November 18, 2008
tag — I’m it
Henry goes through phases where he is hyper-focused on one thing; you could almost call it an obsession, except that eight-year-olds aren’t really supposed to get obsessed, you know. Right now, he is all about laser tag — he went to a birthday party over the weekend at the laser tag place and he cannot stop talking about it. It is driving me crazy.
I’m not dealing well with this particular phase, for a lot of reasons. I’m overtired from work, which makes me less patient, but that’s not it. I know that people, other adults, assume that Henry’s quirks are the result of bad parenting — of my bad parenting. And when I say I know I don’t mean that I’ve had a specific bad experience with another parent — in fact, other adults have only good things to say about my son. But parenting is a selfish enterprise, at its heart, and I don’t think I’m the only one who sees my children’s behavior as a reflection on the job I’m doing as a mother.
I’m not a bad parent, I know that. I have a quirky kid who does not experience the world like other kids do. But I cringe a little every time he does something odd or different because I can’t help wonder what other people think — of him, but also of me. And that makes me sad.
I’m tired of talking about laser tag; I’m also tired of talking about Star Wars and the Nintendo DS. But more than that, I’m sad that I can’t find a way to engage with what fascinates my son. I’ve tried — we read Star Wars books together, and watch the movies, and he shows me his video games. But I don’t share his bottomless interest in these things, and any more, the whole conversation exhausts me.
It’s not just that I don’t get the Star Wars fascination, though — it’s a larger worry that this is the beginning of years of not connecting with my son. When Henry was a baby, he went through a phase where no one else could hold him or comfort him, not even Wade. I worried that I would never pry him off me, that I would forever be attached to this child. I was desperate for him to break free and find his own space. But now that he has, I feel like I’ve lost something, some connection to him.
And that makes me sad, too.
But what is making me the saddest right now is the exhaustion of struggling to connect with this kid, of fighting the sense that people look at him and at me differently. What makes me sad is the knowledge that he is not like other kids and my experience as his parent is not like other parent’s experiences.
When I hug Henry, he is all pointy elbows and knees and wiggly arms and legs; it is hard to get a grip on him, and often, when he is especially squirmy, he crashes into my stomach or steps on my foot or pulls me off balance. The most loving, happy hugs are the ones that hurt the most. In the morning, when I go to wake him for school, I sit on his bed while he sleeps and stroke his hair; before he wakes up and tells me to stop, I will give him a kiss. In his sleep, Henry is still and peaceful and he looks like the baby who used to hold on to me for dear life.
Henry has always challenged me as a parent; he is smart and funny and kind and difficult all at once and I don’t know what to do with him. Right now I am worn out with the effort of trying, with the constant struggle to get a hug without getting wounded. And I’m all done talking about laser tag.
Posted by Susan @ 2:52 pm • Henry&Charlie
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November 18th, 2008 at 3:24 pm, RuthWells Says:
Welcome to parenting a kid who is different. : - / What you’re describing with Henry is very much like what I’ve gone through with my youngest, who until recently, was very single-focused on Bionicles.
His speech therapist at school found a magical key for him this year — it’s a teaching tool that uses supervillains like “Rock Brain” and “Topic Twister Meister” to illustrate to kids how their behavior can be inappropriate or difficult for their peers to deal with. It’s really made a difference for Garrick and I’d be happy to share what I’ve got if you want to drop me an email.
November 18th, 2008 at 3:55 pm, amy Says:
No good advice here from me, but I hear you. Hang in there.
November 18th, 2008 at 4:31 pm, Erika Says:
You know this but I am going to say it anyway, all kids are different. Henry will be fine and so will you. Aren’t you glad you have the internets?
November 18th, 2008 at 4:40 pm, Jennifer Says:
I, too, am a parent to a “different” child. Emma is almost 5 and she is so emotional, so needy, so clingy. And I tend to bring out the worst in her, which makes me feel like I am mother of the year. But when she’s truly happy or excited, she lights up the whole world…she just feels everything 1,000 percent, good or bad. Being her mother is never, ever easy. I am often embarrassed when she freaks out over the smallest of things and I feel like I’m being judged by other moms. But because I have another child that is more “normal”, deep down, I know it’s not me, and it’s just another challenge God has given me. In my heart, I have to believe that she’ll be alright. Hang in there! I feel your pain.
