Turns out, not only is Z dyslexic, she is severely dyslexic. And severely dysgraphic. With highly probable ADHD. And just to keep things interesting? Irlen Syndrome. Turns out we are learning disability overachievers. Yay!
Once I had compiled all of my information, I scheduled a meeting with the school. The whole gang was there: principal, counselor, teacher, head of special ed. for the school district. At first, I was getting a your-daughter-is-doing-fine-why-are-you-bothering-me? vibe. After a little conversation, it became clear that I was the most dyslexia-educated person in the room. I filled them in on what I knew and they warmed up to my agenda.
When the lady from downtown arrived, the mood turned cool again. She looked Z's test results and said that the first set by itself wasn't enough to prove dyslexia. And that taking the CTOP, a dyslexia diagnostic test, twice in such short succession called the results into question. Luckily, I knew she had been exposed to the test - or one like it - in kindergarten. And that was why the second tester gave her the Part B of the test (that she hadn't seen before) and got very clear results. When she saw how well informed I was, she seemed to change directions and decided that she would accept Z's diagnosis as dyslexic.
Whew!
Next came the debate about what to do about it. One of the diagnosticians mentioned that I would need to choose one remediation program and stick with it, so as not to confuse Z with differing terminology. So when the lady from downtown, mentioned it, too, I felt like she had done her homework. In the end, we decided to do outside tutoring to help with the dyslexia problems and accommodations in the classroom to support her until she is ready to go without them.
We decided that a 504 plan with a formal diagnosis of dyslexia would be the best way to insure that she gets the support she need for the rest of her public school career. All in all, I am feeling quite pleased with the results. I think everyone is happy and best of all, Z will get the help she needs to be successful.
Showing posts with label Z Says. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Z Says. Show all posts
10.21.2012
10.10.2012
Um, Yay?
So this week I have had a simultaneous "Yay!" and "Oh, sh!t!" moment. My baby girl, my first born child, my brilliant headstrong daughter is...
Dyslexic.
Am I shocked? Um, no. I have suspected that something was up since pre-school. Difficulty writing. Difficulty rhyming. No interest in independent reading. Was it? Wasn't it? I just wasn't sure. I knew I had arm-chair quarterbacked a dyslexia diagnosis on both her dad and paternal grandmother, but what did I know? My master's degree is in reading not learning disabilities.
In Kinder - at the talented and gifted magnet - her handwriting continued to be atrocious, but otherwise she blossomed. Still not super interested in reading on her own, but if pressed, could do well enough. I was troubled by her letter reversals and seeming inability to conquer certain sight words, but I was assured it was all developmental. Besides, the school district has a policy of not testing kindergartners for dyslexia. First grade is still plenty early for a diagnosis, right?
In first grade I was up front with Z's teacher about my fears/suspicions. She assured me that she had a son with learning difficulties, so she knew where I was coming from. I felt supported! I was confident she was watching for signs that something might be amiss. So come January, when her spelling grades TANKED, I was taken by surprise.
I scheduled the first of a series of teacher conferences wherein her teacher asked me, "Why are you so set on labeling her?" when I inquired about testing. Z was given tutoring in spelling. Her teacher gave her extra kinesthetic spelling activities. I became a spelling flashcard nazi. Our combined focus helped Z pass - barely. But it was enough to satisfy the powers in charge of these things. Tutoring was successful! There is no need for those pesky dyslexia tests! See ya in second grade! I asked if I had her tested at my own expense, if those results would be considered and was told the district wouldn't honor them.
Thank goodness we lucked out with her second grade teacher. She is everything a good teacher should be wrapped with a layer of laughter around a soft gooey center of kindness and compassion. All she needs is gift wrap and a big pink bow! We love her so much! Her concern for my baby has literally brought me to tears on multiple occasions this year.
About a week into the school year, on second grade orientation night, I tried to squeeze in a visit with Z's teacher during a lull. I just wanted to put her on the look out for Z's difficulties and have her call me if she saw any red flags. She immediately linked arms with me and asked me to come chat with her after the meeting was over.
She told me she had started documenting Z on the first day of school. She took ONE LOOK at Z's homework journal (where she copies assignments from the board) and knew something was going on. When I told her my suspicions, she was like, "Of course! That makes sense." She called in her team mates and we discussed things we could do to make Z's life easier and more successful. Whew!
Alas, the wheels of progress turn slooooooooooooowly.
For all her teacher's accommodations, Z was still falling behind in reading. A computer based reading test, (iStation, anyone? Does anyone know anything about this program?) put her reading level at way below second grade. Her teacher knew this couldn't be quite right and moved her up a level or two, but she was still behind every. single. one. of her classmates. A fact made obvious by the Accelerated Reader program - the books are shelved according to reading level, so it was clear to everyone that she was different.
That was the last straw for me. I was volunteering across the library and I could see that Z was the only kid at the first grade cart. It broke my heart. It was time for action.
I called everyone I could think of that afternoon: the head of the dyslexia department for the school district; a local clinic that tests for dyslexia; my friend whose sister is dyslexic. Man, I missed my mom that day! My friend headed off my hysteria (thanks, Bun!). The clinic called back and directed me to some really excellent information about dyslexia. She asked me to review the videos and call back if I was interested in scheduling testing.
The videos were long and painfully dull, but they were an information gold mine. The more I watched, the more convinced I became that Z was the poster child for dyslexia. She couldn't seem more dyslexic if she were trying! Freaky high I.Q.? Check. Slow labored reading? Check. Super high comprehension? Check. Dysgraphia? Check.
