The End

Attachment challenge finished. I'd give myself an 81%. (Hey, once a teacher, ALWAYS a teacher).

Scoring using rubrics [1]:
10 hugs every day: 5/7
20 minutes every day doing what child wanted: 5/7
10 minutes of touch time: 7/7
Total: 17/21 or 81%, B-

I'm a chronic overachiever so this score is low for me. Kick-myself-in-the-pants low. And why? Because 10 hugs a day was tough to do and because two of the days every moment was so busy I forgot to allot time for "playing", an issue I have always suffered from, even as a child. I was often reminded: "all work and no play ..." Something to work on for myself.

Cleaning up Sissy's space yesterday, I did NOT uncover contraband, only enormous clutter. She was sleeping on top of dirty underwear, doll clothes, misplaced hair scrunchies and socks. Many forgotten items were lodged between the wall and the bed. Many more items were on the floor under the bed. Nearly a trash bag's worth. HOW did she do all that? HOW did she not notice the items in her bed when she slept at night? As we tidied up, she kept saying, "oh! I wondered where that went to!"

Bugger. Even with severely limited personal items allowed in her space, she still managed to clutter it up with trash, miscellany and stuff, stuff, stuff. It boggles the mind. Which makes the point, this clutter is how her mind is. I've said it a thousand times, visual clutter is mental clutter. In Sissy's case, it's the reverse. I have a sneaking suspicion that unchecked and untrained, Sissy will be a compulsive hoarder as an adult. She just doesn't notice it!

We returned her dresser to her space, upgrading her from the under-the-bed bins for her clothing items. The reasoning was two fold. First, she has been rage-free for five weeks and I felt she could now be trusted with more furniture and a few more personal possessions. Second, the table in her room became a catch-all place for her items, piled three and four layers high. I was hoping the dresser would provide a better opportunity to encourage tidiness and if nothing else, an extra drawer to hide the clutter.

She was NOT given more clothing items however. Sissy has the typical RAD habit of dressing in odd outfits on purpose. Limiting her number of choices and selecting clothing that nearly matches everything else in the wardrobe has eliminated that issue although not entirely. Sissy still has the uncanny knack of pairing impossible items all to get my attention. The irony is that she only brings unwanted attention to herself.

With a catch-all drawer that is officially designated as the place she is to put all of the life skills, social skills and DBT workbooks the IFI team is teaching her, Sissy's toy-bin is nearly empty. She has access to all sorts of things to play with in the house but only a few items are permitted to stay in her space. Those items must fit in her bin which is slightly larger than a washbasin. Her first question, "Can I have more to fill it up?"

"Let's see how you do with the increase of personal items we added today. We'll discuss it again in two weeks. Prove to me you can earn more by being responsible with what you have."

She nodded her head with a smile. Internally, I knew that she would fail this test but that's OK. More opportunities to learn, retrain and teach with love.

We also had a long talk about the fish. Some of the comments suggested we help Sissy accept her inability to take on the responsibility by encouraging her to find a new home. It was a success. We used the opportunity to discuss adoption; why it's necessary, how hard it is to accept that someone is unable to meet an obligation toward another living being and the emotional challenge of letting go even when it is "the best" choice for all. It was a great platform to discuss her own adoption, BM's personal struggles and the like. Initially Sissy thought WG should adopt Felix but I pointed out that if WG proved capable of being able to care for the fish, it might make Sissy feel worse about herself. Sissy agreed that would be the case and even added that she'd actually be jealous. Hooray for such big steps! Now we only need to keep the fish alive until we find a suitable home. No home studies or court proceedings required.

We're off to the beach to celebrate WG's upcoming 6th birthday. I'll be sure to post pictures as well as WG's adoption story. It is making me a bit melancholy, my baby turning 6. At 35, I still have baby fever pretty badly but alas, infertile women don't get many choices about that, especially since my OB has already discussed the need for the "Big H" before I get to 40. Adoption is the only way we add to our family and ... *sigh* That will have to be a GOD thing, I just don't think I have it in me.

