what set him off in gym was that they were choosing gym partners by number (each child received a number and was paired with the child who received the same number). He had number 4, but "for some reason" he was not paired with the other boy who had number 4. Another child got paired with that child, and Matthew was going to be assigned a different partner. He got very upset, because he was supposed to be with the other kid who had number 4. So he went and pushed the boy who was "taking" his partner.

And then he doesn't remember what happened after that. He really doesn't. I believe I can tell when he's avoiding something or refusing to discuss something (he'll generally say, "I don't know" or "I don't remember"), but in this case I can see in his face that he genuinely does not remember hitting the gym teacher. The next thing he remembers is her telling him that he hit her, and being taken down to the office.

He's had brain scans, and he has no seizure activity. I think what's going on here is a little PTSD-like blankness. He was just utterly freaked out by not understanding what was going on, by an unexpected occurrence, by "the rules" not being followed. Then he escalated up past the losing it stage and his forebrain took a vacation. I don't know, and there's really no way of knowing.

It creates a problem (not that there wasn't already enough problems) in dealing with the aftermath. Part of what we were supposed to do yesterday during his suspension day was write an apology to the gym teacher (this was my pronouncement, not the school's). But as we tried, I realized that it's really hard to write someone an apology when you don't think you did the thing you're supposed to apologize for. I tried to put it into terms of "Even if you accidentally do something, and didn't mean to, you still have to say you're sorry." But if you REALLY believe that you DID NOT do that thing, accidentally or otherwise, it's really hard to apologize.

I spoke to the school psychologist (who is really great and Matthew truly believes that she cares about him and wants to help him). She's been in contact with the gym teacher, but hasn't seen her personally because she only comes in on the days she teaches gym (2 days per 6 school day cycle, so she wouldn't be back at school till this Friday). The gym teacher said that Matthew had gotten upset that he wasn't paired with the kid who'd gotten the same number. The reason that the other kid was paired with someone else was that he didn't want to be paired with Matthew. She thought that Matthew picked up on the fact that the other kid didn't want to be with him, and that was what made him upset.

I sort of laughed and said, "Well, that's what OTHER kids would get upset about." I actually had guessed that that had been the reason that the number 4 kid had gotten another partner, because I guessed that Matthew has alienated most of the kids in his grade since last spring. But of course Matthew didn't catch that at all, didn't even mention it, totally didn't understand why the rules of who was partnered with whom were not being followed. And that was what set him off. Just another glaring example of my poor child's inability to navigate the world. (BTW, the reason I'm sure that he never realized that the number 4 kid didn't want to be his partner was that he went and pushed the OTHER kid who was "taking" his partner. If he'd realized the number 4 kid didn't want to be with him, he'd have pushed HIM.)

So the school psychologist is setting up a behavioral intervention for all specials, with extra emphasis on gym. She's going to come into gym and observe what's going on, and try and identify the potential triggers, so we can figure out how best to modify his activities.

We'll see how that goes. On Friday I cried in the principal's office and said, "I just don't know if he can go to a regular school." I still wonder if that will prove to be the case. Which would be a real shame, since he's been trying very hard in class. They started his behavioral chart last week and on Wed. and Thurs. he had what he calls a "perfect day," in which he gets the maximum number of checks in all categories. I pulled out his communication notebook after we got home on Friday, and saw that up till gym, the last activity of the day, he'd been having another "perfect day." That made me want to cry again.

Oh, and on top of all of this, I got sick on Friday. Late in the morning I was feeling warm and sweaty, and like a dork all I thought was, "Oh, it must be getting warm outside." In the early afternoon I stood up from my desk and got really dizzy, so I went and took my temperature. It was almost 100. Duh, I guess I'm sick. That definitely didn't help my ability to deal with what I encountered at school pick-up.

Ross kept taking the kids out during the weekend so I could rest, but I just couldn't. I'd lie down and start thinking about Matthew and get all overwrought again. I haven't slept much; I keep getting up to read because I can't stand lying awake in the dark. I've been staying on the couch because I can't stand listening to Ross sleep (even when he's not snoring) while I can't.

Tonight is Open House for Matthew's class (Tessa's was last week and I sent Ross). We'll both go, and a friend is coming to watch the kids. Part of me doesn't want to go, doesn't want to see the teachers and other parents, who are only concerned with curriculum and field trips and other normal school stuff. I'm going to try and see if we can keep my child in the school at all.

I Just Really Can't Take This Anymore

Matthew hit the gym teacher today. I don't have all the details yet. She had to go to the nurse. It was at the very end of the day so the school psychologist hadn't gotten to talk to her yet.

He does not remember hitting her. Sincerely, he does not.

He is suspended from school on Monday.

I think I need to go to sleep and not wake up for a few years.

