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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who Will Catch Him if I Fall?

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

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

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

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

Demons OUT!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm Not a Bad Mother

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

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

Here's what I had to say.

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.

A Weekend of Firsts

This past weekend was Thanksgiving, so we headed up to the in-laws' cottage as is our tradition. Last week was a pretty rough week with Bear, so TheODDDad had suggested we could stay home if I needed to (bless him...the cottage is his favourite place in the whole world, so that shows just how bad my week was -- and how much he loves me), but I had been really looking forward to it.

It's always crazy when we get together at the cottage. It's just a cottage. A real cottage. Not a house "cottage." A small cottage. A real old-fashioned don't-worry-if-you-track-sand-through-the-cottage-or-if-the-wet-dogs-are-sleeping-on-the-couch type of cottage. So it was us, my brother-in-law and his family (another 5 people), my in-laws, and three dogs. Six adults, five kids ranging between 18 months and 15 years old, and three dogs ranging from 20 lbs to 100 lbs. Adults get beds and kids get floors and couches. Dogs get wherever is left. Big kids look after little kids and adults sit and watch as teenage boys turn to young men before our eyes and little boys flourish under the attention of their big cousins.

Craziness ensued. Laughter bubbled. Tension faded. It was glorious.

One of the most amazing things to happen this weekend is that we saw a whole new side of Bear. Whether he's hitting a new stage where he's becoming more confident or whether his new anti-anxiety meds are starting to work, I'm not sure, but I really liked what I saw. Bear has always refused to go anywhere near the Mule (picture a cross between a golf cart and an ATV) or any of the boats. When they start up, he goes running in the other direction, terrified. Yet there he was within about an hour of arriving at the cottage, perched on the seat of the Mule beside his big cousin, going on trails through the woods and loving every second of it. This was so out-of-the-blue and momentous that TheODDDad and I actually stood there in disbelief, hugging and struggling to hold back tears of joy as our little boy came out of his shell. He also went for a walk in the woods with us (another first, and just hours after telling us on the way to the cottage that he was not a "walk in the woods at the cottage type of boy" because he was scared of the bears and the porcupines) and even chatted with some teenage girls he had never met before. This from a little boy who just a few weeks ago became violent at the prospect of having to walk through the waiting room at the doctor's office and has been known to hide for hours on end because someone he has never met is visiting. We were stunned with the changes we saw this weekend, and so hopeful that he'll now be open to new experiences.

It's hard to watch your child struggle with things that come naturally to other kids, but the feeling that comes from watching your child flourish and overcome his challenges can't be measured. Here's to you, my brave Bear! Mommy's proud of you.

Confessions of a Soon-To-Be-Diagnosed ADHD Mom

I admit it...I'm messy. Actually, to say I'm messy might be putting it nicely. My house is, quite honestly, dirty. The dishes aren't done, the dog-hair dust bunnies hop out to greet you, there's a pile of clean clothes that's been sitting on the couch waiting to be folded for about a week (TheODDDad washes them, but I volunteered to fold them and put them away), and the bathroom...well, let's just leave the bathroom for another time, shall we.

Add to that all my papers that I can't seem to get organized. I work from home, so my house is my office and my office is my house. You know how disorganized your office can get when you haven't done your filing or you have a number of projects on the go? Well, imagine that spread throughout your house. I have piles of books and papers everywhere, and I mean everywhere. If you must know, I do actually have an office in the basement, but I have yet to use it in the year and a half since we created it. Yes, it has furniture, but it has furniture covered in papers and files. Seeing a trend?

Before you go call the producers of one of those hoarding reality shows, let me reassure you that it's not bad enough to require an intervention. When we put our minds to it, TheODDDad and I can get the house looking pretty good in a day. You still wouldn't want to eat off the floors (but that's just a gross idea no matter how clean your floors are), but nor would you be afraid to sit down.

This is the way I have always lived and worked. In the past I've just chalked it up to a major personality flaw on my part -- my being lazy and messy -- something that I've always wanted to change but just couldn't seem to. Again, I put that down to laziness on my part. I've always envied people who could say "Sure, come on over!" instead of requiring at least a few day's notice (a week would be great!) before someone comes to visit. I've envied them and wondered how the hell they managed.

