“A Bandaid for my heart”

February 27, 2016February 27, 2016Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Reflections, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: children, compassion, Death, Developmental Trauma, Emotions, Grief, hope, Loss, Postpartum Depression, speech therapy, speech-language-pathology 3 Comments

She asked me if I knew about dying.

I said I knew it hurt when someone we love died.

She nodded and fiddled with the pencil, poked the tip against her finger, poked again. Again.

I wondered if she was trying to make the hurting take a form she understood through the pinprick of a just-sharpened pencil. I gently put my hand on hers.

She looked up at me, thankfully without embarrassment or worry of judgment. Feelings weren’t easy for this child, whose very early years were filled with much that couldn’t be expressed and had no wording. Her grandfather passed away right before her birth and a hue of grief lingered many months, adding to her mother’s post-partum depression. Her mother has recovered since, and the home was generally caring, but unspoken early patterns of if-you-are-quiet-you-won’t-overwhelm-mom and waiting for another’s space to open so you can have your needs met still played out often. The girl, not yet ten, was more likely to attend to others’ feelings than her own; more likely to dismiss her anguish to not distress others.

I smiled at her and she smiled back shyly. Her eyes glistened and she sniffed.

“My dad told you?”

“Your mom did.”

Her eyes flew to mine, surprised at being thought of. She took another breath. Tears slid down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Sweetie.” I handed her a tissue and snuck a bit of extra affection into the gesture. Just because. She noticed. Smiled the sad smile again.

Her great-grandmother died two nights before. Her father’s grandmother was a fixture in the child’s life. A rock. The one who filled the gaps, stepped in, held, held on. An elder in the best sense of the word. There was a love there that spanned generations. A special bond with this child.

It was a gentle death, the mother said. Doctors believed the grandma had passed away peacefully in her sleep. No pain. No long decline. That was a blessing, but for the child this loss still hollowed.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she whispered.

“I know. I’m sorry.” I moved a strand of hair off her cheek. “You can still say it. Maybe not in the way you’d have wanted, but still …”

“Yeah,” she sniffed. Dismissed. Reconsidered. Looked up. “How?”

“Any way you can think of, almost.”

She pondered. “Dad said she can hear me. In my dreams. In my thoughts.” Her eyes probed. She wanted to believe it.

“I believe that’s possible, yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t know exactly. I just feel it. In my heart. About people I love and passed away. It feels right to me that we are still connected, that in some way they can hear me.”

Her eyes overflowed again but her face softened. “I think I’ll talk to her. Tonight, maybe. You know, just me and her.”

I nodded, smiled.

She sighed. Drew in a shuddering breath. Sighed again.

“I miss her,” she whispered. “It hurts. I wish I had a Bandaid for my heart.”

hands-and-heart

Connections

August 7, 2015Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Quotes, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: children, connection, cycle of life, foodchain, Life Lessons, realization, Science, speech therapy, speech-language-pathology, teaching, Things Kids Say 2 Comments

The boy, five years old, had his hands deep in soft dough. “What do butterflies eat?” There was a butterfly cutter among the shapes on the table, likely the inspiration.

“Nectar.”

“From the flowers?”

“Yep!”

Silence, a bit more kneading, pulling, twisting and squeezing. This kid has such high sensitivity to textures that it took three months of work with an excellent occupational therapist before he was willing to touch the dough, let alone let it squirt between his fingers. My work with him was reinforcing the OT work in the speech-and-language contexts. Children learn much better when their body is engaged.

“What do frogs eat?” He fingered the frog cutter, put it next to the butterfly one, compared their sizes, lightly pressed the edge of the frog shape into his ball of dough.

“Frogs eat mosquitos as well as other kinds of insects: flies and gnats and such.”

“Good.”

“How come?” I smiled.

“Because mosquitos eat people alive.” His big eyes hang on me, suddenly a little scared by his own repetition of words he’d heard, “but do they really eat people?”

“Not exactly, no. The female mosquito drinks blood for her food, but only a very little bit. It is very small and it doesn’t actually eat you.”

“Oh. Yucky.”

“Yeah, I would not want to be a mosquito.”