November 18th, 2008 at 5:02 pm, hollygee Says:
My mother had me at 35. She wasn’t interested in being the Donna Reed and the PTA kind of mother. I am both the sadder and richer for that. She wanted to go back to art school, so she paid the fees for me to audit the class when I was 10.
I wanted nothing more than to become a wife and mom, but it didn’t happen. And in part it was because I got to a period of my life when I realized that I was just as egocentric and self-involved as my mother was and I didn’t think it would be fair to a child.
But — I am aware that I also robbed my hypothetical child of being as strange as I was, and out of strangeness…well, good things can and do come.
November 18th, 2008 at 5:05 pm, crazyjane Says:
i have the same kid, 2 actually, and i am having the same experience as you.
November 18th, 2008 at 6:18 pm, Beth Says:
Yeah, different. It’s much easier to convince myself of the wonderfulness of difference when we’re home, than when she acts “differently” out. But I will say, as an encouragement, that with age (she’s 10 now), different is getting easier, and we’ve read and we’ve diagnosed (etc.etc. I know it’s a disaster for some but for us it was a godsend), and we and she are learning that different is just that — different…for so long I’m afraid I viewed it much more as broken (not saying that you’re doing that at all), and being able to view her as wired wonderfully different has been good for us all. Plus, age really does show me that many many kids are different in their own ways, and those differences seem less now.
I’m babbling, no? Sorry, I just felt in your writing a bit of despair, and that makes me all babbly because you seem like such a good mom. Hang in there.
November 18th, 2008 at 7:47 pm, Mir Says:
So, change out laser tag for Bakugan and I pretty much could’ve written this post.
I am beginning to notice that other people think my kid is weird. And I am also beginning to notice that — although I love him desperately — they’re right, he IS weird.
It’s exhausting.
November 18th, 2008 at 8:22 pm, Shash Says:
I’m right beside you in the trenches. Except exchange Star Wars and Laser Tag for Tropical Storms/Hurricanes and Pokemon. I had thought (nay, hoped) we had passed the Pokemon craze, but NO!
I know how you feel about what other people think about you. I feel the same way. I’m doing the best I know how though, and that is all anyone can expect.
Oh, and my son is right in line with the weird. Heck, I bet he’s the line leader on many occasions. I love him madly though.
Shash
November 18th, 2008 at 8:56 pm, heather Says:
I think we all worry that we’re doing it all wrong - I know I do. Sometimes I’m annoyed at work because I just want to be with my kids, but then when I am and they act up I’m so frustrated I wish I were back at work where at least people listen when I yell.
It’s harder when you’re not just worrying about your parenting but also wondering what other people think of your kid and it kills you that someone might find them lacking in some way.
Just remember - quirky kids will inherit the earth…=)
November 18th, 2008 at 9:33 pm, blackbird Says:
You know that I have a “Henry.”
It’s very hard to realize that my Henry is his own person and that that fact has very little to do with me - and it’s taken a long time to accept that. I don’t have answers but I can tell you that it gets easier.
As for other people and their judgment? Your skin will get thicker.
November 18th, 2008 at 9:47 pm, STL Mom Says:
My daughter has wonderful, interesting friends, but I have to admit that I was really excited when she had a playdate with a classmate who is not hyper and didn’t seem to be on any medication and as far as I can tell doesn’t have any of the issues that my child has. A playdate with a “normal” child!
Except that this lovely girl acted about two years older than my daughter, which made me notice more than ever how immature my child is, and how some of her social skills need serious work.
Like Beth, when we’re at home my daughter just seems charmingly quirky, but when I see her with other kids I worry that her behavior is a little odd. I’m not looking forward to middle school and junior high….
November 18th, 2008 at 10:05 pm, Kimber Medley Says:
Yep, I have one, too. Does it suck to be them like it sucks to be us? Probably not for my kid, since he is tough, smart, incredibly optimistic - and not dealing with the guilt, the worry and the complete derailment of his plans on a near daily basis.
Here’s the words of hope - the same things that make my child odd now may serve him well as an adult. Persistence, focus, creativity, sensitivity … and grown ups don’t have to use the damn finger paint if they don’t want to!
