Just a Minute

"Come on MOM! We are going to be late!"
"Just a minute... let me just put the laundry in the washer real quick and then we'll go!"
"UGH!"
This was a situation that occurred often at my house when I was a child. I was always ready, and it always seemed that my mother was not. She was always trying to squeeze one more chore in before we went anywhere, and I was always SO frustrated. Did she have no respect for others' time? Did she not realize that we HAD TO LEAVE? Was her laundry more important than the event we were going to?
Two days ago, Baby was ready for school 45 minutes early. After repeatedly telling her that it wasn't time to go, I gave up. I said, "Ok, let's go, but first I need to put the laundry in the washer!" At that very moment I stopped and laughed out loud.
Nearly thirty years later, I finally realized what my mother had done all those years ago. She was stalling. She was tired of telling me it wasn't time to go and decided to take another approach. As I laughed, I saw my daughter glare at me and sigh, which made me laugh even more.
My sweet Baby could very possibly be an identical clone of me, so I knew in that moment exactly what she was thinking...just as my mother probably knew too!

Forever changed...at least for right now.

This little guy came into our family almost 5 years ago. He stole our hearts and became our son's confidant and best friend. He has been with us through thick and thin. He has endured the pain and the joy and the sweat and tears from all of us. He has eased Bubba's anxious thoughts and nervous mind more times than I could count. I have even blogged about how special he is to all of us. If it weren't for Mimi, we may have never been introduced.

I'm not sure if the pressure became too much or this had been on his mind for a while, but, after a brief stint as Carlton, Lambie is now a girl.

Insurance (a little rambling and angry)

From the moment Bubba was diagnosed with PDD-NOS, I began weaving my way through the upside-down world of insurance. As I picked up the new language, I began speaking in diagnosis codes and specific procedures. Reading insurance law and regulations became my pastime. It seems relatively straight-forward, but it never works out that way.
One week ago, I was approached by the business director of our therapy center. Let me just say from experience... the business director doesn't want to see you, much less call your name, unless there is a problem. So, I grimaced as soon as I heard Ms. Gregory roll off of her tongue. She quickly and matter-of-factly explained that Evander's new insurance, CIGNA, only allows a combined 60 visits for therapy, and Spencer has two visits remaining in speech (and 4 in OT). They can apply for reauthorization but usually don't get it.
Immediately my heart sunk.
I asked all the appropriate questions, the most important coming first: Is the appropriate diagnosis code on the paperwork? Texas recently passed a law requiring insurance companies to pay claims associated with Autism therapy. What I just found out, however, is that they do not have to pay ALL claims. We were allotted 60, so that is it.
How can they let this happen? My son relies on weekly therapies, and he is in danger of losing that. He has come so far and continues to grow. How much is one 30 minute session you may be asking? Afterall, it is only 30 minutes for one therapy. It is $109...the same amount as ONE college class for me. $109 pays for 4 1/2 months of education or 30 minutes of therapy.
What is wrong with healthcare? Here you go!!

Sink or Swim

A refreshing swim in the pool is a memory that many people share. I grew up at the lake and in pools, and I have always loved the water. There is nothing better on a hot summer day than jumping into a nice, cool pool. My daughter, Baby, feels differently.

For some reason, she is hesitant around the water. She enjoys playing in the sprinklers and baby pool. She will even float out with swimmies on, but it all changes when you ask her to take her swimmies off, or worse, take her to swimming lessons.

First, she went and watched Bubba, crying and whining the entire time for me to sign her up...so I did. The day came for her to enter the pool and she began to have second thoughts. Her nose crinkled, her eyes squinted, and her mouth opened wide as she began to cry. "I don't wanna go underwater!" Baby has not been back since her first swimming lesson (first for this month, not first lesson ever or even in the past few months).

The moment swimming lessons is brought up, she screams and cries, refusing to put her swim suit on. So today... I received a call from the lesson director (after I had called weeks earlier and she refused to refund my money).

"I notice that Baby hasn't been to lessons." she began.

"That's because I can't even get her to put her swimsuit on, much less in the car to go to swimming lessons," I explained.

I, then, went on to explain how head strong and independent Baby was. I continued to describe how she doesn't like to go under water and wants to do it on her terms. After a brief discussion, the director suggested we go in for "acclimation time". Acclimation time is when I get in the pool with Baby, but we just play. There are no instructors and no classes going on. It is just us, the pool, and all the fun stuff they use during lessons. So I agreed to try it.

After picking Baby up from school I explained what we were going to do and she began to cry. It was only after I held up my swimsuit to her that she believed me. Baby, Peach, and I arrived and headed for the pool. Baby immediately began pulling out everything. She ended up wearing swimmies, a swim ring, a noodle, and these rod things under her arms. She wanted to make sure that she wasn't going under.

