Part II: Descalating at the hospital

The rest of the night is perhaps best told in the email I sent to the social worker. I have changed the names:

Dear Diane,
At 10:30am Frankie arrives in our room to say that he has sliced up his clothes and stabbed his pooh bear and does not feel safe. I ask him where he would feel safe. He says he doesn't know. I tell him that if he doesn't feel safe the only place I know to take him is the hospital. He shrugs.

I put on clothes. Hubby calls the main Agency number to leave a message for whoever has brown word duty tonight. The supervisor and I play phone tag. I take Frankie to Our Small Town Medical Center Emergency Room. While waiting he calms down and starts sounding more like himself. We talk about Socrates, the evolution of society, and Arnold Schwartzenager. It occurs to me that he doesn't, or no longer, needs to be here but deity-condemn it, we have come this fricative far and I am not going to let him think he can push the "I'm a danger to myself" button and not understand where the hot place that goes. Fortunately he asks about what they will do in the emergency room. I tell him that may send him to “Tri-County” Hospital. He tears up and says the last time he went there "he never came back." I tell him that David went for two days and he came back.

We have a bizarre conversation where he wants both to be reassured that if he goes there he will be able to come back and clearly express to me that he wants to go back to The Town From Whence He Came where the air is clean and there is plenty of manure to shovel and schools that would teach him.

At 11:30 or so we finally get into the ER. He gets over-sized snap and tie pj's, a cup to pee in and a vampire to take his blood. We tell our story to the nurse.

At 1:00am the emergency room physician comes in and talks to us. We tell her our story. She says she will get someone from psych down to talk to us. The nurse brings us blankets. Frankie generously says that I need more sleep than he does, and I need to drive, so I can have the bed. He pushes the two chairs together and we sleep.

At 2:00am the psychiatrist comes in. She asks about his meds, his past history, the diagnoses I could remember having been on his chart. I tell her that everyone is aware that he has diagnoses that don't normally go together and that he has an appointment at The City Counseling Center for a full neuro-psych evaluation. Frankie tries to explain his behavior. I tell her I would describe it as manic, but that he seemed to have deescalated back to his regular self in the waiting room and that I did not feel unsafe taking him home if she agreed. First though I ask Frankie if he understood that he did not have the right to stay home alone and would have to earn that back. He said yes. I asked him if he would promise not to play video games for one day so that I would feel safe. At first he said that he would promise not to play them unless he was calm to begin with. I said, that I really would feel safe if he could promise not to play them at all for one day.

I knew it was a request he would view as unreasonable and frankly I wanted to know if it would wind him back up. He seemed to sense that his freedom hung in the balance and he said yes. The psychiatrist said she would wake up the town child psychiatrist and see what he thought and then she would tell us.

We tried to sleep for another hour, which was difficult for me because Frankie kept whining, "When can we go?" and I kept whining, "I don't know."

Then at 3:00 o'clock in the fricative morning a nurse opened the door and said in the sweetest possible voice, "Are you two still here? You can go home now." So we signed something. I think it said something about them not being responsible if he murdered me in my sleep, or maybe it just said we left at 3:00 in the morning. [I now think it might have said that we agreed that he would be getting appropriate follow-up care.]

Frankie was very happy. As we left he said, "That was a lot of fun. Let's never do it again."

I agreed.

Part I: Escalation in the Evening

Before I go further, let me thank all of you who have expressed sympathy on the death of my kitty. I appreciate it.

The past 24ish hours have been pretty intense.

Some of you have read the "raw" version of this on the private blog, but now that a few hours have past I will try to give a more coherent account.

So you already know that after hearing about the cat, Frankie, for whatever reason, was absorbed with his own concerns. There has been some friendly debate about why he was not more sympathetic to the sadness the rest of the family. Let me go on the record saying I don't know exactly why he was not more responsive to our emotions, but I don't think it was a morally culpable sort of selfishness.

But whatever it was, it was just the beginning. He started out anxious because he could not find a toy that his mother had given him (the knight) and he really, really wanted to play WoW. The computer finally made it long awaited trip home and Frankie sat down to have all his expectations for how the game would go completely destroyed. Per our previous agreement, we pointed out that it was upsetting him and that he needed to stop.

The next few hours were simply bizarre. Frankie remained in an extremely agitated state. He was upset that we did not understand that the game did not upset him and that the game was racist against some characters because those characters could not do things he thought they should be able to do. He was frantically upset that he could not find things that were important to him. He was concerned to make us understand that WoW did not cause his frustration, it helped to vent it and without a way to vent his frustration his anger would build up and he might act out violently.

He spoke of how much he preferred living at his first foster home where he could shovel manure to work out his frustration, breath fresh air, and go to a school where they taught him things. And speaking of the school, he hates it, he won't cooperate, he won't do the homework, and he is won't take in his communication book. Because it is a stupid school where he can't learn anything. He called both his social workers to demand to be moved.

And it just didn't stop. Hubby, Andrew, Brian and I mostly let him rant. Every now and then I tried to talk him down, but mostly we just let him storm around the house yelling about which ever topic was upsetting him at the moment and waiting for him to calm down.

Hubby thinks that this behavior was a direct result of our setting limits on WoW -- that everything he was doing was to convince us that he had to be allowed to play in order to vent his frustrations and that if he didn't this is what we had to look forward to. I'm not so certain.

In any case, it was extreme and exhausting. I wrote the social worker an email telling her what happened and then I sent everyone to bed. That usually works for Frankie. Being alone in his room usually calms him. Not last night though...

Frankie's Response

So he came home and I told him about the cat. I told him that it was okay to be sad and it was okay if he wasn't sad. He hadn't known the cat very well at all. He said that was true. He was always sad when an animal died, but it was worse if you were close to them.

Then he said, "What I'm really sad about is that I can't find my knight. Do you know where it is? I know it isn't in my room. This is how I searched it: first..."

I listened and then told him that I didn't know where it was.

Later he came and said that he asked Brian to help him look but Brian wouldn't help. I said that Brian was very sad about the cat and now was a bad time to ask him. Frankie allowed that that was true, but then wondered how he could look to see if he left it in Brian's room if Brian wouldn't help. I said he would just have to wait. He started to get emotional about how important this toy was and how he couldn't replace it. I said I understood, and then I didn't say anything else.

A few minutes later he came into the kitchen, "'Hubby' said he was going to get the computer after school. When do you think he will be back?"

"Well, school got out just a little bit ago. It will take half an hour to drive each way and it might take 10 or minutes for someone at the store to have time to help him."

"So he should be home any time now, huh?"

Sigh.

So...being the theorizing woman I am, here are my thoughts:
1. He doesn't know how to process his grief about the death of our cat.
2. He feels uncomfortable being not sad around people who are sad. He doesn't know how to cope with that situation so he needs very much to create a different situation -- one in which his needs are the biggest in the room and other people respond to him.
3. He really feels bad about losing his knight, so bad in fact that the only thing that is more important is getting that computer back.

I'm leaning towards #2.

Kitty Death

The animals may not know it, but each of them is understood to belong to one of us. Until yesterday, everyone had a cat or a dog.

And today my cat died.

I got her right after the Twin Towers were attacked. I had a great need to cling to someone and it wasn't helpful to my children to cling to them. So I called a kitty rescue organization and said that I needed an adult lap cat. They gave me the perfect lap cat. I do mean perfect. If I had a book or my computer on my lap she did not try to get between us. She lay on the arm of the chair or across the top (I usually work in a pretty comfy chair). If I put down my book she would move to my lap. She had an almost silent meow. Only a little squeaky noise came out.

Of course we don't know how old she was when we got her, so I don't know how old she was today. Certainly at least 9, perhaps 12 or more.

She had a urinary tract infection over a year ago, which we treated. It left her kidneys little damaged though. Sunday night I noticed she was lethargic. Yesterday when I got home from work I noticed she was really feeling sick. I told the boys that she was sick and elderly and I didn't know if she was going to make it. Andrew just went to pet her briefly. Brian spent an hour sitting or lying next to her crying. Frankie found a t-shirt and asked if she died, could we bury her with it. He told me several times that it makes him sad when animals die, and that he was sad even though he didn't get a chance to know my cat.

Which is true. She has spent less and less time out of my bedroom. In the past few years, certainly since the Shih Tzu moved in, she has practically lived on my bed.

This morning we took her to the vet. They warned me that she was in bad shape -- very dehydrated and she had a temperature that was low. I left her to teach class. In an unprecedented move, I put my cell phone on the table in front of me and told my class that when it rang class was over. After an hour or so they called to say that her kidneys were failing and that even with aggressive treatment she might not recover.

Since Brian has no school today and Andrew is sick (ugg!) I told them, and Brian said he really wanted to go down to the vet and say goodbye. When we got there they kicked some other person and her dog out of one of the exam rooms. Either they have great sympathy for people who are saying goodbye to their pets, or they don't like people sitting in their waiting room crying. (Possibly both). We put Frankie's t-shirt on the exam table and they brought us the cat. After a few minutes Brian decided it was time for him to leave. The vet came in, warned me that it was possible that the cat's bowls or bladder might empty (they didn't), asked me if I was ready, and gave the cat three injections. I scratched the cat's jaw the way she likes. She sighed twice, and her head relaxed in my hand. She was gone.

I'm glad I stayed. I'm glad I saw how peaceful it was for her.