I signed her up for testing and mentioned to the school councilor what was going on so she wouldn't be blindsided when I called for a conference the following week. I told her that I understood that the climate in the district was such that I wasn't expecting dyslexia services, but that I would take the information that we gathered and use it to force a 504 plan (required accommodations without the need for a special ed. hearing).
I ended up having her evaluated by two different testers - a second opinion is always good, right? Both of them said she was a clear case of dyslexia. With a probable dose of ADHD thrown in. Interestingly, I got calls back from all over Wester that afternoon.
The head of the district's dyslexia department called me back and questioned why I felt the need for testing on my own. She assured me that my outside testing data would be considered for placement in the dyslexia program and that she would even attend the conference when we discussed it.
As soon as I hung up with her, Z's principal called me. She was also suddenly sure that we could get Z considered for the dyslexia program. Her principal is great and I know we are on the same team here. Everyone is - from her kinder teacher (who I loved so much I requested her for Q) through her second grade teacher.
I am NOT bashing the school district. It is just amazing to me that it takes this much effort to even get my daughter looked at by the district. As much as a formal diagnosis of dyslexia SUCKS for Z, I am relieved that she is finally going to get some appropriate help. Finally.
But what about all the kids who don't have pushy moms like me?
Dyslexic.
Am I shocked? Um, no. I have suspected that something was up since pre-school. Difficulty writing. Difficulty rhyming. No interest in independent reading. Was it? Wasn't it? I just wasn't sure. I knew I had arm-chair quarterbacked a dyslexia diagnosis on both her dad and paternal grandmother, but what did I know? My master's degree is in reading not learning disabilities.
In Kinder - at the talented and gifted magnet - her handwriting continued to be atrocious, but otherwise she blossomed. Still not super interested in reading on her own, but if pressed, could do well enough. I was troubled by her letter reversals and seeming inability to conquer certain sight words, but I was assured it was all developmental. Besides, the school district has a policy of not testing kindergartners for dyslexia. First grade is still plenty early for a diagnosis, right?
In first grade I was up front with Z's teacher about my fears/suspicions. She assured me that she had a son with learning difficulties, so she knew where I was coming from. I felt supported! I was confident she was watching for signs that something might be amiss. So come January, when her spelling grades TANKED, I was taken by surprise.
I scheduled the first of a series of teacher conferences wherein her teacher asked me, "Why are you so set on labeling her?" when I inquired about testing. Z was given tutoring in spelling. Her teacher gave her extra kinesthetic spelling activities. I became a spelling flashcard nazi. Our combined focus helped Z pass - barely. But it was enough to satisfy the powers in charge of these things. Tutoring was successful! There is no need for those pesky dyslexia tests! See ya in second grade! I asked if I had her tested at my own expense, if those results would be considered and was told the district wouldn't honor them.
Thank goodness we lucked out with her second grade teacher. She is everything a good teacher should be wrapped with a layer of laughter around a soft gooey center of kindness and compassion. All she needs is gift wrap and a big pink bow! We love her so much! Her concern for my baby has literally brought me to tears on multiple occasions this year.
About a week into the school year, on second grade orientation night, I tried to squeeze in a visit with Z's teacher during a lull. I just wanted to put her on the look out for Z's difficulties and have her call me if she saw any red flags. She immediately linked arms with me and asked me to come chat with her after the meeting was over.
She told me she had started documenting Z on the first day of school. She took ONE LOOK at Z's homework journal (where she copies assignments from the board) and knew something was going on. When I told her my suspicions, she was like, "Of course! That makes sense." She called in her team mates and we discussed things we could do to make Z's life easier and more successful. Whew!
Alas, the wheels of progress turn slooooooooooooowly.
For all her teacher's accommodations, Z was still falling behind in reading. A computer based reading test, (iStation, anyone? Does anyone know anything about this program?) put her reading level at way below second grade. Her teacher knew this couldn't be quite right and moved her up a level or two, but she was still behind every. single. one. of her classmates. A fact made obvious by the Accelerated Reader program - the books are shelved according to reading level, so it was clear to everyone that she was different.
That was the last straw for me. I was volunteering across the library and I could see that Z was the only kid at the first grade cart. It broke my heart. It was time for action.
I called everyone I could think of that afternoon: the head of the dyslexia department for the school district; a local clinic that tests for dyslexia; my friend whose sister is dyslexic. Man, I missed my mom that day! My friend headed off my hysteria (thanks, Bun!). The clinic called back and directed me to some really excellent information about dyslexia. She asked me to review the videos and call back if I was interested in scheduling testing.
The videos were long and painfully dull, but they were an information gold mine. The more I watched, the more convinced I became that Z was the poster child for dyslexia. She couldn't seem more dyslexic if she were trying! Freaky high I.Q.? Check. Slow labored reading? Check. Super high comprehension? Check. Dysgraphia? Check.
I signed her up for testing and mentioned to the school councilor what was going on so she wouldn't be blindsided when I called for a conference the following week. I told her that I understood that the climate in the district was such that I wasn't expecting dyslexia services, but that I would take the information that we gathered and use it to force a 504 plan (required accommodations without the need for a special ed. hearing).
I ended up having her evaluated by two different testers - a second opinion is always good, right? Both of them said she was a clear case of dyslexia. With a probable dose of ADHD thrown in. Interestingly, I got calls back from all over Wester that afternoon.
The head of the district's dyslexia department called me back and questioned why I felt the need for testing on my own. She assured me that my outside testing data would be considered for placement in the dyslexia program and that she would even attend the conference when we discussed it.
