School Days, Part Two

Call me Mother of the Year.

We're trying this whole school thing again. Peanut is excited, I'm apprehensive. Let's face it, Round One wasn't quite the success story we were hoping for. However, this time we have a teacher who is better equipped to handle Peanut. And a smaller class size.

Peanut's teacher requested that we come in and meet the other students and get Peanut used to the idea of school. She was concerned with the idea of separation anxiety. Too bad the only one of us with separation anxiety is me. Make no mistake, I'm delighted with this program, and in awe of the new amounts of free time. The issue is Peanut's temper tantrums. What am I letting myself into? How many horrified stares are waiting for me? And will my kid ever be ready for school?

I should know better.

Sure enough, Boy Wonder broke out with a couple of mini tantrums. I held back (for a change) and let the teacher deal. Peanut was calm within a few minutes and I walked over, bracing myself. The teacher must have suspected what was on my mind, because she looked up with a reassuring smile.

"It's okay. It wasn't that bad. And it's not the only tantrum we've ever had in here."

And I nearly cried with relief.

This woman, bless her, understands my child. She can help me unlock his frustrations with Asperger's (mine too, come to that), and see the sweet, loving little man I occasionally catch glimpses of.

There's hope after all.

Call me Mother of the Year.

Stage Two

Call me Mother of the Year.

It's all good, kids.

Yesterday was THE MEETING. I'm putting it in all caps because that's how I've been thinking about it. This was the meeting between the school and me to determine what, if any, services Peanut will receive from his schools. A few comments from those involved had me concerned, and I'm grateful to friends who offered support, prayers, ways to navigate Asperger's, and tissues (mainly Boomer). I went into that meeting with the state's rules for services memorized and arguments laid out.

Never needed them. Thank heaven.

As soon as the school saw the psychologist's report about Peanut's diagnosis, they immediately moved to get him services. His IEP has been written, and he's been given a place immediately. They've even taken our upcoming vacation into account, and are allowing him to start after we get back. He'll be in a program for 2 1/2 hours per day, five days a week. He's going to get the help he needs in the setting that will do him the most good. Plus, for an easier transition, they've invited Peanut and me to come down next week and see the classroom and meet the teacher and students. I'm relieved, and Peanut is beyond excited.

So the Thomas backpack is being dusted off, school supplies are being procures, and birth certificate is being found. Off we go to big boy school!

Call me Mother of the Year.

The Things He Eats

Call me Mother of the Year.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know this is only going to get worse.

As I was discoursing on the latest What-Peanut's-Done-Now to a laughing Runner Up, we started another discussion on food for our boys. We tend to commiserate on the fact that if they keep eating like this, second mortgages may come into being when the teenage years arrive. Keep in mind, Partner-In-Crime is four, and Peanut will be four in February.

Peanut snarfed four slices of ham, 3/4 pound of peapods, two cups of whole strawberries, 1/2 pound of grapes, and is still claiming hunger. Let it be said that was lunch yesterday. Oh, and a couple pieces of toast. Today looked about the same, complete with "I'm hungry, mommy!" at twenty second intervals. Runner Up countered by telling me about her small son's daily 1/2 pound of lunch meat habit. Please God, let these boys stay away from football. Wait, no, not that lucky. Plus, maybe that'll get rid of some of their energy.

As I was ruminating on our ever-growing grocery bill, I came across a friend's blog. Freckled Mama and I have been friends since high school, and I'm always pleased when she writes. Her latest entry discoursed on the massive savings at the grocery store. She's my new shopping hero. Maybe I won't have to take out that second mortgage after all but instead, join the masses who use coupons. Why didn't I think of that? No need for answers, kids.

Or I could just do what Grammy did with Boomer: feed him and send him to those who are willing to feed him again.

Call me Mother of the Year.

By the way, check out Freckled Mama's blog: www.freckledmama.blogspot.com

Little Miracles Everywhere

Call me Mother of the Year.

This is huge. Peanut is getting whatever he wants. And not taking advantage. Is this really my kid? YES.

And now to start making sense...

Part of the Asperger's diagnosis is that Peanut is unable to feel pain. That explains a lot. Namely, Peanut is unable to sense the need for the toilet (thus all our setbacks. Could have done with that knowledge a bit earlier, but oh well). However, another corner has been turned. Peanut can now associate his needs and act on them without prompting. First time ever.

For anyone who has dealt with the joys (or not) of potty training, this is massive. For a mommy who has spent the last year working for this, it's nearly unspeakable. My kid just made the impossible possible. It's the first of many obstacles that we're identifying, and he's smashed it.

Are there going to be setbacks? You bet. Am I ready? See earlier answer.

But for right now, I'm reveling. My kid is a success, and I will shout it with him. Bring on the rewards; today is not the day for correcting. My trip back up this slope begins again tomorrow. Right now, he climbed Everest and I was along for the ride.

And besides, the Thomas underwear is seriously cool.

Call me Mother of the Year.