I have been having a very rough time getting Vincent to pay attention to directions.  Because he's all over the place, I need to be very firm with him sometimes.

"Vincent, look at me.  Look at me in the eyes, Vincent.  VINCENT."

Then he'll finally realize I'm talking to him and look at me for a split second before turning his attention elsewhere.

"Vincent.  Mommy is talking to you.  You need to look at Mommy."

He looks at me again for about two seconds.  When I think I've got his attention, I begin to tell him to get on his shoes.  No dice.  He's not paying attention again.

"Vincent, put on your shoes or we're not going outside."

Begins to move towards shoes, but clearly only discerned the word "shoes" because once he gets to where his shoes are, he makes no move to put them on.

*Sigh*

"Vincent, you're not listening to Mommy.  Look at me in the eyes."

He looks into my eyes.

"Put. Your. Shoes. On or we're not going outside."

"Okay, Mommy."

UUUUUGH.  Then the process all but repeats itself if he needs to put on his jacket or take a back pack with him.  It's enough to drive me bonkers sometimes.

He's also having issues with impulse control.  

"Vincent, stop smacking your stick against the slide."

"Okay, Mommy."

Not two seconds later, he's smacking at the slide again.

"Vincent, look at Mommy in the eyes.  Did I just tell you to stop smacking the slide?"

"I don't know."

ARGH.  

"Vincent, stop smacking the slide.  If you smack the slide again, I'm going to take away your stick.  No more smacking the slide, 'cause if the stick breaks, you might get hurt."

"Okay, Mommy."

He stops smacking the slide, but maybe two minutes later, he's at it again and I need to take the stick away.

All day, every day, this is what I sound like.  I'm trying to splice together the negatives with positives ("Good job being gentle with Zoey!" or "I'm so proud of you for playing so nicely with your friends!"), but I've been feeling really overwhelmed by his inability to really listen and process directives (an ability he HAS to have for a productive experience in school).  

I'm beginning to worry that I won't be able to prep him in time for school in July and that I'll be faced with him being removed again.  I realize that's not likely, especially because this school had worked with him for two years successfully, but I can't help but worry.  

And then there's his litany of "I'm Sorry."

Since he hasn't been listening to directives, I've had to punish him (taking away the stick, for example, or not letting him go to the park because he'd thrown a temper tantrum that morning).  

When he realizes he's about to be punished, he immediately says "I'm sorry" because he knows that's what is expected of him.  However, he's not usually sorry.  He'll say "I'm sorry" and in the same breath, "I'm really angry with you" because I'm taking away a toy or something.  He's not sorry he didn't listen.  He's sorry he's in trouble.

I was about to say to him "I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry' from you ever again" until I stopped myself.  Why?  Because I saw myself in him.  Painfully so.  

How many times do I have to apologize in the Confessional for the same stupid sins over and over and over again?  I have to wonder - am I really sorry at all?  If I were, wouldn't I stop myself from getting into the same trouble?  

And if God were to shirk my apologies, what would I do then?  He even accepts my miserable contrition and extends mercy.  How much more, then, should I work to extend that to Vincent so he has an example of what God's mercy looks like? 

So I stopped myself from giving into my own frustration and sat him on my knee.  I said, "Vincent, when you say "Sorry" to Mommy, it means you're not going to do the bad thing anymore.  Sorry means you're going to work really hard at listening and doing the right thing, okay?"

He instantly shook his head "Yes" because that's what he thought he was supposed to do. I just sighed and let him loose.  I imagine that's how God feels sometimes when He sends us forth from the Confessional.  

I'm going to try a lot harder to be more steady in my resolve to "sin no more and avoid the near occasion of sin."

A lot harder.

Sorry, Lord.  Really.  <3

John, Vincent and I attended the surprise birthday party of a friend of ours this past weekend.  It was really nice of Vincent to be invited, too.  Several children were in attendance with Vince being the oldest (and most active!).  