[1] rubrics - as a student, did you ever wonder why your project that was AWESOME got the same score as another student whose project seemed seriously lacking by comparison? Teachers use rubrics to score performance on the more subjective tasks.

life coach

OMG
I'm sitting here in the living room, reading emails. Sissy is in the kitchen working with her life coach. Today's topic is worrying. Sissy is a chronic worry wart. This child can imagine the most impossible scenarios and convince herself that they will happen to her and only her, over and over and over. She's certain that the world is against her. The thought of unforeseeable horrors happening to her consumes her. But as I listen, and quietly observe, her language and body posture are telling her life coach that she doesn't care, isn't worried about anything, that all of this is nauseatingly absurd.

And then the life coach asked her about something, ANYTHING she might have EVER worried about, even just once. (I gotta give the therapist props - she's GOOD!)

Sissy, caught off guard says, "well, I had a dream about aliens and I woke up worrying that they were going to abduct me."

The life coach, without missing a beat says, "What did you do about that, how did you handle that worry?"

Sissy replied, "Well, mostly I was just glad that I didn't get abducted."

OK. I admit it. I laughed. From the living room. Played it off like it was the TV I found humorous.

But here's the REAL side of the story. Since I didn't let Sissy play her other therapist the other night, trying to convince her that she was waking up every night fretting and worrying about aliens, today Sissy has changed her story to it being a "nightmare" that she woke up from, not a conflagration of her prepossessing thoughts.

Funny how that works, eh?

That's fine, I'll set the life coach straight when she leaves. Sissy will tell them all a different story and no one will have a clue unless I go behind her and say, "well actually..." Thankfully this new team seems willing to hear it.

BTW, got in four more hugs and some touch time with Sissy before yesterday ended. Today is Day 7. Let's see what happens today, shall we? I'm anxious that I'm going to send Sissy over the brink if I press too hard. I have plans to go through her space under the auspice of "reorganizing". Show of hands, how many of you think I'm going to uncover contraband? Yep. I'm planning on it. This way we can use it for opportunities to show love despite her yen to hoard and sneak. Dastardly plan, eh?

Day 6

Backing off some. Sissy's mind is blitzed. She's been pacing about, idle, staring into space, completely oblivious to her flat affect and her dulled senses. Like spending time with a snake after it's consumed a large meal and is in a digestion-induced hibernation of sorts.

She didn't wake up last night though and I keenly said, "Sissy! I'm so glad you slept through the night!"

She glared at me, unmoving. Then as I moved away to finish preparing breakfast, she thought to toss in a rogue lie, "no I didn't I woke up!" and she stood there, mouth hanging open, tongue hanging out, intense eyes on my shoulder (because I had looked away).

"Oh, but you didn't dear. Starting the day with a lie is a lousy way to start, don't you think?" I said to the pancake batter.

"MMMmmmmm" she grunted. (Really, she could out do Herman Munster with that groan)

I hugged her in response.

"Are you making pancakes?" she inquired of the pancake box on the counter and my hand, stirring the batter in the bowl.

"Nope. Pickled pears." I replied.

"MMMmmm!!!!" she grunted again.

At that moment, as if on cue, Wonder Girl skipped into the kitchen and from across the room shouted with glee, "Yippee! Mom's making pancakes!"

"MMMMMMMMM!!!" grunted the increasingly irritated Sissy.

Undaunted, Wonder Girl patiently explained to her sister, "See Sissy? The box says it right there. Pan-cakes. That spells PANCAKES! OOO! and mom put bananas in it!!!!" as she noticed the discarded peels.

"MMMMM" (hey, if we record Sissy's grunts and add some techno sounds, it could be a new rap song.)

"Sissy dear," I cooed, as I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "I think you've forgotten to do something to your body. Check your morning routine chart for hints." She sulked off, shuffling her feet hard enough to carve grooves in the linoleum. Her hair was a tangled nest.

I was flipping the pancakes when Sissy returned, mastering her zombie walk and catatonic glare. Her hair was barely brushed on both sides of her head, the headband pushing her bangs up in gravity-defying, Alfalfa-defeating, hair-taffy-couldn't-possibly-replicate-this, spikes. The back still a nest. I stifled a laugh. "Sissy," I cooed again as I spoke to the fresh batter I was pouring, "remember, you need to use a mirror when you brush."

"UH!!!! I DID!!!!" she wailed. Then, in her classic lie faux-pas, overplaying her hand, "I even wetted it down but it still pops up!"

