5 Going in 15

In the past week I have heard phrases from my 5 year old I thought I had at least another decade before we had to deal with. If I hear ‘it’s not fair’ one more time I can’t guarantee that I will respond in an adult fashion: There is a good chance I will break into song with “I think you’re really mean”

Childish? Yes? Inappropriate? Yes? Satisfying? SOOOOO yes.

At the moment I’m keeping my inner child in check with a steady diet of cola and the promise of punching virtual people later (side note: VR headsets are therapeutic as they offer a form of escapism that is unrivaled).

She has also discovered that her clothing has pockets, and has taken to slouching around the house hands in pockets, shoulders rounded, huffing like an asthmatic in a marathon when told to come to dinner or tidy her toys.

I oscillate between exasperation and amusement at her antics. I want to know how I sent a 5 year old to school and picked a 15 year old up later in the day. Anyone know? 

Have you tried therapy?

People seem to think that therapy is some sort of panacea that will cure all that ails you. It sounds so simple: find a counselor (how is glossed over); tell them your problems (implies you know the root cause of your issues rather than just being depressed/stressed/anxious); and they will wave a magic wand and fix it. Simple, right? 

I’m on my 6th therapist. The Fae father, his 3rd and that’s just this year. I am beginning to think we are untreatable. The first session is always the same; it starts with sitting down and explaining the problem. Right: so we talk through our daughter’s needs; our lack of time; our stress and exhaustion. We really need someone to help us figure out how to de-stress and get more time to ourselves.

They nod thoughtfully and tell us that we seem stressed and if we were less stressed things really would be easier for us. I try not to roll my eyes at this. It is at this point that 4 of 9 therapists have told us basically “good luck with that” and said they can’t help. 1 didn’t even get that far, just read our file, laughed and said NOOOOO. To be fair, one that saw both the fae father and myself actually made it through two whole sessions before saying we seemed to already have everything as figured-out as was possible, and wished us all the best. 

Out of the remaining: one quit; one told me she can’t do any more unless I’m prepared to work with other people; and two told me I needed more sleep (well I’m glad someone told me that, I never worked that out myself).

Oh, this list is not including mister “I can’t help you when you’re being this logical”. 

So, in answer to “Have you tried therapy?” Yeah, we tried, but apparently we have the wrong sort of problems.

Onto the next option, I guess: Who do we talk to to get the good drugs?

Birthday Blues

So, right now, I’m not sure when I last updated. For the last two weeks, we have been rather stressed. Actually, that’s not quite true: we have been rather stressed since the birth of our daughter, and that has been ratcheted up to 11 since the Christmas break.

For the past two weeks in particular though, wow: I haven’t felt this worked up in years. It was our daughter’s birthday. She turned 5. We wanted to celebrate so we booked her a party room at a local soft play centre.

The first blow came in the form of a present for her from my parents and brother, whom I can only assume I have unknowingly offended. I can think of no other reason why they would club together and buy my non-verbal, autistic, sensory seeking child a guitar.

I mean really?

really?! 

In terms of appropriate presents, this is up there with glitter bombs and drum kits. I have no idea what thought process was going on here, other than maybe that because my brother is highly proficient at playing guitar and my daughter likes listening to it she may like one. She also likes watching ‘clickspring’ on YouTube, particularly the series when he makes a skeleton clock from sheet metal – but I’m not going to advocate buying her a lathe and etching machines. 

For the past several days, she has been intermittently dragging the sodding guitar out, smacking the strings in a tuneless din, then crashing it into the nearest piece of furniture. She will then burst into tears when told to be careful.

They also got her a book on how to learn how to play… she can’t speak and they are under the impression she can read…. Words fail me. 

Still, all that aside, we plough on and send out invites to all her friends with an RSVP. Sidenote: people, RSVP stands for Répondez S’il Vous Plaît: this means please respond with “yes” OR “no”, NOT just tell me if you’re coming! It’s very frustrating trying to work out if non-responses mean no-shows.

