Mommy blues

1-28-11




I am in recovery mode this morning. I had not one, but two anxiety attacks last night, both triggered by the same event, but caused by different aspects. I am tired and worn.



After a truly fun day filled with parenting class and a lunch date with Dax, we went to pick up Bobby from school. Once again, I was called over by Mrs. Fasheh, who wanted to inform me of a problem.



Bobby is not remembering all of his wall words. He is coloring badly and his penmanship is horrid. He rushes in class, and she is concerned he is falling farther and farther behind the class. His wall word rainbow has only one bar colored, when he should have 3 or 4.



My first reaction was confusion. I had spent this week, really working hard with Bobby on the words. Ken had even written him a computer program with all the words, and he was practicing for 30 minutes at a time.



He also had taken great pride in his coloring on his homework packet this week. One of the pictures he colored looked amazing, and he even asked me to take a picture of it so he could show Gramma.



When he would write out his letters, and work on letter sounds, I made him re do anything that was sloppy and when one worksheet called for only writing out the letter sounds under pictures that were H, I had him do them all just for practice. He was doing well.



So I didn’t understand how he was struggling so hard in class. I agreed to work harder with him, explaining to her that he has spent extra time as recently as the night before on words. I knew he was having the most difficulty with the word “where”, and only just now starting to remember “who” and “what”. She seemed indifferent to this and I told her to make sure to get on him when he was being sloppy. She kind of laughed, as did I, but really, I was starting to freak out.



I gathered the boys and we walked home quickly. I wanted Bobby to practice, but honestly, I was at a loss of how to pound this stuff into his head. I settled in on lines. I figured I would get some lined notebook paper, have him write out all the wall words.



I first started saying words to him and making him write them from memory. He struggled, so I thought I should start slower. I took the “wh” words and wrote them at the top of the sheet. I then indicated where he needed to write out the word, several times down the sheet of paper. After he wrote a word, I asked him to tell me the word.



He wrote maybe 10 lines worth. He actually wrote them pretty well. I only had to erase a couple of letters from time to time. He also got down “who” and “what”, yet still struggled with “where”.



It was at this point that while he was writing, I decided to go through his backpack to see what school work he had brought home. In the folder was some coloring, some numbers and writing. I was shocked at what I saw.



The coloring was some of the best I had seen from him. He had to color multiple hats the color they said on them. Most of the crayon, if not all on some, was inside the lines. It looked 100% better to coloring even brought home last week.



His letters on the next sheet were not horrible, either. I could see there was some rushing involved, but overall, you could see improvement.



His number, I will be honest, still struggle. However, it occurred to me that his numbers are written out in a more free form layout. With letters and words, including the notebook I had him writing in, he did better. He used the guidelines of the rows and knew where to stop with the top and bottoms of the lines that made up the letters of the alphabet. When he didn’t have a top line in which to determine sizing, you could see his writing suffer.



Either way, it didn’t appear to me that he was as crappy a student as her ominous warning indicated. My mind was exploding as I started cursing the teacher. I wondered if perhaps Maria had in fact been right in that she picks on students that came from her daycare. I then hated myself for this thought. I second guessed my feelings and then second thought those. I was a wreck.



Stephanie and Sabrina came over and I was in the midst of this crazy. I showed Stephanie his class work, knowing she could be objective. She assured me that in fact it looked pretty damn good for his age. She also said the lines he had been working on were quite good for a kid in Kinder. I was relieved, but I still knew it was something that would have to be addressed.



Ken got home and I started explaining to him what had occurred. The emotions got the better of me, and a panic attack was looming. I could feel how tense I had become and I am sure my explanation of the fact was fuzzy.



I was pushed over the edge with one simple word. Misread. Ken suggested that perhaps I had misread Mrs. Fasheh’s warning, and that in fact she was just saying we needed to be aware. I lost it.



My original calmed down mindset was shattered and I spiraled down quickly. I felt as though Ken had been siding with the instructor as opposed to with me or our son. My thoughts went to, “Ken thinks Bobby is stupid. Ken thinks I am over protective and that I don’t see the facts right in front of me.” I freaked.



I busied myself with dinner preparation, hoping that I didn’t melt down. I considered a Xanax. I considered the bottle of wine in the fridge. I opted against both, and instead took out the crazy as I chopped up the meat for our tacos.



Ken and I had another opportunity to talk about an hour later as the boys watched their show. Although I had calmed down to begin this talk, it was not chemically altered, so it was short lived.



