More like a roar, actually.  A bellowing lion in a very small space.

No words, just mirroring back (and magnifying) all that boy-lioncub yelling in the wee-little, closed-in bathroom.  (We call it the (time-out)  “Loud Room”, the “Angry Room”.)

And then I heard a mom’s voice saying, “John, sometimes you make Mommy so sad I want to cry and cry and cry all day.”

So then, we decided to try again.  Start over.   Do better next time.

It is called natural consequences, a part of interventions (from the Latin “interventiō”), a “systematic process of assessment and planning employed to re-mediate or prevent a social, educational, or developmental problem: early intervention for at-risk toddlers.” (Wikipedia)

You see, no other tool was working.  None of the redirects were working.  None of my “best laid plans of mice and men”.

When nothing else works, it’s sometimes “an eye for an eye”—to better understand the future social consequences of a loud, lousy decision.

He understood.   He made better choices.

It probably won’t last all day.   But each time, the understanding of the consequence lasts longer.

No other choice, it seems, than reciprocity every once in a while. (“that is what it feels like”.)

Randomly, reflecting the learning of B.F. Skinner’s chickens pecking at the corn.

“Tough Love” interventions build the respect John needs to function within society.

No time to lose.  He gets older and bigger by the day.

Peace be with us,

Gayle

(P.S.  Clip art available to anyone via PowerPoint.  Thank you.  Simba, roar on !)

“Please mute me.  I am drowning . . . .”

We therapy moms who dream of sentences get in a certain method of talking…..saying things to reinforce learning, first in one way, then another.  You could easily call it “too many words”.

(Two adults have chided me for this over-informing, so I try to be better self-aware.)

For 2 weeks, I added another 8-year-old boy (my step-grandson who is like a same-age cousin to my boy), a very verbal little charmer.   (So, I have one 8-year-old who talks like a 2-year-old, and the other an 8-year-old teenager with attitude.)

There came a hour when I was overwhelmed with the 2 boys yakking in opposite directions.   It took me a few minutes to realize I didn’t have to respond to “everything”.

I went non-verbal myself for a while.

I sort-of directed traffic with hand motions, facial expressions, and body language.

It was utterly bliss.  I stopped trying to keep up.

Not a long-term child-raising strategy.  But an oasis of calm when I needed it.

You deserve the time of peace to think.

Gayle

Love movies, unless we hate them.

My 8-year-old son John has never made it through a movie at the theater.    The theater is always too loud, too scary, too everything-too-much.

But then Inside Out showed up:  Emotions with cute little voices, faces, behaviors and a story to tell.   Gotta try, right?

So, Cousin/Nephew Adam got recruited to help.   Here are some photos of the elaborate plan to get John through the closing credits.

We rehearsed at home, got to the theater early, and used every trick Mom could think of. Including playing in the dark before anyone else got there and using headphones for sensory boundaries.

Try this.

We made it.  John has a new experience, a new neural pathway network to keep deepening.  Something to do next time with friends.

It probably wouldn’t have worked without a buddy.  This is the magic of peer-modeling.   When kids help kids.  There is nothing better.

Ever wish you could just buy something, as a way out of a problem?

I wish I could buy parental attention, so that I could have a ready supply for my son, for all those moments when I just need to do something else.

John hates math, and he is really hating TouchMath every day.   Every day, I make a list like this, on old-fashioned paper (Thanks, Rosemary Slade), and just point.   Like the Ghost of Christmas Past.  And I have added, “say the words or we start over”.

I was frustrated, drowning in re-directing, my son John playing me like a harp.   Stalling.  Driving me mad.

So Mom got smart.   I started taking him with me.   Wherever I needed to go.   To the kitchen, to the bathroom, to the office.  I had already learned I couldn’t walk away (because he cheats), and I couldn’t hurry him up (because he stalls).  My attention to his TouchMath seems to be ESSENTIAL.

That is why I want to buy attention.  A big fat box of it, that I can throw at the problem and walk away.

But that isn’t how John is going to learn.  Learn TouchMath, learn ANYTHING.

So, I make my attention portable.   I keep aware of the sounds, so I know which chapter he is in by the words I hear.   My eyes may flit away temporarily as my hands do my chores.  But Mom keeps her cool—-because the stall is now John wasting his time.  NOT MINE.

The TouchMath apps follow quite well the theories of their (free) training, but there is NO substitute for paying attention and staying in the moment with his learning.

Today, finally, John took delight in marking off each chapter done, after he showed me the chapter summary screen (so watch for that). 

I have learned to be aware of small moments of new learning (evidence that a learning hole has been back-filled), and never interfere of that demonstration.   But, oh my, I soak up the memory and dance in my heart for every small achievement, whatever he didn’t do before, and is now doing.

So, fellow parents, take heart that your vigilance and persistence of giving attention is vital, precious, necessary, and your own unique reward.

We really can’t buy attention, right?

We can only give it.

Best,

Gayle

Here is the link to the YouTube video

It is one thing to recite what a quarter, dime, nickel are worth.  Like a robot.

It’s something else to be excited when you pick up a stray quarter because you know what it will do for you.

It has been a struggle to teach why coins are worthy when all our transactions are efficient credit card ones and Mom is mostly always in a hurry.  The teachable moments on coins pass by.  

The great news is that John loves to mess (you know it is really “stim”, right? as in “perseveration”, to do something over and over) with Rosemary’s clock timer during OT sessions.  (Rosemary Slade, O.T.R.)    And consistency with home chores is way past due.   John now has a motivation to do chores because he wants to buy a stim!  (and other things, but never underestimate the clever leverage of a stim!)

Rosemary and I brainstormed how to extend the teachable moments involving time, coins, counting, self-control, and choosing personal rewards.   We list the things he is working for (swimming, movie, computer, Mom’s phone), and when he makes a bad choice, he has to decide which one gets eliminated.   This takes some thought, and we can see him making the calculations.  He has to pay fines for humming (another stim) and other bad choices.  He also gets to buy more play with the phone timer.

John is blessed that Rosemary is willing to add this extra “transaction” complexity, including making change, to our OT sessions.

(And they both seem to love it—I hear a lot of laughter and negotiation going on.)

So, with your children—use their stims creatively.   It’s all fair in love and teachable moments.

There was a day I was afraid to let go of his hand.  The possible consequences ignited panic.

Since that time, John has earned a long, nearly-endless rope, inch by inch, by his many good choices. (You know he also made a lot of lousy choices along that path, right?)

I have had to stand my ground, make him come back to me as he tests my resolve with his mischievous faux escapes.  (He thought he was hilarious and I was seeing possible disaster.)

Eventually, rope earns more rope.

And now I test his intrinsic motivation as we pull into the parking lot of his beloved i9 basketball camp.

Will he stay in the car until I park so he can turn off the car (new quasi stim) or grasp the freedom to enter solo as I stop at the curb?

All that rope to do the right, “big boy” thing that he sees other children doing—to go inside the building on his own, and tell them he is here.

Or to choose fear, hesitation, the ignition button stim?

One decision path leads to his future, your child’s future, in this neuro-typical world.  The one neuro-typical world we all want so desperately to share with our kids.

Our kids who need to have opportunity to earn more rope.

As John says, “practice brave”.  Stand your ground.

Peace be with us,

Gayle