I spun her around slowly, eying her hair very carefully like I was doing an inspection for microscopic parasites. When she made a complete revolution, my quizzical expression feigning ignorance, "But gosh dear, it's so... DRY." I straightened up and said clearly, "Use the mirror. Thank you." and I gave her a gentle nudge and returned to flipping the cooked batter.

"MMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she stomped.

"Oh wait! I almost forgot!" I called to her. She sulked back. I hugged her. "OK, now you can go do you hair."

"But, but!!!! I ..." and she was about to lie that she'd already done it but the smile on my face said nope. not going there and she stomped off again. I don't believe her knuckles could have dragged any lower without scraping the floor.

She returned as I was plating their breakfast. This time it was evident that she'd actually done what I requested. "HOORAY! Your hair looks so pretty! Great effort!" *hug and a high five*

"MMMMMM"

After breakfast I walked into the living room and noticed that Sissy had not opened her curtains. Again. After several requests. "Sissy?" she stomped over to me. I said nothing. I just patted the heck out of her curtains while looking at her. "Forget something?"

"MMMMMM!!!!!!"

I returned to the kitchen to clear up some and she sulked to the counter. "ididit" she mumbled to her tummy.

"Oh good!" I cheered. "Sissy? How many days a week do you need to open those curtains after you wake up?"

"mmmmm"

"I'm sorry. What number was that?"

"everyday" she told the floor.

"Oh good, I'm so glad you remember!" Then I leaned in real close. "Do that please. WITHOUT being asked." *hug*

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

After that, I thought I'd back off. Sissy clearly wasn't in the mood. Though the day is young so I still have time to annoy her with more affection, touching and time spent with mom. I'm betting she'll Herman Munster, Frankenstein and Zombie through it all.

She's such an articulate child; such eloquence, beautiful prose, astounding alliteration, she'll out do Harper Lee for sure. Call Pulitzer and let them know I have a brilliant, budding author living in my house!

Day 5 and sleep

Radish blossoms

Well, we've gotten through days four and five with better success on my part than before. I've come to the realization that success is the fact that I'm trying and not necessarily that I've been 100% successful in achieving all the goals spot on. Can I get an "amen?"

Hugging - used as a discipline today. They were all being incorrigible, particularly while I was on the phone so I told them in a stern voice that they would be making it up to me and I would let them know how. Well, after I thought about it, what I really needed was a hug. So they were all asked to hug me. A lot.

10 minutes of touching time has been putting hair up in scrunchies (the girls both currently have short cuts) and back rubbing. While shopping, I've made Sissy hold my hand, my arm, something that was attached to ME. And doing what THEY wanted, swimming. In the wonky, lopsided backyard pool in water that froze our *bleeps* off.

And what has been the result?

Well, the rest of you have alluded to it and Sissy has been quite pleased to follow suit. She is a sprightly, blooming RADish at the moment, sent to bed early because she was blooming so loudly, obnoxiously and annoyingly. I just LOVE those kids of RADish blossoms, don't you?

But that brings me to the cruxt of my post:
to sleep perchance to dream.

Sissy, has insisted she is waking and not sleeping and blah, blah, blah. We've tried meds, we've tried self-soothing techniques, we've tried white noise and natural sounds music, we've tried reading, relaxation, we've even tried shortening her sleeping time to see if perhaps she was getting too MUCH sleep and waking early.

Guess what? She still complains that she can't sleep, is waking, isn't clear about WHEN she wakes or how LONG she stays awake, goes blank when you drill her on whether or not she uses the self-soothing techniques the IFI team has been teaching, etc. And all this discussion IN FRONT of the therapist today. Right. You know where this is headed.

So therapist suggests I GET UP WITH SISSY EVERY TIME SHE WAKES so i can help coach her through it, using her self-soothing techniques.

I say, "um, I need to be FUNCTIONAL the next day. i can't wake up every time she claims she's waking up. That won't work." (I was also thinking, right, and condition her to wake ME up? no way Jose.)

Therapist says, "I understand your concerns, mom, but I don't think Sissy can learn all this on her own."

*blink blink*

She paused and said, "well, let me think some more, I'll get back to you."

So I said, "I COULD put a baby monitor in there in the event Sissy REALLY needs me."

