New School News

So in our little pocket of the world, the new academic year has begun, along with the rainy season.

As he has "graduated" from Kindergarten and turns six in a fortnight, Little A should be moving to First Grade. Only with the dearth of schools that do proper mainstreaming and integration for special needs kids, our choices were quite limited, and we decided to keep him back a year to join a new school that recently opened.

This school is run by a bunch of people with great track records. They are starting with preschool and adding one new grade every coming academic year for the next twelve years. The program looks good, and they have an in-house support system for special needs kids. The campus is located in a converted house along Metro Manila's busiest thoroughfare.

This school follows the "international" (i.e. Western Hemisphere's) academic timetable, beginning in August and breaking up for the summer at the end of May. They are starting, however, with a "summer" programme - 5 weeks from June to July. Since Little A has already had two months of summer holidays, he was the first to enroll in the summer programme, to get him used to a new school new teachers, and a new routine.

Week one is over, and there are only 7 kids in the class. Little A, as expected, is the oldest, and the biggest. I managed to convince his home ABA teacher to apply, and she is now part of the faculty, an addition that was badly needed, as it turns out every single one of the kids enrolled in this summer programme has special needs.

I've been spending mornings with the other mums, getting used to the new schedule of being up at 6am, on the road at 730, and in school before 8. We've been talking, and most of us are ambivalent at the non-integrated setup currently underway, as all of our children have come from mainstream preschools. The other mothers, however, are expat wives. None of them will be in Manila three years from now; nor will their children.

Little A, however, is in this for the long term. I am crossing my fingers that the applicants for the August term will make up the deficit of typical children, but if they don't, then need to consider if this really will be the best academic environment for Little A.

While he is still non-verbal, this program suits him well. The IEP portion of the schoolday (2 hours, with 2 hours of preschool following) should allow him to keep up with his same-age peers academically, as last I checked he was on par with them in that department. The preschool day will give him opportunity for interaction with other kids.

The first week, my son was perfectly happy. Not a peep of complaint. I was very pleased, and asked his teacher on Friday what they had covered during the week so his home ABA teacher (his former shadow teacher at the last school) could continue the work. To my dismay, she told me that they had not done anything challenging at all that week, tackling only skills Little A has already long mastered, for the purposes of fostering independence. No writing, no reading comprehension, no addition!

No wonder Little A has been so happy, he'd just been playing! I am giving them another week, and then kindly requesting that they move up to more academic work during the IEP time. There is a parents' orientation this weekend, so I look forward to hearing what the other parents will have to say. On the whole, though, I am more pleased than displeased with this school. They are new to this setup, and I'd like to give them a chance to prove that they are worth the fees we will be paying each academic year. I only hope it doesn't take them too long to do so.

Back in the Saddle

When he was 3, Little A fell off a horse. It was his first time to sit on one, a Shetland pony at a petting zoo not far from home. Big A and I took him to see the animals that summer day, but my son is generally uninterested in those behind bars or glass, preferring ones he can actually interact with, or possibly touch. Part of me wonders if he is against animal cruelty, wanting these creatures to be free.

Since then, he has refused to get back on a pony, preferring to watch them from the sides as they go about their business.

This last trip to the mountains, though, just before summer school started, he wanted Big A to sit him on a horse. We were at a park we always visit to enjoy the fresh air and the scent of pine trees, when Little A spotted a gentle grey horse standing at one side, with his owner, a man of maybe 60 years, standing next to it.

There was a sign that read "Photo on Horseback" and a very reasonable price. Thinking Little A just wanted to touch the horse, like the last time we were in the mountains, Big A picked him up and brought him closer. To our surprise, Little A threw his leg over and sat proudly in the saddle.

He seemed thrilled to be seated on the animal, reaching forward and touching its mane, and then rocking back and forth in the saddle, asking it to move. But this horse had retired from walking the park circuit, and was content to just stand by the tree next to its master.

