I am mother, hear me ROAR

February 22, 2006

***********
**********
**********
****** Avenue School


To Whom This May Concern,

In my many conversations and meetings with the Literacy Support and teaching staff at ******* school about my son, Owen ****, it occurred to me that I tend to retell the same story. I realized that we have acquired much history and information on Owen, throughout his education at ******. Some of that history I feel, needs to be put in some context. I wish that this letter be included in his personal file, so that some stories do not need my repetition.  
     
     In addition, I also wish to articulate my own philosophy about Owen's medical diagnosis. Professionally, I teach post-secondary courses about health and healing throughout the world. What has become clear in my research and teaching is that modes of "disease" and "disorder" are culturally constructed and negotiated. By casting a wide view at the plethora of healing and medical practices, it becomes clear that medical science is just another - and not the only one true - method of interpreting health and disease. I tend to look at material pluralistically, and try to understand how each system of healing makes sense it its particular context. I am also not the sort of person to take all the information I am given at face value.  

When Owen was about three years, I sought the advice of Dr.******** 's with regard to Owen's language delay. He suggested that some of Owen's behaviours and difficulties had autistic tendencies, but he was in a very "grey area". He recommended that we diagnose him with an Autistic spectrum disorder, in order that Owen have access to the Paediatric Rehabilitation team and continued speech and language therapy. Dr ****** did not perform a through diagnostic assessment at that time. He felt that we could get the ball rolling with government funded programs with a "real" diagnosis on paper.

     In the eighteen months following this appointment, Owen was seen by 3 paediatricians, 3 speech therapists, a psychiatrist, 3 psychologists and an occupational therapist. Much of this "variety" was due to our family relocating to *******, Ontario for 18 months. He had a host of tests and assessments, and not one was able to unequivocally determine that Owen was well within the parameters of an Autistic Spectrum Disorder. I had the opportunity to work with many caring experts, but on more than one occasion, my views and questions were dismissed and disparaged. For instance, one psychiatrist wondered whether Owen had difficulty with transitions. When my response was no, she then suggested that his behaviour in her office was indicative of the contrary. In fact he had the flu. On another occasion, with another psychologist, there was the suggestion that Owen had gross motor delays. When I questioned that finding, and recounted stories detailing Owen's remarkable tree climbing abilities, my observations were dismissed in favour of her conclusion.     

Over the years, I came to learn the meaning of "advocating for my child" the hard way.   As I negotiated the intricate quirks and hurdles of our medical system, I learned when I need to speak up and when I need to listen.  By the time Owen was four and a half, I grew more disinterested in finding a correct label for his uniqueness. Instead, I was focused in finding as many methods which would help facilitate Owen's language acquisition and learning. Prior to Owen's enrolment in Kindergarten at ****** Avenue school, I had a long discussion with his paediatrician, Dr *********. I requested that we update his medical file by revisiting the Autistic Spectrum disorder diagnosis. I felt that it no longer adequately addressed Owen's quirks, and begged others to make assumptions and unnecessary judgements about my son. Dr. Swami urged me to keep the diagnosis, for fear of Owen losing classroom support. He felt that he could get lost in the school system without offering a "red" flag. I feel that I need to stress that the diagnosis remains for support and administrative reasons, not because there was an irrefutable medical conclusion.

      I remain disinterested in labelling Owen. I feel that labels may sometimes be helpful, but often determine our behaviour towards others, both consciously and unconsciously. I feel that it is in Owen's best interest to be regarded as a whole human-being, and to not have us focus on a very marginal aspect of his behaviour and cognition. To that end, I hope that I am able to partner effectively with the school, to meet and support his academic needs. While I am aware how my experience and understanding may be viewed as unconventional, I am Owen's mother and well educated.  I need my understanding of my son's issues to be respected, as I respect Owen's teachers and support staff.

     I wish to conclude my expressing my gratitude for the dedication and hard work that I have seen from the staff at ******* School with respect to my son. I trust in the help and support that he is being given, and can see the results. I hope with a more complete picture of Owen's preschool history, we can continue this partnership.

