Face the Truth

So I’ve noticed several bloggers are taking part in a 30 Days of Truth blog meme. It’s a nice way to give yourself 30 days of blogging prompts, and while I’m all about jumping on board that bandwagon, there’s no way I’m doing 30 in a row. That would be too much commitment and way too much emotional sludge for me to slog through at once. I’ll just do them here and there and hopefully get through all 30 before I forget what the remaining ones are.

Day 1: Something you hate about yourself

They decided to start easy, didn’t they? I could write a book about all of the things I don’t like about myself. From my dull, flat hair, past my big nose and all the way down to my monster feet, I’m good at finding fault with myself.

But what I really dislike is my lack of social understanding. The more I look inward, the more I can begin to understand and accept that I have a daughter with autism. My daughter’s pediatrician even admitted she thought I had Asperger’s. And as Cordy gets older, I’m starting to see the awkward moments I suffered through as a child relived by her.

I’ve never been popular. I was always the kid on the outside, wishing I could understand how to do the “right” things to be liked by others. My interests were never popular interests. I had trouble being witty on the spot, and often missed the social cues that I wasn’t wanted in a group.

I was told I was a freak and a weirdo, and I was bullied and shunned all through school for being different. I tried so very, very hard to fit in, mimicking others yet never quite getting it right. I couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong to never earn acceptance. I remember feeling suicidal more than once as a child and a teen, always confused about how I could be so amazingly smart in school but couldn’t figure out how to get people to like me.

As an adult, I’ve learned to blend in a little more, but I’ll admit I still don’t understand people. I’ve never figured out the secret to being popular, and sometimes it hurts that I know I’m rarely at the top of anyone’s list of people they like to hang out with. In public I make an effort to conceal some of my quirks.

When I’m funny, it’s generally on accident. (Ask our friend Baca about the scissors sometime. I made everyone in the room nearly suffocate from laughing so hard that day.) I suck at predicting how people will react to something.

I try to accept my geekdom, though. (The Big Bang Theory is one of my favorite TV shows and I understand nearly all of the humor on that show – Sheldon fans unite!) I’ll freely admit to strangers that I’m socially awkward at times, or that I need to drop out of a conversation quickly because I’m feeling overwhelmed. I know my brain doesn’t work the same as others and I’m not ashamed to admit it anymore. After all, I have a daughter with autism, and I want to make sure she doesn’t grow up thinking she’s a worthless freak like I did. Thankfully, being different is more accepted today than it used to be, but we still have a long way to go.

I’m sure it sounds like I’m being hard on myself, and I might be. There were kids who were just as unpopular as me in school. (A few possibly more unpopular.) But if I could change one aspect of myself, I’d love to be that person who can expertly navigate the world of popularity, winning friends and influencing people with ease, instead of the person on the edge of the social circle, wishing I knew how to be a little less awkward.

My personal anthem at the moment:



Apple Thinks I’m a Mom-Blogger Thief

Last week I had a very pleasant surprise when I received an e-mail informing me that I was selected as a winner of an iPad from a drawing held at BlogWorld in Las Vegas. There was much celebrating in my house that night, for I’m never that lucky and especially not with a prize as big as an iPad.
A few days later, it arrived in the mail. I had already been reading up on features and apps I wanted to download, but I was waiting to see which model it was. I received the 16GB wifi model, which is a very nice product, but Aaron and I talked it over and decided that the 3G version of the device would be even more useful.

So yesterday I made the trip out to the Apple Store to upgrade my new precious to an even shinier model. I carried it into the store – still in the box it was mailed in – and took it up to the counter. I quickly met the eyes of an employee and put on my best smile to attract his attention. “Hi, I received this iPad as a prize when I went to a blog conference recently, and while I love it a lot, I’d really like to trade up to the 3G model.”