Put Yer Money Where Yer Mouth Is

So I spout off about being pissed off about the state of the union, and of the world, but every now and then I get reminded that there are people out there who are actually trying to do something about it. We roll our eyes at groups that tell us to email the State Department, and to send your congressperson a picture of a soldier from your town who was killed in Iraq, but hey, these people are actually laying down their time and their money and their hearts.

And one of these groups will get "the mother of all matching funds" from the Ploughshares Fund, based on how which group can raise the most in donations today. So vote with your wallet.

http://www.peaceprimary.org/

I finally did.

Happy ADHD Awareness Day!

Geez, there's a day for everything now. I doubt this is one of the officially sanctioned by Congress "Special Days." Sounds like something cooked up by the drug companies.

But reading that it was ADHD Day made me realize that a year ago, Matthew was ramping up onto higher dosages of Ritalin, and I thought it was helping, and he actually decided that he could read. He went from thinking he couldn't read to reading at grade level in 2 weeks. And I thought, wow, a Ritalin success story!!

But then he needed Zoloft on top of the Ritalin because his anxiety also ramped up. And then we had the February Massacre, and the horror that was March, and our new and so obviously superior psychiatrist said that he should never have been on Ritalin. Because, like, he doesn't have ADHD. And the Zoloft was the worst possible thing for him, since he needed LESS serotonin and dopamine, not more, which is why he's on Seroquel now.

I've read for years about the dangers of people slapping a diagnosis of ADHD on kids and filling them up with Ritalin, but it actually caught me by surprise when it happened to my own kid. So much for 8 years of working in psychopharmacology.

But for those who need more awareness raised regarding their ADHD, better understanding of what they experience and how they suffer, I wish there was more than one "Special Day." Just as I wish "Autism Awareness Month" was every month, so that people could learn that autistic doesn't always mean Rain Man.

Awareness, and understanding, each and every day. Now that would be cool.

Things are Funny on Two Vodka Martinis

My darling husband is on the phone right now, at 10:40PM, trying to upgrade us to Io Digital Cable Gold, which will give us HBO, since then we can watch the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm tomorrow, and they keep transferring him to other people who keep trying to help him, and no one knows what's going on, and he's being SO POLITE, that it's cracking me up.

But the fact that I just had 2 vodka martinis may have something to do with my mirth. That and trying to cover up how I just cried over watching an episode of AMC's Mad Men. The main female character just went through this whole deal in which she tried to go back to work and re-establish a life for herself and it didn't work out. And I cried because WHAT is the difference between her and me, other than 37 years and I have a master's degree, and she knows how to shoot a bb gun.

But we have 30 days free of HBO on Demand, I was just informed, so what could be better?

Note to Self

It's not a good idea to drink two big honking glasses of wine before bed. Just because you had a really bad day. Because you might end up weeping uncontrollably when you go to bed, and you might wake up at 3:20 in the morning and not be able to go back to sleep.

Sigh, could someone else, besides me, take Matthew to the dentist next time, so I don't have to deal with the screeching and screaming and flailing and him trying to jump out of the chair? Could someone else please call my insurance company and ask them why they denied my claim for Matthew's last psychiatrist visit, when had they applied the amounts of all his previous visits to our deductible without comment? Maybe they could tell you why (well over $2000 later and just over the deductible) they are deciding now that there is an "inconsistency" between his diagnosis and the procedure. And could you please ask if this means they would deny the claim for the $250 visit he had yesterday, and the one he's scheduled for in 3 weeks?

Thank you.

Today

My husband was in Washington, DC today. He flew back this evening. Thus, he was in both DC and NYC on Sept. 11.

I'm glad he's home, because I couldn't shake the feeling of unease about his being in both cities on this day. If something bad was going to happen in a really ironic way, this would be the perfectly symbolic day for it.

I've been feeling vaguely angry at reading people's comments about 9/11, as I am every year. I can't stand it when people talk about how it was the day "everything changed," "we lost our innocence," "we discovered the evil in the world." What happened that day was so gigantic, but I can't believe that anyone truly was innocent, failed to understand that there was evil in the world, prior to that day.

Tragedy is a daily occurrence in the world, on small scales and large. Slaughter takes place every single fucking day, somewhere in the world, casually and without comment. I am not trying to diminish the horror of 9/11, but can't I mourn the suffering, torture, and murder of non-Americans as readily as I do that of Americans?

Psychologically, the mind can only hold so much. I understand that. People can only grasp so much. They can understand a single day, murders that occurred in places that are familiar, much more readily than murder spread over months, years, decades, in places they may not have even heard of.

But those people are still dead, and it's happening right now, today, and it's going to keep on happening. Words fail me.

School Days

The first week of school is over! Luckily, it was only two days long, which is a nice way to ease back into the routine.