Thank-you for your time and attention


Heather ******

Provincial Examinations: A Stretching test.

A few weeks ago, Owen brought home a new weekly assignment. If someone had first consulted me on this one, I would have said that Owen was already booked, and put the new assignment on a waiting list. Now, I know if I raised a royal stink, I could have avoided this new homework business. I felt Owen could benefit for doing it, even it it meant that homework now takes 45 minutes each evening. Yes folks. Owen is in GRADE TWO. This assignment involves writing a paragraph on a particular topic - whether that be making up a story, or describing how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Many of you are also well aware that Owen is not your typical grade two student. His language skills are not in the "average" category. Of course, when this happens, it means either you have a gift or a problem. But I don't really want to see it in quite that way. Anyway, I wanted to get a sense for what sort of goals and expectations that I should be setting. I made an appointment and met his teacher.

During this meeting, I came to discover that these assignments were training kids to take a provincial literacy examination. I was given a few examples on how the tests were assessed, and examples of kids who were assessed as "Strong Performance", "Appropriate Development" and "Experiencing Difficulty". Even as I read the tests written by kids who were "experiencing difficulty", a sick feeling formed in the pit of my belly. Owen was not even in THAT range. I asked about getting an exemption, and the teacher kind of skirtted the issue, and said that she did not hear of this before. I also let her know that I thought it was in Owen's best interest to do the assignments, I was not sure whether he ought to take the test.

At that time, I thought that it was comparable to ask someone with no legs perform a running test. The tests would automatically peg Owen as a certain kind of student, but at the same time, those evaluating the tests would have no idea how much progress Owen has made over the past couple of years, or what seemingly insurmountable obstacles that he has already overcome. I was not sure I was not interested in seeing the flat ED, and POOF! Owen has just become a random statistic, unfairly lumped in with all the other kids that have not had nearly the struggle or frustrations.

So last week, Owen's support and literacy teachers called me and asked if we could have a meeting about these tests. The familiar sinking feeling gurgled in my tummy. As routine as these meetings and discussions have become, they are never easy. It probably never will. I keep thinking when Owen goes to Oslo to accept the Nobel Prize in Physics, I can turn back and tell all those people who focused on how far behind he was to SUCK IT. But I am getting ahead of myself.

On Thursday, I met up with the literacy teachers, we commenced our meeting, only to be interrupted by the singing of our national anthem. We stood. The teachers, whom I really like and trust, first showed me how much progress he has made, And they are smart too. I was quite astounded (at his progress, not the teachers level of intelligence). If I were given the work sheet (which would have been a story and a couple of multiple choice questions) I don't think I would have been confident that Owen would have been able to answer any of the questions. But guess what! He was getting them perfect, or one mistake. Mrs O and Mrs B. felt that Owen had the skills to take these tests. We spoke about the differences between the Owen at home and the Owen at school and it became clearer that he is far more dependant on ME, and underachieves with me.

I asked why these tests were so important. I told them that I don't think that we need provincial examinations to tell us that Owen is "experiencing difficulty". And I was worried about Owen shutting down and crying when he is frustrated. They assured me that they could issue an on the spot exemption if he started crying. That was reassuring actually. They also asked that he be included in the pool of results. They said that he was very much a part of the school community, and that his results help in determining how much funding the school gets for extra literacy support. I appreciated how they put that. And I agreed that he could take the Provincial test. I just needed the Big Picture.

After I walked out of that meeting, I was feeling rather good. And rather strange that I was feeling rather good. I never imagined that I would be okay with something like this. I was also glad that I made that kind of decision. I was able to deviate from my ideals - because I have never been keen about tests. I didn't put my foot down and say NO because in principle I don't agree with testing. I was glad I could extend myself beyond my ideals. Shows that I am a push over heh heh. Kidding!!

Did I say I was going to do research?

Bwaaahhh-hahahahaha

I am too ambitious for my own good.

From the kids:

"Whats a meteor?"
"Mom, what's a gravity field?"
"Can we have a Cryogenic Sleep chamber too?"
"How do you reprogram?"
"Whats a Zorgon?"