As soon as I hung up with her, Z's principal called me. She was also suddenly sure that we could get Z considered for the dyslexia program. Her principal is great and I know we are on the same team here. Everyone is - from her kinder teacher (who I loved so much I requested her for Q) through her second grade teacher.
I am NOT bashing the school district. It is just amazing to me that it takes this much effort to even get my daughter looked at by the district. As much as a formal diagnosis of dyslexia SUCKS for Z, I am relieved that she is finally going to get some appropriate help. Finally.
But what about all the kids who don't have pushy moms like me?
1.17.2012
Finding Balance
Lest you think this is some high minded new year's resolution post, um, nope. If that is what you are searching for, move right along and I'll catch you next time. This here post is about MAH BAYBEE!
It was a banner day at Casa Critical Mass yesterday. It was the day that I took the training wheels off of Z's bike. As soon as I got them off she just took off down the driveway without a care in the world.
I can't believe my sweet baby girl is big enough to take off on two wheels! I am so proud! And also, quit growing up so fast! You are my little girl! But with every day she gets a little more independent and I get glimpses of the person she will be some day. Sob! (Sunrise, Sunset playing softly in the background.)
Ahem.
About the time she got to the end of the driveway, she went, "Oh, wow! I don't have training wheels!" and "I don't know how to turn!" and had a mini panic. The more she thought about it, the more wobbly she got. All of a sudden, she was pushing herself along with her feet instead of pedaling. Maybe college isn't so close after all.
I was really proud of her determination to master this new skill. Since we took the trainers off, she has clocked about 100 miles around the driveway and the bottom of the cul de sac. Now she is begging to take a longer bike ride around the neighborhood. That's my girl!
It was a banner day at Casa Critical Mass yesterday. It was the day that I took the training wheels off of Z's bike. As soon as I got them off she just took off down the driveway without a care in the world.
I can't believe my sweet baby girl is big enough to take off on two wheels! I am so proud! And also, quit growing up so fast! You are my little girl! But with every day she gets a little more independent and I get glimpses of the person she will be some day. Sob! (Sunrise, Sunset playing softly in the background.)
Ahem.
About the time she got to the end of the driveway, she went, "Oh, wow! I don't have training wheels!" and "I don't know how to turn!" and had a mini panic. The more she thought about it, the more wobbly she got. All of a sudden, she was pushing herself along with her feet instead of pedaling. Maybe college isn't so close after all.
I was really proud of her determination to master this new skill. Since we took the trainers off, she has clocked about 100 miles around the driveway and the bottom of the cul de sac. Now she is begging to take a longer bike ride around the neighborhood. That's my girl!
11.29.2011
The Day I Became My Mother
My mom was a good mother. She got all of the big things right. High expectations? Check. Unconditional love? Check. Balanced meals? Checkity check.
Her attention to detail? Well... you can't be good at everything.
I may have mentioned that I was the third child. And Mom was tired. One of those little details that fell through the cracks? Socks. I was always scrambling for socks. Specifically, matching knee socks to wear to Sunday school. If I found a pair, one was reliably stretched out and sagging around my ankle. As a result, I swore that my child would never have this problem.
Fast forward to this morning.
Z: Mom? The only socks in my drawer have gray on them.
Me: Humph? Zzzzpth. (I'm not a morning person.)
Z: The gray is going to show with my Mary Janets! (aka: Mary Janes. How cute is that?)
Me: What happened to all of your socks? If you would just put them in the hamper... (devolves into incoherent grumbling).
Z: I don't know. All I have are the gray ones.
Me: (hangs head and sighs) Get some out of the dirty clothes hamper.
And if fully becoming my mother wasn't enough for one morning? Five minutes later this conversation happens.
Z: Mom? All my panties are pinching me. Can I just not wear any today?
Me: (Brain explodes and I die. The end.)
Post Script: It was underwear day at the Mother Ship (Target) today. Socks and underwear for everyone! LOTS of socks and underwear.
Her attention to detail? Well... you can't be good at everything.
I may have mentioned that I was the third child. And Mom was tired. One of those little details that fell through the cracks? Socks. I was always scrambling for socks. Specifically, matching knee socks to wear to Sunday school. If I found a pair, one was reliably stretched out and sagging around my ankle. As a result, I swore that my child would never have this problem.
Fast forward to this morning.
Z: Mom? The only socks in my drawer have gray on them.
Me: Humph? Zzzzpth. (I'm not a morning person.)
Z: The gray is going to show with my Mary Janets! (aka: Mary Janes. How cute is that?)
Me: What happened to all of your socks? If you would just put them in the hamper... (devolves into incoherent grumbling).
Z: I don't know. All I have are the gray ones.
Me: (hangs head and sighs) Get some out of the dirty clothes hamper.
*****
And if fully becoming my mother wasn't enough for one morning? Five minutes later this conversation happens.
Z: Mom? All my panties are pinching me. Can I just not wear any today?
Me: (Brain explodes and I die. The end.)
Post Script: It was underwear day at the Mother Ship (Target) today. Socks and underwear for everyone! LOTS of socks and underwear.
6.02.2011
Fin.*
* that would be the french for 'the end', not the pokey part on the back of a fish.
Z finished her first year of real school. I am now the mom of a first grader. How is that possible? I was just in labor with her ten minutes ago!
