How to tell it's time to go back to school...

I've taught Mark the proper way to answer a phone and how to leave a message. He's not always successful; earlier this summer when he called Tyler's house, Tyler's mom answered. Mark asked her to come over to play, and when she told Mark it was Tyler's mom, not Tyler, he sneered, "Yeah, right! Good one, Tyler!" I shrank into the corner and died a little bit from embarrassment.

So when Mark's friend Tyler called yesterday to see if Mark could come over to play, I listened to Tyler's voicemail with interest. (Because it's rude to say I'm trying to see how Mark rates along side his peers in the voicemail department.)

Tyler did great. He was polite, to the point, and even left a timestamp. Sorta.

"Hi Mark," he started. "It's Tyler. I'm calling to see if you can come over to play. It's Wednesday, 2010."

He paused. "Um, I don't know what day is it. I think it's the 8th. [It was the 25th.] Anyway, call me back."

I hung up the phone and giggled a bit. And realized Mark is right where he's supposed to be developmentally.

Another day at the office

I was plugging away at work the other day when my phone cell rang. Caller ID informed me it was Mark's school calling.

"Hello?" I answered, expecting to speak to an adult.

Instead, it was Mark. He breathlessly informed me that:

• He had an assignment about California landmarks due in two weeks.
• He'd bring home the instructions about it tonight.
• He really, really, really wanted to report on Dodger Stadium, UCLA and Hollywood.
• I had to sign a paper agreeing to let him choose those landmarks.

"OK," I answered when he finished. "No problem."

"Cool!" he shouted.

And then the whole call struck as as kind of...unusual. I glanced at the clock -- it was 10:48 a.m.

"Where are you?" I asked. It wasn't recess or lunch time -- I was pretty sure he was supposed to be in class right now.

"In the nurse's office," he answered.

"Is she there?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I asked the teacher if I could go to her office."

"Why?" I asked.

"So I could call you and tell you about this!" he said, exasperated.

I realized he was calling to get verbal acknowledgment of his landmarks -- he was beating the other students' to the punch, claiming his landmarks before they could go home and get parental signatures to claim them first.

"Go back to class!" I yelled at him. He said his goodbye, and hung up.

That night we had a little talk about not abusing the teacher's trust. We discussed the appropriate times and reasons to visit the nurse's office (only when medically necessary; and only when she is there), and inappropriate times to leave class (i.e., to use the phone for non-emergency calls).

I still don't think he quite gets it. I should be glad he feels comfortable calling to discuss anything (everything), but my mom said it best.

"That kid!" she said, laughing. "He thinks the nurse's office is his own personal office."

I had to agree; he really does. Which is why he's not all that bummed he didn't get "his" lost cell phone back -- because he's already got a land line in his office at school.

Overly optimistic

This is what naive, blind optimism looks like -- a lonely cell phone charger that connects to nothing.

It did connect to something at first -- the phone I purchased with it.

The phone was another tool in Mark's dia betes toolkit. He went to a birthday party on Sunday, the kind where you drop your kid off, and tell them to have a good time. For kids without dia betes, that's all there is to it. You warn them to be on their best behavior, to thank the host, to listen to the parent in charge, and then you leave.

For a kid with dia betes, you tell them all that, and then flood them with all this:

• Do you have your meter? Show me.
• Do you have glucose tabs? Show me.
• Do you have a granola bar? Don't eat it unless you go low!
• How many carbs are in a piece of pizza? In two pieces of pizza? (A small slice? A big slice?) In a piece of cake? In a chip? In a cup of diet soda? In a cup of regular soda in case there's no diet soda?
• How do you feel right now?
• Do you feel low? What should you do if you feel low at the party? (Tell Damian's mom or the snack bar you need a regular soda NOW!)
• Do you need to test? Go test right now. In fact, test right now and eat this granola bar.
• Wash your hands before you test, IT DOES TOO MAKE A DIFFERENCE!
  
• I don't care if you're not hungry, EAT THE GRANOLA BAR IF YOU WANT TO GO TO THE PARTY!
• Have a good time!

As you can imagine, that's a lot to put on a little kid. Or on to the parent who's hosting the party, and just found out there's some kid with special needs threatening to ruin her child's birthday celebration.

"Hi Gina, good to see you! Thanks for inviting Mark. Not sure if you remember, he has Type 1 dia betes..." And then, when you see the panic in her eyes, quickly adding, "No, you don't have to do anything special for him! If he acts weird, give him some soda right away; otherwise, he knows what to do, has a phone and can call me with any questions."

Which leads us back to...the phone. Or what was, for a brief moment in time, Mark's cell phone. The phone he took to the party, because I just felt better leaving him with some sort of lifeline.

I almost gave him my phone, but thought better of it. Instead, I bought him a single-use phone. I activated the phone, loaded up the minutes, and handed it to Mark with strict orders not to take it out of his pocket.

"Can I call you about anything?" he asked.

"Yes, that's what it's for. If you have any questions."

"Can I call to say you're crazy?"

I stared him down. "Do you want to go to this party?" I finally asked.