“Me neither!” Pause. “Frogs don’t mind, right?”

“Yep.” I can see another question coming.

“Who eats frogs?”

“Snakes do. Some other animals eat frogs, too, even some people eat frogs.”

“People!?” The munchkin was simultaneously impressed and repelled. “People don’t eat frogs, do they?” he turned to his mommy. Usually, I’m an acceptable source for information, but some things require a higher authority.

The mother nodded, amused. “In France they do. Maybe in some other countries.”

“Yuck.” he relished the word. “Yucky, yucky.” He twisted his lips in contemplation, and you could see the wheels turning in the little brain behind the hazel eyes and summer freckles. “But … frogs eat the mosquitos and the mosquito eat blood from people …” he let the question dangle.

I raised my eyebrows, waited.

“It’s like a circle.” He breathed. “It is everything connected!”

From the mouths of babes.

Half-Angel

June 30, 2015Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Reflections, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: Angels, children, compassion, Grief, Loss, parenting, Patience, speech therapy, speech-language-pathology, Things Kids Say Leave a comment

What do you do with a grieving child?

You listen. You hold. You listen some more.

You offer tissues, you offer a hug. You answer lots of questions.

You nod. You tell stories. You honor the small memories told.

You come up with suggestions–or rather, embellish on those that the little one has.

You produce boxes (“too little”, “too big”, “too not-good”, “I don’t like it”, “okay, this one …”), find padding and ribbons and stickers, along with a few extra hugs.

You write what’s requested. Erase the letter that did not look perfect. Write it again. Erase. Write once more. You understand that it has to be just-so.

You provide blank paper and crayons, markers, highlighters, scissors. Play dough.

You oblige to search Google for questions your answers were not good enough, and come across five hundred other interesting things that lead to more questions. Distraction is good medicine, too.

You write down a protocol for ceremony, number the steps, change the order.

You make a headstone from tongue depressors and card stock. Give another hug.

You write the name of the departed. Erase it because it did not come out perfectly. Write. Erase. Write once more.

You draw a picture and told it “doesn’t even look like him.”

You are saved by a photo from the bowels of phone memory–a snapshot of happier times.

You give more hugs. Another tissue.

You stay with. You listen. You know that no small loss is small. That no one is truly replaceable, that loss is confusing and brings along with it the worry of losses far bigger and questions too scary for words. You don’t go where the child does not take you. You comfort, you understand.

What do you do with a grieving child?

You listen. You hug.

You promise not to forget.

You tuck the drawing in the folder (“but be careful”) to keep it safe.

And you use a tissue yourself, when the child wonders aloud if dead fish get to have wings and continues to answer himself: “Yeah, because they have fins, so Benny was already half-angel.”

A Forever Family

June 27, 2015June 27, 2015Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say, Trauma and Development Tags: A forever family, adoption, attachment, children, Family, Foster Care, parenting, Safety, speech therapy, speech-language-pathology 2 Comments

The little boy was beaming yesterday.

“You know what?” he said, having barely parked himself on the little chair in my office.

“What?” I pretended.

“I’m SO happy.”

“You are!” I exclaimed, smiling. Even a boulder would see that the little guy was delighted. Delighted and relieved, actually.

“Now my parents can be my REAL parents!” he gushed. He sobered then–this boy does not take family for granted. Abandoned at birth with visible deformities, trundled through foster care homes and more losses, and finally finding an adoptive home with parents who were dedicated to him and where he was cherished. “If something happens to Daddy …” he paused, “then Papa will still be my father.”

He reached for my hand, excited and a little scared at what he just stated, momentarily overwhelmed by the proximity of both loss and hope. It took a lot of love to get this boy trusting that his home was a ‘forever home’ and that he was really wanted; and sometimes worry still snuck in, triggered by the destabilizing challenges of very real uncertainty.

Such as when he needed surgery and only one of his adoptive parents was allowed to escort him to the operating room, because only ‘legal guardians’ could, and the law did not allow both his parents to adopt him, only one. Daddy was recognized as his parent. Papa was not. It scared him that people could say that Papa was somehow not his real father, that other people could — again — decide about his life.