November 19th, 2008 at 1:53 am, A.Berkoski Says:
I think, from the amount of people posting here and telling you they are having the same experience that “different” isn’t so much different as our inherent sense to feel we are alone when we are frustrated.
You are never alone Susan, that is what this big beautiful (sometimes not so beautiful) world of the internet is for.
As an aside, try and remember YOU are still trying to learn to be YOU. You are still trying to “fit” your mothering style in with everyone else’s and hope it’s “normal”. What’s important to remember is you are doing your best.
At the end of the day that is what you’re teaching your boys. Your best is all you can give and to be proud of that. Different, the same, or otherwise.
November 19th, 2008 at 2:52 am, Valentina Says:
I too have a quirky kid. She is very special.
More and more I find myself having to “explain” her. Or I find myself making excuses for her. I hate that.
While I’m usually the only one who can make sense of her behavior I don’t understand her. I have that same disconnected feeling. I try to hang on to hope but some days it’s painfully difficult.
At least we know we’re not alone.
November 19th, 2008 at 8:37 am, Rayne of Terror Says:
OMG the Star Wars, I’m so sick of the Star Wars and it’s only just begun for my 3 3/4 year old. Although sometimes he calls me master and does my bidding without complaint as my Paduan learner.
November 19th, 2008 at 9:55 am, Paula Says:
I, too, have a “different” child and like so many of the mothers mentioned above and you, feel like I am judged as a bad mother by others. However, I do want to tell you something….I am not one of the judges. I now look at all parents and kids differently. I do wish at times that my son was more like other kids, but then I only see these other kids in a snapshot. I see the weary look of mothers and fathers and realize that we all have issues that we have to deal with our kids. I like to think that there are parents out there that are silently sending me a reassuring word or a prayer when my kid is freaking out. I know that I like to give a small smile or a “I know how you feel” sign to a Mom or Dad that is having a rough day.
Last week I went to my son’s school conference, and was proud of the fact that I didn’t cry. I discussed rationally challenges that we are going through at home and was able to listen to things that the teachers are challenged with. The only time I my eyes welled up was when they were saying nice things about my son. I wish that teachers said more nice things about kids.
I hope you know that there are a lot of moms and dads that read your blog that understand and wish you and your family peace.
P.
November 19th, 2008 at 11:22 am, Amy Olson Says:
Your post brought tears to my eyes; we are in the same phase where bug is breaking free and finding himself, even if that means he’s quirkier. And you were able to capture it… so… eloquently. Even the not quite awake morning moments. Thank you.
November 19th, 2008 at 1:54 pm, kat Says:
my nephew falls into that boat and he’s now 17. when he was younger, it was thomas the tank engine. and then sharks. and then dinosaurs. and then whales. and now years later, it’s everything related to music. and it turns out - he’s pretty darn good at music even if he’s somewhat socially awkward.
what always struck me was that as much as the entire family was aware of his quirkiness - he was not. he was just a happy kid who got super obsessed with things and then moved on to something else.
November 19th, 2008 at 3:31 pm, Liz Says:
Susan…. I admire your parenting, your writing, and your raw honesty. Thank you for being a real example.
And thank you for sharing.
November 19th, 2008 at 5:52 pm, Julienne Says:
I don’t have kids (yet) but my best friend used to say, “Every night I go to bed wondering what I did today that he’ll tell his therapist about in 15 years.” - I think doubting and second guessing is part of the job.
Maybe it’s the same as the concept that only the sane question whether they are sane; only good parents question whether they’re doing a good job. The bad ones simply don’t care.
November 19th, 2008 at 7:52 pm, Lisa- Domestic Accident Says:
I have a quirky 8 year old too. Little Professor. He happens to love reading books about facts. And then talking about them endlessly.
I think quirkiness gets harder and harder to deal with as life rolls on because by 8, most kids are picking up on social cues to be less quirky. And society has a way of being accepting of kids way off the norm, but not a little off the norm.
I tell people all the time, we’re not saving for college. We’re saving for therapy.
November 19th, 2008 at 8:06 pm, Jennifer Says:
I also have a quirky 8 year old. It is reassuring to read this post and all the comments to realize that I’m not alone especially when it feels like I’m surrounded by “normal kids”.
