Dylan and I went out of town for four days to see a music college that Dylan might love. Shane and Bill stayed behind and had a mini-vacation of their own.
Dylan and I had a reasonably wonderful time, arguing only when I mentioned homework, or asked him to try to move more quickly, or told him to put his phone away. Again.
Shane is still a pre-teen. He claims that he’s a tween now. In fact, there are moments when Shane’s behavior utterly stuns me, and I realize that his day, too, will come, when he goes from beautiful baby boy to independent young man.
So when I got home from four days on the road, I was very excited to see Shane. Even though everyone had fun – including Shane and Bill – I’d missed Shane tremendously.
We pulled into the garage and I started to open my door – but a flash that was Shane zipped past like lightning. I got out of the car and looked back, behind the car, where Dylan – cell phone in hand – had gotten out of the car and had been walking toward the house… when Shane arrived.
Shane was hugging Dylan with every ounce of strength he had. And Dylan was hugging Shane back.
Shane is still almost a foot shorter than Dylan, and they were clasped together like that for full minutes. Neither one wanted to let go, and I’m not sure who was happier about the reunion.
I missed my baby, and missed my hug, and missed being the one to whom Shane runs.
But the sight of the two of them so happy to see each other…. Nothing can beat that.
I was trying to remember why I started my “stop-talking-to-Dylan-so-we-can-stop-arguing” revelation.
It happened one night at dinner.
I’d made pasta with a red sauce – except for Shane, who eats his pasta with no sauce. I’d heated up the sauce in the microwave (because that’s just the kind of cook I am), and cleaned the microwave afterward, since a tiny bit of the red sauce splattered on its walls.
Then I prepared the pasta as is the Hawkins custom – sitting in the sink in a colander for a “serve yourself” kind of entree.
As usual, Dylan was late appearing for the family meal, so his dinner was rather cold when he got to the table.
He started walking toward the microwave with his uncovered bowl of pasta with red sauce.
I remembered that I had just cleaned the microwave. It only took a second to do, but if he put that pasta into the microwave without covering it….
Don’t say anything, my brain screamed. If he makes a mess, he can clean it up.
BUT I JUST CLEANED IT! the other part of my brain screamed back.
Choose your battles, said the first part of my brain. If he forgets to cover it, he can clean the microwave.
The words came flying out of my mouth in spite of my ongoing internal dialogue.
“Please cover your plate, Dylan,” I said, almost whining.
“I WAS GOING TO COVER IT!” Dylan screamed viciously. “OF COURSE I WAS GOING TO COVER IT! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TELL ME ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING? DO YOU THINK I LITERALLY DON’T KNOW ENOUGH TO COVER MY OWN BOWL?!”
His reaction was a bit over the top. So I left the room, and ate my pasta elsewhere.
But I thought, That wasn’t his fault. I knew better. I knew I shouldn’t say anything, and I opened my mouth anyway.
Maybe I’ve had this revelation before. If so, I had forgotten.
But this time, I let it stick – at least for awhile.
I stopped saying anything. I told Dylan the next day that I was going to try very hard – although I was sure I wouldn’t be perfect – to say only things that were positive and encouraging. And that I would no longer tell him what to do.
This came on the heels of Dylan not feeding his crabs the way I thought they should be fed, not keeping his shoes clean the way I thought they should be cleaned, and not spending the appropriate amount of time learning the songs I thought he should sing.
So I shut up. And things are going amazingly smoothly.
At least for now.
Shane doesn’t like writing poetry, but he wrote this for English class. I know it’s supposed to be my blog, and I should write everything, but I am just so proud. Today, Shane is writing my blog for me. I will just sit back and read it. And again. And again.
Shane had a vision processing disorder when he was young, and couldn’t read without the words jumping around on the page. He went through years of therapy, just to be able to get through a Dr. Seuss book. Now he’s writing poetry, and I cry every time I read it.
There’s a ton of depth and meaning in this thing. Anyone know the shooting star story? Shane does. Anyway, I just love it. So here it is.
This is Where I’m From
-SHANE HAWKINS
I am from the radio of pop music
From peaceful songs and horror stories
I am from the white and black home
Where the smooth walls are ecstatic to see you
I am from the sycamore tree
With leaves of green, It continues to grow
I’m from celebrating Christmas and loving my family
From William and Keith
I’m from playing games and eating dinner
And from using electronic devices
I’m from I love you to the moon and back and you’re mine
And you’re my angel baby
I’m from Pizza and movie night
I’m from the United States and Maryland
Pancakes and Chicken Saute
From a shooting star
And making people happy
I am from the bible
On the book shelf
I am from Christianity
The peace that it brings to my family
Dylan’s case manager sent me an email, midway through the third week of school.
