The green eyed monster

I've bored everyone enough talking about Bike Camp (you can read about it here, here and here) so I'll switch gears and take a minute to talk about my daughter, Lizzy.  She was really upset that Alex had all this face time with me while at Camp and she didn't.  And it's something that's a reoccurring theme in our house.  

From her point of view it goes a little like this: Alex spends time with mom.  Mom spends time with Alex.  Mom loves Alex more than me.  I hate Alex.  End of story.

She's five, what did you expect?

Lizzy's old enough to see that I do spend an inordinate amount of time schlepping Alex to all of his therapies.  She sees that as time away from her.  Even when I bring the her with me to an appointment it's the sheer fact that we're there for Alex, and not her, that gets her goat.  She's jealous. 

She's not old enough yet to know that what we're doing with Alex, all the appointments, therapies, social groups---it's all work for him.  Hard work.  She only sees that I'm spending time with him and that equates in a five year old mind to me loving him more.  

And I hate that she picks up on it and perceives it that way. 

I've had a talk with her, one about how her brother's different and some things like tying a shoe or throwing a ball are hard for him.  She hastily responded, "Well, mom, I already know that!" like I'm an idiot.  She's not quite grasped the understanding that Alex's differences require extra time and extra work.  She's not quite there in understanding that my love for her is not dependent on face time. 

We do manage to do things, just the two of us.  We go to the park and catch butterflies.  We go to Dairy Queen.  She paints my toes a bright I'm a hooker pink and I smile, say I love it and wear it for weeks.  We walk the neighborhood and count the fountains.  I secretly think she does that just so she can come back and tell Alex how many we saw and gloat.  Just to get under his skin, cheeky little girl. 

But she's just not there with the understanding.  I know one day she will be.  She'll love him as fiercely as I do.  But right now she wants to kick the daylights out of him and in some ways I don't blame her.  I'd be a little pissed too if my mom spent more time with my brother. 

And that's one of the many ways this thing called autism, SPD, whatever you call it or what ever you have, spreads like a nebulous cancer and affects us all.   

I saw stars, beautiful shiny stars...

I've not been a good bloggie friend.  Sorry.  The kids have been on Spring Break and I thought I'd be on the computer trying to escape by Tuesday and the kids would be chewing the sides off the sofa by Wednesday but the week has gone by remarkably fast.   Hubs took some time off as well.  That right there throws a wrench in my plans.  I mean, I can't possibly have him see me on the computer like all day, reading posts, checking stats, and commenting all over the place.  I've actually had to get food for the kids, do laundry and play outside and act all house-wifey and stuff.  The gig's up on Monday but until then I have to keep up a good front.

Along with Bike Camp, all our routines have been chucked out the window--we stay up late and still get up at the same time.  We've been eating crap since Tuesday and we're trying to finish up the last bits of the remodel so consequently I've been dealing with exhausted, cranky kids. 

But look!  

The whole bike camp thing has taken up a lot of our time and I'll be glad when it's over.  There is a girl there, about thirteen, named Sheyanne.  She's a beautiful young girl and her only downfall is her mother.  She is a Soccer Mom.  You can hear this woman yell from outside the gym.  And she doesn't stop.  All fucking class she yells at her kid.  And every time, Sheyanne flinches.  Every time.

 

All I've been hearing since Monday is, "COME ON SHY-ANN, MOVE THOSE LEGS!  DON'T LET ME DOWN!  SHY-ANN.  Move, Move MOVE!"  Use your arms.  You're Arms Shy-Ann!  YOUR ARMS!" 

Then when she's done yelling she gives an exasperated "humph" and paces the side wall of the gym like she's an exhibit at the zoo.  And then she starts up again. 

It's been horrible to watch this unfold.  The program itself has been incredible, watching the kids fly and she's been shitting all over it.  They've asked her to leave and stand outside but she still works her way in.  Sheyanne does beautifully when her mom's gone and she was coasting around the tennis court yesterday.  Out of nowhere the yelling starts and Sheyanne promptly biked herself into the fence.  Went ass over handlebar and face-planted it.  She was sobbing.  The director was furious.  She actually took her inside and when they both came out, soccer mom was muzzled.  Amen.  But not before she spewed this land mine.  Keep reading...

We've been working up Alex for a tic disorder.  When he comes around the corner he has a facial tic---like a grimace.  He does it every corner.  It freaks the hell out of me to see him do this but he can't help it.  The whole bike thing is stressful so I look past it, and see the little boy I love underneath.  I understand he's stressed and me freaking out will not help him in the least.  So I suck it up, bury how I feel and stand proud.  Soccer mom had the stones to yell at him as he came around the corner, " HEY ALEX, WHY DON'T YOU SMILE?"

OK.  That's It.  She's crossed it.  She didn't tip toe over it, she fucking plowed through it like an army tanker.  That goddammed gorilla has the balls to yell at my kid?!?  For a brief second I saw how the cosmos was formed.  Saw stars.  Blinding white gloriously shiny, little white fluttery things.  Beautiful, just beautiful.  And then I came back down.  