The man looked the box over carefully, reading the label, peeking inside to verify I did have an iPad in there and checking to see which model it was. “Oh, OK. Well, do you have the receipt for it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, no. I received it as a prize. What you see here is all that came with it. But I can show you the e-mail they sent me.” I took out my iPhone and quickly pulled up the e-mail.

He looked closely at the screen. “Hmm…but it doesn’t have any receipt for purchase on it. Let me go find someone to help you with this.”

While he was away looking for a manager another store employee, who was standing there listening the entire time, took the iPad out of the shipping box and said he’d throw away the box for me.

The other employee came back with a manager, who told me without a receipt they couldn’t do an exchange. “We just don’t know where this iPad came from,” he explained, “It could have been purchased in a number of places, and we’re rather you return it to that place of purchase. A lot of our products are popular, and there’s a lot of theft, you know.”

I again explained that I received it as a prize and showed him the e-mail from the PR company who sent it to me, along with the shipping slip. I was confused at this point, and starting to feel like they thought I had stolen this iPad. “Your company makes the product. Why should it matter where it was bought? It’s still the same product. I don’t want any cash for it – I’m only asking to pay the extra money and upgrade to the 3G model.”

“Well, without the receipt, we can’t do anything for you here,” the manager responded. He then smiled and added, “But it’s a popular product, so you shouldn’t have any trouble unloading it some other way.”

Unloading it. Seriously? I hoped for a moment that maybe “unloading” was new hipster-speak for “finding a legitimate way to trade it in somewhere else” but quickly realized that they totally suspected me of stealing this iPad.

“I don’t want to sell it,” I insisted, “I want to USE it. But the 3G version would be more useful for me, so that’s why I’m trying to exchange it.”

“Well, we have to have some proof that the serial number on this model matches what was purchased. If you can produce a receipt with the serial number on it, then we can help you. Like I said, iPads are hot. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble unloading it.”

I was furious. I wasn’t angry about the exchange policy – if that’s their policy, fine. What I’m still angry about is the way I was treated. I don’t care how popular their products are – when I walk into their store, I expect to be treated with respect, not as an enemy.

From the moment I said I didn’t have a receipt, nothing else I said mattered to them. I was no longer a customer – I was a scammer. Forget the fact that I was planning to spend $130 to upgrade. Forget that I was likely to buy a case and other accessories to go with it. Even with an e-mail, a valid explanation and a shipping box showing where it came from, they couldn’t help me and could only suggest I turn to a reseller market to make a little cash off of it.

Oh, and about that shipping box: as soon as they made it clear they wouldn’t help me, I asked for the box back. The employee who originally helped me looked surprised as to why I wanted it back. “I’m not walking out of here holding an iPad box for all to see. It screams: ‘Mug me’ don’t you think?” They grudgingly found my box and gave it back to me. I packed everything back up and left.
When I got home, I took a closer look at the box. On the original label was the original sender’s address, which just happened to be Apple HQ. And there was an order number, which was a valid order number when I entered it on Apple’s website. Not to mention the iPad’s serial number was also on a sticker on the outside of the box. Yet the store employees refused to look for any evidence to back up my claim, and nearly threw out my proof.
I’ve experienced my share of bad customer service, but this trip to the Apple Store was one of the worst yet. I was made to feel ashamed, as if I was doing something illegal, just for wanting to exchange an unopened product for a more expensive one. It completely stripped away all of the excitement I had for the iPad.
I’m still unabashedly appreciative and grateful to the company who hosted the giveaway and randomly selected me as their winner. And I still hope to get the iPad upgraded to the 3G version somehow. With 3G, we can take it with us in the car or in other places that don’t have wifi, and I plan to load it up with apps for Cordy. There have been several apps designed for children with autism, and I’m hoping the iPad can be a tool for Cordy as well as a useful tool for me, too.
But I have absolutely no respect for Apple and their poor customer service at this point, and will tell my experience to anyone I meet.
I didn’t deserve to be treated like a thief.