Or when his legal parent was away on business and the new school guard gave the boy’s papa trouble picking him up because there was no official note on file indicating that he was among the ‘approved caregivers.’ It took a tense while to locate the classroom teacher to confirm that this man that the boy called “Papa” was indeed one of his parents and had collected the boy from school before. For several days later this little boy refused to go to school. He insisted on waiting for Daddy to return. He was scared that school people won’t let Papa take him home.

Now in my office, this little boy fiddled with my bracelet, as children often do when they are feeling a little tender but need to be the ones establishing how much connection to allow. “Sometimes at nighttime I have bad dreams … about having to go back to foster care.” He looked up at me, dark eyes like deer in headlights, hair framing his little face in a frizzy halo.

I squeezed his hand gently. He looked at his papa, who was sitting quietly with us, his own eyes bright, and allowing his son–son in all ways but legally until now that the Supreme Court declared the constitutional right for equality in marriage and family–the space for these complicated feelings.

The boy reached out for his father and received a hug. “It is going to be more safer now, right?” the boy asked, face buried in his father’s shirt.

“Sure is,” the father planted a kiss on his son’s head, who at not yet six years old was already a veteran of too many worries. “Your home is with me and Daddy. We are a family, you and Daddy and I.”

“And Priscilla!” the boy added in reassured indignation. “You forgot Priscilla!”

His father chuckled. There was no forgetting Priscilla the ever-into-something dog. “Of course, Priscilla is part of our family, too!”

The boy snuggled into his father’s hug another moment. Sighed contentedly. Peeked at me and smiled. “The judges said that my Papa can also be my father now. Like my Daddy. Forever and ever and ever and ever.”

Because I understand me!

June 2, 2015June 2, 2015Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: being yourself, Funny, parenting, play, quiet time, speech therapy, Things Kids Say, wisdom Leave a comment

From Pintrest

She heard noises coming from her daughter’s room. A heated conversation, animated chattering.

She listened at the door. Changed tone, one voice, empathetic discussion. She peeked–no toys involved, no dolls. Just her four year old sitting on the bed, talking earnestly.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked.

“Me.”

“How come you’re talking to yourself?”

A surprised look, a ‘duh’ voice: “But Mommy! Because I understand me!”

What do you do with a melted child?

May 29, 2015May 29, 2015Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: children, meltdown, parenting, speech therapy, speech-language-pathology, Tantrums, Things Kids Say, Toddlers 4 Comments

I could hear them before they even entered the building … his screech, her frustrated murmuring, unclear words with clear intent to hush and stop the fussing.

It did not get better in the vestibule, or the stairway. Screaming, banging on the rails (there’s fantastic echo in the building–apparently it is spectacularly irresistible for maximizing the effect of tantrums).

The mother’s pleas inched up in volume, from “stop this” to “please behave” and “you are making too much noise” to “other people are going to get mad at you” and “if you don’t stop this there’d be no playdates.” The immediate effect was a proportionate rise in the child’s loudness.

I decided to go meet them half-way. It is not something I usually do, so my very appearance in the hallway was enough to generate sufficient surprise to elicit momentary silence. I capitalized. “Sounds like you are having a hard day,” I noted, directing my words to both red-faced figures, one with mortification, one with the exertion of maximizing vocal output on steep stairs.

“I’m melting,” he noted, quite matter of fact, I might add.

“Oh,” I responded.

The mom looked from him to me and back again. “Melting?”

“A meltdown, I suppose,” I smiled, turned to the boy. “It sure sounds like a major meltdown.”

He nodded emphatically, satisfied.

“Do you think you had enough of a meltdown for one time?” I offered my hand to him. “It sounds pretty exhausting.”

He considered, placed his little hand in mine. Turned to his mother with a rather smug expression. “I done melting now.”

“I’m glad,” she managed.

“What was this about?” I wondered aloud.

“He wanted to be the one to press the button for the bus stop …”

“Ah.”

“But someone else on the bus already pressed it … so he refused to get off …”

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He nodded, approving of the testimony. “It was my turn to push the button,” he accused.

“Hmm, maybe other people on the bus didn’t know that.”