Unfortunately, John and I didn't know there would be a pool at the house.  Had we known, we would've gone out of our way to find a babysitter.  Vince, like every other child in the universe, can't be near a pool without wanting to dive in head-first.  

It was still too chilly for a swim and we hadn't brought bathing suits anyway.  That didn't stop Vincent for begging, bartering and pleading to go for a dip, though.  When he realized John and I weren't going to budge, he placated himself by zipping around the edge of the pool, successfully giving John and I enough agita to last us the rest of our lives.

I had to put him into a time out for disobedience.  He wouldn't stop running around the edge of the pool even though I'd asked him not to three times.  So I stuck him in time out.

My friend, Leo, made a well-meaning comment.  He said, "What's the worst that can happen?  Skinned knee?  Soaked pants?  Just let him be."

Oh Leo.  How I love Leo.  He's a new parent, himself.  He's got a little princess named Maggie who is about 8 months old.  He hasn't had the pleasure of her testing boundaries yet.  He hasn't tasted the anxiety of seeing her (in his mind) tumble head-first into an ice-cold swimming pool.  He can't even imagine what that's like until she takes those first precarious steps into toddler-hood.  It's all fun and games until your kid discovers how much fun dangerous situations are.  LoL.

Anyway, Leo didn't realize that aside from me trying to teach Vince obedience (and actions having real consequences), I was also trying to prevent, specifically, soaked clothing.  Most people don't like sitting in wet clothes, but for an SPD kid, that's akin to being water-boarded; it's torture.  

Vince sometimes freaks out if he feels even a spot of wetness on his pants or shirt. Imagine, then, the freak out that would occur if ALL his clothes were soaked through and clinging to him.  

Leo doesn't think it'd be a big deal, because to him, it wouldn't be a big deal.  To Vincent, however, it'd be huge.  

John was getting increasingly agitated, so instead of leaving, I took Vincent inside and away from the temptation.  The poor kid was over-tired and frustrated by several things: 

• new house = novel visual stim
• large group of strangers = anxiety and overwhelming auditory stim
• pool = supreme tactile stim temptation
• laser lights = ridiculous amounts of visual stim
• sound system = even more auditory stim

The fact that he hadn't had a nap that day (because the party started when he usually goes down) only added to his upset.  After I had him sit and settle for 15 minutes to regroup, he was able to sit on the couch and watch a game being played without issue.  

It's funny.  I don't fault Leo at all for the comment he made.  Several of our friends waved off my attempts at wrangling Vincent as overprotective.  They didn't realize I wasn't worried about him bumping his knee or even going for a swim.  I was aware of a bigger problem that would come should the latter accidentally happen.  

My guess is that's how God feels sometimes.  So often, I look at a situation and figure "Eh, this isn't really such a big deal" while God is shaking His Head and saying, "Gina, put down the extra slices of bacon.  You don't think it's a big deal, but you've been eating like a glutton recently and are increasing your risk for heart attack.  I want you to die saving orphans from a burning building, and you can't very well do that if you're dead of a bacon-induced heart attack."


God is able to see so much more than we can.  He knows more than we do.  He's experienced more than we have.  So when He repeatedly throws up roadblocks to our own ideas of satisfaction, my guess is He has good reasons.  Just as I had reasons that went beyond Leo's understanding, God has reasons that extend well beyond mine.  

Last night, I took Vince to visit with my friend and her family.  While there, Vince had a mini-episode with the pasta which understandably frustrated some folks, myself included at one point.

For the last year or so, Vincent has been very finnicky about pasta - specifically pasta sauce.  I thought he was simply getting into the "fussy eater" stage, but truthfully, he's not a fussy eater.  He still eats fish, lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, beans, corn, etc, etc, etc.  He loves ham and chicken, goes to town on pork chops or turkey, and can eat starch like it was his job.

Pasta, however, he will only eat white or with cheese (mac-n-cheese).  

The last year, I just thought he was being picky, but it finally dawned on me that it's a very specific sensory response.