Yesterday went very well for both kids. Matthew said it went well, and it sounds like his teacher has done a lot to set up a good classroom environment. Matthew is sitting at the table closest to the door (nice, small, round tables, so no one is sitting RIGHT next to someone else), and there's only one other kid at his table (a sweet girl named Rachel, who was in his first grade class).

Tessa LOVED her class, said it was great. She was incredibly excited to go back again today. I saw her teacher at drop-off this morning and she said Tessa was so happy and smiley all day. Today Tessa told me that she's even set up plans for a playdate with the girl who sits next to her at her table (I did reiterate that I had to get a formal invitation from a parent first, and she said they were working it all out).

I talked to the school psychologist today and she said that she had talked to Matthew's teacher and he said that Matthew did very well yesterday. He was raising his hand, participating, talking to other kids, making better eye contact. That was great to hear.

And then at pick-up today and Matthew showed up in a huff. He said, "I'm mad about what happened today!" I asked what had happened and as usual he snapped, "I don't want to talk about it!" I told him, okay, we didn't have to talk about it now, but we would have to talk about it later. It's been a couple of hours and he still won't talk. I did get that it didn't happen at dismissal, but earlier in the day. There was no note in his planner. I didn't get an email. So I guess it wasn't too heinous.

But dang, it looks like he didn't even get through the first week, which was the second day, without incident. My stomach is hurting again.

The Last Day of Summer

Vacation, that is.

Here are my two children: one sighing heavily and wincing and saying, over and over, "I can't believe summer is over already." The other, cheerfully cheering, over and over, "School! School! School! I can't wait for school to start! I'm so excited school starts tomorrow!"

We had our teacher meet and greet today (after our traditional, final day of summer vacation, trip to Chuck E. Cheese). Tessa was thrilled to meet her new teacher, thrilled that three of her friends from last year's class are in her class this year. She happily looked around the classroom and merrily told everyone, "Bye! See you tomorrow!"

Matthew met his teacher, who seems absolutely awesome. He made sure Matthew was really listening to him, then said, "I'm here to help you. Anytime you start to feel uncomfortable, you just raise your hand and tell me, 'Mr. Fried, this is hard for me.' No one else has to hear about it; we can go outside. I don't want you to have another year like last year. This year is going to be much better." Wow, that was great, and Matthew actually seemed responsive.

So we left feeling good, or so I thought. Driving home, I felt tears well up in my eyes, because I am just so filled with apprehension about how Matthew will do. I have worked so hard to appear optimistic in front of him, to prepare him for going back and facing school again. I'm wiped.

Usually I so look forward to my kids going back to school (though I do feel guilty for being so glad that I won't have to be with them 24/7 for awhile; I hear other moms say, "Oh, I'm so sad that school is starting! I wish we had more time together!" and I feel like a freak for not feeling the same). But not this year. I would be glad if school didn't start for another week, another month, maybe never? Because I'm dreading what might come, I'm fearing anguish and suffering and the anxiety of never knowing when I'm going to come home to a message on the machine, when I'm going to get a call on my cell phone, asking me to come to school because Matthew is in the office after a major meltdown.

On the way home today, Tessa chanted, "I'm so excited for school to start!" Matthew hrumphed and huffed, "Well, I'm not!" He looked out the window and said again, "I can't believe summer is over already!"

Labor Day

I think of two things when I think of the word "labor:" giving birth and unions.

Our Labor Day had nothing to do with either. We had croissants at Claude's (my husband is so nice; he let me eat the last almond croissant they had), played in Washington Square park, walked to Chinatown and had pho, walked back through Soho. It is rather laborious to walk anywhere with my children, especially since they've had their tootsies ranging free in flip flops all summer and were NOT happy to have them confined in shoes again.

We came home, the kids played Mario Party 8 on the Wii with Ross, Matthew had a major meltdown then recovered, and I worked on preparing Matthew's old fall/winter clothes for ebay.

Yesterday we went to the Met Museum, which went very well considering the kids have a fairly low tolerance for art museums. Tessa actually got into the modern art section, and they both really like the Egyptian section and the armor. We stopped at the Cloisters on the way back. Saturday we went on a garden walk at a nice county park and went shopping for a new bike for Matthew. That afternoon/early evening Ross and I watched our beloved UCLA Bruins win their season opener.

All of this added up to a nice long holiday weekend, but I still don't know what it all has to do with labor. Why do we have Labor Day? Why do we celebrate the work that builds the nation by not working? Was it really all just constructed as an ideological challenge to May Day? I just don't get it.

For me, Labor Day has always been the last hurrah of summer, the day that marks the end of vacation and the beginning of the new school year. That's still true for my kids (they start school on Thursday), though these days it seems like most kids across the country start school in August. What's up with that? You can't even count on Labor Day signaling the end of summer vacation anymore!