My Other Job

I don't write a lot about my day job here, because I feel funny about it. I have a hard enough time speaking for myself, let alone the kiddos I work with who have a more difficult time speaking at all. Most of the kids I work with have Autism, and many of them are mostly non-verbal. Back in late January we got a new student, a girl. She's "my student", in that I work primarily with her. I help her get through her day, transitioning her from her solitary work station to a few group acitivities, to recess, etc. She'll be twelve in August, and she has the most beautiful, sweet smile you've ever seen. She's a typical "tween" in as much as she doesn't like hearing the word "no". She hums the same three notes when she's agitated, and she's as hormonal as all get out. Poor kid. Hers are coming on, my are leaving, and together we're quite a stew. But she trusts me, and I trust her, and she pulls on my heart and creeps into my thoughts when I'm cooking dinner for my family, and I'm always trying to figure out new ways to help her communicate her frustration without hurting me, or more importantly, herself. We've made some good strides since those first somewhat frantic days. To be honest, I was really sort of scared to work with her because she is nearly as tall as I am, and I know what those hormones are capable of doing, having gone through puberty myself. Granted, it was a long time ago, but I remember distinctly how crazy it made me feel to go from laughing to crying in the space of 10 seconds. Her first days were really intense, but since then, it's calmed down so much. She's a really hard worker, she's great at following her schedule, AND she's just a cool kid. She loves music, and lately has been testing her voice by singing. I think she knows we love it. She won't do it when asked, but when we're not paying close attention, she'll make sure we're within hearing range before she launches into her repertoire.

It began with the "namaste" song from the yoga video we watch almost daily. When I figured out that's what she was singing, I started singing it along with her. She let me (the first time) because I think she knew she had reached me, but since then she doesn't like it so much when I sing along. I get the same thing at home with JH! Everyone's a critic. Anyway, since then, she's expanded to a couple hits from the 80's and hearing her sing them is THE BEST. She has a beautiful voice. She's on pitch, and while she doesn't have the words, she has most of the vowel sounds, and you can definitely tell what she's singing. Early this week, she hopped on the swing in our classroom and started belting out "Don't You Want Me Baby", and yesterday it was "Saved By Zero". The first one is the one she sings the most, and I wake up with it going through my head.

My not-so-secret mission is to take her up to the music room someday and let her play on the keyboard.

In the meantime, over spring break I'm going to make a cd of hits from the '80's and when we get back, there is going to be a dance party in our room.

Working Girl

Last year was the first year that I worked as a parapro in a specialized communications class. I sought this job because: it payed better than the other aide jobs (but not as much as bus drivers - those folks are livin' the dream: they drive for a couple hours, and spend the rest of the day reading or buffing their nails or eating donuts or something), and I would be able to put JH on his bus to school, and be waiting for him when he got home. I would also have all the same holidays and days off, which would save us in childcare expenses. I also took the job because in my previous life (before JH) I was an actor, and though I loved it so much at the time, I have lost my burning desire for it. And that's what it takes to make money at it. And we need money. And insurance. And I know that starting all those sentences with "And" is going to have me burning in Grammatical Hell, but I still have that side of me that just HAS to call attention to myself, so I just turn all BadAss with the English Language and say "TAKE THAT, Blogosphere!"

Where was I? Oh, yes, my job. It could have been a disaster, but it has been anything but. Yes, there are days when I want to cry and run away, but mostly, I am so excited to go to work, so thrilled to be trusted with these amazing kids, and so energized by our joint attempts at communication.

I happened to walk into this job a complete neophyte a) working in the public school system, and b) working with a population that has all kinds of special sensory needs. If I were to write a job description for someone considering this line of work, it would go something like this:

"Part Australian Blue Heeler, part Rodeo Clown, part mud wrestler, part wind talker. Humor is a must. Fashion Plates need not apply. Creative thinking is a must. You will spend your day running, or waiting. You will get dirty. You will get frustrated. You will need a good stiff drink at times. But you will also fall in love on a daily basis. You will see examples of heroic attempts to overcome obstacles several times a day. And you will leave each day wondering how you can make the next day better."

I'll be managing better after a month or so. But I remember last year at this time, I was taking afternoon naps, the kind where you wake up in your own drool and wonder where you are and what year it is. This year is a bit better, but I'm still dragging my ass. Of course, it's closer to the ground than it was this time last year, but we're working on that.

So now you know a little bit more about how I spend my days.

The Fever Effect

There was a story on NPR the other day about the Fever Effect in children with autism. There was a study done that says that fever in some children with autism will decrease their autistic behaviors, and goes on to say that they are studying how certain protiens that change in the brain during a fever could be developed to help children without actually causing illness. I didn't hear the story, rabid npr listener though I am, but a colleague at school was talking about it. I listened, mouth open in awe, because I had just witnessed it earlier in the week. One of my kids' behaviors when he is anxious is to say "I don't like" to whoever he happens to lay eyes on, or "I don't want" something he knows is coming up, even if the thing that is coming up is candy or something enjoyable. He was out sick for two days this week, and I knew it was coming because the morning he came down with it, he got off the bus, quietly said "good morning, Anne, where's Pam?", and proceeded to have appropriate behavior all morning long. Even his voice was different. He was a completely different child. At about 10:00 his nose started to run, and he got pale, and when he went home at the end of the day, I knew he'd be out sick the next day.

Yesterday he was back at school, still not feeling entirely himself, but most of his behaviors were back, so I knew he was on the mend. And yesterday my partner was out sick, so it was particularly stressful, not just for me but for the kids as well. Especially for the kids. We had a sub with us, who was terrific, but kids with autism have a hard time with change. One of the girls in our group is very attached to my partner, and she had a very difficult time, hitting herself, pulling her hair, when I instructed her to do things that we normally do every day. I am still learning at this job - getting them from point a to b in their schedule is easy, getting them to communicate is much harder, and talking them down from a tantrum is still scary for me - not because I feel that I am in danger, but because the tools I have at my disposal - timers and calm down schedules and a different language - are still so new to me that I feel clumsy when I use them, and I think even years of doing this can never innoculate you to how heartwrenching it is. But I know they need me, in that moment, to be solidly there for them. I was able to just be with her, talk her through her calm down schedule, and she finally calmed herself down enough to get through the rest of the day. But I know more than anything, she doesn't want to do this, she doesn't want to feel this way or to hurt herself or anyone else, and it takes a harder heart than my own to not feel it for hours after it's over.

As I put her on the bus, she said "boo, peas", which I knew meant that she wanted a piece of blue candy. My partner usually tucks her on the bus with a piece of candy, because she's nicer than I am. I explained that I didn't have candy, and signed that I was sorry, and she copied me, signing sorry herself, and asked me to squeeze her hands. As I squeezed her tiny hands, the hands she uses to hit herself, to fling her hair when she's angry, the hands she bites when she's out of control, I wanted so much to be able to give her something - not candy - but a cure that would allow us to talk about, well, anything really.

That's why I can't get that story out of my mind. Because it seems so hopeful, so possible, that one day they might be able to maneuver in the world like you and I do.