Tomatoes are naturally acidic.  In fact, when Vince used to break out in facial rashes as a toddler, his pediatrician warned us to steer clear of tomato sauce, ketchup, etc because he suspected they were the culprits behind his pimpled cheeks.  When we cut them out of the menu, Vince's skin cleared up pretty well.  Never thought a thing of it again.

His visceral reaction (almost like fear) to the pasta sauce last night suddenly made sense. He kept insisting that the pasta "smelled bad."  What he actually meant was it TASTED bad, and not so much that it tasted bad, but that it hurt.

For you and I, our sense of taste and smell are inextricably linked.  The same is true for Vincent, only it's a heightened experience.  Sometimes he confuses taste and smell as a result of this.  Also, his grasp of language still isn't super developed, so he kept using the word bad to express his negative association.  

The nerves in and around his mouth and face have been inflamed enough by pasta sauce to instinctively tell his brain the red stuff on the yummy stuff is a bad idea.  

He loves pasta, he just doesn't like the sauce, and it's because the sauce causes an overload of sensation.

But he likes pizza!  Pizza has sauce!

Yes, but it's also got a lot of cheese, and being a dairy product, it is a base which neutralizes the acidic content of the tomato sauce.  Much like a hot wing contestant chugs milk to stave off ulcers, cheesy pizza helps buffer Vincent's mouth against an overwhelming sensation from the acidic tomatoes.  He still gets a few bumps on his cheeks after pizza, especially if I don't clean his face right away, but he doesn't complain that his mouth or tongue hurt.

In short, I'm not going to try to force him to eat red sauce anymore because I finally realize why he shirks it so much.  It never occurred to me that this was a problem before.  Now his disdain for pasta, Hot Pockets, ketchup, and even barbacue sauce makes sense.  

I wish I had realized this sooner.  Would've prevented a lot of frustration for all of us, especially at family gatherings (given that we're Italian and we love our pasta sauce).  So if your child is getting picky about certain foods, give some thought to the sensation that particular food type might pose.  It might not be pickiness so much as a sensational challenge.

• He has reasons for being fidgety.
  

His SPD creates an insatiable craving for tactile stimulation.  He fidgets because his nervous system isn't developed the same as yours or mine.  His nerves act as a one-way street.  His brain is telling his nerves that they should be feeling the rigidity of the seat under his bottom, but his nerves never respond to his brain letting it know they already feel it.  This creates frustration and anxiety which leads to fidgeting.  The same is true in reverse sometimes, too.  

Some sensations, though inconsequential to you or me, are overwhelming to him.  The tag on your shirt isn't noticeable to you, but for Vincent, his nerves are telling his brain that a thorn is digging into his neck.

He fidgets, but he has very good reasons for his fidgets.

• The noises you balk at are necessary for his sanity.

The "inappropriate noises" he makes are repetitive and soothing.  To Vincent, all the sounds that you and I tune out carry the same urgency as those we prioritize.

You hear the voice of your boss telling you the deadline for your next project.  Vincent hears his teacher explaining a math problem, but also hears the humming of florescent lights, the rattling of the heater, the chatter of other students, the footsteps of the aid, the cars driving by outside the window, and even his own breathing.  Because his auditory discernment is not as strong as yours or mine, he is unable to focus on priority sounds and, in an effort to push aside all that noise, he makes sounds, himself, that help drown out the confusion.

• He is NOT a bad boy.

Vincent does not have bad manners.  In fact, he is one of the most polite and thoughtful children you'll ever meet.  He says "Please," "Excuse me," and "Thank you" without prompting, and is always sure to give you hugs and kisses if he thinks you're sad.  When we pick up toys at the store, he often asks if we can get things for his cousins.  He is a truly loving, good little boy.  His meltdowns are not the result of being spoiled, coddled or moody. They are markers for the moment his strong little heart is overwhelmed by the 24/7 job of trying to push back against a tsunami of stimulation.

