Anything

On Monday night, Gutsy shrieked, begged and protested for a full 75 minutes over having his hair washed. After a long weekend of chocolates, day trips, rich meals and late bedtimes, he was completely out of sorts. He absolutely lost it at the thought of his hair being wet. 

This came on the heels of a 20 minute freakout in the van on the way home from the in-laws' on Saturday night because he spilled apple juice on his pyjamas. We had to pull over, take his brothers out of the van, and get him calm enough to change his clothes and switch seats. 

Yesterday, the power was knocked out at Gutsy's school during a wind storm. The stress of the hallways being dark was so heavy that he came home and burst into tears because our power was out as well and he couldn't watch t.v. Schedule off, things not as they should: panic.

Welcome to life with a child who likely has a full-blown sensory processing disorder. 

You may recall that a few months ago, Gutsy, my mom and I braved one hell of a storm to go see a Montreal psychologist who specializes in hearing impaired kids. Not too long ago, we received her final report. It was simultaneously a huge relief and a rusty knife to the heart. 

The Reader's Digest version of her findings:

1. Gutsy is quite bright, with many academic testing scores in the above-average range.

2. He is very typical - or average - in many respects, which is fantastic.

3. When processing new information, the middle gremlin scored "borderline clinical" at 7% of the average, which likely indicates a learning disability. Coupled with an extreme sense of perfectionism, this is a perfect storm for anxiety surrounding school (which, if you've been following my blog like a good little sheep, you'll know is a recurrent theme.)

4. Gutsy's more difficult behaviours are almost exclusively reserved for home, which is great for the teacher and bad for us. It either means he has more triggers at home, or that he feels more comfortable "sharing" them here.

5. Gutsy's rigidity, defiance, emotional explosions and panic attacks at home scored in the "clinical" range, meaning they are quite serious and atypical for his age.

6. As it stands, he could be mildly on the autism spectrum, he could have generalized anxiety, or he could have sensory issues - or a combination of any of these. We all feel that a sensory processing disorder is most likely, so we will have him seen by an occupational therapist as a first measure. Sensory problems are more common in children who deaf or hard-of-hearing, so this would fit.

7. The psychologist felt that there are far more questions than answers right now. She recommends further testing in a multitude of areas.

8. I'm whiny and emotional. so I felt I should add in an extra number on the list to complain about it.

The big brown envelope with all these details sat on my desk untouched for far too long. We had already spoken at length to the psychologist over the phone and had asked a great many questions, but for some reason I couldn't open the report when it came in the mail. It was a crafty little game I played with myself; I felt that if I opened the report, it would become real all of a sudden, And that nice little bubble of "if we don't name it, it doesn't exist, so let's all skip through the field and pick some fucking flowers" could stay intact. I would pick up the stupid envelope every so often. Then, losing my resolve, I'd place it back on my desk, unopened. It took me about three days to finally get up enough nerve to read it.

Then, the past few days happened, with so much sensory stuff going on that it just tore up his dad and I. This is affecting our entire family. Not only is Gutsy having a challenging time as of late, but his brothers are having to deal with less attention, more chaos and a life of walking on egg shells around their brother. It takes an emotional toll on all of us. Geekster and I get so stressed out that we can't even say a word to each other for a good while after one of Gutsy's meltdowns for risk of snapping at each other. At other times, we glance at each other just long enough to see the sadness in each others' eyes, then look away. What is there to say? Nothing we tell each other seems to make it any better. 

Needless to say, it hasn't been a great week.

And yet we all love each other so much. We all love Gutsy so much. We're trying hard to make this a peaceful, happy and safe place for our boys to grow up. Some days are better than others. I hope to see far more better days in the future.

Watching Gutsy in that kind of overwhelmed, panicked state is one of the most helpless, gut-wrenching things I have ever had to do - and if you know me and you know my life story, then you also know that this statement speaks volumes. It's tortuous to see him locked in his own head, unable to escape the place where things are too bright, too loud, too wet, too dry, too itchy, too tight. What happened to that sweet little boy that got us to this heartbreaking place? Why can't I help him? What am I doing wrong? It tugs on a mother's heartstrings like little else can.

I'm sad. Sad and worried and angry. I'm having one of those "this isn't what I signed up for" kind of weeks. And I know that's ridiculous, because as parents we sign up for whatever gets thrown at us. Nobody is guaranteed a smooth ride. Parenting is always bumpy - there are just some bumps that are bigger than others, that's all. It's my job to deal with that. I'm trying, believe me. It's just been more of a challenge to keep my emotions in check lately.