For those of you not fortunate enough to have a child with “special needs,” a case manager is the person who helps Dylan keep track of stuff at school. Dylan’s case manager is astoundingly wonderful, almost to the point of becoming a superhero. I adore her.
She emailed me as if I had no idea what was going on with Dylan’s grades.
“He is missing one item from every class,” she said, “except for two missing assignments in Spanish, which is bringing his grades down across the board.”
She sent me a screen shot of his grades as they now stand: no grades yet in his two electives. In his important subjects, he has two D’s and three E’s (the nice way of saying “F”). And it is only the 10th day of school.
I wrote a note back to the case manager, who knows I am usually a helicopter mom. To the best of my ability, I explained my situation:
I am trying very hard to let Dylan take care of Dylan’s stuff. Still, I mentioned his missing work to him about 14 times over the weekend. He assures me that it is ALL turned in (even though he doesn’t seem to know what is missing). He also says that he’s totally ‘got it’ – even though I don’t think he really does ‘have it.’
I am sure that this is typical teen but, given his ADHD, I have no idea how much of the missing assignments can be attributed to brain misfires, and how much is due to Dylan being irresponsible.
Luckily, Dylan really wants to drive – and we have a school year contract that says (in so many words): ‘It’s your life, and they’re your grades. Flunk 10th grade or go to the college you love; it’s your choice. But don’t expect us to teach you to drive if you continue to be irresponsible.’
I think Dylan is not on drugs, not harming himself or anyone else, is obsessed with something good (music) and really wants to go to college. So I *want* to jump in and save his grades. But I am not going to do it. Thanks for keeping me posted, though, because I still worry about him every day (all day) and it is REALLY good to have you in there, helping and being on his side!
We will see if he actually does listen to her.
I can’t do anything at all.
When the grading system went “live” on the computer – meaning, the grades were posted for parents for the first time since the kids started school, I learned two things:
- Shane is going to need a tutor for Algebra I. This is no surprise, since I’ve yet to meet anyone who doesn’t have trouble with algebra – except the tutors.
- Dylan was failing three classes – one of which was Algebra II. This is also no surprise, since Dylan is in charge of Dylan from now on.
I called Bill first, in my panic, and talked for ten minutes about what “we” should do. I sent emails to a few teachers – who haven’t even gotten Dylan’s IEP yet – and asked if he was doing okay. My emails were concise and rather vague: he has an IEP so you might need to talk to him individually.
Then I listened to Kirk Martin’s CD about teenagers with ADHD – and was reminded to remain calm. (I still believe that the hundreds of dollars we invested in Kirk Martin CDs saved Dylan’s life.)
Then, after my initial panic, and the very few emails, I decided to say nothing at all.
I called Bill and told him not to say anything, either. “This is Dylan’s job,” I reminded him. “If he fails 10th grade, then he fails 10th grade.”
I wrote a note to Dylan. It said that Edline went live and he needed to check it. I left the note on his bed.
Then, I said absolutely not one word to Dylan about his grades or his missing assignments or what he should do.
Dylan got my note, and mentioned it on the way to his voice lesson.
“By the way, I took care of all of that,” Dylan said.
“All of what?” I asked.
“All the missing stuff,” he said.
“Which missing stuff?”
“The stuff in Spanish mostly,” he said. “It would help a lot of the teacher would speak English long enough for me to know what she’s asking for. She says, ‘Deberes’ and then I don’t understand anything after that so I just ask somebody else what she said but nobody seems to know.”
Dylan was missing all of his assignments in Spanish 2, including one worth 40 points.
“What’s ‘deberes?'” I asked.
“Homework,” he said.
I laughed. “Well, you know more than I do!” I said.
I didn’t say a word about his missing assignment in English, his missing assignment in AP Computer Science, or his poor grades in algebra. He went off to his voice lesson.
He says he’s going to take care of it.
HE is going to take care of it. It is not my problem anymore.
Dylan texted me early one Saturday morning. It said: “I have just found out the worst news ever.”