We swam for some time and eventually she began to remove flotation helpers, until she was finally without anything. It was only after I said that it was time to go that she attempted to go under. I acted like I didn't even see it and she hopped out of the pool.

"That was fun!" I exclaimed. "You wanna come back tomorrow?"

"NO" she shouted.

"But I thought you had fun?" I questioned.

"I don't want to come back!" she yelled.

"Well...do you wanna come back, Peach?" I asked. Peach nodded her head vigorously. "OK...that settles it! We are coming back tomorrow."

"UGH!" Baby exclaimed.

We shall see what tomorrow's acclimation time brings but I am hopeful.

SURPRISE!

"Quick...we are in a hurry!!" This is a phrase my children often hear. Ever since I had Peach, it seems as if we are never on time, and last night was no exception. We were running late to Bubba's 6:00 soccer game, so I was pushing everyone out the door.
"Bubba, do you have underwear on?" I asked (another popular phrase in our house).
"Yes" he moaned. Great! We are all set.
As we arrive at the field, I pull Peach from her car seat and plop her down into the stroller. It was our turn to provide snacks (which I had remembered only minutes before), so I toss the Cheez-its and Gatorade into the bottom of the stroller as I coax the older two out of the car.
We then begin the decent to the soccer fields that, at this moment, seem like they could not be further away. I can make out what looks like hunter-green ants in the distance and yell "This way!"
Peach is bumping and hopping up and down as I run down the grassy hill, laughing all the way. Finally we make it, and I find the coach's wife in order to get Bubba's uniform from her.
Bubba is the only one not on the field, so I decide to change him on the sidelines. I strip off his shirt and speedily replace it with his jersey. Next I pull off his shorts and... NO UNDERWEAR! UGH!
I jerk his shorts back up as I say "I THOUGHT you said you were wearing underwear!"
Off we go, running back up the hill to change his shorts. We made it back just as the game started.
Moral of the story: Don't forget your underwear!

Backpack Incident

Monday morning I vaguely remembered that I had a microbiology quiz, so I pulled myself off the comfy couch and headed to the garage to grab my backpack. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, it hit me. On Saturday I placed my backpack on Evander's car to get it out of the way, as we raced out the door to soccer games.

Immediately, I ran inside to text Evander: "Did you leave with my backpack?"

Evander: No...I put it on the top of your car.

A sick feeling rose in the pit of my stomach as I typed: Seriously, where is my backpack?
Evander: On the top of your car!

Not only could I not see the top of my car, but I knew the backpack wasn't there. I had already run several errands, so there was no way it could have hung on for the entire ride. A single tear ran down my face. I immediately pulled on my tennis shoes and shot out the door. I ran down the alley way looking for my possessions, but nothing. Next I jogged down the road in the direction that I had left the neighborhood and still nothing.
I instantly began to panic a bit. The Jansport generic-navy backpack... I could live without. The microbiology lab notebook and pages of notes...I could not. Then I began to think of the implications of my lost bag. Inside was my lab coat, goggles, rubber gloves, dissection kit, and a vast array of highlighters, pens, and pencils. I would not even be let in the door of lab without my lab coat, goggles, and gloves. After glancing at the time, 10:35 am, I developed a plan.
10:35: pack up kids and head to mall to replace lab coat
11:30: have kids fed and Bubba at front door for bus
11:40:head back out to replace remainder of supplies
1:00 : put Peach down for nap
3:30: replace lab manual and binder
5:00 : dinner
6:00: class

My plan was genious, but it didn't work that way. In fact, I went to the mall with all 3 kids, but I always forget just how long it takes to get things done. We wheeled in our garage at 11:25, providing enough time for Bubba to scarf down lunch before jumping on the bus. Peach couldn't last another minute, so I put her down for a nap. When she woke up, at 2:15, I hustled the girls back into the car to get goggles at Lowes and other supplies and backpack at Target. We turned the corner at 3:20, just as the bus was pulling up to the house. Everyone headed inside for a quick snack before I was going to heard them back into the car to replace the lab manual.
Just then, my cell phone rang. It was my lab partner, Stitch.
"Hey!" she says. "You got your backpack back, right?"
"WHAT?" I exclaimed. "How did you know about my backpack?"
"Well...the college called me earlier today to tell ME they had YOUR backpack!"
"Seriously?" I questioned.
"Yep...someone turned it in," she said.
I went on to tell her the backpack incident and how I had JUST replaced EVERYTHING.
After picking up my backpack, it was obvious that it had been runover a few times, but nothing was missing. As I went through the pockets, I found a piece of paper.
I began to get nervous as I unfolded it. What is this?
It was a letter from the good samaritan who found my backpack and delivered it to school. It said:

I found your backpack just south of Rolater and Coit. I apologize for going through your things, but I was trying to find the owner. My name is __________. My phone # is 555-5555 and my email is skdlfj@yahoo.com, if you would like to contact me.