• I am NOT a bad parent.

How often I am looked at as if I am the root cause of Vincent's more stressful moments!  How often I'm are asked if I've tried X, Y or Z to basically force Vincent to fall into line!

I did not cause his Sensory Processing Disorder.  My parenting style did nothing to bring on his sensitivity to certain situations.  I love my child fiercely and do everything in my power to see that he is cared for, protected and loved.  I may not be the most savvy parent in regards to the latest therapies available, but don't you dare mistake my novice ignorance for bad parenting.  I are fighting to make myself and others aware of this disorder, and I are doing all I can to give Vincent the therapy he needs to cope.

So the next time you see us in the store while Vincent is having a meltdown because the lights hurt his eyes and the cart feels especially frustrating to his backside, refrain from suggesting I stop spoiling him.  I might not be so charitable in my response.

• He doesn't understand personal space.

I apologize in advance.  My son is going to get in your face - frequently.  Because his proprioceptive system is underdeveloped, he doesn't understand his own body in space. Thus, he cannot understand his body relative to yours.  As a result, the only way he fully knows he's close to you is if his face is touching (or nearly touching) yours.  Again, since his auditory sense is sometimes jumbled, he ensures you can hear him (and he, you) by being all but on top of you for a conversation.  He doesn't do this to be rude... he does it because he doesn't know any other way.  

We are working on this.  Please be patient with him.  

• He LOVES stepping on things with his bare feet.

Owing to his intense addiction to stimulation, Vincent loves stepping on everything and anything with his bare feet.  This poses quite the challenge to us, because he even gets satisfaction from stepping on things that are dangerous.  He's broken more than one plastic toy because he craved the sensation of various objects under the sensitive nerves of his feet.

In addition to forcing John and I to keep the floors relatively free of items, this also creates a problem with shoes.  Vincent is very sensitive to the type of shoes he's willing to wear, and it's many times a fight to get him to keep them on, even when we're outside.  He's not throwing a temper-tantrum because he wants to wear his SpongeBob boots vs. his Spiderman sneakers... he's having a meltdown because his SpongeBob boots give him relief from his tactile craving while his Spiderman sneakers compound the frustration and add to his anxiety.

• Watch out!  His movements can be very fast and forceful.

Because Vincent is mostly under-responsive to his sense of touch, he rarely cries when he falls or is accidentally run into by an older kid at the park.  He doesn't feel things as strongly as other children.  As a result, he has no baseline with which to understand his own movements.  The only way he feels his arm traveling through space to throw a ball is if he exerts extra force.  That extra movement reassures his brain that his muscles are doing what they're supposed to be doing.  This extra movement can come off as fast and forceful. He isn't doing this to be aggressive or mean.  He simply cannot adjust his momentum because he cannot feel himself moving as you and I can. 

Again, please be patient.  He is doing so much better with this, but it is a difficult skill to learn when your nerves rebel against you.

• He is so incredibly smart!

Just because he's not comfortable in a mainstream classroom doesn't mean he's not able to learn.  It doesn't mean he's stupid.  My son is fearsomely intelligent.

His memory is better than mine, his math skills never cease to amaze me, and his appetite for his new passion, spelling, makes my heart swell with pride.  The creativity and problem-solving skills he's developed while playing adventure games with his Daddy have only proven to me that his capacity for intelligence hasn't even begun to be appreciated. Standardized testing cannot verify his penchant for architecture.  Circle time cannot concede to his superior grasp of cause and effect.  No Child Study Team will ever capture the wisdom he shows in his thoughtful, gentle care of those he instinctively understands need his affection.  

Again, my son is fearsomely, awesomely intelligent.

• Oh, how he loves to laugh!

​Itself a very stimulating experience, my son LOVES the sensations he gets from laughing. His belly rolls, his chest heaves, his ears delight in the noise of giggles.  His whole face feels the movement of his smile as his eyes crinkle in anticipation of the high-pitched squeals he cranks out.