If one good thing has come out of the last few days, it's the reminder that my husband can be absolutely incredible. When Gutsy was in his bad place for those 75 minutes on Monday, Geekster took the helm and worked him through it. He sat in that loud, echo-filled bathroom, being repeatedly screamed at not two feet away by a distraught and overwhelmed child with quite possibly the loudest, most ear-piercing yell ever - and miraculously got him through that hair wash. He is an amazing father. I don't know many human beings who could have done that, and it made me fall in love with him more deeply than I already was. He is a hero to me, and Gutsy and his brothers are so lucky to have him. I am extremely fortunate to have had a family with someone who is so dedicated to his kids. I was reminded of that this week.

What will parents do in the name of their children? Absolutely anything. Anything and everything, and all the rest in between. We will never stop trying, helping, supporting, learning, empathizing, loving. We will never stop, Gutsy, because you mean the world to us. And you are perfectly you, just as you are.  

I guess I'm done for now. This isn't one of my usual cheery posts, and I apologize for that. But sometimes I need this space to vent, to cry, to just be. It helps me to write, being a writer and all. I hope that it helps somebody else who stumbles upon it, too. If that happens, then that will be another good thing to come out of this otherwise sad week. 

A list of things I've learned in the last 24 hours

1. Gutsy responds very well to lists. We took the two most stressful, meltdown-inducing times in his day - before school and bedtime - and had him write out a numbered to-do he could follow of all the steps needed to accomplish those tasks. It's been about three days and we've had no tantrums during those times. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Ergo, in honour of the almighty Greek goddess of lists (her name is Listerine, if I remember correctly) I have decided to write this post out as a list. Okay, so it's not in any particular order, but I promise not to throw myself on the floor screaming because of it. Scout's honour.

2. I was a never a Scout. Not even a Girl Guide. Not that I just realized this in the last 24 hours, but I figured it needed its own number since it's in a new paragraph. Shouldn't every paragraph be numbered? How do these things work? Maybe I should ask Gutsy. This list stuff is stressing me out a little.

3. When it started playing in my iTunes playlist a few minutes ago, I initially thought Peter Gabriel's Games Without Frontiers would be a good song to blog to. You know, nice quiet background music. I was wrong. I just had to take four minutes out of my life to figure out what kid is playing with who. Who knew socializing was so complicated? How can I possibly blog when all this drama is happening? And when he sings 'She's so popular' who is he referring to? Brit? Suki? Rita? I'm feeling overwhelmed. This might call for something greater than a list. Perhaps a flow chart.

4. Speaking of Gutsy, he has a few days off to make lists for me. I had a meeting at the school on Tuesday afternoon with the teacher and principal to talk about immediately pulling Gutsy out of grade 1 immersion and into the English stream. It was unsure whether there would be enough room in the class but the principal was going to look into it. If that wasn't an option, we would homeschool until the end of the year and put him in English in September. I walked away from the meeting feeling like everyone had his best interests at heart and we would get this sorted out one way or another.

5. Yesterday, we got a call saying he could start in English on Monday. I have to admit that, given the amount of fighting I've seen between Gutsy and Spawnling this morning, I'm a bit relieved not to be homeschooling. Sheesh.

6. Gutsy is a good planner. Like, for example, he caught his little brother's cold this week and now he has pneumonia again. And hey, if you're going to get pneumonia, why not get it when you're already home for another reason? Brilliant, I tell you.

7. We caught the pneumonia early. However, considering he's had it enough times that I've lost count (7? 8?) we're now able to recognize the very early symptoms. Six hours in the ER and a chest x-ray later, he's on antibiotics. It's moments like this that I hate being right all the time.

8. And speaking of Gutsy being brilliant, I feel the need to brag about him since I've given him so much bad press with all the recent tantrum posts. On Tuesday he also had an EVT - or Expressive Vocabulary Test - courtesy of our liason from the Montreal Oral School for the Deaf. They do a few different language tests on our two older gremlins due to their hearing loss. At 7 years old, Gutsy scored in the 95th percentile, age equivalent: 10 years, grade equivalent: 4.4. Why does this matter? Because it reminds me that just because he can't be fully immersed in a second language it doesn't mean he's not a smart little guy.

9. And with all that genius in his little brain I'm expecting a huge pay off for all the work we've put into parenting him. He'll obviously develop an amazing biofuel that will save the planet and fund our retirement home in whatever place is considered tropical after all this climate change.

10. Speaking of which, happy Earth Day. Go save the planet and quit reading my blog. It's not like I ever have anything interesting to say and I'm usually too frazzled to even try replying to all the comments (as much as I appreciate them, just so you know).

11. Wait, that wasn't something I just realized, either. I've always known April 22nd is Earth Day and that I'm a lazy blogger. I'm really sucking at this list business. Maybe I'll go stomp my feet and throw some stuff.

12. But before I go, I just need to mention that not an hour ago, Spawnling was holding a football to his crotch and singing a song about his 'giant penis.' I think there might have been a mix-up at the hospital and I got somebody else's very strange, genital-obsessed child.