I'm glad to know that even if I had taken her to the vet Monday morning when I noticed she was lethargic it wouldn't have made a difference. We would have decided to euthanize her yesterday and we would not have had last night to pet her and cry and say goodbye. I am glad to know that what she died from was not contagious and I don't need to worry about the other animals.

Soon Frankie will be home. I will tell him what happened, about how the kitty spent her last half hour lying on his old t-shirt, comforted by the smells of him and our home.

And we shall see how he handles it.

As for me, I am sad, but I am okay. Though I don't know how old she was exactly, she has seemed like an old lady for a while. She helped me through some difficult times by just sitting on my lap and purring. We had a good six years together.

I have told people that there is such a thing as a good death (which is by the way what "euthanasia" literally means). In my mind, a good death is one that comes after a full life, preferably with enough of a warning that people get to say goodbye but not too much pain for either the one dying or the one left behind. We got that with kitty.

So I am grateful for that and I am grateful for her.

Discouraged Before We Start

Last night Hubby explained our new one-two-three-you're done rule for dealing with frustration while playing video games. Frankie was fine with that.

This morning Frankie had a frustration break down over the fact that he couldn't find some of his things. They weren't even things he needed right now, just things he thought about and couldn't find.

I of course suggested that cleaning his room might help. He said he had searched he room and he new for sure that they weren't there. He suspects Andrew of throwing at least one of the away since the last place he remembers it is on the gaming table. Nothing in his room is put away. The floor is covered with clothes, papers, old toys, junk. The book case, the storage cupboard, the closet, and the dresser are -- you guessed -- empty. There is no way he could have search his room adequately without cleaning it up.

Hubby later told me that he wasn't sure how well our fancy plan for dealing with Frankie's frustration was going to work out. We may be able to make him stop playing video games, but he can get frustrated over anything. I agreed. The only thing that is different from WoW is that he obssesses about it even when he is not playing.

Hubby was looking pretty tired too.

To be fair though there is more going on here, personal stuff that is causing tension and sadness.

All The Filing in The World Can't Beat A Clothing Label

Seriously.

If you want your nephew to have your phone number in a few years, even if he goes into a variety of residential care settings, write it inside his coat. People may, for his own protection, take away an address book. They may black out contact information from the letters you send. A couple of years later when he asks if he could have your number his social worker may say he would sure like to help, but he hasn't been around very long and he can't find it in the file.

But maybe, when your nephew finally makes it out of residential treatment and group homes and goes back into an ordinary foster home, they will take the rest of his possessions out of storage for him. He will toss them in the closet and pay little attention, but one cold autumn day he just might pull out that nice warm coat you got him.

And he might notice that sewn-in label that says "Frankie: 102-555-1234" and shout with glee and say, "That's my aunt's number!" Mistakenly thinking his foster mother would want to take it away from him he might also say, "And you can't touch it because its a down coat and you're allergic to feathers!"

Auntie was very pleased to hear from him. Early in the phone call he said, "It's okay if I talk to you. I can only write letters to my dad, but I can talk to you. Mom says so." "No, not my real mom. I mean Yondalla. She's a special foster mother that I really trust. Sure you can talk to her!"

Auntie told me what a good boy Frankie was. I agreed. We also agreed that sometimes life was tough for him and frustration got the better of him, but he wasn't the kind of kid to break rules just to break them. She said, "I think a lot of his problems are because ... [snip] ... I think he's been looking for a mother figure he can trust for a long time."

He got to talk to his cousin too. He said that he really likes Star Wars things and did Cousin remember when they used to play with light "savers"? Cousin said no, but I bet later he will figure out what a light "saver" is and remember.

Auntie gave him the phone number for the other Auntie and for Grandma. Other Auntie gave him the number for a grown up cousin. He called them all. He only had to leave a message for one.

He is so pleased.

I am pleased for him. I know that sometimes the extended family has as many problems as the immediate family, but I think in this case there is an excellent chance that these aunts will be healthy contacts for him.

Update on the day

After Frankie got over feeling sad that Brian left him behind, he went to the rec room, found a old game that may have been Hubby's when he was a kid. All I know is that it comes with a fold out plastic board with holes into which one sticks archers and knights and other medieval figures. The game is meant to be played with multiple players -- a barrier is set up and each arranges his or her army. The barrier is removed and then battle ensues.

Frankie though played his own game with it -- for a couple of hours. He lay on the floor and positioned and re-positioned the figures.

I think that just living with Brian is difficult for Frankie. Brian is younger, and older at the same time. Brian represents to Frankie everything that Frankie thinks he should be. It is difficult for him to accept that he is not as good at anything. Frankie is 15, technically a sophomore, doing fifth grade math and thinks he should be doing pre-algebra. Brian is 13, in 8th grade, and doing Algebra I. Even though Brian is on the chunky side and not athletic, he can ride a bike, dribble a basket ball, aim a Nerf gun, even run better than Frankie can. Brian is better at video games, and corrects Frankie's grammar.

And Brian has friends. People who call him up and want to do things with him.

And Brian is two years younger.

I'm not certain how to help him deal with that, other than to be honest with the difficulties.

Of course it will help if we identify clear areas in which he is stronger. I think he is more imaginative and sometimes more perceptive, but I don't know if he will understand the value of that.

Hijacking

Though my friends are allowed, even encouraged to "hijack" my blog, anonymous commenters who want to rant incoherently about religion, reincarnation, and the Simpsons will have to go elsewhere.

Because of this insanity, anonymous commenting is temporarily disallowed.

My apologies to those of you who do not have Google accounts and still would like to leave comments. I am interested in hearing what you have to say.

Difficult Day

So let's see....

The computer is still in the fix-it shop so we are a WoW-free house. The kids still get three hours electronic time per day on the weekend, and Frankie must use it all as soon as he gets up. During his three hours he got frustrated with one game after another and finally collapsed on the floor crying and saying that he was terrible at everything and there was nothing that he could do.

I tried mirroring and saying, "I can see how frustrated you are." I remember that sort of thing worked really well with Andrew when he was young, but so far with Frankie it just feels like I am perseverating right along with him. It doesn't seem to help him get out of the loop.

Finally I have him a choice between going into another room and talking with me and going to his room to cry. He refused to choose, and just lay there crying. Finally I announced that he had chosen to go to his room and so he needed to go. He stomped off saying that he would rip up his papers in his room. He seemed to think that was something that upset me, but I don't have any papers in his room.

He came up after half an hour cheerful and collected. He seemed to be his old self. Andrew and I left to do the shopping while Hubby was here with the other boys. When I got back a friend was over and the TV was on. I announced that they had had entirely too much video time and they left the room. A second friend came over and in a few minutes Frankie is in the living room complaining that Brian said he couldn't play with them anymore. "That's another reason why I hate living here."

In this case saying, "I understand why that is upsetting to you" did seem to work. (My theory is that there is a threshold that he passes were nothing really works.) He complained and we sympathized with how hard it was. We treated his comments about not liking it here as just expressions of the degree of his dissatisfaction. If he meant them as ultimatums -- fix this or I will leave you -- they did not work.

Later we spoke with Brian about being nicer to Frankie and including him with his friends.

It is so difficult for me because I do understand both sides of it. On one hand it is difficult to see Brian being so insensitive. On the other hand, Frankie wears on me. Brian is a kid, not a social worker or therapist. Brian had spent most of the morning with Frankie. He had been there for the rolling on the floor and crying. It is fair that Brian wants a break in which he can just play with his friends.

Brian and his friends finally decided just to go to one of the other's houses. Frankie is still hurt of course. As I write this he is lying on the floor alternately reading the outside of DVD boxes and complaining about being left behind.

It would be easier if Frankie were really 3 or 8 or 10, not just a kid who acted like he is. Then I wouldn't have any trouble explaining that sometimes older kids needed to do older kid things. I wouldn't feel badly about that at all. It is more difficult to explain to a 15-year-old that he is not "old enough" to go off and hang out with boys who are 13 and 14.

Hubby and I have definitely decided on a one-two-three-you're done plan for things that are frustrating Frankie. The problem of course is that a lot of things frustrate Frankie. Though WoW is one of the only things that he obsesses about when he is not doing it, some days it seems like there is nothing he can do that won't frustrate him. We might have to institute more rules for Frankie -- things like not being able to use all his electronic time in one stretch, or maybe not being able to use it all on gaming. (That three hours is supposed to cover gaming and TV.) I don't like having different rules for different kids, especially when they are technically the same age, but I am slowly coming to accept that it may be necessary.

A GOOD day

by out standards at least.

Jane, my transwoman friend, dropped by with a book for Frankie. It is an intentionally silly book about transitioning.

I told her that my refrigerator was collecting water on the bottom and that I knew that meant that a drain was probably clogged, but I didn't know where the drain was. She showed me, I mean Hubby, and he cleaned it. The whole process resulted in my cleaning out the inside of the refrigerator and remarking on how much money she had saved me. Cleaning the drain was easy, but we surely would have hired a repair person to come in and do it if she hadn't helped. She fixed my hot water heater years ago when I thought it needed to be replaced, cleaned my air conditioner this summer for nothing, told Hubby he could replace the dishwasher himself which also gave him the confidence to replace the toilet when it needed to be done. I figure she has saved us thousands of dollars.

So to pay her back I cooked her dinner tonight.

