Eye Eye See See You You

We recently took H for a consultation with a Behavioral Optometrist due to tracking difficulties that were observed by the school psychologist during an evaluation ( for a possible learning disability). Although H is exceptionally bright and is attending a very competitive academic program, he has been battling with the tasks of reading and writing for years. It has become more burdensome as he advances through the grades and the workload increases. In third grade, he was receiving Occupational Therapy services and classroom accommodations (time and a half for testing and in class written assignments) via his 504 plan for a Visual Fine Motor Integration problem. But, the "diagnosis" of Visual Fine Motor Integration disorder didn't sit well with me. In the initial report, there was very little to support that identification other than that recognition that his handwriting was below grade level. There seemed to be something more going on. We had always remarked at how brilliant his fine motor skills were. But, when it came to written expression, there was a complete disconnect between his thoughts /what he was able to verbally convey and what ended up on the paper.

He, by his own admission, is a boy of little words, meaning he does not like to talk. But, man, those very few words are so rich with vocabulary- to hear him speak, you would think that you had just gotten hit with a dictionary/ thesaurus combo. I used to scribe for him. Thinking that if I allowed him to recite to me what he intended to write, it would make it easier for him to then just copy in his own handwriting. But, it didn't help. His sentences broke through margins and were sometimes floating above the line. He would omit words or phrases that were right there in front of him. His spelling, again with the typed material right before him, was atrocious. We have been lucky up until this year that his teachers have been so accommodating and compassionate. They knew how much these hindrances hurt his confidence. They were patient and forgiving of his written work. This year he is in 6th grade and his team of teachers is more disjointed; and, due to district wide budget cuts and the removal of aides positions throughout the city schools, there is not any time in the schedules for extra help and attention. To make matters even more difficult, his teachers during an Open House presentation during the 3rd week of school, stressed that they are looking for absolute neatness and perfect spelling in all written assignments. I knew that H was doomed.

So, I set the ball rolling for reevaluation. I typed up a brief history and a reminder about H's Individualized Education Plan (IEP) for all of his teachers. And I arranged to have him reevaluated by the school and, tentatively, by an outside psychologist for a possible diagnosis of dysgraphia (a learning disability which affects writing abilities). When discussing my concerns with his consultant teacher from last year (she has since taken on a position in the district's 504 office), she suggested I perform a little research on Vision Therapy and Behavioral Optometry -referencing that one of H's former teachers had a successful experience with the program. I brushed it off because H's eyes had been tested on numerous occasions and his vision was always normal- or very near 20/20. I did not understand that vision involved more than simply acuity or being able to read the Snellen Eye Charts. It was not until H came home with the news that he had "jerky eyes," that I began to give the suggestion more thought. During one of the specialized tests performed with the school psychologist, H omitted entire lines of text and symbols. The psychologist had him follow her pen and she noticed that when tracking, his eyes had an uneven, jerky movement. To make a long story just a little bit longer, the behavioral optometrist, Dr. Gordon, after performing a battery of standardized tests, came to the conclusion that H had been struggling with a visual processing disorder, Ocular Motor Dysfunction. Basically, the poor kid, has been seeing double. The words move around and sometimes jump off the page. A little bit like this:

Dr. Gordon explained that, for H, every time he reads, it is like learning the words again because they appear differently each time he sees them. He likened it to learning the Chinese characters when all that you have ever seen is English letters. Ironically, H is taking Mandarin Chinese and has complained on numerous occasions about how lost he feels in class. Vision therapy was recommended to help correct the problem. It is an expensive treatment which is not covered by insurance; but, it will be worth every penny if it helps to diminish this hindrance to learning and boosts his self-confidence. I met with the 504 committee today at H's school to re-write his IEP. Both the psychologist and the SST/ CSE chairperson were exceptionally compassionate and enthusiastic about helping H. H had made such a wonderful impression on them both. The CSE chairwoman said that these cases break her heart the most because these children are often swept under the rug. They perform well in school, so little thought is given to their struggles. The school psychologist went so far as to call H a "hero" because he had not once given up on his school work despite the impairment he had been trying to adapt to. When we were finished with our meeting, H's IEP was covered in red ink with the new modifications. The chairwoman indicated that this is a unique case and that we needed to provide as much coverage as possible to protect him- to help him.