Sissy started squirming and fidgeting in her seat, face all scrunched up in anger.

BINGO! We have a winner! Because we all know that if the RADish is not happy, we've found the best solution.

Therapist left the house and I called IRL friend with a blooming RADish. She's doing the challenge too and had some tales to tell anyway. She agrees with me. Getting up with a RADish in the middle of the night, EVERY TIME she claims she wakes up? Uh. No. Putting in the baby monitor? Gold. She also suggested I give Sissy her meds earlier in the evening. Said Sissy when she was told there would no be a monitor in her room, "I don't want that!"

"And why not?"

"Because it has the word 'baby' in it!"

"Not because then we'll know what's happening at night?"

"huh?"

Right Sissy, go ahead and play dumb. Good thing Mom and Dad aren't.

Aspie Boy is a chronic insomniac. Wakes many times a night despite the meds BUT, AB is NOT a radish. He knows to go back to sleep or lie in his bed, resting. Since he was six months old, AB has never slept longer than 6 hours at a time, which is also when he quit taking naps. Every now and then AB will crash midday and we'll all stand amazed at his bedside and say, "wow! He must not be feeling well!"

Sissy has also had trouble sleeping. But the kick in the pants is that she lays in bed fretting, frowning, worrying and charging her brain with every anxious thought about death, dying, horrors, mutilation, blood and gore that she can imagine. Not night terrors anymore, more like anxiety daydreaming terrors. She simply can't turn off her brain. And neither can she be given permission to read quietly or play quietly until she goes back to sleep like AB does. *snort* imagine a RAD doing such a thing. NOT.

While at RTC, Sissy complained to me all the time about her insomnia. I'd tell her to tell the staff and she would always conveniently forget. Here's why. At RTC, there were video cameras in every room, locked doors with alarms, 24/7 staff wide-awake, sitting 10 feet from the closed doors, armed with chemical and physical restraints. Sissy had no choice. If she woke up, she HAD to lie in bed and go back to sleep or face the music. Not so at home.

Want to know what I think? Bet you can already guess. Sissy's sleeping just fine through the night. Maybe she occasionally wakes and frets and panics but mostly, not. I think she just likes having something to make me worry about. Guess what? I'm suddenly not worried anymore. And equipped with a baby monitor, I'll have proof. I know what you're thinking. Sissy will try to wake me on purpose through the baby monitor. I've already thought of that. I'm going to consequence the *bleep* out of that and I'll tell her straight up BEFORE she gets the chance.

Of course, I know mental health issues come with the caveat of sleep issues and I'm fully prepared to concede that we've maxxed out the medical options to treat it. I'm not, however, going to let it become fertilizer for a blooming RADish. When I talk to the therapist again next time, I'm going to tell her our current plan of dosing meds at supper instead of bedtime and adding a baby monitor. Sure wouldn't want them to think I was non-compliant with their ideas of how I should parent my RADish. Seriously? Get up every night at 3 am to help a 10 year old go back to sleep? Even as infants I didn't do a whole lot of touching and cuddling because I wanted the children to learn to self-soothe. I'm certainly not about to start doing that for a preteen

So, what have the rest of you done about the foibles of the sleepless?

The Fish

*sigh*
At RTC, one of her do-gooder teachers thought it would be brilliant to boost the self-esteem of his charges by giving them the opportunity to earn a fish by working hard in the classroom. Betta Fish, hardy little buggers, don't need much space, cost a few bucks, done.

Except when you've put a RADish to the task.

In the classroom at the RTC, students that earned a fish then went on to earn points which translated into dollars to purchase things for their fish. Cool rocks, aquarium sculptures, bigger bowls, etc. Part of the weekly classroom routine included fish maintenance, stressing responsibility and pride of caring for something other than oneself.

Sissy named her fish Felix after the old cartoon character, Felix the CAT. Yes, yes, I know the irony. We've discussed it with her. It was lost on her. All she said was, "huh? i don't get it" *shake head in dismay*



At RTC, Felix was well cared for, largely owing to the classroom routine of caring for her fish. At discharge, the fish instructions were discussed with her and with me in a family therapy session. As the parent, I was given the opportunity to disallow Sissy to take her fish home. Seriously? What parent says no to a fish, even RAD parents? It's a FISH for crying out loud and she had EARNED it, right? RIGHT?!? (oh what tangled webs we weave)

Once I agreed to let Sissy take home her fish, I was counseled to continue the classroom setting in which the fish would be solely SISSY'S responsibility, that I was not to take on any part of fish maintenance or care. Sissy, in turn, was reminded that this was HER fish. She was given the choice to leave her fish behind to become a classroom pet but she opted to keep him even after agreeing to the rules of fish ownership, responsibility and care.

