Speaking Engagement -- I Am Not a Bad Kid!!!

I'm honoured to have been asked by the Diocese of Ontario of the Anglican Church to give a presentation in Kingston, Ontario, on September 15th. Actually, I'm giving it in conjunction with my minister, the Rev. Dr. Barbara Robinson, who has been instrumental in creating a warm and inviting environment for Bear and our family at our church. She is the mother of a child like Bear, although he's an adult now, so she has the ability to look at the challenge of integrating special needs children into the church from a really interesting perspective. If you are in the area, I invite you to come join in the conversation.

Confessions of a Negligent Mother

This morning, right after dropping Bear off for his first day of school, Stitch and I headed to the doctor. Stitch is almost 2 1/2 years old, and a real little ball of happy toddler energy. Like all little boys, he loves to run and jump and climb. He's full of mischief and curiosity, the mischief usually a direct result of the curiosity. He thrives on "huggles" (half hug, half snuggle) and kisses, and falls asleep every night with my arm wrapped around his middle, his little bum tucked into my abdomen. He scrambles out of bed in the morning with a smile on his face, and that smile rarely leaves for the rest of the day. Toddler tantrums are best handled by poking him in the tummy, which normally provokes fits of giggles.

From the moment he was born, we knew Stitch was different from his big brother. As he's gotten older, we've become more and more sure about that. He just goes with the flow, without a care in the world. It's magical...

sun + sand + water = happy toddler

So why, then, did today find us at the doctor, catching up on immunizations that he should have had two years ago? Because I'm negligent? Some might say so. Because I'm stupid? Some might say so. Because I'm gullible? Some might say so. Or because I was terrified of having to watch my beautiful, bright baby boy disappear before my eyes? I'd say so.

In my real life I'm a writer, editor, and public speaker. That means I know how to research the heck out of any topic I'm interested in, and I do. Some people dream in technicolour...I dream in Google. So yes, I'm perfectly well aware that the link between autism and children's immunizations has been debunked. On the other hand, I'm also well aware of all the anecdotal evidence from parents who are certain that their child's autism is directly linked to their immunizations, specifically the MMR vaccine.

It was with great trepidation that I had Bear immunized when he was a baby, but I did. The logical side of me knew that the risks posed by not having him immunized outweighed any possible risk from the immunizations, but the emotional side of me was terrified nonetheless. I watched him like a hawk for weeks afterwards, but there were no signs of autism. I breathed a sigh of relief.

But as he started getting older, he started to exhibit more and more behavioural challenges. At 4 1/2 years old, he was finally diagnosed with ADHD and ODD. By that time he was out of control -- aggressive to the point of violence at home, unable to function at school, constantly being sent home, unable to participate in any extracurricular activities or weekend fun -- and we were overwhelmed. Stitch was a whopping two months old when Bear was diagnosed, and all my Mommy protective instincts went into overdrive for both my babies.

At that time, I felt like I was barely clinging to my sanity. Bear's violent outbursts were constant, to the point that we installed a lock on Stitch's door so that we had somewhere safe to put him, out of the line of fire. We walked around on eggshells, terrified of provoking an outburst. Would this be the one where someone got hurt? We rarely left the house as a family, and dreaded anything we couldn't get out of. The future looked bleak both for Bear and for our family, and I felt like I couldn't handle any more.

Stitch received his first round of immunizations, the ones I knew were safe, but we stopped there. The next round included the controversial MMR vaccine, and this time the emotional side of me won out. I just couldn't take that risk...I just couldn't handle any more...so I put it off...and off...and off...

Now here we are, two years later, catching up on Stitch's immunizations. Today's vaccinations included the MMR vaccine, which the logical side of my brain tells me is safe. The logical side of my brain also tells me that if the vaccine does play a part in the autism story, at least Stitch is older and his brain is considerably more developed that it would have been two years ago. The emotional side of me, however, is going to be watching him like a hawk. Forever.

Back to School and the Alphabet-Soup Parent

Tomorrow is back-to-school day for Bear, and I have a headache. No, really. I have a headache. Granted, I get a lot of headaches, but I'm pretty sure the fact that I have a knot in my stomach as well means that my headache is stress induced.

Why so stressed, you ask? Um...did you miss the part about tomorrow being the first day of school?

Going back to school can be difficult for any kid, but it is especially difficult for kids who don't deal well with change. For kids like Bear, who have conditions like ADHD, ODD, SPD, ASD, or anxiety, the first day of school (or week, or month...) can be pretty traumatic. A new classroom, a new teacher, new sounds, new smells, new people in your class, old friends not in your class, a new desk, new rules, new work, new expectations -- these things aren't sources of excitement for kids who fear change. Rather, they are a source of major stress, and stress tends to manifest outwardly in behaviour problems.

So what can parents of alphabet-soup kids (kids with ADHD, ODD, SPD, ASD, etc...) expect on the first day of school? We never know, and that's the source of our anxiety. Perhaps there will be meltdowns at home, before school. Or perhaps all will go well until we get to school, at which point the dam will burst and all that fear will come out. Or perhaps we'll get a phone call half-way through the day, asking us to come get our overwhelmed and out-of-control child. Or perhaps he'll manage to keep it together until he walks in the front door after school when, safe at last, the slightest trigger will set off a major incident. Or perhaps the first few days or weeks will go fine, lulling us into a false sense of security, until something -- that dreaded, unexpected something -- sets her off, releasing all the stress the poor little thing has been building up.

As parents of special needs children, we know something is coming...something bad...but we don't know what or when. That's why parents of alphabet-soup kids dread school starting up again. Can you blame us?

So what can other parents, teachers, family members do to help? I found some advice on Four Sea Stars that, although it refers specifically to autism, is appropriate for all our special-needs kids.

I promise to smile at you if you promise to smile at me.

Forever in Grade 1?

There are only 10 more sleeps until Bear goes back to school, and I'm not impressed. In fact, I'm actually dreading summer being over, which is funny since the thought of Bear being home every day for two months nearly had me in tears back in June. Summer has been a real problem for us in the past because Bear stayed home with me while all his friends participated in summer programs. Bear could have done that too, but his anxiety always got the better of him. This year, however, none of the kids on the street went to camp, so he's had lots of friends to play with. Not only was he not bored and driving me nuts, but he wasn't even in the house. Bonus!

But now school is about to start, and I find I'm dreading that even more than I was dreading summer. Bear should be going into grade 2, but instead he's repeating grade 1. In many ways, it's my fault that he's having to repeat his year, although I'm trying not to allow myself to feel guilty about it. Bear missed a total of 60 days of school last year, which is absolutely insane. Each one of those missed days required a decision by me to keep him home, which is why I say it's mainly my fault. In that 60 days were two weeks where he didn't fall asleep until 4 a.m. or 5 a.m., so I kept him home. Then there was the week I kept him home to "home school" him (or was that two weeks?). Then there were the days when he was so angry and aggressive that I felt it was better for everyone if I simply kept him at home. Then there were the days where his anxiety was so intense that I couldn't bear the thought of forcing him to go to school. After all, what could one more day hurt?

