At daycare, he was the one I brought in clinging to my leg. The one crying, asking me not to leave. The one the teachers said would stand outside the circle of kids, watching, until he was ready to join in.
In preschool, he stayed next to me and the other parents while his classmates ran around on the grass, chasing each other before school started. Eventually, he’d join in, but stopped immediately when the teacher came to the door, calling the kids inside. He was also the one reading the books aloud with the teacher at circle time. The one who brought in a globe for show-and-tell.
In kindergarten, he was the one who cried when he was the last one to complete a paper because he had to get it just right. He was terrified of raising his hand for fear of giving the wrong answer. But he was also the one who gave the right answer all the time. The one who had the glowing report card from the start. The model of good behavior for the other kids.
In first and second grade, he was the one who wowed his teacher with his knowledge. He read every book she offered to him, and encouraged his love of history and science. He mastered every subject with ease. But he was also the one who obsessed on his handwriting and not the content of his work. The one who played with a friend or two at recess but didn’t join in the group. The one who needed his dad to coach his baseball team to build his confidence.
In third grade, he was the one who was happy about the extra work sent home from the teacher. He did math puzzles and read extra pages at night and wrote about them in his journal. He was the one who taught the other kids how to make origami Yodas during inside recess. But he was also the one who had an anxiety attack about the school’s standardized assessment tests, to the point where he needed to meet with the guidance counselor. He obsessed over not getting every answer right. And he was also the one with a just few very good friends. The one invited to only a few birthday parties.
He’s shy. Brilliant. Quiet. Sensitive. An old soul. The kid every parent wants their kids to be friends with.
We are now here in fourth grade. Things are a little different.
Last night before bed, Gerry told me he couldn’t go to school. I have a stomach ache, he said, and my leg hurts.
Having been there before, I asked him what was really going on. Every night since school finally started, there has been something new keeping him awake. Up four times a night. Hot and cold. Worried about this and that. Confidence in the toilet. Unsettled. Unable to complete his homework or piano assignments unless either Tim or I are in the room with him.
I’m bored in school, he said.
I pressed him further, knowing this was far from the truth.
Sigh. I can’t focus, okay? I sit there. I want to pay attention but I can’t. I start to daydream and I’m thinking about the Star Wars Clone Wars website, and then about Open House night and then picture day. I go deaf. I don’t hear the other kids around me anymore. When I come back, I’ve missed the whole math lesson. I can’t tune in to anything around me. I have a very full life and my brain can’t shut it off to concentrate on magic math squares.
And up go my red flags.
I know the kid has a lot on his plate. To say things around here are anything but stressful would be a lie. Back to school has been a challenge for us all. His brother is in his school for the first time. Rides in on a different bus. Runs in different circles – literally. Our house has become a revolving door of therapists for both his brothers.
His anxiety about everything is not new. If I can be honest, he’s a lot like me there.
But the focus thing is completely new. This is the first time he’s expected to really pay attention in class. There’s no hand holding anymore.
I had a brief conversation with a neighbor about it this morning. Her middle son started having his attention issues in fourth grade as well. He was so smart, she said, that he had been able to get by on his intellect up to that point. But fourth grade, everything changed. Add in hormones and friend issues…these kids have a lot going on. We’ve started now with anger management problems too. He thinks that his youngest brother gets everything and he gets nothing.
Yes, my neighbor’s youngest son is on the autism spectrum. Just like in our house.
I don’t know where this will all go for Gerry, but I know that I owe it to him to find out. He needs a safe space to go to get it all out. To figure out what is real and what is perceived worry. To get his focus issues under control before they throw us all out of control.
My friend wrote about worry in her post over at Diary of A Mom. It hit home. Hard.
So today we have an appointment with our pediatrician to get things started. And tonight’s at his school’s Open House, I’ll feel out the teacher to see how she can help in the classroom. Immediately.
I worry about all my kids, but Gerry… I need to take his troubles away. To get that shy, brilliant, amazing kid back out.
I’ll help you figure this out, I told him last night. Don’t worry.
I love you, Mom. Thank you.
“Let me have a look inside these eyes while I’m learning.
Please don’t hide them just because of tears.
Let me send you off to sleep with a “There, there, now stop your turning and tossing.”
Let me know where the hurt is and how to heal.
Spare me? Don’t spare me anything troubling.
Trouble me, disturb me with all your cares and you worries.
Speak to me and let our words build a shelter from the storm.
Lastly, let me know what I can mend.
There’s more, honestly, than my sweet friend, you can see.
Trust is what I’m offering if you trouble me.” – Trouble Me by 10000 Maniacs
September 15, 2011 at 12:32 pm
Now I know exactly what you mean when we were in Boston and you said that my youngest was like your oldest. The first bit of this was like a description of my son. I hope you get the answers you’re looking for, but I know Gerry is in good hands. The kind of hands that would take all the troubles of all three boys. Thinking of you, my friend.