Boy. What a bane of our existence this little fish has become! I have rescued the poor thing twice. Literally, saved him from certain death. Once from the elbow in the drain of the bathroom sink because Sissy forgot to stopper the sink and down down down went the fish. And once from the bedroom floor since she dropped his tank while carrying it back to her space, dumping putrid, foul, vomitous-smelling fish water everywhere. (remember, her bedroom is in my LIVING ROOM. gag) Said to her in frustration and exhaustion with the issue, "Sissy, if I have to save your fish from you once more, I won't. Period."

After she dropped the tank, she was about to throw away the aquarium ornament she'd also purchased (it cost more than the tank)[1]. It had not broken in the fall so I was puzzled. "Sissy, why are you going to throw that away? It's fine."

Her reply, "I'm bored with it."

"Uh... we don't work hard to purchase things so we can throw it away two weeks later because we're bored". Hot air wasted, I know. I know, I know, I know! *sigh* I'm talking to a wall but I'm the mom, I HAVE to say these things. It's my job. The real reason Sissy was bored? Because she bought some ceramic cartoonish shark thingie and she was mad that Felix didn't want to swim into its mouth to sleep at night.

[aside]Sometimes, I think to myself after writing a sentence like that my readers are going to think I'm looney, that I'm making this crap up except I'm not. Which makes me either want to bawl my eyes out or laugh until I pee myself. Not quite sure which. I'll get back to you on that.

Really, this fish has been ... more than my RADish can tend to. I love her, I love the idea this teacher had but honestly, it's not for all families. It's certainly not something that Sissy was ready to take on and she was honest about it tonight. Apparently, after all that rescuing, Sissy has still not learned that the fish tank needs to be cleaned weekly and now the fish has Ick. Sissy tearfully announced that if she knew this was how it was going to be to take care of a fish, she would have never agreed to it.

Honest words, yes. But really. A FISH!?!? The poor dear doesn't have the desire to take care of a fish, the responsibility is so overwhelming in her mind, that she would rather not have it at all?!? Wonder Girl is chomping at the bit to take care of the dern thing. Sobbed and sobbed two weeks ago when Sissy almost killed it a second time. Sissy was really only upset that that tank broke (she'd saved for six weeks to buy a special tank for it.[2]) And after all that, two near death experiences for the beautiful red betta, Sissy STILL hasn't clued in that it needs food daily and a clean tank weekly. I have half a mind to call up the RTC and chew out the teacher, not that it's his fault but because SOMEONE ought to be responsible for bringing one more reason for angst into our life.

Nancy Thomas' words are ringing in my ears. She says it plainly. If your RADish isn't ready to take care of a fish, then they are not ready to be alone with ANY pets, let alone humans. Well said Nancy and thanks for the reminder. Let's hope Felix meets a peaceful demise. I'm sad to admit that I've contemplated taking matters into my own hands by "eliminating" the fish conundrum and similarly cursed myself for saving it a second time. I'm not joking. If I have to rescue that fish from Sissy a third time, I won't. And I might just go and buy one for WG besides. Yes, that's mean. But WG shouldn't be penalized for being capable just because Sissy isn't. And WG really wants that fish. She's got more worry for its welfare in one day than Sissy has had for it in the 12 weeks she's been home.

Curses you ridiculously named Felix the Fish and the RADS that prevents my 10 year old from keeping you healthy, happy and whole!