Anyhow, I guessed at numbers (the number of responses plus one extra on assumption); ordered cupcakes on a whim from a baker who lives two streets away – that worked surprisingly well – and fret about the oncoming onslaught.

Things eased a bit with the arrival of her other grandparents, who instead of large noisy presents brought a highly-extravagant home-made chocolate birthday cake. And then the big day arrived, and I can’t recommend this way of holding kids parties enough: you take them to a large, enclosed environment where for 90 mins they run themselves ragged whilst adults chill out and drink coffee; then they are called into a side room where they sing happy birthday and are fed before being politely – but forcefully – told to leave at the end.

So you leave all the mess behind and swan off. Marvelous! I have no idea what I was worried about. In a few days, hopefully the last of the stress will unwind and I will be able to sleep again. At that point I may contact my relatives and enquire about the guitar: you never know, I may have lost the urge to insert it in someone by then.

The correlation between genius and common sense.

This is going to take some justification, so please stick with me. From my observations, and I accept that I have done no scientific study on this (but I’m beginning to think that I should!) I think that there is an inverse correlation between intelligence and common sense. I have seen evidence of this both as a teacher, and in my own family. I have several examples that I shall present in evidence of my case. 

My brother is undoubtedly a genius – really, our parents had him tested – he was (I’m not sure if he maintains it) a member of MENSA, and has an exceptionally long list of academic achievements. None of this stopped him testing the temperature of water in a kettle by pouring it over his hand, nor from shaking a bottle of ketchup after he’d removed the lid. An incident that went down in infamy, as we happened to be in a hotel dining room at the time. 

Fast forward a number of years, and he had graduated with degrees in maths & physics and a PHD in physics, and was doing a postdoc at Oxford. He and his wife (who has a PHD in electrical engineering, and also falls in the genius category) had a microwave that ‘suddenly stopped working’. He came in ranting about testing the circuitry, wires and various other parts – he had taken it apart to base pieces. I listened with half an ear whilst reading Harry Potter and casually asked “Did you check the fuse?”. The silence was resounding, broken by him stomping off. He decided it was his wife’s fault. I haven’t let them live it down.

I have taught a number of top sets in my long and arduous career at the chalkface. Being in a top set for Science, and more specifically top set triple science (which in most schools these days is an option and will fill at least a third of your timetable with science lessons) requires a significant level of dedication. I once asked a triple class to turn to a page and familiarize themselves with the content while I took the register. A little voice piped up “Do you want us to read it, Miss?” Rolling my eyes in exasperation, my sarcastic reply was “No I want you to stare at the pictures!”. I finished registration and looked up to see them all dutifully not blinking at the diagrams….

Strangely, a member of the same class came back to the Science department later in the week in a fluster. He was lost, he had no idea where he was supposed to be… and it turned out he had got the day wrong. Which was why he couldn’t find the gifted and talented meeting he was looking for.

I could go on, but the point of this post: my daughter is in a special school, and now on the gifted and talented pathway (things I thought mutually exclusive). She is exceptionally good with numbers and pattern recognition, but still hasn’t worked out that if you spin around on a waxed hardwood bench in a polyester onesie (see the Exciting Adventures of SuperRainbow) you are going to fall off at speed.

It does polish the bench nicely though.

Do it with Mirrors

I have, for the past few years, joined the lament of parents the world over of trying to persuade my child that they need to brush their teeth. This argument breaks down into 4 main parts: that she doesn’t need a separate toothbrush for her ‘back teeth’ and ‘front teeth’; that she doesn’t need me to caterwaul “Baby Shark” whilst she attempts to undertake the task; just eating the toothpaste is not only not good enough but ill-advised; and, finally, necking a glass of water straight after waving the brush in your mouth for 2 seconds is not the same thing. 

It is surprising, the number of everyday objects that find novel uses when trying to bring up a neuro-divergent child. Up until recently, I alway thought that a shaving mirror was predominately used for shaving. I have been informed that I am mistaken in this assumption: What it seems is its main use is to allow small children to inspect their gnashers to make sure they are clean. The name ‘shaving mirror’ is misleading, it is actually a ‘dental inspection mirror’. 