He looked shocked at the very notion. How could anyone not know what he clearly had?

We climbed. He pondered.

“It only got worse from there,” his mother added, still debriefing. “I had to carry him off the bus, screaming. He threw himself on the ground …”

It explained the stage of his clothing … it had rained earlier …

“He got himself all wet …” she sighed, “I’m sorry for bringing him in such a mess.”

He turned to her, his face a mask of indignation. “Of course I wet, Mama! I was melting!”

Proof of Trying

November 24, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say Tags: Confidence, education, History, mistakes, NaamaYehuda, speech therapy, Test taking skills, Testing, Things Kids Say, Validation Leave a comment

She came to session in a huff.

“I am SO bad at history,” she stated bitterly. “I hate history.”

After letting in a bit of sympathy and a bit of gentle urging, she pulled out a stapled test striped broad with red–remarks, circled words and crossed out answers–the teacher’s mutilation. A large C dominated the top of the page. She threw the paper on the table, her face a salad of emotions: regret, embarrassment, disgust, disappointment, sadness, frustration, despair, shame.

“I’m not taking this home,” she said. “Can you keep it in my file here instead?”

“How about we look at the test together,” I offered, skirting the question.

She frowned (kids always pick on adult evasive maneuvers …) but nodded grudgingly. We went over the questions and her answers. She was actually almost correct on most, just not quite as the teacher wanted. The girl misinterpreted directions on a couple but wrote accurate facts; misplaced a number on a date; confused an ambiguous passive tense and so got the answer wrong (trick question, that one was); wrote the wrong sequence of correctly memorized events …

The teacher gave no quarter for mistakes of any kind, no leeway. The red marks slashed through the test in an assured hand of criticism. To add insult to injury, the bottom of the second page read “Try harder next time” … harshly assuming that the effort was what lacked, rather than skill or speed of processing.

In effect, the mistakes were very good proof of trying. They were signposts of the effort put in by a child who finds memorizing difficult and worked hard to understand the unfurling of what happened to whom where and when and why. She knew the material, even if the test plumbed all her weak spots and completely ignored the many things she studied.

Comforted some by the validation of her work, she calmed, vindicated that she wasn’t “bad at history” and bolstered by understanding that while the teacher had the right to take off points for errors, there were many places where knowledge came through, if imperfectly.

For the rest of the session we worked on attending to test questions: identifying exactly what was asked, highlighting important words in questions and directions, re-wording it if necessary, reading all the answers before settling on the best one, writing down key-words. Strategies for testing.

In the end she left with the offending graded test in her backpack, ready to take it home and armed with the understanding of what she did right, not only what came out wrong. Still disappointed, she was at least no longer ashamed.

“I think Ms. J sure does loves red,” she noted, a bit of snark in her voice but humor finally restored. “Maybe someone should get her a green marker …”

A Small Bewitching

October 31, 2014October 31, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Life and love, Things Kids Say Tags: Bewitching, children, Creativity, Halloween, parenting, Secrets, speech therapy, Things Kids Say 2 Comments

She came up the stairs dragging a very sorry looking mop.

To my raised eyebrow, she smiled, “it’s a secret,” and said no more. She placed the mop in a corner (head double tied in a plastic bag per my insistence), and sat down to work. Once in a while she lifted her face to look at the mop’s handle with a little “I know something that you don’t but this is working really well so far” grin.

I was of course dying of curiosity but had to admire her resoluteness to not spill the beans. This was no easy feat for a girl who would usually share just about any tiny detail she could think of.

Not this time.

This cat, I could see, was not being let out of the bag. How apt, when we have been working on symbolic language, and how she adored the image of that specific idiom. Thought it was the funniest thing after being “all ears.”

When the mother came to pick her up at end of session, a storm paced near.

“What’s this?” The parent curled a lip.

“From outside,” the child replied regally and more than a little challenging.

The mother shook her head at the mop. (My thoughts exactly … from OUTSIDE? Who knew what peed on this, or worse, and why someone decided to toss out the scraggly mess! She brought this in here from OUTSIDE?!)

The child remain stoic. “I told you I’d figure it out,” she said cryptically.