What joyful music.  

My son loves laughter.  He loves being "tricked" and surprised.  He loves being the cause of laughter around him.  He'll clown about or say silly things with the sole goal being laughter... glorious laughter.

• Oh, how he loves!

There is not a malicious bone in my son's body.  He happily pets our cats saying, "Look, Mommy. Zoey loves me!  I love Zoey, too."  He'll parade around with his stuffed dog, Chase, and tell everyone what a good dog he is and how much he loves Chase because Chase is a police dog.  He'll throw his arms around your neck and tell you how happy he is to see you because he loves you "so so much."  He'll make you feel like a million bucks because, to him, everyone is his "best friend in the whole, whole world."

In a word, my son is love... pure, unblemished love.  

Please remember that the next time his sensory challenges leave you frustrated or confused. Above all, simply remember that he is capable of giving and receiving love. Next time a sensory-craver like Vincent has a melt-down, respond with love.  Push aside your own frustration and confusion because it pales in comparison to the anxiety he feels on a routine basis because of this disorder.  

Respond with love, too, to the parents of these special children.  Do not discount us as bad parents or folks to be pitied for having a "problem child."  Far from it.  We love our children and are proud of them.  We are joyed at being given the opportunity to unwrap their potential and can't wait to see how they change the world.

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Spread acceptance by spreading awareness.  <3

I spoke with my two directors today.  I don't qualify for FMLA, but they're willing to work with me so as not to lose me as an employee.  

So now I've got a little weight lifted off my shoulders.  Now I need to come up with a working solution for all involved - Vincent, John, myself and work.  

Thanks for the prayers, folks.  

Financially, thanks to my husband's fiscal responsibility, we are in a good position.  We'll have to cut back on some things, but we're blessed to be weighing our options at all in this regard.  This is only a short-term solution.  Even should we cut back on yearly vacations, change the way we spend money for holidays and birthdays, alter our eating and entertainment habits, I'm not sure we could justify the thirty-some thousand dollar hit we'd take should I leave my position indefinitely.

That's a lot of money.  A LOT of money.  

And that puts a lot of pressure on John to be the sole breadwinner.  Already he takes on so much responsibility in this regard.  I'd hate to burden him with a $30+ thousand deficit to boot, ya know?

Then there's always the question of job availability should I officially leave.  There's no guarantee that I'll be able to quickly find a job should I need to when Vince rejoins school. All these things are what have me on what feels to be a teeter-totter.  

But again, the fact that I can weigh these options at all is a blessing, and I thank God for his generosity.  

I just wish I had a better idea of what the best course of action would be.  Ah well.  In time, I'm sure He'll reveal it to me.  That fact that, right now, I was given respite by my company is a blessing, indeed.  A much welcome one in light of this past weekend's anxiety of "What now?"

And again - thank you to each one of you who has sent me messages, comments and e-mails.  This is going to sound really silly, but I felt my heart jump each time I saw one pop up.  The joy of hearing from folks was enough, even for a moment, to lift my spirits.  The suggestions are all being taken to heart, I promise.  It takes me a while to process and read all the links that are sent, but I promise, promise, promise that I do, in fact, read them all.  

Eventually I'll get around to responding to everyone.  Just... please accept my humblest thanks for all the support and love you have shown to my son.  It hurts me so much to see him ostracized by his peers and shirked by school systems who are unfamiliar with his unique set of challenges, but I am buoyed by the love you have shown him.  I am hopeful for him, and you feed that hope.  

Blessings to you all.  I thank you with a mother's appreciation.  

That's a question that's been bouncing around back and forth, over and over the last few months.

Truthfully, it's been something sitting in the back of my mind ever since Vince was a baby.

The answer to that question is "Yes, I can homeschool Vincent."

In theory, my background is education.  I've taught children from preschool to high school. I've tweaked curricula to account for struggling students and I've developed entire lesson plans to challenge those gifted with a natural appetite for knowledge.  So in theory, I could easily homeschool Vincent.  