Naturally, I took photos. Big A stood close by, but Little A was brave, perhaps knowing instinctively that this animal was a very gentle one who had been used to children sitting on its back for years. Luckily, no one else was in the queue for a photo op on horseback, so we took all the time we wanted.

The next day, we took Little A to the place where ponies were for hire, walking a circle or a mountain track. He inspected the horses and sat on one, but wasn't feeling ready to go walking on it yet. So we didn't push it. We know, as with everything else our son does, that he will let us know when  he is ready.

Run and Hit

Three or four times  a week for the past year and a half, Little A and I, or Little A and the Au Pair, have walked down the road and crossed the street to the therapy centre he attends.

A few months ago, a bus stop was built down our road, and this past week there have been roadworks next to it, making the road a little bit narrower, and therefore a little busier for the vehicles that pass it.

Little A has been repeatedly told that we must only "walk on the stripes," and while holding a grown-up's hand. Sometimes, though, we let him walk just ahead, to foster that little bit of independence.

Yesterday, there was an illegally parked car next to the pedestrian crossing, immediately to our left. As we stood on the pavement, I let go of Little A's hand to put his iPad, which he had been carrying, into my bag. I saw that a bus was loading with passengers and told Little A that "after the bus, it will be our turn."

Immediately upon seeing the bus go past, Little A bombed it into the road, just at the edge of the zebra crossing. Unfortunately, there was a car behind the bus, and the driver's view of Little A was blocked by the illegally parked car to our left.

I screamed, and it was as if time slowed down, just like in the movies. Little A swerved to his right, the car braked, and its front fender caught him on the left side of his ribcage, hurling him a few feet forward, where he landed on his left elbow.

I grabbed him off the street and dragged him back to the pavement, where I sat on the curb and wrapped him around me, checking his back for bruising, bumps, blood.

The driver of the car pulled his vehicle over, and the security guards at our building, as well as some other drivers waiting at the car park nearby, came running over.

My first remark was to the driver of the illegally parked car. "Why on earth were you there? That is a no parking or waiting zone!" I didn't hear his reply, as I switched my attention back to my shell-shocked son, who wailed very quickly about his hurt elbow, and then went nearly catatonic against my shoulder.

When Emergency Services arrived a few minutes later, I tried to set Little A down on the pavement to show them what happened. My little boy's knees immediately buckled under him, and one of our building guards scooped him up and handed him back to me.

The driver of the car that hit Little A was from a company that worked at a building down the road. He and the other guards and witnesses waited for the police while the Emergency Services car drove Little A and myself to the hospital. I managed a quick call to Little A's therapist on the way, explaining that we wouldn't be attending his session today and why.

Upon admission, Little A was quiet, and likely in shock as I spoke to Big A on the phone and told him quickly what had happened. When the intake staff tried to take his pulse and temperature though, Little A quickly gained enough energy to refuse and complain. We were given a bed in the pediatric emergency ward and seen by three doctors.

The first recommended an X-ray. I agreed to this, and we waited. The second doctor arrived with medicine for the scrape on Little A's elbow. By this time, he was regaining some of his energy. By the time the trauma doctor arrived, nearly an hour later, Little A was jumping on the chairs, running around the ward and asking me for corn flakes.

Miraculously, on removing all his clothes, there appeared to be no damage to Little A's body besides the bump on his elbow. I asked about internal bleeding, cracked ribs and the like, and was told just to keep watch, and given the all clear to take him home.

The company that owned the car which hit Little A sent another vehicle over with a lady who paid the hospital bill and a policeman who took my statement. Little A and I went through the other side of the hospital and walked carefully home.

On entering our flat, the first thing I saw was the backpack Little A had been wearing when he was hit by - or ran into - the car. It must have fallen off when he tumbled into the road, or when I picked him up, or maybe I just ripped it off him when I was checking his back. I picked it up with shaking arms. Perhaps it was this item that protected his ribcage from damage.

Little A carried on with the rest of his day as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I, on the other hand, felt like I needed a long sleep. It was as if all the energy in my system had just disappeared with the adrenalin. Apart from a quick, necessary, trip to the shop, I kept a close eye on Little A, expecting him to feel tired or hurt suddenly, or want to take a nap, at least. Amazingly, he was energetic  as usual.