Edited to add: After all that drama, it was suggested in the comments that I try Walmart. I took it to my local Walmart, and they let me exchange it with little hassle. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Apple could stand to learn a few lessons in customer service from Walmart.



Happy Halloween!

They came to protect the Earth, and collected buckets full of candy along the way.



Finding the Right Fit

Earlier this week I sacrificed my morning sleep time for Cordy’s annual IEP meeting. (If you’re not a special-needs parent or don’t understand the letters, the link provides more info.) These meetings always stress me out. I trust her teachers to give accurate information on Cordy’s abilities, but I always worry that they’re not pushing her hard enough or we’re not pushing hard enough to get more services for her. But then I worry if I set up unrealistic expectations that Cordy will fail and suffer as a result.

So I always arrive at these meetings conflicted and nervous. Add in 20+ hours of no sleep (from working the night before) and I probably looked like a crack addict at this meeting.

It started with her teacher telling us that Cordy is incredibly smart. This was the running theme of the entire meeting, so get ready to hear it a lot in this post. She’s testing at a 1st grade level for reading and executing 2nd grade level reading work in the classroom. Her math skills are advanced. She’s getting individual instruction in her special-needs classroom and is attending a mainstream kindergarten classroom for a few hours at a time three days a week.

Social skills, of course, is where the problem lies. She can be disruptive and shriek or scream if she has to do something she doesn’t want to do. She has trouble transitioning from one activity to another. And she’s not very good at making friends – she sometimes gets confused and doesn’t know what to say when talking to other kids.

When it came to planning out academic goals, the teacher had none in mind because she’s already well beyond her kindergarten curriculum. I pointed out that if Cordy is doing so well, it’s my goal that she continue to be pushed academically – to stay ahead of the curve. If she has trouble socially, I’d rather her at least be advanced academically so she has something to keep her self-esteem up.

The mainstream kindergarten teacher came to the meeting as well, and told us that Cordy is doing great when she’s there. We knew this, though – Cordy always tells us how much she likes going to that room, and describes having good dreams at night of getting to visit that class.

Of course, one goal I wanted to see in her IEP was more mainstream time. They said they would work on that gradually, and committed to start including her in art class with the mainstream class. They’re also going to try letting her sit with the other kindergartners during lunch – this is a big deal because there are no adults sitting at the table, so she’d be on her own in an unstructured social minefield. I suggested that they arrange to let her sit next to one of the kids she knows, so at least she doesn’t feel surrounded by strangers.

Finally, the principal of the school joined us at the end of the meeting. She again told us how impressed they are with how smart Cordy is, and mentioned that they would like to explore the possibility of formally testing her for the gifted ed program. The challenge for this is that Cordy must test without any accommodations – no extra breaks, etc – or the scores won’t count. This is problematic because Cordy doesn’t have a lot of patience for being tested. She likes to do schoolwork, but she hates having to prove what she knows.

The principal said they could seek an exception to have independent testing done in place of the standardized testing. Then the testing could be done on her own time, in her own way, and with people she’s comfortable around.

It all sounded great, but then I asked what sort of programs they had for gifted students. (Assuming she tested into gifted, which is not a guarantee.) They told us that due to budget cuts and new state guidelines, they actually don’t have any gifted ed programs until fourth or fifth grade. What’s the point of rushing to get her tested then?

The only truly frustrating part of the meeting (other than my trying to stay awake) was the realization that even if she’s fully mainstreamed next year, they still aren’t sure what to do with her. Should she be in a mainstream first grade class, she’ll likely be ahead of the curriculum for reading and math. Keeping her in the class for these subjects would be letting her down academically, but sending her up a grade for these subjects might then introduce more problems with transitioning and new situations that could get her put back into a special-needs class.

There doesn’t seem to be an ideal situation. OK, well, I suppose there’s homeschooling or a private Montessori school, but those require either me to not work as much or us to make a lot more money, respectively. At the moment, both options are not available to us.