Fair trade, don't you think?

It was a good dinner. There was roast beast, potatoes, and a vegetable Jane took one very small helping of. For dessert I baked brownies which we ate with ice cream, hot fudge, and whipped cream.

Brian and Frankie went with me to the store and fought bitterly over Frankie's claim that his all-natural juice and carbonated water drink was really healthier than Brian's soda. Frankie defended his position and never got terribly worked up. I was proud of him.

Andrew wasn't with us for dinner as he had a band competition. His school came in second in his division, a victory made only slightly less impressive by the fact there are only two schools in his division.

Still, it has been a peaceful day. No one has cried or stormed out or locked himself in his room. Everyone has maintained his or her sense of humor.

When dinner was over Brian hurried to do half of the kitchen work, so that he could do the less gross half. Frankie pouted that he had to do the dishes and said, "Ain't that woman's work?"

I reminded him that he wanted to be a woman so he had nothing to look forward to but washin' dishes and birthin' babies, but fortunately he lived with an emancipated man who would help him. Frankie choked on his dessert laughing and then did the dishes with Hubby.

Like I said -- a good day.

Of course any day with hot fudge brownie sundaes can't be too bad.

Looking Better

Life here is better than it has been for a few days. Everyone seems to be healthy. Frankie says is feels "sort of good." He fell asleep Thursday at 7:00pm, slept for 11 hours, got up, slept for at least 4 if not 6 hours during the day, and got a full night's sleep last night. He doesn't show any other symptoms, but that is enough.

The rest of also seem to be virus-free, although everyone seems inclined to have a lazy day.

Andrew spent last night at a friend's.

Frankie got frustrated trying to do something last night and this morning, but it was the old level of frustration. He banged his fist and said, "Oh! Why can't I do this!" Last night Hubby and I left him alone and he kept complaining, but kept trying and after half an hour did it. (The problem was largely a motor skill issue).

This morning he couldn't remember his voice mail password and started complaining about how stupid he was, how small his memory was. I did not hear him well and said, "Did you just say that your memory is the size of a tit?"

He grinned and said, "NO! I said the size of a TICK."

"Oh...that makes more sense. The other created quite a disturbing image."

He grinned and I offered to go on-line to help him reset his password. He agreed, came over while still dialing numbers into his phone, trying to remember, and making frustrated noises. I reset his password and he wrote it done.

Frustration gone.

He is back to his old self. He gets frustrated easily, but that results in only complaining and banging of fists. There were no tears, not yelling out that he couldn't do anything or that the phone (or whatever) was broken. He stuck with the activity and when he worked it out he felt fine again.

I'm glad this kid came back. I missed him.

Frankie caught the virus

Frankie did not get up after locking himself in his room at 7:00pm. Hubby went in at 9:00 to wake him for his meds. We called the not-very-good but available and technically qualified retired school aide to stay with him today. She is afraid of getting sick, so we agreed that Frankie would have to stay in his room except for quick trips to the bathroom and kitchen.

He looked better than we expected this morning (of course he had slept for 11 hours). He even did his homework first thing, before we told him he could stay home.

He said he would probably just spend the morning sleeping, which would be good for the sitter. Of course if he is feeling better it will be difficult to do that and he will keep coming back up and trying to talk to her. Unless she grows a backbone, she will not be able to tell him firmly to go back to bed. But her lack of a backbone is not my problem.

She is there because the presence of an adult in the house makes a difference for Frankie. There are some things he won't do just because she is sitting in the living room.

And though I am happy the discussion of foster care reimbursement has played itself out, I will mention that what I will give her for 5 hours of sitting in the living room and quietly suggesting that maybe Frankie should follow the rules, is equivalent to 2 days reimbursement for me.

I'm going home early to sleep.

We simply must get well. This family cannot go on taking turns with one or two of us always sick and cranky.

We just can't.

In which Andrew looses his temper

Andrew just went down to the rec room and saw Frankie being frustrated with a game. Frankie either actually threw a controller on the ground or was about to. [Editted to add: Frankie was playing with a controller that had a joy stick. He was banging at it roughly and with frustration. Andrew's reaction was born at least in half by weeks of seeing Frankie treating the electronics roughly and asking him repeatedly to be more careful.]

Andrew yelled (loudly), "STOP THAT!"

Frankie yelled something back, something that included "DON'T YELL AT ME!"

Andrew yelled, "IF YOU TREAT THE CONTROLLERS THAT WAY YOU CANNOT USE THEM. I AM GOING TO PUT IT IN MY ROOM."

Frankie yelled, "DON'T YELL AT ME. IF YOU YELL AT ME I WILL YELL AT YOU!" And then he went into his room and slammed the door.

I got down there right about then.

I went to the door and said, "Frankie?"

"NO! I WON'T COME OUT. I WON'T TALK IN A NICE VOICE. IF YOU CAN'T TALK TO ME IN A POLITE TONE, THEN I WON'T TALK TO YOU IN A POLITE TONE."

Interesting response given that all I said was "Frankie?"

I said, "I am talking to you in a nice tone."

"I'M NOT COMING OUT. I DON'T LIKE TO BE YELLED AT. YOU PEOPLE ALWAYS YELL AT ME AND I DON'T LIKE IT."

Now, I'm pretty sure this is the first time that anyone, well anyone other than Brian, has yelled at him, so I said, "Okay. You can stay in your room as long as you need to. When you are ready to talk to me I will be upstairs."

"I DON'T LIKE BEING YELLED AT!"

"I know, dear."

And then I went upstairs to talk to Andrew who told me what happenned. I talked to him about what ways were more or less effective in dealing with Frankie, although I understood how difficult what I was discribing was. In a while I said, "Think of it like dog training. If you praise the dog when it stops doing what it was doing and starts what doing what you want, it just works better."

And it is true. You may still be furious that your shoe is torn up, but if you keep yelling at the puppy after he has given it up to you, the puppy is just mystified.

Of course Frankie is smarter than a puppy, but I still think that what he is most likely to remember is that Andrew yelled at him, not that he mishandled a game controller.

And Andrew is another kid in the house, not a trained therapist. My expectations need to be reasonable for him too.

And Frankie needs to learn that people here can get angry and he is still safe.

And I am glad that you are all out there so that I can run to my blog and write this all down and finish de-escalating myself, because I wanted to yell at his door, "You come out of that room right now!" I wanted to tell Andrew and Frankie to sit down and tell me what all the shouting was about. I wanted to make them settle the fight and then apologize and promise never to do it again.

But this is better. Frankie was wise to lock himself up in his room. His instinct to separate himself from a situation he cannot handle is a good one. Letting him stay there until he is ready to come out is also good.

Respite Care or "I'm Getting Tired"

Some people find the very idea of respite care offensive. I've read or heard, "You would never put YOUR OWN children in some foster home for a weekend because you wanted a break! Parenting doesn't come with guaranteed breaks."

Of course these people will generally acknowledge that it is okay to have babysitters and that it is nice when grandma take the kids for a while or when they get invited to a sleep-over. But put your kid in another foster home because your tired and rarely have time to talk to your spouse? Come on.

Sigh.

These comments make sense from a distance, but the reality is different. My reality is that I Frankie can't go spend the night with anyone unless they have had a criminal back ground check and I am on call to pick him up. The reality is that Frankie is a difficult kid and even most people with criminal background checks (and I know a fair number because they are required for anyone who works in public schools) are not prepared to cope with him and would definitely call. My reality is that Frankie is not going to be invited for a sleep-over or go on a youth group trip any time in the near future.

My reality is that I am getting tired, that because Hubby and I do such a good job of taking turns being "on" for Frankie that we seem to have little time to be "on" for each other.

My reality as that though I have been actively looking for someone who could be a babysitter, I can't find one. The one we hired before spent three hours sitting next to Frankie at the computer periodically saying "Weren't you supposed to get off after an hour and a half?" while Frankie said, "Just let me show you on more thing..."

My reality is that the only way I am going to get time have a complete conversation with Hubby without someone coming in after three minutes saying, "Do you know...?" is to take advantage of respite.

I confess I don't like it.

Have you ever been in the position where you encourage others to take a break or take advantage of assistance while being pleased that you don't have to?

I haven't needed it for a long time. David and Evan had lives. They left the house for trips, sleep overs, rehab. When they were home they behaved like normal teenagers and sometimes spent entire evenings in their rooms. They did not have a need to tell me everything that they were doing, or share every thought they had.

I know that a big part of the reason I feel this way is that one or more of us has been sick for 3 weeks. I have felt like I am fighting off all the bugs that are laying them flat one after the other, except for Frankie, nothing stops Frankie. Ever.

Another big part is that work is just more stressful and demanding this year. We are under going our five-year departmental review and I am chair. 'Nuff said.

And I think that if I could just find a qualified babysitter, Hubby and I could go out for dinner.

But then I think we would just stare at each other in exhaustion.

I don't want to go out for dinner. I want to go to bed early and sleep for 10 hours, wake up and have a quiet breakfast with my husband. Then I want to read a book while he does whatever he does, take a leisurely bath, and go out to lunch and THEN have a conversation about something other than who will go grocery shopping or take Frankie to his next appointment.

And I am beginning to think that that is going to mean respite care.