My parents, who were hysterical on hearing what had happened, rushed over and couldn't believe that Little A was feeling so normal. Guardian angels protecting him, maybe, or just the amazing resilience of children.

While I was grateful that nothing worse had happened, I was also worried that Little A wouldn't have learnt his lesson. This morning though, he was careful to walk only while holding my hand, and asked to be carried across the road going home.

In the past three years, Little A has had three accidents that required hospital visits. One per year. They say these things happen in threes. Let's hope, then, that this was the last. 

Midnight Wanderings

One of Little A's writing tasks, with his own answers. Bed is for Mommy.

I've written many a post on Little A's sleep, or the lack thereof, even before he was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. It took him ages to sleep through the night, and until recently he would still wake up at 4 or 5am a few nights a week.

When Little A wakes in the night he sometimes babbles, and if this goes on long or loudly enough I go in and quiet him down, whereupon he asks me to stay with him until he either falls asleep or the sun comes up and he is allowed to get down from bed. Other times he gets down from the bed himself (no easy feat in the dark from a top bunk!), shuffles into our room, tugs at my hand and takes me back to bed with him to keep him company. He knows he must stay in bed until there is daylight, and that he is not allowed to share ours as he shouldn't disturb his sleeping dad.

Upon moving into his own room in January, Little A's sleep patterns, by and large, improved. There is still the occasional early morning waking, more so since summer has begun and he has been less tired by the day's activities, with no school to keep him busy. But the sleep hours are longer, and for that I am grateful.

On the nights that Big A and I are out on a date, the Au Pair puts Little A to sleep. She knows the routine and manages very capably. As soon as he is out for the count, she retires for the night herself. Normally, we arrive home only 2 or 3 hours after bedtime, and usually all is quiet. I peek at Little A, and then get ready for bed.

One night recently, we stayed out later than usual, as a friend of BigA's was in town for the first time since she migrated to Canada with her family three years ago. When we got home, I saw that our bedroom light was switched on. This is unusual, as we turn out the lights when we go, and at bedtime only nightlamps remain illuminated. I checked Little A's room, and he was in his bed, but he was awake.

When he saw me, he reached for me and asked me to stay next to him as he fell back asleep, which only took a few minutes. The next morning, I asked the Au Pair if the light in our bedroom had been left on the night before. She told me it was off when she went to bed after putting Little A to sleep. He had obviously woken in the night, made his way to our room, turned on the light to be sure we were not there, and, finding the room empty, gone back to his own bed.

I still am very proud he did this all on his own. In the beginning my biggest trepidation about him sleeping in his own room was that he would wake in the night, turn the lights on, and play with his toys. He used to try this, but has since accepted my edict that unless the sun is out, he must stay in bed and at least try to go back to sleep. That he followed this even when seemingly at home all alone gives me much joy and hope that in other things as well he will learn to behave appropriately. Hooray for small successes.

Baby Birds

The Au Pair found a nest in the bushes by our apartment's swimming pool the other week. In it were a pair of baby rice sparrows, our country's national bird. She showed them to Little A, who promptly wanted to take them home.

The nest was transplanted to the bushes outside his room, but, afraid the mother bird wouldn't find it, or would reject the babies for having been touched by human hands (I read somewhere that this was the case with certain birds in the wild), the Au Pair took to feeding the tiny chicks by hand twice a day.

Big A, who had raised fighting cocks and racing pigeons in his youth, didn't expect the chicks to survive the week. But to everyone's surprise, a few mornings later, Little A spelled out "watchbirds" with his letter tiles, and showed me that the nest on his balcony was empty.

The little birds had grown their feathers and taken - sort of - flight. They begun by hopping about the area near the bushes for a day or two, but soon found their wings and flew away.