[1] How, you ask, did Sissy earn all this money? Quite simple. Her first IFI team thought payment for hygiene would be an effective behavior mod program. yes, yes, you're laughing at me. Snorting your coffee all over your computer screens. Let me hand you some wipes and then I'll explain. I TOLD her IFI team that behavior mod doesn't work on RADS. Told them that Sissy would only keep up her hygiene for as long as she needed to earn money. Once she bought what she wanted, she's stop and be stinky, smelly and whiney when I reminded her to do her hygiene. But all powerful IFI team asked me to try anyway. I smiled glibly. And waited for events to prove me right, again. Because I am. Right, that is, but professionals think mommies are daft idiots raised on isolated islands, far from education, reason and sense. It's just easier to agree with them that I'm an idiot than it is to convince them otherwise. Besides, Sissy always does that for me. (I wish she wouldn't)



[2]
the tank Sissy saved for. It's for 2 fish. But Sissy only has one fish. But this is the tank she wanted and no amount of suggesting she make a different selection would convince her. So for one fish, she bought a tank for 2. I know, I know. I'm trying to explain logical things to RADS which is by nature, ILLOGICAL. My folly, again.

Day 4

argh. Reading through some of the posts, it seems Day 4 is a deal breaker for our RADishes. No worries. I flopped yesterday too, so that means I can count today as Day 2? lol

Why am I flopping? Hmmm. I don't think it's Sissy. I think it's me. I have too many irons in the fire and my brain is all screwy, overwhelmed and I can't take a moment to think straight. So remembering to hug, touch and ask a child what THEY want to do is, well, a challenge for ME.

On another note, hair.
Talking to Corey about the need to chop our RADish's hair because they are not willing to keep it tidy and unwilling to let Mom help has meant the scissors come out and the hair gets lopped off. Let's think a minute.
#1) chopping the hair is allowing our RADish to say "ha. i win. you can't touch me"
#2) chopping the hair is the RADish saying, "see, that proves it, I'm not beautiful"
#3) chopping the hair for Mom means we don't get to touch them in loving ways like other mommies do
#4) chopping the hair means no more hygeine issues, no more screaming, one less battle to wage war over

So, does chopping the hair make it easier or harder or both? Let's be honest, when you were a little girl dreaming about being a mommy to a daughter, didn't you imagine THESE images?


Tough stuff, gals. And yes, Sissy had a glorious mane and yes, for sanity, it got lopped off, twice. But to be honest, as hard as it was for me to do it (the first time I justified it by convincing her we should donate the 10 inches - oof that still smarts thinking of it), it has meant one less issue to contend with. One less obstacle my RADish can pit against me. It NEUTRALIZES the playing field so we can attack RADs on other terms that are less personal for mother and daughter.

How many of you have had to make this choice?

Sissy's hair on Chopping Day


a "happy" Sissy after it was gone


Hugging the envelope with the hair donation

Days 2 & 3 and a little more

Yesterday was a flying flop. We were outside all afternoon trying to level off a patch in the yard to put up the pool. 5.5 hours of digging, shoveling and shoving dirt around, believing it to be level and yet, now that the pool is full, it still pitches hard to one side, just as bad as last year. Which begs the question, did last year's lopsidedness warp the lining? Probably.

ugh.

and of course, sweaty, dirty and unbelievably disgusting, I didn't dare hug a soul. However, I did get in some touch time with Sissy and did what she wanted to do, which was more touching time, as it turned out. So maybe that makes up for the lack of hugs?

Today:
3 hugs
no touch time or time spent doing what she likes, but the day's not over yet.

How are the rest of you doing?
Anyone taking the time to contemplate what things about YOUR life make this challenge so hard?
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
In other news:
the pdoc has taken Sissy off the regular tenex and we are now titrating her onto a controllable dose of intuniv, which is extended release tenex. I haven't checked to see if her tremors are gone but I can tell you that she'll definitely need more than the 1 mg of intuniv. After we get Sissy titrated on the correct dose of intuniv and we watch for side effects, we will discuss reducing the resperidol.

Something else the pdoc asked, that he's never asked before was "is she having any overly dark obsessions or religious thoughts?"

and I thought that was curious. Usually he asks "do you want to hurt yourself or others? Are you hearing or seeing things that others don't hear or see?" but this time he asked about the dark or religious obsessions. I answered "no" to both because Sissy's answer was "huh?"

Has anyone else ever heard of a connection between mood disorders and religious fanaticism or obsessions with cults, goth, etc? This has me really intrigued and I'm going to do some digging/researching about it. Insurance has truncated our time with pdoc to a maximum of 15 minutes so I didn't get the chance to ask pdoc more about it or I would have.