Further Musings from an Overwhelmed Mother

When I wrote Saturday's post, I honestly thought nobody would read it, let alone comment on it. Then, you came in droves to support, understand, and send a lot of love our way.

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. For, while I really do write these posts for me and my own stress relief/inner exhibitionist satisfaction, knowing people are thinking about me and my family means a great deal to this heart of mine; particularly when it's broken and hurting as much as it has been lately.

I usually try to be funny - okay, let's be honest: downright fucking hysterical - and this type of depressing, helpless post is not my sort of thing. I only let Sad Maven out to play when things get really bad. Well, it really has been that bad. Perhaps I didn't quite realize just how bad until I let it all out in the open for the world to see.

There are some things I don't talk about on my blog because they're too private, or discussing them might open up a big can o' drama I really don't feel like eating. When we realized a couple of weeks ago that Gutsy didn't remember the epic tantrum he had just had, my first thought was that this was really serious. The second was that we shouldn't tell anyone right now. I didn't want anyone judging or labeling him because of it. I wanted to roll the entire ordeal up in bubble wrap and tuck it into a corner, maybe stick a few flowers on it for decoration. "What, that? Oh, that's just a little thing we're getting checked out. Nothing important. But doesn't it smell nice? So lovely... Scone?"

Then, after a couple of very overwhelming weeks, I decided I really did need to say something. To speak the truth - our truth - for me, for my family, for Gutsy. We had already told a handful of key people and yet it still felt so bottled up inside me. I couldn't write, couldn't even contemplate working a contract or doing much of anything other than the absolute life-essential basics. I made or ordered lousy meals, the house was filthy, contact with friends and family limited. There was little on my mind besides what was going on with Gutsy, therefore I didn't feel like talking to much of anyone - what would I talk about? Only The Thing That Shall Not Be Named. More importantly, I was seriously sucking in my roll as Mom, CEO of the household. With my energy stores tapped, the gremlins were suffering the most.

Living a lie, even through omittance, is very, very toxic.

I half-jokingly said to a friend today that writing this weekend's post kind of felt like 'coming out' to the world. But instead of saying 'boys are icky' I'm saying 'my family is in crisis.'

(Dear Johnny Depp,

For the record, I do not think boys are icky. Especially not you. I was simply drawing a comparison. I just wanted to make sure that no potential miscommunication ever comes between our love -- you know, the love that will undoubtedly smack you across the face when you eventually meet me/run away with me to your chateau d'amour in France.

Sincerely, The Maven)

When I threw open the closet door, I felt an immense release. The world got a little lighter, a little friendlier, a little less scary. People were sympathetic and kind. There have been offers of help and support in many different forms. Most importantly, people still think the world of Gutsy and maybe even understand him a little more.

Imagine that: the truth really does set you free.

We have a child who cannot control his anger, frustration or disappointment. His mood swings are extreme and sometimes violent. Some days bring us to the point of tears and leave us wondering if this is the end of the road for any remaining shred of sanity. He screams, throws things, throws himself around, hits himself, slams doors, and is absolutely unable to see any reason until he calms down -- whenever that is; sometimes minutes, sometimes hours. Our home life is far more unpredictable than it should be, even with three little gremlins in it.

And yet, we have a child who is one of the most amazing, thoughtful, beautiful, intelligent people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. When he takes my hand, he lovingly holds it in both of his. When he wishes me goodnight, he often reaches out and gently caresses my cheek. In the summer, he picks me flowers almost every day because he knows how much I love them (even if they do come from the garden). He loves his family intensely, idolizes his dad and big brother and will spend an enormous amount of time teaching his little brother new things. When he's not upset, he is the embodiment of pure love.

We have a child who needs our help, who needs us to swallow any pride and reach out for whatever resources we can find. He needs our help to learn to cope with his emotions. He needs a family that is not struggling to keep its collective head above water, who lives in joy instead of apprehension.

There have been some improvements in the last couple of days. For one, Friday was the worst day of the weekend. Saturday was pretty close and Sunday kind of sucked, too, but I did not sob either of those days. Horray for small victories!

I did cry this morning, however, but not out of frustration. I cried because we're starting to clear through the thorns of Gutsy's emotions and get to some of his biggest triggers. Today, we found one.

Gutsy refused to go to school. He's done this before, but we can generally coax him somehow. He does have a cold, but it's mild and certainly not something absentee-worthy. I decided to try a dialogue we've attempted countless times before. However, all the effort we've put into helping him express his emotions is starting to pay off.

'I don't want to go to school. I'm too tired and too sick. I don't have any energy,' said a solemn Gutsy.

I pulled up a chair. 'Is there something going on at school, honey?'

Gutsy sighed. 'Mom, you've asked me that, like, a million times, and I always say no.'

'I know you do, but something tells me otherwise. We're not going to make you go to school today, but I would very much like it if you told me what's wrong. I'm here to listen and help.'

