Thought I'd chime in about our little trip to preschool on Friday. I've mentioned in this space before that Michael is a bit, shall we say, passionate at times. He often gets overstimulated in group situations and melts down for all to see. The resulting tantrums, complete with screaming, running and sometimes even rolling around on the floor, leads to ample embarrassment for Mommy and Daddy. There are numerous other oddities that Michael demonstrates, but like any good father in denial, I have refused to acknowledge them.
A few months ago we had Michael evaluated by a pediatric specialist, and he chose the term "pervasive developmental disorder" to describe Michael's behavior. Apparently he opted against my very technical term of "satanic screaming fit." I was rather proud of this description, but apparently the good doctor disagreed. A guy gets a degree and he thinks he knows things!
Anyhoo, we took Michael to a local elementary school for evaluation by the school district. Michael ventured off with several therapists for some one-on-one testing, complete with a hearing test, vision test, etc. They warned us beforehand to "be prepared," and that it might get "a little crazy" with all of the kids waiting to be tested. Now, I should say that I have a very loud internal alarm that sounds whenever I hear the phrase "it might get a little crazy" regarding testing.
You see, I was forced to undergo fertility testing when we were attempting to bring forth life into this wonderful world. I had extensive knowledge of this testing procedure, having watched several episodes of "Friends," and "All my Children." I knew all about the nice cushy rooms filled with "adult entertainment" that I could utilize at my leisure.
What I didn't know is that this is all a huge crock of you-know-what. In real life I found myself rushed into a crowded, dingy waiting room at six in the morning filled with several detoxing mass murderers awaiting a drug screening. When it was my turn, as it were, a scowling lady handed me a plastic cup and pointed to a small bathroom located directly behind a desk seating around 300 women. In my usual suave manner, I proceeded to drop the cup and run out of the office crying for my mommy.
So anyway, I was prepared for the worst last week when we brought Michael in for testing. It turns out I had no need to worry. The tests were done in a large open section of the school by several very nice therapists. Michael thoroughly enjoyed himself. The post-test interview contained very few surprises. Michael showed some delays in several of the categories, and they want him to undergo further evaluations in a couple of weeks.
If he continues to show delays, then he will qualify for a special preschool where trained teachers will work with him and his "satanic screaming fits," should they occur. This will save him from getting into trouble every day and being labeled as a "bad" kid. It should be noted that Michael is not a "bad" kid. Far from it. He's actually a pleaser, who never intentionally gets into trouble. He merely gets overstimulated in group situations and loses control. There is a huge distinction here. He is not the kid who pulls hair and throws things against the wall simply to be mean. He is always very well behaved until the overstimulation kicks in. Sadly, it is something that unless you have a child with this problem, you might never adequately understand.
Now we enter the twilight zone portion of the story. It should be noted that this very detail that I am about to describe is what separates my life from many others. When all appears well, there is always a catch.
After arriving home with our spirits soaring, April took a moment to review the sheets of information the school provided. One of the sheets contained all of Michael's personal information. On the "date of birth" line it read - July 23, 2003. A full year before Michael was actually born! His age did not read 3.5 as it should, but rather 4.5. So it appears they thought he was nearly five years old! Why they didn't rate him as borderline mentally disabled, I will never know.
We plan to call the school today, so check this site for further updates!
For now, this is your 56-year-old buddy Dave signing off!
Be good kiddies!
- Dave
Monday, January 14, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
The longest blog posting imaginable
Sheesh! It's been a while since the last posting. I guess when you combine Christmas, my sister's birthday, my anniversary, New Years Eve, New Years Day (also known as Football Day!), my grandpa's birthday, and a week-long please-kill-me-now cold, time seems to fly a wee bit.
What are ya gonna do?
Hope all had a wonderful holiday season. There were plenty off good times in the Ward castle. We started off with Winter Solstice at our church. I had the distinct honor of "smudging" people. Not as fun as one might envision, but still a fun time. Solstice is always my favorite ceremony of the year. A night to cast out all thoughts of materialism, greed and other holiday "cheer," and simply focus on the light. A night of meditation, reflection and drawing positive energy to bring forth into the new year.
My parents hosted Christmas festivities, featuring the predictable onslaught of gifts for little Michael. We headed home in a car stuffed with hockey nets, hockey helmets, hockey jerseys and a John Deere tractor. Just the thing for any aspiring hockey player/farmer! The true highlight of the season, however, featured a beautiful essay composed by my sister, Melissa, entitled "The True Sense of Christmas." It was a wonderful jaunt down memory lane that brought tears to the eye and tissue to the noses. Simply a remarkable work that everyone in the family will always treasure.