It makes me sound terribly negligent, doesn't it? Keep in mind that there were also many, many, many days where I pinned him down to get him dressed, or took him to school half dressed, or carried him out to the van kicking and screaming, or carried him into the school kicking and screaming, or took Stitch into the school for safekeeping and then returned to the van with two or three teachers as back-up.

School, apparently, isn't our thing.

So when all was said and done, Bear had missed so much school that he simply wasn't ready to move on to grade 2. So what to do then? We could move him into grade 2 anyway so as not to crush his self-confidence, but then he would flounder and his self-confidence would be crushed anyway. Not exactly a great option. Or we could keep him in grade 1, which may crush his self-confidence, but the work he struggled with last year would now be easier, so that might build his self-confidence. There was really no easy answer, but TheODDDad and I went with the latter option.

The school, bless them, has put Bear in a split grade 1/2 class, where he'll be with some of his grade 2 friends but will be doing grade 1 work. My hope is that he won't even realize that he and his friends are doing different work. If all goes well, he'll end up doing grade 2 work too.

If all goes well...that's the catch. I'm not trying to be defeatist or negative, but I don't think things are going to go well. I had the opportunity to observe Bear at a occupational therapy appointment the other day (more on that another day), where he had to sit at a table and do some very simple drawing and colouring exercises for about five minutes, and it just about killed him. He managed about two minutes, but after that he left the table pretty much every minute, rolled on the floor, wandered around, and complained about how boring and stupid it was. I can pretty much predict that reading, writing, and math are going to be a lot more boring that what the OT had him do, so I'm not holding out much hope for a sudden academic breakthrough.

I wonder if there's a limit to how many times a child can repeat grade 1...

Contest: The Happy Mama Conference and Retreat

I've never done this before, but today I'm honoured to welcome a guest blogger. I'm a big fan of Kay's and the blogs she contributes to, so I'm happy to share this. Kay is sponsoring a contest to send one lucky mom (sorry dads...moms only!) to The Happy Mama Conference and Retreat in North Carolina this July. The conference is an amazing opportunity to spend a weekend with other moms who get what we go through on a daily basis. Not only will you hear some great speakers, but you'll get pampered as well. Notice it's a conference "and retreat"!? I have to admit that I nearly didn't share this post because I've entered the contest myself and would really like to limit the competition, but that just seemed wrong. If I don't win (and I have less of a chance now that I've told all of you about it!), I'll be saving my pennies to go next year. Because trust me, I'd be there in a second if I could!

Note: The contest closes tomorrow, so don't put it off!!!!




Take Care of Yourself in a Big Way at the Happy Mama Conference & Retreat: A weekend getaway for moms of kids with ADHD, ASD, FASD, and other brain-based disabilities 
by Kay Marner


This mama ain’t been very happy lately. In fact, my never-ending worries about my 11 year old daughter, Natalie, who has ADHD, sensory processing disorder, anxiety, and is on the fetal alcohol spectrum, have put me in a real funk. Most days, my bed starts calling my name by mid-afternoon. I’ve had zero motivation to work or do most anything else. I’ve felt like avoiding any and all social interactions. This funk has been severe enough, and lasted long enough, that I decided I had to make a conscious effort to do something about it—to take better care of myself. So, I made a few small changes in my daily routine. I started going for a short walk several days each week. I pulled my vitamin and mineral supplements out of the cupboard and recommitted to taking them daily. I gave myself permission to spend more time reading for pleasure. I’ve been scheduling a few lunches out with friends.

I firmly believe that when you’re living with the stress of raising a child with special needs, you have to make a conscious effort to take care of yourself. After all, as the saying goes, if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Even small investments in your own well-being, like those I listed above, can make a difference in how well you cope with day-to-day challenges.

Yes, small is good. But big is even better! So, I’ve also pledged to do something significant. I’ve registered to attend the Happy Mama Conference & Retreat, a two day getaway especially for moms of kids with special needs.

The Happy Mama Conference & Retreat will take place July 28–29, 2012, at the Rock Barn Golf & Spa, in Conover, North Carolina. Here’s what the retreat is all about, as described on the Happy Mama website, www.if-mama-aint-happy.com:

What: A CONFERENCE that focuses on your needs as the mom to a child with a very real, but invisible, brain-based disability, like ADHD, ADD, OCD, ODD, FASD, PBD, SPD, PDD, or one of the many other overlapping conditions that make parenting your child an extra challenging situation, and a RETREAT, where we’ll provide you with wonderful food, spa opportunities, fun activities, and camaraderie with other moms who know exactly where you’re coming from.

Why: Because parenting children with invisible disabilities is an extremely stressful, isolating, and emotional job and one which can impact your health and well-being in a negative way.

The retreat, hosted by DRT Press (publisher of the book I co-edited, Easy to Love but Hard to Raise) and the website {a mom’s view of ADHD} (founded and edited by Penny Williams) and supported by a growing list of sponsors, including CHADD and the Catawba Valley Medical Center, will offer the perfect blend of education, support, and pampering.

Saturday’s speakers will cover: “Parenthood, Stress, Health, and Resiliency,” “Advocating for Your Child in School,” and “How to Be Happy: Calming Techniques for You and Your Child.” Sunday will be devoted to fun and pampering, which may include spa treatments, relaxing by the pool, gem mining, hiking, yoga, horseback riding, or kayaking.

Doesn’t that sound fabulous? I can hardly wait!

By interacting with other parents of kids with special needs via the Web, I’ve learned that support from others in my situation is the best support there is. My ADDitudeMag.com blog, “My Picture-Perfect Family,” is one avenue for those interactions. To celebrate the 4th anniversary of that blog, and in honor of the support and community we parents of kids with special needs offer to each other, I’m running a contest. I will sponsor one lucky mom’s registration, travel and lodging expenses (not to exceed $1000, some meals included, some meals, activities and miscellaneous costs at winner’s expense) to attend the Happy Mama Conference & Retreat. For more information, and to enter the contest, click here. The contest ends at 5:00 pm EST on May 30.

If you are interested in attending whether you win this contest or not, please don’t hesitate to register now. Registration is just $129 until July 1. If you are “in the business” of ADHD, FASD, ASD, or other brain-based disorders and wish to become a retreat sponsor, email happymamaretreat@gmail.com for their sponsorship package.

In the meantime, take a few steps, big or small, to take better care of yourself. You work so hard to bring happiness to your special child. You deserve to be happy too.


*****

Kay Marner, a freelance writer and editor, is the co-editor of Easy to Love but Hard to Raise: Real Parents, Challenging Kids, True Stories (DRT Press, 2012). Marner contributes regularly to ADDitude magazine, and her ADHD parenting blog, “My Picture-Perfect Family,” appears on ADDitudeMag.com. You can reach her at kay@kaymarner.com

My Boy -- A Man of His Word

"I'm not going to school!!!!" he shrieked at me this morning. This after he had snuggled with me and smothered me with kisses.

