Saving the Butterfly

The dream. The meaning.

I'm straightening my classroom when a student calls my attention to a mason jar filled with water. In it is a butterfly, clearly dying due to being submerged in water.  I stop everything to handle the odd but small situation. When I unscrew the lid and reach in my hand, I pull out not a butterfly, but a palm-sized black dog, gagging on the butterfly stuck in its esophagus. 

I reassure the distressed little pup and the student and commit to doing what I can to save the butterfly. I coax the dog's mouth open. Unable to make any progress and afraid to stick my hand down the throat of a dog, I scoop the poor thing up and rush to the vet.

I recall that this vet will see any patient without an appointment and charges a flat rate of $160. Proud that I have enough money in my savings to swipe without negative repercussions, I move confidently toward the counter.

Then I realize I am about to need the dog's immunizations records. I certainly don't have that, so I prepare to beg forgiveness and just offer the dog's age as the best I can do.  But then I realize I don't know that. Flustered, I take the last step toward the receptionist as I silently reach the conclusion that I don't even know the dog's name.

Dread fills me as I process what hinges on this moment: the life of a butterfly, the comfort of a tiny puppy, the peace of mind of the identifying student. Despair fills me when I comprehend that unless I can provide the basic information to check this dog in, I will be denied access to the help I so desperately need.

This is when I wake up. And as with so many dreams I have, the real meaning is clear. I have been so incredibly stressed lately with a class with so many needs I simply can't meet them all. Additionally, I worry constantly about what impact being separated from their dad is having on my kids. Unsolvable problems with effects rippling into the futures of so many little lives. And though I try, I simply cannot access the basic information necessary to save them from harm. Any of them. And now that distressed little dog's face is emblazoned in my memory. My fears looking back at me through puppy dog eyes. I awake wondering if I could have saved any of them but knowing that at very least, the butterfly was unsavable from the start.

Atypical

I got to do a thing for the very first time today.  I got to get my kids ready for school and wish them well at the door.  That's right.  I'm not going to school today.

It hasn't stopped me from obsessing over everything that needs to happen in my classroom today.  But for the first time in my teaching career, I won't be the one doing it.

Artists Challenge

I was nominated by a friend to take part in a theater/artist's challenge to post 10 pictures of moments I felt fierce while performing. But I can't. 

Theater right now for me is a sore spot. My mental health is much improved when I leave those memories shoved tightly down in the brain box I am using to compartmentalize like a champ.

Theater hurts. Because I chose to leave a place I loved in the name of "doing the right thing," and I don't actually think it mattered. Because my goal to be a highly sought after music director in my community was right within my grasp, but Kirk's move to Georgia meant I have had to turn down five paying offers at three different theaters. Because the world of community theater has changed over the last ten years, and I don't have the right communication style to direct in the new landscape. 

I do feel fierce. It just isn't theater that gets me there right now.

I feel fierce when I check my kids' grades and they collectively have no missing work. 

I feel fierce when I meet my savings goals. 

I feel fierce when I look at my postcard collection and know I bought some of the myself. 

I feel fierce when my kids look through my ChatBooks.

I feel fierce when I explain a facet of ADHD in a way that clicks for someone. 

I feel fierce when I fight for the underdog.

I feel fierce when I beat David at a game.

I feel fierce when I watch my kids choose activities that aren't video games.

I feel fierce when someone recognizes my efforts in my classroom. 

I feel fierce when I vote.

No, it's not the challenge Jose intended, but it is the life I've got. And it looks like I have plenty to be proud of!

Ode to the Bonus Dad

Today he did far more parenting than I did. He brought the kids to school, and he was the one who turned around mid-trip for hot glue when the big project got damaged on the ride. He picked the kids up from school when I, frantic and harried from a quick transition from theater auditions to a parent meeting, barely had time to say hello.

Presumably, he made dinner. I don't know because I am not home yet. I am off to teach the voice lesson that allows me to afford Alex's tennis lessons, and I am missing all the family time.  

Soon, he'll coax the lethargic teen into actually moving and will run him to baseball practice 30 minutes from home. This I know because I gave him the rundown of today's tricky schedule, and he asked, "What can I do?"

I will stagger home exhausted near 8 pm tonight, and this man will finally get to spend a little time with the woman he fell in love with. That time will likely be spent discussing the kids' highs and lows of the day and preparing them for bed.

When Dylan knocks at 9:30 with a minor complaint, he will compassionately address it and move mountains if necessary to help Dylan feel cared for.