So he did tell me. He said that he doesn't understand a lot of what is said in his French immersion class these days. He said he gets frustrated and sad because they're learning a lot of new things right now and he can't figure them out. He said he wishes he were in an English class because it would be easier and he would be happier.

On the surface it almost seems laughable. Gutsy has good grades and is reading above his grade level in French. His reading and comprehension in English is even higher. The reason we put him in French immersion was to add a challenge. But I see now that it was too much of one. We put a hearing impaired child in a grade 1 immersion class with kids who had an entire previous year of French. He not only had to catch up to his more experienced peers, but do it with hearing loss to boot. He may have succeeded academically, but at what cost to him?

It made perfect sense. He's depleted at the end of every school day and simply doesn't have it in him to keep his emotions in check. An already explosive child has become even more so because we're asking too much of him.

So that's that. His teacher and I spoke today and both agree he needs to return to the English stream. I think he'll feel more comfortable and be able to express his wonderful self a lot better. His dad and I are sad he won't get fully immersed in a second language, but we know his self-esteem, love of learning, and our family harmony have to come first. I head to the school tomorrow afternoon for a meeting and we'll go from there. I hope the switch happens soon, as I think it will greatly improve things for all of us.

We're still going to follow up with the social worker at our local health unit as well and get us all some coping skills and understanding of how we can best help our Gutsy. We could use some peace in this household, to say the least.

On Saturday, Geekster and I went out for coffee and cake at our favourite little getaway. We're both so emotionally drained with everything going on, but talking about it helps. Some days are worse than others, but we're seeing a light at the end of the tunnel for the first time in a while.

May it not be a bunch of flying monkeys.

Seriously, I could not handle flying monkeys right now. Like we don't have enough problems.

Burn Out

When Intrepid was little, he used to throw some epic fits. It was so bad that we would need to sequester him to his room, or hold his arms and legs until he stopped flailing. They happened daily, and I often wondered if we'd survive it.

We almost didn't make it, to be honest, but a hearing loss diagnosis and the joy of a new baby brother helped immensely. Within months, Intrepid was a new boy - full of the wonder of his new found hearing and a sense of responsibility over having a little person modeling him. The tantrums stopped, a type of peace we hadn't known before came to our house, and we figured we were over the worst of it.

And then there's Gutsy.

By two, we knew Gutsy was hearing impaired. By three, he had his hearing aids and was getting intensive speech therapy. If he could hear and express himself properly, we thought, there would be less frustration in his world and therefore fewer outbursts. Unlike Intrepid, he wouldn't have extreme sensory issues, meaning he wouldn't be experiencing the world with his four "good" senses on full-throttle to compensate for his lack of hearing, and therefore not be on overload all the time with things being too bright, too flashy, too scratchy, too spongy, too abrasive. He would grow up with a little more normality, we thought.

We thought.

We really thought we had done everything we could to make his life easier. We were wrong, and I wish we had figured that out sooner.

I would describe our home life as chaotic, but not in the typical 'we have three kids' way. There are good pockets; times when Gutsy is relaxed and content and where Spawnling isn't doing typical Spawnling things like throwing a boot at someone's head or yelling 'GET ME SOME CANTALOUPE RIGHT NOW!' at the top of his lungs like this will somehow work even though it never has before. I cherish the quiet moments more and more these days, because there seem to be fewer and fewer of them.

When Spawnling was younger and not throwing typical three-year-old tantrums of his own, Gutsy's were more manageable. And when Spawnling didn't egg his brother on to get a reaction out of him, the frequency of outbursts was far less frequent. But right now, a typical day has not only typical brotherly fights, but puts Gutsy in such a mood that every little thing becomes a big thing.

Yesterday, a PD day at school and therefore a day off for all three gremlins, we asked Gutsy to get out from behind the flat screen TV. You know, so that it doesn't tip over and crack and take most of mommy and daddy's at-home 'date nights' with it. He didn't mean anything by it - he was simply trying to find a new hiding spot and that corner looked perfect to a seven-year-old boy.

But what would normally be a simple request of 'please get out from behind there before the TV tips over and breaks' in most households, turned into a 10 minute exchange and subsequent fit in ours. Furthermore, it unleashed a monster that took over the house for an entire day, resulting in multiple tantrums, frustrated siblings and overwhelmed parents. By the end of the day, I went into the bedroom and sobbed. By the end of the day, Geekster locked himself in the office (upon my request, for the record) and played guitar until his fingers hurt, as his entire work-from-home day having been bombarded by loud screaming, things being thrown, and crying, and he really needed some personal time before he exploded.

And this overwhelmed, exhausted feeling happens nearly every day, definitely every weekend, during every holiday, and a heartbreaking number of times throughout the summer. We dread the days when Gutsy is not in school. For whatever reason, home is not a place where he is calm and happy. And therefore, none of us are calm or happy, either. He loves school and does well there, but once he gets home all hell breaks loose.

