I had an hour with my thoughts yesterday afternoon as I drove Bear to his therapy appointment. Technically, I wasn't alone, but Bear was wrapped up in his movie, so I had time to think. In my mind, I wrote a great blog. I had it all worked out -- what I would write and how I would write it. (You look surprised. What, did you think the blog fairy appears and writes them for me?)
Then yesterday afternoon happened, and suddenly I had a whole new blog to share with you. Out with the old, in with the new.
For whatever reason, Bear was just wild yesterday. I knew it before we arrived at therapy and it was pretty obvious when we were there. Despite this, I caved to his whining and took him to McDonald's after our session. We always do something special after therapy, despite the fact that he loves going there. Why am I rewarding him for doing something he already enjoys doing? No clue, but at least we get to spend some one-on-one time together. Normally we go somewhere and play checkers, but yesterday he was dying for McDonald's playland.
No problem, I thought. He'd play for a while, burn off some energy, and all would be hunky-dory. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! (For the record, yes, that is maniacal laughter.) When it came time to leave, Bear went into complete ODD mode, which is something we haven't seen in a while. Despite my reasoning, threatening, and pleading, Bear remained in the play structure, knowing full well I couldn't get him in there. Of course, that isn't enough for a child with ODD. His refusal to comply with my reasoning/threatening/pleading was punctuated by name calling that reverberated around the room and by faces made at me through the plexiglass windows of the structure. Someone asked me how old he was, probably figuring I'd say 4 or 5. Her face dropped when I said 7, so I had to launch into the whole ADHD/ODD/mental health explanation.
I eventually walked away from the structure and hid myself by the door, where Bear couldn't see me. As soon as I disengaged, he snapped out of it. Now came the remorse and the panic, and he came flying around the corner with tears streaming down his face. Just as I would a toddler, I wiped the tears, gave him a snuggle, put on his shoes, helped him into his jacket and mitts, and we walked out of there hand-in-hand, chit-chatting away.
I'd love to say that was the last of that particular behaviour, but that would be a lie. The name calling came and went all the way home, as did the tears. I even had to pull off the road at one point to comfort him. It continued at Stitch's daycare where, despite knowing better, he ran around the parking lot, dodging cars. With Stitch in my arms, there wasn't a whole lot I could do except holler at him, which only egged him on. Home saw me carrying him into the house, with his arms and legs wrapped around me, as he sobbed on my shoulder.
I have no idea what the problem was yesterday, but I do know this -- it was bigger than him.
I know something else, too. We won't be going to McDonald's when Bear's having a bad day ever again. Mommy learned her lesson the hard way.
Showing posts with label ODD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ODD. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
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.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
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...
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.
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.
Monday, August 27, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, August 20, 2012
To Bee or Not To Bee
As I type this, TheODDDad is outside lopping the heads of my sedum plants, just as they're starting to bloom.
Plop.
Plop.
Plop.
As the beautiful flowers fall to the ground, bees and butterflies all around the neighbourhood are crying out in distress. OK, that might be a slight exaggeration since I don't know if bees and butterflies actually have feelings, but you get my point.
Every year my sedum plants are abuzz (sorry for the pun, but I had to) with activity, and every year I pat myself on the back for supplying a safe haven for our winged friends. The fact that I don't have to do anything to the plants except, well, not dig them up, doesn't dampen my sense of pride.
Then came this year.
This year I went to TheODDDad and instructed him to behead my precious flowers, the very ones I look forward to seeing every year. I know...you're asking why I would do such a crazy thing. I'm glad you asked.
Bear has always been slightly afraid of bees and other bugs that sting, but no more than the average bear. (Sorry...It must be the Kahlua I put in my coffee this morning...kidding!!!) For whatever reason, that slight fear morphed into a major problem this spring, although we have no idea why. At one point it was so bad that Bear wouldn't leave the house unless someone walked out first to check for offending bugs. If we were going somewhere in the van, he would wait inside the house while I went out and opened his door, at which point he would dash out and jump into the van.
"CLOSE THE DOOR!!!!" he'd shriek if there was the slightest pause between him jumping in and the door closing behind him.
