Check out this post-adoption support group on Facebook

I'm very glad to see this new Facebook group. If you're a new or experienced adoptive parent, consider joining to ask questions or share your wisdom!

No, you're not alone

I keep connecting with adoptive parents who are struggling with their kids' delays, trauma symptoms attachment issues — and they think they're the only one. So much of the adoption literature, listservs and blogosphere acknowledge that there may be issues early on, but indicate they'll be short-lived and easy to deal with. And so many agencies help would-be parents choose minor, correctable special needs without making sure they understand that lack of stimulation, neglect or abuse in those first few months or years can cause pervasive and lasting challenges for kids.

In the last week two parents I've connected with have asked me to return to blogging, and to sharing the truth about adopting a kiddo who does not catch up as we're led to expect.

So I've decided to give it a try. I hope you'll come along with me.

At long last, a connection

Until now, guys like this have been Quinn's favorite friends

Even at five years and four months, Quinn has still been stuck in the parallel play phase. He doesn't mind kids, but he shows no real interest in them, either.

This summer we had him in two social skills groups, and they seemed to make a bit of difference. We also tried some play dates, which mostly involved him playing with other kids' toys - or talking to their moms.

But lately he's been showing some interest in other kids. Unfortunately, he's showing it by stealing their toys and screaming at them to chase him as he runs away. But hey, we moms of special-needs kids take progress where we find it. And to me, this is progress. Even so, Quinn and I have talked quite a bit in the last week about other ways to get kids to play. He can say, "Can I play with that when you're done with it?" or "Can I play with you?" or "Would you like to play tag?"

And then... a massive leap forward.

After school one day last week, Quinn walked up to a little girl sitting on a wall and asked her, "What are you doing?" When she didn't answer he asked again. She still didn't answer, so he got on the wall too and started sliding away from her - and she followed him! I told him to tell her his name, which he did, and they started little-kid chatting away. I was just about crying I was so happy.

Then yesterday after Chinese school, he walked up to a little girl he knows (he's gone to her house to play with her toys!) and said, "Let's play tag!" She was too shy to respond, but her little brother wasn't, and pretty soon there was a rowdy game of three-way tag going on around us.

So many times I've watched Quinn play on his own as friendships form all around him and wondered if he'd ever connect. And now, at last, I see signs that he's doing just that.

It's a good day.

Rules, rules, and more rules

I try to keep things positive with Quinn. Before we brought him home, we were lucky enough to have breakfast with awesome psychologist and author Dr. Kevin Leman. He lamented how he hears so many parents walking into Walmart while telling their kids, "You had better not act up! You better not touch anything! You better not ask for any toys." When you do that you're just planting negative ideas, he says.

So we keep it positive. But in our desperate quest to help Quinn stay at the school we really like, we've been blasting him with a barrage of rules. "Don't turn on the microwave." "Don't bang into any friends." Actually, it seemed to be working - he wouldn't do whatever thing we told him not to do, but the list kept getting longer as we added whatever had trouble he'd gotten into at school that day.

Then at lunch last week, I noticed him mumbling and I bent down to hear what he was saying. This is what I heard: "Do not pop anyone's bubble. Keep your hands to yourself. Keep your body to yourself. Do not put pebbles in your friend's mouth. Do not kick any friends on the slide. Do not touch the buzzer. Do not touch the microwave. Do not touch the green button. Do not bump into any friends."

Well, that was just about enough to make me cry. Poor kid. Who could keep straight that litany of rules? No wonder he was getting into new trouble each day. With so much negativity bouncing around in his head, honestly, what other outcome could we expect?

So you might think that this was a wake up call and I immediately changed my ways. You would be wrong. That didn't happen until the next evening, when I was telling Quinn that Miss Leticia said he did a good job of stopping a negative behavior when she told him to (believe me, that was progress!). He looked up at me and said hopefully, "Was she proud of ya?"

By George, she's finally got it! Let's get back to positivity! So on Thursday and Friday we kept telling Quinn how proud we were that he was trying so hard to stay inside his own bubble and how we knew he was going to keep doing better and better.

And guess what? GUESS WHAT? He's doing better. So much better that when Tom picked him up from school Friday Quinn's teacher pulled Tom into the classroom so he could see all the good things Quinn had done that day.

As always, who knows if we've cracked the code? Who knows if this will last? But positive certainly feels better than negative. To all of us.

A new school, a new worry

Quinn's new school is fabulous and his new teacher is terrific. Under her care he's already made so many strides - he's participating in songs, listening at story time, noticing (although not quite playing  with) other kids.