SUPER CREEPY, but curiosity was eating me alive, so I sent an email. I basically thanked him for saving my poor backpack and returning it to the college. The End...or so I thought.
He replied to my email with a very long, interesting, and weird response. There were things like "one person can make a difference" and "it looked like a nice pack". I won't go into detail but I will say that I was definitely a little freaked out. Now I can say with certainty... THE END.

Soccer Anyone?

"I wanna do soccer!" Baby exclaims. "I don't!" shouts Bubba.

"Why don't you wanna do soccer?" asks Baby.

"Cause I don't!" replies Bubba.

A few weeks ago, this conversation took place in our house and continued for some time. Baby posed in front of Bubba, hand on hip and head swaying back and forth, as she was trying to convince him that it would be fun. Her friend, Jewel, plays soccer, so she wanted to as well. Bubba, however, did not, which I could have guessed. The idea of having to participate in a team was more than he could handle. He wanted to take more swimming lessons. The result... both are taking swimming and playing soccer.

Today was their first soccer game of the season. How does my princess prepare? She started at 7:30 this morning demanding that I paint her fingernails and toenails after she had OBVIOUSLY been in my makeup. Next, she looked for the perfect pink shirt (because jerseys weren't in yet) and black shorts. Finally, she donned her shin guards, socks, and cleats. As she casually brushed her hair, like a woman you would find in the movies sitting at her vanity and stroking her long hair as she brushed, Baby said, "Ok...aaallll ready!" Great...only three hours till game time.

Where was Bubba? He was running around the house in undies and a t-shirt playing with trucks and cars. Not only did he have no concern about the upcoming game, I'm not sure he even realized there WAS a game. About five minutes before we had to leave, Bubba got dressed but didn't put on the cleats, shin guards, and socks...because he might get too hot.

I was so surprised at my sweet Baby. She normally despises dirt and detests being sweaty, but here she was excited about playing soccer. Then, the game began. My super enthusiastic soccer star turned into a whiny, over dramatic princess. She refused to go onto the field, and screamed when I told her she had to play. Evander (who is btw her soccer coach) and I begged and pleaded with her to play just for a few minutes. Some of the other girls began to drop out too. It was as if Baby had lead a soccer revolt. Of the eight players on the team, only four were playing.

Shortly after Evander tried to bribe her with a trip to Target she removed her cleats and got out her lunchable. There in the grass, next to the field, my three non-enthusiastic soccer players (and 1 fan) sat eating their lunch when one of them should have been playing. At one point, some of the four playing girls began to tire out, so we had to employ drastic measures. I picked up the shoeless, moody Baby and placed her just over the line onto the playing field so one of the other players could rest. A complete meltdown ensued.

Bubba's game was next. Since Baby wasn't playing and Evander was the coach, I took my three children and trekked across the park to Bubba's field. Bubba was the second person from his team to arrive, and he didn't look to excited. I was afraid that I would have to endure a second hour of a pouty preschooler, but I had no idea how to coax him onto the field. Bribing and time out don't work for Bubba. In fact nothing does. He is not affected or phased by anything, really, so I wasn't sure how this was going to play out because I also wasn't interested in dealing with a complete tantrum that only Bubba can throw. So...I waited.

To my surprise, Bubba ran onto the field. He ran onto the field and continued to run. It was like a swarm of bees, all running for that one tiny ball with no regard of teammates. The object...to kick the ball. Whoever got in the way of that was going down. He actually did very well (as long as you said "Bubba go that way!"). I will say he needs to learn that you stop running and kicking with a blow of the whistle, but I was very proud of him. I believe I was more proud that he was out there, on the soccer field, with other boys his age and he was doing something that other boys do. No one out there had any idea what he has been through.

All in all I am very proud of all three of my children. Peach endured the heat and multiple soccer games, as well as a birthday party before hand. Baby sat with her team and has promised to participate next time. Bubba said as he came off the field, "Well... I did my best!" Did you hear my heart melting? We will see what next weekend brings.