I finally was able to get across to Ken what had set me off. He had been using the word miscommunication interchangeably with the word misread. I was able to explain that it is one thing to think your kid is an idiot. It is another when you start to place all of the blame on yourself for this.



It has actually been some time since I had such a crazy crying fit. It felt good afterwards, as clearly there was a lot built up in there.



Ken and I agreed that what needs to be done is first and foremost, we need to practice with Bobby. It means more lines, taping up post its with the words all over our house, and just being super diligent on getting those words in his brain.



Second, we are going to set up a conference with Mrs. Fasheh in order to find out what he is doing wrong, and to have some kind of gage as to what she is looking for. Is he struggling with saying the words, or is he just writing them badly. What is the full extent in which he is having problems so that we can target those trouble areas at home in our practice.



It scares me greatly that Bobby will have problems in academics. I know there were subjects and things that I had a hard time with, and I hate to see him go through the same problems. I take comfort in the fact that he makes friends very easily, as that was another one of my issues. At least I didn’t pass down all my crap DNA.



Of course, the irony in all of this is the juxtaposition of parenting classes. They are supposed to be targeting my relationship with my pre-K student, but I can assure you, Dax is not struggling in the same ways Bobby is. Perhaps the lessons and discussions in these classes would in fact benefit my relationship with Bobby more than I would have planned.



I could easily criticize the classes, btw. I agree with Stephanie in the idea that we are in a budget crisis and yet here were are, spending money on mandatory classes on how to be a parent, when a good chunk of the parents in the class have 3 or more children who have done just fine without mom and dad taking a class.



But that being said, I have decided to embrace the experience. Originally, I had planned on making Ken take the hit, but actually, I feel as though I would be missing out on a crucial part of my children’s schooling experience. I currently have subscriptions to two parenting magazines, with a third just ordered. I read articles on line and try to keep up on all of the latest information concerning mommyhood. Why stop there?



This class also couples me with parents of kids that I am sure I will get to know over the next 6 years. They are kids that Dax will be at birthday parties with. They are kids that may play at my house and call me Mama Brenan. They are parents of kids in the same school as my kids and they can help me with struggles with teachers or the bureaucracy of the system. They come from various backgrounds and perhaps seeing them struggle with different problems will put mine in better perspective. It is a parenting community that I have searched for and it is something I think I need to give a real chance to.



I am guessing the emotional roller coaster that was my day is what led to my funky dreams. I was in a strange, yet comfy bed that was low to the ground and took up a whole room. I looked outside, which was easy to do since my room was missing an entire wall. I had an amazing and lush backyard which was huge. It was 2 or 3 in the morning, and I noted a bag of dog food on the outskirts of the property. It wasn’t just a bag mind you. It was the size of a car. The bag was open, with some of the kibble spilling from it. The kibble was the size of bowling balls. I was confused, but laid in bed for a while, looking out at how the light bounced off the trees and what appeared to be a moat that separated my yard from my back neighbors.



I looked back in my room for a moment and my attention was brought back to the outside where my neighbor was cutting trees, and appeared to be tossing them into my yard. I was annoyed until I realized it was an illusion and in fact the trees were still in his yard.



He noticed me watching him and he walked over. He was a rugged looking gentleman. He even had dark blue jeans and a red and black flannel shirt with suspenders. You would have thought the Brawny man was living next to me.



He stood outside my room as we talked. It then occurred to me how incredibly naked I was. I was covered with tons of sheer white sheets. But I didn’t seem to care. I also was incredibly thin and fit. I actually remember thinking how good my ass looked. I was lying on my stomach, my torso propped up on my arms as I talked with the man about our yards.



Then, he asked me what I thought of the job he had done on Bobby’s bedroom. He motioned to my left where I then noted the shaping of my house. It was a giant U, with my room on one end and Bobby’s on the other, also lacking in an exterior wall. I explained that I had not had a chance to really look into it. He seemed a little hurt, so I assured him that I would go and admire his handiwork. He laughed and went back to his wood cutting.



I sat up, and wrapped myself up in the sheets, loosely collecting fabric in order to bunch it up over the correct spots. I tiptoed around the house and into Bobby’s room. It was gorgeous.



Inside the deep blue room, was a giant pretend tree in the corner that looked as though it had grownup through the floor boards and had then branched out through the roof and walls. Inside the tree was his bed, looking incredibly comfortable. There was dark green furniture and a deep red rug on the floor. The walls also had very tiny and delicate white painted flowers in vines coming up from the dresser.



