Domestic Psychology

college freshman reboot

// August 31st, 2009 // No Comments » // aspergers, school, teenagers

Today was Tommy’s first day at Pellissippi State. We’re treating it like his freshman year of college, even though he spent a year at LMU. Well, Tommy is treating it like his freshman year. Everyone else in the family is prepared for one very exhausting semester of push, push, pushing Tommy to act like a student. Last year, Tommy ended up hiding in his dorm room all day and playing video games all night with the other not-going-to-class freshmen. It was a very expensive year of the summer camp Tommy never experienced. Tommy made friends and had a great time. I saved a message in my phone from one of the many days when I sent him a message to check on him. “I’m good. Normal. Happy.” He was happy because he was hiding in his room instead of going to class. This summer, he spent an entire day at Vocational Rehabilitation for aptitude/career testing. The results said he would be good at picking locks. Umm, I don’t think so. So, we’re trying college again with a much, much shorter umbilical cord.

During registration, Tommy constantly pointed out the students that he recognized from his high school. After freshman orientation, he told me a dozen things that his guide had told him about the school. When we met with disability services, baby geese waddled by the office window. All last week, we talked about being a good student. Last night, he went to bed early. This morning, he got up and ate breakfast cheerfully. Everything looked promising. After dropping Tommy off for his not too early 9:30 class, Doug and I tersely snapped at each other all day.

I picked Sarah up at the high school and headed to pick Tommy up from the college. Sarah was in an unusually good mood and her details about her day distracted me from my anxiety. We arrived on campus and Tommy texted that he didn’t want my help in the bookstore. I understood that, but sent Sarah in to check on him. They returned to the car and I asked Tommy to tell me about his day. Tommy talked the entire ride home. He told Sarah and I ALL about the cafeteria choices and the quality of the food. It did not fill me with confidence.

Tommyism

// August 18th, 2009 // No Comments » // aspergers

“I wasn’t trying to see it, so it was just shiny colors.”

virtual love

// July 18th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // aspergers, love, teenagers

Me: “You won’t find the person you are meant to be with if you never leave the house.”
Tommy: “I’m going to meet someone on WoW.”

Updated with a bonus Tommyism:
Tommy and a friend decided that they were going to a party. I got upset that Tommy couldn’t provide me with an address of his destination. Tommy couldn’t understand why it mattered. “I’m eighteeeen.” I tried to explain to him that going to parties is a new experience for him and that he needed to show responsibility with this new privilege. He gave me the “my mother is weird” look and I made a mental note to revisit the conversation again later. Three hours later, Tommy walked in the front door and handed me a piece of paper. The address of the party he had already been to was printed on the paper. “What? You said you needed the address and now you have it. Why are you looking at me funny?”

one of THOSE days

// May 29th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // aspergers, home, humor, kid quotes, medical, parenting, preschoolers, teenagers

Me: “Tommy, do you want to spend the rest of your life just playing WoW in our basement?”
Tommy: “I don’t think you want to know my answer.”

Sarah: “I have NOTHING to wear. I HAVE to have new clothes.”

Noah: “Umm, yeah, I didn’t tell you, but, I, umm, lost a part of my snare drum that you rented.”

Amy: “Where’s the gum I was saving?”
Me: “Where did you leave it?”
Amy: “It was right there. Where Molly is napping.”

Evan: CRASH! “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
Me: pulling the shelf off of him “Where does it hurt?”
Evan: “Everywhere.”
Two hours and one trip to Children’s ER later, we have been reassured that he will be fine. They decided against stitches on his cheek.

I can hardly wait for tomorrow.

Tommy says:

// April 28th, 2009 // 4 Comments » // Uncategorized

“I feel like I’m always missing something. I know I can see and hear, but it just feels like everyone else understands what’s happening better than I do.”

where’s the hitchhiker’s guide when you need it?

// March 25th, 2009 // No Comments » // aspergers, school, teenagers

We always knew that the group bathroom in the college dorm would be a problem for Tommy. It has been a constant source of annoyance for Tommy and the resulting poor hygiene has been the topic of far too many weekend conversations. Still, I was caught off guard yesterday, with just a few weeks remaining until finals, Tommy sent me a rapid-fire series of text messages complaining about the bathrooms.

“Ever since Spring Break, the bathroom is ALWAYS crowded.”
“I can’t even shower late at night now.”
“Too many people.”
“They talk in the bathroom.”
“You’re not supposed to look at other people in the bathroom.”
“I can’t do anything with all those people talking.”
“They’re mostly *foreign students talking.”
“I guess it’s different where they’re from.”
“We don’t do that.”

Tommy was worked up and having a tizzy over something that I can’t control. I tried to convince him to visit Student Services and just talk to them until he could calm himself. He wouldn’t do it. Despite dozens of e-mails, phone calls and meetings, Tommy still won’t use Student Services. He won’t talk to professors. He will not ask for help of any kind. After 18 years of being the center of attention, Tommy has connected succeeding with blending in to the woodwork. Apparently, life hasn’t been difficult enough for Tommy. Now he wants to make it more difficult.

*I don’t know what he meant by this. He might think students from Texas are foreigners. The middle of Asperger drama was not the time to discuss it.

college is not summer camp

// January 11th, 2009 // No Comments » // aspergers, parenting, school

Tommy’s first semester away at school we learned exactly how much he has changed and just how much things remain the same. The biggest surprise was that Tommy made friends. Real, honest-to-goodness, not orchestrated by parents, friends. Tommy and his friends played games, watched movies and went shopping. You know what they didn’t do? Study. At least one member of the merry little group of campus campers didn’t return this semester. Tommy almost joined his friend in the stay at home and go to community college club. He is back at school now, but under a microscope of parental supervision.