And then.

On Thursday, he had an absolute nightmare of a school day. So bad the teacher sadly told us that the (private) school might not be equipped to handle him. In retrospect, I shouldn't be surprised. Before school even started that morning, I saw him refuse to move when the teacher asked him too - VERY unusual for Quinn - and get right up in a little girl's face even after she asked him not to do that. Once inside the classroom, he was running around wildly, banging into kids and knocking them down, knocking over block towers little kids were building. He went down the slide before his turn and hit a girl already on it, and later he poked a girl in the eye.

It was about as bad as it could be.

And then.

On Friday, he was back to his old self. I hope - I pray - that Thursday was an aberration. That he was just out of sorts. We had messed up his schedule by pulling him out of school for two days to visit my brother. Also, we were out of milk so he had an unusually sugary breakfast of blueberries and a waffle with syrup, with none of his usually Cheerios and milk. Maybe one of those two things put his nervous system out of whack. Maybe neither had anything to do with it.

So we're on high alert, role-playing good behavior and talking about proper actions and reactions. But, Lord is this scary.

I would do anything to help Quinn achieve everything he is capable of achieving. I just wish I had a clue of how to do that.

What to Expect When You're... Comparing Your Kid to Others

Quinn will turn 5 next week (!!). In anticipation, I got an email from Fisher-Price suggesting some things my 5-year-old might like based on 11 ways that they're sure he plays now.

I chucked the "What to Expect in the Toddler Years" book long ago, about the time I forced myself to stop watching other kids at the playground and noticing all the things they were doing that Quinn wasn't.

But it's been a while. So I read the 11 things he's obviously doing, according to Fisher-Price. And you know what? He is doing five of them. All things considered, I see that as a triumph -- both for Quinn, who for so long was not meeting practically any milestones no matter how basic, and for me, who used to worry myself silly with silly comparisons.

I tell people all the time that I've come to believe Quinn is on HIS schedule, and no one else's. I'm glad to prove to myself that I actually believe it!

Finally, an Old McDonald's visit that doesn't depress me

Quinn loves visiting the playland at "Old McDonald's," as he calls it. For me, each visit is a new level of sadness. There was the baby Quinn suddenly and without warning knocked down, causing everyone who saw it to gasp in unison. The time I heard screaming from inside the play structure - not Quinn's, but I instinctively knew who was causing it -- and high-tailed it up the slide to find out I was right. The grandfather who glared at us for a good 20 minutes, even as he was leaving, because he mistakenly thought Quinn had bumped his beloved angel while he was spinning. The place seems to exacerbate Quinn's sensory-seeking nature in ways that looks a lot like serious disciplinary problems.

And that's not the worst of it. Each time we visit we watch kids make friends and play together. Other than when things go south, Quinn generally doesn't even acknowledge any other children. Finally, it's cute to watch kids make it to the top of the play structure and then holler or wave down at their parents. Quinn gets up there and does his own thing, in his own world, until we tell him it's time to go or the food has arrived.

It reached the point where we stopped going about six months ago. And then this morning, with my husband out of town and me looking to run down Quinn's battery before his final assembly and performance at Chinese School, he asked if we could go to Old McDonald's.

So we did.

And what a difference.

First, he scampered to the top and yelled down to me. Then he stuck his face against the inside of a bubble-shaped window and hollered at me, "Are you inside the bubble?" After a bit a little girl and her grandma came in to eat breakfast, but Grandma wanted to leave before the girl got to play. Quinn watched her the whole time and then asked, "Is the little girl not going to play?" Later on he asked, "Is a kid going to come play?" He actually noticed kids, and he wanted to play with them!

To another parent, this was hardly anything. To me, it was everything.

DTD = Quinn

Wow. Someone posted this in the Yahoo group for Quinn's orphanage, and it just about knocked me out of my chair.

Scroll down to the stuff about Developmental Trauma Disorder. Quinn looks so much  like at ADHD kid in so many ways, but I've never believed that he is. I guess I'm not alone...

This article isn't exactly light reading, but if you adopted internationally, you might see some stuff you recognize!

Good vibes for my little orator, please...

About six weeks ago, when Quinn's Chinese school teacher announced that all her students would participate in the school's annual speech competition, my stomach did a little lurch. Speech competition? As in, sentences? Spoken on demand? Quinn?

On top of the idea seeming a little far-fetched, the speech itself seemed crazy long:
I am Jianrong.
I am four years old.
I am a boy.
I know how to count.
(Then he counts to 10.)