I share this story because we have struggled for years to get to the bottom of H's writing and reading difficulties. I truly would not have known about this disorder if it were not for his teacher's insight. And, I've researched the various conditions and disabilities linked to written expression/ handwriting/ reading; and, I've consulted with different doctors, teachers, specialists to find something that would explain the disconnect between his thoughts and his inability to express them on paper. Vision disorders never came up in my queries- and were never suggested. There is so much more involved to this all than I can explain here. But, by sharing this, I hope to provide a starting point for those who might happen upon this page, searching for answers about their own children's learning differences.

2:40 PM

My Bookends, first born baby and last born baby



The children’s vacation has ended and school has resumed. On Sunday, we unceremoniously dismantled the Christmas tree, and removed the lights which had been strung throughout the house. Like blowing out a candle, the rooms instantly became stark and dim. It was a fairly lackluster winter break; and, the children had become punchy toward one another towards the end. But, we all had the Sunday night blues before bed. By the incessant rustling of sheets and creaking of bed frames, I could tell that they all were too unsettled to get a decent night’s rest. Monday morning I woke to read First Born Son’s Facebook post, “This is going to be a looooong week.” It does feel that way.

It is too quiet here. The Baby has been out of sorts- waking to an empty house. On Monday morning, after I released her from her crib, and changed her out of her pajamas, she toddled down the hall toward First Born Son’s room- her favorite destination. She looked pitifully heartbroken to find it empty. We had gotten into a routine of sending The Baby in to wake First Born Son. She would creep to the edge of his bed and stand on her tiptoes, peering with her giant brown eyes right into his face, until he lifted her up into his arms. She would put her head on his shoulder, smile brightly and softly breathe, “Ahhh.” 

To think that this time last year, as we awaited The Baby’s arrival, First Born Son adamantly asserted that he would not, under any circumstances, ever hold the baby. I respected his position. I knew in my heart that he would eventually fold to her charms. It took 6 months; but, it happened- on a quiet summer afternoon. I could tell that he had been working up the courage. He was acting funny, pacing the room, hands cold and clammy- incessantly sighing and swallowing as if he had a mouth full of cotton. “All right, I’m ready. But you’d better not tell anyone that I did it.” From that moment on, he was smitten. H and Princess Commando had each other. And, now, First Born Son finally had a sibling with whom he felt an intense and beautiful connection.

And, now that she has outgrown that painful colicky, non-sleeping, fragile stage, The Baby is not difficult to love at all. Her transformation over the past week has been incredible. She has been under the guidance of 3 additional mini teachers. Her list of achievements has grown at such a rapid- fire pace I find myself wondering on many occasions throughout the day, “When did she learn how to do that?” My favorite new talent is her rhythm and musicality- her ability to move and dance and imitate sounds and melodies. The dancing started with a shoulder shrug on Christmas Eve and now she has incorporated a toe tap and a little hip hula. It gets me giddy every time. And, I catch her performing a hundred times though out the day. I attribute that gift she has to her time spent with First Born Son, rocking out with him to Daft Punk in his room.

First Born Son worries about the significant age difference between The Baby and him. I see him start to pull away sometimes when he begins to feel so deliriously happy- wrapped up in a moment with her.  He was calculating her age when he will enter college and it choked him. “She will be four. And I may be going away. She won’t know me. It’s not fair.” He is afraid to invest his love for fear that she will reject him one day because she will not remember him. I try to reassure him that their bond is something that cannot be broken over distance and time. She doesn’t call out Ma Ma in reference to me- it is for her older brother, Max. She has never laid her head on my shoulder in a show of affection. She only does that for her Max. They are kindred spirits. They will be with each other forever.

I’m feeling very fortunate- in this moment- to have all four of them, idiosyncrasies and all. That feeling may change at three o’clock when they start filing in from school. For the next 20 minutes, I will revel in that gratitude.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to California





Last week, I learned that my baby brother (he's not really a baby at 27 years old)  is to become a father in July. Suffice it to say, the circumstances are complicated and not desirable. But, everything will be okay- because it must be okay.  And, what they say about it taking a village will resonate with more truth and purpose in our family than it ever has- once the baby arrives.

