You Can Say No, But...

When you go through the foster licensing process, there is a special form you have to fill in. It is just a long, long, long checklist of diagnoses and descriptions. You have to say yes or no to each on that list.  My husband and I have filled it in three separate times. 

It is a little like a game. We sit staring at one another as the social worker reads each item on the list. The game is trying to answer the same as your partner.  Not really, our rule is that if one says no, then the answer is no, but still. 

It isn't actually a game, but trying to be playful takes the ick off the process. It feels so wrong rejecting unknown kids based on the things that oughtn't define them. At the same time, it is an important step in the process. First, it compels careful consideration (Accidental alliteration! score!) by the prospective family. You have to talk about what you're willing and able to do. 

When we lived in a teeny apartment, a wheelchair was not an option, so we needed to say no. My husband and I have taken ASL classes and love the language, so we said yes to children who were deaf or hard of hearing. We had two aging dogs, so cruelty to animals was a no-go for us. ADHD and dyslexia are in the water we drink, so those were easy yeses for us, too. If you don't think you can do it, you should say no, because these kids coming from hard places need to be welcomed.

So, you do the icky list. It's rough, but get through it and take it seriously (while you're having fun) and say your no. It matters...until it doesn't.

Yep, that's the catch. Just like with biological kids, there is a lot out of our control with foster and adopted kids. Life happens. And people living in dinky apartments sometimes end up needing to use wheelchairs.

We made our list this time around, too. There are things we said no to that are now part of our lives. The difference is that we aren't talking about abstract experiences or diagnoses. They are our little girls and there is no backing out now--and we wouldn't dream of it.

Dual Lives: Trauma and Handwriting

Raising kids from hard places is complicated.  Raising kids is complicated. It is more than a 24/7 job. Somehow, we manage to fit more than the allotted time because there is just so much to do, so much to worry about, so much to pray about.

The thing that makes raising kids who have been exposed to trauma different is that the two don't--or shouldn't--go together. Kids are kids. They are wiggly, curious, excited, inexperienced, naive, naughty little sponges. Trauma is traumatic. It breaks and twists. It changes brains and scars personalities. It brings out fearfulness. It brings intimate knowledge of hard things, things no one needs to know. It causes people to exist in the flight/fight realm even when everything should be calm and safe.

Again, the two oughtn't go together. Kids and trauma shouldn't mix. But they do, and all too often.

Raising kids exposed to trauma means embracing the whole unwieldy mess. It means teaching kids about hygiene, handwriting, and how to greet people, but being ready to stop the world when a memory unravels them. 

When it is possible, you have to keep going with normal life. And normal life is engrossing. Brush your teeth already! Please make your lips touch when you have food in your mouth. Julius Caesar had gained popularity with the general public by winning distant wars. But the Roman governing officials didn't want a king. You may play with that after you clean up the toys you were playing with. Suddenly normal life is set aside because something is wrong. What?

It's even more complex when the memories are so buried that the child can't articulate what they are responding to. Triggers are everywhere and every-day life can feel like a mine field. When a sound, a temperature, a texture, a taste, a gas station, an atmosphere, or a smell can remind a child's body of a time when they felt threatened or unsafe, the child doesn't always understand what is happening. They fight to figure things out, when everyone around that continues to act normally, like the world isn't on fire. It is confusing and scary. And their behavior can also become confusing and scary.

As parents, we become detectives. But we must move delicately, like studying a most rare and fragile flower, or navigating a snakes'-den of wires on a bomb. Or both. 

To do it well, you have to walk the tight-rope. You need to press on with normal life, ever vigilant for triggers.  You need to continually strengthen attachment, so that when things get hard, they trust you to see them through. They can't do it alone. And neither can you.

Doctor Update

 In case you were wondering, I have an update on our therapy referral. Guess what? We're wait-listed because the therapist is on maternity leave til May.  

So, there we go.

Sensory Processing Disorder

Sensory Processing Disorder is a newer condition to me.  Some terms used to describe people with this disorder—or are adjacent to it—are sensory seeking or sensory avoiding.  Just to keep things interesting, it is important to remember that an individual can both seek and avoid sensory input. Another thing I find true about any of these diagnoses is that almost everyone can relate to the feelings and situations described.  A diagnosis is appropriate when professionals conduct lengthy interviews and tests to perceive symptoms that are consistent and persistent and play a dominating role in a person’s work and school life.

We have one child who has been assessed by a professional who determined that SPD is quite strong in her.  We have two others who have not been assessed, but who behave in ways that lead us to suspect they would also be diagnosed.  They all have strong compulsions to touch anything and everything, even if there is a negative consequence (like being burned). They also have aversions to sensory input.  My kids specifically repel from noises that do not typically bother others. Certain types of clothes are a no-go because they are too uncomfortable.

We have a variety of toys, tools, and routines to help our kids function at their best.  First, we flat-out avoid situations that could get loud.  It is just not worth overstimulating them or causing them pain. We also talk about expectations and engage in role-playing before we have an event where sensory seeking (like touching everything) is not appropriate. 

We have an entire box of fidgets to pacify touchy hands.  Our Occupational Therapist suggested heavy work and different ways of moving to satisfy some of those compulsive needs.  So, when we see a kid starting to buzz, we have them carry random heavy things from here to there and back again as a game. It usually ends when she can no longer stand because she is laughing so hard. We tell them to move like bears or crabs on their way to wash their hands. It is a fun way to get chores done and helps them focus because of the work required to complete it. 

We have TheraBands to work muscles and give safe ways to exert themselves. We also have sensory brushes, weighted blankets, and a light machine. I would love to get one of those stretchy swings in the house, but I don’t know how to pull that off.  For now, we have a circular swing hanging off a tree branch that they can sit or stand on. 

And finally, there is the glorious play bath. The sensory play that can happen in a bath is varied and open-ended.  As long as they follow basic parameters, they are free to explore and discover on their own.  It’s marvelous, especially finishing with lotion, songs, quiet talk, and hair brushing.

I find that even our kids who don’t have SPD behaviors benefit from a lot of these practices.  We all get overstimulated, after all.  Have you tried any of these things to calm yourself or a child?  Anything I failed to mention?