Plan B

Art by Steve Johnson, who sells his work at https://unsplash.com/

Plan A:  Momma Ivy spends the entire summer reading books, curriculum reviews, and websites dealing with homeschool, PDD-NOS, ADHD, and Educational Disabilities.   Plan accordingly.  Purchase shiny new supplies.  Observe Emily over the summer to determine current strengths and areas for improvement.  Find therapist. Write witty observations and publish online.

Plan B:  Pull Emily out of school at 6:48 am on a random Thursday because she's hiding under her blankets screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Emily, why aren't you dressed?  The bus is coming in 10 minutes!"

"AUGHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Emily what is wrong?  Why are you screaming?"

"Because I'm scared you're going to punch me in the face."

(So I'm thinking, Where the hell did that come from?  Whaaaaa????) But I say, "Honey, I have never punched you, I would never punch you, and no one should ever punch you."

"But that's how I feel.  I deserve to get punched in the face."

Plan B it is.  I can't send her to school so she can find someone who is willing to punch her.  

"If you don't want to go to school you don't have to.  But I can't keep calling you in sick. We need to make a choice.  If you're not going to go to school you can't do track anymore, and you will have to do homeschool with me."

"Ok."

I walked out of the room, feeling like I was in some kind of fog.  I went downstairs and told Ryan I wasn't sending her to school. He said he needed a cup of tea before we could discuss anything.  Legit.  I took the opportunity to make a coffee, and then we sat there and he stared at me while I announced she wasn't going to school.  Nora was there listening too, but I didn't feel like sugar coating anything in her presence.  She's 14, and I don't want her to grow up thinking mental illness is a subject to be discussed in whispered tones.

So I explained what Emily had said.  I had a flashback to all of the times when she was a year and a half old and she would slam her head into the wooden floors or hit our dog Lacey in the face.  I wondered if this wasn't some hold-over from her developmental delay or a re-manifestation of it as her body grows from a kid to a teen.  Something is not right, not at all, and it scared all three of us.  We all sat at the table stunned.  Then Nora left for the bus like normal, Ryan left for work like normal, and Emily came with me to work with a coloring book, some blank paper, and a bunch of seed packets.  I figured she could do some charts about what would produce food first based on when it would be planted and how many days to harvest.  That's science, right?  Learning?  At the very least, I knew she was safe.

It wasn't the curriculum I dreamed of.  It wasn't the work day my employers had envisioned when I showed up with my kid in tow.  The office manager asked if she was ill.  I answered with a non-committal noise.  I sat and did my data-entry, doing my best to shut down all of the open browser tabs in my brain. 

I know I have a million things to do, to plan.  But some part of me also realized the importance of just letting Emily breathe for a day, that maybe it was ok to color, especially if that got her mind off of punching and hurting herself.

Over lunch she did give me a hug, and say she didn't feel so stressed.

I smiled, and in that moment I didn't feel as stressed either.  I smiled, because I've been listening to the Awakening Now Podcast and Lama Surya Das says stopping to smile and be in the moment is good habit.  I smiled because its going to be okay.

That doesn't mean I'm going to ignore the fact that we have some challenges ahead, but one day, one hour, one moment at a time. 

Breathe.