Let's Play Catch Up

Many things have taken place since I last visited. Bubba's misdiagnosis may be a misdiagnosis. I started nursing school. Baby has left princesses behind in an effort to pursue rock stardom, and Peach will be ONE in less than a week. Oh the Gregory traveling circus continues its tour!!
Bubba, we have decided, may have a dual diagnosis. He has too many Autism Spectrum symptoms (when not on medication) to ignore or to pawn off on another disorder, but we also do not want to put the Attachment Disorder to rest. Therefore, we will address both disorders equally. We have seen a lot of progress with him using attachment parenting, as well as ASD therapies and do not want to do anything that may inhibit that continued progress.
Shortly after I stopped blogging, my father went into the hospital for triple bypass surgery. This is where he stayed for 6 weeks, spending half of that time in intensive care. He left the hospital a very different man than he went in. He now requires round-the-clock care and cannot be left alone. My mother is a saint because she has refused to put him in a home or hire a nurse and has instead decided to take on sole responsibility for his care.
Because of this, in combination with all of my children's health needs, I have felt a need to become a nurse. It is something that I couldn't have done just out of college or even a few years ago. It took life experience for me to come to this decision and this feeling of where I am needed. Therefore, I began school again in May and hope to apply to nursing school in the next few months. So...goodbye elementary school! Hello hospital!

Baby has decided to grow up! She is slowly leaving princesses behind and is now watching things like iCarly and Hannah Montana. She likes guitars, microphones, and high heels. She would rather sing along to Strawberry Shortcakes "RockaBerry" then hum a princess sing-a-long song. This 3-year-old is going on 13!

Six months may have passed but Peach is still very much a baby...my baby. There are many things I believe she can do, but there are many things she refuses to do. Why? Because she is the baby. Why walk when someone will carry you? Why talk when someone hands you whatever you want without asking? She is the complete opposite of Baby at this age, but I must admit...I love it!

Evander is doing well. He is currently training for the Dallas 1/2 Marathon and working like a wild man. He just purchased the family a 6 month old golden retriever named Dodger and is very happy.

Many things have happened in the last six months, but we are like a soap opera. You can turn it off for months at a time, but, when you turn it back on, you pretty much pick back up where you left off!

Back Again

It has been almost 6 months exactly since I last blogged. After talking with a friend today, I began to scroll through all of my posts and slowly I found myself engrossed in my own story. Tears came to my eyes as I relived some of those emotion-charged moments, as well as a realization of just how far Bubba has come.
When I left off Bubba had just been misdiagnosed and questioning himself. I also had a needy 6-month old. A lot has happened in those 6 months. If you are new to the blog, you will have to go back to the beginning to discover nicknames and wade through the history of our family. If you are a regular visitor, I pledge to you to restart the blog and keep it going.

I'm Different

There are many topics I expect Bubba to bring up throughout his life. At some point I'm sure he will want birth family information and maybe even photos. He may want to know why we chose to adopt or why he was placed for adoption. I even anticipated the "where was I born" questions while I was pregnant, but I had no idea the "I am different" conversation would surface for at least a few more years.
As I was getting the kids ready for bed Bubba said, "Baby and me don't like us!". When I asked what he meant he repeated the statement. I, then, incorrectly assumed he was trying to say that Baby didn't like him or he didn't like Baby, so I assured him that Baby is his friend. This is when it all started.
"Well... I don't like me."
"Why don't you like you?" Evander questioned.
"I'm different!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I'm different from baby." he elaborated.
"How are you different?"
"I'm brown and Baby is not."
Evander and I looked at one another in complete shock. I anticipated this conversation around 5 or 6 but never 4. We continued the conversation by explaining that everyone is different, but they also have things that are the same. We went through his list of friends as he told us what color each one was, and then we assured him that we love him no matter what color he may be.
After he went to bed I sat on the couch in amazement. His intelligence shines with each of these conversations, and his growth since beginning the attachment parenting is unbelievable. He has really begun to make progress, and I am happy with how far we have come.

Gregory Circus

Just as we jumped on the autism bandwagon, we are now ringleaders of the attachment circus. This comes complete with juggling emotions, walking the tightrope between positive feedback and angry outbursts, and clowning around to encourage interaction.

Each day we manage emotions, his and ours. With every incident we respond with "It makes me feel ____ when you ___". We have to be very careful to state the behavior and not the child. We have to explain our feelings without necessarily showing them.

In our house you will often hear "you are making poor choices" or "I love you even when you __". We are trying to teach Bubba that he has a choice in his behavior and his actions affect others.

Over the past week I have been playing games with him to encourage interaction. By games I don't mean Monopoly! We have played things like peek-a-boo, patty cake, and row your boat. While these may seem infantile, their purpose is not for developmental growth but social interaction.