My mother-in-law is the exact opposite of me. The dishes are done three times a day, right after you finish eating. The entire house is vacuumed twice a week, once quickly and once thoroughly. Towels and bedding are washed once a week, on Saturdays. When you're finished with something, you put it away. (Now there's a concept I've never managed to grasp.)

I kid you not, early in our marriage I used to get panic attacks when my mother-in-law was coming over. Bless her, she's a wonderful lady and I love her to bits, but I was terrified that she was judging me as unworthy of her son. I admit that she never gave me even the remotest reason to think that and I understand now that I was projecting my own feelings of inadequacy on her, but that's not the point. The point is that I felt so bad about my abilities as a wife/housekeeper that I worked myself into a tizzy every time she came over.

Nine years of marriage later, I now call her to come clean my house. Originally the thought was that she would help me, but it has turned into me helping her. Actually, it's turned into me trying not to get in her way. It was only while watching her last year that I began to realize how different our cleaning styles are. She's very methodical and can accomplish more in a day than I can accomplish in a week. As I watched her, I began to reflect on how I clean. This is how it works for me:

1) start dishes
2) notice Bear's book that's been sitting on the counter for a week and has finally started to bug me
3) stop dishes and take book to Bear's room
4) notice dirty socks on Bear's floor and take them to our room to add to dirty laundry
5) decide to throw a load of laundry in, so gather up clothes and take them to basement
6) throw laundry in washer and take clothes from yesterday out of dryer
7) take dry clothes into playroom to watch some TV while I fold them
8) decide to pick up toys on playroom floor before folding clothes so that no one trips over them
9) realize I have to pee, so abandon unfolded clothes and half-cleaned floor to go upstairs
10) after peeing, decide I'm hungry so make myself a snack
11) go to put my dishes in dishwasher only to realize it's clean
12) unload bottom of dishwasher and then stop to go send an important work email I've forgotten about
13) see an email that I've been meaning to reply to for days and start to respond
14) realize that it's almost time to start making supper and I still don't have any clean pots because I never finished the dishes
15) go back to find water is cold
16) begin process again

That's pretty crazy, and that's just how I clean! Imagine that in every aspect of your life. You'd get nothing done, right? You'd be overwhelmed, right? You'd have no free time because everything would take you twice as long, right? Right! RIGHT!
Up until now, we've assumed that Bear inherited his ADHD, which is genetic, from TheODDDad. He was extremely hyper as a child and he's rather unorganized, so it wasn't a big leap to come to that conclusion. I, on the other hand, don't have a hyper bone in my body (those of you who know me can just shut up now...it's rude to laugh at friends) and somehow manage to juggle a whole bunch of things all at once, so it couldn't possibly be from me. Could it??? Then last week I came across an article that described the very unique ways in which ADHD manifests in women. Wow, was that ever an eye-opener. Here are some of the questions. (http://www.additudemag.com/adhd/article/1638.html)

• Do you feel overwhelmed in stores, at the office, or at parties? Is it impossible for you to shut out sounds and distractions that don't bother others? Uh, yah...sometimes.
• Is time, money, paper, or "stuff" dominating your life and hampering your ability to achieve your goals? Did you read the above description of my house?
• Are you spending most of your time coping, looking for things, catching up, or covering up? Do you avoid people because of this? Ssssshhhh...nobody's supposed to know that. I've done a really good job covering it up for 40 years.
• Have you stopped having people over to your house because of your shame at the mess? "Stopped" would imply I ever started.
• Do you have trouble balancing your checkbook? Do people actually still do that? I have a cheque book and I do actually write things in it, but that's about it.
• Do you often feel as if life is out of control, that it's impossible to meet demands? I'm on anti-depressants for anxiety -- take a wild guess.
• Do you feel that you have better ideas than other people but are unable to organize them or act on them? Yup!
• Do you start each day determined to get organized? Oh, hell yes! Every day is the day I'm going to get organized and caught up before someone figures it out.
• Have you watched others of equal intelligence and education pass you by? I'm doing pretty well, but that's because I hide it really well. But there are jobs I know I simply couldn't do because they require too much organization.
• Do you despair of ever fulfilling your potential and meeting your goals? See above.
• Have you ever been thought of as selfish because you don't write thank-you notes or send birthday cards? Let's not even go there with this one. I think only half our wedding thank-yous got sent out, I can never remember birthdays, and I don't do Christmas cards. (My mother-in-law, on the other hand, is stuck at home recovering from surgery, so she did her Christmas cards last week...in September!!!)
• Are you clueless as to how others manage to lead consistent, regular lives? Oh my goodness, yes!
• Are you called "a slob" or "spacey?" Are you "passing for normal?" Do you feel as if you are an impostor? Don't think I've ever been called these things, but what I'm called and how I feel are two different things.

