You know you're the parent of a LEGO fanatic when:

1)  you can't help but hover over your child building a new set for fear of one wrong move.

2)  in desperation, you have bitten off a brick in order to separate pieces.

3)  you have been caught doing so by one of your kids and they have said, "you said never to do that!"

4)  you remember the joy you felt the day you discovered the Lego Brick Separator.

5)  You have been putting together a set and SWORN Lego has made a mistake and not included a brick.  You always find said piece.

6)  even if you ever do lose a piece during building, you have more than enough bricks to find a replacement.

7)  you never mix up light grey and dark grey.  Rookie mistake.

8)  you've taken your child to a Lego class, had a Lego birthday party, frequented a Lego store or made the pilgrimage to Legoland.

9)  you daydream about ways to organize Legos and search the internet high and low until you find something that works for you.  Odds are you found it on Pinterest.

10)  unfortunately, the person who cares most about keeping the Legos organized is you.

11)  sometimes during cleanup you can't help but stop to make a cute mini fig.

12)  you know what a 2 x 4 is and it's not a plank of wood.

13)  there have been day-long searches for the right piece, often a specific head out of a million yellow heads.  It usually sounds something like this: Is this it?  No.  Is this it?  No.  Is this it?  No.

14)  your child's Holiday and Birthday lists are 98% Lego sets.

15)  you have scoured Amazon and Ebay for an out of production set.

16)  it still pains you to remember how much you've paid for some of them.

17)  you vaguely remember what your dining room table used to look like before the Lego invasion.

18)  you know too well the acute and searing pain of unexpectedly stepping on a Lego brick.

19)  your child is anxiously counting down the days until The LEGO Movie premiere.

20)  no matter what, those little bricks make your child absolutely happy and that is priceless!

HOPE Is Our Four-Letter Word

Kindergarten graduation was upon us and we were so excited!  Evan's class had learned new songs!  Did I mention Evan has a pretty severe aversion to singing?  They had practiced lining up and sitting on the stage!  Evan has a hard time sitting still for extended periods of time.  They were gearing up for the big graduation assembly!  Evan really hates assemblies.  Yeah, this wasn't looking good for Evan.  We were forced to come up with a plan B.  The teacher would reserve seats for our family to sit in the front row with Evan while the rest of the graduating class sat on stage.  Yes, the rest of the graduating class.  As in, every single other graduating Kindergartner would be on stage and Evan would be sitting in the audience.  My emotions were all over the place.  I was so excited for him to graduate and felt so proud at how far he'd come and all he had accomplished.  But, seeing him set apart in such an overt way was like a knife through the heart.  It was one of those neon sign moments.  Where I felt like a flashing neon sign was hanging above my head screaming, "LOOK AT HOW DIFFERENT MY CHILD IS!"  Not a fun feeling.  Steve, Evan, Lia and I found Evan's teacher and she showed us to our seats in the front row.  As we awaited the start of the assembly I felt anxious and tried to concentrate on keeping Evan happy and quiet.  I felt like every parent's eyes were on me.  I'm sure they were wondering about our prime seating and why our son was not with the rest of the children.  Then the school principal approached us frantically.  "You can't sit here!" she said in a panic.  I was caught so off guard.  I explained the plan to her and she expressed no knowledge of the situation and no compassion either.  "You can't have all these seats," she told me.  Already emotional and uncomfortable, I was now extremely pissed off.  "His teacher reserved these seats for us.  He is the only student not on stage!  Where would you like us to sit for my son's graduation?" I snapped at her.  "Well, put the kids on your lap and just take two seats then," she conceded.  "Well, thanks for your understanding and hospitality, beeyotch," I wanted to say.  After she left, I looked at Steve.  I didn't need to say a word.  He knew I was livid.  I didn't want to get up and add to the "all eyes on me" moment, but I had to talk to Evan's teacher.  I found her and told her what happened.  I wanted to make sure she was aware of the situation and that the lack of communication and rudeness of the principal had really put a damper on what was already a challenging day, one that was supposed to be simple and joyful.  We made it through the assembly with Evan squirming on my lap, me constantly hushing him and helping him cover his ears during the singing.  A few collapses on the floor were also added in for good measure.  Afterwards, we went to his classroom where he received his diploma and had a small party with his classmates.  I guess making it through the graduation was his final Kindergarten accomplishment!