“But …”

“And you said that if I found a way then I could AND that this can be a secret until Halloween! So you can’t say anything or you’ll tell!” the girl jumped in rapidly before the mother said something that would reveal what was to be kept hidden (and … I think, to prevent any conversation from putting her at a disadvantage …).

The mother looked at me helplessly but all that I could do was shrug slightly and observe. This was better than TV, definitely. I did not have a clue what was going on, but the child’s delight was fun to see. I did have to hand it to the gal: she clearly made a point and seemed to be driving it home (hopefully not literally … I could not see any cab driver happy to see this in the taxi … and was already thinking how there’d be some disinfecting on my end once this thing left my floor, plastic bag or not …).

A long moment ticked. Another.

“Okay!” the mother sighed. The girl’s grin was humongous.

“Okay?!” I could not help it. The girl picked this up from the garbage and it was okay?? This was not a woman who collected toss-out stuff from pavements, and I could not see her letting this into her house. I could barely believe I let it into mine …

“Oh, she means she’ll get me one!” the girl explained. Victorious. “She didn’t want to but I told her that I will find one myself … though,” she turned to her mother, all nectar and loving sweetness, “it WILL be so much nicer to have a new clean one to use …”

The girl grinned at my bewilderment and left hopping down the stairs. Her mother–I am not sure quite as relieved–carried the offensive mop between two careful fingers (“So it does not smear who knows on each of your steps,” the parent shuddered, keeping the bagged mop head well above the ground.)

Neither mother nor child offered explanation for the girl’s newly found interest in housekeeping. It remained a mystery to me.

Until today.

(Picture of an unrelated child in a similar costume …)

Back to School–Challenges and Hope

September 6, 2014Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Reflections, Resources and links, Speech Language Pathology Tags: Back to school, children, Communication, Fall, Mixed Feelings, NaamaYehuda, parenting, Preparation, Schedule, Speech and Language Therapy, speech therapy 4 Comments

Back to school. Eyefuls and hearts full of children in new clothing and shiny shoes totting sparkling backpacks that are yet to be dragged, thrown, pulled, and sat on. Images of parents, some relieved for end-of-summer entertainment chores, others sorry for the loss of time together, and many more managing an alternating roller-coaster of both … Children with their own mix of dismay and anticipation: back to homework, also reconnecting with classmates and interesting new things to learn.

Back to school is a bittersweet time for most. A loss of freedom yet a gaining of routine that can often be stabilizing. A time for new beginnings and old worries. Fresh expectations and maybe the memory of disappointments. There are anxieties and stresses about friendships, best-friends, cliques, teachers, lockers, who would sit with whom in the cafeteria, fitting in. Mixed into the tetchy anticipation are all too often often nagging worries about too-difficult studies and possible overwhelm.

This time can be even more potentially stressful for children who have language-learning difficulties and past experiences of failure. For them going back to school might brings up memories of struggle and inadequacy, of confusion and all-too-frequent errors and correction. They may associate school with overwhelm and be anxious about the end of respite that summer offered. At the same time that they may still be excited about reuniting with their friends or meeting a new teacher or trying out the new school supplies in their pristine notebooks; they may also hold worry and distress that, too, needs space alongside the excitement. Mixed feelings may be difficult for these kids to explain, further adding to confusion.

Children rarely have one feeling at a time (most of us don’t, really) and the salad of emotions is frequently shifts and is difficult to tease apart. Especially so for children who have some difficulty with communication, processing, and language. It can help to let them know that it is fine to have all kinds of thoughts, worries, and emotions tumbling through their minds and bodies. Verbalizing the experience helps demystify it and helps give words to what may otherwise feel like undefined unease in the pit of little stomachs and vague distress exploding into weepy bouts and unexpected tantrums.

Back to school time can be tender, and fortunately there is much that you can do to help!

If you had not done so yet, it may be a good time for a brief ‘postmortem’ of the previous school year: What worked and what didn’t? What are they proud of? What were favorites and what was least so? What would they change if they could? What was most helpful? What would have helped? Is there anything or anyone they’d miss? Anyone they worry revisiting?