"You're the best mommy ever!" he had informed me.

But then it came time to get ready for school, and things changed. He changed.

"If you make me go to school, I'm not going to listen!!!" he warned me. Ya, ya, kid... we've been through this before.

"That's fine," I told him. "But I still have to take you to school or I get in big trouble. Whether you listen is your decision."

His tirade of abuse continued in the van on the way to drop off Stitch at daycare. Bear's school is normally my first stop, but something told me that might not be a wise decision this morning. Glad I listened to my instincts.

When we arrived at Bear's school, he was out of his seat belt and in the back of the van before I had even turned off the radio. I've learned from previous experience to stow our "stow-n-go" seats when he's in this kind of mood. It makes it easier to crawl in the back of the van and drag him out. If I don't he hops over the seats and then back over them as I run around the van like a fool. Today he pulled a new trick, though, and scooted to the front of the van, hopping out one of the doors before I could grab him. I have to say I'm surprised it's taken him this long to think of that.

Off he trotted to the front doors with me trailing behind, thinking that perhaps this was going to go better than anticipated. Wow...I couldn't have been more wrong.

As soon as we were inside the doors, Bear let loose. He started kicking the metal window frames of the entrance way, which reverberated loudly. The school secretaries can now tell at a glance what kind of morning Bear and I have had, so one of them dashed for the teacher who works with him. Bear adores her, but this morning he lashed out at her as well, calling her names and kicking at her. Another teacher who works with him was drawn by the commotion, and between them they wrestled him away. Actually, they carried him, but that's nothing new.

Twenty minutes later the phone rang at home. Bear had thrown two chairs, hurled Lego around the room, and spit on the floor. Both teachers were still with him and it wasn't going well. Could I come get him?

Back at school, I crouched down to talk to Bear, who was hiding out under a counter. I held my hand out to him and reassured him that he was OK, that Mommy was here and we'd help him calm down. He took my hand and crept out.

"I told you I'd do this," he reminded me as he glowered at me, "and it worked."

Well, can't say he didn't warn me.

Mom's Income -- The Real Cost of Childhood ADHD

As I sit here in the middle of the afternoon, chaos reigns around me. On the table beside me sits a stack of bills that I'm trying to juggle payment on -- I have to decide which ones need to be paid now and which ones can wait until next payday. In the living room Stitch is playing, happily throwing blocks around and laughing madly as they bounce off the furniture. Down the hall Bear, who should actually be at school right now, is playing his Leapster, the fact that it's an "educational" game allowing me to fool myself into believing it can be classed as "work."

I stare at the bills, willing them to just disappear. Disappearing in a puff of smoke would be preferable, since then there'd be no trace left of them. Money gets a little tight in the ODD household because, even though TheODDDad has a pretty decent job, and for that I'm grateful, I work from home part-time and currently bring in about half of what I would be earning if I worked full-time. We manage to pay the mortgage and the bills, but there's not a whole lot extra (if any) left at the end of the month. We'd cut back on our spending, except there's really nothing left to cut. We have basic cable and neither of us owns a cell phone. We have friends over instead of going out. When we do go out, we've been known to ask my niece to babysit for free because we can't afford to go out and pay her. (For the record, my almost-16-year-old niece is one of the most important members of our support network. She has been on the receiving end of Bear's behaviour more than a few times and knows how to deal with him and laugh it off like a pro. Because she's seen it firsthand, she's one of the few people who truly "gets it," so she's always happy to help if it means we get out of the house.)

The fact of the matter is that we really need to be a two-income family. We need to be, but we aren't. We need to be, but we can't be. I realize there are a lot of families in the same boat given the state of the economy, but the economy isn't our problem.

So why then, you ask, aren't I out bringing in more money? Well, if you must know (you're so nosey!), we have a child with special needs, and just about any mom with a special needs child will tell you how difficult it is to hold a full-time job AND do everything you need to do for your child. Something, somewhere, has to give, and it's very often the ability to hold a full-time job.

Think I'm exaggerating? A recent study published in the journal Pediatrics revealed that overall earnings of mothers with a child with autism are 56% lower than mothers whose children don't have any health limitations. This is likely due to the fact that mothers of children with autism often have to leave the workforce altogether or take lower-paying jobs in order to properly care for their children. Interestingly enough, the study showed that only the mother's income was affected, not the father's.

Granted, the study looked at mothers of autistic children, not children with ADHD. But while autism and ADHD are two completely unrelated conditions, they can be very similar in their outward manifestations. In fact, a proper diagnosis of ADHD often involves ruling out autism. Both can cause behavioural problems, problems in school, difficulties in social interactions...etc, etc...and necessitate all kinds of interventions and specialists. Based on my own experiences and those of other mothers I know whose children have ADHD (especially when there's an accompanying diagnosis of ODD, anxiety, or any of the other conditions that often go hand-in-hand with it), I would say we're in the same boat.

Bear's challenges mean that he rarely gets to school before 10:00 a.m., if he gets there at all. His anxiety means that summer programs and daycares are out of the question. Phone calls from the school come weekly, although at one point they were almost daily. When he does make it to school, I don't know from one minute to the next when I'll be called to come get him. Suspensions are fairly rare now, but they were a rather frequent occurrence at one point. Until last week, we met weekly with a counsellor to work on his anxiety issues. Although that's over for now, there will be more behavioural interventions as he gets older that will require meetings and appointments. Add in appointments with doctors/specialists and meetings at the school and you suddenly find that you are almost unemployable at a traditional 9-to-5 job. You are an employer's worst nightmare -- someone who may or may not show up for work on time (or at all), who may leave in the middle of the day on a moment's notice, who receives personal phone calls at work on a regular basis, and whose mind isn't on her job...ever.

I'm fortunate in that I have skills that allow me to work from home and to bring in enough money to makes ends meet, but let's just say that Freedom 55 isn't exactly in our future.

Who Will Catch Him if I Fall?

For the past three or four months we've had a fantastic counsellor from our local children's mental health agency coming to the house every week to work with Bear on his anxiety. He took to her immediately, as did I. He looked forward to her visits, as did I. But now they're over, and Bear's going to be sad. And so am I.

Our counsellor and I had a big talk when she was here yesterday about next steps for Bear, and we came to the conclusion that Bear needs to get a little older and a little more mature before we can move to the next level of therapy. Bear might be almost 7 years old, but kids with ADHD are actually two to three years behind their peers in emotional maturity, which means that in some respects we're actually dealing with a 4 or 5 year old. The concepts involved in overcoming anxiety are quite complex and require a fair amount of self-awareness, and he's just not there yet. Together she and I decided that at this point it's probably best if TheODDDad and I continue to work with Bear using the tools we've learned until he's a little older.