I am amazed with how much she has learned this year. She can read. Like, for real. Not just Dick & Jane, either. Books. Signs. Cereal boxes. Amazing! She can do math. Addition, subtraction, some basic multiplication. She now speaks some basic Spanish. She can even roll her r's. Wow.
My baby is growing up. It is hard to believe she went from this to this in nine short months. I couldn't be more proud of her.
Now, if I can just keep from killing her over the summer, we will be in good shape!
Z finished her first year of real school. I am now the mom of a first grader. How is that possible? I was just in labor with her ten minutes ago!
I am amazed with how much she has learned this year. She can read. Like, for real. Not just Dick & Jane, either. Books. Signs. Cereal boxes. Amazing! She can do math. Addition, subtraction, some basic multiplication. She now speaks some basic Spanish. She can even roll her r's. Wow.
My baby is growing up. It is hard to believe she went from this to this in nine short months. I couldn't be more proud of her.
Now, if I can just keep from killing her over the summer, we will be in good shape!
3.24.2011
Too Fast
I dropped Z off in the carpool lane at school this morning. As I was trudging along towards the exit, I glanced up and saw a little girl walking along with complete confidence, Hello Kitty backpack bouncing up and down. I thought to myself, "Wow, that's a cute little girl."
When the carpool lane moved up a bit, I saw that the cute, confident little girl was Z.
When did my baby girl get so big? She is so beautiful it makes my heart hurt.
When the carpool lane moved up a bit, I saw that the cute, confident little girl was Z.
When did my baby girl get so big? She is so beautiful it makes my heart hurt.
3.07.2011
Trauma!
This week, Bountiful Baskets opened a new location in Wester. The pick-up is at 10:30 in the morning, so I didn't have to crawl out of bed and schlep to Less Wester at 8:15 on a Saturday morning. I was so excited!
Z rolled out of bed begging to 'go somewhere', so I bundled up the kids and took them with me. I had decided to be a volunteer, so we were going at 9:30. (Volunteers get to split up the extras!) The distribution happens at a park, so I figured it was win win. Play time for the kids. Extra veggies for me. Sweet!
Unfortunately, all did not go smoothly. It was a chilly windy morning, so the kids started whining about going home almost right away. I fussed at them to get out from under my feet and GO PLAY. I gave them the option of sitting at the end of the table where we were working or going back out to play. They chose to play. Whew, right?
Um, no.
I was elbow deep in tangelos when a I heard a blood curdling scream. I look up and see Z coming toward me like something out of a zombie flick: hollering and covered in blood. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing, but once I did, I ran to her as quickly as my little round self could go. She had tried to do a flip on the monkey bars, slipped and split her chin and chomped her tongue.
The cut was wide open, and to my untrained eye looked like it might take a stitch to close it. After I staunch the worst of the bleeding, I reach for my phone to call T. No phone. I had taken it in the house to charge, which I never do, and forgotten put it back in the car. I sprint back to the tables and ask to borrow a cell phone. I only hoped T would answer a call from an unknown number - he's a hard core screener.
Luckily, he did pick up, but he didn't have any answers for me. But he had lots of questions. Finally, crying freely now, I told him that I was all flustered and that I just needed him to tell me what to do. Totally uncharacteristic. Finally we agreed that he would come to me, bring my phone and we'd figure it out together.
While we were waiting for him, the nice mom who let me borrow her phone got my basket together and offered some advice. She told me there was a walk-in clinic not far from the park. She said her five kids had required stitching up from time to time, and they were nice there. So I borrowed yet another phone, from a friend this time, and headed out.
Z, meanwhile, has been caterwauling the whole time. The idea of stitches made her cry even harder. Q joined in when I told him he would likely go home with Daddy (he wanted to see the stitching up process). Finally I had to tell him he wasn't allowed to cry since he wasn't hurt and I couldn't have all three of us crying!
They were, indeed, quite nice at the clinic. When they saw that Z was actively bleeding, they took her right back. A nurse cleaned her up and we waited for the doctor. The wait was maybe 45 minutes, which as it turns out was a good thing. By the time he got there, Z was fully calmed down and in a post-adrenaline-rush crash. It was determined that the scarring would be the same whether we stitched or didn't stitch, so we went with the much less traumatic butterfly bandage. Z was disappointed that it didn't have actual butterflies on it.
After the clinic, we went out for medicinal ice cream. Other than some slushy speech from where she chomped her tongue, she doesn't seem to be any worse for the wear. I, on the other hand, am sporting
a few new gray hairs. Good thing blond hides gray!
Z rolled out of bed begging to 'go somewhere', so I bundled up the kids and took them with me. I had decided to be a volunteer, so we were going at 9:30. (Volunteers get to split up the extras!) The distribution happens at a park, so I figured it was win win. Play time for the kids. Extra veggies for me. Sweet!
Unfortunately, all did not go smoothly. It was a chilly windy morning, so the kids started whining about going home almost right away. I fussed at them to get out from under my feet and GO PLAY. I gave them the option of sitting at the end of the table where we were working or going back out to play. They chose to play. Whew, right?
Um, no.
I was elbow deep in tangelos when a I heard a blood curdling scream. I look up and see Z coming toward me like something out of a zombie flick: hollering and covered in blood. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing, but once I did, I ran to her as quickly as my little round self could go. She had tried to do a flip on the monkey bars, slipped and split her chin and chomped her tongue.
The cut was wide open, and to my untrained eye looked like it might take a stitch to close it. After I staunch the worst of the bleeding, I reach for my phone to call T. No phone. I had taken it in the house to charge, which I never do, and forgotten put it back in the car. I sprint back to the tables and ask to borrow a cell phone. I only hoped T would answer a call from an unknown number - he's a hard core screener.