September 15, 2011 at 1:11 pm
thank you. parallel lives once more 🙂 your words mean a lot.
September 15, 2011 at 1:15 pm
Oh sweetie, sending lots of love and support. Get a good eval, anxiety can make kiddos space out (my day job is a psychotherapist), not just ADD/ADHD. You will get the answers and he will be back to you in no time. I’d put money on it:)
September 15, 2011 at 1:40 pm
oh alysia… feeling your troubled heart and sending you hugs. we have (now and in those earlier grades) a lot of what you described as well… Gerry is in good hands with you and you will get him to the place he needs to be. call when you can… we can walk thru this together. xo
September 15, 2011 at 2:23 pm
You are a fabulous mom. You’ll get him what he needs. I have faith in you.
xoxo
September 15, 2011 at 4:03 pm
Thinking of you this afternoon and sending you love across the miles. Trust your instincts and do what you need to do to help your sweet boy. I have faith in both of you.
September 15, 2011 at 4:32 pm
All my thoughts are with you right now. Your boys are so lucky to have such a wonderful, caring mamma. I know you will get Gerry what he needs. xo
September 15, 2011 at 4:42 pm
Well, you know I’ve got my fourth graders, too. And this year? Ethan, non- spectrum kid, is starting to take ADD medication. Because at the end of last year, my very smart kid was starting to say things like “I’m so stupid, I’m an idiot.” because he would miss what others caught in class. Attention, ya know?
So knowing 4th grade was a huge notch up in the pressure scale, and that Ethan is uber-anxious about the testing that happens in May, we had him tested over the summer. And while on the tests he came back borderline for ADD, the tester said because he was so bright he probably “gamed” the test some, and her observations of him were that he does have ADD & would benefit from medication, mostly around the self esteem issues.
And so far so good. I’ll keep you posted.
September 15, 2011 at 5:55 pm
Another Mom with you on the “it all hit the fan in 4th grade bandwagon”. I know how hard this is. I remember how he pleaded “help me” and how help-less I felt. How badly I wanted to take away his tears…
But you are light years ahead of many people when this happens – your eyes are open and you know what to do. That is more than half the battle!
Fast forward (for my kiddo). After crawling through a tunnel of darkness for what seemed like an eternity, he came out the other side better regulated and less anxious than many of his peers. He’s happy and confident. He’s a senior in HS and applying to college. He has his driver’s license and dates. And somehow he went from being ridiculously immature to one of the more clear, logical, and level-headed decision makers I know. The demons he’s conquered are part of what has made him the man he is today. I am so proud of him!
When I was standing in your shoes I wondered if any of these things would ever happen. But they did. The only thing I can say: forge on. Even when the road seems too long, too dark, too cold. Forge on. Because the victory is oh-so-sweet.
You can do this 🙂
September 15, 2011 at 7:12 pm
I’m right there with you…my fourth grader started having some serious anxiety and attention issues at the end of last year, and after evaluation she started taking medication for depression and anxiety. The psych. said her anxiety was causing her attention issues (it was a coping mechanism for her). After a few months, she started to smile for the first time in years. A real, genuine, worry-free smile. It broke my heart to realize how much and how long she had suffered. Now we are debating whether to add in ADHD meds too, or to try to manage the attention issues without more drugs.
It’s a hard place to be in as a parent too…you have a lot of decisions to make in the next few months, not to mention the whole “here we go again” feeling of evaluations and doctors. But you will help him feel better, and help him succeed in school, and after awhile you’ll look back on this and know you did everything you could. Good luck to you, and hang in there!
September 15, 2011 at 7:33 pm
You’re a great mama. ((You’re doing a great job.))
September 15, 2011 at 10:08 pm
hugs to you. he’ll be ok. you’ll be ok.
that picture of the two of you speaks volumes.
September 16, 2011 at 8:02 am
Oh wow Alysia.
You’re a brilliant mother, I know you will get through this. But I also know it’s really tough going in the meantime.
Sending encouragement, support and prayers to you all xxx
September 16, 2011 at 12:34 pm
I am thinking of you! You are an wonderful mom! Your little guys are just so darn lucky to have you. I hope that the Open House went well last night. Like everyone else I am sending love your way.
September 17, 2011 at 8:32 am
I’m NOT criticizing my mom here — she did an AWESOME job with me and my brother — but I wish, in this way, she could have been more like you.
The fact that you’re looking at all these things with Gerry – the fact that you’re ALREADY seeking out the help he may need to get through the more difficult school years ahead of him… that is just awesome. I sincerely hope there is nothing wrong and Gerry just needs a little extra time to adjust to this school year, but if there is — there is no better person to have going to bat for him than you. You go, momma!
June 3, 2012 at 6:02 am
[…] taught me that you need me to advocate just as fiercely for you as I do for your brothers and that you feel the stress in the house just as we […]