Zathura is a very cool movie, but beware, advanced degree in Astrophysics needed.

And I thought the birds and the bees were tough...exactly how to you explain gravity to a 5 year old? And yes, I already tried dropping a number of objects and saying "See! There is gravity" I get the 5 year old blank stare in return...the one that says "mom, I am waiting for this brilliant answer of yours".

The Toaster Streudel

This is just the intermission. I am carefully crafting a new post - which requires that I do some research. Scary huh?

Harry has grown tremendously fond of this bit of instant gratifiation in a box. A toaster streudel is a little pastry you pop into the toaster and then smear with frosting. They are sold as breakfast foods, but I recoil at that possibility. Harry has grown particularily find of them and it serves well with ice-cream for a really sinful treat,

If you snip the top of the little frosting packet you can actually decorate the top of your toaster streudel. At first, I'd craft his name. Next time , when he'd ask "Can I have a toaster turtle mom?"
and then, when I am in my good mommy mood and it is not anywere near a meal that can be potentially spoiled, I say "Sure"
"And can you draw on the top for me"
"Sure!"
So when the toaster pops, he instructs me on which design he'd fancy.
"This time mom, try Paramount."
You know, the movie company logo, complete with mountain and halo of stars.
"What about your name?"
"Okay, that will do."
Today his request
"You Can!" He made sure I included the exclaimation mark.

And of course he gets bonus points for optimism.

Happy Blog Day to Me...

I'm all for sentimentality...(remember the Christmas season?) so lets get on with the celebration! Yes, it has been twelve months and 2 days since I embarked on the great blogging adventure. And, yes - the trend is all it is marketed to be. Well...I don't need to preach to the converted now do I? Alrighty, commence all Happy Blog Day Festivities!!

This means, today is the day for all you secret and anonymous readers to out yourself and publically admit that you donate minutes of your busy day to share my always ponderous blather.
Thats right. Happy Blog day also involves a ritual revelation. What's a celeration without a bit of the esoteric thrown on the side? So pop over, say hi. That's all.

Now for the serious part. (The fun part is next). As I read my first couple posts, I realized that I have come to some conclusions I had hoped to bring some closure to. As I type this, I am almost certain that I will be offered no contracts in the fall, thus forcing myself to ask some more questions. Last year, I was desperately trying to work out whether a PhD was really on my horizons. I have much at stake here - most importantly my time...time that I was not sure I wanted to give over to the academy at the expense of my kids. I am also spoiled in the sense that I have been able to do meaningful work for the past 8 years. I get paid to talk about really cool ideas. Like the most of the planet, I get seduced in complaining about the bullshit that goes on with every job - office politics, power games, situations involving domination and subordination. Up until last year, my department operated very democratically and ethically. I was invited to be an integral part of the department, was privy to important decisions being made and my opinions were taken seriously. My role in the department was also honored and respected. So, given these circumstances, who would not want to continue their studies to join the round table and be able to talk about really cool ideas on a full time basis?

When the leadership and power relations shifted in my department all that changed. I was shut out of everything involving the department. People were making decisions, involving me, which I have heard from third parties. Much of the politicking in the department is nonsensical. And, I have learned of the lastest move, which will result in my unemployment. The reason? It's not personal. Certain faculty members (in my department and beyond) think that some part-time faculty have been around for too long and need to be let go. Why? I have not yet heard of a rationale that is just and makes sense. So thoughts returned about the Phd.

And eventually, I arrived at the point where I became clear that this is not part of my path. Sometimes the desire to do my Phd was so great so that I did not have to bear the embarassment and shame of only having an M.A. (And trust me, people throw around the importance of their three letters like it were the next level above human). I figured I would only be taken seriously and respected both as a scholar and a teacher if I were on the same playing field. In otherwords, I would be pursuing the degree to prove that I am a worthy of it. And frankly, I don't really think that is the right reason to do a Phd. I'm positive I don't want to embark on such a pursuit for similar reasons why people get boob jobs and hair plugs. I can save myself a whole lot of time, money and energy filling that need in other ways (Or realizing that its only a fictional need, since things are okay just the way they are).