Luckily, he did pick up, but he didn't have any answers for me. But he had lots of questions. Finally, crying freely now, I told him that I was all flustered and that I just needed him to tell me what to do. Totally uncharacteristic. Finally we agreed that he would come to me, bring my phone and we'd figure it out together.
While we were waiting for him, the nice mom who let me borrow her phone got my basket together and offered some advice. She told me there was a walk-in clinic not far from the park. She said her five kids had required stitching up from time to time, and they were nice there. So I borrowed yet another phone, from a friend this time, and headed out.
Z, meanwhile, has been caterwauling the whole time. The idea of stitches made her cry even harder. Q joined in when I told him he would likely go home with Daddy (he wanted to see the stitching up process). Finally I had to tell him he wasn't allowed to cry since he wasn't hurt and I couldn't have all three of us crying!
They were, indeed, quite nice at the clinic. When they saw that Z was actively bleeding, they took her right back. A nurse cleaned her up and we waited for the doctor. The wait was maybe 45 minutes, which as it turns out was a good thing. By the time he got there, Z was fully calmed down and in a post-adrenaline-rush crash. It was determined that the scarring would be the same whether we stitched or didn't stitch, so we went with the much less traumatic butterfly bandage. Z was disappointed that it didn't have actual butterflies on it.
After the clinic, we went out for medicinal ice cream. Other than some slushy speech from where she chomped her tongue, she doesn't seem to be any worse for the wear. I, on the other hand, am sporting
a few new gray hairs. Good thing blond hides gray!
9.09.2010
Prodigy
The inevitable has happened. I knew it was coming, but it still took me by surprise. I have become a soccer mom. I do not, for the record, drive a mini-van, so there's that.
I signed Z up for soccer this fall. Our first practice was on Tuesday. So far? I am not really impressed with Z's coach. She didn't attend the coaches meeting, so we were the last ones to hear from our coach. She put off reserving a field until she just had to take what was left: a field so far away that it is practically in the next state. Oh, and she didn't show up for our first practice. Awesome.
Z and I drove out to BFE and found the soccer field and waited for everyone to show up. And waited. And waited. Did I miss a memo?
Luckily, I was the mom prepared for everything. We had brought Z's shiny new (pink!) soccer ball with us, so we had a practice just the two of us.
My girl has mad skills. Seriously? I knew she was a pretty good kicker, but I had no idea she would be a good dribbler and passer. I played soccer in high school, so I ran her through some drills. She mastered all of them in no time at all. By the end of our 45-minute 'practice' she was good enough at ball-handling to steal the ball away from me! You go, Z!
And since nothing says 'proud mama' like shaky low-res cell phone video with crappy audio? Enjoy!
I signed Z up for soccer this fall. Our first practice was on Tuesday. So far? I am not really impressed with Z's coach. She didn't attend the coaches meeting, so we were the last ones to hear from our coach. She put off reserving a field until she just had to take what was left: a field so far away that it is practically in the next state. Oh, and she didn't show up for our first practice. Awesome.
Z and I drove out to BFE and found the soccer field and waited for everyone to show up. And waited. And waited. Did I miss a memo?
Luckily, I was the mom prepared for everything. We had brought Z's shiny new (pink!) soccer ball with us, so we had a practice just the two of us.
My girl has mad skills. Seriously? I knew she was a pretty good kicker, but I had no idea she would be a good dribbler and passer. I played soccer in high school, so I ran her through some drills. She mastered all of them in no time at all. By the end of our 45-minute 'practice' she was good enough at ball-handling to steal the ball away from me! You go, Z!
And since nothing says 'proud mama' like shaky low-res cell phone video with crappy audio? Enjoy!
9.02.2010
Neighbor Kid Redeemed
Z and Q were playing out front while I was messing around in the garden. I was raking leaves out from under our bushes (about time - they were last year's!) in preparation for cedar mulch and the installation of a micro-sprinkler system (more on that in another post. It is SO freakin' cool!) Z sees NK and asks if she can invite him to play. In the front yard, sans dogs, natch. I said sure and went back to my obsessive raking.
I finished raking and watched NK go by on his Ripstick (a twisty skate-board-y thing) pulling Z in the wagon.
I finished pouring out the first bag of mulch and watched NK go by on his Ripstick pulling Z in the wagon.
I finished pouring out the tenth bag of mulch and watched NK go by on his Ripstick pulling Z in the wagon.
Fearing that Z had roped NK into a life of indentured servitude, I called out that maybe he didn't want to spend his entire afternoon pulling her around in her wagon. Perhaps they could find a different way to play.
NK replied that it was okay, so I told him I didn't want him to feel pressured to cart her around.
His reply? "No, really! I don't feel anything!"
Okay. Maybe he's not that bad.
I finished raking and watched NK go by on his Ripstick (a twisty skate-board-y thing) pulling Z in the wagon.
I finished pouring out the first bag of mulch and watched NK go by on his Ripstick pulling Z in the wagon.
I finished pouring out the tenth bag of mulch and watched NK go by on his Ripstick pulling Z in the wagon.
Fearing that Z had roped NK into a life of indentured servitude, I called out that maybe he didn't want to spend his entire afternoon pulling her around in her wagon. Perhaps they could find a different way to play.
NK replied that it was okay, so I told him I didn't want him to feel pressured to cart her around.
His reply? "No, really! I don't feel anything!"
