First November Saturday
I’m sure that this afternoon Michael thought I was the meanest woman in DeKalb County – no, maybe in THE WORLD. I forced him to spend one hour in his room, alone. When we are here in the afternoons, we have quiet hour. That means Granny naps downstairs in the family room, and the rest of us spend some quality time alone. Alesia and I have no problem with this concept. Michael wines and moans like I’ve asked him to set his hair on fire.
It’s the coke. I let the children have coca cola at lunch, thereby breaking my own “no caffeine” rule. I figure, it’s daylight savings time, what the heck.
It’s been a frustrating few days, because I have felt so awful, like I’ve been run over with a steamroller. I managed to get almost 5.5 hours of uninterrupted sleep last night, which was a blessing. Thereafter, the coughing fits occurred about every hour. I am out of Robitussin.
Normally, I like to actually DO things when I am off work. I have more than 7 projects I need to do, in a permanent list in my head, and to not be able to accomplish anything more than paying bills, laundry, and changing a light bulb is extraordinarily frustrating. Oh yeah – my other big activity today - I fixed breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and toast. Whoopee. I had to rest afterwards.
When we were on our way to Home Depot and lunch, Mother asked Michael in the car, “What’s special about November?” He thought for a moment. “Turkey? We eat turkey?” I could hear Alesia whispering to him “It’s the Thanksgiving!”
Mother continued, “Where are we going?”
Michael was pleased to say “Home Depot!” We laughed.
“Yes, Sweetie, but where are we going in November?”
He thought and thought, but couldn’t remember.
“Myrtle Beach!” Mother finally reminded him.
“Yes! We are going to the Myrtle Beach!” he crowed happily.
Alesia always has to correct him. “No Michael, not THE Myrtle Beach, just Myrtle Beach.”
“Remember, Sweetie, you don’t put an article in front of a city name. We don’t live in “the Atlanta” I reminded him.
“We going swimming in the beach?” he asked.
Then we had to have a little reminder discussion of the place we like to stay in Myrtle Beach, and how it has outdoor and indoor pools. The words “indoor pool” are almost unbearably exciting to my children.
I spent over an hour with Alesia trying to get her to understand the amendments to the constitution of the United States, for a civics test. It was very difficult. She doesn’t really understand. I tried to write key words and phrases to help her, and explain things in Fisher Price terms, but I could see on some of them I just wasn’t getting through. Heck, some of them I don’t understand myself.
We got sidetracked on a discussion of the 18th Amendment. She found it impossible to believe there was a time in this country when it was illegal to drink alcohol. I tried to explain about the roaring 20’s, and she started picking her fingernails. “When I was in the orphanage I drank beer!” she announced, for the umpteenth time.
She likes to tell me she drank beer in the orphanage and it tasted yucky. She likes to point out that this is why she will never be an alcoholic. I have an impossible job, trying to get her to understand why I keep harping on this “no alcohol for YOU” message. Mother said I need to give it a rest, for now. She’s right.
Perhaps I need to tell her about the time when I was 17 and I went out to a bar and the grownup people I was with bought me several delicious tasting Long Island Teas, and I got roaring drunk and drove my car into a ditch. I got the car out, but a huge clump of weeds was stuck in the fender, and I was hauled out of bed the next morning and forced to endure a severe scolding from my dad when he saw the car had a “tail.” Then again, maybe that story should wait until she is older…
One of the other amendments says the president can only serve two terms. I said “Can George Bush get elected again?” She gave me a blank stare. “Alesia, who is George BUSH?!”
“Um, you mean the old guy? The first one or second one?”
I reminded her that George Washington and George Bush are two entirely different people. I found myself pointing out that George Bush doesn’t wear a white wig or a funny looking hat! AAARGH!
She has written down key words to help her remember the amendments. I encouraged that, just as a mnemonic device. I assumed she would study what the amendments actually SAY. For the ones she knew, when I followed up with a question like “What does ‘quartering troops’ mean?” I got a blank look. “Something about soldiers?” That answer particularly annoyed me because I took great pains to explain about quartering troops, not two weeks prior to this.
This is typical of how Alesia studies. She thinks she understands something, and she really doesn’t. In all fairness, however, I have to admit that she usually has enough of a grasp of things to do OK on multiple choice tests. I also have to admit she’s not all that different from a lot of teens.
Despite my frequent frustration with her, I always try to be positive with Alesia and tell her she CAN do well in school. Kids have to have positive reinforcement. Besides which, nobody really knows what she can do. She is very good at certain things. Even though I worry and have doubts about her abilities, I still feel strongly that she can do at well in school, if she applies herself and has confidence in herself.
I have read that Bill Gates has Asperger’s, which is a form of autism. Look at what HE has accomplished!
I have a cousin whose foster child has an IQ of 35, and she can function quite well, albeit with a lot of supervision. When Melinda got her, she was crawling on all fours and couldn’t speak. She has had her for ten years now and the child has made remarkable progress.
Nobody knows the potential of ANY child, no matter what their limitations. That’s why it irritates me when people pre-judge a child based on ignorance or fear.
We were talking at dinner tonight about what we want to buy tomorrow at the store, and Michael got very excited. “I want that round meat! You know!” he jabbered excitedly, going to the fridge. “What kind of meat? Bologna?” I asked.
“No! I can’t think what it’s called! It’s round!” he said, frustrated. “I will draw it.”
He drew two concentric circles. I stared at it, clueless. Alesia looked at it for a moment. ”Steak! That’s it, right Michael?!”
“Yes!” he hollered. “That steak in the round thing with bacon around it!”
Mother and I laughed. Sometimes we find little filet mignon steaks on sale at Kroger and grill them. He loves those. Bologna will not do. Mother and I would never have figured out that those circles meant steak, to him. Alesia is great at stuff like that.
When I was tucking Mike into bed tonight, I noticed a big bruise on his forehead. He and Alesia were playing in the backyard late this afternoon, and they went from a peaceful game of badminton to something that was making a lot of noise. When I glanced out the window I saw them fighting with plastic hockey sticks to hit a volleyball on the ground! Alesia got the giggles and accidentally whacked Michael in the forehead. I asked him if it hurt.
“No. She hit me on the leg, too. I didn’t cry.”
“Well honey, don’t you think that maybe isn’t a good game to play?” I asked gently.
He looked at me and shrugged. “I just need to hit something.”
“Well, I always tell you, hit your pillow. Hit the bed. Those are OK.”
“No! I need one of those things – “ he mimed hitting a punching bag, then a speed bag. [I know this because I used to enjoy boxing, before puberty hit]
“Well, maybe Santa might bring you something like that.”
I remember my brother used to have a punching clown. I wonder if they still make those for kids. He gets in these little moods when he has to run around hollering, sometimes whacking away at things. I guess it’s a boy thing. I told him to whack Alesia right back if she gets abusive. He won’t hit her – he says he can’t hit girls. I like that answer. I just need to find him something he CAN hit…