So, chapter 2 and year two of The Big Picture will be as exciting. With all that internal mess sorted out, what is next? You know, I really don't know....and part of me is scared shitless about thus uncertainty, while another part of me is up for the thrill.

Okay. Now on to the fun part.

My top three favorite posts of the year:

• The Orange Pants
• Corpse Porn
• Karma Payment Plan

And the internet's favorite post is HERE

So excuse me I have a full bottle of champagne to drain. Hic!

Happy Blog Day to Meeeeeee......

If you want to learn the meaning of patience, buy an Orchid

Once upon a time - May 2004 to be precise, my thoughtful and charming husband purchased an orchid for mothers day for his lovely wife. This was completely my own cockamamie scheme. For some reason, I was up for the exotic orchid challenge. I love houseplants. I have no less than 20, which are in various stages of growth and neglect. People say I have a green thumb. I just know when to water them - houseplants are amazingly forgiving. Give them water and sunshine and they will grow with little complaint. For some reason, I decided I needed advanced indoor gardening practice and desired to conquer the exquisite orchid. Nothing too rare, just a standard fare Phalaenopsis - which is what is often sold at local floral shoppes. Thus begins ones initiation with the Orchid, it's not too finicky or fussy- A beginners bloom.

So I proudly displayed my orchid and eventually the blooms whithered and fell. An orchid is an unusual flower, because it does not grow in a soil. In the wild, it attaches to the roots or trunk of grand amazonian jungle trees. The household orchid is planted in something that looks like bark mulch.

I quickly learned that my orchid was getting all the wrong something...the leaves were rotting and falling off, they were getting soft and brownish. After some emergency research, I learned that it was not getting the proper light, along with some overzealous watering. Eventually I changed the bark, and realized that my inexperience resulted in a serious case of root rot.

The orchid was tenderly reposited in my kitchen nursery. I place plants on the sill near my sink - these are plants that need the more TLC, and because of their strategic location, get the most attention. For almost 2 years, I watered my orchid once a week, and sprayed the leaves and top roots every day. Every day. For 2 years. The first thing I noticed, about 2 months into the orchid rescue mission was that it developed a root! Then a leaf! Then another root! Then another leaf! I dilagently continued to spray it every day.

Then one day, sometime around Christmas (2005) a new growth appeared. Could it be? Could it really be? A flower spike?! I offered it some fertilizer and continues to watch. For 2 months I have observed this flower spike grow longer and longer and then it developed three buds. I watched for week after week as these buds grew more rotund and plump...until last night. The succulent edges of petals uncurled. I have been anticipating this event for 2 years.
Here is a picture of my orchid last night. Notice that it started to bloom in the middle of a snow storm...
I wondered, given how long I watched the flower spike develop, and how long the buds developed - how long it would take the flower to open up.

It all started when...

It all started when I tried to play my new Dead Can Dance CD in the van's player. Let us recall that said van was purchased new off the lot in July. The disc player announced ERROR and the disk could not be ejected. I pressed Eject. Nothing. I turned off the van. Then I started it up, and pressed eject. Nothing. Then I pressed eject about 10 times in a row, and then every other button. Nothing. I did everything short of beating the damn thing with my boot, which would have been my next move had I decided that its warranty might be called into question. I called the dealership and the customer service representative suggested I bring it in one day so they could replace it. I have yet to get around to that.

The reason I was going to play the Dead Can Dance CD was an attempt to help extricate myself from this funk that I have alluded to. I figured if I contextualized myself in a barrage of elements I deemed powerful and positive that I could use that as that bit of rope that would help me climb out of my pitiful chasm. I don't suppose I need to reformulate the metaphor between the stuck CD and the rope? Soon after, I decided to shift gears slightly in my class - as a way to jumpstart my own motivation and engagement with the course. (Remember that grand idea that I hinted at a few posts ago? Well I am talking about that now.)

