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!

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!

The Concrete Kid

Quinn is so very concrete. The whimsical and imaginary just makes no sense to him.

Two sample conversations from the last couple of days:

Mama (singing): "Here comes Quinny cottontail."
Quinn: "Hey, I'm a boy!"
Mama: "You're not a bunny?"
Quinn (politely but emphatically): "No, thank you."

***

"Quinn, what are you going to be when you grow up? Are you going to be an astronaut?"
"No."
"Are you going to be a scientist?"
"No."
"Are you going to be an engineer?"
"No."
"What are you going to be?"
"Big!"

***

Not surprisingly, drawing and coloring has been a huge challenge for Quinn. Give him a blank slate and ask him to create, and he draws a big blank. All we've gotten so far is page after page of angry back-and-forth lines covering a page.

So when I spotted a color-by-letter at the fabulous Indianapolis Children's Museum on a recent visit, I had a hunch it might appeal to Quinn's concrete nature. If it says O, you color it orange. Concrete.


I brought it home and trotted it out, and the results were nothing less than astonishing. This rooster picture was the very first one he did. And instantly, he went from angry scrawls to this (he even signed and dated it when he was done):

Our secret shame, or how we found success with bribery

I've never believed in bribing children to be good. And yet, here I am, doing it. And darned if it isn't working.

Between Quinn's many delays and his sensory processing disorder, he has a very, very, very tough time sitting still and acting appropriately in school. He also loves to bang, to lean, to push - behaviors that, even though they aren't done with aggression, look very aggressive. The girls cry. The boys push back. The teachers get frustrated. Quinn gets in trouble.

In short, Quinn's behavior was becoming a fairly serious problem at school. As in, the teacher pulled us aside when we picked him up, every day, to tell us about the latest problem. This happened at his preschool, at Chinese school and at his therapeutic play group. Making it especially challenging to help him address these issues, he doesn't do these things at home.

We tried everything we could think of and everything his various therapists suggested.
We talked about keeping our hands to ourselves. We talked about how everyone is surrounded by a bubble, and how we shouldn't pop someone else's bubble. We threatened timeouts. The behaviors continued.

Then one day about three weeks ago, I was telling Quinn how I knew he was going to do great in school that day and he said, "If you keep your hands to yourself, you get a dollar?" Hmmmm. What to do? Sorry, but I bit. And guess what? It worked. Immediately. Since that day, no inappropriate behaviors at school, and Quinn is becoming quite the math whiz adding up his haul.

As a side benefit, he's developing a sense of saving. Now when we go shopping he looks at the toys, asks the price and decides what he's saving up for. He vascillates between Smokey the Fire Truck and a big giant garbage truck, but he keeps saving.

I feel a little embarrassed that such a shameful technique is working for us. But I can't help but rejoice that it's working. My goal right now is to help him succeed in school. And if this is what works right now, then this is what I'll do.

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.

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!"

Sentences!!

Quinn is getting pretty good at two- and three-word statements without adjectives, adverbs or pronouns. And then all of a sudden today he has uttered THREE full sentences.

While driving: "Mama, yellow car on top wall." Sure enough, we were passing a car dealership with a yellow car on the roof.

While walking past the bookstore with the beloved spinning ball fountain near the front door: "Go see ball in wa (water)?

After lunch, when Baba and Mama were getting into separate cars: "Baba, get in Mama car."

Fluke or breakthrough? Time will tell. But boy am I a proud mama today!

Third time's a charm!

At last, we have a successful hearing test!

After two nightmarish failures, I got a good recommendation of an audiologist who deals with a lot of kids and is very patient. I called for an appointment and was told the first one was in June, but as I was booking it someone canceled and we were invited in immediately! As advertised, the woman -- an adoptive mom from way back, by the way -- was awesome. She let Quinn play with puzzles in the sound booth, did the test without closing the doors (which freaked him out last time) and really, really took her time.

He cried a little and was clearly scared during the test, but didn't lose it. He sat on my lap and would look one way if the bunny in one corner of the booth made a noise, and look the other way if the kitty in the other corner made a noise. He responded appropriately when she asked over the microphone (veeerrrrry softly), "Quinn, where is your nose?" etc.

So he passed!

Next up is the entrance exam for public pre-school for kids with developmental delays and disabilities. I'm not entirely sure I want him to go (a topic for another post), but at least we'll have the option.

Hooray for brave little Quinn!

Well, that didn't work either

Today Tom took Quinn to the sound-proof booth for his hearing test. He was fine for the first beep, then buried his face in the crook of his arm and wailed in terror until the audiologist finally pulled the plug on the test session.

This must be bringing up some bad memory or fear in him, and we're really stumped about what to do. He is being honestly traumatized by this, and and the worst part is that NO ONE BELIEVES HE HAS A HEARING PROBLEM! It's just that the school district will not proceed with testing him for pre-school until he has a successful hearing test.

Any thoughts? Ideas? Suggestions? We sure could use them!

NOW you tell me...

Quinn is being tested to see if he qualifies for a public pre-school program for kids with developmental delays and disabilities. First he has to get his hearing tested so today we traipsed down to see an audiologist at our local school district. The minute I saw the probe she wanted to stick in Quinn's ear I knew this was going to be a bad scene. And it was. He started crying the second she touched it to his ear and grew increasingly upset until he hit a state of full-on hysteria. I tried distracting him, holding him during the test, taking a break, and nothing helped.

When the sweetest-keeled kid I've ever met looked over from his happy play break and let out a blood-curdling scream when he spotted the probe in the waiting audiologist's hand, she sighed and said she was just going to have to refer him to a local hospital. I asked why - did they intend to sedate him? "No," she said. "They have a fun sound booth over there where kids can hear sounds bounce off the walls rather than have to hear them inside their ear." Whaaaaaat? Why did no one even mention that was an option? We could have saved the poor child a truly traumatic experience.

I'm new to the public school thing, but this sure taught me a lesson. I need to ask questions before submitting Quinn to these mandatory tests. What are our options? Is there a gentler version of this test available? I know almost nothing about his early months but I do know something in his makeup or something in his past makes him easy to scare in instances like this. It's up to me to sniff those out in advance and try to prevent them. Lesson learned.