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Jan 31, 2010

Make Sure You Walk Away With The Right Kid

January 31, 2010 By

On Friday afternoon I found myself running late after a doctor appointment, rushing home to make sure I didn’t miss Cordy’s bus. She is dropped off at our door, and if we’re not there to get her off the bus, they will only wait so long before driving on to the next stop. In our school district, that means you then have to pick up your child from Children’s Services, which no one wants to do.

I got home right at the time she’s scheduled to get off the bus, which is actually never the time the bus arrives. It has never arrived at that time – it’s usually coming around the curve about five or ten minutes later. I left the front door open to wait for her bus. Five minutes pass. Then ten. At this point I’m starting to wonder if I was too late. But I know her bus driver well enough to know that she’d wait at least five minutes if she happened to get here on time. Where was that bus?

Another ten minutes passed, and just as I was beginning to panic and consider calling the school district to ask where I need to go to get Cordy, I hear the bus coming down the street. And then I see it slowly inching along, pausing at each address, and coming the wrong direction. Ah, it’s a substitute driver today. Now I know why she’s late.

I immediately started to walk out the door toward the bus. I noticed an aide on the bus moving around and doing something, all while Cordy sat in her seat and waved to me from her window. As I crossed in front of the bus to get to the bus door, a taller child in a blue coat suddenly met me around the corner, smiling. This bus carries a lot of children with varying special needs, and this boy didn’t seem to notice or care that this wasn’t his house and I wasn’t his mom.

I peeked up into the bus, looking at the smiling driver and aide. “Have a good afternoon!” the aide yelled to me.

“WAIT!” I yelled back before the door could be closed, “This isn’t my kid.“

The aide and driver looked at each other with an amused look. “What?” they laughed. I guess they thought I was making a joke.

“This isn’t my kid,” I said more insistently. “THAT is my daughter,” I growled, pointing to Cordy who was sitting right behind the driver. Cordy was still smiling, also probably thinking this was all a joke.

The aide immediately looked puzzled and yelled for the boy to get back on the bus, quizzing the boy, “Well, why’d you get off the bus if this wasn’t your stop?”

At this point the driver appeared to have a moment of intelligent thought with the revelation, “Oh, so that’s why she was saying ‘Mommy! Mommy!’ when you were walking to the bus.” Um, yeah, ya think? I suppose that would be why she was saying that. Is the school district that desperate for substitute bus drivers that they’ll hire anyone off the street?

Finally, the aide unbuckled Cordy and helped her down the stairs. I held Cordy in my arms as the aide and driver again tried to laugh about the mix-up. I glared at them and walked away, holding onto MY daughter.

It wasn’t funny. It was dangerous, it was careless, and it shouldn’t happen. Were I not all the way to the bus, they could have let that boy off and drove away before I could object. And who would they have given my daughter to? Cordy likely would have reacted the same way the boy did – she trusts adults, and probably would have willingly stepped off the bus, even knowing it wasn’t the right stop.

The district will be getting a call from me on Monday, urging them to make sure their substitute drivers are more careful about making sure special needs kids get to the right home safely. Some kind of safety procedure needs to be in place so that each child is matched up to the right address. I don’t care if it’s a seating chart or names on the seats or some other plan – a simple list of addresses and names isn’t enough.

I was worried that I had missed her bus. But being given the wrong child really scared me. I want to know my daughter will get home safely each day, and I want to trust that her bus driver will take her to the right address and only let her leave when one of her parents is there to take her hand.

Here’s hoping her regular bus driver will be back this week.

Filed Under: Cordy, rant, school Tagged With:


Jul 7, 2009

Grocery Store Misdirection

July 7, 2009 By

At the grocery this evening, I waited in line at the self-checker while three early 20-somethings unloaded their cart. In it were two bottles of vodka, a 6-pack of beer, and some Red Bull. They also asked the cashier to fetch them some cigarettes. He slowly shuffled off to get their cigarettes from the locked case after checking IDs.

I heard the three of them talking to each other in hushed, urgent voices. Finally, one of the two women said to the guy with them, “I said I don’t know! I’ll ask.”

She then turned towards the cashier and loudly asked, “Hey! Can I use my food stamps to buy this?” as she gestured to the Red Bull with one hand and held up her food assistance card in the other.

The cashier looked up with a bored expression, as if he had heard this question several times. “No,” he responded.

The three 20-somethings sighed in defeat. “Damn – I told you. Just pay for it already,” the other woman said. They paid for their items and soon were out the door.

As I stepped up to the self-checker, my eyes met those of the cashier. “You know,” I offered, “They actually can buy Red Bull with food stamps.”

“Yeah. I know,” he replied with a smile. “But if they don’t know that, I feel no need to tell them they can use assistance to buy that junk.”

I stifled a giggle. Sure, he was probably wrong to lie to them, but I wasn’t going to correct him while they were still there, either.