This child is FOUR YEARS OLD! He spoke his first word at 26 month, strung together his first mangled sentence at 3, is so delayed in his speech that he qualifies for special education services, is still considerably short of what you could call conversational.

And yet.

Tomorrow is the speech competition.

Quinn knows his speech by heart and willingly recites it on command. His Mandarin is clear and beautiful.

Truly, I am in awe of this child.

I don't know what will happen when he gets up on that stage, looks into the crowded audience and has a microphone shoved in his face. But I know that, no matter what happens up there, one mama, one baba and one nana in the crowd will be fiercely trying to hold the cameras steady through the tears.

Quinn's on a sensory diet

We have lot of things we do when sensory-seeking Quinn gets a little out of control. He knows his options, and can choose one when he agrees that "your engine is running too fast." He can get a bear hug, joint compressions, pressure on his shoulders. We can do wheel-barrow walks or he can push a big ball up the wall.

But it turns out, which I didn't understand until this week, that we need to be doing that stuff every day - or more - to try to regulate his nervous system.

So for the last couple days we've been getting up a little earlier to add joint compressions and brushing of his arms and legs to our morning routine. Then we do the same two things again before school, and if it's a late school day he wears his compression vest for a bit while we get ready in the morning.

Funny with all this stuff: Just when you think you're doing it right, you learn you've been doing it wrong.

Live and learn.

An almost unsolicited "I love you"

I have no doubt that Quinn loves me like mad. But the darn kid just will not say it on his own. If I tell him I love him, he says the same back to me. But he's never said it without prompting.

Well, we're inching closer. Last night he was sitting on my lap after dinner and smiled at his Baba. I said, "Quinn, do you love your baba?" He said yes, and then snuggled into me and said, "You love your mama." Quinn still has some pronoun confusion and refers to himself as 'you.' So add up all those elements, and, hey, pretty good, kiddo! I'll take it!

I could not agree more

If you haven't read this excellent essay by Amy Eldridge of Love Without Boundaries, carve out a few minutes and give it a read.

http://www.informedadoptions.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=89&Itemid=67

A very meaningful day (for 2/3 of us...)

Today is our third Family Day. I can't believe it's been three years, and yet it seems like we've always been together. We let Quinn take the lead, so we went out for a bagel breakfast, and after preschool we went to the zoo and out for "Chinese noodles."

It was a lovely day, marred only by the grownups' repeated attempts to get a nice family photo. Quinn thought this was a terrible, boring idea that was sucking important fun time out of his day. He did a bit of whining and trotted out the fake cry he has just about retired, but all in all he put up with us  pretty well. We didn't get the perfect Christmas card photo we had envisioned, but we did get some photos that made us laugh (especially the one at the bottom of this post, which is the most perfect image ever of his goofy personality). And that's probably better in the long run anyway.

To Quinn's BCWI cousins Malia and Anna, Happy Family Day and lots and lots of love. To everyone waiting for a Family Day of their own, I hope your wait is short and sweet. And to Quinn Jianrong, we love you more than all the love in the world, times 27 million.

Preschool dropout

After a three-week trial, the preschool for kids with speech delays decided not to enroll Quinn. They said that redirecting him ("Quinn, sit down. Quinn, are you listening?") was taking too much of the teacher's time. I can't say I blame them, because I know that is a challenge for him.

Surprisingly, I actually feel some sense of relief because I had been working my tail off trying to hide his challenges since this school doesn't take kids with issues other than speech. We were getting up early to run him around the 'hood and burn some energy, watching his diet very closely, not letting him watch any TV in the morning, etc., etc., etc. All good things, of course, but we were making ourselves a little nutty worrying about them all.

So we're back in the hunt for a school that's a good fit for Quinn. Today we visited a church-affiliated school that employs a PT who specializes in sensory processing disorder. They allow about two kids with SPD in each class. But all the kids get "therapy" -- they bring in an OT every Monday and do lots of sensory play every day. In many ways, this place is the opposite of the last school. While that one was very academically focused, this one doesn't really do academics at all. Its philosophy is that kids (at this private school, in this high-end neighborhood) are getting that sort of stimulation at home; what they need at school is social interaction and play. Since Quinn is doing great academically but is in desperate need of social skills, that sounds good to me. The catch: They might not have a slot for him. The school's SN liason was planning to put him in the 3-year-old class (their ages are developmental, not chronological) but changed her mind after meeting him and seeing his impressive brain at work on a puzzle and a game.

