So tonight John has to work late. Every six months he needs to do some sort of maintenance thing that cannot be started until all the clients are gone for the night. It's a really late night. So when I came home from work, I threw the kids in the car to bring the kids to Target. I needed a few things, but we got TV dinners and a movie "A Bug's Life." After dinner, we built a tent in the living room and started to watch the movie.
Anna got excited about it and immediately wanted to put on her feety pyjamas and pop some popcorn. She went upstairs and brought down all the pillow pets. She crawled into the tent and cuddled up with her blanket. That lasted all of 30 minutes. Then she went into the dining room to play and chat.
Jack didn't want anything to do with the feety pajamas. In fact, he was kind of pissed that I wanted him to shut off his movie so that I could start the movie. The movie is just about over it, but he's still laying in the tent, watching the movie.
Regardless of how many times I've rebuilt the tent, it's still a great start to the weekend.
The week started off on a shakey note. Anna was sent home from school because the nurse and the teacher thought she was having severe stomach pains. She wasn't, but the nurse somehow got her to say that her tummy hurt. I can honestly say that it wasn't her tummy because she was fine in the nurse's office and she was fine at Judy's house. Something set her off. I couldn't talk to the teacher at the time, so I tried to call. She didn't return my phone call until the following morning. I wrote a note explaining why it wasn't a stomach ache (The kid's on enough Miralax that if she even thinks of poop, she poops). I explained, for the umpteenth time what the anxiety attacks look like and that this was probably an anxiety attack. Blah, blah, blah. The teacher finally called the following morning and spoke with John. John said the same thing. I got a phone call from the principal regarding the note. Of course I missed the call and had to wait for the following day to speak with her. She told me that she really didn't believe that it was an anxiety attack because Anna looked like she was in pain. I tried to explain it all again, but she didn't believe me. She wanted to know how to manage the pain.
The principal did tell me that she had been watching Anna and she found Anna to be a pleasant, happy little girl who plays with the other kids, shares well, and participates in the activities in the class. She then went on to tell me that she prides herself on her staff's communication home with parents. I told that was interesting because what she had told me was the only feedback I received about how Anna was adjusting to the new program. That floored her. "I'll have to go talk to Miss ________________!"
You do that.
The best of the phone call, aside from the part about how well her staff communicates with parents, was when she told me how professional her staff was. See my previous posting to see how I feel about that one.
Actually the best part of the phone call was hearing the positive things she had to say about Anna. It's nice to know that she participates. It's nice to know that she's pleasant, because, honestly, she's not always pleasant. It's nice to know she plays well with other kids (She's not quite verbal enough to vocalize the old David F. Hannon adage, "I'd like to share my toys all by myself!" but she feels the same way).
I am angry that they're not listening to me. It wasn't a stomach ache. It was an anxiety attack. I don't want to come get her if she's having anxiety attacks (I want to, actually. I want to pick her up and cuddle her and love her and make the anxiety go away, but...) because she needs to learn coping mechanisms. Also, if we come running every time she cries, she'll learn that she just needs to cry to get out of something. Don't want to take that 10th grade biology test? Just cry and say you're nervous. The school needs to listen. Those attacks are why she's there in the first place.
On the other hand, Anna is more verbal than she had been. Even in only two weeks, she's talking more. She's clear and she's funny. She talks about circle time and another little girl in her class. The place makes me crazy, but she's learning. That's the best thing, right?
So Jack is becoming the master of exposition. Lately, he's been announcing every, single little thing he does. One day last week, I was sitting at the dining room table while he was standing right next to me, and he said, "I'm scratching my butt." The thing was that I was watching him do it. He's come into our room in the middle of the night to tell us that the touched the wall in his bedroom or that he pulled his blankets up, or he touched Brian (his dog who sleeps in his bed with him). It's trying my patience in the worst way. I didn't understand it. Why was he torturing me this way? But John had a light bulb moment and said that perhaps he was acting this way because Anna was getting a lot of attention. In fact, this blog is mainly about Anna...they all are.
So this morning we had a bit of time before we needed to leave for Judy's. So I sat down and told him that Anna needed our help because she wasn't where she should be and we were doing everything we could to help her. She was taking a lot of attention, but that didn't mean we didn't love him as much. I was telling him how much I loved him and how proud of I was of him and he wasn't paying attention. He was looking around the room and out the window. I was just getting to the sappy, yet important part when he looks at me and tells me that he was standing there looking out the window.
Oh well. She'll speak better and he'll quit the narration. Right?
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