I stood and looked at it for a while when my dad came in and told me it was time to get ready to go. I didn’t understand but went and got dressed.



I woke up at this point, sad that I didn’t get to see where we were going. I fell back asleep and know that I was at Waller Stadium getting a slushie at one point. I had yet another dream in which I was in some kind of warehouse.



I wish I could say they were Xanax induced, but I never took any. Maybe they came from the Vicks that I used last night. Hmmm…



This evening I am hoping to find some inspiration in the portfolios. Stephanie and I are going to the Tattoo place so she can have a consultation regarding some ink she is getting done. Although I have already settled in on one of the designs I will get at some point, I am looking forward to using the portfolios to perhaps come up with some ideas to get me started on the other one I intend to get. See, I know that the skeleanimal of Dax is a given. I also still really want my self affirmation rock star. On this one, I go back and forth between star designs, so perhaps I will see something that makes me see the star in my head that should be on me. Lastly, I do want something to symbolize Bobby. This one is tough since nothing has been quite right. The good thing, though, is that this kid is going nowhere, so I have plenty of time to come up with something perfect.



Ken spoke with Mrs. Fasheh this morning and she explained that in fact it was not that he is an idiot. More specifically, he is not progressing as much as he should. In fact, Dimitri’s mom was there for the same reason this morning. The kids should have more wall words memorized. Bobby currently is hesitating too much on them and making little mistakes on the rainbow of words, which has kept him from coloring the entire rainbow. He has only the first bar colored, whereas most kids have 3. Some have even moved on to the 1st grade level.



She said he also tends to rush, which Ken pointed out he was doing with him last night on his homework. I know he rushes with me, but I go all Catholic school on him and stop just short of smacking his knuckles with a ruler. Mrs. Fasheh has indicated she will be tougher on them. She just happened to note that they are half way through the year and she would like to see them further along.



In addition to this, he used to do better about staying in the lines on writing. Now, he tends to be all over the place. Ken told her about the lines we had him do, and she was glad to hear that he was in fact doing it correctly somewhere, but he needs to buckle down in class.



I am going to bring those in, and go talk with her this afternoon. My objective is to see the work he is doing poorly on. I also want to get a copy of this rainbow. I have in my bag a pack of multicolored post its at the ready to make a giant wall words rainbow for him. Rewards system ideas are getting clear. We are going to have him practice coloring in the lines more with coloring books. He will do lines every day. He will get this down if I have to go all tiger mom on his ass.



I am not thrilled, but I know that if I want my kid to succeed, I have to be an important part of this. His distractions seem to be keeping him back. I have to call our doc anyways for his yearly appointment, and I need to mention all of this to her as well. He still is having difficulty staying dry at night, so perhaps there is something more that I have not been able to identify. This has become my main focus right now.



It is a sobering piece of information when you start to wonder about your kid’s intelligence. I have to admit, I have taken it all for granted. Especially when I have been told so many times how smart my boys are. Yet at the same time, in the back of my head, I still have some words my mother said to me once when I was talking about getting a permit to go to a different school. She said that the problem with a permit is that if the kid ended up needing special ed services, he would end up being bumped from the permitted school, which would suck, especially if it happened in the middle of a school year.



These words have haunted me.



Why would she bring this up? Of course, the obvious answer was that my mother in fact works with the kids that do end up needing special education. It would just be a random footnote in terms of things to worry about if you had a permit. In my uber crazed hypochondriac induced thought process, I assumed of course that she was implying that my kid was a tard. Mind you, my mother would NEVER say, hint, consider or even care if Bobby somehow was slow. She thinks he is perfect in every way. I love the bias of a grandmother. She has told me that it is a perk of that status since she never has to worry about the boys doing well in school like she did with Matt and I since she just gets to love them and be enamored by their innocence. She knows that as a parent, we have to go beyond the thought process of “my kid is perfect” to the realism that kids are not perfect, which is still ok, but that it is our job to worry about how to help them through whatever diagnosis might come up.



Now that I may actually have to consider the possibility that my kid may not have this school stuff come easy to him, I am nervous. Am I equipped to help him through this? Is it a phase he will outgrow? Can I keep my crazy to a minimum in order to be a good parent during this?



As I had him do lines last night, I stopped him at one point and grabbed and hugged him tight. He laughed, especially since I may have been crushing him. I knew in that instant that he knew he was loved. It was comforting, but at the same time, I worried about when the day came that he would possibly second guess this.