Luckily, I didn’t see the text right away, or I might have gone into cardiac arrest.
Dylan thundered upstairs shortly thereafter to find me.
“Did you see my text?” he said.
“No, I didn’t see your text,” I said. It was only 8:00 in the morning.
“I’ve just heard some really bad news,” Dylan said. “I mean, it really is almost the worst news ever.”
I was certain someone had died. Someone I really loved, like a family member.
But I would have heard about that. So maybe it was someone I really loved … but didn’t know, like Rod Stewart.
“Oh no,” I moaned. “What is it?”
“They’re closing Tower of Terror,” Dylan said.
My stomach suddenly felt like there was a bowling ball inside. Denial kicked in: “No they’re not,” I sputtered. “They can’t be!”
“They are,” Dylan repeated.
“When?” I squeaked, realizing that there was little chance we’d get to Disney World again before the family’s all-time favorite ride disappeared forever.
“Like January,” he said.
“Oh no,” I moaned. “No, no, no…”
Tower of Terror is an awesome ride. It’s incredibly scary – so much so that we had to ride it without Shane during our first trip to Disney World – but it is also incredibly fun. It’s like a wild frogger ride, where whole families plummet randomly in an insane elevator. Best of all, the ride changes every time for an added thrill.
It’s the kind of ride our family can ride over and over and over and over … and, on our few trips to Disney World, that’s exactly what we’ve done. We have ridden Tower of Terror for more than an hour – just that one ride – and never tired of it.
We’ve done this several times with great success and happiness. All four of us love it. We own t-shirts so that we can broadcast our love of this ride all year long. And we still believe we haven’t ridden it nearly enough.
So the news that our favorite ride was closing came as a very despairing shock.
I told Shane, our family’s amusement park and rides expert, that Dylan said Tower of Terror was closing.
His eyes widened and his voice got very quiet. “Is it true?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I have to look it up.”
I looked it up on the internet. The Tower of Terror ride is closing.
But not really.
Not our Tower of Terror.
Upon closer inspection, the Tower of Terror ride that is closing is not in Disney World, where we’ve vacationed so happily.
The Tower of Terror ride that is closing is in Disneyland. It is located in the California park, where we’ve never been.
We all nearly cried with happiness.
Whew, I sighed. The perfection of my little world hasn’t crumbled after all.
On the first day of school, I remembered to take pictures of the boys as they headed off. It was the first time in the history of their young lives that we had NO prior “back-to-school” activity. We didn’t meet and greet with teachers. We didn’t go to the school and find out who would be teaching them. We didn’t even have the added assistance of a lengthy orientation process to welcome us to a new school.
They just … went to school.
I took the dog for a walk. I was also starting my new fitness regime, which means I am now taking the dog for daily walks.
And then I went to work.
By that I mean, I had ten billion things scheduled to do. I needed to call the substitute teaching office and sign up for orientation. I needed to look over the list of students to be taught at home. I still do the “home and hospital” teaching for the public schools. I needed to check my work email – and my home email, of course.
I did all of it in ten minutes. I even checked – and responded to – my emails in that time.
Then I went to work on the calendar. I was changing over to the new 2016-17 calendar. I spent nearly an hour scribbling events and times on the new calendar. I even stuck stickers on it, where appropriate.
And when I looked at the clock, I had only one hour before Dylan would be hopping on his bus to come home. Where did the day go? Oh! And I forgot to take a shower!
To think, I thought I’d have time for a nap.
Today I am going to my training to be a substitute teacher.
I earned my teaching certification decades ago, and I have been teaching kids one-on-one in their homes. I really love teaching one-on-one. But I can earn some additional money as a substitute, and I think I would like to be back in the classroom – temporarily and for the short term.
So today is the training, and I am actually quite scared. I am afraid about going into the school and spending all day in a classroom with kids I don’t know. I am afraid of not knowing what to do for a whole day when I get there. I’m afraid that the staff won’t help me and that I won’t know where to go or what to do during lunch and I’m afraid that the other teachers won’t have time to answer me if I have a question.
I’m afraid that the kids won’t like me. I’m afraid that they will be mean to me, or think I am mean, or that I will make some stupid mistake and that the parents will find out about my stupid mistake and they won’t like me either. I am not feeling confident at all.
But I am trying, for today, not to worry about all that.
After all, I am just going to an office building today.