If this doesn't change soon, our family will not survive this. And I'm not saying that lightly. Geekster and I have been together almost 17 years, but I don't think we'll see 18 if things don't change. Not because we don't love each other, but because we are too emotionally exhausted to put a lot of effort into "us.". We try and we usually succeed - good communication helps - but it's an uphill battle. When Intrepid was throwing huge, scary tantrums, we only had him to contend with. It was still stressful, but more manageable. With Gutsy, we have an older child and a younger who are as overwhelmed as we are. This isn't a normal situation. It needs to change so that we can stay an intact family of five and enjoy what should be a special time in our lives with three beautiful children.

We have tried being soft, firm, removing privileges, making award charts, having lots of heart to hearts, reading books, asking friends, attending seminars, scouring the internet... Nothing has worked yet.

And then, the mother of all fearful tantrums that happened two weekends ago: After about an hour of escalating, solid rage over his Dad not doing a specific project with him (there were many offers to do other projects, mind you) I put him in his room with the door closed, holding the handle because he kept trying to open it, all the while he raging and throwing things at the door, at the walls. I told him I wasn't leaving and that I just needed him to calm down in a safe place so we could talk. He raged more, cried more, begged me to open the door in between outbursts. It was terrifying.

And even more terrifying, he doesn't remember any of it. Not a stitch. He recalls being outside asking his dad to do a project, then coming out of his room after I had gone in and talked to him; nothing in between. We've suspected a couple of other times that he hasn't remembered a tantrum, but weren't sure. He definitely recalls most of them and doesn't seem to disconnect at any other time, but we're confused and very worried.

That moment two weeks ago is when Geekster and I knew this was way beyond what we can do alone. We needed to call in the reinforcements and find out what is going on with our otherwise sweet boy. Because, underneath those Mr. Hyde moments, Gutsy is a wonderful kid. He does well in school with no fits, has many friends, loves his parents and brothers tremendously, cracks jokes, invents the coolest forts and gadgets I've ever seen, is by far one of the smartest people I've ever met, and is overall one of those well-rounded children a mother is proud to call her son. We want to fully appreciate that side of him.

More importantly, he needs to feel more comfortable in his own skin. He's told us many times that he hates how he behaves and doesn't know how to stop when he gets that angry - this is beyond his control, too. And the casualties extend to his brothers, who don't get as much attention as a result and have to deal with their family home - what should be a sanctuary from the world - being up in arms every day.

So far, Geekster and I have been on the phone with his teacher and the school's behavior tech. I had a meeting with the principal as well. All are taking this seriously and willing to work with us to see if we can figure out what's going on. I have an appointment lined up with our family doctor in which I will ask for a brain scan and blood work and anything else we need to rule out a physiological issue (like food sensitivities, which have been brought up many times by my wonderful readers and friends). We spoke with our liason at the Montreal Oral School for the Deaf, who has put us in contact with specialized teachers and psychologists who work closely with hearing impaired children (kids who are, incidentally, far more likely to have behaviour issues due to sensory overload and academic/social frustrations). And finally, I put a call into our local public health department and left a message with the intake social worker. When she called back, she spoke with Geekster. She initially scheduled an appointment for the middle of May, but once she got more details, she said she could see him Tuesday on an urgent basis. The help is there and response has been excellent.

We're getting closer to an answer and hopefully closer to figuring out how we can help our son. Yesterday, I spoke with a good friend who's twin sons have autism, and a lot of the behavioral issues are similar to Gutsy's. That makes sense, considering, like many on the autism spectrum, he likely has some heavy sensory issues due to his hearing loss. She gave me some amazing coping strategies and ways to deal with him, which we're going to implement into our arsenal of new tactics. Things like:

- giving him written steps to do a chore so that he doesn't get overwhelmed (like he usually does) with the immensity of it. Getting Gutsy to clean up is like pulling teeth, so I'm looking forward to trying this out

- counting down from 5 instead of up from 1 when we're giving him a warning, so that he can better anticipate the end of the counting (this worked well yesterday when we tried it)

- using different words to say the same thing - words that trigger his outbursts less but still get the point across. Time for this writer to pull out the thesaurus

And I realized something even more important when I spoke to her: I've been forgetting that he does, indeed, have special needs. The effects of his hearing loss may not be apparent in his school work or his speech (anymore), but his behavior - whether it be due to sensory overload, anxiety, or something else - is likely a direct result from being a deaf child in a hearing world. Even with his hearing aids, he doesn't hear like we do; his brain doesn't process sounds like ours. Some are louder, some are quieter, and some don't come in at all. He just does so well in every other way that we're quick to forget, and I treat his outbursts like a discipline issue instead of like a special needs issue. That means I use less compassion and get more frustrated with him. I blame him and I blame me for not being able to help him. It's not a good scene.