When I told my children, they received the news with a surprisingly mature discernment of worry. My children are, perhaps, a little more traditional than I am in their perception of what should constitute the family unit. I could see the wheels turning in Princess Commando’s mind, “But they are not married.”  I refrained from interrupting her thought with a lesson about how it is sometimes better not to marry in these situations.

When his sister and brother left the lunch table, First Born Son solemnly asked, “Was I a mistake?” It is no secret that I was pregnant when The Mr. and I married. Anyone examining our wedding photos can detect the hint of a bump beneath the wedding gown I borrowed from my mother and had extensively altered to accommodate both bust and bump. We have not kept this detail hidden from our children. And, this is not the first time this question has come up. It has, up until now, been substantial enough to simply answer, “No. Of course you were not a mistake.” But, on this particular day, when weighing his Uncle’s circumstance against what he thought he knew of his parents’ situation 14 years ago, First Born Son had(with a greater breadth of understanding of the human experience) begun to worry that the first flickering of his essence had not been wanted. I knew that I had to be both delicate and definitive in my explanation to him.

I set out cautiously. “No. Not a mistake. Of course, not a mistake.”

First Born Son, “Not planned though?”

“No, not planned. But that doesn’t mean that it was a bad thing. We chose you and you chose us.”

He looked at me doubtfully. “Was it a bad thing at first, and then you guys got into it (I am assuming he meant parenting) and really liked it?”

“First off, it was never a bad thing. It was, hmmm, a change of plans.  I had been going along on a certain path- the path that I thought I needed to be on- college and Art History and all of that. And, then I found out about you; and I was given the opportunity to go on another path- a better path. So, I did. And I don’t regret it for a minute. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Really.”

He still did not look convinced.

“Ok, it’s like this. You know how California is supposed to be all warm and sunshine and beaches and Hollywood and glamour and awesomeness? Well, say I was convinced that California is where I would find happiness and success. I had researched the life, the culture, the land, the work; and, I was ready to commit my life there. So, I set out on a journey across the country to California. But on the way, my car broke down in Colorado…”

“Oh, great! So, I’m the broken down car?”

“No! No! Okay, so I was taking a passenger train across the country and I was very close to reaching my destination; but I had to stop in Colorado to transfer to a different train. But, the next train was delayed for a couple of days ( a problem with the rail and inclement weather) and the conductor told us that we would have to stay in Colorado. Even though I was a little concerned about not getting to my destination on time, I decided to make the most of my stay in Colorado. I explored, even though I was nervous because I didn’t know anything about this place. After viewing the landscape, walking through crisp, fresh snow, and meeting the people, I decided that Colorado was awesome. It felt like home. I felt at peace. I felt love and life. That was where I was supposed to be. I never even thought about California again.”

“I’m Colorado?” he smiled.

“Yep. But, keep in mind I’ve never been there- so you could be Ohio.”

“You’re weird. But, thanks.” He flashed me a very teenagery grimace.

“You made us a family. You gave us a greater understanding of home and a greater sense of purpose. You and your brother and sisters are the most important work I’ve ever done. Thank you for that.”

He seemed at peace with the explanation- enough to give me a hug before he left to hang out with his friends.

My brother will be okay. We won’t let things turn out otherwise. He has travelled across the country and around the world. I am certain it was meant to be that his path wound back to Buffalo- to our home. It is my wish for him, that he may embrace this journey as a time to learn and grow without regret for things and times he will undoubtedly need to leave behind (at least for now). A wish- that when he is faced with the same question from his child, he will be able to answer with a resolute, "You were wanted and I would not have my life any other way."

 P.S. Still trying to find time to put a decent thought together and whip up an illustration to go along with it. This was "whipped" at a wicked hour, three o'clock. My first image had a passenger train flying off the page. But it looked like something out of Harry Potter. Obviously, I do not journey much. Like an ice cream sandwich tucked in your suitcase for a 9 hour drive, I simply do not travel well.
 I am a Buffalo gal and that's how I'm gonna stay.

