K Follow-Up on SPED

I've posted a few times about K's academic progress this year. The good news: She's doing well, with appropriate help from our resourceful school. The bad news: She needs outside help TBD.

First, remember this entry, where I mentioned the strategies we would try with her? Regular homework routine, consistent place for doing it, use of sensory aids.

Especially this:

"I've taken to being in the room with K more while she works--not saying anything, just being there. "

Well, that's what's worked best. Discussing her ability to focus has become commonplace. Several times a week, I ask questions like, "Can you clean your room on your own or do you need me to help you focus?" The question has become so commonplace that there is no shame in it.

The SPED team at our school evaluated K, and we met with them two weeks ago along with my mother (retired elementary school teacher) and a friend who is a local SPED teacher. Here's what happened.

The gist of the evaluations is that K has made huge progress this year in reading. Therefore, she is generally able to keep up with class work as long as she has some simple accommodations. She shows no deficits in anything except, perhaps, attention: her teacher's chief observations are that K is hypervigilant and inconsistent in her performance. Our observations at home echo hers.

The accommodations: Teaching her in as many sensory modalities as possible; keeping her in small groups as much as possible (where there are fewer people for her hypervigilant self to worry about); allowing her to fidget and chew gum and stand up and so on, like I do at home.

An IEP (Individual Education Plan) is not deemed necessary at this time for K, but she will be re-evaluated next year--which will be 5th grade, her final year of  elementary school.  Our SPED friend is pleased with this result, and so are we. That said, we have been offered what's called a "504," which is a type of accommodation on standardized tests. In K's case, she'd be allowed to take the test in a small group or even alone, un-timed. When we asked K whether she would like to take tests this way, she literally jumped for joy. She said, "I always work better in small groups! I'm just built that way. Everybody's pencils are just SO LOUD."

Peter and I are proud of K for the huge jump in reading that she's shown this year.  We will tell the pediatrician about the team's suspicion of an attention disorder, but we don't plan to slap her on medication right away; we would like to try alternatives appropriate to someone with her history. Remember, our pediatrician has a speciality in Russian adoptees. We live in a suburb in southern New England which has a large population of Russian adoptees. We have access to a lot of information, and we will use it.

And how is M holding up? He is not doing as well as K did in 3rd grade. His teacher--the same teacher K had--is starting an evaluation process for him.

M's Current Self-Portrait

He's titled it, "I'm wondering about something." It looks just like him.

Note the backwards "9" in the date. But he did get the date right. Seeing as he still can't remember the meals of the day in order, I'd say this is a good sign.

While You Wait For Another Post Here....

....please have a look at this essay of mine in The Boston Globe, March 31 2013.  It is not about adoption. It is, rather, about how falling into a latrine in the Brazilian Amazon taught me something about my marriage. Yes, really. 

M and K are so proud of me. 

Please post in the comments section here if you have trouble with the link. 

Thanks for reading.  

Permission Granted, At Least For Now

Can you believe it? M and K are now 9 and 10 years old. We hit the 6-year mark for their adoption in December. Peter and I feel amazed that we can recall events from their early lives that even they can't remember. 

Before I post anything further, I want to mention that both children now understand what "internet" means and that I am writing about them here. They give me their permission to do so. So far, they haven't asked me to hold anything back, but I will when and if they do. 

For the record, K hopes I'll post some embarrassing photos of her brother. 

Air Traffic Control

M was awfully cranky this morning. He refused to eat breakfast, instead sitting stonily at his place and not speaking a word. When I asked him to make a choice--eat, get dressed, pack his backpack, or clean up the playroom--he didn't budge. K got so irritated that she asked permission to eat in the dining room. I could not figure out what was bothering him.

Today was the second day of school vacation. We're leaving on a short trip tomorrow, and I had both kids home yesterday. I scheduled them for daycare today to allow myself a few hours for squaring things away at home. By "daycare" I mean a day of games, swimming, dance, and art, with a buffet-style lunch and possibly a cooking class. I'd be glad to go myself. M is usually eager to go, so his obstinacy made no sense to me.