Okay. Maybe he's not that bad.
8.25.2010
Not a Moment Too Soon
Well, kindergarten happened. Thank goodness! The last few days before school started had me hanging on to my sanity with an increasingly tenuous grip. But I have to say, this back to school thing? Is kicking my butt. Phew, I'm pooped! Z, on the other hand, is not. School seems to have revved her engine! Um, yay?
So, here's a breakdown of first day adventures:
So, here's a breakdown of first day adventures:
- We had to park several blocks away and walk to the school. When I got Z situated in the cafeteria with her class, my normally intrepid offspring turned to me with big scared eyes and attached herself to me like a leech. Wha... huh? My girl who isn't scared of anything CRIED! I ended up sitting cris-cross-applesauce with the kindergartners until the morning assembly was finished. The only reason I was able to escape was because the principal dismissed the parents. When Z started to cling and cry, I told her I had to go - the principal said so!
- School bus = fail. Not that Z rides it, but I thought it was funny: The school bus didn't get the new parking memo. It got trapped in the inside lane and had to make a sharp right turn. It missed. And hit the school. Turning the already crazy morning drop off into a total fuster cluck. Welcome back to school!
- Clearly, lunch in the cafeteria wasn't explained to Z. (Or she wasn't listening, a distinct possibility.) She followed her classmates to the table then noticed that she didn't have anything to eat. She reported indignantly, "I had to go get it myself!" Poor little princess!
- Do they make hearing aides in kindergarten size? At the end of the day, parents putt-putt through the pick-up lanes while the teachers radio ahead to your kid's section and yet another teacher escorts them to the cars. I made it all the way up to the front of the line and still no Z. We ended up holding up the line for five minutes or so while they tracked her down. (Spoiler alert: The same thing happened again the second day of school!)
- End of the day report? She. Loved. It. Yay! They had big fun on a scavenger hunt/tour of the school! There are several kids from her preschool in her class/grade! She got to drink pink milk! Just like Lola! She got a good behavior stamp! She needs a new full-sized backpack to carry all of her important kindergarten homework!
- Yep, homework. You have to expect that the talented and gifted magnet would be big fans, huh? Though on the first day? I had WAY more homework than she did. I swear they sent home a dozen forms for me to fill out. I am getting writer's cramp just thinking about it!
- Last words before she went to sleep: "Oh, boy! I get to go to kindergarten again tomorrow!"
7.07.2010
Spitting Mad
Neighbor Kid is at it again! Today when he came to play in our back yard - because we have cool stuff to play on - he got Holly all wound up. Again. And went crying home when she got all jumpy. Again. This time, instead of threatening to sue us, he told Z that if Holly 'attacked' him again, she would be taken away from us.
I want to throttle this kid! So now, not only is he bossing my kids around in their own yard, he is threatening to have their dog taken away. Grrr!
I understand that there aren't a lot of kids out here in the sticks and my kids are the only game in town as far as playmates go, but if he is such a sissified scaredy-cat, he needs to quit coming over to the no-weenie-zone that is our back yard. Big dogs live here. Over-zealous dog-affection is the price of admission to the fun toys.
Neighbor Kid has now announced that his 'family rule' is that he is only allowed to play with Z and Q in the front yard. Z and Q are only allowed out front if T and/or I are out front, too. Maybe that will squelch Z's fascination with all things NK.
Because the other day at McDonald's? She asked me when she would be old enough to go out on a date with him. I told her that since he will always be three years older than she is, she will never be old enough to date him. Z totally didn't buy it. She said she would just wait until she was a grown-up and go on a date with him then. Just! Kill! Me!
I want to throttle this kid! So now, not only is he bossing my kids around in their own yard, he is threatening to have their dog taken away. Grrr!
I understand that there aren't a lot of kids out here in the sticks and my kids are the only game in town as far as playmates go, but if he is such a sissified scaredy-cat, he needs to quit coming over to the no-weenie-zone that is our back yard. Big dogs live here. Over-zealous dog-affection is the price of admission to the fun toys.
Neighbor Kid has now announced that his 'family rule' is that he is only allowed to play with Z and Q in the front yard. Z and Q are only allowed out front if T and/or I are out front, too. Maybe that will squelch Z's fascination with all things NK.
Because the other day at McDonald's? She asked me when she would be old enough to go out on a date with him. I told her that since he will always be three years older than she is, she will never be old enough to date him. Z totally didn't buy it. She said she would just wait until she was a grown-up and go on a date with him then. Just! Kill! Me!
6.04.2010
Childhood Colored Glasses
The world is a pretty amazing place through the eyes of a child. The kids and I were driving through the not-so-nice part of town to pick up my Craig's List wingback chairs. We were passing a sad little used car lot when Z got all excited in the back seat.
"Look, Mama, look! That fence has swirls on the top!"
My beautiful daughter could see the beauty in a chain link fence with razor wire on the top. Amazing!
"Look, Mama, look! That fence has swirls on the top!"
My beautiful daughter could see the beauty in a chain link fence with razor wire on the top. Amazing!
5.25.2010
Kid Speak
Q was playing with a bubble sword that he got at his school's end of the year party. Suddenly, he look up, very concerned. "Mama, this is not a Batman sword."
"That's okay," I tell him. "Not everything needs to be Batman's."
"But it does, Mama! It really does!"
"That's okay," I tell him. "Not everything needs to be Batman's."
"But it does, Mama! It really does!"
. .. ... .. .