Theories, however, are often-times victims of reality.  In this case, I don't believe homeschooling is the best option for Vincent.  While my background with education is proven and strong, I don't have proper experience with Sensory Processing Disorder. Obviously I can learn, but do I want to subject Vincent to months of my own trial and error until I figure out the best course of action for him?

I fear that's doing him a disservice.

Then there's the question of financial feasibility.  Are we able to rely solely on John's income?  We can for a few months, but long-term?  We'd really need to crunch the numbers to come up with a realistic long-term picture.  

And then I worry for his social development.  Most home-school families have a number of siblings, so they are able to learn social cues even amongst themselves.  There are no real homeschool groups in my area... the closest to me is about 30 minutes away and in a different state.  Again, that doesn't seem to be the most efficient course of action.  

I can always put him into extra-curricular activities, but I truly believe there is something to be said for learning in groups (even small ones).  I want that for Vincent because I believe with the proper care, he will flourish in such setting.  

Right now, though, it looks as if I'll need to spend the next two months with him.  I don't know what that's going to translate to in terms of work.  It depends on how my conversation goes tomorrow with my bosses.  Will I be able to take a two month leave?  I honestly don't know.  They can't really afford to lose a worker right now, especially given the contract we just took upon ourselves.  But I have no other options for Vincent right now, so I either am granted leave or I give notice.  Either way, it is in God's Hands and I'm sure it will work out as it's supposed to.

But I don't put forth that option as a last resort or even a jest.  I truly say it knowing it's a valid option... just one I don't necessarily think is right for Vincent.  I know I'm a good teacher, but I'm not entirely confident in my ability to learn new techniques that would specifically benefit Vincent in a manner that a seasoned special-ed instructor in a special-ed classroom would have already mastered.  

Those are my thoughts, anyway.  

I have so much respect for homeschoolers.  I don't know that I am organized and effective enough to do it for my own son.  That makes me feel like a bit of a let-down, but I'm trying to be as honest with myself as possible because I don't want my arrogance to be the cause of him falling further behind, ya know?

But thanks for all the encouragement and prayers.  What a blessing your e-mails and comments were.  I love you guys so much.  Please know I kept you in my Easter prayers this weekend, too.  <3  My family and I are blessed by your generosity of spirit.

My title isn't even a little bit kidding.  I feel like I've ruined Vince forever regarding school.

As a child, I always looked at school as something fun.  I enjoyed learning and I RELISHED taking tests because I liked to challenge myself to see how much I knew.  I even liked pop quizzes.  I always assumed my kids would one day be the same way.

How wrong I was and how incredibly harmful my expectation has been for Vincent.

I fear I pushed him too early into preschool, and the experience has left him scared of school altogether.

The knowledge of that kills me.  It absolutely kills me.

Once again, I got a call from the principal telling me they could not work with his specific set of issues in the classroom.  My husband and I had warned them of this MONTHS ago, but they poo-pooed us and assured us they were more than capable of handling his particular brand of behavior.  

Now they realize they should've listened to us a little more carefully, because their Child Study Team could not assess what we'd already seen firsthand - Vincent is not equipped to handle a mainstream classroom.  He's certainly smart enough, but from a behavioral standpoint, he is simply not ready to handle mainstream education.  At least not yet.  

And now they realize it after a grueling two months of frustration on their part and on Vincent's part.

I hate this.  Vincent gets such anxiety about going to school which only makes his time there that much more difficult.  The teachers are getting overly frustrated with him and it makes for a very upsetting experience for everyone... most especially Vincent.  That sort of experience is enough to scare him off of school forever.  What's to stop him from being terrified of school next September?

Four schools in 9 months.  The Learning Experience (which he loved), St. Theresa's (which helped us diagnose him with Sensory Processing), Tippy Toes (which harbored a bully), and now the public school which gave us an overly confident CST that now only wants to touch him if he gets an Autism diagnosis.  