Time, too, for a heart-to-heart about this school year before it begins in earnest: What are they excited about? Does anything worry them, and if so, what it is? Who are they looking forward to meeting? Who are they not keen on seeing again? Is there anything they are not sure about? Anything about which they feel more confident? And … what do they need? How can you help?

For those for whom narrative is a challenge, it would help if you share your own back-to-school stories: The best year, the worst year, your favorites and least. What gave you joy and what causes you worry. Modeling your own mixed feelings gives permission for the child to have a mix within themselves, and provides a framework for their own descriptions. Add your thoughts and feelings about them and their new beginning: Your excitement for how much they’ve grown and your touch of sadness for the end of summer pleasures; your hopes for a good year and your wishes it would not be too stressful or too difficult.

Do not, however, criticize or bring up ultimatums. Things like “last year you did not try very hard so this year I expect you to do better …” or “you better work hard this year or there’d be no play-dates …” or “I don’t want to hear bad things from your teacher about you like I did last year …”–they wound, not help. Shame strips hope away and erodes confidence. Absolutely vent your frustrations and fears to other adults you are close to but not in the presence of the child who evokes them–you need a soft place to fall but it should not be your child who provides it for you …

No child wants to do badly in school or to misbehave. Using last-years woes (over which the child now has no control anyway) as leverage for this year demands does little to give motivation. Failure will happen–we all misstep, we all make errors, have bad days, act out sometimes, forget, neglect to follow some direction. If the child enters school afraid or disillusioned they may reach conclusions that it is not worth the try if they are already half-way into punishment …

So … be on the child’s side. Encourage. Inspire. Allow a new beginning and fresh hope and confidence. You don’t need to praise failure or ignore hardship, but you can find a way to re-frame difficulties through effort and maturation. “I know that last year was challenging at times but I am so excited to see how much you have matured this summer” and “Let us work together to make this year the best year yet both in school and at home.”

Prepare. School supplies and school clothing are important. So are arranging schedules and anticipating needs and letting the child be part of whatever decisions they can have some input for and control over. Familiarity with routines is important for any child but even more so for the child who may need help with comprehending and following cause-and-effect, sequence, and directions.

How to do it? Talk about the coming schooldays’ schedule. Point out when school starts and ends, how long things take (the school bus, getting home, homework), what other things will need to be accommodated. Discuss the merits of good sleep and healthy nutrition, negotiate (or explain) a clear a time to rise and time to go to bed, time for other tasks as needed. This arranging of routine and timetable can be made fun–life should be looked forward to and manageable–after all, there are so many amazing things to find out and adventures to be had!

To make things more concrete and minimize the need to hold all the details in memory, you can draw a visual schedule together: clocks with crucial times to follow, lists of things to do each morning and after-school, timetables for after-school activities and therapies. This preparation will be further enhanced if you review the school schedule (and any unusual things like holidays and school trips) over weekends so the child knows what’s expected and what to expect.

Make sure you leave time for the child to have unstructured play. Ensure there is some time for boredom, too. In this day and age when life is busier and schooldays long and demands overwhelming, it is difficult to fathom children given time to daydream and get bored. However, these are crucial for imagination, creativity, rest, and assimilation. Children will daydream–might as well make time for it so it does not take place in class or during homework.

Secure some time for reading and snuggles. Schedule it in. It is no less important than homework or baseball or tutoring. YOU reading TO the child, that is. Beyond the pleasure of connection and time together in story adventure, there is ample research showing it as a wonderful best way to increase their language and comprehension, to expose them to worlds beyond their own and deepen their listening. Reading to your child will enrich your connection and provide a time and place for shared relaxation as well as important opportunity for sharing what may otherwise not find a way to bubble up and be spoken of.

Preparing the school staff is helpful, too, if special accommodations or understanding are required. Consider speaking with the school ahead of time (or early in the school year) so that you limit your child needing to stand out as different or wait for accommodations. You’ll also get a sense to who the teachers are and which one may call for more teamwork and coordination than others.