I don't know how I feel about being told there's nothing more she can do for us. One one hand, it's encouraging because she's telling us that we're doing a really good job and don't need her anymore. We're not being told to take parenting classes, we're not being told Bear needs psychological help...we're being told that we're good parents and we have it under control. On the other hand, it's scary. I don't want to do this on our own. I liked having someone come into my house on a regular basis. It made me feel safer, like someone was holding the back of my bike as I learned to ride it. Now I feel like someone has taken my training wheels off and gone back in the house, leaving me with no choice but to figure it out on my own. Part of me is glowing with pride that someone has enough confidence in my abilities to leave me on my own, but the other part of me is scared of falling off my bike.

Except there's no bike. If I fall, I don't just get a scraped knee. If I fall, I bring my beautiful Bear down with me. If I fall, who's going to catch me? If I fall, who's going to catch him?

Demons OUT!!!

Ever have one of those days that just blows you away, where something so momentous happens that you can't quite believe it? The kind that almost seems like a dream when things go back to normal?

Yesterday -- Sunday, March 18, 2012 -- was one of those days for me.

Once my morning coffee kicked in, I decided that I was going to pack up Stitch and go to church, which is something I intend to do every Sunday but rarely actually do. If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I'm on the highway. (I know...you're singing Highway to Hell in your mind now, aren't you?)

You may be wondering why it was just going to be me and Stitch heading out for a little soul saving, but my reasons were sound. You see, Bear normally doesn't make it past the front door of the church without a whole lot of coaxing. Perhaps it's his little inner demon screaming in terror. (kidding...give a mom a break for a little dark humour, would ya?) Last time I went to church with the kids looked something like this:

Step 1: Try to coax Bear into church while hanging on to busy toddler.
Step 2: Abandon Bear on front steps of church and run into church to hand Stitch to Grandpa.
Step 3: Run back outside, praying that Bear is still where I left him.
Step 4: Spend another five minutes convincing Bear to at least enter the church even if he sits just inside the door so that I can keep an eye on him while still hearing the service.
Step 5: Go sit with Grandpa and Stitch, all the while keeping an eye on Bear and watching for our pre-arranged signal that he needs me.
Step 6: Go see Bear because he's signalling me.
Step 7: Go find a paper and pencil for him to draw with because he doesn't like the toys/books I brought him.
Step 8: Go back to sit with Grandpa and Stitch.
Step 9: Hang on to Stitch while Grandpa goes to sit on the floor with Bear to see if he can convince him to come sit with us.
Step 10: Hand Stitch to Grandpa when he comes back and go back to see Bear, as dictated by the frantic pre-arranged signal.
Step 11: I'm stopping now because this is how the whole service went. You get the idea.

So, back to Sunday. With 40 minutes to go before the service started, I decided to go to church. I quickly threw on some clothes, got Stitch ready and then yelled goodbye to Bear. The fact that I was going out was news to him, because I hadn't even bothered asking him if he wanted to come -- I just assumed the answer would be "no." Lo and behold, he says "I want to come, too!" So with 20 minutes left until church started, Bear threw on some clothes and off we went.

I fully expected a repeat of the last time we went to church, so I was kind of bummed that my churchin' morning was going to be ruined. O me of little faith! Much to my surprise, Bear trotted into church in front of me without so much as hesitating at the door and sat down in a pew. Then he decided that he didn't want to sit with me (cramping his style, I guess) and he moved to the pew in front of me. Next thing I know, there's a pretty little girl sitting next to him and they're both engrossed in his video game, curly heads bowed side-by-side over the game console.

Next up was the children's story, and up to the very front of the church trotted Bear and his new friend. "You stay here, Mommy...I'll go myself," he instructed me as I stood up to follow. Did Mommy stay? Not on your life! Fortunately I was able to use Stitch as my excuse to follow. After all, even toddlers like stories! So there we sat, on the floor at the front of the church, listening to the children's story. I still fully expected Bear to decide this was too much for him and get up and walk away, but instead he was that kid. You know the one...the one who continually interrupts the story because he has something to say/add. The one that all the adults laugh at/with because he's just so darn funny/cute. Ya, that one. That was my boy. My boy! MY boy! MY BOY!!!

Within minutes it was over and the kids all stood up to head off to Sunday school. This was it, I figured...the end of the run. Until Bear said "See you later, Mommy" and headed off with the others.

So back off, demons! You can't have my boy...my boy goes to church!

I'm Not a Bad Mother

On Friday night I gave a speech at my church called "I'm Not a Bad Mother -- Moving past the blame and shame of children's mental illness."

It was a cold, blustery night. Freezing rain had fallen in the morning, and then snow in afternoon and into the evening. The event had been advertised in local papers and on the radio, but I still had visions of an empty church. Instead, we had almost 100 people turn up to hear me speak.

Here's what I had to say.

An ADHD Christmas

I follow a bunch of different blogs, one of which is TotallyADD. TotallyADD is a great site for adults with ADHD. I was playing around on it the other day when I came across this little gem, and I just have to share it.

Note: Yes, I realize this post would have been better timed had I posted it before Christmas, but I didn't have it then. So you just shush and keep reading. And if you recognize yourself in the poem, well...you might want to visit the website.

T’was The Night Before… an ADHD Christmas

                   

T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was on time, not even my spouse.
The stockings were half up, the gifts were half wrapped,
Cause the scissors and tape were buried ‘neath crap.

The children were glued to their laptops, by God,
While visions of new apps danced on I Pods.
And mamma in her kerchief, and still in pajamas
Had just settled her brain, which was going bananas.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clutter
Of lawn chairs, car parts and my rusting grass cutter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore my shin on an old box, and made a deep gash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Made me think of a cow, then an old TV show.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear?
But the memory of shoes I had misplaced last year!

Also where I’d left that new wooden broomstick.
Oh, and look, there are cows! Oh, and there’s old Saint Nick!
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

Now Dasher, and Dancer, now watcha-ma-callit?
On Comet! On Cupid! Oops, forgot my wallet!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,
But he rushed without checking, and took a great fall!

As my thoughts that before a wild hurricane fly,
I should do my taxes, or at least I should try.
Did you see that movie? Oh, what was I saying?
Oh, right St Nick and his reindeer were sleighing!

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
Some tools I’d left there, being kicked by a hoof.
As I drew in my head, thoughts came in a bunch!
So I missed Santa land, I was so out to lunch!

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were tarnished with ashes and soot.
The bundle of toys he had flung on his shoulder,
Looked quite a mess, like my bills in file folders.

His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
Like that guy that I knew. What’s his name? Bob? Or Larry?
Santa’s droll mouth was drawn up like a bow,
Which reminded me once more of that TV show.

The wreath of smoke from his pipe made him blink,
But he explained that nicotine helped him to think.
In his hand was a coffee, and a second one waiting,
And a joint and vodka. It’s called self-medicating.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old chap.
And we laughed when he tripped on a pile of crap.
He told me, “I have A.D.H.D. in my head.”
I said, “Me too, Santa! It’s nothing to dread!”