Of course we will farm out the bioboys. That part will be easy. If I bring myself to tell the social worker to arrange respite care I can get them invited over to one of their friends. The friends' parents know us. I probably would only get as far as, "Next Friday night Frankie is going to be in respite care and..." before they offer.

But I don't know how Frankie will respond. I don't know if I will "pay" for it in escalated behaviors afterwards. I don't know a family that could take him.

I would have to, you know, trust the social worker's judgment.

So I know what I have to do. I have to call the social worker before I am too tired to be a good parent and ask her to identify a home that could provide respite care. I have to take Frankie there so that he can meet them and get comfortable with it.

I am going to have to accept that I am human.

Don't you just hate it when you have to do that?

Update: I went to lunch and sat down with one of my previous students. She is a non-traditional (read: somewhat older) student who has a nephew with Asperger's that she sometimes sits for. I found a qualified sitter! She has even been background checked already!

My day

Today I tried to explain to my students what is meant by the necessary desires of a rational agent. So I told them, "I just got a brand new MP3 player and my headphones broke. I want new headphones. Right now I am borrowing headphones from my husband and kids, and I really want my own pair. Is that the sort of desire that we would expect any rational agent to necessarily have?"

And my students looked thoughtful and said, "Hmm....yes."

---
And Frankie and I got caught in a traffic jam for over an hour.

So how was your day?

I guess this is better

He had a good day at school.

David came over and he told David that he would probably move out when he was 18 like he (David) did. He doesn't think he could stay here an extra year like the other boys. So I guess that means he isn't moving out right now.

He and Brian did the dishes and bickered the whole time. I did my best to ignore them. When the kitchen was clean Frankie came out and said, "Yondalla, do you know the difference between being a madman and being clinically insane?"

"No."

He then preceded to tell me but spoke so quickly I understood very little -- except that apparently one of the differences is that one of them is incoherent and the other can have a plan. He finished and said, "Right?"

I did not look up from my computer, just sighed and said, "Sure."

He turned towards the kitchen and yelled. "See Brian! I was right!"

--
I'm really tired tonight. I don't talk much about my job here, but it was one of those days that is too busy. You know, you work hard all morning, classes, meetings, etc. Then you sit down at your desk in the afternoon with your little to-do list knowing that if you just concentrate you can get it all done and then an email from the dean pops up that says, "This is just a friendly reminder that the document I told you about six weeks ago and you completely forgot about is due tomorrow." (Well, he didn't use exactly those words).

Hoping for a better day

Last night divided into three main portions:

Stage One:
Frankie crying and protesting that he hated the school because he did not have behavioral issues and wasn't learning while we exercise some listening skills and tried to gently explain that though he had made great progress, his day demonstrated that he did have behavioral issues and that we thought he was learning. Frankie crying and saying that he was going to leave the permanency program, and go back to where he used to live. "I guess I'll miss you guys, but right now my education is more important than family." He even left a message for his social worker telling her that.

Stage Two:
After crying in his room and being left alone to calm down, Frankie watches a movie and returns to a better mood. Meanwhile Hubby and I agree that we (by which I meant mostly him and partly me), have given Frankie the impression that he is correct, what with all our uncritical sympathy and Hubby's writing of notes explaining Frankie's concerns to the school. Like I said, Hubby said he agreed and changed tactics.

Stage Three:
Frankie in a more cheerful mood periodically brings up his complaints and we respond in a light tone expressing confidence in the school. So when Frankie would say, again, "I don't have any behavioral problems any more!" One or the other of us would listen and then say, "It seems to me that crying in frustration/running from the room/refusing to do your work/etc is a behavoral issue you need to deal with before you can go to regular school." And when he would say, "I'm not learning anything there! I need to learn X." One of us would say something like, "I think they are trying to teach you that there/give you the ground work so you can learn it" or "Maybe you should talk to the teachers about your educational goals. I know they want to help you reach them."

Sometimes we just said, "Well, I still think this is the best school for you right now."

We tried not to over-do all this campaigning in favor of the school. More than half of the time we just listened and tried to say other sorts of things. I would say something like "I can see how frustrated you are." Hubby would say, "I am really impressed that you are this dedicated to getting a good education!"

When he said, "Well, I am going to leave the program and go back to [last town he lived in] and go to a real school," we would say something like, "Well, I hope you can find a plan that will work for here, because we would miss you a lot."

The good thing about a perseverating child is that you get to say everything you had on your list. It is also permissible, and perhaps better, to just keep giving the same response. I mean, if they can perseverate, why can't you?

--
I have mentioned that Alanon has been some of the best training that I have had for being a foster parent. In some ways, I think what I learned was not all that different from really good Love and Logic classes, but I worked closely with a sponsor and called him every time I was upset. With every challenge I talked to someone who had my permission to "give it to me straight." Unlike you all (who sometime give me information and insight or suggestions that are very valuable to me), he would listen to me for an hour if necessary, ask me questions, and sometimes say things like, "Whoa, is that your problem or his problem?" or "What are your motivations? Are you trying to protect yourself or change him?" It helped of course that we were both dedicated to trying following the same principles.

Anyway, I felt on top of my game last night because first I felt very calm. In years past I might have stayed calm, but last night I felt it. Even when I imagined him really packing up and leaving. I knew I would be sad, but I felt no desperate need to make that not happen. If he decides that is what is best for him, then, well, he has to walk his own path. All I can do is be here and offer what I can offer. He has to make the decisions. Secondly, I realized that I never once thought that it was my problem to solve. I believe that Frankie can meet his educational goals at the school, if he wants to. He can talk with the teachers, he can ask his social worker for additional tutoring in the areas he feels he is behind in (like "pronounce-iation. I need help with that!"). Arranging that though is something that he can do, so it is not my job to do it. (Another Alanon principle: don't do for others things that are able to do for themselves.)

Oh...and just in case some of you are wondering, they make it clear when you enter this program that it is voluntary and binding. The student and the parents don't have to sign. Once they sign, they forfeit their right to transfer the child back to any school in the district, and probably any public school in nearby districts. The program is demanding and a lot of kids protest and want to quit. This is why Frankie perceives that his only way out of the program is to move across the state.

On the other hand, the school has a great reputation for catching kids up (well, going a long way towards that) and turning their behaviors around.

Responding to your comments

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Bad Day

Bad day at school.

Very bad.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Well, it could have been worse. No one was hurt and there was no damage to property.

Update:
It was Frankie who had the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

He's going to move to Australia.

Or at least back to the town where he used to live where he can go to a real school and learn something.

Kid Round-Up

I haven't heard from Carl in a couple of months. I'm officially teetering between annoyed and worried. I know it is not unlike him to drop off the radar for a while. Still, if you see him, tell him to call home.

Evan is doing very well at school. He is enormously busy and happy. He calls regularly, and stops by to get his mail. He is a college freshman.

David stopped by for a few hours today. We chatted and had our usual marathon of cards. I think I mentioned that he is the only one who will play cards with me. He told me that he and his roommate are planning on going to one of the state universities (not the one near here that Evan is going to) next year, so he will have to finish off his GED pretty soon. I'll believe it when I see it, but it is the first time he has been the one to bring up finishing his education and it is a positive step.

David by the way is completely supports the idea that I would upgrade Frankie's mp3 player to one that will play Netlibrary books. His sympathies are completely with Frankie. David knows what it is like to come into this house owning little to nothing and see all the electronics the boys have collected over the past decade. David also knows that most of the stuff was purchased with money given to them by relatives for birthday and Christmas -- except for the things that were bought by Grandpa during his summer visits of course. There are only a few things which they can claim to have "worked" for by saving allowance.

We'll see. I have a fair collection of audiobooks that he can listen to on the iPod several of which I purchased for the boys to listen to while traveling during the summer. Frankie is interested in listening to Eragon and The Eldest, both of which I have. so I think I will wait and see if he continues to enjoy the books and then make a decision.

Did you know?

"Did you know that the reason your hands get cold first is that your body is sacrificing the limbs to save the internal organs?"

"Yes."

"But I don't get it. If the body sacrifices its limbs, how will it feed itself? Are you just supposed to pull yourself along with your teeth?"

AAAHHHHGGG!!!!!!!!

It was a tiring morning around here.

I think Frankie is allergic to his contacts or the solution. I wish I had thought about that possibility before. He has been complaining that the contacts irritate his eyes and we have been accusing him of not adequately cleaning his hands or the contacts. That is possible of course. It is also possible that with his poor motor skills he is irritating his eyes when he puts them in, or that his eyes are just particularly sensitive and that he won't be able to tolerate any sort of contact at all.

In any case he announced mid-morning that he was going to put them in. He came up stairs crying in frustration, saying he couldn't put them in because his eyes would not stop watering. He sat on the sofa, wiping his eyes with his shirt and saying, "I'll just go blind! I can't get them in! My eyes won't stop watering and I can't put in the contacts! I'll go blind! I don't want to have a stupid piece of metal on my face and I can't wear stupid contacts!" (Put this on loop for a few minutes). At one point I put his hands up to his eyes like he was going to claw them out, but he didn't.

I tried Process' suggestion of mirroring, "You are upset that you're eyes are watering" but it felt so small and stupid in the face of his crying and yelling that I just waited for him to calm himself down. He finally did (some) and I told him it was his choice. He didn't have to wear the contacts or the glasses if he didn't want to. (Frankie's vision though not 20/20 is not terrible). He stomped off saying that he would give it one more chance but then he would just let himself go blind because he wasn't going to wear glasses. (I don't know why he thinks that not wearing glasses will make him "go blind" but it wasn't the time to address that).