Sometimes playing outside with his friends provided enough of a distraction to allow him to forget his fear for a few minutes, but other times he'd end up running into the house sobbing because he had seen a shadow that may or may not have belonged to a bee. The worst was when he would want to come in the house but spotted a bee (or wasp...or hornet...or other stinging/non-stinging bug that may or may not have been a stinging bug...) near the door. He'd run into the middle of the street (quiet street, thank goodness) where he'd stand, calling my name in panic. If I didn't respond, I'd find him still standing there a few minutes later, sobbing and shaking, still calling me in desperation.
"Why didn't you come when I called you?" he'd demand accusingly through his sobs. "You were ignoring me!!!!" My explanation that I hadn't heard him or had been busy with Stitch never seemed to be good enough. All he knew was that I hadn't come when he needed me. It was heartbreaking.
We did everything we could this summer to help him conquer his phobia, even resorting to a couple of sessions of hypnotherapy to see if that would work. Unfortunately, Bear was a less-than-cooperative hypnosis subject, so it didn't seem to help much. The therapist had to try to go in through the back door of Bear's subconscious, but I think it was shut as tight as the front door. Guess this shouldn't be too surprising for a kid with ODD.
Back to the sedums. We didn't plant any flowers this year so as not to make life any more difficult for Bear than it already is, but there was still the matter of the sedums. Sedums are a perennial that flower in the early fall, and the flowers last right through until October. The fact that they're just steps from both the front door and the side door means they have the potential to cause real havoc...so they must go.
I hated to have to do it because I really love watching the butterflies and the bees, but in this house it's Bears before bees.
Maybe we'll be able to welcome them back next year.
Plop.
Plop.
Plop.
As the beautiful flowers fall to the ground, bees and butterflies all around the neighbourhood are crying out in distress. OK, that might be a slight exaggeration since I don't know if bees and butterflies actually have feelings, but you get my point.
Every year my sedum plants are abuzz (sorry for the pun, but I had to) with activity, and every year I pat myself on the back for supplying a safe haven for our winged friends. The fact that I don't have to do anything to the plants except, well, not dig them up, doesn't dampen my sense of pride.
This beauty was hanging out on my sedums last fall.
Then his buddies joined him...and therein lies the problem.
Then came this year.
This year I went to TheODDDad and instructed him to behead my precious flowers, the very ones I look forward to seeing every year. I know...you're asking why I would do such a crazy thing. I'm glad you asked.
Bear has always been slightly afraid of bees and other bugs that sting, but no more than the average bear. (Sorry...It must be the Kahlua I put in my coffee this morning...kidding!!!) For whatever reason, that slight fear morphed into a major problem this spring, although we have no idea why. At one point it was so bad that Bear wouldn't leave the house unless someone walked out first to check for offending bugs. If we were going somewhere in the van, he would wait inside the house while I went out and opened his door, at which point he would dash out and jump into the van.
"CLOSE THE DOOR!!!!" he'd shriek if there was the slightest pause between him jumping in and the door closing behind him.
Sometimes playing outside with his friends provided enough of a distraction to allow him to forget his fear for a few minutes, but other times he'd end up running into the house sobbing because he had seen a shadow that may or may not have belonged to a bee. The worst was when he would want to come in the house but spotted a bee (or wasp...or hornet...or other stinging/non-stinging bug that may or may not have been a stinging bug...) near the door. He'd run into the middle of the street (quiet street, thank goodness) where he'd stand, calling my name in panic. If I didn't respond, I'd find him still standing there a few minutes later, sobbing and shaking, still calling me in desperation.
"Why didn't you come when I called you?" he'd demand accusingly through his sobs. "You were ignoring me!!!!" My explanation that I hadn't heard him or had been busy with Stitch never seemed to be good enough. All he knew was that I hadn't come when he needed me. It was heartbreaking.
We did everything we could this summer to help him conquer his phobia, even resorting to a couple of sessions of hypnotherapy to see if that would work. Unfortunately, Bear was a less-than-cooperative hypnosis subject, so it didn't seem to help much. The therapist had to try to go in through the back door of Bear's subconscious, but I think it was shut as tight as the front door. Guess this shouldn't be too surprising for a kid with ODD.
Back to the sedums. We didn't plant any flowers this year so as not to make life any more difficult for Bear than it already is, but there was still the matter of the sedums. Sedums are a perennial that flower in the early fall, and the flowers last right through until October. The fact that they're just steps from both the front door and the side door means they have the potential to cause real havoc...so they must go.
