Tomorrow Has to Be Better
School didn't go well today.
I noticed when I went to pick Kamden up that all of his classmates had come outside but he had not. This is never a good sign. I walked through the hall in the school against the flow of kindergarteners and first graders and tried to keep smiling and not tear up, knowing that when I got to his classroom it was probably not going to be a good scenario. When I got close to the room, I noticed the principal standing in the doorway, somewhat blocking the door with his body. I came around his side and glanced into the room, then back at the principal and asked, "Was it a bad day?" He started to tell me, then stepped aside and I walked into the classroom to find Kamden sitting on the floor against the wall on one side of the room and his teacher standing on the opposite side of the room, smiling a sad smile at me. I looked back at Kamden, and he was staring off at no one in particular, but he had a definite look of defiance on his face. His teacher explained that as the students were packing up their things to go home, that Kamden had been runnign around the classroom and intentionally bumping into people, yelling, hitting, and telling her he was going to run away, so for safety's sake, she told him he needed to remain in the classroom until I came to get him. She had repeatedly asked him to sit in his seat and wait at his desk, and his current location on the floor was where he'd felt he should sit.
He was angry. He immediately tried defending his actions and telling me that he wasn't doing any of the things she said and that he was supposed to walk outside to me. He was angry that I'd come inside the school to get him. He was angry because he knew he was in the wrong. For whatever reason, he can't seem to admit that he's in the wrong when the situation is unfolding, but I know that look he had on his face.
At this point, I had not said a word. He looked at me and said, "I just want to go." I told him that once he'd done what he was asked to do, that going home sounded like a great idea to me. He told me he was already sitting down (logic no one can argue with) and I told him, "Here's the deal. At school, I am not the boss. Your boss asked you to do something, and until you do what you've been asked to do, we can't go home." I could tell he didn't like it, but he stood and walked over to me. "I want you to give me a hug." No emotion in the tone, so I knew he was trying to use it as a diversion from the situation at hand. "I would love to give you a hug, once you do what you have been asked to do, Kamden." Do you have any idea how hard it is to, even temporarily, deny a hug to your child? He growled at me and gave me one of the nastiest looks I have seen in a long time, but he turned and walked to his desk, sat down and then looked up to see who was watching. Of course, I, his principal and his teacher were all watching. When he realized I had turned to talk to his teacher, he raised his voice, and with a condescending tone that I didn't know a 9 year old could use, said, "I THOUGHT you were supposed to come over here and hug me." I thought I was going to break into tears right then, more out of anger and frustration than sadness or being hurt. "Kamden, when you are finished doing what you were asked, and when you are able to speak to me in a kind way, I would love to give you a hug."
Something in him gave way in that moment, and he sat calmly while his teacher and I talked. When there was a pause in the conversation, he told his teacher, "I really just want to go home." She is always very understanding and calm, and she looked at him and said, "I know you do buddy, but when you leave is up to your mom. And I'm going to add that you can go when you choose to talk to her nicely. You will not talk to you mom the way you have been today." He visibly calmed a bit more, and then stood, pushed in his chair and hugged his teacher to say goodbye for the weekend.
The ironic part of all of this is that just this morning, when I dropped him off, his teacher had a talk with me about how she had gone home last night and felt so bad that it seems to be bad news given to me every day, and that she tries to shield the parents in her classroom from much of the "bad" that happens because she knows that it can be overwhelming. There is also a strict policy in her classroom that once apologies are made and an immediate consequence is given, that everyone moves on and the discrepancy is no longer talked about. She told me she knew she could talk freely with me and that I wanted to know and be involved, but that she still felt a bit guilty when it was day after day that not so good news was shared. I wasn't sure what to say other than the truth, so I half smiled and told her that it was okay. It was overwhelming at times, but that I had gotten to a point that I prepared to hear the worst, and if it was a great day, I'd just welcome the surprise.
I hate that this is the case and that this is how I approach life now. I want to expect the best. Always hope for the best. I just don't anymore. Not to say that I am a pessimist, because I truly believe I am far from being that, but I would absolutely label myself a skeptical realist. I've dealt with 6 years of autism, 4 years of therapies and daily "not so good" reports from school. I've hoped for a miracle through a pregnancy that ended in a daughter dying at just under 35 weeks. I've helped care for an ailing parent on and off since I was 11 years old. I think that all of those things, while they suck (for lack of a better word), have prepared me to be a mom to a special needs son. The good days are rare, but they make the bad days bearable and being struck by the reality of life in multiple ways and situations has made it to where not much phases me anymore with the behavior we encounter or the anger and outbursts. I'm prepared for the days we have multiple meltdowns or the days he is more likely to try to run away or fight back that I have to physically pick him up or hold him down/in a bear hug to keep him safe.
I still have hope. I don't want to make it sound like I've given up entirely. I haven't. I just know what reality is for us. I guess what our "normal" is. I do hope. It's small and it's reserved and it's usually well hidden, but it's there. I do everything I can to keep its light flickering, but some days, I have to admit, I'm afraid that it might burn out entirely. To say otherwise would be a lie.
I get asked at times how I do it, or how I stay so upbeat. There's no secret. I literally live by the mantra of, "Tomorrow has to be better."