So it is with great joy I present to you our new strategy for getting fae to brush their teeth: try giving them a shaving mirror – ours spends a lot of time staring at her reflection (I think she was a budgie in a previous life) and will rigorously study each of her teeth to make sure they are clean before relinquishing her brush in the evening. She has conceded that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t just being a pedant, and there really was a reason to scrub these little bony protrusions. 

Of course this only works if your fae (like ours) has an obsession with things being clean. 

Disclaimer; if your fae still thinks they’re a budgie don’t give them the mirror – they’ll headbutt it.

Dreading the Weekend

In a weird twist on the standard I have noticed that, since my fae started schoo,l I have started to dread weekends. I am wondering if I am the only fae parent out there who finds this? 

My daughter loves her school; she loves being challenged both mentally and physically; and her school caters to her needs wonderfully. This unfortunately means that come the weekend she gets very disappointed that she is not going. Then we have to brave all five stages of grief over the 48 hour period before Monday rolls around again. 

  1. Denial – she will point blank refuse to admit she is not going to school. This takes the form of moving the day marker on the calender to ‘Monday’ repeatedly and pointing at it; putting her school uniform on; and all out refusing to hear anything that doesn’t fit with her model of the world. 
  2. Anger – this stage lasts the longest and is normally the most draining. She will scream, rage and throw things. She will also refuse to do anything you ask. Everything is ‘yucky’ and I mean everything: her hair; clothes; food; her favorite TV shows or toys… all is ‘yucky’. She will just scream and throw herself on the floor. The only winning strategy is to walk away. Have you ever walked away from your own child when they are obviously in distress? Can you tell me how you managed it because I can’t do it. 
  3. Bargaining – offers of hugs, sweets, anything will be made to coerce you to take her where she wants to go. She will repeatedly ask to see if she has been successful. It’s heartbreaking and there is nothing you can do to make this better.
  4. Depression – cuddles any one? Shame this is accompanied by a complete lack of appetite and disrupted sleep..
  5. Acceptance – at this point we may be able to successfully undertake a family outing that is actually enjoyable. Possibly. Sometimes it works, sometimes it falls flat on its face.

So by the time Sunday night comes round we are all looking forward to a break that comes with Monday.

And to think there was a time I used to look forward to the weekend..

The exciting adventures of Super-Rainbow

This winter we experienced some of the coldest we have seen, with the lowest we saw being -8C. It seems that this was finally enough to make our fae concede that there is a place in the world for jumpers. Up to this point in her life she point blank refused to wear more than one layer, and no thicker than a T-Shirt. 

This winter she has finally accepted that being cold is not fun, and whilst wrapping up in a blanket does work, it makes playing rather cumbersome. So, she accepted wearing sweaters under certain conditions 1. It must be cotton and 2. It must have a rainbow on the front. This presented us with a couple of problems: 1. She only had jumpers with paw patrol on them and 2. They were mostly a polycotton blend. 

With the assistance of her grandparents (for which I will be eternally grateful) acceptable apparel was acquired, and she happily took to wearing them. Constantly. Including to sleep in. Causing me to despair as she is – as I believe all small children are – a dirt magnet. She has two “acceptable” jumpers. Each lasts (if we’re lucky) a day before needing to be washed to prevent spontaneous evolution.

Out of desperation, I turned to an online retailer (originally a book supplier but now a repository of anything, and named after a long South American river) and found a unicorn onesie, 100% polyester and looked like a leprechaun vomited skittles over it. It met none of her stringent criteria. Needless to say, she loved it and with a cry of “SuperRainbow!” a hero* was born.

She won’t voluntarily take the sodding thing off, and will merrily wear it to social gatherings: admittedly this has the benefit of always being able to find her in a crowd; and the cooing from her admirers is really something to hear. The moment she comes home from school, she insists on putting it on over her clothing. She would wear it to bed given half a chance, but as she wears it to dinner, it is always well fed by that point and I refuse to let her. It gets smuggled away whilst she is distracted by her bath toys.