Believe it or not, we have started to see progress. He has begun to express his emotions more with words than actions and he has seemed to open up a little more. He is now speaking in paragraphs (just at home) and behaves more appropriately in some social settings. While we still have far to go, I an encouraged by how far he has come. We may have found the missing piece to our puzzle.

A Whole New World

While having breakfast with friends, I began trying to explain attachment parenting. I attempted to address the issues, the loving phrases used, the expression of emotion in a caring way, and the focus on the child not the behavior. It is since then that I have realized something. Attachment parenting isn't just taking a closer look at my child and his behaviors, but it is also an examination of myself as an individual and parent.

In order for this new style of parenting to be effective, I have to change everything I've ever known. I have to delete 10 years of classroom management, 7 years of babysitting, and 4 years of behavior management as a mom. I have to forget all the things I learned watching my older sister parent her children (not that you were wrong) and all the things that common sense tells me to do. I have to dismiss those negative consequences that pop into my head, and I have to lengthen my reaction time, so I don't just react but actually decipher a thoughtful response and choice.

While eating breakfast I realized that attachment parenting is about finding myself, not just the child behind the behavior. It is about being confident in my own emotions, so that I may share them with others. It is about determining the parent I want to be, not what society wants me to be.

Attachment vs Asperger's

Misdiagnosed... The word hit my brain like a mallet hits a gong. The sound of the word seemed to reverberate off every nerve-ending in my entire body. I immediately conjured the spirit of Jenny McCarthy, and instantly remembered reading in her book that many doctors believe her son was misdiagnosed because, as our psychiatrist put it, "you cannot recover from Autism". I would hear this term not once but three separate times over the next two weeks.
The first time I heard "misdiagnosed" was at our first appointment with a new therapist. She believes he actually may have an Attachment Disorder which, believe it or not, actually mirrors Asperger's symptoms (with a few exceptions). The more she spoke, the more it began to make sense. Attachment disorder is often found in adopted children who have experienced some "trauma" in their lives.
While we do not know much about Bubba's start in life, we do know that he was moved to a new foster home at three months of age due to "unhealthy conditions", and we also know that the back of his head is as flat as a piece of plywood. It is very possible that he experienced trauma in the very early stages of his life. An argument could also be made that the simple movement from one foster home to our home was a traumatic experience for him.
As I began to let the information soak in, I ordered books so I could learn more about how to deal with and treat "our" new disorder. A few days later we had an appointment with the psychiatrist.
I giggled as she began, "While you cannot recover from Autism, you can be..."
"Misdiagnosed!" I chimed in. Through my chuckles I continued, "our therapist believes it is attachment disorder. What do you think?"
"I believe that is very possible!"
Seriously! Seriously! For four years I have assumed that my son has had an incurable disorder. For four years I have read every article, book, and magazine I could get my hands on. For four years I have researched therapies, changed diets, created supplement cocktails, and sought out every field expert. For FOUR YEARS...
One week later Bubba had his four year old checkup. As the pediatrician entered the room, she noted how well behaved Bubba was. We spoke for a moment about his progress, and then I brought up the monkey on my back who had been with me for a week, pulling my hair and biting my ears.
"What do you think about attachment disorder?" I asked.
"If he has Aspergers, he is the highest functioning Aspergers kid I've ever seen! It's very likely he was misdiagnosed!"
Again I have to say... Seriously! Has everyone just been going along with this diagnosis because it sounded good? Is Autism a more "accepted" diagnosis than RAD? Seriously?
What is the correct diagnosis? I do not know. Does it even matter? Again, I do not know. What I DO know is that the treatment for Aspergers and RAD is essentially the same, so everything we have done thus far has been good, despite the diagnosis. We have also begun attachment parenting, in which we let Bubba know that we love and accept him despite his behavior and emotion. There can be no time-outs or time in your room. There can be no yelling or negative consequences of any kind. Since beginning this, we have seen some progress. I do not know where we go from here or what to expect, but I will continue to research and experiment. I will continue to help my child, despite the diagnosis.

Party Time

What is that red thing? What is it for? What does it do? What does it sound like? These are the questions I hear each time Bubba sees a fire alarm, smoke detector, overhead sprinkler system, or any other device related to fire. Ever since the fireman visited his classroom, he has had an obsession and border-line fear of all things fire. So...where do I decide to hold his party?

The fire station, of course!! Some may think it is unhealthy to play into his obsession, but I figured at least it was something different from Cars (his other obsession). We had Sweet Frenzy (http://www.sweetfrenzy.com/) make the fabulous cake and Bubba invited a few friends. Overall, I think it was a great party. It was probably the best party we have had...to date. Thanks everyone for coming and partying with the firemen!