When I read the article to TheODDDad, he asked when I was going to make an appointment with my doctor to talk about this. When I talked to my parents about it and described what ADHD-Inattentive (or "girl" ADHD) looks like, my dad said that a lot of things from my childhood now made sense (another article, but all the signs were there, just not recognized). My mother-in-law laughed herself silly and told me that she's never met anyone like me. Apparently I do a good job cleaning so long as she tells me exactly what to do and keeps reminding me. And reminding me. And reminding me.

So where does that leave me? Well, I saw my doctor the other day and scored pretty high on the ADHD pre-screening test. Next is a visit to the psychiatrist to make sure that it's ADHD and not something else. That process in itself will probably take a couple of months, so I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I'm really bothered by one thing. What if it's not ADHD? What if it's just me? That would really suck.

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.

How Many More Years of School???

I realize today is only Wednesday, but it already feels like it's been a long week. Yesterday afternoon I got my first "could you please come get him?" call of the year from the school. Mind you, it took til week three for that phone call to come, which is an improvement over last year. Last year he only made it to week two, although that was an improvement over the year before. (Fingers crossed that next year he makes it through a whole month before being sent home!)

But back to yesterday. In the school's defence, it was more of a "Bear's hiding under a counter and won't come out and we're not sure what to do now" phone call than a "come get your crazy child before someone gets hurt" phone call. (Trust me, I've had the latter as well.) The teacher said this was the first time that she hadn't been able to find a way to get him to do what he was supposed to do, which was why she was calling. Normally a promise of being able to play with Lego for a bit will do the trick, but not this time. But you have to hand it to Bear...it's a pretty gutsy six-year-old who flat out refuses to do what his teacher and the vice-principal are telling him to do. Most kids would cave at some point, especially when the teacher gets the parent on the phone. But Bear? Nope, not my Bear. Instead he crawled out from under the counter and joined in the conference call! What a kid.

Given the fact that Bear was flat out refusing to go back to class and that there was only about an hour left of school, it was decided that he would come home and do some work. That should have been a fairly simple arrangement to enforce, but this is Bear we're talking about. Homework, as we're finding out, is not something he does willingly.

What followed was about four hours of torture, both for him and for me, but extremely enlightening torture. As it turned out, there was a math test in class that afternoon, which was why Bear was refusing to go to class. You see, if he took the test, he might fail, and that wasn't an option for him. Children with ADHD are very often perfectionists with a very low tolerance for frustration, which is a dangerous combination. How do you do something perfectly when you don't have the patience to learn to do it properly in the first place? Answer? You don't do it at all. What if you're having problems with the work you're doing in class? You leave your desk and hide in the coatroom, of course. What if there's a test? You find a reason to leave the class and then you hide under a counter and refuse to go back. And if well-intentioned teachers tell you the work is easy? Well, if you find it hard when others find it easy, you internalize the message that you're stupid and a loser (his words, not mine) and then you come home and refuse to do any work because you can't do it perfectly.

In the end, no work got done, a lot of tears were shed (mine hidden, of course), but a lot of information was gleaned. That information was then shared with his class teacher and his resource teacher and by morning they were already working on a plan. (I love that school!!!)

That was yesterday. Then came today.