The fae father has found her a 100% cotton, equally lurid, onesie that also looks like it’s had an unfortunate accident in a paint factory, which she can wear to bed and does meet her criteria for clothing, so undoubtedly will be rejected out of hand. 

So the moral of the story – when you find something your child will wear, buy at least two before they go out of stock – your washing machine will thank you. And be prepared, if you allow your Fae to wear a onesie, they will transform into a superhero (whether they know what one is or not)

*I have been informed that SuperRainbow can run very fast, spin in circles and give big hugs – I am unsure how these superpowers vary from the behaviour of our standard fae. But the hugs are very warm.

Tis the season of meltdowns and poor sleep

I’m not a Grinch: I don’t hate Christmas – normally. This year, however, it made me want to cry. Our fae thrives on routine and has settled into her new school so well that you’d think she’d been there years rather than weeks. Another six months and she’ll probably be running it.

The downside of this is that, when everything stopped for the winter break, all her carefully crafted and maintained schedules just.. stopped. As far as I can tell (because let’s face it, she can’t tell me even if she wanted to) this sudden and (from her perspective) unexpected cessation of normal services left her feeling utterly adrift. Indeed, even the weeklong planner we use to map out her week in advance just.. stopped working: All the usual markers for her school, childminder etc. just suddenly went away for the holiday.

Being 4 years old and neurotic-divergent, she dealt with this the only way she could – with repeated defiance, meltdowns, and disrupted sleep. It was hell. She loved her presents, and played with them all religiously, but they couldn’t make up for the disruption – after all, they were part of it! She also spent the first week on an apparent hunger strike: even on Christmas Day itself, she ate a grand total of a few mouthfuls of porridge and half a slice of toast.

So all the hours I spent making cookies, the roast dinner, and chocolate cake all felt a bit of a waste of time, seeing as she didn’t eat it and her father doesn’t really enjoy it. The looming return of our routine and, frankly, our lives – which felt for the entire holiday season like they were on hold, leaving us in some sort of purgatory – was met with a relief I haven’t felt since Lockdown lifted.

And it was a relief for her, too – she was so overjoyed to be taken back to school she had to jump up and down for a while before she could calm down enough to go in; and she’s not only resumed eating, but has been eating multiple large, nutritious meals every day! Such a contrast!

With her recent return to school, I had time to reflect on the past year and roll my eyes at the optimistic resolutions I made in the previous years (sadly they have always been the same, and never achieved). So, I have thought hard and decided this year I will break with the tradition of wishing to be thinner and healthier. Nor will I take up drinking heavily just so I can give it up next year – no matter how tempting it may be. 

So it is with great trepidation that I will share with you some of my new year’s resolutions; 

  1. I am not going to have anxiety attacks over what my fae is eating so long as she IS eating. 
  2. I will spend some time on things that I want to do. 
  3. I will make the fae father do the same. 
  4. I will stop holding myself to an impossible standard. 
  5. I will find some way of achieving 1-4… no, I will, stop laughing. 

Interpreting reports – what your fae’s teacher really means

We got the first ever written school report for our daughter this week. It reminded me of (mainly because it was full of) all the diplomatic phrases that teachers use to disguise what they really mean. It also made my husband and I laugh as we went through and translated it. So to help you do the same here is a glossary of some of the common phrases you might encounter – and what they really mean.

Follows their own agenda – won’t do as they are told. 

Knows their own mind – won’t do what they’re told; will actively do the opposite.

Is happy to point out errors or inconsistencies – thinks the teacher is an idiot. 

Wants to help peers and will ‘mother hen’ them – thinks other children are incapable and teachers are unable to care for them. 

Is happy to help organise and lead peer activities – will play with others providing they do as they’re told. 

Is keen to participate- won’t let others have a turn.

Has excellent attendance – do you have to send them every day?! Seriously?!

Loves to be outdoors –  Stop feeding them sugar.