He spoke not a word, for a second or less,
Then nattered non-stop, piling gifts on our mess.
And checking the pockets of all of his clothes,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he soared on the breeze,
“Happy Christmas to all! Oh darn, where are my keys?!”

By Rick Green
TotallyADD.com
With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

The Best Christmas Present Ever

The Christmas season has been a little hectic here in the ODD household. If you have a child with ADHD, ODD, or any other mental health challenges, you can probably sympathize. For one thing, everything takes twice as long when you have a child who requires more attention than the average child. Add in the excitement of Christmas, and you have a little boy who is a little crazier than usual, if that's possible. Add in a toddler, and you have two children who require a heck of a lot of attention.

With all the chaos of Christmas, one particular present stood out this year. It wasn't anything under the tree. It wasn't even wrapped. (Well, I guess it was, in one respect. It was wrapped in jeans and a t-shirt and an elf hat with bells on it.) It was, however, the best Christmas present I've ever received.

Last Thursday was the day that parents look forward to all year. You know the one. The day where you go sit in a packed gymnasium on hard plastic chairs with a squirming toddler (well, maybe you've done it sans toddler, but it adds a whole new level of challenge) while for two hours you watch other people's children sing songs to which they've forgotten the words (fine...one hour, but it feels like two) in order to see your child -- your star -- sing his or her little heart out for two minutes. Yes, you guessed it...last Thursday was school-Christmas-concert day.

Being the dutiful mother that I am, I made the requisite phone calls to grandparents to alert them to the fact that their presence had been requested by Bear. Bear's never been much of a performer, so he's never really wanted anyone other than Mommy and Daddy in the audience. This year, however, the family turned out in droves at Bear's insistence. Including Stitch, who provided us with endless entertainment while we were waiting for the star of the show, there were seven family members present to cheer Bear on. OK, that may not constitute droves, but that's a pretty good turnout for one little six year old. (We're growing in numbers. The first year was a pregnant me, the next year was three adults and an baby, and this year was six adults and a toddler. Can't wait to see next year!)

I warned everyone that they shouldn't expect too much from Bear's performance. In the past it has been a little lackluster. Perhaps lackluster isn't the right word. Non-existent is perhaps more accurate. You see, an unmedicated little boy with severe ADHD doesn't have the patience or the attention span to learn a song, especially not a song with hand gestures. (And what good kindergarten performance doesn't include hand gestures?) Put this same little boy on stage and what do you get? Well, let's put it this way. I took a lot of pictures at last year's performance, and he wasn't facing the audience in one of them. But I have great pictures of him bugging the friend beside him, bugging the friend on the other side of him, staring at the ceiling, staring at the floor, checking out what's going on behind him...anything other than what he was supposed to be doing.

This year I anticipated the same thing, despite the fact that he's now on ADHD medication. Given the anxiety issues that he's had this year, I would have been happy just to see him get up on stage. He was really excited about being in the concert, but that doesn't mean anything. He can talk a good talk about something he's excited about doing, but then often backs out when the time comes. We've learned not to let our expectations get ahead of us, because then we're disappointed. Not with him, mind you. He does the best he can, and we know that. But constantly anticipating a good day, a fun day, a big breakthrough...or whatever it is you're anticipating...and then being disappointed is emotionally exhausting.

Despite my cautious pessimism (less exhausting than cautious optimism), I grabbed the camera on my way out the door, thinking to record Bear's performance for TheODDDad. (TheODDDad works an hour away, so being there wasn't an option for him.) Now, I should tell you that I've never recorded one of these before, so why I decided to this time is a mystery -- but I'm glad I did. (Do you see where this is going yet?)

When it was time for Bear's class to perform, I scooted up to the front of the gym to sit on the floor with the other parents who were recording the performance. Out walked the kids, with Bear first in line. He walked to his spot, knelt down, and looked at his teacher for direction. I waited for him to wiggle. He didn't wiggle. The music started. I waited for him to look lost. He didn't look lost. The kids started singing. I waited for him to simply kneel there, not singing. He started to sing. The hand gestures started. I waited for him to get confused and ignore the hand gestures. He made all the hand gestures. And then it sunk it...for the first time in his life, my little boy was able to participate in something just like all the other kids.

The song finished. Bear stood up and bowed with all the other kids.

I cried.

The Angry Elf

I have to admit...Bear's been a bit of a pain in my behind lately. (Hhhhmmmm...if I lose weight and my butt gets smaller, will he be less of a pain?) His behaviour has definitely improved since we upped his meds, but bed time has once again turned into a battle. Things had been going really well for a while, and then BHAM...a regression. I guess that's to be expected to a certain extent, but it's still frustrating. You start to wonder what you're doing wrong or what you're doing differently to bring about this change, but the answer is normally nothing. Most kids go through fazes, right? Well, I guess so do kids with ADHD and ODD. At least that's what we're telling ourselves.

Anyway, the last couple of nights have been a little rough, so tonight I don't really feel like wrapping Bear's Christmas presents, which was my plan for the evening. Instead, I informed TheODDDad, I was going to wrap Stitchie's presents and tomorrow I was going to return Bear's. Not that I ever would, but sometimes it just feels good to be mean. Well, not really be mean. Just talk about being mean.

TheODDDad, being the more warped of the two of us (something I really love about him), suggested that it would be way more fun to draw angry eyebrows on Elfie (our Elf on the Shelf who has so far sat everywhere except on a shelf) and tape his hands to his hips (the way an angry Mom stands). That would freak him out, TheODDDad gleefully declared.

Yes. Yes, it would.

Sometimes being mean just sounds like so much fun.

Punishment for the Sake of...What?

My poor little Bear has been having a bit of a rough time lately. He's getting into a whole heap of trouble at school and at home, which is pretty hard on everyone, especially him. Imagine being six years old and never being able to do anything right? Poor little guy. (Note: We're hoping his meds just need to be increased. He's grown 2 inches and put on 5 lbs since July, which is a fair amount.)

TheODDDad and I have never punished Bear for something that happened at school. The school hands out discipline for infractions, so it seems silly to punish him twice. If they've taken something he really likes away, why would we do the same thing? If he did something here and I punished him, TheODDDad wouldn't then hand out a second punishment, would he? Now, that's not to say we don't talk to Bear about whatever happened, but that's different.

How to discipline Bear has long been a conundrum for us. Convensional wisdom holds that children must be disciplined when they do something wrong in order to learn from their mistakes. I understand that -- really, I do. And for most children, it makes sense. But on the other side, imaging studies (MRIs, etc) have shown that the part of the brain affected by ADHD is the part that regulates emotion and impulse control, which means that a child is often unable to stop the unwanted behaviour despite knowing it's wrong.

