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.

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.

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!

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.

Irresponsibility at The National Post

I'm honestly so angry right now that it's going to be a struggle to write this post without an extreme use of profanity. For those of you who know me, you know I don't swear a lot, but right now I'm so mad that every bad word I've ever heard is flooding my mind.

You see, today The National Post, a major Canadian newspaper, published an "opinion piece" that effectively denies the existence of ADHD. Don't get me wrong -- I'm all for opinion pieces. In fact, I have a few opinions of my own right now, some of which I'm about to share. But what I am against is stupidity, especially stupidity in the guise of journalism.

Maybe stupidity isn't the word I'm looking for here, because I don't believe the article was written with malicious intent. Perhaps irresponsibility would be better. As a well-respected writer with a established career (see, I did my research), I believe this journalist acted irresponsibly by writing about something of which he apparently knows nothing. You see, the National Post's weekday circulation is about 170,000 across Canada. That's 170,000 people who could have been educated about ADHD, but instead were misinformed. And that, quite frankly, is my idea of irresponsibility.

If you haven't seen the article, here it is. The snide, bolded comments are mine.


Diagnosis: Attention Surfeit Disorder
(National Post, September 19, 2011)


These days, if a boy fidgets, pays no attention when people talk to him, and tries to get out of doing things he doesn't like, chances are psychiatrists will diagnose Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD.) Many of us had ADD when I was young, only we didn't know it. They called us spoiled brats, not sick kids. [And once upon a time people with mental illnesses were locked up in insane asylums where they were treated like animals, but by all means, let's continue to talk about the good old days, shall we?]

Teacher's Pets suffer from a different illness. I call it Attention Surfeit Disorder (ASD). Psychiatrists don't recognize it, possibly because many are afflicted themselves. Just as we once confused ADD-victims with bad boys, we confuse ASD-victims with clever boys. I think they're just as sick as bad boys, but since they usually go on to become doctors, they're a menace only to their patients.

Patients don't count. They used to, once, when doctors could offer them little beside bedside manners, but now that physicians can actually tighten loose patients a notch, at least temporarily, they've stopped coddling them. The first thing students learn in medical school is save what bedside manners they have for patients they can't help.

If you're a patient, don't worry until your doctor is polite to you. When that happens, start seeking second opinions, until you find a specialist who's rude. Then you can relax.

Anyway, it takes a sharp mother to recognize her son as a menace. An old friend I haven't seen for a while is sharp. While we're having coffee, she describes her son as a menace. Apparently at six he'd pose queries like "Mommy, when was the common carp domesticated?"

I sense a trap. "Has someone domesticated the common carp?" I ask.

"Even a person as innocent of pisciculture as you," my friend replies, "must have seen goldfish in a bowl."

True. Mind you, goldfish never looked terribly domesticated to me. Frankly, they didn't much look like carp, either.

"I thought there was something fishy about them," I respond warily. Most mothers prefer "My son, the doctor" as an opening gambit to "my son, the menace." The word leaves a gap in the conversation

"Let me guess - has he become an ichthyologist?" I ask.

"No, a doctor," my friend replies triumphantly. You can't keep a good mother down. "He works as a psychiatrist for the Ombudsman's office."

I nearly say that in that case he must hear a lot of carping, but stop in time.

"So, he isn't such a menace anymore," I say instead.

She laughs ruefully, before glancing at her watch. "Once a menace, always a menace," she says. "Have another coffee and meet him. He'll be picking me up in a few minutes."

I'm shocked to recognize the slight, neat, dapper young man who walks into the restaurant 20 minutes later. We've never met before, but he's a fully grown Teacher's Pet, a breed I can smell from a mile, upwind.

Teacher Pests, as I used to call them, exude their essence from every pore. From his carefully knotted tie to his meticulously polished shoes, my friend's son conjures up nightmarish memories. He's the monster from school, the immaculate pupil, the role model: The boy everybody wants to know why you can't be like, including your parents.

"Why can't you be like Billy?"

"I could, Mom, but you wouldn't like it."

"Try me."

What's Billy the Brain like? While ordinary boys are dishevelled, Billy is perennially neat. While we fidget, Billy sits quietly, as alert as a Boy Scout. While our attention wanders, his eyes are fixed on teacher's lips. Fixed? Glued. While our imagination soars with eagles or (more often) hibernates with bears, Billy's goes swimming in a bowl, looking for things to domesticate.

Is ASD a medical condition? I don't know. Is ADD?

Shrinks think we used to mistake sick kids for discipline problems because we didn't know any better. ["Shrinks" don't THINK that. The medical and scientific communities KNOW that. Imaging studies have shown that the brains of children with ADHD are different from those of other children, specifically in the area of the brain that controls emotions and impulse control.]  I think we mistake discipline problems for sick kids because we still don't know any better. [I think you would be better off doing some research before you write your next "opinion" article.] Being resolved not to make our grandparents' mistakes, we make our own. Having decided that inattentive children suffer from ADD (actually ADHD, since we've added hyperactivity) we prescribe drugs for them instead of drills. [It's called ADHD because there are three types of ADHD: 1) primarily inattentive 2) primarily hyperactive 3) combined. And most doctors will tell you that ADHD meds are only one component of an effective ADHD treatment plan.]