He nodded his head.

"Then don't call me to say that."

He agreed, and ran off to race go-karts.

The first words out of his mouth when he got home were, "Did you register my phone? Because somehow (I don't know how!), my phone fell out of my pocket (I didn't take it out!) and disappeared (it got lost on it's own!). I did NOT take it out of my pocket -- I didn't even open my pocket!"

That was the point I realized perhaps he's not ready for any more responsibility. And I thanked God I did not give him my phone.

"Go get your birthday money," I told him. "You owe me $25 for that phone."

But it wasn't a total loss. At least I still have that nice new charger -- and it even fits my phone!

Update: Mark climbed into the car last night and yelled, "Hey, I found the phone!" It never even left the car.

But I'm still holding his $25 as collateral, because I know he will lose it next time I give it to him!

Ring, ring

Mark is a certified techno geek. He loves anything with a screen, including (but not limited to) the T.V., his DS, and the computer.

But he prizes one gadget above all -- a cell phone. I'm not sure why, but longing and jealousy fill his heart when he sees another kid with a phone.

"Who would you call if you had a phone?" I frequently ask him.

"My friends," he always answers.

"Your friends have phones?" I ask, and he always shakes his head no. I explain that phones are two-way devices -- someone needs to answer when you call.

"Fine," he says. "Then I'll call you."

Which he already does, I point out, without owning a phone. He calls me from his classroom, from the nurse's office, from kid's club, and once, from the school library. That kid may not know how to add fractions yet, but he can work the school phone system like nobody's business.

I assumed I'd buy him a phone in middle school, when most kids seem to get them. But I'm starting to re-think that, based on the calls he's made during the past few days. Part of me is glad he's so willing to talk, and part of me is annoyed at how many calls I get, and what exactly he's deemed call-worthy.

Here's a sample of our phone conversations from yesterday.

At lunch:
Mark: "Mom, guess what my number is?"
Me: "Um, 100?"
Mark: "Nope!"
Me, waiting for a hint: "OK, 300?"
Mark: "Nope!"
Me, wondering what the point of the conversation is: "Um, 400?"
Mark: "Nope!"
The nurse, who is dying a slow death waiting for this conversation to end: "He's 150, and was happy about it. He just wanted to call and tell you!"
Me: "OK, great. Thanks Mark!"

At kid's club:
Mark: "Mom, I'm 227. What do you want me to do?"
Me: "What you always do when you're high. Correct it!"

While I'm at dinner with friends:
Call comes in from home. I don't answer it in time, but return the call.
Me: "Is there a reason you called?"
Mark: "Nope. Bye!"

During dinner:
Mark: "How do you turn on the T.V. with the remote?"
Me: Five minutes of detailed instructions, culminating in, "Hit the T.V. button, then Power."

At 9 p.m.:
Mark: "Hi Mom, I'm eating something."
Me: "Are you eating because you're low, or because you're hungry?"
Mark: "Because I'm hungry."
Me: "It's 9 o'clock. Go to bed!!"
Mark: "OK."

10 minutes later:
Mark: "Hi, Mom."
Me: "Why are you still awake?"
Mark: "There's lots of thunder and lightning out there."
Me: "Close the blinds, and leave the light on. You'll be fine."
Mark: "When are you coming home?"
Me: "Soon. GO TO BED!"

Like I said, I'm glad he's communicating with me, but at some point, there may be a little too much conversation. And I worry that may increase even more if he's got his own phone and can text me.

But there is definitely an upside to all this. I know that as a teenager, he'll never use the excuse, "Sorry, I should've called you." And I know that if he's ever on the show "Who Wants To Be a Millionaire," I'll probably be his phone-a-friend person.

So at least I've got that to look forward to. But for now, I'm off to answer my cell phone yet again. I'll give you one guess who's calling...

Wrong number

Mark is always calling me from s chool for carb counts, or to report his blood sugar. As such, he's very comfortable using the phones in c lass and the nurse's office (he's better with them than I am!).

One day he called inquiring about a new battery for his meter. I told him where it was, and he said, "Hang on, I'm putting you on hold."

He returned with the new battery, and then said, "Now I'm gonna put you on speaker phone."

I realized he was putting me on speaker while he changed the battery.

"Hold up!" I told him. "Are there any adults around to change it for you?"

Suddenly I heard the substitute nurse call out, "Mark, who are you talking to?"

"My mom," he answered, and she grabbed the line. "I didn't even know he called you!" she said apologetically. It wasn't the first (or last time) he's called on his own.

Yesterday he called just as school was letting out. I recognized the class phone number and figured he was calling to report a high or low blood sugar.

But when I answered, he sounded surprised.

"Oh, sorry Mom," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to call you."

I was about to hang up when a thought struck me -- who else would he be calling from class?

"Hey, Mark!" I called out. "Who were you trying to call?" I couldn't even imagine.

"Kid's Club," he said, and then he hung up.

Apparently, he was going to be late to after school care, so he phoned to let them know. I was proud of him being so responsible.

And I was a little flabbergasted at how times have changed since I was a kid!