I’m a little blocked up. Congested. My head is full of stuff and nothing’s coming out.
This is both the literal truth and a metaphor. I have a cold (thanks, Mabel) but I’m also waiting for things to resolve before I blog about them. Which is silly, because life never resolves. It moves on, but it’s not done (till it’s done). It’s not as if they’re secrets; just that I like having the end, or an end of sorts, to tell when I tell the beginning. Making a complete narrative, like.
It’s mostly Dash-related, so there’s also the writing-about-your children thing that raises its head more the older they get. When does it stop being my story and start being his, to tell or not tell as he wishes? But on the whole, I tell his stories to help other people who might be in the same position, and then say that makes it right. I don’t know if it does or not.
Tomorrow I have a meeting at his school to talk about his class placement for next year. He’s hard to place because he’s smart but his reading’s so slow that it mightn’t look like it. He’s good at math and has a great memory and his vocabulary is wonderful and he’s technically reading at a fourth-grade level. But he needs extra time for reading assignments. It’s a little as if he’s dyslexic, but he’s not dyslexic.
Next week we have an appointment at Children’s Hospital with a feeding specialist, or a dietician, or whatever that person might be called. To talk about the lack of variety in his diet – which is not apparently having any impact on his health or growth, but is starting to affect him socially. He’s worried about what he’ll eat when we’re on vacation this year. This is the first time he’s expressed a concern like that – before, he never seemed to care if he ate or didn’t eat when we were in a different place. Maybe it’s because we’re not going to Ireland, where at least he knows they have toast and bread and packets of peanuts. (We’re going to Italy. Mabel will be happy with pasta and pizza, but not Dash.)
I don’t know what we expect the expert to do. It’s not as if he’s going to uncover some new food group consisting of a range of healthy foods that Dash just happens to love. I don’t even know what I hope he’ll do.
It’s possible, you might be thinking, since I’m bringing these two issues up on the same page, that Dash’s eating issues and Dash’s reading issues are connected. That there’s some umbrella Thing that will draw a line from one to the other, stopping at his other quirks, ones that are maybe just the other side of perfectly ordinary, along the way.
Maybe there is.
I’m calling the insurance company and trying to figure out what they will cover assessments for, if we go outside the school system, which it looks like we should do because when a kid’s neither failing nor disruptive, the school doesn’t feel the need to test them. (You can demand that they test them, but they probably won’t find anything much.) So far it sounds as if insurance only covers assessments for ADD and ADHD, but I think I’m just asking the wrong questions.
Lots of maybes. Lots of questions. Following avenues, asking for stories, listening to my gut. Trying.