Most of the time, when one of the kids (or Peter) behaves in an atypically unpleasant way, I brush aside my annoyance, put my arm around them, and say tenderly, "Usually you are so sweet/helpful/other-pleasant-attribute. What's bothering you?" The offending person almost always feels supported enough to tell me. (I didn't make up this technique myself. It's from Faber and Mazlish.) Today, however, time was short and so was my temper: I'm a fighting a sinus infection and limping around with a back injury--yes, before a cross-country-ski vacation. I knew it would have taken quite a while for me to get him to talk to me. So I made a quick decision to get him moving by shouting, something I rarely do anymore.

"I have decided for you!" I yelled. "Go brush your teeth. NOW!" I growled the "NOW." M looked at me for the first time all morning, then ran out of the room to do so. K, grateful, carried her plate back into the kitchen and sat down. She knows that sometimes we have to yell at her brother to bring him back to earth. 

I did not let up on M for the next fifteen minutes; experience has taught me not to trust he'll stay on task. Every so often, I called out, "M--? What are you doing?" and he would respond, "Brushing my teeth!"or "Packing up my bathing suit!" I'd praise him for doing what he was supposed to, but I would not let up in my tone of voice. I wanted him to know that he had to keep going.

I felt badly for yelling at him, but, well, it was the only way I could have gotten us out on time. I've learned that occasionally I have to play the heavy, but I don't like to. I finished cleaning the kitchen. I felt remorse when I found a paper airplane on the floor with the words, "I'M SORRY" scrawled on it in yellow crayon. 

I immediately grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote on it, "I'M SORRY, TOO. I LOVE YOU EVEN WHEN I YELL." Then I folded it up and flew it down the stairs. 

The airplane made it down only three steps, but M saw it from where he was standing, putting on his coat. He picked up the airplane and tentatively opened it. Then he read it. A smile dawned on his face. When he looked up at me, I recognized my loving son again. I smiled back, recognizing myself too.

He came upstairs. I put my hand on his face and said, "Usually you so are so sweet. What was the problem at breakfast, honey?" 

He said softly, "I wanted more time to watch TV. I had only just started when you called us up for breakfast."

Of course that was the problem, I thought. They never get TV time, especially on weekdays. "I'm sorry it worked out that way today," I said. "I understand."

He kissed my hand. Then he took up my airplane and said, "Mom, no offense, but let me show you how to make a better one."

Mid-February Snapshot

Yes, it is. I haven't posted here in too long. So I'll quickly sketch what's going on right now.

1. I've got the kitchen timer set for 12 minutes. During these 12 minutes, M is taking a break from homework and K is working. Then they switch. Their preferred routine is to take their breaks together, but M lost a lot of time looking himself up in the school directory. :-)

2. One of the tortoises climbed out of the bowl of warm water I put her in. I plunked the other one in there, and she's staying put. I try to soak these tropical animals at least every other day in this cold, dry weather. They absorb water through the skin.

3. Peter left this morning before I woke up and will be home tonight at some time to be determined. He works late at the hospital one night per week and misses dinner most other nights. He also works one weekend per month. We don't see much of each other. When one of our babysitters has a weekend night free, we grab it for a date. We feel fortunate that the kids are now old enough to allow us, say, Saturday breakfast alone in the kitchen.

4. We have big snow drifts outside and a slushy driveway, but we survived the New England blizzard just fine. Uncharacteristically, we did NOT lose electricity. The only casualty was my writing time: Peter, being "essential personnel," had to spend most of the storm at the hospital, so I was on with the kids.

5. We are in the process of authorizing the school to do a special education assessment of K. It would be underway already, but Peter has lost the forms. (No, he hasn't yet been evaluated for any learning issues. Why do you ask?)

6. I'm working on my career in what little time I have. I now do ESL tutoring, but my real work continues to be writing. In fact, I had an acceptance of a short piece today at The Boston Globe. (I'll post a link here when it comes up.) I'm also still writing regularly for BostonMamas.com and working on an article for Adoptive Families magazine.