November 19th, 2008 at 8:52 pm, Kara Says:
At the risk of sounding like an idiot, or insensitive, or just plain ignorant, and NOT to dismiss how tired and frustrated you are. But I have to wonder what kind of disservice is being done to parents and kids alike by all these specialists, labels, diagnoses, etc., that we have these days. My mom and I joke that my father and brother (and all the men that came before and after them in our family line) have mild to pronounced variations of Asperbergers, ADHD, you name it. Not one was ever diagnosed as such. And yet my dad is a very successful engineer/salesman (who at 68 is still not being allowed to retire because the company still needs him so badly, quirks and all), and my brother is a very talented pastor, again with quirks and all. Back when my brother and I were in school in the early 1980s, we seemed to have more room to be “different.” Sure, I felt like a geek, and still do, and sometimes felt isolated, but it didn’t seem SO MUCH like there was just ONE WAY to be normal. This does not help you at all, I realize, given that you are raising kids NOW. I guess I’m just saying I hope that by being able to voice your feelings on your blog and having them validated by other parents having the same experience, that you are able to know you’re not so alone after all, and that Henry isn’t really all that different either. This world needs all different kinds of people, with all different kinds of strengths. My dad and brother cannot be trusted to details like paying the bills to save their lives. But their creative juices run deeper and wider than those of anyone else I know.
Just like we’re all supposed to have gorgeous Pottery Barn-styled homes right out of the gate, every kid is supposed to be the proverbial “their” definition of perfect.
Thank God for blogs, because TV and magazines seem to have us all kinds of disillusioned about what we should want from life.
November 19th, 2008 at 11:14 pm, Tricia Says:
Oh lordy- I have a house full of special kids…
My Henry, is my oldest Leo. For a full two years the only way he spoke to us (other than fine, etc.) was to tell us about television shows he had seen or video games he had played. He would use the sound effects and would move like cartoon characters in his long winded, much detailed soliloquy- I mean monologue.
I would tell myself over and over- some day this will end, i need to listen to this now so that later he will talk about other things- I would nod and “aha, mmhummm, and sometimes repeat his last word or two.
Some days I could barely tolerate it- and some days I couldn’t. BUT- now? Now, he talks about other things- I swear- he does and it’s better- it’s okay. I swear.
November 19th, 2008 at 11:20 pm, Sally Says Says:
Thank you for your post. You wrote everything that I’m thinking. Everything that I fear. Every night when it’s finally quiet I just want to cry… wishing that I had been more patient, more interested in freaking Pokemon & Bakugan.
I’ve finally reached a point where I embrace my son’s quirks. It’s an issue where my husband and I don’t fully agree.
Last summer, I gave my son a copy of a book that Tim Burton wrote. The book is full of wierd and grotesque characters. My husband hates it. He got mad at me. But my son looked at the book and got this expression on his face like he was amazed and relieved that there was someone else in the world who felt the same way he does.
I know my husband is right. Tim Burton’s musings aren’t exactly appropriate for a nine year old. But when my son reads “The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy” he knows he’s not alone.
November 20th, 2008 at 12:50 am, Kylie Says:
Thanks for sharing this Susan. I am the mother of a son with Autism, and I don’t worry (so much) about what other people think because it is clear that he has Autism. He is seven and largely non verbal, and shows all the classic signs that most people associate with Autism. My youngest child (three year old) was diagnosed PDD-NOS today… Atypical Autism, ‘almost’ Autism, ticks most Autism boxes but not enough. While I am glad that he isn’t Autistic, I honestly believe that he is going to be harder to parent. Right now I am wondering where I will find the energy to be all that he needs from his mother. I will find it, but I understand the exhausted thing. I’m getting worn out just thinking about it.
November 20th, 2008 at 8:48 am, Shannon Says:
You will always be connected to your child in the most basic way, the way that matters the most. You are his mama. He will be fine. So will you. He is precious and you are his precious mama. Take a deep breath and have a glass of wine.
November 20th, 2008 at 9:13 am, Justine Says:
So glad I am not alone. My 11 year old daughter is the same. I always said if the 2nd kid was just like her I would pack up and leave. As a baby she hated to be alone with me, I had to spend hours just walking around showing her things or she would scream. She is super bright, hyper and obsessed with things. It is difficult when I see her with friends or social situations because she doesn’t always fit in. It is getting better now that she is older and I do believe that this type of kid will make the world a special creative place. They just don’t fit the box.
