The last month blissfully I have had no case worker visits. No forms to fill out about the Cat’s behavior. No dragging the Cat to places where he doesn’t want to go for an evaluation. My medical social worker had called off the monthly visits until we had heard from the government-sponsored center. And we were simply playing the waiting game with the latter. It was a welcome break from the scrutiny.

All has not been completely rosy with the Cat for this past month, but I think overall his behavior has been great. “Other” 4.5 year olds have bad days, too. What has been refreshing is that the Cat has seemed to be trying so hard. He says, “I am trying to behave.” And “please, I don’t want to get in trouble.” Overall, he has been polite and sweet. Grandpa has noticed that he plays well with other children at the park. And I have noticed he talks more about his friends.

There have been a few issues at preschool.

A couple weeks ago, the Cat’s teacher asked me if I had heard anything from the government-sponsored center, and I asked her if he had a bad day and whether that is what had prompted the question. She responded that he had been fine, and she sort of stuttered that she just wanted to make things more comfortable for him. I get the impression that he has moments of being “off” each day, and that she doesn’t quite know how to reconcile his differences and deal with what to her are silly requests. For example, during a parachute game, he complained the ‘chute was too loud (it was, in my opinion!) And then last week, she reported to Grandpa that he had complained that he didn’t want anyone looking at him. I remember being sensitive to that in my youth. I have seen him yell out “Don’t look at me!” and thrust his hands forward. I remember a similar moment during fifth grade when I was hit in the nose with a football a la Marsha Brady and the last thing on earth that I wanted was to be surrounded by my classmates. I was in pain and highly embarrassed, so grunted, throwing my hands out in attempt to shoo my classmates. Of course, that just got more negative attention and I got in trouble. And that is precisely what is happening with the Cat.

The upshot is that the Cat seems to be doing really well, but then he has those moments where he is frightened, embarrassed, or stubborn, and he doesn’t know how to deal with those emotions effectively and articulately. (Bonus points for him for understanding how to use his words when he is sad or physically hurt; he has done wonderfully with that recently.)

Frankly, I think that his current preschool teachers are a bit impatient with the Cat in a way that his teachers last year were not. My father mentioned that his teacher had rolled her eyes when recounting the “don’t look at me” story. I don’t think they know how to deal with him, and they are a bit put-off to even try. I really don't think having an in school evaluation so close to the start of school helped with the framing of this issue. But maybe it wouldn't have mattered since the Cat's behaviors speak for themselves.

New experiences are tough for the Cat. At the beginning of October, the class went on a field trip to the pumpkin patch. His teacher pleaded at me to “stay local” (originally she wanted me physically there while the kids loaded into the vans) until he had successfully been put in a vehicle to go. She seemed disappointed that I hadn’t signed up to be a parent driver. I sensed her pseudo-anger and bewilderment. I explained that I had considered being a driver, but knew that the Cat tended to put on “a show” for me. I felt the best course of action would be to force the new experience by having him ride in someone else’s van. I felt he would be better behaved than if other kids “invaded his turf” in “his” van. Similarly, I thought that if I were in the parking lot, he would raise a stink and insist on going with me, either pleading to take him to the patch, or home. I quickly explained this to her (hoping the Cat wasn’t listening) and I think she understood. I reassured her that I would be in the area with my cell phone on, so that if there were a problem, I could immediately take him home while the others went to the Pumpkin Patch.

He did fine. In fact, he enjoyed it so much that he was eager to go this morning when my mother’s club had their fall social there. He jumped right into the action since he had been introduced to it earlier this month.

Last week, his preschool had a bake sale. Every day, he would tell me, “I don’t want to go in the bake sale.” He didn’t understand the concept, thought it was off-campus, and judging from the “in” I think he thought he had to physically go somewhere perhaps dark like an oven. The teachers told me wearily that he had been emphatically denying that he would assist with the sale. I reassured them that I would talk to him about it. Yes, I talked to him about it. Daddy baked with him and explained why they were baking. The morning of the sale, we brought the baked goods to the classroom together, and he let out one last, “I don’t want to be in the bake sale,” but I told him to enjoy himself. I was afraid what I would encounter what I returned later that afternoon for the sale. But as I arrived, he was smiling wide as he worked the cash register.