When I was pregnant with Intrepid, someone once told me how powerful motherhood is, and how I would find myself willing to do anything to save my child. Right now I feel like he's drowning, and my other two children are slipping under the water with him. And their dad and I keep diving into the waves-- but as much as we try, we can't pull them up. We're treading water and we're so very tired, but we keep trying.

No, this is not something we can do alone anymore. Help is on the way and we're going to receive it with open arms. There's a boat on the horizon, and it has five life preservers on board.

We're ready.

The Sound of Chaos

Those who've started reading my ridiculous blog only recently may not know that our oldest boys, Intrepid and Gutsy, are hearing impaired.

Or hard of hearing, or deaf, or whatever.

Whatever you want to call it is fine - I'm not one of those people who takes offense when someone doesn't know the politically correct nom du jour for a disability.

Sorry, I mean a type of challenge for the differently-abled.

Um, I mean...

Ugh. This is what happens when I tell people I'm part indian, native, aboriginal, first nations. I trip myself up a great deal and get flustered like I've somehow insulted a quarter of myself. So, instead, I just say "some of my ancestors were horribly oppressed by my other ancestors, which is why I'm such a conflicted person."

Ffter several years of being a proud mom to deaf children, I still don't exactly know what to call them. The boys aren't completely deaf, after all: They have a moderate loss, which means there is enough residual hearing that they can function quite nicely with hearing aids. Furthermore, Gutsy's class is equipped with a soundfield system, which amplifies the teacher's voice. A nice bonus of the system is that it's supposed to help all the kids in the class by making it easier for everyone to tune out background noise and focus on the teacher.

Heck, if we had had a soundfield system in chemistry class, I might have actually learned something, instead of thinking the elements were different types of weather.



The boys have a bilateral sensorineural loss, which means the loss is in both ears, and that many of the little hairs in the cochlea that pick up sound and send it through the auditory nerve into the brain are dead, or missing. This likely happened before they hatched from my womb and is genetic in nature. I've been assured that no amount of prenatal gorging on Peanut M&Ms could have caused this.

My guilt is alleviated.

***

I used to worry all the time.

Would they make friends?

Would they get teased?

Would they be able to learn in a regular class?

Will they have a hard time dating in the future?

Will they be severely limited in their career choices?

Will they go completely deaf?

If it's a mom's job to worry, then I've been a workaholic. Keeping up that pace of concern involved a great deal of chocolate and crying. Mostly crying, but the chocolate played a great supporting role.

In the last few years, Intrepid and Gutsy have had months of speech therapy, dozens of hearing aid adjustment and repair appointments with the audioprosthologist (say that three times fast), several hearing tests, meetings with our wonderful support person from the oral school for the deaf (they attend regular public school but receive outside support from the MOSD), and not nearly enough trips to their very attractive ENT doctor.

Lately, two things have happened: I've cut chocolate from the cast list, and I no longer lose sleep over my little gremlins' pointy ears. They have shown repeatedly how people with a hearing loss can not only take part in the hearing world, but absolutely thrive in it. They amaze me with how well they've adapted to nearly every situation. And, just as importantly, they've shattered any stereotype I may have had about the hearing impaired. The grim picture I imagined of life as a deaf person has been replaced by the colourful, fun, chaotic and, dare I say, fairly normal lives of these two boys. In fact, I sometimes forget they're hard of hearing until I hear the T.V. blaring and see a pair of hearing aids sitting on top of the microwave (a favourite resting spot, for some reason).

This morning we had their audiology appointments; they used to be every six months so we could monitor the loss and see if it was progressive (meaning it would keep getting worse). However, we've now scaled back to a yearly visit because, if it is progressive, it's not happening yet.

I'm pleased to report that, once again, the boys' hearing is stable. As much as I'm sure they would continue to thrive if completely deaf, I'm beyond thrilled they can still hear me yell at them to please stop fighting and just sit down, for the love of all things good and true, before I lose my ever-loving mind.

So, I'll be joyous along with my American friends celebrating their Thanksgiving (you do things really late there - maybe you should move Christmas into January to stay consistent). Yanks, If you're lacking any gratitude, please let me know. I have a lot to spare today.

Brace Yourselves: It's an "All About Me"

I thought it would be good to start this week with an 'About Me', considering it's been over three years of blogging and I don't have one. Considering my 'Followers' list is growing exponentially every day - alright, so it's not. But it is growing and if I want to throw a smart-sounding word after it I should be allowed - I figure this is as good a time as any to introduce myself properly to all the newbies. I know you're all dying to get to know me. And who could blame you, really?

So, without further ado, I bring you a lot of useless knowledge about yours truly:

My name is The Maven. Well, actually it's Amanda. And I have a last name as well, but since I've already been stalked online I'm not going to write it here. I'm pretty much a blogging sensation - a celebrity, even - and I don't want anyone breaking into my house and stealing my undies. Especially the pink ones because I really like those.