November 20th, 2008 at 9:23 am, Beth Says:
Kara from a few posts back,
TOTALLY not to start a war of words here — I agree with you that somehow we’re all supposed to have these pottery barn kids (and we ourselves are somehow supposed to look like Angelina Jolie while bearing these perfect offspring, but that’s another story!)…but the one thing I would say in response is that diagnosis *can* be a godsend and an explanation, and in fact, a relief to a child who feels desperately different…even if some “disorders” (and wow I hate that word) are over-diagnosed to the point of becoming boutique diagnoses at times — sometimes, sometimes, like in our daughter’s case, it can give her understanding and empowerment that different is different and that’s okay. It can also give her (and us) strategies for coping with difference. This year, I’m proud to say that my “different” girl is in a gifted class in which she really fits in (with all the other “different kids,” of course!) and that she’s making friends (yay — something that has caused tremendous heartbreak for her in the past) and has even been elected to student council. Diagnosis as excuse — no way — but diagnosis as a means to becoming stronger — I’m all for it.
And you’re so very right that we moms are lucky to have blogs and such to really talk stuff over and realize that we (and our kids) are no crazier than average!
November 20th, 2008 at 10:00 am, RuthWells Says:
Beth from 9:23 today: AMEN. I told my boys about their Aspergers diagnoses earlier this year, and it was very helpful for them to have an understanding of why things are different for them. Anyone interested can read about it here:
http://lemonade-and-kidneys.blogspot.com/2008/03/ripping-off-band-aid.html
Susan says: I agree wholeheartedly that a diagnosis can be a really positive thing for kids and families, but I think Kara makes a really valid point about the way that diagnosis or label can affect the parent of a quirky kid — we’re already worrying all the time about what our kids will tell their therapists, and having the extra layer of a kid whose behavioral oddities have a name can really make you second-guess everything. I am living proof of that.
I took Kara’s comment as a constructive part of the conversation (and emailed her to say that, too).
November 20th, 2008 at 12:47 pm, Cathy Says:
for us, it is Star Wars, The Clone wars..and Lego star wars clone wars… and Transformers, and and and. I try to connect with the stuff and the books and the story line.. but I cannot. I go do my own thing when they are immersed in theirs. I get so excited when a glimmer of connection happens to J and I. I am trying so hard, b/c he doesn’t have his dad to connect with. You wrote what I feel. I am going to treasure your words for a long time. Thank you. (Susan, I find that talking to J about his earlier years, helps me find and remember the connection I so crave, we were talking about how he learned to ride a bike and we both had such great memories about it, that made me feel so good for a couple of days - b/c all I have right now are memories of the “good times”.)
November 20th, 2008 at 1:32 pm, A.Berkoski Says:
Just wanted to add (as a therapist) that it’s often the things we don’t think our children will tell their therapists that they end up telling them. It’s the things we never knew wounded or let our children down. It’s why I express (over and over) to keep an open dialogue with your children, let them know they can tell you anything and look for signs they might be withholding or shy about telling you how they feel. Then you’ll be surprised when as they grow older, it’s YOU they tell their woes to, not a therapist at all.
November 20th, 2008 at 1:37 pm, Sue @ My Party of 6 Says:
Chiming in late, but I have a Henry too. Except his name is Charlie, which is weird
He has moved on from Star Wars and is now fixated on the NFL, which is a much easier topic for me to feign interest in.
Just sending a hug, and dammit, I wish all of you who have a Henry lived next door to me, instead of the people who DO who just think I’m a bad mom.
November 20th, 2008 at 1:41 pm, Lucinda Says:
I don’t have much to add. I think you are doing a tremendous job. I appreciate your honesty. I think the stress of knowing your child has an obstacle not understood by many has to be very hard. But in his way, Henry will know how very much loved he is and that will carry him a long way into this world. You ARE doing the very best you can for him from my perspective.
November 20th, 2008 at 1:59 pm, Debbie Says:
I think the lowest point was having his teacher tell me that the other kids were starting to notice that he is “different.” Break my heart some more, why don’t ya?