I am just going to hang out with a bunch of other people who want to be substitutes, and learn what it’s all about. I am going to sit in a room for hours, learning about policies and procedures.
That I can handle.
I will have to decide about the rest of it later.
Shane was getting dressed to go to a Bat Mitzvah – his first ever.
Since it is a formal occasion, he was working diligently on his attire. I found him that morning in a pair of khaki pants and beige crew neck t-shirt. I tried to say something about the colors, but he interrupted me.
“I’m not done yet,” he said. So I muttered something about shirts that have collars, and I left.
Bill found him a few minutes later. Shane was wearing a pair of black pants, a white undershirt, a sport coat – and a tie.
“This looks nice,” Bill said. “But if you’re going to wear a tie, you might need a shirt with a collar.”
Bill helped Shane a little with his outfit.
Ten minutes later, Shane came downstairs looking like he’d just stepped out of GQ Magazine. He has done his own hair for years – styles it the way he wants it. On this day, he wore it short and slicked back in the front, not a hair out of place. He was not smiling, as is usual, and looked like he might belong on the cover of that magazine.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “You look awesome!”
“Thanks,” he said, oozing cool.
“Do your shoes fit?”
“Kind of,” he said. “They’re a little tight but I can get through the day.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think about your shoes. We’ll get you some new ones before you have to wear dress shoes again.”
“Okay,” he said. He started to walk away, while I was looking at his shoes and I caught a glimpse of … white.
“Let me see your socks,” I said.
He held up his pant legs. He was wearing bright white, ankle-high sweat socks with his black dress shoes and black pants.
“No,” I said. “Let’s go find you some black dress socks.”
“What’s wrong with my socks?” he asked.
“It’s just better to have all black,” I said. So Shane went and changed his socks.
When he stepped out of the car at the synagogue, I had tears in my eyes. Shane looked so beautiful, so handsome … so adult.
“Hi Shane,” someone called.
“Oh hi Ava,” he said, turning around.
“You look dashing,” she said.
And indeed, he did. Two additional friends arrived at the same time, and patted Shane on the back as they all walked toward the synagogue.
As I drove away, I realized that I hadn’t taken a picture.
But the picture in my mind’s eye, with Shane in his stunning attire, strutting away with his friends surrounding him … that picture is priceless.
Dylan found out that the bus driver just started showing up ten minutes early – and on Day 4, he caught the bus – with no help from me. This was a HUGE deal. So I wrote him the following letter:
What you did with the bus was awesome. You took responsibility for your own life, your own failure and your own success. You missed it twice, through no fault of your own, and then caught it when other kids are probably still struggling.
Here is why this is such a big deal.
A year ago, if you had missed the bus on the second day of school, I would have called the school or gone into the office for you. They wouldn’t have known anything, and I would have been a wreck until I figured out what was going on. I would have called someone to get the number to the bus depot, and then I would have called the bus depot to complain. I might have even had to write an email to someone’s supervisor, to figure out what was going on. And even then, I may have tromped out to the bus stop with you, and gotten onto the bus and yelled at the driver, and then asked what time the bus would be coming. THEN I would have spent two days telling you exactly what time you should get up, what time you should get out of the shower, and what time you needed to be downstairs and out the door so that you could catch that bus at whatever time the bus driver, or the bus depot, or the office, or the school bus liaison said that the bus would be there. And then I might have even driven you up to the bus stop to be sure that you caught the bus.
You know this is true, right? This is how my days have normally gone when you have a problem.
But you are almost 16 now. And I said that I would allow you to take responsibility for yourself. So while your way was not nearly as agonizing or as time-consuming as mine, which means you may have missed the bus for an extra day when I might have done all of my research/agonizing/yelling at people on Day 1, you did everything on your own.
I don’t even know what you did. You went into the school office, maybe, or you checked with other kids, or your just went up to the bus driver and flat-out asked. But YOU did that. YOU figured out what time you would need to get up, and get showered, and get downstairs, and out the door. And YOU got to the bus in time, in spite of the absurdity of the situation, and the downright impossible bus driver. YOU did that.
I did absolutely nothing. Well, except worry a little. But I didn’t have to DO anything!
This probably doesn’t mean anything to you – maybe it’s just a little thing. But to me, it’s absolutely huge. It’s the first time in awhile that I’ve thought, “Hey, maybe he can do this after all.” Because gosh, you CAN do this.
I am feeling very proud of you today.
So I wanted you to know that.