Driving home from school, we pass an open field that is home to tons of prairie dogs. Lately, we have been playing a game to see who can spot one. As we drove by today, Z said, "Look, Mama! They are posing!"
5.04.2010
Fail
Today was a day for the record books here at Casa Critical Mass. We covered the whole range from tragic to ridiculous. None of it handled with any sort of grace. I'm glad this day is over and the kids are in bed. I see a bowl of ice cream in my future.
We started out with the tragedy. A boy at Z's school died in a boating accident over the weekend. Not in her class, but some one she knew. The school sent home a letter letting the parents know what was going on and giving us the opportunity to talk about it at home before they discussed it at school. I stumbled around the lead in and finally dropped the bad news like a bomb. Fail. We have talked about before, so she appeared to take the news that his spirit was up in heaven pretty well.
She was quiet for a minute or two then somehow the discussion got all mixed up with the dead bird we saw at the park yesterday. "Why don't the spirits of the birds go to heaven?" That led to an uncomfortable (for me) discussion of caskets and cemeteries and how birds don't have anyone to bury them when they die. Oh, the perils of a smart child!
Fast forward to after school. Hubs helpfully left a giantirresistible accident waiting to happen wash tub of ashes from the fireplace on the back porch. The kids had gotten into it, and he promised to move it... but he didn't. Q came in covered from head to toe in ashes. He had them in his hair, caught in his eyelashes, ground into the knees of his pants, and stuck in a grotesque mask to his runny nose. Blech!
Into the bath with him! When we got in the bathroom, I noticed (again) that Z had pulled her brush apart. I got my Gorilla Super Glue (an awesome product, by the way. It holds my house together. I totally recommend it.) and glued it back together. When I was done, I put the cap back on and set it on the counter while I bathed Q.
As I was finished rinsing off Q, I got a brainstorm to give Holly a bath in Q's leftover bath water. She has been digging holes in the yard and was filthy. The last time I attempted it, I think I got wetter than she did! But this time, I had a brainstorm to use a leash to loop around the support bar and keep her in the tub. Genius! I ran to the utility room to grab a leash and was running back when I met Q, buck naked, coming the opposite direction.
"I bring your glues, Mama!" he said as he hands the super glue to me. When I take it, I see that he has unscrewed the cap. And is sticky. And he is naked. And what does my son like to hold on to when he is naked? That's right: his parts. Ack! Danger, Will Robinson! With visions of the most embarrassing trip to the ER ever dancing in my head, I may or may not have shrieked like a howler monkey, "Hands up! Hands Up!! HANDS UP!!!" as I watched his hands drifting down to perform a routine check.
I think I totally traumatized him. As I rushed him back into the tub, his eyes were round as saucers and not a little bit hurt and confused. He had not made the connection that the glue on his hand would have stuck to his junk. Luckily, all's well that ends well. I managed not to let him super glue himself to anything. Whew!
Now we skip ahead to dinner time. I was bustling around the kitchen with two kids and four dogs under my feet, so I banished everyone to the living room. Not wanting me to think they had been replaced by pod people, my children only retreated as far as the dining room. They were playing some strange combo game of school and doctor's office. Unfortunately, they set up shop right next to the microwave and I didn't want to slop boiling water on them, so I goose stepped them into the living room.
A little later, I rounded the corner into the living room to find their game had shifted wholly to doctor. As in doctor. Gynecology style. Z had her legs in the air and Q was using a toy syringe to give her a shot. Inside her panties. Just. Kill. Me. We're going to have to move away and become hillbillies! Head spinning around, I sent them to their rooms. All that was missing was the pea soup for a complete horror flick.
After I recovered from my little stroke, I realized that I needed to make sure this was all innocent curiosity and not a sign of something more sinister. I calmly asked questions and Z assured me that no one besides a doctor had ever touched those places before. Well, at least there is that. I called T and told him I needed reinforcements. Pronto!
After he got home, we sat down to dinner. We broached the topic of the doctor incident and T took over to put in his two cents. He has a more Q&A parenting style. He says his piece, then asks questions. He looked at Q and asked, "So why don't you touch your sister's bits?" His earnest reply? "Because they are icky!"
And then I died. The end.
We started out with the tragedy. A boy at Z's school died in a boating accident over the weekend. Not in her class, but some one she knew. The school sent home a letter letting the parents know what was going on and giving us the opportunity to talk about it at home before they discussed it at school. I stumbled around the lead in and finally dropped the bad news like a bomb. Fail. We have talked about before, so she appeared to take the news that his spirit was up in heaven pretty well.
She was quiet for a minute or two then somehow the discussion got all mixed up with the dead bird we saw at the park yesterday. "Why don't the spirits of the birds go to heaven?" That led to an uncomfortable (for me) discussion of caskets and cemeteries and how birds don't have anyone to bury them when they die. Oh, the perils of a smart child!
Fast forward to after school. Hubs helpfully left a giant
Into the bath with him! When we got in the bathroom, I noticed (again) that Z had pulled her brush apart. I got my Gorilla Super Glue (an awesome product, by the way. It holds my house together. I totally recommend it.) and glued it back together. When I was done, I put the cap back on and set it on the counter while I bathed Q.
As I was finished rinsing off Q, I got a brainstorm to give Holly a bath in Q's leftover bath water. She has been digging holes in the yard and was filthy. The last time I attempted it, I think I got wetter than she did! But this time, I had a brainstorm to use a leash to loop around the support bar and keep her in the tub. Genius! I ran to the utility room to grab a leash and was running back when I met Q, buck naked, coming the opposite direction.