Tommy’s first experience with an unsupervised play group wasn’t the only problem last semester. Tommy was supposed to check in weekly with a counselor who knew Tommy’s entire life story. The counselor had an envelope proving Tommy’s disability that was to be used to get Tommy accommodations. Tommy’s handwriting hasn’t improved since the first grade. It’s not just illegible, it’s a source of stress and anxiety that needs to be fought separate from a college classroom. Tommy needs to do assignments and tests on a word processor or verbally or anything except a blue book. Those adaptations were never made. The appointments with the counselor stopped within the first few weeks and we didn’t understand what was happening until Tommy was deep in the semester. Eventually we learned that when the counselor transferred to another department, Tommy’s files were stuck in a box and dumped in someone else’s office. It’s not the college’s fault. The real world doesn’t hold your hand like elementary school does. We were just so elated that Tommy was happy and interacting with NT peers for the first time in his life that we forgot Tommy has no self management skills. The balance between not treating him like the little boy that he is maturity-wise and the young man that he is physically is incredibly difficult and we don’t have it figured out yet.

I want to say that if this semester goes poorly academically, it was a wonderful year of social growth, but I’m just not feeling that open-minded yet. I don’t want to have to say that. I want to say that we stumbled when we threw Tommy to the wolves without any help and then we learned as we went how to help the child who wasn’t supposed to read, make it through college.

Dear Knoxville therapist,

// October 28th, 2008 // 12 Comments » // aspergers, local, medical

You have a special talent for connecting with Aspie children. Even though we no longer see you, I recommend you to the half a dozen newly diagnosed families who call me every month. Well, I used to recommend you. I will no longer do so. I stupidly ignored when you would talk to me about other patients. I shouldn’t have. Now I hear that you are talking about my child. More than talking about him, you are telling other families that my child is one of your only two failures. You are entitled to your incorrect opinion of the level of my son’s success, but I am furious that you are talking bad about my son to other people. That is unprofessional and if it continues, I will file a complaint with the state. Stop talking about my son. Now.

Up, up and away

// September 29th, 2008 // No Comments » // aspergers, parenting

After taking Tommy to the Greek food eatathon, we dropped him off at Pellissippi to spend the day watching hot air balloons with his friend. Then, we went on an extremely rare dinner outing with our friends. Before we even had our food on the table, my phone rang. “The glow is at eight. You have to be here.” Tommy could have clarified that the glow was a low tech laser light show. It didn’t matter though, we were having dinner, not watching balloons. I ate a few bites and my phone beeped with a text message. “It’ll be cool.” A few more bites and another message. “The world’s largest hot air balloon is here.” After a dozen text messages, I gave up on getting to talk to the grownups and we rushed to find out what was going on with Tommy. As we walked toward the crowd, Doug wondered aloud if Tommy was overstimmed by the festival. I was instantly aware of the muggy heat, large crowds, loud music, flame noises, food smells and fuel vapors. I distractedly clicked pictures while searching for Tommy. We made our way around the lake and searched the balloon area. Doug spotted him first. I just stood there in disbelief. My child, who I worry about constantly, was intensely focused on the hot air balloon at the end of the rope he was holding. I walked closer, my mouth hanging open so wide I could have captured half a dozen gnats. Tommy saw me and barely nodded. He worked the rope with more concentration and physical strength than I have ever seen from him. Not only did he work the balloon crew all day, he stayed there for several hours afterward to help with the takedown and packing. Except for the part where I was recruited to hoist the flattened and folded balloon into its’ storage cart, I watched Tommy instead of the balloons. I watched a completely different person than the boy who I left at college last month. I don’t know if Tommy will pass his classes. He went such a long time without any education during his childhood that he has serious gaps in his abilities. He can tell you about history, but he can’t write down what he knows. Tommy is going to be okay though. He may live a nomadic life following hot air balloons around the world or he might work on a horse ranch. I am no longer clearing the path for him. Tommy is paving his own road.

my invisible child

// September 22nd, 2008 // 7 Comments » // parenting, school

“Do you have friends at school?”
“Not really.”
“Are people mean to you?”
“No. I’m kind of invisible at school.”

Cue meeting with teachers. What the teachers and I agree on is that Noah is incredibly bright. Nearly perfect tcap scores bright. There is no gifted program in middle school, but it wouldn’t matter because he isn’t interested in doing extra work. He can’t sit through one assignment without getting up for half a dozen imaginary needs. We are halfway through the first report card period and he has already used up his bathroom passes. He can’t stay focused on a single task without being redirected several times, but he can focus on an advanced reading level book for hours. In fact, he carries dozens of books with him everywhere he goes.

His teachers report what I already know. They are constantly taking books away from him. He has an A average in all but one of his classes. But, if you look at his daily grades you see missing and half done assignments. It looks like he mentally computes how little he can get away with doing. The class without an A average is the one that is primarily writing based. Noah won’t write. He will stare at a paper, scribble through thoughts instead of erasing, doodle instead of writing and plead that he just can’t write. The teachers insist that there is no writing disability.

I tell the teachers about my conversation with Noah and his invisibility. The teachers assure me that Noah has friends. They agree with me that Noah WANTS to be invisible and is trying to make that wish come true. They also have no idea what to do to help Noah. I suspect they think I am over reacting, but alarm bells are ringing in my head. Of all my children, Noah is the most sensitive and compassionate. He is never angry, always loving. He has always seemed fragile to me. He has a serious bleeding disorder and inherited my migraines. Is he protecting himself from stress? Does he need more attention? Does he need a different school? Is he trying to replace Tommy?