I noticed when I went to pick Kamden up that all of his classmates had come outside but he had not. This is never a good sign. I walked through the hall in the school against the flow of kindergarteners and first graders and tried to keep smiling and not tear up, knowing that when I got to his classroom it was probably not going to be a good scenario. When I got close to the room, I noticed the principal standing in the doorway, somewhat blocking the door with his body. I came around his side and glanced into the room, then back at the principal and asked, "Was it a bad day?" He started to tell me, then stepped aside and I walked into the classroom to find Kamden sitting on the floor against the wall on one side of the room and his teacher standing on the opposite side of the room, smiling a sad smile at me. I looked back at Kamden, and he was staring off at no one in particular, but he had a definite look of defiance on his face. His teacher explained that as the students were packing up their things to go home, that Kamden had been runnign around the classroom and intentionally bumping into people, yelling, hitting, and telling her he was going to run away, so for safety's sake, she told him he needed to remain in the classroom until I came to get him. She had repeatedly asked him to sit in his seat and wait at his desk, and his current location on the floor was where he'd felt he should sit.
He was angry. He immediately tried defending his actions and telling me that he wasn't doing any of the things she said and that he was supposed to walk outside to me. He was angry that I'd come inside the school to get him. He was angry because he knew he was in the wrong. For whatever reason, he can't seem to admit that he's in the wrong when the situation is unfolding, but I know that look he had on his face.
At this point, I had not said a word. He looked at me and said, "I just want to go." I told him that once he'd done what he was asked to do, that going home sounded like a great idea to me. He told me he was already sitting down (logic no one can argue with) and I told him, "Here's the deal. At school, I am not the boss. Your boss asked you to do something, and until you do what you've been asked to do, we can't go home." I could tell he didn't like it, but he stood and walked over to me. "I want you to give me a hug." No emotion in the tone, so I knew he was trying to use it as a diversion from the situation at hand. "I would love to give you a hug, once you do what you have been asked to do, Kamden." Do you have any idea how hard it is to, even temporarily, deny a hug to your child? He growled at me and gave me one of the nastiest looks I have seen in a long time, but he turned and walked to his desk, sat down and then looked up to see who was watching. Of course, I, his principal and his teacher were all watching. When he realized I had turned to talk to his teacher, he raised his voice, and with a condescending tone that I didn't know a 9 year old could use, said, "I THOUGHT you were supposed to come over here and hug me." I thought I was going to break into tears right then, more out of anger and frustration than sadness or being hurt. "Kamden, when you are finished doing what you were asked, and when you are able to speak to me in a kind way, I would love to give you a hug."
Something in him gave way in that moment, and he sat calmly while his teacher and I talked. When there was a pause in the conversation, he told his teacher, "I really just want to go home." She is always very understanding and calm, and she looked at him and said, "I know you do buddy, but when you leave is up to your mom. And I'm going to add that you can go when you choose to talk to her nicely. You will not talk to you mom the way you have been today." He visibly calmed a bit more, and then stood, pushed in his chair and hugged his teacher to say goodbye for the weekend.
The ironic part of all of this is that just this morning, when I dropped him off, his teacher had a talk with me about how she had gone home last night and felt so bad that it seems to be bad news given to me every day, and that she tries to shield the parents in her classroom from much of the "bad" that happens because she knows that it can be overwhelming. There is also a strict policy in her classroom that once apologies are made and an immediate consequence is given, that everyone moves on and the discrepancy is no longer talked about. She told me she knew she could talk freely with me and that I wanted to know and be involved, but that she still felt a bit guilty when it was day after day that not so good news was shared. I wasn't sure what to say other than the truth, so I half smiled and told her that it was okay. It was overwhelming at times, but that I had gotten to a point that I prepared to hear the worst, and if it was a great day, I'd just welcome the surprise.
I hate that this is the case and that this is how I approach life now. I want to expect the best. Always hope for the best. I just don't anymore. Not to say that I am a pessimist, because I truly believe I am far from being that, but I would absolutely label myself a skeptical realist. I've dealt with 6 years of autism, 4 years of therapies and daily "not so good" reports from school. I've hoped for a miracle through a pregnancy that ended in a daughter dying at just under 35 weeks. I've helped care for an ailing parent on and off since I was 11 years old. I think that all of those things, while they suck (for lack of a better word), have prepared me to be a mom to a special needs son. The good days are rare, but they make the bad days bearable and being struck by the reality of life in multiple ways and situations has made it to where not much phases me anymore with the behavior we encounter or the anger and outbursts. I'm prepared for the days we have multiple meltdowns or the days he is more likely to try to run away or fight back that I have to physically pick him up or hold him down/in a bear hug to keep him safe.
I still have hope. I don't want to make it sound like I've given up entirely. I haven't. I just know what reality is for us. I guess what our "normal" is. I do hope. It's small and it's reserved and it's usually well hidden, but it's there. I do everything I can to keep its light flickering, but some days, I have to admit, I'm afraid that it might burn out entirely. To say otherwise would be a lie.
I get asked at times how I do it, or how I stay so upbeat. There's no secret. I literally live by the mantra of, "Tomorrow has to be better."
"Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies."
ReplyDelete~ Andy Dufresne, The Shawkshank Redemption