Summer break was well deserved and well received.  We took a quick trip to Miami to visit Grandma before the start of Evan's camp.  OK, it's technically Extended School Year, but I didn't have the heart to tell him he had to go to school in the summer.  But regression is a big concern for special needs kids and the ESY program was great.  It was five weeks long, from 9:00 to 1:00, with enough structured time in school during the day and afternoons at home for playdates and trips to the park.  The only problem was that it ended at the beginning of August.  We had a whole month off before school would begin again in the Fall.  For most kids that would be no big deal, but for Evan it was.  He loved being home and being able to "do whatever I want, whenever I want," as he likes to say.  Of course he didn't get to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.  I made sure he took iPad breaks and forced him to play outside everyday.  We also carved out time to do math and handwriting work daily.  A few days into our August break things got hairy.  Evan was having tantrums every time I took the iPad away.  And getting him to do any work was torture.  A simple handwriting assignment took 30 minutes -- 27 minutes of fighting and 3 minutes of actual writing.  He was melting down daily.  I remember Lia (4 years old at the time) looking at me and saying, "This is freaking me out."  I completely agreed and knew I had to figure something out.  When all hope is lost, you search until you find it.

I got in touch with his behaviorist from school and she put me in contact with a behavioral consulting group that specialized in ABA and home-based interventions.  The behaviorist assigned to Evan came out to meet him and see what my concerns were.  Kimberly was sweet, knowledgeable, and straightforward (in a very honest and kind way).  The first order of business was creating a written schedule in 30 minute increments.  Kind of tedious, but totally worth it.  Evan was able to see what activities would make up his day and understand when things would be happening.  He'd know that his favorite things would be on the agenda instead of that vague notion of "we'll do that later."  We put unprefferred activities in between preferred ones.  I let him help me choose the order of the schedule, so he felt some control and also accountability.  When I would say we needed a game, I'd let him choose which one.  If it was time to play outside, I would let him choose the activity (sidewalk chalk, obstacle course, etc.).  This also made him think of other things to do besides the one or two favorites pastimes he would have chosen without the framework of the schedule.  Kimberly also had me make notes regarding how many prompts it took to switch activities and any challenging behavior from Evan.  This way we could get insight into when and why things were happening and make adjustments to the schedule.

Next up was the challenge of school work.  I needed to keep handwriting and math on the daily agenda, but was hoping we could do it without 43 meltdowns (especially when half of them ended with me and Lia in tears as well).  Kimberly suggested stickers.  "Um, stickers?" I thought.  "That didn't work with potty training, I don't think it's gonna work now. This kid couldn't care less about stickers."  She asked if I had any stickers that pertained to things he was into.  Being the over-shopper that I am, I had a big stash of Lego Star Wars stickers.  She demonstrated how to use the stickers with Evan.  She put out his handwriting work on the table and called him over.  When he walked over she said, "great job coming right over! You get a sticker!"  This woman had the enthusiasm of a head cheerleader.  This elicited a big smile from Evan and he sat down in his chair.  "Great job sitting down!  You get a sticker!"  He cheerfully picked up his pencil.  "Great job picking up your pencil!  You get a sticker!"  You can see where this is going.  Tons of positive reinforcement and tons of stickers.  And it totally worked.  At one point I looked at Kimberly and said, "I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone."  Yesterday, writing was equivalent to torture and today it's like a day at Disney.  And all because of stickers?!  We kept up the sticker reinforcement, scaling back slowly.  After a week or so, he would get a sticker for starting his work and a sticker for finishing and he was still thrilled.

The last issue I wanted to address was Evan's use of bad language.  He wasn't into curse words, but would say things like: shut up, stupid, and idiot.  Every time I heard him say something unkind I would talk to him about his language and make him apologize.  Kimberly, saw this in action.  "Is that what you do ever time he uses language you don't approve of?"  "Yes," I said.  "And how's it working for you?" she asked.  "It's not." I replied.  Point made.  She believed Evan was doing it to get my attention and that he didn't mind that it was negative attention.  My reaction was actually reinforcing the behavior.  This was in line with what we learned about his behavior in school.  She also explained that eliminating bad behavior can be a challenging process.  We would have to completely ignore the bad behavior.  Cold turkey. No reaction at all.  Instead, we would have to remain calm and reinforce only good behavior from him and anyone around him (like Lia).  She said it would get worse before it got better (hmmm, that sounds familiar).  Since the bad behavior worked for him before, Evan would likely escalate them in an effort to get our attention. As long as we ignored it and were consistent, the behavior would taper off and then stop completely.  We committed to ignoring the bad language.  And it did get worse before it got better.  Evan would escalate when he did not get any attention.  He would scream, cry, hit and kick.  We'd ignore him and occasionally calmly say, "speak nicely if you want us to listen," with little eye contact and engagement.  He would calm down and apologize and then we would give him our full attention and praise his good behavior.  The bad language and challenging behavior decreased and ended within one week.  No more major meltdowns, fighting, bad language, or school work wars.   

August had a rough start.  I didn't know how to get through to Evan, but I knew I had to find a way.  I'm so glad I reached out to experts that could truly help.  Who knew simple changes could provide such awesome results?!  The remainder of the summer was filled with beach days, bike rides, sunshine and happy kids...and parents!  

Never lose hope.  If Plan A fails, remember there are 25 more letters.