I decided to show the "documentary" What the Bleep do We Know? to my classes. I did this for a couple of reasons. One, to help alleviate said funk. Two, I wanted to break up the term slightly to help avoid the midwinter blahs. I know that students go through periods of low energy as well. Three, the film is a modern representation of what is going on in the New Age Movement. Four, I wanted to walk students through a process that I've been harping about all term - putting a religious tradition into is historic and socio-cultural context. There is a fair amount of good academic analysis which looks at this expression of religiosity, without entering into debates concerning truth and authenticity. (I teach that the academic study of religion is not concerned with proving a religion to be true or right. It works on the premise that people hold these ideas dear and then seeks to understand these ideas from a spectrum of interpretations and methodologies)

After I played the film, I then had to then work through their reactions to the film (mostly negative), and then try and show them how to look AT it. One student reacted so strongly and negatively, that he could not see through his own position to even consider this field a legitimate field of research in the academic study of religion. Remember the guy who had the audacity to show up to class drunk? Well it was him. He was so angry (and rude) at my suggestion that this was really something that scholars investigate - that he was not even open to the suggestion. The whole discussion could have been really powerful and transformative if it were not for the anger. This would have to involve a conversion of sorts on his behalf - and not something that either he or I were open to. He would not have had to convert to a believer, but as a non-believer investigating an idea that someone else holds to be true. We do this all the time in religious studies. It's much easier when the ideas are presented as completely "other" (and mostly in text - which offers even more objectivity). It's not so easy to distance yourself when the information is coming from a film-quasi-documentary that claims to express a truth through a woman who claims to be channelling the spirit of an Atlantean Warrior. I messed with this guy's boundaries far too much and boy was he pissed. (He seems to be an angry young man anyway).

I am in such a negative place, that I deemed the whole experiment to be one giant flop. And then I had a series of other cosmic punches in the face. The new daycare thinks I should take Aidan to the doctor because his is not behaving like his peers (oh, boy this deserves a whole post for itself). I think the whole idea is balderdash, but I am taking him anyway, and I know there is nothing "wrong" or "disordered" about him, other than that he is taking his own meandering developmental path. Then of course there is the continuing spirit destroying drama happening all around me at work. The New World Order continues to chip away, and continues to try and damage the life's work of several of my very good friends. And then there is that matter that I have been single parenting for two weeks, and then all the stress culminated on Thursday. I succumbed to an excruciating migraine. At the end of yesterday, I felt altogether defeated.

Of course, I got up this morning performed my routine. On my way to school, the CD popped out of the CD player. All by itself.

I think things are starting to look up.

Movie Night

Eric is still sequestered up north, (here, specifically http://cgdi.gc.ca/ccatlas/joamie/mappage/mappage.htm). I have not heard from him in a week. This is generally not troublesome. I suspect that his phone is at base camp, and he is off freezing his nuts off on the tundra. While Eric glaciates various parts of his anatomy, I tend to all matters on the homestead. This includes being entertainment director. Today this included getting the gang out for a nice walk, since it was a balmy +8C here when it ought to have been -35C. I also played a couple rounds of Scrabble Jr, and then I rented movies for "movie night". I snatched up a copy of Tim Burton's Corpse Bride, since it was the only new release that seemed to satisfy our movie night needs.

I gave it to Harry to hold in the van, since he is the resident movie buff. He announced that he was not watching it. "Is it okay if I go to bed instead of having movie night and popcorn?" While such a statement can send any parent reeling in glee, I was struck rather sad. I tried to play up the coolness of the film - the main character's voice is the same as Willy Wonkas, it's got cool animation, music, I would have even raved the praises of the director, if such things were important in his universe. I suspect this may be something he'll pay attention to in grade one, if not by grade 2. For the time being, the production company reigns most important. Morgan Creek currently reigns superior - although they tend to make crappy movies. Harry knew the release date of Two for the Money on DVD, a few weeks in advance - just because it was a Morgan Creek film.

