It’s made all the difference to the skirt. Just enough contrast and detail for my liking. Leeetle bit close to that hemline but I’m not picking it out now.
Various dramas continue to unfold. I joked to the Bloke the other night that most mums scrapbook different sorts of firsts and memories for their kids. I’m starting up a folder with My First Mental Health Plan, My First Mood Chart and My First Anxiety Workbook. I’ve got to say, there’s not nearly the same number of photos with this kind of folder.
There are appointments scrawled all over the calendar for the next two months and I swear I am this close to giving everyone their own ink colour. The Bloke thought that then you could go with varying shades, according to ailment: GP, BP, hamburgers, optometry, occ therapy…but we don’t have that many pens to choose from.
We’ve not yet revealed to the lad the full extent of what’s happening; more precisely we’ve stuck with dyslexia and anxiety because we’re quite sure of those and the treatment strategies and teaching remediation start immediately. The dyslexia label at the moment is covering all of the processing disorders that are commonly associated with Asperger’s – difficulty writing (apraxia), dyscalculia (to maths what dyslexia is to spelling/reading), working memory problems, and difficulties prioritising and organising work. The anxiety workbook will help deal with some of the consequences of mood instability and we’re really working on giving him a stable routine at home and school. Once the diagnostic process is completed with the child psychiatrist, then we can handle full disclosure and any further treatment like therapy or medication.
And with all of that, we’re trying to be as open and gentle about it as we can be with the kids. The lad declared quite matter of factly last night that he didn’t want to have dyslexia. Fair enough, we reckon. So we had a bit of a chat about it, which appointments are happening in the next week or so and why, and assuring the lass that it wasn’t contagious. That concept was a little tricky to get across. We said that you’re born with it but from a seven year old’s point of view that doesn’t automatically make it not contagious. In what I thought was a bit of a brilliant, on the spot analogy, I said it was like being born a boy or a girl: you can’t change from a girl to a boy just because your older brother touches you.
Yes, a vigorous game of tag over the dinner table ensued just to see if it might work.
Frog in the pond 