We celebrated Melissa's birthday at our favorite Italian joint in Eagle. Apparently Melissa and my Mom enjoyed a few refreshments before arriving, so it was a lively dinner! As usual, April and I spent most of it pleading "Michael stop that. Come back!," as the little three-year-old jaunted around the table laughing. Grandma and Grandpa provided their usual assistance with gems like "Oh, it's all right! He's okay!"
It should be noted we've never actually been banned from any restaurants. Although the waitresses always recognize us, even if we only go into the establishment once or twice a year. That's my boy!
April and I enjoy a happy, wonderful marriage (at least that's my side of the story!). However, we have extremely bad luck during our anniversary. A few years ago I planned an entire romantic evening, complete with a fancy dinner and a nice bottle of wine. I was going to be mister suave, the bleeding-heart romantic. What I actually ended up doing was puking my guts out the entire day. It seems I came down with a severe case of food poisoning on our special night. The lesson, as always, is never eat a burrito at a supermarket.
This year we had further bad luck. We returned home from Christmas with the usual "lets unpack everything and try to relax while our super-excited three-year-old trashes the house with his new toys," routine. In our exhaustion, we failed to realize that our cat was nowhere to be seen. After a day or two, it finally dawned on us that Smores was indeed missing in action. This is nothing new, however. Smores, like most cats, is a master at beaming herself to a parallel universe for a day or two, and then lazily reappearing on the kitchen table.
This time we found her curled up in Michaels' playroom in extremely bad shape. She could barely move or respond, and she looked like she hadn't eaten anything for several days. We rushed her to the vet, where they announced that she had suffered complete kidney failure. April took her home with a small hospital in the trunk, complete with IV bags, pills and special food. The plan was to give her IV fluids two to three times per day, and force her to eat pills roughly 350 times a day. April and I joked we were becoming the "cat lady" on The Office.
Not surprisingly, Smores wanted no part of this operation and refused all medical treatment. The only other option was to hospitalize her. Now, I love Smores. She's been with me through my entire adult life. I can still remember the first time she ran up to me in front of April's house in Pocatello. I was a scruffy 19-year-old, and she was Queen of the Poky street cats. She basically decided that I was going to adopt her. No question about it. She even told me so, right then and there. Along with several other stories that I couldn't understand, but knew must be very serious.
When April and I finally moved in together during college, Smores came as well. Together we traveled through the Rocky Mountains and ventured through the Arizona desert. Smores was there every step of the way, bellowing out her endless string of stories.
Smores was always my confidence booster. Whenever I felt like a moron, which was most of the time actually, I just looked over at my supremely confident cat and thought to myself "well if she's so damned sure of herself, I can be too." A simple stare could bring down empires. If you didn't agree with her, well then you were just too stupid to matter!
She was also my lap warmer. Countless evenings I would be sitting on the couch, minding my own business, when I would notice my lap was getting warmer and vibrating. I would look down to find Smores having materialized from her parallel universe onto my lap, purring like she's been there her entire life.
Well, it was one of the hardest decisions April and I have ever made, but we finally realized that embarking on a version of "Pet ER" wasn't going to work. For us or for Smores. We decided to send Smores to "a nice farm in the country." I miss her terribly, but I realize it was the right thing to do. No animal should suffer needlessly. She lived a very wonderful life and realized her dream of rising from the streets to become "Queen of the World."
Goodbye Smores! The world is a much less interesting place now.
This happened the day before our anniversary. April and I celebrated our number seven, but it wasn't a grand affair.
A short time later, April, Michael and I all caught nasty colds! We've spent the past two weeks emptying kleenex boxes and snorting Zicam. Living the dream, as it were!
So thus concludes the longest blog posting imaginable. A little diddy combining the celebration of life with the agonizing task of saying goodbye.
If you're still reading this, please douse yourself with ice water immediately and head to the store for some caffeine pills. Just make sure you stay away from the burritos!
Be good kiddies!
- Dave
What are ya gonna do?
Hope all had a wonderful holiday season. There were plenty off good times in the Ward castle. We started off with Winter Solstice at our church. I had the distinct honor of "smudging" people. Not as fun as one might envision, but still a fun time. Solstice is always my favorite ceremony of the year. A night to cast out all thoughts of materialism, greed and other holiday "cheer," and simply focus on the light. A night of meditation, reflection and drawing positive energy to bring forth into the new year.
