Evaluation Day

Parenting. What an adventure. Like Jeff Goldblum said of kids in Jurassic Park, anything can and does happen.  It’s D day. Doctor Day. It’s bound to be the beginning of a gauntlet of hoops both fiery and razor-wire wrapped that I’m going to have to jump through to figure out how to get the boy through school successfully.

Since second grade I’ve had the inkling that my kid lives in his head. Hell, so do I. We have great big imaginations, he and I. The real world can’t compete most days. The problem though, is that most teachers find that to be a problem. While most of them so far have agreed that he’s a brilliant and creative kid, he just has problems getting through the structured environment that is the classroom to get his work done.

A while ago, I discovered that wheat was a problem. It made him spin out. It also made me a bloated walrus of a craving carb fiend. Bad all around, so we eliminated it. That move made a huge difference for that school year. He calmed down, things were better for us both. His teacher loved him, he adored her and worked hard. There was no sign of a “meeting” about his student success. Last year, things were a little iffy. His teachers weren’t the most communicative but they assured me he was doing fine, so I took their word.

This year, however, almost from the outset, I’ve heard terms like “severe ADHD” and that he can’t focus for more than a few minutes. They’re concerned for his lack of “success as a student” and we already have a meeting planned. Back to that. It sounds like these teachers also like the boy. They find him to be sensitive and brilliant in that creative way that eludes most people, but just try to get him to sit down to finish a math worksheet when he wants to listen to the music the birds are making and the kid’s pencil next to him is obscuring the sound. He can’t sit still. He’s big on sound effects. He’s in his head. I know all of this and I both feel for him and fear for him.

While I want him to get the best out his school experience, because I loved school and learning everything I could, I don’t want him to lose himself. He’s a wonderful creative kid. I’m basically afraid that they’ll try to drug the awesome right out of my kid and that’s where my Mama Bear fight is coming up in spades. Yes, he needs to succeed. Yes, he needs to be able to balance, but yes, he also needs to be safe and be able to be himself. Somewhere there is going to be an argument I feel. I’ve already got a suit picked out for my meeting. It’s style is somewhere between Mrs. Malfoy and Regina Mills from Once Upon a Time. There will be no doubt that I’m going in there with my battle gear on to face the committee. We’re all supposed to be on the same side but it somehow feels like facing a firing squad; me against the school’s death committee.

I know that they will advise me to drug him to make their lives easier and to “help him be successful”. I don’t know if that’s the best course of action or not. It’s a lot of forward thinking I know. I’m only at stop one along the long road but I need to be ready for what’s waiting for us. The boy needs to know that I’m in his corner, wand and shield in hand, ready to fight for his well being and his right to be himself. I want him to be the best him he can be, as long as he doesn’t lose himself along the way, that’s all I can ask. We aren’t the first to be here and we won’t be the last. Time to see what step one brings us…

Square One

I’ve wanted to post a lot more than I have. There have been a lot of daily prompts that I’ve found interesting and could have made funny. I’ve wanted to be funny. The problem is, I’m back to where I’ve started feeling weird. I’m in the midst of an anxiety attack. Square one. Not a great place to be. Not funny for sure.

One of the prompts was called Mirror, Mirror and wanted to know what you see when you look, you guessed it, in the mirror. Lately, with my recent weight gain, it’s been less like the evil queen I’ve so identified with and more like those boobie dolls Cher was making in the Witches of Eastwick…but now, I’m to shaky to even look. The mirror is showing me a strung out junkie but not because I am, but because that’s what I feel like.

Yay for my psychiatrist. He has tried. Really he has. He’s tried a number of combinations to make me feel better but I think we’ve yet to get it right. As of now. the stuff I’m on makes my skin crawl. I want to do laps and squats and run away and back again to get the feeling in my legs to stop. I can’t sit still. Writing is really hard as is sitting to do my job of data entry. I, of course, have some pills for that too, but it’s up and down. Ugh! Some days I feel exhausted and just want to sleep, others I want to exercise all day, which you’d think would stop this whole weight problem wouldn’t you?

That’s another thing. I’m disappointed. I’ve gained a full half of my lost weight back. I can’t tell you why. Self-sabotage? Self destructive behavior? When I look in the mirror, I’m not sure who’s looking back; the queen, the Borderline, the good listener, the aspiring writer, the loving mother, the anxiety-ridden mother, the self-conscious overweight woman, or someone else.

I was in the bathtub earlier and it occurred to me that no matter which was true, and I took a good hard look at what was in front of me, that I didn’t hate what I saw, boobie doll or not. I was okay with me. I may not be the ideal of the 99.9% but I think I’m ok. I think it’s ok to like me the way I am . The only thing I’m not ok with is the way I feel right now. I want to feel normal, whatever that is. Not strung out, not exhausted, not full of the heebee jeebies, not needing to run a marathon, not needing to sleep; just able to sit down and read a book or write a post like anyone could. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.