Pardon me while I cry my eyes out in frustration, disgust, and guilt.

I feel like I've failed him so terribly in such an important area of his life... I don't even know how to handle myself right now.  I don't know how to handle him.  I don't know how to handle John who is just as upset and frustrated as I am.

This entire year has been one massive struggle after another with his schooling, diagnosis, therapy and ARGH.  I don't know how to navigate this for him.  It's my job to know... my expertise is education, and I can't figure out what to do or where to turn without causing even greater damage to him.

There is no school that will take him now... not with only a few weeks left in the year.  Next year no one wants to touch him because he doesn't have a "proper diagnosis."  

WTH is a proper diagnosis???  He's been seen by a developmental pediatrician and she diagnosed him with Sensory Processing Disorder.  It's not in the DSM, but it's recognized as a valid disorder by doctors across the world.  There are therapies aimed at teaching a child to handle the symptoms.  But yet because it isn't in some stupid blue book schools use as guidelines for IEPs, Vincent can't get the help he needs???

THAT ENRAGES ME!

It's not like he's a bad kid.  All of his teachers insist that his intelligence is above average and he is perfectly sweet, obedient and docile in a small group environment.  He's super affectionate and compliant.  It's only when he's in a large group that his symptoms show and he falls apart and becomes a wailing, inconsolable mess of screams, tears and frustration.

I can understand that.  It's like asking a blind kid to read a book.  It's going to solicit frustration and tears because a blind kid CANNOT READ until you give him braille.  

Vincent CANNOT learn in a large group.  He is best suited to a small group environment. We've known this since the beginning of the school year, yet no one wants to try that because he doesn't have an Autism diagnosis.

What they're telling me is that they don't want to try that approach because without a "proper diagnosis" the government won't subsidize him as a special ed student.  If they're not getting paid to teach him, why bother?

*Cue more tears*

I hate this so much, and I pushed him into it thinking that along the line, they'd finally understand he needs a small group and allow him access.  

Stupid me.  Arrogant me.  

And now my son has almost 9 months of fear and anxiety under his belt by being bounced around in my attempt at giving him what I thought he needed.

And what has it done for him?  What have I done to him long-term?

I shudder to think of it. 

And now I don't know what to do.  Short of quitting my job and homeschooling him, myself, I have no idea what to do.

I am lost.  God help me, I am lost.

:(

This is Vincent dressed up in his rain gear this morning.  I had to get him up at 6:45 AM so we could be out of the house by 7:30.  It was a rainy, wet morning, but ya know what?  I was feeling pretty amazing, and by the grin on Vincent's face, he was, too.

Why?

Well, we had won what I'm henceforth calling the Pediatric Lottery yesterday afternoon.

You see, on December 31st, I was told I'd need a "proper diagnosis" from a Developmental Pediatrician for Vincent's Sensory Processing / Autism symptoms in order to move forward with his district evaluation.  So, I set to work getting him in to see one.

For any of you lucky enough to never be told your child needs to see a D-Ped, you might not be aware that wait time for these rare birds is about 12 months.  12 MONTHS. 

I spent that afternoon calling 6 hospitals (which had between 2 and 3 locations each) trying to locate one for him.  Every.single.one. was booked solid until December 2014.

I was somewhat disheartened by that (not just for Vince, but for all the other families being told they needed to wait so long for the tests needed to move forward with district evaluations).  However, I wasn't going to let a little thing like ridiculously long wait lists slow me down.  

I asked each hospital to pre-register us over the phone in case something popped up between now and December 2014.  Only two hospitals agreed to take my info this early.  I kept a running tab of hospitals, wait times and pre-registration requirements on a list on the back of Vincent's evaluation folder.  Then, starting January 2nd, I went down the list of hospitals and called every other day, hoping for a cancellation.

Yesterday, January 13th, I struck gold and was given an 8AM appointment with a leading developmental pediatrician who specializes in autism and sensory issues.

Seriously - I was running around the office like this: