Divorce School?

Yes, it turns out there is such a thing. Complete with homework. It's a class though the county, modeled on Kids' Turn a program developed in San Francisco. I don't know why they changed the name to Kids' Voice if they bought the SF outfits curriculum, complete with a video that refers to it as Kids' Turn, but as the Emperor Joseph II, the George W. of the Hapsburgs might say, 'there it is.'

DISCLAIMER: I realize 'Amadeus' is a fictional deconstruction of Mozart's life. I have no idea if Joseph II was anywhere near as stupid as Bush II, though I guess it's possible. It seems Joseph II would probably have at least been a moron who spoke several languages, and W. seems unable to articulate even a sandwich order in his supposed native tongue.

I want to get my kids through this mess without scars, or without worse scars than they are already doomed to from the marriage. This is an easy thing to say, not such an easy thing to do.

The classes are focused on the kids, getting them to talk and getting them around other kids going through the same thing. Which is fine as far as it goes, but Mo doesn't really communicate all that verbally. It's not that she can't talk, it's more that you're not going to have anything typically described as conversation with her, not at this point. She's almost nine, plus huge for her age, so people tend to assume that verbal instructions and questions will get processed on a twelve-year-old level. Very often, I suspect she comprehends well beyond her years but that doesn't necessarily yield the result you're after. And asking her to talk about her problems, forget it. If you listen to what she does say, you learn a bit about what's on her mind, but you're not going to have a linear Q&A.

One of the things that struck me as remarkable about the adults in my parental pod is how long some have been going through the process of divorce. Some were recently separated, but the separation was long planned; others had been in the process of divorce for years. Years! I don't mean years of the process of picking up the pieces, years of slogging through negotiations, hearings, etc.

Mo was ready to bolt during the introductory video, and my Dad took her for the rest of the class, which might be the best thing for both of them. He was the one who bird-dogged this class, even paid the fees and offered to meet us there each week to help with Mo. This is a huge step forward for him as a grandfather, because the past few years he's been scared to deal with her one-on-one. Typical kids scare him bad enough, throwing autism and epilepsy into the mix brings it to the point where he doesn't even deny that he's freaked out. And in fairness, it's not as if there's no reason to be nervous: she has a terrible aptitude for endangering herself; she's a flight risk and hits zero to sixty in zero-point-zero seconds; she can destroy anything; she's stronger than you (no matter who 'you' is). And a lot of those attributes will serve her well as long as it can be channeled, but it still makes it a daunting baby-sitting assignment, one I probably wouldn't take with a stranger's kid.

Em was pleased with the deal because they bribed her with Doritos and a Capri Sun liquid sugar bag. Mo and her Grandpa found the speech pathology room in the host school, which had tons of goodies Mo was glad to play with, including a cool Gonzo plush toy.