A few minutes later he came back up almost screaming and clawing at his one eye. He said the contact was in, that it burned and he did wash it, he did! "AAAHHHGGG, I can't get it out! I can't! It burns! It feels like I have an eyelash in there! AAHHGGG" He ran into the bathroom and suddenly I was afraid that maybe he didn't have a contact in and was hurting himself, so I went to check. It was there, but he was too upset to cope so I called for (read: screamed) "ANDREW!" Andrew, who wears contacts, got it out of his eye for him while I kept my hand at the back of Frankie's head so that he wouldn't jerk back in reflex. (After he jerked the first time I told him I was going to do that and he nodded.)

For the next 20 minutes he continued to cry and yell about how horrible the contacts were and how he was just going to go blind.

Finally I remembered how when I wore contacts I was allergic to the first solution they gave me. I told that to Frankie, and the loop began to loose some of its intensity. He still kept getting up and pacing and complaining that his eye hurt and wouldn't stop watering. I finally suggested the audio book and he put on the headphones, collapsed on the sofa and has been quietly listening every since -- once again about two hours and counting.

It took a while for me to de-escalate myself. Though on the outside I had remained calm (except when I was yelling for Andrew), on the inside I was suffering from a major adrenaline rush. It was the first time that Frankie was so out of control that I was afraid he might hurt himself.

I guess the point though is that he didn't. And I suppose I shouldn't compare this to other moments of frustration because he was in genuine pain. Having something in your eye that makes it sting that you can't get out is difficult for anyone.

I'll call the optomotrist tomorrow.

Ensuring Good Foster Parents

The main worry that people seem to have regarding reimbursements for foster care is that it will attract unscrupulous people who treat the children poorly. Girl Speaks wrote about this today. She, like so many youth who have lived in the system, had foster parents who were inexcusable. A system that should have protected her hurt her. The question is, would there be fewer or more cases like that if foster parents were reimbursed for the full cost of raising the child. Since I have already advertised myself as someone who is being reimbursed adequately, I thought I would talk about my agency's standards and how they maintain them. (By the way, we did figure this out once. Though the reimbursements allow us to break even while the kid lives here, the only way we would not loose money in the long run would be to cut them off when they move out. Since we don't do that, giving care in the end costs us money too).

But back to my agency and their safeguards.

First, they require more training than the state does. In theory you can get your training hours in a wide variety of ways (I get to count the counseling appointment I hijacked as a training hour), in reality they have so many specifically required trainings at the agency that the family developer sees you quite a lot. Of course, that only goes so far.

Second, they make sure the kids know their rights. Before Frankie moved his social worker gave him a booklet listing and explaining all his rights. It includes things like "The right to know why you came into care and why you are still in care." I'll quote the first one in full:

You have a right to be safe
You have the right to be safe; this means living in a safe place and being free from people and situations that can harm you. No child should be disciplined or punished by corporal punishment. This means no spanking, kicking, hitting, or shaking. You cannot be denied needed food, shelter or clothing. Verbal remarks that belittle you or your birth family are not allowed. If anyone hurts you or tries to hurt you, tell your social worker or a trusted adult as soon as possible. You should have phone numbers to contact your social worker, or can call the office anytime, day or night at xxx-xxx-xxxx and ask for help.

Frankie has his social worker's cell phone number in his cell phone.

Third, the social worker is required to visit with Frankie in our home every month. What she usually does is pick him up from school, takes him out for a treat and then brings him back and spends a while in our home with him. Every month. They are supposed to make contact with us more than that, but I never remember how many times because I email updates so often that I cover that for them. The point is that they keep a close eye on us.

Fourth, much of the reimbursement is actual reimbursement. I have a generous and flexible allotment for clothing, but I have to turn in the receipts. Sometimes we loose them, and when we do, we don't get the money. (If I complain it is only to the person who lost them). They keep track of everything that I have been reimbursed for, add it to the inventory the youth made when he or she moved in, and then check when the kid moves out. (They don't actually inventory the belongings. Usually they just ask the youth if he or she is sure about everything). The point though really isn't the inventory, it is that I have to pay for the stuff before I get the money.

And while we are on the subject, Girl Speaks says agencies/state should not "cover your gas costs (especially when there are transport people)." Trust me, the agency would FAR prefer to reimburse me for the mileage to drive Frankie to his appointment than to pay the transport people their hourly amount. The social worker has agreed to arrange transportation for one of Frankie's two weekly counseling appointments in The City. The transport will cost at least four times what they would give me in reimbursement, and might even be higher than the cost of the appointment itself, given that they have to pay someone the transport service for time driving and time in the waiting room while he has his appointment. If it makes any of you feel better, I only get reimbursed for mileage when a single round trip is more than 35 miles.

Fifth, because they offer so much support to foster parents and youth (and the non-monetary ones are really more important), they are in a position to be selective. I know families who have worked for the state for years before and after working for my agency. One was the family who for a while took David's younger brother. The younger brother drew some pictures of himself hurting other kids in the family. He did not leave them out as a threat; she found them when she was straightening his room. Had she thought that there was an immediate danger she should have called 911. There wasn't and she didn't, which was good. She also could have called the social worker, or the hotline and requested immediate support. Someone would have been at her house within the hour and to talk to her and the child. They might have decided that the drawings were just venting and let the youth stay. They might have decided that he needed to spend some time somewhere else just to be safe. The mother did not do that however. She called the office and said that she had packed his bags while he was at school and she wanted someone to come and get him.

They revoked her license (with them). She spoke to David about it later (which was also inappropriate). She was surprised and hurt that they wouldn't let her take the brother back. I was surprised she was surprised. You don't treat kids that way. Period. She continues to do care for the state.

So as Parodie said in a comment on my previous entry, there are a couple of choices:
1. In the ideal we invest enough money to provide all the services kids need, enable a large number of people who want to be foster parents to afford to do it, and then be selective about the families who do care.
or
2. We can offer inadequate support and reimbursement and hope that means that only foster parents who are extremely dedicated will sign up.

I vote for option #1.

How much is silence worth?

Today I put an audio book on my iPod for Frankie. He moved from place to place in the living room, periodically compelled to tell me what was happening or ask my opinion. "Do you think that a bread knife is a good weapon?" (It's a St*phen King book). He has done this for more than 2 hours.

TWO HOURS.

And just in case you missed it, let me say again, Frankie has been mostly quiet and completely calm for two solid hours.

In the past few days Frankie has been having, according to Hubby who has been with him, more melt-downs. Frankie told the doctor that he did not need all three of his medications and it was agreed that one of them would be reduced as a trial. The trial period from our perspective has not been going well. Frankie has torn up instructions to something we bought him because it wasn't working to his satisfaction; thrown his CD player into his closet because the batteries ran out; given up on... well everying and burst into complaints and nearly tears several times.

I have not been here for most of it, but Hubby has.

But the audiobook was like the proverbial music to the savage beast.

If your local library is a subscriber, you can check out audiobooks from Netlibrary free. They have 15 Stephen King books. Most are about 12 hours long. That is 180 hours of free audio book time. Perhaps listening to an audiobook is just as bad for his social development as playing video games, but I just can't seem to feel as guilty about it. I mean, it is a book.

The rub is that iPods won't play Netlibrary books. They will play audible.com books, but those you have to pay for and it can add up pretty darn fast.

Most MP3 players aren't set up for audiobooks. Even iPods are not great. You can pause a book and the player will remember where you left off, but you can't put in a bookmark. Netlibary has tested players and there are a handful of them that do bookmark. I just got the new Creative Zen and though Netlibrary has not (yet) listed it, it does a wonderful job. You can set up to 10 bookmarks -- all in the same book if you like. The player will remember the bookmark until you over-ride it. The Zen will also play audible.com books, which is cool because I do have quite a few books I have bought from them.*

It is $130 for the 4g version.

How long would the Frankie continue to enjoy audiobooks? How long would it work to calm him?
Oh, how I am tempted...

We just bought him a less expensive mp3 player, identical except in color to the one that Brian has. It is not a good player for audiobooks from any source. I can't take it back for a couple of reasons, including the fact that Frankie ripped up the instructions (see above) and Hubby lost the receipt. Buying him a second, and more expensive player right away seems like a bad idea. It would not be good for his character and the other boys would be justifiably jealous.

But once I bought it there would be free audiobooks...and potentially hours and hours of calm and silence...

Sigh.

____
*Just in case anyone out there is doing this, I have found that I have to use the Audible Manager software to load the audible books onto the Zen. For Netlibrary I have to first open the books in Micros*ft Media Player in order to get the license and then have to use the Zen software to put the book onto the Zen. Silly, but not difficult once you figure it out.

A must read for blogging parents

Copied off of the Washington Post comic page:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/artsandliving/comics/index.html

Unpopular View, Indeed

This started out as a response in Process' comment box, but it was too big. So I copied it and put it here. I wasn't going to post about the recent study showing that almost every state reimburses expenses below the rate it costs to raise the kids. No particular reason, but I wasn't going to. If you haven't, first go read Process' post, An Unpopular View. [And for those of you who haven't been reading here long, Process and I have a long history of mutual respect and of gratitude by me for insight and guidance which is not the least changed by this disagreement.]