Today, he did more parenting than I did, this man who has made room in his home and his heart for a circus he never planned on.

I can't wait to get home and tell him how much I appreciate it.

On Hate

Things that don't annoy me:
- others decorating for Christmas early
- the pervasive presence of pumpkin spice
- pickles (yes, I said it...)

Things that do annoy me:
- people turning the internet into a slog of meaningless complaints

And here's why.  I have a ten year old that "hates" everything. He throws the word around like beads at Mardi Gras. I spend a solid portion my existence trying to imbue him with a little tolerance.

I have a classroom full of eleven year olds to whom I attempt to impart some social skills. We work on avoiding name calling, and oh how I try to teach them not to use group labels as insults.

Then I use social media, the playground of the adult world, and I see hate, name-calling, and insults slung at will. Yes, amongst friends, it's generally faux hate. But I guess I am at a loss for when hating things became fun.

Can we go back to the days when people ranted on their blogs and Facebook was for sharing pictures of our food?

I hate.

Hate.

Georgia

For those who haven't heard yet, Kirk accepted a job in Georgia - a promotion that is a great opportunity for him. 

I was anticipating a discussion about what was best for the kids and what changes would be made to our custody agreement to accommodate such a big move; instead I found out that he plans for the kids to move there with him in time to start school in the fall, and in order to have a discussion about the move, schools, healthcare, or any major decisions that affect them, I would need to involve the courts.

To say life is hard right now would be a huge understatement. I don't yet know what is going to happen with the kids, though I hope to have some answers by the end of June. The constant emotional drain is affecting me mentally and physically, and it takes incredible amounts of energy to make it through each day.

I'm not handling small talk very well right now, because my mind is constantly focused on this REALLY big thing. I'm not saying "yes" to a whole lot right now, because my traditionally limitless stores of energy are simply gone. I'm struggling with focus even more than usual because my very limited working memory is stretched beyond capacity trying to do everything right with the attorney/court. And honestly... I'm just sad most of the time.

Many people have asked if there is anything they can do. Sadly, there isn't even much I can do. If you see me, I'll take a big smile. With a little advance warning, I might even appreciate a hug. Mostly, I justed needed everyone to know life is hard.

Paper is the Enemy

Supposedly it beats rock.  

I know it beats me.  I spend innumerable moments in a loop of looking for and losing papers, interrupted only by my own effort NOT to lose them.

And Jessica, my favorite ADHD YouTuber, has at least three videos managing it.

At times, I've successfully implemented Jessica's suggestions.  Most of the time, however, I hold myself to two basic rules.

1. Anything that can be recycled should be recycled.  Immediately.  This includes anything I have digital copies of which could be printed later should I find out that I recycled something I needed.  
2. Anything that seems vaguely important gets labeled as MONUMENTALLY IMPORTANT and goes into the "AS LONG AS YOU CAN FIND THE STACK, YOU CAN PROBABLY FIND THE PAPER" stack.  There it remains until one of the three random days a year on which I get the urge to file all the papers.  

My rules work for a few reasons. 

1. As an adult, I have earned the right to keep my papers wherever I want to.  I am accountable only to me and occasionally the DMV. (By the way, as of today I am officially a legally licensed driver who resides at the address known by both the DMV and the voter registration folks.  This is big news.)
2. As an adult, I have earned the right to determine my own schedule and am often able to let the current state of my brain dictate the type of work I'd be best suited for at the moment.  (Reference: 10:51 pm, blogging in the bathtub.)
3. And mostly, because they're MY rules.  If they didn't work for me, I'd change them.

But this week I've been thinking about Alex.  And about my homeroom class, which is energetically populated by students whose ratio of ADHD brains to neurotypical brains is 1:3.  One of the biggest struggles for these kids is... you guessed it... paper.

If you're still reading this, I'm guessing you know and love an ADHD student.  And I bet you've heard these statements more times than I've lost a memo from my boss:

• "I didn't do it because I can't find the paper."
• "I did it, but I forgot to turn it in."

Sixth grade has been rough for Alex.  He is working as hard as he can (and so are Kirk and I) to implement strategies that will work for him.  We've figured out the accommodations that make it possible for him to accomplish the work.  And yet the kid still has six missing assignments at the end of first quarter.  I asked his SPED coordinator to do me a personal solid and stop in to check Alex's desk.  "Can you just maybe take a minute to help him get organized?" I asked.  Later that day, the coordinator showed me two stacks of paper, each two inches thick.  One was graded work that should have come home.  The other was various assignments, notes, worksheets, and organizers in various states of completion.  All of these papers had come from inside Alex's desk.  No WONDER he couldn't find the required steps of his completed writing cycle to turn in for a final grade.