There's a lesson in this, obviously. That help can come from unexpected places, and that, against odds, one can become a success. So I am applying this to Little A, who has plenty of challenges to face; many more so than the average child. May he find his wings. And fly. 

Happy Feet

Several years ago, this animated film came out featuring singing penguins. There was one among them who discovered he couldn't use his voice like the others, but he expressed himself another way - through dance.

As a former professional dancer, I was once expert at saying things without using spoken words. Now that I am mother to a non-verbal child,  alternative forms of communication take on a whole new meaning.

On my birthday this year, my family visited our city's Ocean Park. We'd tried to go once before, but the queues then made it impossible with an impatient, crowd-unfriendly toddler in tow.

This time round, we chose a day when the city was virtually empty for the Easter four-day weekend. Little A breezed through the fish tanks, only spending a long time admiring the sea horses.

When we got to the penguin enclosure, however, there was an opportunity  to get up close and personal. Big A took a look inside, then paid the fee and took Little A in. Neither of them wanted to hold up the slippery fish to feed the penguins, so the Au Pair was tasked with that job.

Little A loved being close to Pingu and friends. There was a time when he would cry seeing animals in cages, but being in their "natural" environment like farms and open areas has always thrilled him, to the point that we've considered animal encounters as possible therapy options. (Next up, swimming with dolphins.)

Many parents and professionals have related how children with special needs are sometimes brought  of their shells by developing close relationshps with a particular animal. We'd love to discover if this would be true for Little A, if only we didn't live in a small apartment in the middle of a bustling metropolis.

Apart from this, we push on with Little A's alternative communication modes.  May our society get to the point where happy feet and happy fingers will be enough to include these individuals who lack their own  voices.

The Big Blue

Back when DVD players were the latest technology, Big A and I were a new couple. As he loves movies as much as I do books, for our first anniversary I got him a DVD player and a film that a friend sent over from Amazon US. DVDs were fairly expensive then, and there was a limited number of locally available films.

The movie was Luc Besson's The Big Blue, one of Big A's all-time favourites. A certified technical diver and former national swimmer, he has probably spent more of his lifetime in the water than on land. His son has clearly inherited this love of the water, as I am, despite all efforts to change this, very much a land creature. Graceful on land, having spent most of my life defying gravity and standing on the tips of my toes, I am awkward in the water and have a dodgy right eardrum that makes diving difficult.

Little A first went swimming at about 9 months of age - the summer after he was born. He loved it, splashing around and flailing his limbs. Shortly after his second birthday, he escaped from our apartment and made his way to the swimming pool. By the time he was three, he preferred the big pool to the baby one.

In his third year, Little A taught himself how to swim. Slowly, carefully, by dint of much practice and holding on to our arms, he learnt to doggy paddle and got confident doing it for the length of our 20m, 5 foot deep pool. He also discovered floating and buoyancy at this time. Then, he moved on to dipping his face underwater, first practicing in the bathtub, and then in the swimming pool.

This summer, he mastered the frog kick and gained incredible speed chasing his dad the length of the pool. Simultaneously, he has discovered the joy of diving. Experimenting with his breath, he would plunge down as low as he could get, trying to get to the bottom of the pool. After reaching it with his feet, he tried sitting down, lying down, and doing somersaults.

One day in March, a neighbor's son had some toy cars by the poolside. Little A took them and dropped them into the pool, where they promptly sank to the bottom. Knowing he couldn't yet reach there, I prepared to put on my swimsuit and retrieve the cars, but Little A surprised me by diving in and getting them himself, one after the other. Delighted with himself, he dropped them down and did it again.

We've since bought some sinking swim toys, as he's been using the ones brought by swimming teachers and other parents. These days, 5 feet of water is no challenge at all for Little A, so much that he actually spent 5 entire days last week out of the water. One of the coaches who teaches some of the other children has taken videos of him, remarking that all he needs now is to learn the form for the proper strokes.

It would be great to see Little A follow his dad's footsteps in competitive swimming, and possibly scuba diving. The bigger challenge now, is getting him to don a pair of swim goggles so we can take him to the beach.