Well, not surprisingly Process, I don't agree.

As you know I work for a private agency and though even their monthly reimbursement payment falls below what the article states is the amount it costs, they reimburse enough other expenses (mileage for trips over 35 miles, school fees, full cost of clothes, etc) that it doesn't cost me money to be a foster parent. And I know a lot of people who work with them and not with the state. And I think the agency that reimburses all the expenses gets and keeps more good people. We talk about whether we will do this for a few more years or a few more decades. Eventually we decide that it is is time to retire. But we don't have conversations in which we say, "I care about the kids, but I don't know how much longer I can tolerate the system."

If you talk with us you will learn that we do appreciate knowing that whatever resources our kids need, they will get. Those of us who have biokids appreciate knowing that we will not be asking them to sacrifice things like money for camp or lessons. Even so, what we really appreciate most is being treated like a part of the team, being listened to, and being cared about ourselves.

And yes, good foster parents treat all the children in the house as equally important. All their needs matter and all those needs require sacrifices. We sacrifice full nights sleep, the chance to come home and relax after work, hours spent in the car driving a kid to appointments, evenings alone with our partners when our biokids accept spontaneous invitations to spend the night and our other kids may not because no one there has been background-checked, hours when we could be getting something else done worrying and wondering about the child, hours helping all our children learn to interact with and accept each other.

My husband is a elementary school teacher and like most good school teachers he takes from his own pocket to supplement the classroom for items for which the district will not pay. And that is what people who are committed to important jobs do. They sacrifice more money, time and energy in order to do it well.

Though it may be true that the truly dedicated make sacrifices, it is fallacious to conclude from that that you attract and keep the best people by requiring unreasonable sacrifices as part of the job.

If you want to attract and keep the best people tell them, "We will give you everything we can to help you do this job well. We will provide you with adequate resources so that you know by taking in one more child you will not have to take away anything from the children you already care for. We will give you training that actually gives you skills to do the job. We will hire enough social workers that they can help you work through problems and we will pay them well enough, treat them well enough, that they stay and you can come to know them and trust them.

Doing this will still require sacrifices. We pay your expenses, but we cannot afford to pay you even what a teenage babysitter will be paid for taking care of them. Your loss energy, time, and (sometimes) sanity will be rewarded by seeing children who sometimes succeed, and sometimes call you foul names and walk away, and all too often end up living the very lives you hoped to help them avoid.

When your heart breaks, all the compensation you will get is an understanding hug and a sympathetic ear.

We will do the minimum though. We can at the very least tell you you do not have to pay money for the privilege. We will pay the expenses. We will not ask you to sacrifice the needs of kids you already have in order to satisfy the needs of the next child we ask you to take. We will not put you in a position of accepting donations over the Internet (as Baggage had to do) in order to buy the children the clothes they need so you can still pay the rent. We will treat you with respect and provide you with the resources to do the job we ask you to do."

Funny thing happened on the way to the shelter

Our neighbors last spring decided that raising chickens would be a good home schooling project. They got eggs, kept them warm, held the chicks, and finally put them in a coop in the backyard where they made my dogs insane. I considered reporting them (the neighbors), as I believe it is against town regulations to have chickens, but I didn't after they told me they were looking for a home in the country and would be taking their chickens away.

They did move, but they left one chicken behind.

It has been wandering around the neighborhood, mostly living in a big evergreen bush on my yard and making the dogs REALLY insane. Today though Brian caught it. He called me at work and asked me what to do. I gave him the number for animal control and they told him that they would not come and get it, but if an adult brought it in they would take it. Brian said they didn't actually say they would euthanize it, but that he thought they would. I agreed.

Wanting to get it all over with, for Brian's sake of course, I rushed home and got the dog crate. Brian was sitting in the shade with the chicken looking glum. He put the chicken in the crate and said, "Did you know that chickens purr? If you scratch it behind the head it makes a purring noise." We talked about it and he understood that we had few options: the chicken would freeze to death or be eaten by a dog if it just wandered around. So we drove to the shelter.

But because of some construction I took the back roads. Though I have driven this road any number of times, I suddenly saw something I had not noticed before: a house with a yard with a dozen or more chickens! Quickly, I pulled in the driveway. After some calling out "hello!" a friendly Mexican American woman came out, listened to me for a minute and then turned and yelled, "CARLOS!" Three children came running from the field, one of whom was Carlos.

We told Carlos our story, and that we were on our way to the animal shelter when we saw all their chickens and wondered if they wanted another. He translated and then asked us if we were selling it. I said no, that in fact I thought the shelter would charge me for euthanizing (killing) it, so I was giving it away. He asked me if it laid eggs. Brian assured him that it did. So the mom shrugged, we got the chicken, and Brian told Carlos how it had been a home schooling project and was very gentle and would purr if you scratched it behind the head. Carlos removed the chicken very gently and it walked off to join all the other hens.

So it was a good afternoon for all concerned. The chicken was saved from certain doom and is now living on a farm in the country. A nice farming family has a story to tell about a couple of crazy gringos. And Brian requests that we eat something vegetarian for dinner tonight.

Peseverating and Threatening

Not threatening violence, so deep breath.

Yesterday Frankie was denied a "level up" interview at school because he was rude and obstinate in the morning. He tells us that the only reason he was rude was that he gets tired of smiling and being polite while he is being told that he has to be there to work on behaviors, when that is not true, and they are giving him work far below his level and he isn't learning.

We tried to talk to him. We tried to explain that in fact the achievement tests say that he is at fifth grade level. We understand that the work that he is doing feels baby-ish to him, but his academic progress has been so uneven there are holes that have to be filled in.

This information did not penetrate.

We told him that he could talk to the educational specialist at the agency who could review his achievement scores and talk to him and help him come up with plan. That also did not penetrate. He just kept repeating, "I'm not learning 10th grade material. I'm not going to be able to do 11th grade. I'm not learning anything and I am not going to be able to get a job."

Hubby told him that no matter where he went to school, he needed to do work starting where he was and work to where he needed to be.

We tried to tell him that though it is true that his severe behaviors are far in the past, there are behaviors or needs that keep him out of regular high school, LIKE WHAT HE IS DOING RIGHT NOW. You know, go on and on with a subject, not responding or seeming even to hear what other people say.

He said he was only frustrated because he wasn't learning and he does not get frustrated about other things, he doesn't have any behavioral issues and all the school does is work on behaviors and he isn't learning anything and if he isn't doing 10th grade work now he won't be able to do 11th grade work later.

He said he would do whatever he had to do to get an education. I said great, he could work more on things at home. He did not just have to learn at school.

He said he needed to do whatever he needed to do to get an education and learn, because if he didn't do 10th grade work now he would not be able to do 11th grade work next year. If he had to he would leave the permanency program, leave this foster home, and go to a foster home where he could go to a school where they would teach him.

***
Allow me to interrupt my narrative for two comments:
First:
I hereby declare that any period which might have been considered a "honeymoon," although it is really "observation and assessment," is officially over.

Second:
It occurred to me every time he said that he could/should move to a different foster home that he was trying to push my buttons, get me as upset as he is. In his script I suspect that we either get upset and promise to do whatever we have to to keep him, or else yell at him for suggesting such that he might leave us. Ah, but Frankie, m'dear, you don't know who you are up against. We have been trained by manipulators far more subtle and skilled than you. I have managed not to be excited by professional princesses and RAD ragers. I have stayed calm while dealing with teenage girls (and the people gasp in amazement). I can handle you.
****

Meanwhile, back in the living room....

"I can you know. I am voluntary-ily in this program and I can leave and go to another foster home where I can go to school."

"You are right. You can. We would miss you."

"Because I am not learning anything at that school. All they care about is behavior and I am not a behavioral. Do you think that I spit on people and throw desks and hurt people?"

"No. Your issues are dealing with frustration and anger."

"I only get frustrated about school! I wouldn't get frustrated if they gave me work at my level. If I don't do 10th grade work I won't be able to do 11th grade work next year!"

Hubby says that he can review Frankie's scores to make certain that he is being given work at his level. Frankie says, "It is not at my level. I am in 10th grade! And I am not doing 10th grade work! If I don't do 10th grade work now, I won't be able to do 11th grade work next year! Maybe I should just go to a different program. I will leave this foster home if I have to to get to a school where I can learn."

I said, "I understand. Why don't you wait until the morning to decide what to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it is past the time you normally go to bed, and I know I am tired."

"I am not learning anything at that school..."

"Frankie! Listen sweetie. It is time to sleep. You can figure this out in the morning."

"I could just go to a different foster home."

"You could. I would miss you, but if you wanted to call your state worker and demand to be moved you could."

"I just want to learn. That school only works on behaviors and I don't have 'BEHAVIORS.' I don't throw desks or spit or hit people. I don't need to be somewhere for behaviors. I need to learn. If I don't learn 10th grade work now I won't be able to do 11th grade work next year."

"I understand. It is time to go to bed."

***
Like the writers of Groundhog Day, I wanted to give you enough of the conversation so that you could really understand. Unlike the those writers, I will stop now that I think you are saying, "Okay, I get it already." Suffice it to say that the conversation actually was much longer than what I have typed, but I have not left out anything that we said. We just said it many more times.

I did leave out the part where I considered telling him that if he wanted to give up WoW he could use the time to study and get himself to a different academic level. I decided not to for the obvious reasons.