Today Bear's anxiety reared its ugly head again and he refused to get out of the van when we got to school. Instead, he climbed into the back seat (Before you all start emailing me, by "back seat" I mean the third row. No, he wasn't in the front at six years old, and yes, he was in a booster seat. Can I continue now?), pulled a blanket over himself, and claimed he was too tired to go to school. After a few minutes of trying to negotiate with him I headed into the school to look for reinforcements, taking baby Stitch with me. (I hate to admit it, but Bear can't be trusted around Stitch if he goes into a rage, and I wasn't sure how he was going to react when forced to go to school.) When further negotiations didn't work, I handed Stitch to the teacher who had joined me, climbed into the back of the van, and proceded to start to physically remove him from the van. Fear of his friends seeing him won the day, and he went into school on his own steam. And in typical ADHD/ODD fashion, which means the fastest mood swings you've ever seen, the boy who just minutes before had been crying and yelling at me now went happily trotting into school to play Lego, with hugs and kisses all around. Go figure.

His test, for the record, went well. So well, in fact, that he didn't even know he had written it. Alternating five-minute-periods of work and play had made his first test ever a painless experience. His teacher had already filled me in, but I decided to play dumb with him to see what he said. (Some days that's easier than others.) "So, how did your test go today," I asked on our way home from school. "Test?" he repeated, sounding a little confused. "I don't think I wrote it." "Well, you did, because your teacher told me you did and said you did really well on it," I explained. "OH!" he exclaimed, completely surprised. "Then it went well."

It's going to be a long 12 years for everyone involved.

I'm Not a Bad Mother!!!!

NOTE:  This blog was started yesterday and finished today as if it were still yesterday, so keep that in mind. And on a happy note, the police had to report the incident to CAS, but CAS called this morning to tell us they aren't opening a file on us. Yay! No one's taking my Bear away. (That got your attention, didn't it?)

I'm not even sure how to describe my day. How's this...it's not even 5:00 p.m. and someone has already asked me if I've started drinking yet. I'm out of wine, but I may just have to send Hubby out for some when he gets home.

My day started off fine, until we missed the school bus. It wasn't anybody's fault, it just happened. This is the second week of school and I think things probably went a little smoother on the bus route than last week, so the bus was a few minutes early. It happens...no biggie. There was still lots of time to get to school, so back home we headed to get in the van. That was fine, until out of nowhere Bear decided he didn't want to take the bus home today. Huh? This is the same boy who was really disappointed that he had missed the bus. OK, whatever. But my insisting that the bus was his only ride home triggered a meltdown, which led to my chasing him around the outside of the house, catching him, and then carrying 40lbs of struggling six-year-old to the van. Not a good start, but we've had worse.

We get to school and he promptly bursts into tears, begging me not to make him go in. So again...huh? So he's sitting in his car seat, sobbing, telling me that he's tired and yawning and that the teacher will say something to him if he yawns. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but when you have a child with a generalized anxiety disorder, strange statements like this aren't unusual. Last time we went to a doctor Bear didn't want to go into the waiting room because people might look at him, so we stood in the hall for an hour while we waited for our appointment. The good news is it helped the doctor diagnose the anxiety disorder! (If your child is going to go nuts on you while you're out, it's always nice when it's at the doctor.)

Anyway...back to my morning. I tried to talk him through it and even offered to go in with him to talk to his teacher, but he wasn't having it. I could tell by the way he recoiled every time I reached for his seat belt that he was not going to go willingly. I considered forcing him to go in, but that would have required carrying him in, most likely kicking and screaming. I may have done it if I hadn't had Stitch with me, but I did. And anyway, he was sobbing...didn't that mean it was real? Is forcing the issue the best thing? I have no idea. In the end I caved and took him home. Right thing? Wrong thing? Again, no idea.

Having a child with mental health issues is exhausting, so by 10 a.m. I was ready to nap with the baby. Bear was happily occupied, so I lay down for a while. I guess I was a little more tired than I thought, because I passed out. In comes Bear...could he go and play in the backyard, pretty, pretty, pretty please? Yes, fine, I agreed, but stay in the backyard. He's always been good about these things, so I didn't give it another thought.