And so we wait. We play. And we enjoy our extra time with this fabulous little guy we're blessed to call our son.

Plan C, D - and working on E

I haven't been  blogging of late because I've been driving. And driving. And driving. Like a long-haul trucker.

As of my last post, I had pretty much decided to skip the speech preschool with the principal who pretty clearly didn't want Quinn. Instead, we decided to give his special-ed preschool another shot, with new goals written into his IEP.

Well.

This year's class has a couple of very challenged kids. And Quinn tends to raise or lower himself to the level of whatever is happening around him. So we were looking at a very bad scene, with increasing behavior issues.

So.

I decided to keep my appointment to visit the speech preschool, and I had the same reaction as the first time I visited. I wanted to hate the place. But I loved it. The teacher is amazing, the assistant is fantastic, the kids are engaged. So I pretty much begged and got Quinn in on a trial basis. We'll find out soon whether he'll be able to stay, and at this point it's anybody's guess.

As the principal feared, he is a challenge to the teachers. He stands up during circle time, walks around during center time, doesn't want to sit and look at a book on his own. But... in three weeks, he has gone from speaking sentences only to himself to having actual conversations with us. He has gone from never, ever participating in his special-ed class group activities to taking part. And he has gone from never, ever singing with us at home to happily singing songs with multiple verses. So I'm working closely with the teacher (who is beyond wonderful), we're practicing school activities at home, we're volunteering at the school and we're praying, praying, praying.

In the meantime, I drive Quinn to "Miss Jocabed's school" for 2 1/2 hours in the morning, then pick him up and drive him across town for 2 hours of "Miss Schreiber's school" in the afternoon. Except on Wednesday afternoons, when we alternate between OT for sensory processing disorder and a therapeutic playgroup for speech and sensory issues. Then it's home to practice "centers."

How much do we practice? In the bath last night, Quinn said, "Mama! This is bath center!"

Plan B

After much negotiating with the principal of the preschool I've been trying so hard to get Quinn into, she agreed to take him on a one-month trial — provided I came along with him. So I got my schedule all worked out, and then ... she called and said they've decided they want us to come again for a "visit" — and that visit won't be until two weeks into the school year. At that point, he may or may not be invited for another visit. And at the end of all this, he may or may not be accepted. 

What it comes down to is, I think, is they just don't want Quinn at their school. It's grant-supported, and in these tough economic times I think they're quite desperate to show that every kid improved with their curriculum. Because the principal fears Quinn has autism, I believe she's scared he'll skew her rankings. I get that, but I also know Quinn a little better than she does, and I honestly do believe he would thrive there.

But ... but. She expects him to fail. So, really, how could he not??

So while I made the appointment for us to visit in a couple of weeks, my gut tells me we won't be keeping that date. Instead, we're going to return to his special-ed preschool and I'm going to ask that the goals in his Individualized Education Plan be updated. Because, honestly, his speech delay isn't that big a deal anymore. He's progressing beautifully. Instead, I want to ask them to work on helping him to listen and follow directions, to make eye contact and to interact with other kids. Those things, I think, are the keys to helping him succeed later in school. As for speech and academics, we'll work on that stuff at home and supplement with some extra-curriculars like the swim and music classes we've been taking this summer.

It's funny, I've been fighting for so long to make this whole speech preschool thing happen. But now that I've pretty much decided against it, I really feel this path is the best one for Quinn right now.

And so ... here comes Plan B.

The big week is now in our rear-view mirror

When last I wrote (which must have been 10 years ago now - sorry!) I mentioned that Quinn had a big week ahead. So here's how it went:

New play group: Eek! He loved the "play" part, which lasts an hour. The circle time part? Um, not so much. He squirmed, he kicked, he didn't listen, he didn't participate. No big nightmare, but not the biggest success, either.

New music class: Yay! Similar behavior issues, but the class is co-taught by a special ed teacher/ music therapist who is both understanding and full of good ideas. Quinn really enjoys it, although he doesn't exactly do what you would call participate...

New therapist: Yay! LOVE her. Very smart, great with kids. On our first visit she seemed a bit flightly; but on our second visit she showed up armed with a plan of action just for Quinn and a truckload of great strategies. She also served up something I hadn't heard of before: a compression vest, basically two pieces of neoprene that wrap very tightly around him. He is not crazy about the vest, but darned if it doesn't calm him right down.