Bear is no dummy. In fact, the school tells us he's "scary brilliant." He knows hitting and kicking are wrong and is the first to get upset when someone else is doing it. He's also extremely remorseful once the dust he's disturbed with all his kicking has settled. The fact of the matter is that no matter how many times we punish him and tell him that what he's doing is wrong, he is still unable to stop himself. That's not to say that someday he won't be able to control his actions, but that day is a long way away. For one thing, he's only six. That plays a big part. Secondly, he needs to learn the skills to recognize how he's feeling and to figure out how to react in an appropriate manner to the things that bother him. Did I mention he's only six?

So in the meantime, what do we do about discipline? If he kicks me or throws something at me, how should I react? Is there any point to punishing him, or is that simply punishing him for the sake of punishing him. He knows it's wrong, so I'm not teaching him anything. On the other hand, allowing your child to "get away" with transgressions seems to be the opposite of good parenting. On the other, other hand (trust me, you need three hands minimum when you have a child with behavioural challenges), if he really is lacking the skills necessary to behave in an appropriate manner then I can no more get mad at him than I could get mad at a child who has never been taught to read for not knowing how to read.

See the conundrum? What would you do?

What Makes a Parent Harm Their Child? I Think I Understand

If you think I'm being flippant with my title, think again. There have been too many news stories of late where little ones have been killed by their parents. Parental anger is no joke -- in fact, for many children, it's life or death.

While I know there are bad people out there who do terrible things to children, I also think there are good people out there who don't have the skills needed to deal with challenging children and who, as a result, find themselves doing the unthinkable.

"Not me!" you say? Well, I'm happy for you. Not me either, thank God, but that doesn't mean that raising a child with a mental illness (yes, ADHD and ODD are considered mental illnesses) hasn't given me a glimpse of my darker side, and I don't like it. In fact, it scares me. If I have the skills to cope and yet can still get that lost in my anger, how difficult must it be for a parent/caregiver who doesn't have the skills or who has anger issues of his/her own? I have often said that children with ODD are the poster children for child abuse, and I stand by that.

Let me tell you the true story of the events of one evening, one of many similar evenings I've lived the past few years.

It's 4 a.m and I haven't been to bed yet. Bear woke up at 11 p.m., just as TheODDDad and I were heading to bed ourselves. Given that I work from home and can nap if I need to and he has to get up at 5 a.m. to go to work, I'm on evening Bear duty. Bear's ADHD meds wore off about eight hours ago, so not only is he wide awake, he's wired. He's running up and down the hall yelling (we're in a 1000 ft bungalow, so he's running and yelling right in front of the bedrooms) and jumping off furniture. I've tried everything to get him to be quiet. I've played with him, cooked him a hotdog and made him a sandwich, watched him play video games and put on a movie, but as usual, nothing works. I say as usual because this is the third time in 10 days this has happened. I've tried to lie down on the couch to nap, but he runs in and jumps on me every time. For whatever reason, he needs to be with me at all times when he's up during the night. For the record, I need 10 hours of sleep to function properly and I don't do well with children bugging the hell out of me when I'm tired. I'm now at the end of my rope and am desperately trying not to scream at him. He's now decided that I'm the worst mother in the world because I won't play hockey with him or make him the hamburger he now wants. His aggression kicks in (for the umpteenth time tonight night) and he screams at me (again) that he's going to throw something at me and that he hopes he hurts me -- then he picks up the nearest toy and hurls it at my head. Neither my patience nor my reflexes are at their best at 4 a.m., so the toy hits me in the shoulder. I lose it. I scoop him up and storm down to his room where I literally drop him on his bed, screaming at him to stay in his room and how I don't want to hear a sound out of him, blah, blah, blah. He's up in a flash, screaming back at me, telling me I'm a stupid idiot, that he hates me, and that he's going to yell and scream til he wakes up Daddy and Stitch. But that's it...I'm done. I can't take it any more. What feels like torment and abuse at the hands of a pint-size bully has been going on for five hours, and I'm barely functioning in a haze of exhaustion. I raise my hand to hit him, but somewhere deep inside it registers that I haven't swung my hand back to catch him on his behind, I've raised it to slap him. Where, I don't know because I manage to stop myself despite how good it sounds at that very moment, but I can only imagine it would be across the face. Instead I storm out of his room, slamming the door as hard as I can behind me, fist balled in my mouth, teeth biting into my knuckles to stop myself from screaming my anger. Too many four-letter words are swirling through my mind, but I can't bring myself to tell my son to shut-the-f-up any more than I can bring myself to slap him across the face. But the slap was a close one, and so is the screaming. Instead I run into my bedroom and climb into bed fully dressed, telling TheODDDad that I just can't do it and that he has to take over before I do or say something I'll regret and how I don't give a damn if he has to call in sick but he has to take over. He knows I mean it, so he quickly takes over. Bear comes into the room to see where I've gone (because now he needs me to comfort him), but I don't trust myself to open my mouth, so instead I lay there with tears streaming down my face from the effort of not saying anything and feeling like the worst mother in the world. Now exhausted from the evening's events, a crying Bear allows himself to be ushered out of the room and back into bed by TheODDDad, where he finally falls asleep. It's now 5 a.m. and time for TheODDDad to get up anyway, so he comes back into our bedroom, turns off the alarm that's about to go off, asks me if I'm OK (knowing I'm not but that I will be, just like I've been OK every other time this has happened), wipes away my tears, tucks me in, kisses me softly, tells me he loves me and that he's sorry I've had such a hard night, gathers up his clothes and tiptoes out to get ready for work, closing the door softly behind him so as not to disturb the now quiet household. Bear wakes up four hours later and comes bouncing into the bedroom, once again my happy little Bear and having completely forgotten about the night's events.

I shudder to think how this story would have ended if I didn't have the skills to cope with Bear. I don't have a temper, I don't have impulse control issues, I understand that he has a mental illness and that there's a reason why he does the things he does. For the most part, these things help me to remain cool, calm and collected regardless of what he's throwing at me (literally). But what if that wasn't the case? ADHD is genetic, so what if I, too, suffered from the temper and the lack of impulse control that can come with it? What if I had ODD that I had never learned to control and got violent when I got angry? What if I, too, had been raised by a parent with ADHD who hadn't been able to control either me or their reactions and had been beaten myself? How, then, would I cope with Bear? Would I be able to?

Make no mistake -- I am in no way condoning child abuse or making excuses for people who hurt children. But am I saying that I can see how a parent who loves their child but doesn't have the skills to cope can be pushed to the point where they might hurt their child? Unfortunately, I am.

There but for the grace of God, go I.

Team Bear

Tonight was teacher-parent interviews at Bear's school, which is a bit of a joke for us since I communicate with the school just about daily. I don't normally have high expectations of gleaning any new info at these things, but I think it's important for me and TheODDDad to put in an appearance to make sure we look like involved parents. You know, just in case they missed that part.