I hated to have to do it because I really love watching the butterflies and the bees, but in this house it's Bears before bees.
Maybe we'll be able to welcome them back next year.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
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
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
Monday, April 23, 2012
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.
"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.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, December 30, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, November 7, 2011
I'm So Tired of It All
It's been a bad day with Bear, and tonight I’m tired.
So tired.
Bone tired.
Physically tired.
Emotionally tired.
I’m tired of being abused by my son.
I’m tired of feeling
like I have to tiptoe around my own house for fear of setting him off.
I’m tired of always feeling like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I’m tired of being afraid of my six-year-old.
I'm tired of not knowing what's going to set him off next.
I’m tired of feeling like a prisoner in
my own home.
I’m tired of feeling like my life isn’t my own.
I’m tired of not
being able to plan anything.
I’m tired of not being able to do anything.
I’m
tired of making excuses.
I’m tired of feeling like I have to make excuses.
I’m
tired of feeling like I just don’t have it in me to discipline him anymore
because I don’t want to take the abuse.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m a bad
mother.
I’m just so damn tired.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
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!
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!
Monday, October 24, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, October 21, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Is It Tomorrow Yet?
Not that there's anything particularly interesting happening tomorrow, but is it tomorrow yet? Basically, I just want today to be over. No more today. I'm so done with today.
Let me explain why today needs to end. At about 8:30 a.m. I received a call from the school. That's never a good sign, especially not when I haven't even finished my second cup of coffee. Apparently one of Bear's friends had been bugging him on the school bus, so Bear clocked him and gave him a bloody nose. Now, in Bear's defense, the other boy fully admitted that Bear had told him to stop a number of times but he hadn't, so technically he had it coming. As Bear explained it to me, the other boy kept hitting him in the nose and wouldn't stop, so Bear decided to hit him back -- hard. You know, I can see it. And what I love about Bear's school is they see it too, so both boys were punished together! These two have been in the same class for three years now and are always in trouble together (there's a third Amigo, but he doesn't take the bus), so I don't think anyone was too concerned or surprised.
When Bear got off the bus today, he decided he wanted the bus to go first and then he'd cross. The bus driver didn't agree with that plan, so he had to get off the bus and tell Bear to get going. This I viewed from about six houses away, where I was standing in our driveway watching it all unfold. This led to a phone call from bus driver who had noticed me there and wanted to explain what had happened. He was very nice but I didn't have time to talk because Bear was missing. Again.
You see, Bear's been really defiant and angry this week, but we haven't been able to figure out why. Still don't know, but that's not the point. Bear was really adamant that he was not doing homework and stomped outside yelling at me as he went. I told him he could have 5 minutes to cool off outside, and then I'd come get him so we could do homework. I decided to give him 10 minutes and do a little vacuuming, so that's what I did. When I turned off the vacuum a few minutes later, one of the neighbours was at the door asking if Bear was allowed to be at the park by himself, because that's where he was. She kindly volunteered to go get him since I had Stitch, except he was gone by the time she got there. About 1/2 hour later and after much frantic searching by my father, the neighbours, and the police (yes, we've now called the police twice in a little over a month), Bear was spotted about 10 blocks away and returned home by my father. As he informed the police officer, he had run away because he didn't want to do homework. For the record, he was on his way to McDonald's where he was going to ask if he could borrow some money for some food and a toy if he promised to pay it back.
As if that weren't enough, there was a note from Bear's teacher explaining that he'd had a rough afternoon and had been so disruptive during a test that he had to be removed. Hhhhmmm...a test, you say? We had problems last time there was a test, although those were different problems. Still, we might be onto something.
And to top it all off, he went to bed in a royal huff tonight, telling me I'm the worst mother in the whole world and how mean and awful I am. Why? Cause I wouldn't make him a jam sandwich. (Trust me, there was a good reason why not. I wasn't just being bitchy.)
So, is today over? Cause I'm so ready for it to be tomorrow. Just so long as tomorrow is better than today.
Oh, and for the record, after some cool down and snuggle time, I still made Bear do all his homework. So much for running away!