And right then I wanted to thank my child psychologist for giving us anger management coping techniques because I found myself counting to ten, deep breathing and repeating incessantly, "I will not kill the bitch, I will not kill the bitch" while gripping the seat of the stadium bleachers.

When  I was sort of composed I walked over and said this: "For the remainder of this class I would appreciate if you would not talk to me or my child.  Ever.  He has a tic disorder and while that would normally be none of your business, you yelling at him has gutted him like a fish."  And I turned around and walked away.

I could say more about soccer mom but other than being stupid bitch I have nothing.  I feel sick about her, how she treats others, and most of all how Sheyanne has to go home with her and what her life is like.  I don't want her to tarnish an otherwise busy and fun week so I'm going to leave it at that.

I'm off to bake cookies for all the volunteers and helpers at Bike Camp and I have to keep up the house-wifey front for a few more days.  See, the whole baking cookies bit falls right in place.   Wish me luck!!!

Bike Camp, part two...

We're at Bike Camp again today.  It's a Monday thru Friday deal.  I think they're going to take the roller thingie off tomorrow and let him fly.  This is where is can go to hell in a hand basket in under two seconds.  We had him fall last year and he was over it.  Done.  Finished for the season.  So I'm a total nervous freak and the hardest part is I have to sit back and watch. 

Take a look at the back "wheel."  You can see the emergency handle too.

Now I'll get into the finer details of this class.  The kids ride a modified bike with a roller in place of the back wheel.  The 'rear wheel' is a graduated cylinder that goes from flat, no outer curve, to convex on the ends.  The kids start out at level one, which is basically a flat log with no curvature.  As the kids get more stable and comfortable they switch out the roller and progress to a number seven roller.  The number seven has very convex ends so it simulates a real bike wheel and all the instability of riding a real bike. 

On the back of each bike there is a handle that a spotter can grab if the biker is wobbling or lilting too much.  The goal is to keep their hands off the handle unless the biker absolutely needs it. 

Back wheel and emergency handle.

Classes run all day from 8:00am to 5:30pm. There are only eight bikers per session and each biker has two spotters.  There is the program director and advisor present as well.  The program host, aka douche-bag, has been there every day.  I really should stop being so hard on this guy because without him this program would have totally passed Kansas City up but I swear he's a nimrod.  But his heart's in the right place so I guess he's a kind nimrod none the less.   

The kids spend 75 minutes on the bike riding in a big circle around the gym.  Every 20 minutes or so they have to reverse directions.  Heidi, the program director, takes the kids on a tandem bike and the camper sits in front.  She goes pretty fast to get the kids used to higher speeds--for vestibular processing--and she said with a laugh, its fun!

Bike Camp, we're at bike camp!!

I've been remiss to mention that we have Bike Camp this week during Spring Break.  That's because the guy in charge is a total douche-bag and I didn't believe it till we actually went and made it through a class. 

This all started when we were given info about the Bike Camp from one of Alex's teachers at school.  I thought it would be a great idea.  He's been dying to get rid of his training wheels and to make matters worse Lizzy's trainers are coming off this spring.  The devastation on his face is so clear when he knows he can't do something and his younger sister can so I jumped on this chance. 



Here's Alex in action.

When we received confirmation he was in, I blabbed it to him and he was over the moon.  Not twenty minutes later my phone pings me and it's the director of the program e-mailing me that our spot had been given up.  Alex was too young for the program.  Blind rage.

Now here's the rub--that little ping was a day after I had talked to the director  and he assured me his age wasn't a problem.  See, total douche-bag.  They have a minimum age of eight and Alex is seven.  I called and after discussing things with him he assured me he would be fine.  They have the age cut off to make sure it's the kids that want to go and it's not the parents forcing them.  Once I explained to him that Alex was uncomfortable with having the training wheels on as his younger sister has hers off he assured me it was no problem.   

Well, then I get the ping.  So I sent him this nasty ass e-mail telling him I just spoke him yesterday...
He pings back: Who did you talk to?

Me:  YOU.

He:  You talked to me? 
Me: Your name is John Krugh, yes?

He:  Yes.

Me: Then yes, I talked to you.   You douche.
He:  How old is your son again....what's his name???

Me:  Seven and three quarters.  Alex.  Remember our phone conversation?

He:  Oh, that was you?  Can he do the 11:40 time slot?

Me:  Perfect.  Yup, he's a total douche.

So that's why I've not said anything.  I mean I just spoke to the guy the day before and he totally fritzed.  I almost wanted to cancel the whole thing but I picked up the phone and called him--again.  Turns out the people who do the actual teaching are flown in from other areas and they do this as a living.  Locally, he's their go to guy who gets the space and volunteers.  Whew.

 

Anyway, check this out, look at his smile!



I'll post more as we go through this week but I wanted to show you all how happy and proud he is.  And I just noticed this---his helper has a Ramones tee, how cool is that?