Okay. I've got to get dinner on the table. Tonight it's leftover pizza for the kids, fish for me, and whatever's left for Peter when he gets home.

School Report, Next Chapter

K's school experience is improving. Peter's hunch was right: K cares deeply about doing well in school. We're helping her and not shaming her, and she seems to be making progress.

Here's what we've done. I've included my previous entry's notes in italics.

Explain to K that doing well in school is a way she can take care of herself. My mom suggests: "You're so good at taking care of other people. It's time to take care of you, too." 
     I say something like this to K about once a week. I say something similar about keeping her hair and teeth brushed; I'm hoping I sound like a friendly coach. So far, she seems to see me that way; she's not fighting any of these chores.

Explain that we know she's smart and we'll do what we can to help her make her "smarts" work for her in school. "It's our job, and your teacher's job, to help you be the best K-- you can be."
     I say this before big events like a test. I'll even ask, "Are you ready to be the best K--you can be?" If she says no, she herself decides whether to put in more work. I have resolved always to let her make that call, even if I have to to sit on my hands. M is helping, by the way, by hanging around just to admire her as she studies. Once or twice he's whispered to me, "She's so smart."

In addition to these steps, I've taken to being in the room with K more while she works--not saying anything, just being there. I have her work in the kitchen while I cook or do pen-and-paper editing. My presence helps her focus, as such help often does for people with executive function issues. 

Her viola practice has helped, too. She's been playing since September. Her practice assignments are so complicated that the teacher emails them to the parents instead of handing them out in class. I had previously let her fend for herself when practicing, taking her at her word that she didn't need help. But now I've started going through the assignments with her and sitting with her while she practices. (I started by flattering her: "Let me hear your beautiful playing up close." It worked.) If you know me, you know my musical gift and you think this is torture for me. It isn't. As I sit on K's bed--which she always straightens out for me--I listen to her bad intonation and admire her perfect body mechanics. Her bowing is beautiful, her hand positions perfect. I praise her from the bottom of my heart. K, therefore, plays for me without any shame. This week, she's started repeating passages when she makes mistakes. Do you see what I'm getting at? I'm in the room with her, accepting her mistakes, and she's deciding on her own that she cares about correcting them. This is what needs to happen.

The same cycle of acceptance-caring-effort is beginning to show in K's school work. Last night, for example, she complained that she couldn't do her math homework but was upset when I told her to stop working. She'd been at it 40 minutes--but in her room, without my presence to help her focus. After dinner, she confessed that she'd been "too fidgety" to work, "so [she] really didn't get started right away." She wanted to stay up late to finish. 

I took her in my arms and praised her honesty and her desire to work hard. I laid down the law about bedtime, which we have made earlier. (It has indeed helped.) Then I asked, "What would help you? How about working standing up?"

"My teachers always tell me to sit down." (She hasn't got her stand-up desk yet.)

Cursing classroom education to myself, I reminded her, "This is home, sweetie. You can stand up, lie on the floor, chew gum, work up and down the stairs...."

"Okay, Mom." Her little shoulders relaxed. 

I suggested she try an exercise ball or our balance-board toy as sitting/standing surfaces. Her face lit up and she ran for the balance board. She used it to finish the math, then went ahead and did her spelling too. 

At bedtime she hugged me and said, "Thanks for figuring out the problem, Mom."

I got to say, "I didn't figure it out. You did."

Now, I'm not saying K's academic future is assured, 'cause it sure isn't. But I'm grateful she can show she cares about it. I hope she'll continue to see Peter and me as allies in her struggle. I hope we can help her see that, like for all of us, the trick to doing well is finding what helps her.

Poor School Report

We had parent-teacher conferences yesterday. Both our kids' teachers are delighted to have them in class, but K's teacher reports some issues that puzzle her. Peter and I are trying to decide what to do next.

First, the good news. M and K are eager students and kind people. They follow classroom rules, tell the truth, befriend everyone. M shows ability in math, and his teachers are starting to recognize what Peter and I have always known: he's got a curious, imaginative mind. He asks great questions, engaging fully in discussions of activities and texts. I know from helping him pack every morning that he considers school an important job that he wants to do well.