Prepare yourself, as well … Not for the hardship, but for self-care. See that you not forget your own needs for good food, enough sleep, time to breathe, to exercise, to call a friend, to laugh, to cuddle. Stress is no more good for parents than it is for children …

It is a tender and exciting time, this back to school adventure of new beginnings. Even as it may awaken the frayed remnants of old worries, it offers amply opportunity for building confidence and bolstering hope. It is filled with growth and re-connection. May the cooler weather and the changing times herald soft days and brilliant colors, and may it bring on glorious learning ready to unfold.

Happy Back To School to All!

What Would You Do If …? Children’s Safety Plans.

June 25, 2014September 10, 2016Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Speech Language Pathology, Things Kids Say, Trauma and Development Tags: 911, Empowering Our Children, Intuition, NaamaYehuda, parenting, Prevention, Reaching out, Safety Plan, speech therapy, What would you do? 2 Comments

The mother of one of the children I work with called to let me know they’d would have to cancel their session for the week. There were some unexpected problems and she had no arrangement for the older child. Her youngest, whom I see in Speech Therapy, has several developmental issues, and the mother–a single parent–shuttles him for several remedial therapies every week. She sounded anxious and wrung out, so I asked her if she wanted to tell me more about what was going on.

“My older son had a bad experience with someone,” she sighed.

“What kind?”

“He usually stays with my mom when I take Mick* to therapies, but my mom’s away for a couple of months to take care of her sister who is having heart surgery. I found a sitter for him, but the sitter can’t come to my house, so I take him there and pick him up on the way home. Everything has been fine the first two weeks and Dan loved going …”

“But?”

“He was really upset when I picked him up yesterday. Said he never wanted to go back …” The mom sounded quite upset herself.

“Did he tell you why?”

“He said he didn’t like being there anymore. You know where my mind went … I was thinking the worst … but I didn’t want to put words in his mouth, so I tried to breathe and told him I respected his feelings and that we’ll figure out what to do, but it would help me to know what about being there he didn’t like … At first he just shrugged and looked down and such. Then he told me someone had come to visit the babysitter and brought a ‘really big scary dog who jumped.’ He got scared but the babysitter laughed it off and called him a baby and kept egging him on to pet the dog, ‘not be so yellow’ and not ’embarrass himself’ … and kept sending the dog toward him. Dan wanted to go home but he ‘knew I wasn’t there’ because I was in PT with Mick and he didn’t know what to do … I’m relieved nothing worse happened … but I feel awful he was scared and I wasn’t there. When I called the sitter, he was dismissive and said ‘it was just a dog and it wouldn’t hurt for the dude to toughen up some’. I won’t send him there again!”

We rescheduled for when she could bring both children, at least until she found another option.

“It was good you listened and took him seriously,” I tried to reassure her. “You can’t always protect kids from having an uncomfortable experience, but you can give them the power to reach out and have you help make sure it doesn’t go on. He told you something changed, and you’re taking steps to keep him safe. He did well for telling you, and you did well by not pooh-poohing his worries. In fact,” I added, “this is probably a good opportunity to speak with both kids about things they CAN do if they ever feel uncomfortable or need help. Just like adults, kids feel more secure if they know there’s a plan.”

Many adults have some form of emergency plan. We know what we’ll do if there’s a fire. We know what to do if someone ails. We have an idea of who can help if we’re feeling scared or intruded upon. We have phones and know how to use them. We have friends and family we can call on, we understand ‘gut-feelings’ and know that danger requires a response.

While children don’t need to figure out their own safety plans, it can be very helpful for them to have some tools and to have rehearsed certain scenarios during times of calm.

It is why schools have fire drills. It is why you should have one in your house–in day time as well as during dark. Make it fun, but keep it serious: it can save lives to know what way one is expected to go, what the alarms sound like, who to look for, where to convene, what exit to use, how to make it to the door with your eyes closed (think: dark and smoke and a blaring alarm …).

It is why children need to know to call 911 (and that it’s not a toy or something to ‘experiment on’). Why it helps to teach children to ask for help from people in uniform and/or from mothers with children (while most strangers are probably safe, uniformed people are often ‘in official capacity to help’ and mothers with children can often feel less intimidating and know how to respond age-appropriately to a child in distress).