(FYI – They get a booklet when they get their food card telling them what they can and cannot buy.)

Filed Under: daily life Tagged With:


Jun 16, 2009

Unwanted on 1st Day of Camp – A New Record!

June 16, 2009 By

I was hoping for a first day of summer camp that would end with reports of “she did great!” and in some ways it did. But that statement was also followed with “until…”

Cordy’s camp ends at 1:30pm each day, and we arranged it so she stays in after-camp until 3:30 three days a week. She’ll be in all-day Pre-K in the fall, and she needs to start getting used to a longer day. I figured this was a good place to start. This morning I met her after-camp teacher, and after warning her that Cordy would likely be having a rough day today, her response? “Oh, I’ve cared for lots of kids and I’ve seen everything! There’s no kid I can’t handle!”

Today, at 1:45pm, I got the call from Aaron’s aunt. (The preschool director.) At the end of camp, they took Cordy to the front along with the other kids who were leaving at 1:30. She got to watch them leave while she was told she had to remain behind. Today she was the only kid in after-care. Naturally, she had a big meltdown. They were calling to ask me for advice on getting her out of her meltdown. I gave a few tips and hung up, my stomach in knots as I wondered if I’d get another call soon.

Half an hour went by, and I called back to see if she had calmed down. Aaron’s aunt said Cordy and her teacher took a walk to calm her down. I decided at this point to get her early, since it was her first day. When I arrived, they sent someone to find Cordy and her teacher. As they came around the corner, Cordy had a big grin on her face and didn’t seem distressed at the moment.

I hugged Cordy and asked her how her day was. It was then her after-care teacher said, “She is very tired and worn out. Camp is hard on her.” Cordy seemed a little tired, but nothing out of the ordinary to me.

And then the gut punch: “I really think you should pick her up right after camp each day.”

*blink* *blink*

“Well, I can’t do that,” I stammered, “I’ve already paid for her after-care, and I need the time while she’s gone to get things done.”

The teacher was unimpressed. “The camp day is too hard on her. She can’t handle a full day. And she has no other kids to play with.”

I’d like to pause in this conversation to remind everyone: FIRST DAY, PEOPLE!!!

I explained to the teacher that Cordy doesn’t know the routine at the moment, and that once she gets the hang of it she’ll handle transitions better. I also told her Cordy will be in Pre-K in the fall and needs to start transitioning to a full-day program. And I had been told right before they came around the corner that another child would be in after-camp next week.

“Well, we’ll see what happens on Wednesday…” And with that ending, she left.

We’ll see? Or what, she’ll be kicked out of after-camp? Holy hell, it’s only been one day! ONE DAY. Un dia.

Surely other kids act up on the first day of a new program. A child need not be on the spectrum to have a bad day, right? You can’t judge kids by their first day in camp.

I’m completely floored by this teacher’s response to Cordy. Especially since she was the teacher who declared herself some kind of child whisperer that can handle anything. I can’t decide if my mistake was in not telling her enough about what to expect from Cordy, or telling her anything at all and somehow biasing her against Cordy. Was I wrong to mention autism? I feel like we’re being scolded for thinking we could mainstream her. She doesn’t act like a perfect robot child, and so clearly she doesn’t belong here. Send her back to the land of misfit children where she belongs.

And strangely enough, when I spoke with her camp teacher, the report was the complete opposite. Her camp teacher loved her, and said that Cordy had a really good day. She didn’t like circle time singing, preferring to stand away from the group, and she clung to her swim instructor like a barnacle in the pool, but otherwise she had a lot of fun and followed directions. Her teacher was impressed at how she coped with her new schedule.

And that whole talk about being too tired? Cordy did look a little worn out, but she wasn’t sleepy. She didn’t nap the entire day, and was a bundle of energy when we got home.

We’ll see what happens on Wednesday, but I’ll be pissed if I again hear that Cordy should not be in after-camp care. I know my daughter is pretty amazing, and I know she’ll go on to earn many honors, but having the title of “Fastest ejection from a daycare” is an honor I’d rather she not have. Because I then might have to earn the title of “Loudest mother” for shouting HAVE A LITTLE FREAKIN’ PATIENCE! at her teacher. Which is still better than “Mother drinking herself into oblivion” from the stress of it all.

Filed Under: Autism, big issues, Cordy, daily life Tagged With:


Mar 24, 2009

Trust vs. Mistrust

March 24, 2009 By

In our couples counseling yesterday, our therapist diverted away from the primary topic and asked me, “You don’t have a lot of faith in people, do you?” That was an easy answer: no, I don’t. The harder question to answer is, “What has happened to you over your life to make you not trust others?”

I’m a mistrustful person by heart, sadly. Being burned many times over throughout my life, especially by those I thought to be loved ones, has taught me to hold myself at arms reach from others, questioning all motives and locking my gaze of inquisition on people until they are proven trustworthy.