When we arrived, TheODDDad and I started chatting to the resource teacher who works very closely with Bear. She was telling me yesterday (see, told you I speak to them daily) that Bear is "brilliant...scary brilliant," which was nice to hear. (TheODDDad thinks "evil genius" is the term she was looking for.) She always has great Bear stories to share since she normally deals with him when he's up to no good. Fortunately, she thinks he's hysterical, and she's right. His impulse control issues may cause some major problems for him, but they also make him a really funny kid. Today, for example, he walked past his teacher as she was teaching his class, slapped her on the arm and said "Good job! Keep it up!" (or something to that effect). Sounds like she had a hard time maintaining her composure, which I can see.

Anyway, back to tonight. When it was our turn to meet with Bear's teacher, the resource teacher joined us. (Don't worry, she asked.) About 10 minutes into our alloted 10-minute interview, the principal pulled up a chair and joined the party. We were the last interview, so our 10 minutes managed to stretch into about 30 minutes. You know you have a complicated child on your hands when your intimate teacher-parent interview turns into a team meeting. I think I'm going to get us all hats that say "Team Bear."

The upshot is that Bear is doing really well in school. His teacher has him on a program where he works for 15 minutes and then gets to take a 15 minute break to colour or read, but he often rejoins the group before his break is over, telling her that what they're doing looks interesting. Curiousity may have killed the cat, but I think it will take a Bear far.

Our evening ended with the principal thanking us for supporting them in what they're doing. Really? You think we're supporting you? Cause we thought you were supporting us. I guess that's why we make such a good team.

Go Team Bear!

Code "Bear"

Yesterday I went to pick Bear up after school. Normally he takes the bus, but being banned from taking his beloved bus for two days was part of his punishment for hitting a friend in the face for no reason on Friday. The other part of his punishment was that he lost his last recess of the day for two days. Now, before you start in on me about how you should never take recess away from a child with ADHD, chill out. I know that. The school knows that. But this is the last recess of the day, the one right before the kids get on the school bus. Might be a problem if he were taking the bus, but he's not. And even if he was, it's a five-minute bus ride. Bear is a very difficult child to discipline because nothing bothers him, so we hit him where it might at least sting a little.

But I digress.

So I go pick up Bear and I get to talking with the resource teacher. Our conversation went something like this. (Keep in mind I get along really, really well with this teacher.)

Me: "So, how was his day today?"

Her: "He had a great morning, but then for some reason he tried to run away this afternoon."

Me: "He tried to what?" (Not sure why I was surprised given recent events involving AWOL Bears.)

Her: "He only got to the front door. But don't worry, we take it very seriously. We have a plan in place in case he should ever get out."

Me: "You have a WHAT?"

Let me tell you, there's something both incredibly reassuring and yet completely disturbing about finding out your child's school has an emergency plan in place in case he should ever decide to vacate the premises. Bear does have a tendency to run away from his teachers (and his home, apparently) when things really aren't going his way, so this certainly shouldn't come as any surprise. To date, I don't think he's actually made it out of the school, but I guess they need to be prepared for the possibility (eventuality???).

What I learned is that all staff members have been advised that an announcement over the PA system about someone having lost a red bag (code red?) actually means that Bear is on the loose...on the run...on the lam.

I probably shouldn't have told TheODDDad this while he was eating. Poor guy almost choked on his spaghetti. (Imagine trying to explain that to the paramedics!) He suddenly had visions of the school having "Bear drills."

For the record, when I asked Bear where he had been heading when he was leaving the school, he had no idea what I was talking about.

Me: "You know, when you were running down the hall towards the doors and they caught you. Where were you going?"

Him: "Oh, that! I wasn't leaving. I was just going to run into the doors and bounce off of them."

And he really was. Cause running out of class, down the hall and into the glass doors so you can bounce off of them seems like a perfectly logical thing to do when you're Bear. But next time? Who knows what will be going through his head next time he goes running down the hall towards the doors.

Has anyone seen my red bag?

Long Live The Switch Witch (and organic candy)

Halloween is next week, and TheODDFamily is getting ready. We live in a pretty quiet neighbourhood, so we've traditionally driven five minutes away to a busier neighbourhood for our trick-or-treating. I do feel a little guilty about that, because it means I'm not giving out candy to the few kids who do come our way, but I just love trick-or-treating with Bear. The neighbourhood we invaded was perfect for us because both sets of grandparents lived on the same street until this spring, which was incredibly convenient. We would start at the house of one set of grandparents and trick-or-treat down the block to the next set, which was just long enough for a little guy. Things are different this year because one set of grandparents decided to move, which has ruined all our fun. I really wish they had taken our needs into account, but I guess family isn't their priority. (Kidding!!!!)

Trick or treating became a little more complicated when we started Bear on his diet last year. Suddenly, he wasn't able to eat 90% of the bounty he would collect on Halloween. What to do, what to do??? I'm a firm believer that Bear needs to be able to enjoy all the typical childhood activities, so I do my best to figure out ways for him to do that.

One of the things we did last year was to buy some organic candy we knew Bear could eat. One of our favourite brands is Yummy Earth. Their lollipops and gummy worms are out of this world! I bet if you did a quick Google search or called your local health food store, you could find some before Halloween. I usually get them at my local Winners store, so check there if you have one close by.

TheODDDad and I filled our pockets with various Bear-friendly candies last year, which we dumped into his loot bag whenever he wasn't looking. This works really well if your child carries a small bucket/bag for collecting that then gets dumped into a larger bag carried by Mommy/Daddy. When we got back home we sorted the candy into two piles: Bear-friendly treats and non-Bear-friendly treats.

The non-Bear-friendly treat pile is where the Switch Witch comes in. (I will forever be grateful to my friend for introducing me to the Switch Witch.) The Switch Witch is a distant cousin of Santa Claus. She's the black sheep of the family...you know the one. Always wearing a little black dress, showing up late for the festivities, leaving a trail of slack-jawed men in her wake. She makes the Tooth Fairy look like a real little priss.

Anyway, the Switch Witch comes to visit Halloween night, after all the candy has been collected and sorted and little ones are asleep. She takes away the unwanted candy and leaves a present in its place. The more candy left for the Switch Witch, the better the present. The Switch Witch comes to our house because Bear can't eat most of his candy, but she's equally happy to visit homes where moms and dads simply don't want that much candy kicking around the house.

And for the record, the Switch Witch has been known to make an appearance at our house on Valentine's Day too, when we had a sobbing Bear because he couldn't eat any of the chocolate or candy from school.

So give her a call. She's pretty accommodating. We will be.

Is Tomorrow Over Yet

Is tomorrow over yet? Because I'm so ready for it to be over. Tomorrow we head into the city, where Bear will have surgery to have a bunch of teeth pulled. Why is a 6-year-old boy having teeth pulled, you ask? Because his mommy and daddy are negligent and his teeth are rotting out of his mouth. Or at least that's how it looks.