Let me explain why today needs to end. At about 8:30 a.m. I received a call from the school. That's never a good sign, especially not when I haven't even finished my second cup of coffee. Apparently one of Bear's friends had been bugging him on the school bus, so Bear clocked him and gave him a bloody nose. Now, in Bear's defense, the other boy fully admitted that Bear had told him to stop a number of times but he hadn't, so technically he had it coming. As Bear explained it to me, the other boy kept hitting him in the nose and wouldn't stop, so Bear decided to hit him back -- hard. You know, I can see it. And what I love about Bear's school is they see it too, so both boys were punished together! These two have been in the same class for three years now and are always in trouble together (there's a third Amigo, but he doesn't take the bus), so I don't think anyone was too concerned or surprised.
When Bear got off the bus today, he decided he wanted the bus to go first and then he'd cross. The bus driver didn't agree with that plan, so he had to get off the bus and tell Bear to get going. This I viewed from about six houses away, where I was standing in our driveway watching it all unfold. This led to a phone call from bus driver who had noticed me there and wanted to explain what had happened. He was very nice but I didn't have time to talk because Bear was missing. Again.
You see, Bear's been really defiant and angry this week, but we haven't been able to figure out why. Still don't know, but that's not the point. Bear was really adamant that he was not doing homework and stomped outside yelling at me as he went. I told him he could have 5 minutes to cool off outside, and then I'd come get him so we could do homework. I decided to give him 10 minutes and do a little vacuuming, so that's what I did. When I turned off the vacuum a few minutes later, one of the neighbours was at the door asking if Bear was allowed to be at the park by himself, because that's where he was. She kindly volunteered to go get him since I had Stitch, except he was gone by the time she got there. About 1/2 hour later and after much frantic searching by my father, the neighbours, and the police (yes, we've now called the police twice in a little over a month), Bear was spotted about 10 blocks away and returned home by my father. As he informed the police officer, he had run away because he didn't want to do homework. For the record, he was on his way to McDonald's where he was going to ask if he could borrow some money for some food and a toy if he promised to pay it back.
As if that weren't enough, there was a note from Bear's teacher explaining that he'd had a rough afternoon and had been so disruptive during a test that he had to be removed. Hhhhmmm...a test, you say? We had problems last time there was a test, although those were different problems. Still, we might be onto something.
And to top it all off, he went to bed in a royal huff tonight, telling me I'm the worst mother in the whole world and how mean and awful I am. Why? Cause I wouldn't make him a jam sandwich. (Trust me, there was a good reason why not. I wasn't just being bitchy.)
So, is today over? Cause I'm so ready for it to be tomorrow. Just so long as tomorrow is better than today.
Oh, and for the record, after some cool down and snuggle time, I still made Bear do all his homework. So much for running away!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Suck It Up, Buttercup!
As you may have figured out by now, TheODDDad and I take Bear's issues very seriously. I'm the researcher in the family, so I read and learn everything I possibly can on ADHD and ODD and then pass that information along to him. No matter which way you look at it, our son has problems, and sticking our heads in the sand won't make them go away. (Trust me, I'd do it if I thought it would work!) Rather, we feel that we will be better equipped to help our son the more we know and we will also be in a position to empower others to help him by sharing what we've learned. So far this philosophy has paid off.
As I think I've mentioned before, it was someone at Bear's school who first suggested that he might have a problem. I was actually happy to hear it, if you can believe it, because it meant hubby and I weren't imagining things and the things we were seeing weren't just the result of bad parenting. Ever since that day (probably almost two years ago to the day), I've worked very closely with the school and Bear's teachers to make sure that things are running smoothly. And by smoothly I mean not only that Bear's getting the support that he needs from them, but that they're getting the support they need from us and we're getting the support we need from them.
As Bear's parents, TheODDDad and I know him better than anyone. We know what works and what doesn't, what sets him off and what calms him down. The teachers are grateful when I give them a heads-up that he's having a bad morning, and I'm grateful when they send me a note home telling me what a good day he's had (or bad, for that matter). My feeling is that this open dialogue has fostered a really good environment for all of us. I can't imagine having it any other way.
Unfortunately, that feeling isn't shared by all parents, as I found out the other day. I was speaking to one of the teachers who works closely with Bear, and she was sharing some challenges Bear had been having that morning. The Vice-Principal, aware of the problems that particular day, had asked her earlier in the day what she planned to do. Her answer apparently surprised him: She was going to call me and talk to me. What? Call a parent? Would I actually be open to that? Oh yes, she assured him, these parents would be.