I think the Cat can overcome his fears. It is a matter of addressing them and helping him find reasonable ways of expressing his concern.

When I brought in the mail, I saw the logo of the government-sponsored center. My heart fell. I couldn’t just leave it unopened on the counter until after the birthday party because I would wonder what was inside.

I opened the letter.

It read that the Cat had been diagnosed with PDD-NOS (Pervasive Developmental Disorder – Not Otherwise Specified.) This is the same diagnosis we had received early this year with Shithead Doctor. The psychologist at the government-sponsored center had been impressive, and had warned me that the Cat would score lower on his abilities because of his refusal to complete tasks, so in some ways the diagnosis wasn’t a surprise, but I had held hopes that perhaps he was a bit more towards “normal” in the several months since the original diagnosis.

The good news is that he qualifies for services. But that is also the bad news.

In the ride to the party, and for part of the party itself, my mind was processing the news.

I know he isn’t “normal” so it makes sense that there is a diagnosis. But then I am disappointed to be thrust once more into the “finding services” arena. The letter listed three areas in which they might be of service: educational advocacy, behavioral consultation/intervention, and structured playgroups.

My mind went wild. I want “help” for the Cat, but not “too much” help. I would appreciate recommendations for how to approach some of his behavioral concerns, but not being put under a microscope. At my gut level, I don’t want to be told what to do. I hate having a “case worker” as though I have done wrong. I don’t like “reporting” to someone as though I am being evaluated (and my son surely is!) Yet I know that the “intervention” is meant to be positive, even if the word carries such weight.

Honestly, I think it is the lack of respect that I dislike. There is an implication that you are an ineffective parent, so we will coach you about how to fix it. I realize this isn’t truly the case, but that is how it initially hits me. I am overly sensitive and I recognize that intellectually, but emotionally I get angry that my family is being monitored. I am disappointed to have to jump back into the world were I have these “check-ins.”

If the psychologist who evaluated the Cat is part of our treatment team, I will be grateful. She talked to me like a competent adult, not at me as though I were below her (as frequently is the case in these settings.)

Structured playgroups? My first thought was that I don’t want the Cat in a group of his peers where they also have problematic behaviors. I don’t want those as role models for him. But I realize the flip side is also true: a bunch of “normal” kids wouldn’t want the Cat around as a model of behavior.

Most of all, I don’t want the Cat to internalize that he is somehow “a bad boy.” This last month, although he has worried about getting into trouble and has expressed when he is working hard to behave, he hasn’t muttered, “I am a bad boy” like he had before. I don’t know whether this is because of maturity, or because he is no longer being evaluated. I don’t know if there is a connection. I don’t know how much he understands about the purpose of these evaluations and whether he is internalizing it in some way.

I hope that any of these “services” will be presented as something fun to do, not “therapy” or “punishment.” I don’t want him to think that he is below his peers. As it is, he knows that he has a special diet and understands that the other kids don’t have to adhere to those rules. I don’t know how this has affected him with regard to his self-esteem, though he does indicate that he thinks he will grow out of it, which may be true.

I know I simply have to wait to see how things flesh out. Husband and I talked a bit about it on the ride home from the party and he reminded me that I don’t have to put the Cat in the services if they don’t seem right for him. And that is true. We need to just wait and see what happens. Worrying about the process does absolutely no good. But my mind ruminates on the possibilities.

I feel better about it today, but the initial reaction was definitely more negative than positive. I will await word from the case manager, and try to approach this as though I am in control: that I have the right to refuse services if I think they aren’t appropriate for the Cat. I need to find the proper amount of trust. I know these are “professionals” but I have all too often seen professionals put kids in little boxes instead of really treating them as individuals. My skepticism is high, but I know that I need to be more flexible in order to find the right way to approach the Cat’s personality in an affirming, sensitive, but instructional way.