It probably wouldn’t upset me as much if I didn’t partially understand what Cordy is facing. I was never in a special-needs class, but I did test into gifted ed as a kid. I had to go up a grade level for reading class, and I hated feeling out of place with the older kids. In my own class, I was constantly bored and I had trouble connecting with my peers. The only time I ever enjoyed elementary school was the one day a week I got to spend in the gifted education class. I was in a much smaller class, I was challenged, and I genuinely liked the coursework and the other kids I was with. But that gifted ed program started in second grade, not fourth. If I had to wait until fourth grade, I might have been a lost cause by that point.

Part of going to school is learning to put up with other people and situations you don’t always like. But I can’t imagine that every kid felt the same as me in school, and I don’t want my daughter to go through that as well. If she’s as smart as they believe she is, she’s going to need a lot of support to stay challenged and interested in school. Aaron and I can provide some of that at home, but we can’t be at school with her every day.

So the meeting generally left me feeling even more uncertain about Cordy’s education. There’s a lot of good going on, and quite a lot of possibilities, but just like my daughter I want something a little more concrete. There are some good options, but if there’s an ideal option, I’m not seeing it at the moment.

To sum up: I’ve got a smart, socially-awkward little girl who doesn’t fit the system. I think we can all now agree that she is most certainly MY daughter.



Night Shift

I am the voice of calm in the middle of the night for many new moms.

When they’re up at 3am with a crying, fussy baby, I’m awake, too. I wait for them to call me, with their questions like Is this normal? and What am I doing wrong? I can hear the frustration and worry in their voices.

I go through my standard series of questions for them, quizzing them as much as they quiz me. Once I feel like I’ve gathered enough information, I give my best educated opinion on the issue. If they need to see their pediatrician, I tell them that upfront. If the situation warrants it, I provide suggestions and tips they may not have thought of. When possible, I share my knowledge with them so that they may be better educated.

The truth is, rarely are they doing something wrong. If anything, these parents who call in the middle of the night are only proving to me that they are dedicated, loving parents, looking for answers to provide comfort to their infants as well as peace of mind for themselves. Babies don’t have instruction manuals, and I’ve yet to meet two infants who are exactly alike. Life with a baby is a series of trial and error, and while that doesn’t always mean making mistakes, it often means having to make several adjustments until the right routine is found. (Wait. I think that applies to life with a child at any age…)

I never talk down to them. I remember being a first-time mom, too, wondering if “colic” was really doctor-speak for “ineffective parent” as I tried anything to soothe my screaming child. Had you talked to me at 3am on one of those long nights as I held my daughter while bouncing on an exercise ball, you might have thought I was out of my mind. The advice I give now is 3 parts nurse, with 1 part experienced mom thrown in for good measure.

Even though I’m no longer in a clinical, hands-on practice, each new caller provides me with a patient, and I give them as much attention and care as I would for someone I was working with in person. I want them to feel confident in their parenting skills, and I genuinely want their infant to be content and healthy.

Some have been kind enough to call back and give me updates on their children, even occasionally thanking me for a tip I provided or a few reassuring words that helped them through the night. I remember those moments when I deal with a difficult parent who doesn’t like the advice I’m giving and instead takes their frustrations out on me.

I sometimes hate the hours I work. It’s hard to stay awake all night and sleep all day, only to turn my schedule around on my two days off so I can spend time with my family. I miss sleeping in the same bed – at the same time – with my husband. It’s not all bad, though. I enjoy the stillness of the night. I like the quiet office. And those middle-of-the-night calls, by weary, sleepless parents, are often some of the most rewarding.

I’m a phone triage night nurse, and if you need me at 3am, I’m here and ready to help.

(This post is totally at the request of nicurnmama, who insisted I write a little bit about my job, even if I can’t go into a lot of detail for privacy reasons.)

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