Drugs calm bad boys as well as drills, if not better; it's just that while drilling bad boys helps some, drugging bad boys helps mainly their parents. [A) Don't you ever, EVER, call my son a bad boy. My son is beautiful, funny, smart, and the light of my life. He also has mental health challenges that requires medication. B) It is that exact lack of understanding and stigma in regards to ADHD medication that contributes to the guilt parents feel about providing their children with the medications they so badly need. My heart breaks to think of all the children out there who won't reach their full potential because their ADHD goes untreated. I would no more withhold my son's ADHD medications than I would withhold his insulin if he were diabetic.] The more psychopharmaceutical services we provide, the more we need. In America, the diagnosis of ADHD went from about 12 per 1000 in the 1970s to 34 per 1000 in the 1990s. Epidemic? Perhaps it's something in the water - not necessarily in the fidgety children's water, but in the water of education and health professionals. [It's called better screening and understanding. The cancer rates have gone up as well. Maybe we've made that up as well???]

Perhaps it's just as well that ASD hasn't been classified as an illness by the satraps of mental hygiene. Imagine my friend having to feed her precocious boy pills against being a Teacher's Pet.
Most of us expect our grandchildren to know more than we do. This leads some of us to believe we know more than our grandparents. Do we? Yes, we do, about satellite-navigation and kneesurgery. About many other things, we don't. About ourselves, for instance, we probably know less. [You're right; we do expect our grandchildren to know more than we do. For the sake of your grandchildren, I sure hope they know more than you.]

Will He/We Ever Learn???

If you've been following this blog, you're well acquainted with Bear's little escape act last week. If you're new, here's a quick synopsis. Bear, who isn't even allowed to the corner on his own yet, decided to ride his bike to my parents' house without telling anyone. My parents live about 10 blocks away, and there are two very busy streets to be crossed between here and there. After a frantic search of the neighbourhood by some wonderful neighbours, the police were called. Shortly after that, Bear was located safe and sound at my folks'. (For more explanation on why they didn't call me, read last week's blog.)

Anyway, TheODDDad and I struggled with how to discipline Bear. The thing is, kids with ADHD have problems with impulse control. Science has proven that the area of the brain that controls emotion and impulse (among other things) doesn't work as well in people with ADHD, so they have a hard time regulating their behaviour. Bear knew he shouldn't go to my parents' house, but he was unable to stop himself.

So how do you discipline a child who you know can't control his behaviour? Or do you discipline them? Is there any point? On the one hand, they need to learn, but on the other hand, it's not their fault. Tricky, huh?

Anyway, despite the countless parenting and ADHD books I've read (and apparently not paid enough attention to), the only idea I could come up with that seemed to fit the crime was to take away his 6th birthday party that was planned for a few days after his little escapade. Now, in my defence, the thought of taking away a little boy's birthday party made me nauseous, but I was scared and wanted him to learn his lesson. NOW!

TheODDDad, however, despite not having read any parenting books, is way smarter than I am when it comes to these things. (Oh, thank God!) As he pointed out, the birthday party had nothing to do with Bear's disappearing act, so taking it away made no sense and would teach him nothing. (Duh...I knew that. Really, I did.) Rather, he suggested, why didn't we remove his bike since that was the vehicle used in the great escape and restrict his freedom to our property. Brilliant!!! This summer was the first time Bear was really allowed off our property without our being with him, so we explained to him that he had shown us he wasn't ready for that "big-boy" privilege yet and needed to earn it back. So for five days this was the deal, and we stuck to it. Yay us!

Bear, bless him, really seemed to get it...or so we thought. (I know, now you have to read on just to see what he's done this time.) When he asked to go next door or across the street we would gently remind him of why he wasn't allowed to go, and he was OK with that. No major meltdowns (or even minor meltdowns), which really surprised us. He even went so far as to come into the house to ask if he was allowed on the street to pet the dog that was coming. I was impressed at how well he had learned his lesson.

So along comes Sunday, and Bear regains his privileges. Of course, the bike/Bear reunion was prefaced by a serious talk about the importance of always telling an adult where you are and not going further than you're allowed. Yes, Mommy. Yes, Daddy. No, Mommy. No, Daddy. So far so good...and off he went.

The first place he wanted to go was to visit our new neighbours two houses away. We haven't even met them yet but they have a dog, and in Bear's world that means they're A-OK. When I tried to explain to him that Mommy and Daddy hadn't met them yet and we didn't even know if they liked children, he matter-of-factly informed me that he had spoken to them the other day and they hadn't said they were allergic to children. Well, it's hard to argue with that kind of logic, so I agreed that he could go see if they were outside.
"Mommy, if they're there, do I have to come back and tell you I'm staying there?" he asked. I smiled at him, said a quick little prayer of thanks that he had learned his lesson, and explained that it was OK because I knew where he was going.

About 10 minutes later TheODDDad, who was working outside, asked where Bear was. At the neighbours, I explained, but suggested that we should fetch him so that he didn't overstay his welcome. So off went TheODDDad to bring Bear home. About 20 minutes later I realized neither of them had returned home yet, but I just assumed he was chatting with the new neighbours. After all, they have a dog, and that makes them A-OK in his eyes as well.

A little while later a very sad looking Bear rode into the driveway, followed by a very serious looking daddy. Funny, though, they were coming from the opposited direction of the new neighbours' house.

"Hi, Mommy," Bear said quietly. "I went away again." Sigh...

Apparently when he didn't find the new neighbours outside, Bear decided to go to the park around the other side of the block instead. When TheODDDad didn't find him at the neighbours', he headed straight to the park, where he spotted Bear's shoes and bike...but no Bear...the very same scene I had come across when Bear took off last week. Thankfully Bear was at the house next to the park petting their cat, so another Bear disappearing act ended safely.

So Bear's bike is once again locked in the shed and Bear isn't allowed off our property. Will he learn his lesson this time? My guess is probably not. Will we? Well, if the lesson is not to trust our son (yet, that is), I'm afraid we've learned it. But I can't say I like it.