As a teacher, this sort of thing is all sorts of frustrating for me.  I have solid, explicit procedures in my class which I break down into one step directions to try to help my students manage their papers. "Make sure this paper goes behind your grammar tab," I say to the class.  But if I don't watch with an eagle eye, there is always someone who raises a hand the next day.

"Ms. Fife, I can't find my grammar packet."  I sigh.  Breath deeply.  Admonish.  

"If you'd have followed the instruction to put it behind your grammar tab, then you would know exactly where it is," I say, with even tone as I help the student find it, crumpled and floating within the open expanse of desk.

PAUSE.  RECAP.  TLDR:

• ADHD adult brain says, "I can't be expected to put away papers where they go when I get them."
• Mom says, "Why can't you turn in your papers?  I know you did them!!"
• Teacher says, "I told you EXACTLY what to do with that paper.  How is it possibly lost?" 

And a little new info.  My significantly more dull second-favorite ADHD expert Dr. Barkley stresses the idea that strategies to manage ADHD can only be effective when practiced in the environment where the problem occurs.  In other words, nothing I teach Alex at home will have an impact on how he organizes his desk.

Huge sigh.

Followed by an epiphany.  

Clothes are also the enemy.  They beg to be sorted and folded and hung and... AAAH!! That is too many steps.  I bought new slacks for work, and I know I should hang them nicely to make them last.  But I can't.  Neurotypical brains see one step: hang up pants.  But ADHD brains see: open closet, find hanger, fold pants in that really nice way that works well on hangers, put pants through hanger, put hanger on rod, close closet.  So. Many. Steps.  So the responsible ADHD brain executes what it can: drape pants nicely over nearest edge.  Goal of preserving the pants is reached in the smallest amount of steps.  

But I don't want the room covered in pants.  So I found a solution.  I put an empty box in the closet.  I now drape my pants over the edges of the box.  Open closet, loosely fold pants, drape pants.  Close closet is optional.  Three steps I can do.  

When I say, "Put your grammar packet behind the grammar tab," 75% of my students have one task to do.  But 25% of them have to pull the binder out of the desk, put the binder on the desk, flip to the appropriate tab, open the binder rings, align the hole punches with the rings, close the rings, close the binder, and put the binder in the desk.  That is two more steps than it would take to hang up my pants.  Which I won't do.

And now the conundrum.  

My rules and strategies work for me.  Scroll back up for a reminder of the reasons why.  Mostly, it had to do with being an adult and being able to make my own choices.  

Reasons my sorts of rules don't work for students:

1. They are students in a classroom with procedures for materials outlined by the teacher.  Specific papers have specific places, and teachers expect for them to always be in those places.
2. They are students in a classroom with specific expectations placed on their schedule.  Whether 8:25 is a great time of day for their brains or not, that is when we put away the grammar packets.
3. They are kids.  So they don't make the rules.

So here's my two-part challenge for teachers:

1. Please don't change your expectations!  Our ADHD brains really do need a chance to develop coping strategies.  Someday our boss is going to want us to keep track of important reports, the airport is going to expect us to be able to present a passport to travel internationally, and... yeah, I already mentioned the DMV.  We absolutely have to figure it out.
2. Please consider your methods.  How many steps are you asking an ADHD brain to take all at once?  Is there any way to build a PAUSE into the procedure?

Here's what I'm going to try out on 25% of my students next week.  I'm going to add a tray under their chairs.  (Our chairs have a little ledge there where one can rest.)  ALL papers will go in the tray.  The "AS LONG AS I CAN FIND THE TRAY, I CAN EVENTUALLY FIND THE PAPER" tray.  Then, at the end of the day when their focus isn't divided among other important goals, I will ask them to sort the tray.  Grammar papers will go behind the grammar tab.  Take home papers will go... well, home.  Recycle papers will get recycled.  

I'm going to stop expecting 10 year old ADHD brains to do something my 37 year old one can't do.  And then I'm going to teach them how to succeed anyway.

As for Alex, I'm glad I figured out what conversation to have with him.  "How can we reduce the number of steps that it takes to be able to find the papers you need."  He'll figure out his own rules.  Those are the best kinds of rules to follow, anyway.

(Just for fun: I also have a rule about how to handle the important papers that are put in my box at work.  I leave them there.  They are SO much safer there than if I touch them.  Want proof that my methods aren't needed by the masses?  Notice that all the other boxes are empty.)