I'm a bit egotistical. Just a little bit.

I live in the Ottawa area. Ottawa is the capital of Canada with an overall population of about 1 million. I am the most important resident other than perhaps the Prime Minister. Although he doesn't blog, so that's highly debatable. Contrary to popular belief, Canada does not always have snow; there are at least three weeks a year where we can see the permafrost on the ground and the ice roads start to melt.

I have a thriving parka business. I met my husband, Geekster, at an outerwear conference in 1993. He was selling caribou fur boots and they matched my Fall taupe line perfectly. When he showed me how wolf teeth could be used as ice grippers on the soles, it was love at first sight.

I made up one of the last three paragraphs and at least half of another one. Try and figure it out: it's tricky!

(All the Canadians are laughing right now. If they're not they have no sense of humour and should not read my blog, or they really do sell caribou boots on the side of northern ice roads, in which case sincerely I apologize for making fun of your lifestyle.)

Geekster and I have been together since the Triassic Period and have three boys: Intrepid (November '96), Gutsy (November '02) and Spawnling (October '06). Having children who are all so close in age is a real challenge!

Both Intrepid and Gutsy were born with a moderate sensorineural bilateral hearing loss. It's genetic in nature, but before we knew that I just told myself I listened to too much crappy top 40 while pregnant with them. There's only so much Britney Spears a fetus can take. Neither Geekser nor I have hearing loss, so either it's a recessive gene or I had an unmemorable affair with a deaf guy. The boys wear hearing aids and we mostly forget they have any kind of 'special need'. They're kind of awesome in school, actually, and read well beyond their grade levels and are bright little cookies. They may have inherited bad ear genes, but they also have smart people genes (from their dad, although I'll tell you it's from me).

Spawnling, not wanting to be left out of the 'weird things that happen to The Maven's kids' club, decided to acquire Kawasaki Disease in August of 2009. Go big or go home, Spawn. I give him a solid 10.0 for rarity and effort. If you're searching the web for firsthand accounts of Kawasaki Disease, you'll find some on my blog.

I like to refer to the boys as The Gremlins. Why? Because they are very much like destructive little gremlins. Duh. Besides, feeding them after midnight is not a good thing. Crumbs in the bed and such.

I am many things - depends on who you ask - but primarily I am a stay-at-home-mom and freelance writer. That's right, folks: This awesomeness is for hire. It took a while for me to take the plunge into paid writing, but turning my passion into a career I can do in my pajamas is too good to pass up. Surprisingly, parenting isn't the only thing I can write about. I do, like, know about other stuff, too. I work hard and I drink a lot of coffee until the job gets done. Send me an email at mavenmayhem@gmail.com if you're interested. And you know you are.

There's another love in my life and its name is Lactation. I am a postpartum doula who is slowly working her way toward becoming a Certified Lactation Consultant. I have a boatload of courses and workshops under my belt - now all I need is some more time in the field and they might take me seriously enough to let me write the board exam. I've done a lot of things, but nursing the gremlins for a combined total of seven years something I'm incredibly proud of. I love working with new families and helping them achieve their goals, too.

Wow. That was really sappy. Let's keep going before I get so sweet I start to rot. Onward!

I am a huge fan of coffee and drink it daily. There's a simple reason for that: I don't drink alcohol. That's right, folks: I do not drink at all. Why? Because I used to drink too much of it. Way too much of it. I've been clean and sober since spring of 1991, and smoke-free since 1996. No drugs, no booze and no smokes and yet I'm a writer. A walking contradiction, I am.

Speaking of contradictions, I'm a blogger who has a thriving social life. How did this happen? Am I really that awesome? Not really, no. The secret is in telling everyone I am. A lot of people I know read my blog, and in it I talk about how cool of a human being I am and how great it is to be me or, at the very least, hang around with me. The result: I have created a fake coolness that people have fallen for. If I had known popularity could be so easily created I would have been head of the cheerleading squad in high school. Well, other than the chubby thighs and my serious lack of symmetrical body rhythm.

I am a fat jogger. The human oxymoron strikes again! Perhaps if I didn't eat so much chocolate I might get skinnier. But that would suck, so I will not.

I was a vegetarian for an entire year. Now I also eat fish, so that makes me a pescatarian. I'm sorry, fishies. Blame the delicious salmon that was calling to me.

My favourite shows are House, Glee, The Tudors, How I Met Your Mother, Doctor Who, Torchwood, Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice. Basically, anything that has laughs, sex and/or aliens. Yes. I said aliens. The inner loser emerges.

I read a lot. I will not list all my favourite books because that would take way too long and I would lose readership. My very fave is Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, followed closely by Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.