Fast forward about an hour, and I get up. I look out the back...no Bear. Running shoes by the door, so he must be downstairs. Bear??? No answer. Go out front...no Bear. Then I notice his scooter on the lawn and his sandals carelessly lying in the grass. Where is Bear??? WHERE IS BEAR??? He only has two pairs of shoes, so I knew that wherever he was, he didn't have his shoes on. I stood there, frozen, for what seemed like hours, as I tried to process what I was seeing. The logical side of my brain knew that he was most likely at a neighbour's, but the other side of my brain flashed through every episode of "Without a Trace" I've ever seen and I knew that if he had been abducted, we needed to find him soon. Don't they always say something about the first few hours being the most critical?

Flash forward again probably 30-45 minutes, while I scour the neighbourhood on foot with Stitch in a stroller and six neighbours are out in four cars going in increasingly larger circles. By this point there have been Bear sightings on his bicycle, but about 1/2 an hour before. He's not even allowed to go to the corner by himself, so how is it that we can't find any trace of him???? Then a brain wave hits...the only place he might go by himself is to my parents', who live about 10 blocks away. We go there all the time, so he would know exactly how to get there. But surely he wouldn't...no, he couldn't...please God...let him have...

The conversation went something like this:

"Hi Dad. Don't panic, but Bear's missing."

"But...he's here."

<insert really bitchy tone here>"What do you mean he's there? How long has he been there???"

"I don't know. I guess about half-an-hour."

"And it took you this long to realize I wasn't there???"

Apparently Bear had simply walked into the house and told Grandpa that Mommy had dropped him off and gone home. That seemed strange to my dad, but then he thought maybe I had been having a bad ODD day with Bear and needed a break. I've done that before, although never without calling first, so Dad just figured I had spoken to my mother, who was napping. I swear...a comedy of errors. Or would that be a comedy of terrors?

Back home, I'm standing in the driveway, phone in hand, having just hung up, when the police car shows up. One of the neighbours helping with the search is a paramedic, so he called his buddies at the police station to tell them what was going on. Nothing makes you feel more like a bad mother than having to explain to a police officer that your son disappeared while you were napping, but no worries, he's shown up 10 blocks away at your parents, wearing no helmet or shoes (no shoes???), having crossed a number of busy streets. Sigh...

So out I trotted the explanation. He has ADHD and ODD (I'm not a bad mother), kids with ADHD have very little impulse control (I'm not a bad mother), he's never done anything like this before (I'm not a bad mother), he's not even allowed to go to the corner (I'm not a bad mother), we're working with Child & Youth Wellness to develop his skills (I'm not a bad mother)...he promised he wouldn't leave the backyard (I'm not a bad mother...please believe me...I'm not a bad mother...). OK, I may have left out all the "I'm not a bad mother" stuff, but I'm sure it was written all over my face.

When my little chat with the nice policeman was over and he now knew everything about us and our family, I asked if he would mind going to over to my parents to scare the pants off Bear. No problem...he'd be happy to. He actually went pretty easy on him, so not exactly the pants-scaring-off lesson I was hoping for, but Bear's pretty cute and I think the officer felt bad for him. I didn't actually see Bear's face when the officer stepped into the room at my parents', but I did hear Bear say "Am I going to jail?"

So has he learned his lesson? Who knows. Have we? Yup. We have an appointment with the vet next week to get him microchipped, just like the dog. (kidding...sheesh...but it really did cross my mind!)

When a Haircut Isn't just a Haircut

I had great hopes for Saturday. I was going to do things. Good things. Productive things.

I should have known better.

Instead, I took Bear for a haircut. I know, why on earth would that interfere with doing things? Well, I'm glad you asked, because now I can vent. (Well, I'd vent anyway, but now you feel obliged to keep reading because, well, you asked.)