Even when I was a child I learned not to expect anyone’s trust. Family members and friends let me down, or used words against me, or broke their word to keep secrets. Others forced me to keep secrets that I didn’t want to know in the first place. Several people were repeat offenders, and yet because they were close to me I continued to try trusting them, thinking that maybe this time would be different, although it never was. I only wish I could share those stories.

As a teenager, I was already more wary of people. I kept my thoughts to myself at first, waiting until friendships were well-formed before truly placing any trust in the person. But more often than not, those “friends” would quickly sell me out if something – or someone – better came along. During my high school graduation all I could think about was how happy I would be to get out of that town.

One friend borrowed things from me all the time, and then the one time I asked for something back, taking it off her nightstand, she said it was hers and accused me of trying to steal something that wasn’t mine. (Wha??) The guys I dated in high school and college? Nearly all cheated on me.

I’m not saying that everyone I’ve ever met has been untrustworthy. There were some nice people in high school. I have some very good friends who I could turn to for anything, as well as some family members who are the first I call when I need an ear.

As usual, the bad stands out more than the good, and those first reactions I learned from years of conditioning have taught me that most people will smile to your face and then laugh at you behind your back. I don’t like to immediately think that, but I was bitten far more than once to make me shy.

Which then leads me to ask: why do I blog? Why should I put myself out there for all to see, sharing thoughts I never say out loud, when I would never do it in person?

Well, at first I didn’t share too much about myself. The blog was mainly about the frustrations and joys of being a new parent – something anyone could relate to. But slowly I began sharing more of myself, and those teasing glimpses have led to my desire to run streaking through my blog, my thoughts naked for all to see.

You could say that blogging is my personal social experiment. Anyone could be reading this blog, but on the other hand, no one could be reading. I’m opening up before entirely trusting the reader partially because it is impossible to trust everyone passing through. I guess I’m teaching myself to be more of an open book, letting everything that has been trapped inside me out. It feels good.

And I’m learning that there are even more great people out there. Sure, trolls still exist and they’re a minor annoyance, but I can’t imagine not sharing most of me with many of you.

Hey, it’s far cheaper than even more therapy, right?

————–
And speaking of sharing most of me, please click over to Hot by Blogher and see how much my figure has changed in 22 days thanks to the 30 Day Shred and diet. I’ve lost only 5 pounds, and didn’t think I’d see much of a change until the photo proof was in front of me!

Family members are once again reminded that they should probably not follow that link, because there are photos of me in a sports bra, and you have to see me in person again someday. It’s better for all of us.

Filed Under: me me me, memories Tagged With:


Mar 22, 2009

Three Times Now

March 22, 2009 By

Our car was broken into last night.

Actually, broken into isn’t quite the phrase. Nothing was broken. It seems that someone forgot to lock the car door – an extremely rare event with me, Queen of the Double-Checked Locks residing at this home – and on that particular night it just so happens that someone was walking through the neighborhood checking to make sure everyone locked their car doors.

Yeah, whatever. I don’t think the odds of it happening were really all that low.

Truth is, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone is walking through our neighborhood double checking door locks every single night. You’d think we lived in the wild west, and not a middle-class suburban subdivision. But this is becoming a way of life around here.

When we first moved here (we were the second completed house on our block), our car was broken into in that literal-smashed-window kind of way. Sort of a welcome to the neighborhood, if you will. We began leaving the front lights on all night to dissuade nocturnal visitors.

Then in 2006, just days before I went to my first Blogher conference, we came home late one afternoon to find our living room window smashed, our entire home rifled through, and everything of value gone. At that point we installed a security system and took extra care to keep everything under lock and key.

And now another car was looted. I’ll be the first to admit that an unlocked car is just asking for someone to open the door, but in the hundreds of days our cars have sat in our driveway, only one night (to my knowledge) has the door been unlocked.

Thankfully, Aaron had recently cleaned the car (read: removed a lot of junk), so there was little of value to be found. Some spare change and a dead cell phone from 4 years ago is all they took we think. And extra thankfully, Aaron’s iPod and wallet were not in the car. He occasionally forgets them, although I think this served as another wake up to check all locks and remove all valuables before exiting the vehicle. (See? I told you I was the Queen of double-checking locks.)

And while I am grateful little was taken, I’m again left feeling angry. Three thefts in four years. The people who do this give me little hope in mankind. Even though I know of so many good people who go out of their way to help others, I’m left to dwell on those who choose to steal from anyone they can, taking away what others have earned instead of earning it themselves.

But beyond the physical items, the greatest thing stolen was my own feeling of security. I’m left wondering if there is anywhere one can truly be safe anymore? I hate feeling like I can’t hold tight enough to everything that matters to me because there are people waiting in the shadows to rip it all away the first moment I loosen my grip.

Call me a Pollyanna if you must, but why can’t everyone just be good to each other?

(And now I must go double check all of the locks on the doors before going to bed.)

Filed Under: daily life, rant Tagged With: