Yesterday, Jack’s support coordinator called after visiting him at his new home. His report jived with mine from our visit a few weeks ago. He said Jack was as relaxed and calm as he’s ever seen him.
There is a lot of thankfulness flowing through me, for the positives we are seeing since Jack moved to a new placement.
He is still having to be restrained on occasion when he hits his head on the coffee table or the walls. Food is still a big trigger for his behavior outbursts (I honestly feel like this sentence could apply to me, giddyup!). BUT, Jack is learning the structure of his new life and his caregivers are well-equipped to handle him. Instead of a steadily increasing, frenetic crescendo of behavioral chaos, we appear to now be firmly planted in peacefulness.
So there’s the update. The month of March was a cluster cuss of trauma. April has been the opposite of that.
In other news, Truman is taking an ADHD med. This is new. For several months I had been thinking (and prompted to think) about this as an option. He’s on what the psychiatrist calls, “a subtle medication,” which is honestly doing great things for him. His kindergarten teacher told me that he is doing “amazing,” and is working and behaving so well, he is usually the example student of the class. He kind of went from “feral child” to “mostly angel kid” in a short period of time.
My dad is somewhere, possibly smug and definitely happy rn, saying “better living through chemistry!” and I am mentally high-fiving him.
Also, I’d like to add to my list of Fabulous Things About Being Forty.
You may remember (from before): a) I never have to be pregnant again, b) everyone sleeps through the night, c) the kids are growing and becoming interesting/terrific people, and d) I know what I like.
Here is my addendum: e) I am a grown-up now, meaning f) I understand myself, as well as various human tendencies, better than at any previous age, and g) I am confident in myself. This knowledge is a result of the hell I have faced as a special-needs parent. Oh HI THERE, wisdom.
One of the side effects of having less perpetual trauma in my life is not having as much to write about. The low-hanging fruit of adversity isn’t waiting for me to notice it, and then (with not all that much effort from me) basically writing itself.
Yet when life is peaceful, writing is work (pronounced with three syllables “wuh-HER-k” or something). And so, little blog, this is what I’ve currently got, which is to say: not all that much to say.
“What’s the point of this blog, then?” someone might ask, and to which I might say, excellent question.
Probably it will be about Jesus, though.