Bear has needed a haircut for weeks. The poor thing couldn't see out from under his hair when he put his bike helmet on. On Thursday I picked him up after school and told him we were going to go run some errands. No problem...he was game for that. After all, we were going to the party store to get invitations for his birthday party (he turns 6 this week...whahhh....) and then to get a haircut. We always go to First Choice to get his hair cut, but that's because I'm not paying more than $10 for a child to have a haircut, no matter how good his hair is (and he has really good hair...the girls are going to love it!). We managed the party store without any issues, but on the way to the haircut he informed me that he wanted to go home. I tried to convince him that it would only take a few minutes, but he was adamant. "I'm not going into the store and I'm not getting my hair cut, and there's nothing you can do about it!" Damn it, I hate it when he's right! There's a real feeling of powerlessness to admitting you have very little control over your own child, especially when he's only six, and you once again find yourself questioning your parenting abilities. After all, who's the parent here? If I say he's getting his hair cut today then, dammit, he's getting his hair cut today! Right? <insert hysterical laughter here> Oh, so very wrong.

Anyway, after talking it over we compromised on getting his hair cut on Saturday (today), with a trip to Walmart afterwards. He had received some birthday money that I had promised could be used to buy a toy, so we were already planning an excursion to Walmart at some point. Perfect, I thought...I'll tell him he needs to get his hair cut before going to Walmart or there's no Walmart. He wasn't terribly amused at my playing hard ball, but he agreed to my terms. Yes! Victory was mine!!!!

So for almost two days I listened to nothing but how much he just couldn't wait to go shopping at Walmart. Of course, being a bit of a witch, I gently reminded him every time about our deal. "Yeeessssss, Mommmmm," he'd say with great patience.

Flash forward to Saturday morning, and it's time for him to have a bath and wash his hair in anticipation of his hair cut. Sounds simple enough, right? Except Bear decided he didn't want to get his hair washed, and, again, there was very little I could do about it without a physical confrontation.

"Well, that's fine Bear," I said in my most reasonable and non-confrontational voice, as if I really didn't care one way or the other, "but then I guess we won't be going to Walmart." Bear stopped, looked at me, and said: "That's fine. I've decided I don't want to go anyway." For the uninitiated, that's a pretty typical reaction from Bear when something is being taken away. No sweat...I didn't want it anyway. It's actually pretty infuriating. Does nothing bug this child?

About an hour later he reappeared, having changed his mind. Could he please have his bath and wash his hair, he asked sweetly. I have to admit that I was really torn. Should I be the heavy and refuse, or should I be nice and agree? Would refusing teach him a lesson in doing what he's told? (Probably not. That hasn't worked in the past.) In the end I said OK, because I really wanted him to get a hair cut.

Although school started for Bear last week, the majority of kids go back tomorrow. Figuring the wait time at First Choice would be horrendous and thinking I was being really clever, I called a place in the mall and made an appointment for him. The result? Bear's anxiety, which has grown exponentially this summer, reared its ugly head and he refused to go in. Rather, I chased him pretty much from one end of the mall to the other (thank goodness it was dead, so I could see him at all times), calling for him to stop. Oh, did I mention I had Stitch with me? So I followed Bear around, unable to catch up, alternately dragging and carrying a 27lb toddler, with people looking at me funny as I went by for the second (or was it third?) time, still trying to catch up. Funny, what stopped him was when I yelled out "Bear! Arrête de marcher!" I guess French school is paying off.

After discussing it for a few minutes, we established that he was scared to go in because he didn't know them and he didn't know how they cut hair. My explanation that they cut hair just like everyone else, with water and scissors, held no weight with him, and so we decided together that we would go to First Choice, where he would be more comfortable. First, though, we would swing by Grandma and Granddad's to see if we could leave Stitch with them, because I was drained by this point.

Thankfully, everything sailed along beautifully after that. Grandma and Grandpa were home and were delighted to have Stitch for an hour. Bear and I arrived at First Choice to discover we had just missed the rush and we didn't even have to wait! We were in and out of there in about 20 minutes, and then on to Walmart for the promised shopping excursion.

So, if you've done the math, a 20 minute hair cut took two days. No wonder my house is a mess! (That, and I really hate cleaning, but today I'll blame it on Bear.)