"I bring your glues, Mama!" he said as he hands the super glue to me. When I take it, I see that he has unscrewed the cap. And is sticky. And he is naked. And what does my son like to hold on to when he is naked? That's right: his parts. Ack! Danger, Will Robinson! With visions of the most embarrassing trip to the ER ever dancing in my head, I may or may not have shrieked like a howler monkey, "Hands up! Hands Up!! HANDS UP!!!" as I watched his hands drifting down to perform a routine check.
I think I totally traumatized him. As I rushed him back into the tub, his eyes were round as saucers and not a little bit hurt and confused. He had not made the connection that the glue on his hand would have stuck to his junk. Luckily, all's well that ends well. I managed not to let him super glue himself to anything. Whew!
Now we skip ahead to dinner time. I was bustling around the kitchen with two kids and four dogs under my feet, so I banished everyone to the living room. Not wanting me to think they had been replaced by pod people, my children only retreated as far as the dining room. They were playing some strange combo game of school and doctor's office. Unfortunately, they set up shop right next to the microwave and I didn't want to slop boiling water on them, so I goose stepped them into the living room.
A little later, I rounded the corner into the living room to find their game had shifted wholly to doctor. As in doctor. Gynecology style. Z had her legs in the air and Q was using a toy syringe to give her a shot. Inside her panties. Just. Kill. Me. We're going to have to move away and become hillbillies! Head spinning around, I sent them to their rooms. All that was missing was the pea soup for a complete horror flick.
After I recovered from my little stroke, I realized that I needed to make sure this was all innocent curiosity and not a sign of something more sinister. I calmly asked questions and Z assured me that no one besides a doctor had ever touched those places before. Well, at least there is that. I called T and told him I needed reinforcements. Pronto!
After he got home, we sat down to dinner. We broached the topic of the doctor incident and T took over to put in his two cents. He has a more Q&A parenting style. He says his piece, then asks questions. He looked at Q and asked, "So why don't you touch your sister's bits?" His earnest reply? "Because they are icky!"
And then I died. The end.
4.20.2010
A Police
Overheard on the drive to school:
*In his defense, T doesn't drive a squad car any more. Since he has to carry scales to weigh trucks, he drives a police pick-up truck, instead.
Q: I see a truck!
Z: I see a police car!
Q: Where?
Z: Over there! See? The one that looks like Daddy's.
Q: No it doesn't.*
Z: Yes, it does! That is a police car and Daddy is a police!
Q: No! He not a police! He just a daddy!
*In his defense, T doesn't drive a squad car any more. Since he has to carry scales to weigh trucks, he drives a police pick-up truck, instead.
2.03.2010
*Sniff!!*
Out of nowhere at bed time tonight:
Z: Mommy, when will Mimi get better?Could someone just rip out my heart? But who knows? Maybe my little precocious future doctor will be the one to find a cure. I hope so.
R: (gulp) Well, honey, she's not going to get better.
Z: But why?
R: Well, Alzheimer's Disease, the disease she has that makes her memory sick, doesn't have a cure.
Z: Did she hurt herself? Did she get it when she fell and hit her head on the nightstand?
R: Nobody knows why people get it. Mimi got it pretty young.
Z: Did she get it when she was a little girl?
R: No, she was already a grandma when she started showing signs. Most people are old when they get it.
Z: Will I get it?
R: By the time you are old enough to get it, there will be a treatment to cure it.
Z: And we'll give it to Mimi?
R: Erm, Mimi will be gone by then.
Z: Gone where?
R: Well, honey, people are born, live good lives, get old and they die.
Z: Die? You mean go be with God?
R: Yes, honey.
Z: Oh. Okay.... Can I ask more questions about Alhyber tomorrow?
1.26.2010
Super Hero
On the way home from school today:
Do I detect a screenwriter in the making?
R: What did you do at school today?
Z: We played super heroes!
R: Which super hero were you?
Z: Flower Girl!
R: (?) Really? What were your super powers?
Z: I could make flowers grow anywhere I wanted. You know, to trip the bad guys. My friend was Blood Boy. He was the villain.
Do I detect a screenwriter in the making?
1.06.2010
1.04.2010
Paging Dr. Z
"Mama! Seven plus three is ten!" Z shouts gleefully from the back seat.
"Very good, sweetie! You are getting very good at math. That will come in handy when you are a doctor. Doctors need to do a lot of math," I reply, reinforcing her oft repeated desire to be a doctor 'just like GanGan.'
"And I'm gonna be a doctor!" Z chimes in agreement. "I'm gonna be a pedia-nutrition!"
"I be Batman!" Q declares.
A doctor and a super hero? T and I are so set for our old age!
"Very good, sweetie! You are getting very good at math. That will come in handy when you are a doctor. Doctors need to do a lot of math," I reply, reinforcing her oft repeated desire to be a doctor 'just like GanGan.'
"And I'm gonna be a doctor!" Z chimes in agreement. "I'm gonna be a pedia-nutrition!"
"I be Batman!" Q declares.
A doctor and a super hero? T and I are so set for our old age!
12.02.2009
A New Fairy Tale
After dinner this evening, Z was bouncing around begging her father and me to listen to the story she just made up. When all eyes were upon her, she began:
It does not pay to be old and slow in Z's world.
Once upon a time there was a princess who wanted to see her grandma. So she went off to her grandma's house through the deep dark woods. The princess met a wolf while she was in the woods, but he left her there and went to her grandma's house. Then he ate the grandma. The End.
It does not pay to be old and slow in Z's world.
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