I find it sad to think that there are parents who wouldn't be open to it, and I have to ask myself why. Are they ashamed of their child? Do they think their child's issues reflect badly on them as parents? Are they worried that if they acknowledge a problem, then they have to deal with it? On the other hand, have they had bad experiences with the school? Do they feel judged/blamed by the teachers and administration for the problems their child is having? Have they been burned in the past by people who don't understand?
Regardless of the reasons, and I can only guess they are many and complicated (and some may even be valid!), I just have one thing to say: Suck it up, Buttercup! This is your child, and your child needs you. I don't care how uncomfortable or difficult it is, this is your job. That's right, your job. Your child's success and happiness may very well depend on you doing everything you can possibly think of to help them, and then some. Is that a whole lot of pressure? Yup, it sure as hell is. Does that mean you're responsible for every decision your child makes? Nope, it absolutely doesn't. But you ARE responsible for ensuring that your child has all the tools and skills to make good decisions when the time comes. You are responsible for being the one who asks for help on their behalf and who stands up for them and with them when things get rough. That doesn't mean denying there's a problem or placing blame on others. In fact, it might even mean getting help for yourself in order to make sure you have the tools and skills to help your child.
It's a rough road, and it's not the road you thought you'd be on. But you know what...that's just too damn bad. So be the parent your child needs because...well...your child needs you.
As I think I've mentioned before, it was someone at Bear's school who first suggested that he might have a problem. I was actually happy to hear it, if you can believe it, because it meant hubby and I weren't imagining things and the things we were seeing weren't just the result of bad parenting. Ever since that day (probably almost two years ago to the day), I've worked very closely with the school and Bear's teachers to make sure that things are running smoothly. And by smoothly I mean not only that Bear's getting the support that he needs from them, but that they're getting the support they need from us and we're getting the support we need from them.
As Bear's parents, TheODDDad and I know him better than anyone. We know what works and what doesn't, what sets him off and what calms him down. The teachers are grateful when I give them a heads-up that he's having a bad morning, and I'm grateful when they send me a note home telling me what a good day he's had (or bad, for that matter). My feeling is that this open dialogue has fostered a really good environment for all of us. I can't imagine having it any other way.
Unfortunately, that feeling isn't shared by all parents, as I found out the other day. I was speaking to one of the teachers who works closely with Bear, and she was sharing some challenges Bear had been having that morning. The Vice-Principal, aware of the problems that particular day, had asked her earlier in the day what she planned to do. Her answer apparently surprised him: She was going to call me and talk to me. What? Call a parent? Would I actually be open to that? Oh yes, she assured him, these parents would be.
I find it sad to think that there are parents who wouldn't be open to it, and I have to ask myself why. Are they ashamed of their child? Do they think their child's issues reflect badly on them as parents? Are they worried that if they acknowledge a problem, then they have to deal with it? On the other hand, have they had bad experiences with the school? Do they feel judged/blamed by the teachers and administration for the problems their child is having? Have they been burned in the past by people who don't understand?
Regardless of the reasons, and I can only guess they are many and complicated (and some may even be valid!), I just have one thing to say: Suck it up, Buttercup! This is your child, and your child needs you. I don't care how uncomfortable or difficult it is, this is your job. That's right, your job. Your child's success and happiness may very well depend on you doing everything you can possibly think of to help them, and then some. Is that a whole lot of pressure? Yup, it sure as hell is. Does that mean you're responsible for every decision your child makes? Nope, it absolutely doesn't. But you ARE responsible for ensuring that your child has all the tools and skills to make good decisions when the time comes. You are responsible for being the one who asks for help on their behalf and who stands up for them and with them when things get rough. That doesn't mean denying there's a problem or placing blame on others. In fact, it might even mean getting help for yourself in order to make sure you have the tools and skills to help your child.
It's a rough road, and it's not the road you thought you'd be on. But you know what...that's just too damn bad. So be the parent your child needs because...well...your child needs you.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
It Was the Best of Weeks, It Was the Worst of Weeks
This week was just a crazy up-and-down-roller-coaster of a week. On Monday Bear and I took a trip to the specialist for a follow-up on his new anti-depressants. I wasn't sure I had really noticed any difference in his anxiety levels, but it can take up to six weeks for anti-depressants to kick in and it hadn't yet been six weeks. The last time we were there Bear refused to go into the waiting room because people might look at him (we waited in the hall for an hour), so I knew this appointment would be a good test. And boy, was it ever.