Can often be found on the trikes/ climbing frame / outdoor equipment – We mean it about the sugar.

Won’t eat the school lunch – your child has sensory issues or a well developed sense of self-preservation. 

Is happy to arrive and wants to come in – thinks the place would fall down without them.

Is working on listening skills – see ‘follows on agenda’.

Has a keen sense of exploration – has no sense of danger and finds increasingly novel ways to place themselves in harm’s way.

Shows strong leadership abilities – Finds increasingly novel ways to place others in harms way.

Is developing a strong sense of independence – does not want to be watched placing themselves or others in harm’s way.

Has a keen scientific approach – on discovering an action may place them in harm’s way, instead of ceasing said action they will try it again to make sure it happens every time. They will then invite others to try the action. 

Enjoys sensory play – likes making a mess and/or noise.

Can be distressed if unable to clean up immediately – doesn’t like others making a mess and / or noise.

Take ownership of belongings such as bag coat etc – don’t touch their stuff.

It’s like s/he has been here forever – thinks they own the place.

Has excellent gross motor skills – can’t keep still and runs off at the slightest provocation.

Slowly developing patience with turn taking – sees others as NPCs designed to get in their way.

If anyone has any other feel free to add to the comment section

Continuous progress

Sometimes, it’s not easy to see progress day-to-day.

This weekend, our Fae’s grandparents came to visit:a relatively infrequent occurrence due to distance. As such, it really brought home just how much our daughter had actually improved since their last visit (a few months ago, before she began school). Back then, she was just beginning to speak, but had few words, and those she did utter were often only really understandable to myself and her father. (Although I think the excited yell of “granma!” as they arrived made the whole trip worthwhile on its own!)

On this visit, however, she was understandable to them, and would even respond to questions (especially “would you like some of the cake grandma made you?”, would you believe?) She would give instructions, address them both by name, and partake in conversations – some of which admittedly only made sense to herself – in a way that was deeply reassuring after all the worries we had at one point when it wasn’t clear she would ever actually speak.

And although we knew her speech had come on, and she was much more interactive, it only really hit us just how much progress she’d made when we saw her with her grandparents. Because the progress was so gradual, we hadn’t really registered it as it happened. It’s like watching a child grow: you don’t notice from one moment to the other, but then one day you will notice your tiny baby has been replaced by the long-legged child that is climbing halfway up the stairs via the bannister, and wonder where the baby went. 

Today, we went to see our fae in her first school I play. I admit, I cooed when she tottered onto stage in her ballerina’s costume. Our coos of delight soon turned into howls of absolute, uncontrolled laughter: She was part of a “silent choir” using sign language to accompany the words of a song, and spent most of the first act busily trying to ‘encourage’ the child next to her to sign along with “Santa Claus is coming to town”. This she did by signing emphatically at him; and, when that failed, batting him with her hand. I felt for the poor boy, but I am assured they are friends and typically interact in this way. (I feel the teachers may have taken the view that, if they can’t ‘encourage’ the kids this way directly, then using her as a proxy is as good a method as any.) For her second act, they played to her strengths: they told her to stay in the ballerina’s outfit and twirl on the spot. That was it: honestly, she can, and will, spin around all day,.

It struck me just how grown-up my daughter looks: she seems more like “almost 11” than “4 going on 5”. She wore the ballerina costume like she was born to it. She tries to care for others, in her own way, and sees the best in her peers. Her smile lights up the room.

So, despite the stress and heartache that it causes us to keep her in good spirits, it’s worth it. It’s worth every therapist appointment and bill, and every antidepressant I have been prescribed and failed to remember to take (Seriously, who remembers to take meds every day? How do you do it? I tried the “give your cat a treat at the same time” thing, but I forgot the treats as well, and the ones I got my cat didn’t like. Then when I did remember and have treats she did like, she wouldn’t come down because there was a chance of running into my daughter….)

I was told today that my daughter was a credit to myself and my husband, and.. well, yes she IS, but more importantly: she is a credit to herself, and that’s all we can ask, really.