He was quite insistent on NOT watching the Corpse Bride - maybe he has read some unsavoury online reviews? I tried to find a trailer so he could see how cool it is. (I hope you are getting that movie night, really is all about my entertainment needs) The movie's official site is a really annoying flash animation maze, and locating the trailer did not mesh with Harry's waning attention and vehement opposition to it. Then it occurred to me. Finally I asked:
"Harry, why don't you want to see it?"
"Because it's bad"
"Why is it bad?"
"Because it is scary"
" What are you scared of?"
"It has bugs in it. Let's watch The Brothers Grimm instead"

I have to admit that I am impressed with that suggestion, and even considered it for a second. My first concern, is hitting play on Corpse Bride before someone recommends Spongebob the Movie. I promised Harry that we could snuggle on the couch and eat lots of popcorn and drink pop. I know bribery will try and get you anywhere.

Then it struck me all of a sudden how cruel and unusual I had suddenly become. Why was I pushing a movie that would make my kid scared? What kind of a sick and twisted mother have I become? Clearly, I was in need of another visit from the Social Worker. This harkened me back to my childhood. When I was a wholesome girl of 8, my mother took me to the drive-in and we watched The Amityville Horror. She had read the book, sae Donohue, and was psyched. She also was sure to tell me that this was all based on a true story. Despite the significance of our mother-daughter bonding, there was a terrible thunderstorm after that movie and I was anxious of Satanic possession for at least a decade. She had no idea how damaged I was. Of course I find this all wildly hilarious that this experience harkened my own spiritual development. So of course, me, Amityville, Corpse Bride and Harry - have I spiralled in some strange fantastical loop? Here I am, in a weirdly similar place.

"Mom, are we going to watch Tim Burton soon?" He asked me about ten minutes ago.

Perhaps I was a bit premature in guessing his interest in Directors.

Its all alphabet soup to him

I should be hunkering down to do the kids homework right now. This whole concept of homework in elementary school baffles me, frankly. I don't remember having homework every evening until at least grade six. At that point, my mother did not have to sit with me and walk me through it. Harry's homework involves weekly spelling words, and reading a book. Need I remind anyone that he is in his second semester of kindergarten? Academically he is doing just fine. He can sound out words, make sense of them rather quickly, and then read on. I bite my tongue when it comes to his printing - it seems to me that teachers are a whole lot less anal about that than they were in my day. This may be a good thing. But then again, I have relatively interesting penmanship. But who needs penmanship these days, I ask. I am surprised he is not in a typing class.

Given Owen's academic needs and challenges, homework time is never less than 45 minutes to an hour. He is slow, but amazingly persistant, resiliant and patient. All habits I wish I could better cultivate in myself. I know an hour each night sounds like a bit much for someone who is only in the second grade, but I actually like it. It probably is what makes the whole process bearable. I get some sit down, one on one time with Owen. Sometimes, he is painfully slow. Sounding out simple words, is a challenge. Making a simple sentence is a challenge. Its probably a benefit that I spent time teaching ESL. Sometimes I feel as if I am teaching a foreigner. You can tell that his brain is not wired to naturally come out with the deep grammar that English provides. But do you know what? I don't care. I can still marvel at that mystery - of what Owen's brain is naturally designed to do. The homework routine goes something like this: read 12 spelling words, then I test him (he has to write them down), then he has to construct 4 sentences containing a spelling word (he has to submit this on Thurs. so that makes 4 each evening). Then there is 15 minutes of reading, and then he has to do directed writing. This is the hardest part. He still struggles for words - although, again, I have to stress that this kid has an amazing amount of patience. He has a week to compose about a paragraph of writing. I suspect this takes most grade 2's an evening. And they can probably do it much more independantly. If he is given a situation to write about, he has a hard time knowing how to start, and then it comes out randomly - there is no real grammar, or consciousness of tense, or gender. I have to translate that random cloud of thoughts into a proper sentence (also appropriate for a grade 2 reader). Then he has to edit his work. Owen is very detail oriented, so finding mistakes such as proper punctuation and misplaced capital letters is pretty easy. He is also instructed to read each sentence and ask "Does this sound right?" I have to laugh. Its all alphabet soup to him.

"I ate cereal tomorrow" and "I will eat cereal yesterday" would probably make total sense to him.

And then there is the bedtime dance!

Yay for me!!