There is also the problem that the school IS giving him work at his current level. The problem is that he knows so much and manages to "read" material at a higher level on his own, but he misses a great deal of the content. His vocabulary is spotty, his ability to speak grammatically is poor. Sometimes of it may have to do with the way he processes language, that he cannot remember to say "rogue" or to keep the various forms of words sorted out (e.g. "attracting/attractive, " "voluntary/voluntarily"). Some of it may be the language patterns he grew up with like "more better". Whatever it is, he does not have the vocabulary and language skills that an average sixth grader does.

And his math skills are also about fifth grade. I know that at the Treatment Center they had him working out of an Pre-Algebra book, but the testing shows that none of it stuck. It is frustrating to go from pre-algebra fifth grade math, but those are the concepts he needs to master.

And of course there is the issue that he does have behavioral problems. They are not problems with violence. They are not issues with a basic lack of respect for adults. However, there is an issue with frustration, perseverating, not listening when he is worked up.

Sigh.

He got up just before I left for school. He was cheerful and talking about WoW when I said goodbye.

Responding to Dimitra Daisy

Dimitra Daisy delurked to write a long and very good comment on the previous post, Do disorders come in natural kinds.

If you want a good indication of whether Frankie has Aspergers or not (but only an indication!) look to see if he looks at people's faces to get information about things. Ifyou were frowning because you can't possibly hear another minute of talking about WoW, would he be able to tell? And, even if he can, does he look out for this sort of information? He might be able to tell you are angry, but does he check to see how you feel when he's talking with you? Does he do it consistently?

I want to answer these questions, and those of you who know more about Asperger's can give me feedback if you have any.

First answer: Yes, he can get information from faces, or at least faces with small noises. I gave an example a while back. He came into the living room with something messy and I made a little "uh" sound and he turned and looked me right in the face waiting for me to tell him what was wrong. I told him that the thing he had should stay in the kitchen. At the time I thought he was definitely "reading my face" but as I type this I wonder if he was really responding the distress noise.

Another example would be the other day when he asked me if I thought blood elves were "attracting" I said "Yes, definitely" with a total deadpan followed by a tiny smile. He burst out laughing. Again, he seemed to understand that my face was telling him something other than what my words were saying.

Most of the time when he is talking to someone he does make eye contact.

Second answer: not when he is caught up in an obsession or is frustrated. When he is worked up about WoW he does not check your face to see how you are responding to the conversation. You cannot get him to stop talking about it by giving him a bored face or annoyed face (not that I have tried that for long). I have always thought about it as the obsession/frustration being too strong to be stopped by a facial expression. Sometimes when we have told him that we need him to stop talking about something he has left the room -- not in a huff. It just seems like he knows that is the only way he can not talk to us.

I think it might be the case that he looks at our faces when he is asking for information and it seems like he can "read" them. When we ask him for information he is less likely to look, and when he seems compelled to tell us something he either doesn't look, doesn't "read" or doesn't use what he has read to guide his actions. If he has started to tell me about something he HAS TO FINISH even if I tell him early on "yes, I do know about that" or even "remember, I watched that show with you."

And a comment or two: Frankie has excellent eye contact for a kid in the system. Maybe it was because in the centers/institutions they made him. I know that at his current school they insist upon it. Maybe the group homes and treatment center were like that. In any case, Frankie generally does better than my other kids did. With most of my kids, direct and sustained eye contact was a pretty good indication that the kid was trying to deceive me.

Frankie does not monitor emotions like the other kids did. All the kids learn to insulate themselves from the emotions of others. Some try not to care about what you think. Others try to maintain a sense of control by keeping you wound up. However, they were all very aware of my emotional state. Part of how these kids survive is by watching the adults carefully. So though they might mistake me being tired and cranky with me being angry, they were always aware. Frankie though does not monitor and does not even notice more subtle emotional states. He also does not suspect me of lying if I tell him that I am just tired and not angry.

Do disorders come in natural kinds?

There has been a debate in philosophy for since forever about whether there are natural kinds. Philosophers who think that there are not natural kinds often call themselves "nominalists." "Nomos" is Greek for "name" and monimalists argue that our perception that the world comes in categories is entirely dependent upon our words.

It makes a lot of sense if you think about bodies of water. The name of my home town is an American Indian word which I am told means, "large flat body of water." It can refer to a lake or a bay. We have words like creek, river, stream, not to mention pond and lake. The world just has water. We divide it up according to our interests and then we think it comes that way.

Of course a true nominalist thinks that nothing comes pre-categorized, but in order to explain to you what I have been wondering, we need to assume that some things do come in natural kinds (like elephants and giraffes) and some things don't (like musical instruments).

We no longer regard consumption as a natural kind. Years ago if you had a chronic lung condition, you could get diagnosed with consumption. If we could go back in time we would diagnose most of the people with tuberculosis, but a good chunk of them would be people with bronchitis, pneumonia, asthma, emphysema or lung cancer.

Everyone with me? Consumption, as a kind (natural or nominalist), is not something we recognize anymore. If someone were to go back in time and tell doctors that there was no such thing as consumption they would be stunned and show us all the sick people. It might take a while to explain we weren't denying the existence of the sick people, just the category. By the way, if I'm wrong about consumption, I don't really care. This is set up.

And I wonder how many of the things in the DSM (pick your number) will be regarded as "real" in one hundred years.

There is just so much cross-over in symptomology. Disorders/conditions are described and there is no definitive test to figure it out. Consider all the forms of autism and FASD, not to mention OCD, ODD, RAD, ADHD, ADD, borderline personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, social anxiety disorder, and.. you get the idea.

It seems likely to me that someday we will regard ADD and ADHD as symptoms not diagnoses. I could really be wrong, but I think so. And I wonder if we will think that FASD is "real" or if we will decide that fetal alcohol exposure can cause damage to different parts of the body. We know that mothers who have Rubella (German Measles) when pregnant can have babies who have hearing, vision, heart, and cognitive impairments. We don't however think that there is such a thing as "Rubella Spectrum Disorder."

I have all this going through my head as I am getting ready to schedule Frankie for his neuropsych evaluation. The hope of many of us is that he will go with his file which includes at least four different disorders (two of which are generally considered to exclude each other) and come out with one. It is not clear that he has ever had a complete evaluation like the one he is going to get. He has had IQ tests, aptitude tests, and been diagnosed with various sorts of things based upon behaviors that he exhibited at the time, behaviors that might have been entirely reasonable responses to very unreasonable living conditions. (Did you know not so very long ago at least one physician diagnosed slaves who kept running away with Drapetomania? Of course the word just means "manic runaway slave" but the point was that some people regarded the reasonable behavior of running away from salvery as a psychiatric disorder.)

So, after this evaluation will Frankie be determined to have Asperger's, FASD-ARND, or will be told just that he is a sweet, clumsy kid with ADD?

And will whatever they tell us be really helpful? It will certainly have a great affect on the sorts of services I can get for him, but will it be real? Is it based on truth?

Or is it just the category to which he will be assigned. "Nope, too short for a mountain -- you are really a hill."

Hijacked Appointment

Today Frankie had his appointment to get "fitted for contacts." Poor thing almost came to tears trying to put them in. Putting in contacts requires fine motor skills he doesn't really have AND preventing your body from behaving in a sensible way. At one point he turned to the woman who, with infinite patience, was trying to teach him and said, "It's just that this is like totally contrary to my instincts."

Yep. My instincts would be to blink if uncoordinated fingers were coming at my eye too. But he got them in and didn't actually cry. We all pretended that the watering eyes and dripping nose were purely physical responses to the experience. Actually, I was really proud of him. I have never seen him deal with that much frustration without melting down.

I found out this afternoon that he also had a med check appointment tonight, which gave me the excuse to hijack his counseling appointment. It was a fun-filled family outing. The five of us piled into the van, Hubby dropped me off at the counselor's, and drove off to take Frankie to the psychiatrist who decided not to make any significant changes to his meds, at least not until after the neuropsych evaluation.

I told Frankie in advance that I was going to talk to his counselor. He asked why and I told him that I was worried about how much World of Warcraft seemed to have sucked out his brain and that I wanted help figuring out what to do about it. I told him that it had occurred to me that cutting off his access altogether might be a good idea, but that I thought that would be too hard for him. And I told him that other people had suggested that I put him on a high-protein diet free from all sugar, yeast, artificial dyes and flavorings (I'm exaggerating, but it was fun) but that was too difficult for me. He claimed that neither option was acceptable for true Americans and indicated that he trusted his counselor to guide me through these murky waters.

I had a good long talk talk with counselor. I told him that I suck at behavior mod, learned all my best parenting techniques in Alanon, and was interested in some advice. He got some more information out of me about my family, remarked on how well Frankie has settled seeing as he has only been with us for six or seven weeks (amazing isn't it?) and then made two entirely reasonable suggestions. First we should come up with an agreed upon signal to indicate we no longer wanted to talk or hear about WoW. Second, I'm to attempt to sign Frankie up for one or two classes or activities to give him something else to think about. He also said, "I don't want to recommend anything more specific until after we get the results from the neuropsych evaluation." (Anyone sensing a theme?) We threw around possible diagnoses, agreed that he had a whole lot of Asperger's-y characteristics, except for being good at reading emotions, including sarcasm which seemed pretty basic to the diagnosis.