Blinded by the Light



 A few days before Christmas, The Today Show aired a filler parenting segment titled, A Parent's Guide to the Holidays from their ongoing series Parenting Tips for Those Who Have Been Parenting Under A Rock or Parenting for Those Who Cannot Think for Themselves. Matt Lauer interviewed a panel of experts consisting of a magazine editor from a popular family magazine, a lifestyle expert, and some fat guy (I am not being insulting here, this is how he introduced himself) who wrote a book with a self- deprecating title. The theme was At What Age is it Acceptable to _____________? At what age is it acceptable to let your teenager get drunk with you on New Year's Eve? At what age is it acceptable to pull the rug out from under your unsuspecting child's feet and let them know the truth about that jolly visitor from the North Pole? And, here is my favorite, at what age is it acceptable to stop taking family pictures? The answer was a resounding: when it ceases to be enjoyable. Hmmm, are we there yet? Thank goodness for the wisdom that The Today Show bestows upon me because I honestly thought, as you may remember from my previous posts on the subject, that family photos were an acceptable form of child abuse and torture.

In our family, we extend the tribulation to visiting relatives. See Exhibit A below. This is a sketch of my  sister, her husband and my two lovely nephews who were visiting from Las Vegas. They had only been in Buffalo for 24 hours and the boys were still on Vegas (Begas, as my 2 year old nephew, G calls it) time. My sister had not gotten any sleep the night before from trying to settle the boys. They were out of sorts from having missed their naps. Yet, it was imperative to my family to catch a shining Christmas Eve moment with all four of them. Look at how the little one, my nephew Lu, is fighting and giving up at the same time as he tries to contort his body and become dead weight in his mother's arms. Most of the 200 photos captured G, in his Michael Cera haircut, with his head down, clawing his way out of his father's grip.

I wanted a portrait of  H, my Dad, and me. "Ooh, ooh! Let me!" offered First Born Son enthusiastically. Like a kitten sidetracked by a ball of tinsel, First Born Son was mesmerized by the camera flash. Or, he was spellbound by a novel way to annoy me. He started giggling sadistically at the outcome of his picture taking, a series of images with our heads cut off, our mouths distorted as we pleaded, "Stop! Stop! I'm going blind!" Our eyes uneven and squinty. I tried to push through the blinding light which singed all of my senses; and, I pawed helplessly, hopelessly at him trying to recover my camera. But, he contined to dance around just outside of my grasp. I was so disoriented, but I thought I heard him singing, "That's what you get! That's what you get! For all of those years, doing us wrong with your camera lens!"


These are the kinds of photos you get when you hand your camera to a teenager who is out for revenge.


On the final day of my sister's visit, we gathered the kids together. There are six grandkids. If I thought that trying to get a photo of four kids was difficult, six kids is impossible. The Baby was one hour past done. G was too rambunctious from eating a dinner of cookies, with more cookies, and some fudge. H was antagonizing First Born Son by showing him affection. And Princess Commando shouted out through the clicking and snapping of 4 cameras with flashes on, "Ugh! The paparazzi!!"

If six kids is impossible, then eleven people and Simba is just plain silly. But, we did it anyway.

And, because, we like to learn things on our own time and the definition of "enjoyable" is subjective, we'll probably do it again next year.

The Army Crawler and The Drunken Sailor



Vivi and Lu did not know what to make of one another in their first encounter in five months. That is the equivalent of five grown-up years to an infant. They went through the typical stages: blank staring, indifference, acceptance, etc. And, then, they went on the lam. Lu was like a lightening bolt, army crawling across the hardwood floor. And, Vivi, in a show of camaraderie, crawled beside him on her hands and knees, despite having mastered the gait of a drunken sailor earlier in the week. Only one of them made it to the gate which separated the dining room and kitchen and hindered the passage to ultimate freedom. Vivi had the advantage as the terrain was familiar. Lu was sidetracked by the lure of unprotected outlets and electrical cords. Vivi delighted in her cousin's fetish for dangerous play things. They vowed that during Lu's next visit to Buffalo they would bribe the dog to chew through the wooden safety gate and carry them on her back down the short flight of stairs, and through the single wooden door, out to the backyard.