Let Sleeping Teens Lie

Like most teens, both my children like to sleep. Until very recently Daughter Dearest (okay, she's 21, not exactly a teen anymore) was notorious for sleeping until 2 or 3 p.m., especially if one of us didn't go up to her room and insist in obnoxious Parent Speak that she remove her keister from her bed. "And I mean, now!" She's frequently up most of the night, so it's not really surprising that she is dead to the world every morning. I'm told it's an Aspie thing. 

Our son, Fickle Fan, on the other hand, gets up pretty well on his own. On weekends.  And only on weekends. The Monday-through-Friday morning routine is legendary in our house.  Epic battles. And for Fickle Fan this has been going on since he was seven or eight years old. With him, it's not strictly a teen thing, it's definitely more of an I-hate-that-stupid-school-and-you-can't-make-me-get-up kind of a thing. Teendom has only made it much, much worse. Now he not only gets up late, he's angry with the world--me, mostly, but the whole world too--and nine times out of ten, he hasn't brushed his teeth, washed his face, or put on deodorant. And don't get me started on shower avoidance.

This is not one of those we-need-advice blogs. Really. We have tried just about everything: motivate, reward, withhold the reward, teach, teach with pictures, fog horn alarm clocks, soft music, lights, food, caffeine, medication tweaking, beg, plead, and, yes--I'm not proud of it--yelling, screaming, and physically dragging the boy out of bed. I have not used a backhoe yet. Or TNT. Hmmmm. 

Our relationship was so frayed from the a.m. mania and arguments that I actually toyed with hiring a personal aide who could come to our house in the wee hours of the morning, wake the boy, and take him to school. But it was extremely expensive and I couldn't find someone willing to work the hours. (Note to policy makers: The Medicaid waiver would've come in handy here.)

The fact that our school system, in its infinite wisdom, decided this year to start classes for its high schools at 7:30 a.m.--despite all of the research telling them that due to altered circadian rhythms in adolescence, teens are much better off with a later start to the school day--was the last straw. Rather than have him chronically missing his first class of the day, our semi-solution was to alter his schedule. He comes in an hour later than everyone else, arriving with about 20 minutes left in the period, to a Resource class. 

I still fight the fight, but it's not quite as bad as it was, and knowing that he's not missing an academic class, I'm less stressed. Originally, that grace period, the first 20 minutes of his day, was to be spent on transition activities--practicing job interviews, filling out applications, participating in career development activities, etc.--activities that FF really needs but he's not experiencing because he's getting a general diploma (more on the "gap" kid issue later).  

Unfortunately, none of that has happened. And since he's missing most of that first period, I wanted him to stay past the 2:55 dismissal so that he wouldn't be shorted that time. My thought was that he could work in the library with a tutor, do some work study either there at school or in an actual work environment somewhere. The school balked at that. Dismissal time is dismissal time. No way would they extend the day for him--though they do for students in detention. So we have sort of cheated him out of a class experience. He still has all his credits, though, and he's less apt to be in a mood when he walks into an academic class. All in all, I think this was the right thing to do.  

As for Daughter Dearest, things have been improving across the board for her since January, including her sleep-wake cycle. I attribute that partly to her part-time job, which occasionally requires her to be at her cash register at 8 a.m., and partly to some progress she's making in school, which has lightened her mood and her confidence. Could be age too. I'm hoping those factors work for Fickle Fan, too, once high school is a yearbook memory. 

Sleep tight, teens.