One day, Coldplay's Chris Martin will realize how incredible I am and we will run away to a vegetarian island with a piano and live happily ever after. Just sayin'.

And there you go. A whole lot of things you didn't want to know about me and had no interest in asking. You're welcome.

My blog is a small amount better than average

I'm very slowly getting used to this juggling three kids thing. Some people just pick up the ball (or new baby) and run with it, but I'm more of a stumble-and-fall-and-nearly-drop-the-baby kind of person before I start my dash to the other side of the field. It takes me a while to catch on to new ideas and sports have never been my thing.

Around noon I showered, dressed, put on some make-up on and threw some de-frizzer in my locks before heading out the door to Intrepid's parent-teacher interview. Spawnling came with, of course, and slept the entire time because he loves being all snuggly warm in his snowsuit. When Spawnling and I were waiting outside the classroom we were bombarded with teachers who came by to say hello. I was told I look 'too beautiful to be a new mother.'

... Um, how, exactly? What makes me look great? Is it the grey hair protruding from my months-old highlight job? Or perhaps my double chin matches Spawnlings just perfectly? Teachers are loco, man. Apparently all you have to do is slap some lipstick on to look 'beautiful' or 'radiant' after a child. I'm going to write a book about it and make millions. I might even get to go on Oprah, which is every stay-at-home-mom's dream, right? I hear she has free bon-bons in the green room.

Anyway, back to the parent-teacher lovefest. The very best way to tell if your child is doing well in school prior to the meeting is to check the time slot. If it's a 15 minute time slot, you're fine. If it's 30 minutes, you have problems. Intrepid's kindergarten and grade 1 conferences were 30 minutes in length. By grade 1 I was sweating more than a middle-aged man at an Eagles concert.

Then the magic happened: Grade 2, the hearing loss diagnosis and the first full year with hearing aids. I was beyond thrilled to receive our time slot of 2:30-2:45pm. Fifteen minutes! All good news, no bad news and happy Maven walked out with a huge grin on her face. Grade 3 was more of the same.

The lovefest this time went well, too. He has the same teacher as last year and she happens to adore him. However, she used the awful g-word on three separate occasions. I don't know if my wincing was apparent, but she did talk to me about IQ tests ('I'd love to see how high he would score') and when I said I try to teach Intrepid that everyone is smart in their own way and he's no different than anyone else in that respect, she said 'But he *is* different. You do realize that, right?'

*sigh*

Yes. Yes I get that. But I also hate labels and don't want to stick any on my child. Why do that anyway? He does really well in school, is kept plenty busy by some enrichment she throws at him when he's bored (and it's in his IEP along with the hearing loss, so every teacher from here on out is legally required to provide said enrichment anyway), he has no social issues, loves school and is truly thriving in every respect. How is calling him 'gifted' going to do anything for him? I think it could hurt him at this point more than anything.

Maybe I'm overreacting a bit. Ok, I know I am. Is this at all surprising to anyone who knows me or reads my frenzied blog posts? Proabably not.

Yesterday, Jobthingy posted about cheerleaders, or more specifically, social status in school (sorry boys - not that kind of post). I was a tremendous loser all throughout school. I was smart, friendly, cute in my own right (until the mess that was puberty. Ick.), certainly wouldn't hurt a fly and had a large 'DOORMAT - PLACE FOOT HERE' tatooed across my forehead. School was a terrible place, for while I scored A's in virtually all subjects, I was teased more than the bangs of an 80's metal singer. There was no icky g-word floating through our school system at the time, but if there was I probably would have had it stamped just above my other forehead tatoo. I have no doubt social homicide would have soon followed.

I realize things have changed between then and now. Geeks are in and nobody's sharing a pair of boots with their brother so they can walk uphill both ways through ten feet of snow to get to their one room schoolhouse. Those were the days.

Still, I guess I'm of the philosphy that if something isn't broken then there's no need to fix it. Thus, there is no need to place labels on a child who's happy and doing well. I think the term itself is unecessary. Let's use 'quirky' or something. Heck, I didn't mind her and the french teacher saying 'He's a very neat kid'. I agree! Let's stick with 'neat', shall we? Nobody gets beat up or made to feel different because they're 'neat'.

Intrepid had to write out his own report card as if he were a teacher evaluating him. Here's what he put down under 'This describes me as a student':

I am Intrepid, a good student and who's work is pretty well done for a grade 4. I do all my work when I need to but sometimes I slack off or day-dream But I always learn something new at school.

I have a natural talent for writing, reading and math; my I.Q. is a small amount higher than average and I know almost any equation.

Example: (gives multiplication and answer, which is incidentally wrong).

Can you see why a label would be bad for this child? He already thinks quite highly of himself. His teacher calls it 'confidence'. That's a nice way of putting it. I like people who can turn anything into a quality.

No idea where he gets that ego from. No idea at all.