My parents hosted Christmas festivities, featuring the predictable onslaught of gifts for little Michael. We headed home in a car stuffed with hockey nets, hockey helmets, hockey jerseys and a John Deere tractor. Just the thing for any aspiring hockey player/farmer! The true highlight of the season, however, featured a beautiful essay composed by my sister, Melissa, entitled "The True Sense of Christmas." It was a wonderful jaunt down memory lane that brought tears to the eye and tissue to the noses. Simply a remarkable work that everyone in the family will always treasure.
We celebrated Melissa's birthday at our favorite Italian joint in Eagle. Apparently Melissa and my Mom enjoyed a few refreshments before arriving, so it was a lively dinner! As usual, April and I spent most of it pleading "Michael stop that. Come back!," as the little three-year-old jaunted around the table laughing. Grandma and Grandpa provided their usual assistance with gems like "Oh, it's all right! He's okay!"
It should be noted we've never actually been banned from any restaurants. Although the waitresses always recognize us, even if we only go into the establishment once or twice a year. That's my boy!
April and I enjoy a happy, wonderful marriage (at least that's my side of the story!). However, we have extremely bad luck during our anniversary. A few years ago I planned an entire romantic evening, complete with a fancy dinner and a nice bottle of wine. I was going to be mister suave, the bleeding-heart romantic. What I actually ended up doing was puking my guts out the entire day. It seems I came down with a severe case of food poisoning on our special night. The lesson, as always, is never eat a burrito at a supermarket.
This year we had further bad luck. We returned home from Christmas with the usual "lets unpack everything and try to relax while our super-excited three-year-old trashes the house with his new toys," routine. In our exhaustion, we failed to realize that our cat was nowhere to be seen. After a day or two, it finally dawned on us that Smores was indeed missing in action. This is nothing new, however. Smores, like most cats, is a master at beaming herself to a parallel universe for a day or two, and then lazily reappearing on the kitchen table.
This time we found her curled up in Michaels' playroom in extremely bad shape. She could barely move or respond, and she looked like she hadn't eaten anything for several days. We rushed her to the vet, where they announced that she had suffered complete kidney failure. April took her home with a small hospital in the trunk, complete with IV bags, pills and special food. The plan was to give her IV fluids two to three times per day, and force her to eat pills roughly 350 times a day. April and I joked we were becoming the "cat lady" on The Office.
Not surprisingly, Smores wanted no part of this operation and refused all medical treatment. The only other option was to hospitalize her. Now, I love Smores. She's been with me through my entire adult life. I can still remember the first time she ran up to me in front of April's house in Pocatello. I was a scruffy 19-year-old, and she was Queen of the Poky street cats. She basically decided that I was going to adopt her. No question about it. She even told me so, right then and there. Along with several other stories that I couldn't understand, but knew must be very serious.
When April and I finally moved in together during college, Smores came as well. Together we traveled through the Rocky Mountains and ventured through the Arizona desert. Smores was there every step of the way, bellowing out her endless string of stories.
Smores was always my confidence booster. Whenever I felt like a moron, which was most of the time actually, I just looked over at my supremely confident cat and thought to myself "well if she's so damned sure of herself, I can be too." A simple stare could bring down empires. If you didn't agree with her, well then you were just too stupid to matter!
She was also my lap warmer. Countless evenings I would be sitting on the couch, minding my own business, when I would notice my lap was getting warmer and vibrating. I would look down to find Smores having materialized from her parallel universe onto my lap, purring like she's been there her entire life.
Well, it was one of the hardest decisions April and I have ever made, but we finally realized that embarking on a version of "Pet ER" wasn't going to work. For us or for Smores. We decided to send Smores to "a nice farm in the country." I miss her terribly, but I realize it was the right thing to do. No animal should suffer needlessly. She lived a very wonderful life and realized her dream of rising from the streets to become "Queen of the World."
Goodbye Smores! The world is a much less interesting place now.
This happened the day before our anniversary. April and I celebrated our number seven, but it wasn't a grand affair.
A short time later, April, Michael and I all caught nasty colds! We've spent the past two weeks emptying kleenex boxes and snorting Zicam. Living the dream, as it were!
So thus concludes the longest blog posting imaginable. A little diddy combining the celebration of life with the agonizing task of saying goodbye.
If you're still reading this, please douse yourself with ice water immediately and head to the store for some caffeine pills. Just make sure you stay away from the burritos!
Be good kiddies!
- Dave
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