Entrance evaluation for the speech and language preschool: OH MY GOD! In our first phone conversation, the director told me that Quinn sounded like more than they could handle. She agreed to test him, but made it very clear that if he couldn't finish the test - which can last up to 90 minutes - he wouldn't be admitted. Friends and therapists told me not to worry, that it would be games and fun activities. Wrong!

I swear, it was like the test was created just for Quinn to fail. It was 90 minutes of this poor child sitting at a table answering questions. I could not believe this was being expected of a 4-year-old. At two points I had to sit with him on my lap because he got so squirmy. And once we took a break at my dear mother's absolute insistence. (Also, I put the compression vest on wrong and he immediately tore it off.) But, by God, this child FINISHED that test. Even when the tester came out into the hall afterwards and told us SHE HAD MISSED AN ENTIRE SECTION OF THE TEST AND WE HAD TO COME BACK IN - he did it. I was so proud of him I just hugged him afterwards and tried not to cry. The speech pathologist who administered the test took a quick look at his results and said his receptive language skills are absolutely normal, meaning he understands what he hears - he just doesn't necessarily answer or follow directions based on what he hears.

So is he in? We don't know yet. I phoned the director the next day to ask her what's next, and I could tell she was gearing up to say they weren't going to take Quinn - even though she admitted she hadn't seen his test results yet. So I offered to enroll him on a trial basis, and take him out after a set period if they thought he was too disruptive. She seemed open to that, but we'll have to see.

So why am I so determined to get him into this horrible-sounding school? Because when we visited last spring I was absolutely blown away by the quality of the programming, the love the teachers showed the kids and the results I have heard about from friends who sent their kids there.

We're supposed to hear this week. I swear, I'll post an update before another month has passed!

A big (as in important) week for Quinn

Please keep Quinn in your thoughts this week.

Tuesday morning he starts a play group with "normal" kids - something I know he needs, and something I have avoided because it's so hard to sit there and listen to the bragging about how Jimmy is already reading Shakespeare and how Susie has mastered long division. My issue, not Quinn's - and it's high time I get over it.

On Tuesday afternoon he meets a new therapist who has been recommended to us by our doctor and Quinn's speech therapist. She is a PT, but works with kids with sensory processing disorder. I'm happy with the help he's been getting for SPD, but I'm sort of starting to feel like I'm not learning anything at therapy that I'm not already doing at home. So even though I'm sad to leave our current place (owned by a fellow adoptive mom) a change feels right.

On Wednesday we go for Quinn's long-awaited evaluation at a local university-affiliated preschool that specializes in kids with speech issues. I took him for a visit last spring and LOVED the place. Such a high level of teaching and such an impressive place. They were less impressed with Quinn's sky-high energy level, however. The director indicated his lack of ability to sit and listen may render him more than the school can handle. However, she agreed to test him at the end of the summer to give him more time to mature. Amazingly, here we are at the end of the summer - school starts here in mid- August.

This is a big week for Quinn - please think of him, especially at 8:45 a.m. west-coast time Wednesday!!

One stupid study

Well, here's a headline sure to give adoptive parents a little panic attack:

"Study: Adopted kids more susceptible to mental, physical woes," http://azstarnet.com/news/science/health-med-fit/article_7d188a39-87ac-56e0-b2ad-a3e87e4fed83.html

The researchers determined that adopted kids are three times more likely to have physical and mental-health disabilities than kids raised by their biological parents. BUT... all the kids in the study were adopted from foster care, so likely suffered some abuse and/or neglect in their early months or years, plus the likely trauma of moving from one foster home to another. As I know so well from Quinn, early neglect - even in the fairly benign form of a lack of stimulation - leaves a lasting impact. So are those kids likely to have problems down the line? Absolutely. Would they have those problems whether they were with biological parents, adoptive parents, foster parents or in a group home? Absolutely.

I'm no researcher, but it seems to me that this study measured the long-term impact of a rough beginning, but attributed that impact not to the rough beginning, but to adoption.

A (fleeting) wish for a sis

We have pretty much decided that Quinn will be an only child. So of course, when I told him this morning that his friend Nate was going to have a baby sister soon, he said, "We gotta go get a baby sister! Quinn want a baby sister." Just how deep is his desire? This afternoon, I was looking at a blog by the mom of a boy from Quinn's orphanage - they're in China now and welcomed a beautiful, smiling baby girl just yesterday. "Look!" I showed Quinn when he came to see what I was doing. "Matthew got a baby sister!" He leaned in close, squinted at the screen and proclaimed, "All done baby sister!" Then he went to play with his toy garbage truck. And that - at least for today... - was that.