Anyway, I agreed that even someone as bad as I am at behavior mod can manage to sign up a kid for a class at the Y, and saying something like "Dude, I don't want to listen to anything more about WoW" is right up Alanon-road.

After the appointment the five of us went out to dinner at one of the finer fast food joints. Frankie was clearly prepared for me when I said, "We need to come up with a signal for when we need you to talk about something other than WoW."

He said, "Why don't you call me by my full name?"

"But that will sound like you did something bad. Wouldn't you prefer for us to say something like, 'now entering WoW-free zone'?"

"Naw. Why don't you just say 'Heh. Lastname' (giving his step-father's last name).

"You're certain."

"Sure."

Brian said, "I'm sure going to be saying that a lot."

I picked up my folk, took a bite of the salad I like to pretend is low-calorie, and said, "You counselor also thinks we should sign you up for an activity. What would you like to do?"

"Can I learn rock climbing?"

"Sure, they have a class for that at the Y." I say, continuing to munch.

"Cool. Someday I want to climb Mt. Everest." He precedes to give us copious amounts of information about the mountain, the equipment one needs, and low chances of survival if you don't do it right. "Did you know that are lots of dead bodies just lying around at Base Camp 4?"

"No, I didn't, but please allow me to express my pleasure that you brought that up while I am eating my dinner."

He giggled and choked on a french fry.

Definitely a satisfactory evening for all.

Regularly Scheduled Melt-Down

I thought I told him before that I was told that Tuesday morning was scheduled maintanence on WoW. I really thought I did. But I might not have, or it might not have made a difference. In any case, WoW was doing scheduled maintanence and Frankie was worked up with frustration that he couldn't play.

It was horrible you know, last night he had a counseling appointment and barely had time to play and do his homework, and now he can't play this morning and he has to go to the stupid eye doctor today, and...

I got him to calm down enough to listen to me and said, "Frankie, I am concerned that you get so upset over this game..."

He interrupted me to explain to me that that the game didn't upset him, it was not playing that upset him. I tried a few more times, but with no real success. He paced frantically while complaining. I tried to maintain an attitude of calm. Well, I succeeded there, but I don't know if it made much of a difference. He did suddenly decide that he should just go to his room and try to sleep more, and I let him go.

I really appreciate all the ideas regarding dealing with this behavior.

I am pleased that I neuropsych eval will be coming up soon. I will also talk to his doctor about his medications and see if he thinks it is appropriate to add or change something.

Helen -- I can ask about anti yeast and fungi treatments. I doubt though that he will be able to get any treatment with only anecdotal evidency.

A.S. -- Thanks for the suggestions. I wish that we could shift his obsessions to that degree, but I don't think we can. I said that we could shift them some, but not that much.

Baggage and others who suggested on-line groups: I'm hesitant there. He is already using all of his electronic time on WoW. I am not inclined to expand the time, and I don't think that he would be willing to spend any of the time that he does have anywhere else.

And for now, Hubby and I have decided not to take away WoW. We've come to the conclusion that it is really not the problem. It might be nice if he were obsessed with something that we felt comfortable letting him do all waking hours, but, well, he isn't.

I'm definitely following up with the medication suggestion though.

Some of your suggestions are really interesting, and the thought of trying to implement them has made me realize how serious it is. I can't imagine right now trying to get him to think of what he is afraid of, for instance. He really can't think about anything else.

But again, I really appreciate the feedback. It is good to know there are so many caring people out there!

A friend?

I've been getting some really good feedback on the I need help post -- so thanks and keep it coming.

Today Frankie came home asking if he could go to his friend's house. You may remember that on the weekend he had no friends, but by the time he got home he did. Hubby drove him over, though he insisted it was close enough to walk, in order to do the whole parent meeting parent thing. Here's hoping!

I also got approval to schedule Frankie's neuropsych eval. It will probably take a couple of weeks, but I'll get it on the calendar anyway.

And then we shall see if it gives us a clearer picture and some guidance, or it it will just be one more thing in his confusing and contradictory file.

I need help

From the BTDT* crowd. If you have a child who obsesses, I would love for you to share your experience. Please understand I don't mean a kid who was totally caught up in one thing for a while and then eventually got over it and went back to a variety of interests, I mean a kid who is always obsessed about something.

I don't think I would have known the difference before living with Frankie. He has been obsessed with WoW and we got him for a while to spend some time with another game. He did, and the rest of the day he could talk about nothing else. We have tried a couple of times to get him interested in all sorts of things. It either doesn't work at all, or he gets this intense, obsessive interest in it. It really looks like he can shift interests, but whatever he is interested in consumes him.

Though he complained very much about Brian not letting him hang out with his friends, and about how he does not have any friends of his own, he is very resistant to any suggestion that might change that. He does not want to go to the GLBT-youth support group, or any other youth group. He does not want to go to organizations for kids in foster care. He does not want for us to invite one of the couple of kids his own age at his school over to hang out with him at the house.

I mention this because I think it is part of the same issue. I think the reason he has trouble making friends is that he can't maintain an interest in what other people care about. His own obsessions take over. It is all he can talk about. It is more complicated than that, but that is part of what is going on.

I mentioned Asperger's to Hubby, who is a special education teacher, and he said to me in his Mister Rogers voice, "Children with Asperger's have difficult understanding other people's emotions. Frankie has trouble regulating his own." Okay. Check. But again, the diagnosis might not really matter. I need to decide how to deal with it.

Idea One: accept and enjoy Frankie just the way he is. Whenever I have decided to try to change something basic about a kid it has just made me crazy. As I have said before, I suck at behavior modification. When kids have made major leaps in their development or behavior it has always been because they have decided to do so.

To be clear, I am able to enforce basic rules and insist on basic respect. Last night, when Frankie ran out slamming doors I walked down and, with a quiet but insistent voice, made him come back up, speak appropriately with Brian (they did not resolve anything) and then walk quietly to bed without slamming doors. I can refuse to buy junk food, or let them spend more time than I think they should on video games. All that I can do.

But "being obsessive" is, I suspect, too much like "being deceptive" or "being shy." It is part of who he is and I have doubts that any level of concern or intervention on my part is going to make an immediate difference. It will either go away because it is symptomatic of something that can be treated (possible, but I'm not counting on it), or because he heals after years in a safe environment.

Idea Two: Get some good ideas from people who deal with this on a regular basis for how to respond to it.

I feel like I have a handle on how to help Frankie deal with any instance of frustration melt-down. I point out to him that him that he is getting frustrated and he should apply his skills. I stay quiet myself. I tell him to take a deep breath. I let him talk for a while and then I tell him it is my turn and I insist that he listens to me. It takes some energy, but at the end of it, Frankie is calm again.

And I have realistic expectations about his over-all behavior. My goal is not: help Frankie become the sort of kid who handles frustration well. My goal is just to help him calm down whenever he is doing poorly.

But I don't know whether I should do something similar with the obsessive behavior, and if so what exactly it should be.

Of course sometimes the frustration and obsession overlap. Last evening he was trying to do something that probably can't be done. He was anxious and was not letting it go. I told him, "I will help you with this one more time, but that will be it."
He said, "I know."
"I don't think you did know until I told you."
"No, I do know. This time it will work."
"Frankie, put your hands in your lap and listen to me." (Pause to wait for him to assume good listening posture). "I know this is important to you, but it is not important to me. I am willing to help you one more time, but if it doesn't work, I am going to do something important to me."
He seemed to get it.

And when it didn't work I left. After a while he came back and announced that he was going to take a completely different approach to the problem. He was calm and spent some time thinking out loud about what might work. He was less intense, but he was still stuck on the same thing. (And yes, it was a WoW thing, but I don't think that is the point).

So this is long, but I really need some feedback here. Is my usual approach of acceptance plus boundaries to protect my own piece of mind the right way to go? Or is there something else I should be trying?

So...ideas anyone?

___
*Been There Done That

Weekends are difficult

It's just too much us, you know?

Too much of Brian and Frankie getting on each other's nerves. Too much Frankie getting on everyone's nerves.

Too much for Frankie to deal so long with non-professionals who don't respond to him dispassionately. Too much time in a non-structured environment, too much responsibility for self-regulation.

And I am trying to get over this lingering cold that has no significant symptoms other than a slight amount of congestion and a periodic headache -- and exhaustion. I haven't wanted to sleep, but I haven't wanted to do anything either.

Hubby kindly took Frankie out for a couple of hours on Saturday and Sunday. Frankie was really mostly okay. I would like to say that the things that made me tired were fall-out from his conversation with his mom and sisters, partly because I think it would be healthy for him to show some reaction, but the truth is that his behavior was not very different than it was any other time.

Early Sunday evening he came up to me to tell me that Brian still did not think that Blood Elves were attracting but his only reason was that they were animated, did I think they were attracting. I have him a total deadpan look and said, "Oh yes. Definitely." He looked at me a minute, realized I was kidding and burst into laughter. I laughed too and neither of us could explain to anyone else what was so funny.

An hour later Brian accused Frankie of wearing out one of his books/magazines and Frankie denied that it was his fault. They yelled at each other and Frankie finally yelled, "Fine. The next time I get allowance I will buy you all the books you want and never get anything for myself again." Then he stormed out, slamming doors as he went.

So you know...typical weekend.