Despite the fact that the waiting room was empty, Bear refused to go in. The doctor was on time, so all we had to do was walk through. For the record, this was our third or fourth visit to this particular doctor, so it wasn't exactly unknown territory. Well, he freaked. And when I say freaked, I mean freaked. I had to hand all my stuff to the receptionist to take to the examining room and then pick him up and carry him in. That wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that 40lbs of kicking, screaming, writhing, scratching, biting (oh yes...biting) Bear is very difficult to carry without dropping. My poor baby. It was really heart-breaking. The only good thing was that it proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the medicine wasn't working at all. Whether or not to change anti-depressants suddenly became a very easy decision for all involved, so now he's on something new.
Tuesday and Wednesday seemed to go off without a hitch, to the point where I wondered if I had any right to write a blog about having a child with ODD. ODD? What ODD? Then came Thursday, and all hell broke loose. Homework resulted in my being punched in the stomach. Granted, that's probably more the ADHD than the ODD, but they pretty much go hand-in-hand. That was the first time he's punched me like that (normally he kicks, hits, pinches, or throws something), and I'm not sure if I'm more disturbed by the fact that he punched me or the fact that it didn't really upset me. On one hand yay me that I didn't fly off the handle, but on the other hand...wow...how "normal" has his behaviour become to me that being punched in the stomach by my six-year-old doesn't freak me out.
Friday was a good day for him, and his teacher even sent a note home saying he had had a really good week. I just love how everyone involved at his school seems to root for him. It's really heart-warming.
Then along came today, and a much-anticipated birthday party -- except he decided he wasn't going. This is typical Bear, but only for about the last six months. His anxiety gets the worst of him and he just can't bring himself to go. The good thing is that not only are we starting to recognize the signs, but so is he. Fingers in the mouth are a tip off, that's for sure. But whereas three months ago asking him what was wrong used to send him right over the edge and even into a violent rage if we pushed too hard, now he's starting to talk about it. This morning when I asked him if he was scared, he said yes. That was progress. We haven't pushed him to go to other birthday parties or to do things that scare him despite the advice of the well-meaning, and I think that has paid off. He now trusts us when we say we're not going to make him do something, so he's willing to talk about it. In the past he would shriek "You're just trying to get me to go!!!" when I tried to question him.
The one thing I did insist on today was that we go buy a present for his friend and deliver it, but I stressed that he didn't have to stay. He was OK with that, and then added on his own that maybe he could stay if he decided to. So that was our deal. Get ready for the party, go buy the present, go deliver the present, and only stay if you want to. And lo and behold, he wanted to! He did ask me to stay with him, although rather casually, so I told him I couldn't because I had an appointment to get my hair cut (I wasn't lying). I did promise him that I would come back as soon as I was done, though, which I did. I got a flying hug when he saw me, but then I was informed that I could go.
Yay, Bear!!! You go, my angel! This is real progress and I'm hoping it's a sign of better days to come. Just the fact that he's beginning to talk about how he's feeling opens up a world of opportunity to help him.
You know, when your child has ODD, you often end up as the enemy. Kids with ODD take everything personally, so they see anything you do (like make them sit down for supper) as an attack. It was a really nice to feel like his ally for a change.
Despite the fact that the waiting room was empty, Bear refused to go in. The doctor was on time, so all we had to do was walk through. For the record, this was our third or fourth visit to this particular doctor, so it wasn't exactly unknown territory. Well, he freaked. And when I say freaked, I mean freaked. I had to hand all my stuff to the receptionist to take to the examining room and then pick him up and carry him in. That wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that 40lbs of kicking, screaming, writhing, scratching, biting (oh yes...biting) Bear is very difficult to carry without dropping. My poor baby. It was really heart-breaking. The only good thing was that it proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the medicine wasn't working at all. Whether or not to change anti-depressants suddenly became a very easy decision for all involved, so now he's on something new.