Now the not-so-good news. K is not having such success. Socially, she's terrific; loyal, honest, kind, a helpful citizen of the classroom. But her academic performance is uneven. Some days, she aces quizzes. Other days, she seems not to give a damn. She, like M, receives reading help, but she does not seem to be making progress.

We don't mind that she's testing below grade level, but we do mind that she doesn't seem to care. When she comes home with a lousy score on a quiz she never studied for despite my urging, I'll ask her, "How do you feel about that score?" and she'll reply, "Fine, Mom."

"Do you think you could have done better?"

(Shrug.) "I guess."

"What could you have done differently?"

"Studied more. Can I go play now?"

So we wonder:

-Does K not realize that improved grades are a consequence of doing the work? The cognitive mechanism for understanding causality is often broken in kids on the FAS (Fetal Alcohol Syndrome) spectrum, but K shows no other evidence of FAS and we've never thought she had it. This mechanism is also often broken or warped in kids whose early attachment was disrupted. Hers was. But M grew up with her, and it seems not to be broken in him.

-Does doing well in school not matter to K? If not, why not? My mom suspects that Peter and I, in focusing (rightly) on loving her no matter how she performs,  may have inadvertently taught her to have low standards. How might we help her raise her standards?

-Does K actually care about doing well but not want to acknowledge she cares? Peter's hunch is yes. K has told us sometimes that her birthparents and Mama A. "gave [her] away" because "something was wrong with [her]," and therefore she must do everything perfectly if she wants to stay with us. She might not let herself care because she'd drive herself crazy with anxiety if she did. The emotional stakes being that high, how might Peter and I safely encourage better school performance?

-Is there some other emotional reason she's not doing well? And would it honestly help to pull her out of school to consult far-away adoption specialists? And what would it do to M to be either dragged along or left at home with a sitter?

-Is there some neurobiological reason she's not doing well? Is she at an age where testing would be useful? If the tests revealed anything, would they help us figure out what to do? Could we afford such testing or treatment?

Here is our tentative plan:

1. Explain to K that doing well in school is a way she can take care of herself. My mom suggests: "You're so good at taking care of other people. It's time to take care of you, too." 

2. Explain that we know she's smart and we'll do what we can to help her make her "smarts" work for her in school. "It's our job, and your teacher's job, to help you be the best K-- you can be."

3. Assuming she buys in to working better... If her performance doesn't improve, we ask at school whether a neuropsych evaluation would be helpful. If yes, we do it. If it yields a result we can act on, we act on it. If it doesn't, we return to her usual therapist.

4. If she doesn't buy in to working better, or if the neuropsych evaluation reveals nothing, or if we shouldn't or can't do one right now, we seek help from her usual therapist.

5. If this therapist doesn't help, we seek an adoption specialist. My understanding is that this would be intense work and/or would require lots of driving and therefore missed school (for kids) and work hours (for adults). I'd hope to do this over the summer and next year, when my schedule and Peter's could be more flexible.

Meanwhile, K's teacher is getting her a standing desk so she can fidget in class, which might help her concentrate. (She already chews gum, wears fidgety jewelry.) We're getting a treadmill desk at home--it was going to be for my aching back, but I'll share if it will help the kids concentrate. I'm continuing to sit down every day with both kids and have them plan their time, write their assignments in an academic planner that never leaves the house, and put all their papers in the "homework station." I'm continuing to plan my time--career, self-care, cooking, housework--around the kids' homework needs. In other words, I'm continuing to provide consistency to the best of my ability. And yes, it's a pain in the butt, thank you for asking.

By the way, K's teacher has also mentioned that K often seems lethargic in class. She's got an early bedtime by local 4th grade standards--8 PM with lights out at 8:30--but we're moving it earlier to see what happens. We can't forget: children of trauma need more sleep for years. And years. I'm thinking I might notify the teacher when K has had a bad night so we can compare notes on that day's performance. My wishful thinking is that, if K's brain rests enough overnight, maybe she'll find it easier to focus and remember and so on during the day.