Here's the situation in a nutshell, and I say a nutshell because I want to go to bed soon, so you're getting the short version. Bedtime used to be hell with Bear. It would take hours to get him to bed, and would sometimes end up in a total meltdown where we had to restrain him. A sure-fire way to incite a violent meltdown was to try to get him to brush his teeth. I know most kids don't like to brush their teeth, but most don't fly into a rage. Holding him down and brushing them for him was our only choice, but someone would have ended up injured, so that wasn't exactly an option. So instead, TheODDDad and I opted to not force the evening teeth-brushing ritual because Bear going to bed and falling asleep before 10:00 p.m. was our priority. He brushed his teeth in the morning, we reasoned, and lots of kids only brush their teeth once a day. Every now and then we'd try again, only to be met with extreme resistance. I guess we figured it was a phase he'd grow out of.

One of the threats we used to use on Bear was that the dentist would have to pull his teeth out if he got big holes in them, and that's exactly what's going to happen tomorrow. One tooth is so bad that it has abscessed, which is why we find ourselves heading into the city tomorrow. The surgery was originally set for December, but an abscess gets you booted up the line.

For the record, when I say surgery, I mean surgery. With Bear's issues and the amount of work that needs to be done, the only option is to put him out, so he'll be having a general anaesthetic. So far all Bear knows is that we're going to a different dentist tomorrow and that he's not allowed to eat any breakfast. TheODDDad and I figured any further details would just freak him out, so we'll let the doctors explain everything to him. I've stocked up on bribery -- a new Transformer, a new Sponge Bob book (you know I'm feeling guilty when I lower myself to the drivel that is Sponge Bob), and a new movie. I have those hidden in my backpack to use in case of emergency or as a reward. It's about a 90 minute drive each way, so he might need a little something special for the way home.

I, of course, have visions of him freaking out. I have visions of us having to carry him in, kicking and screaming, scratching and biting. I have visions of us having to hold him down while they sedate him. I have visions of tomorrow being one of the worst days of my life.

Wish us luck.

A Boy, a Granola Bar, and a Suspension

So, Bear was suspended from school for one day this week for eating a granola bar. OK, that might be a slight exaggeration, but that's kind of what it boils down to.

When Bear was first diagnosed with ADHD and ODD in the spring of 2010, TheODDDad and I wanted to do everything we could to limit the amount of meds he would need. Don't get me wrong, we're not anti-meds. In fact, we're pro-meds when they're needed, and we were pretty sure they were needed, but first we wanted to investigate some other therapies that might not involve drugs.

The first thing we did was take Bear to a naturopathic doctor who did some food-sensitivity testing on him. The results were astounding. The results are given in a numeric range, something like this: 0-40 = not sensitive, 40-60 = slightly sensitive, 60-90 = sensitive, 90+ = highly sensitive. Bear's highest score was in the 500s, something the naturopath had never seen before. Bear is sensitive (not allergic...there's a difference) to a number of different foods, but the worst are soy, casein, gluten, eggs, and sunflower (ya, sunflower, and it's in everything.). We eliminated those five things from his diet immediately, which is essentially the autism & ADHD diet, and a whole new Bear appeared. Within a week of changing his diet, Bear was slower to anger, quicker to calm down, and better able to concentrate. The difference was truly amazing, and we've kept up with the diet ever since. (For the record, we have friends whose boys have similar issues to Bear. They, too, have implemented this diet and the changes in their boys are equally impressive.)

Before you think the changes to Bear's diet solved all our problems, let me be clear. The improvements were impressive, but they took us from "kicked out of daycare on day 4" to "able to manage a 1/2 day in daycare with additional staff support." From "the other kids on the playground avoid him because they're scared of him" to "Bear and his friends had a good day today." It certainly wasn't perfect, but it gave us hope.

The meds were the turning point for Bear. He hasn't even been on them for a year yet (nine months, to be exact), but again, the changes have been astounding. He went from being removed from class daily for being too disruptive to being removed on occasion. From weekly (sometimes daily) phone calls from the school to monthly phone calls from the school. Again, baby steps, but it gives us hope.

Then came Wednesday's phone call from the school. It seems Bear didn't want to do the work in class (it was a math game, but it interrupted his Lego time), so he flat out refused to participate. Instead, he very calmly started turning chairs upside down, putting others onto tables, and doing all kinds of other disruptive things. When the resource teacher came to the class to see what was up, Bear took off running down the hall, only to be apprehended by the vice-principal as he was about to run outside. The principal got involved as well, but none of them could get Bear to cooperate. One Bear, three adults, and Bear won. Classic Oppositional Defiant Disorder behaviour.

Hence the phone call. They were very sorry, but they needed to suspend Bear for the day. It should be noted that Bear has an IEP that allows for different behavioural expectations and the school has been wonderful, but he had really pushed the limit this time. Again...one Bear, three adults, and Bear won. And, as the VP explained to me, a couple of suspensions on his record could help us immensely when it comes time to ask for additional resources for our guy. So it's a strategic suspension, if you will.

According to the VP and the resource teacher, they had never seen this side of Bear before. They're used to his behavioural challenges, but in the past they've always been able to talk him down. On Wednesday, however, things escalated to the point where he was hitting, pinching and threatening the resource teacher. Never a good thing.

"Huh, it almost seems like he's eaten something," I remarked to TheODDDad. Normally a sudden regression in Bear's behaviour can be traced back to either anxiety or something he's eaten. Bear, however, adamantly denied having eaten anything he's not supposed to eat despite the many questions we threw his way over the next 12 hours.

Note to self: Always trust your instincts.

Thursday morning, as Bear was jumping from couch cushion to couch cushion, far more hyper than I've seen him in months (which was probably the last time he ate something he wasn't supposed to), he gleefully -- and I mean gleefully -- informed me that he's been picking food up off the floor in the school cafeteria and eating it. Crackers, granola bars...you name it. EEEEEWWWWWW!!!! Oh, and that granola bar I was sure I had left on the dining room table but then couldn't find? Well, now I know where it went.

As I sat there absorbing this information, rather relieved that the catalyst had been something so simple, my eyes settled on a box of crackers...no, make that two boxes of crackers...sitting open beside the TV. One of the major characteristics of ADHD is a lack of impulse control, which in Bear is made worse when he eats something he shouldn't. So his lack of impulse control caused him to eat stuff he shouldn't off the cafeteria floor (and again I say EEEEWWWWW!!!!), which further decreased his impulse control, which caused him to break into the cupboard at 6:00 a.m. while I was sleeping to get more food he shouldn't eat.

Thursday may have been the official suspension, but given the amount of gluten he had eaten on Thursday morning, I made a preemptive strike and kept Bear home on Friday as well. I figured it saved the school the trouble of calling me and me the trouble of having to go get him, because that outcome was just a given.

So my plans for this weekend? I guess I'd better work on perfecting that granola bar recipe I've been working on before someone gets hurt.