Tuesday and Wednesday seemed to go off without a hitch, to the point where I wondered if I had any right to write a blog about having a child with ODD. ODD? What ODD? Then came Thursday, and all hell broke loose. Homework resulted in my being punched in the stomach. Granted, that's probably more the ADHD than the ODD, but they pretty much go hand-in-hand. That was the first time he's punched me like that (normally he kicks, hits, pinches, or throws something), and I'm not sure if I'm more disturbed by the fact that he punched me or the fact that it didn't really upset me. On one hand yay me that I didn't fly off the handle, but on the other hand...wow...how "normal" has his behaviour become to me that being punched in the stomach by my six-year-old doesn't freak me out.
Friday was a good day for him, and his teacher even sent a note home saying he had had a really good week. I just love how everyone involved at his school seems to root for him. It's really heart-warming.
Then along came today, and a much-anticipated birthday party -- except he decided he wasn't going. This is typical Bear, but only for about the last six months. His anxiety gets the worst of him and he just can't bring himself to go. The good thing is that not only are we starting to recognize the signs, but so is he. Fingers in the mouth are a tip off, that's for sure. But whereas three months ago asking him what was wrong used to send him right over the edge and even into a violent rage if we pushed too hard, now he's starting to talk about it. This morning when I asked him if he was scared, he said yes. That was progress. We haven't pushed him to go to other birthday parties or to do things that scare him despite the advice of the well-meaning, and I think that has paid off. He now trusts us when we say we're not going to make him do something, so he's willing to talk about it. In the past he would shriek "You're just trying to get me to go!!!" when I tried to question him.
The one thing I did insist on today was that we go buy a present for his friend and deliver it, but I stressed that he didn't have to stay. He was OK with that, and then added on his own that maybe he could stay if he decided to. So that was our deal. Get ready for the party, go buy the present, go deliver the present, and only stay if you want to. And lo and behold, he wanted to! He did ask me to stay with him, although rather casually, so I told him I couldn't because I had an appointment to get my hair cut (I wasn't lying). I did promise him that I would come back as soon as I was done, though, which I did. I got a flying hug when he saw me, but then I was informed that I could go.
Yay, Bear!!! You go, my angel! This is real progress and I'm hoping it's a sign of better days to come. Just the fact that he's beginning to talk about how he's feeling opens up a world of opportunity to help him.
You know, when your child has ODD, you often end up as the enemy. Kids with ODD take everything personally, so they see anything you do (like make them sit down for supper) as an attack. It was a really nice to feel like his ally for a change.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
My son, the Prime Minister
When I first came across this video a few weeks ago, I cried. I looked at all these people who have changed the world in their own way (oddly enough, there's only one woman in the bunch), and I thought about their mothers. Did these individuals succeed because of their ADHD or in spite of it? Did their mothers despair of them or encourage them? Or both?
I can tell you quite honestly that I do both.
TheODDDad and I have been encouraged to dream big for Bear by a wonderful teacher at Bear's school who saw his potential and believed in him right from the beginning. For Bear's first two years of school, this man teased me that we were looking at the future Prime Minister of Canada. (He left the school, otherwise I'm sure he'd still be saying it.) He recognized that Bear is extremely bright, funny, engaging, and an independent thinker. Although kids with ADHD, and especially ODD, are at higher risk of trouble with the law and with substance abuse than other kids, Bear shows no inclination to ever bowing to peer pressure. That's not say that he'll be immune to these problems down the road, just that he'll probably be the ring leader with other people following him. As his mother, I find that both troubling and reassuring all at once.
I can tell you quite honestly that I do both.
TheODDDad and I have been encouraged to dream big for Bear by a wonderful teacher at Bear's school who saw his potential and believed in him right from the beginning. For Bear's first two years of school, this man teased me that we were looking at the future Prime Minister of Canada. (He left the school, otherwise I'm sure he'd still be saying it.) He recognized that Bear is extremely bright, funny, engaging, and an independent thinker. Although kids with ADHD, and especially ODD, are at higher risk of trouble with the law and with substance abuse than other kids, Bear shows no inclination to ever bowing to peer pressure. That's not say that he'll be immune to these problems down the road, just that he'll probably be the ring leader with other people following him. As his mother, I find that both troubling and reassuring all at once.
So as the video says, here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The ones who are just crazy enough to think they can change the world...and do. Here's to you, Bear. Someday you'll change the world in your own special way. I know, because you've already changed mine.
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