Children as young as three can memorize their first and last name, as well as their parents’ names, what they do, and where they work. They can memorize their address (make it into a song …). Four-year-old can memorize a phone number. At five they can practice writing it from memory.

In addition to immediate safety, children should also be taught what to do ‘in case’: what if they find themselves separated from you in a mall or public gathering? What if they’re someplace else (with a baby-sitter, school, a birthday party or sleepover) and feel something is wrong? What can they do if they don’t feel safe?

Children should know they can always reach out to you, and need not worry about hurting the feelings of the adult they are with (you’d be surprised how often children don’t call a parent because they worry they might upset the adult they’re with). They need to know you will not be angry with them if they tell you they’re uncomfortable or scared. They need to know you’ll find a way to make it better–it may not be possible for you to fly in from another State in the middle of the night, but you might be able to speak with someone where the child is, or to otherwise assess whether more extreme measures are required–children shouldn’t feel they have to figure it out on their own if things feel too much to manage.

Teach children what to do if they need help and cannot reach you. Who else can they call? A good friend of the family? Another family member? A classmate’s parent?

Teach them when it is a good idea to call 911: If there’s a fire (even if they’d caused it), if they think something really bad is happening; if they or someone else is being hurt or might get hurt real soon if someone doesn’t come to help; if someone (especially an adult, but also if the adult in charge seems unable to manage the situation) is out of control or inappropriate; if the person in charge ‘acts weird or scary’ (children may not know to identify drunk or drugged, but often do pick up on something that’s not as it should be).

Reassure children they shouldn’t get in the car with anyone they don’t feel safe riding with, who breaks the rules or is being tricky or secretive. It doesn’t have to be a stranger. You don’t have to explain drunk or drugged to very young children (though it might not be a bad idea to bring up the issue with older elementary school children), but you can give the child a sense of control for when they feel unsafe and ill at ease. I know a child (age 9) who refused to get in the carpool because the adult had texted while driving and had her eyes off the road for what felt like very long. That child’s mother had discussed safety with her, so she was able to say to the driver: “My mom doesn’t let me ride in cars where someone is texting. Please put the phone away until we get there.” When the driver refused, the child asked to call her mom.

Many parents are afraid to discuss problematic situations with their children. They think about sexual offenders, they worry about making their child feel unsafe in the world.

In reality, discussing safety skills is just as important as teaching children how to cross the street, how to wait for the light to change, how to use (and not use) tools and sharp objects, what to touch (and not). Preparing your children to manage unexpected situations is just as important. It gives them skills to be less helpless. Role play and practice these at home. Let them know it is okay to reach out and that you’ll figure out how to help … Reassure them they should tell you if they think they’d done something wrong … even if they worry you’d be mad: That you’d like to know and would help and love them anyhow.

As for the little boy: his mother had a good discussion with him (and his younger brother), and together they’d made some plans.

They talked about ‘listening to tummy messages’ (intuition) which let them know something was not okay. They talked about things they could do: Call mommy or grandma, call Auntie Nell (who lived nearby and was willing to be standby help), call 911 if they were really afraid or needed someone to come right away. They talked about how it was okay to tell about things that didn’t feel right, and that they didn’t need to keep secrets they didn’t want to keep. That their bodies were theirs, and so were their feelings. That being scared is not bring a crybaby and they didn’t need to touch, go, see, try, say things they felt weren’t okay, went against the rules in their house, or felt ‘not right.’

And the little guy?

He learned his mother was there for him. That it was okay to let her know how he felt and he didn’t have to protect her or worry or figure out things on his own. That he was just as important to take care of as his younger brother. That he could listen to his gut. That it wasn’t okay for anyone to put him down or make him feel ashamed to tell. And … that the world can at times be uncomfortable but he did not have to manage it alone and knew what to do if he felt he needed help.

Do your children know what to do if something happens? If a caregiver doesn’t show up to pick them up? If they find themselves alone someplace? If they feel intruded upon? If they are told confusing things? If they are asked to break rules they don’t think should be broken? Do they know who they can call on if you’re not around?

Make a plan. Today is a good time!

action plan