November 20th, 2008 at 2:30 pm, Kara Says:
I totally agree that appropriate diagnoses are necessary and also very helpful–I’ve been on both sides of that coin for my own self (one doctor who’s adamant I have a disorder, and another who says “they tell everyone they have that [PCOS] these days.” Um, OK, but what if I do and there’s something I can do about it?). And I know the same thing is true for parents–if there’s something they can do to best support, help, nurture, their child, they’re going to do it.
I come to this discussion not as a parent myself (see above…), but as the daughter of a teacher who has taught all spectrum of children over 30 years–those who struggle with literacy, and those who are given a label many parents covet: Gifted. I think her perspective on “gifted” is enlightening–she calls it the “Other end of Special Ed.” It’s not that those kids are necessarily smarter–they simply also learn differently.
And she’s had plenty of students with all kinds of learning and behavorial challenges. What breaks her heart (and mine) is the belief and practice by our society at large (not anyone here!!) that a pill will fix things. Or that every child should learn the same way (hello obsession with test scores). Or behave the same way (entire structure of the classroom and school day).
The one thing, she tells the parents who ask, that you can count on for your child to be successful to the very best of their own ability (and why I know none of you need to worry, no matter how isolating and hard parenting really is), is just to show up and love them.
I really appreciate this constructive discussion! It’s not always that way, and I sincerely appreciate you reading my point of view and responding.
November 20th, 2008 at 2:32 pm, Kara Says:
(I mean a pill alone–not also with some awareness that one method of teaching/learning might be more productive than another. I fully realize sometimes those methods cannot be employed without the use of medication at the same time.)
November 20th, 2008 at 3:10 pm, Beth Says:
Thanks Kara, for keeping stuff so constructive! You bring many important points to the table about labels (Hey — I rhymed! Poet and don’t know it or…maybe I need to get out more?). Labels, in and of themselves, can be so silly. Gifted is an especially funny label to me — because quite honestly, every kid (person) is gifted in some way, and I despise the whole gifted mystique (is that the right word?)with which some parents approach this label, as if we’re all somehow “special” because we have these marvelous kids who happen to score well on certain kinds of tests….blech! Frankly, I have another kid, who doesn’t happen to score nearly so well on tests, but for whom emotional connection with others his his tremendous gift. He can read people, kids and adults, and he can comfort them. While that’s not the kind of “gifted” that shows up on silly school tests, it sure will make him a pretty wonderful adult. I guess it all goes back to viewing our kids as the wonderful unique individuals that they are, shoring up their weaknesses, and helping them play to their strengths. For what it’s worth
November 20th, 2008 at 9:56 pm, standing still Says:
Re: the exhaustion of the never ending one sided conversation about whatEVER. One of the best tools I’ve learned to help me and my son is the phrase, “You can tell me one more thing about the > and then we need to be done with that.” I have also told him point blank, “Okay, I’m bored with talking about the NHL. We need to talk about something else. If you can’t do that, you can go in your room and look at your hockey cards. I do not mind at all.”
I know it’s hard not to be able to connect with your kid on , but he’s not able to connect with you on the intricacies of the perfect pea coat. It’s Oh-Kay! This is called growing up. As he finds his own interests and his own curiosities, they most certainly will not all be yours. That’s good. Can you imagine if he wanted to talk about eye cream and the perfect martini over and over?
He knows that you love him. He knows that you’re there for him. He knows that you get excited when he does something spectacular. He knows that you’ll wipe his chin when he’s done throwing up. He knows that you’ll take him to the doctor when his ears hurt. He knows that you’ll giggle with glee when he opens that perfect star wars present under the Christmas tree. Not because YOU love it, but because YOU love seeing HIM love it.
As for what others think? Yes, there will always be that. I say, screw them. Have you seen the t-shirt that says, “My kid has aspergers, what’s your kid’s excuse?” I love that.
As he grows and you teach him to advocate for himself, to navigate the bigger world himself, to choose things, to make decisions, to separate … he will do that, and because you are teaching him, he will do it well. And, isn’t that what being a mother is all about? Doing your job so well that you work your way out of a job?
Be good to yourself, Susan. It’s a journey. Have a good night’s sleep, a strong cup of coffee in the morning. You’ll see. The sun will come up again.
November 24th, 2008 at 8:42 am, Heather B. Says:
You’re fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine. Don’t let me forget to bring my DS and I have an extra one for you, if you’d care have it.
(I’m not sure how I ended up with two DS Lites but there you go, I have two)