Back to School and the Alphabet-Soup Parent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forever in Grade 1?

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

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

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

School, apparently, isn't our thing.

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

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

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

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

My Boy -- A Man of His Word

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Punishment for the Sake of...What?

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

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

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

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

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

See the conundrum? What would you do?

A Good End to a Bad Week

I have to report that this week ended way better -- and I mean WAY better -- than it started.

First and foremost, it looks as if a happy resolution has been found for the homework wars. On day three of the battle, I decided I needed to call in reinforcements. It was a long shot, but I emailed Bear's teacher and resource teacher to explain the situation. I was pretty frank and told them I was emailing them to beg for their help. For whatever reason, it was taking 3+ hours to get Bear to do 10 minutes of homework, and he wasn't learning anything. All it was doing was pitting us against each other, and TheODDDad and I have always felt that home needs to be Bear's safe place. Some battles obviously have to be fought, but those that aren't mission critical are dropped. Homework is a no-brainer -- it needs to be done -- but when and where are variables that can be negotiated.

After explaining everything, including the fact that homework was causing Bear to become physically aggressive and even turn on his baby brother, I asked if it might be possible for him to complete his work at school. I figured they weren't having the same problems with him at school that I was having at home, or I would have heard about it by now. Sure enough, I was right. The work that he's been fighting me on like a caged animal is the same work he's sailing through at school. The teacher explained that she has an Educational Assistant in the classroom to help in the afternoon, which means that one of them can help him complete his homework.

I confess that I cried from relief.

We are so lucky to be a part of this wonderful school that is so ready to work with us and to accommodate Bear's needs. I know many schools aren't as understanding and that many parents are left to struggle on their own, and it breaks my heart. However, I also know that the school wouldn't have known how much we were struggling at home if I hadn't told them. It's just another example of how important it is to work closely with your child's school and teachers and to be an advocate for your child's needs (and your own).

Is this a long-term solution? No, it isn't, but that's OK. It gives us some breathing room to work with Bear and to get him more comfortable with doing homework at home. As he grows and matures, this is hopefully one more problem that will resolve itself. But in the meantime, after-school is once more a time of snuggles and giggles with my Bear.

We Don't Need No Education

Despite the fact that he is far too young to know who Pink Floyd is, this song seems to have become Bear's mantra. (If you've been living in a cave for the past 30 years, "we don't need no education" is from one of Pink Floyd's best known songs, Another Brick in the Wall.)

According to Bear, he doesn't need to learn anything, especially to read or spell. (He does, however, seem to enjoy scribbling all over the walls of our bedroom in dry erase marker in retribution for being forced to sit down and do his work.) Not only doesn't he need to do homework, but he actually wants to fail. Granted, he has no idea what "fail" even means, but it's nonetheless what he is aspiring to do, according to him.

When he's throwing things at my head, I can't tell you how tempting it is to give in. Sure, kid, fail grade one. Drop out in grade two. Just don't come crying to Mommy when you're 25 and can't get an apartment, a girlfriend or a job because no one likes a grade two drop-out.

Is that wrong?

For the record, I think I have a bruise from where I was banging my head against that (an)other brick in the wall.

What They Don't Tell You about Homework

Have you ever noticed that when you read a "how to" article or book, they make it sound so easy. Even if they admit that it's harder than it sounds, you still walk away thinking "I can do that!"

Getting children with ADHD to do homework is no different. There are countless -- and I mean countless -- articles on how to help them, how to organize them, how to set up a space for them, when they should do it, when they shouldn't do it, what kind of snack they should eat prior to doing it...you get the drift. These articles are all (OK, maybe not all) extremely helpful, except they all assume one thing: that your child is actually willing to sit down and do the work.

But that's the key part. It doesn't matter how nicely you line up the pencils and how healthy a snack you prepare, if your child refuses to do his part (I'm using the masculine here because you know damn well that I'm talking about Bear), there's nothing you can do about it. Well, maybe there is with most kids, but not with an ODD kid. No siree Bob. Or Bear.

Yesterday was a really bad day with Bear, and it all centered around homework. For three hours Bear and I battled, with him alternating between scribbling all over his homework, apologizing, yelling at me, promising to be good, standing on the dining room table, telling me he's ready to work, throwing things at me, crying in remorse, and hitting his baby brother (just once, and not even hard enough to cause Stitch to blink, but nonetheless). In the end I think we managed to get about 20 minutes done, but we were both exhausted.

When it comes right down to it, there's really not a damn thing I can do if Bear refuses to do his homework. Like most kids with ODD, he can't be externally motivated (stickers, charts, etc.) or punished. If he doesn't want to do something, he honestly couldn't care less what we're promising or threatening (the school has noticed this as well). There are all kinds of great programs to help kids with ODD become less...well...ODD...but they can take months and even years to show results. So what are we supposed to do in the meantime? I have no idea.

And on an amusing note, when I tried to explain to Bear today why it was so important to me that he do his homework, he looked me straight in the eye and asked "Do I look like I care?" Where the heck did he pick that one up???? And for the record, no, he didn't.

Team Bear

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

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

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

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

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

Go Team Bear!

Code "Bear"

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

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

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

Me: "You have a WHAT?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has anyone seen my red bag?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Skipping School

Tonight I was bad -- I skipped school. Actually, I skipped the open house at Bear's school. I normally go to these things because I feel it's really important that TheODDDad and I are seen as involved parents. When you have a child who causes problems at school, the last thing you want is to be known as "those" parents.

That said, I work with Bear's school a lot. There is an open dialogue going in both directions, and I love it that way. I turn to them for advice and they do the same thing. Everyone works together to make school a positive environment for Bear and to make Bear a positive addition to the school.

So tonight I decided to cut myself some slack. Hubby had a commitment that he couldn't get out of, so I was heading to the school on my own. And I would have gone if I hadn't been so tired, but showering seemed like a lot of work just for a 45-minute open house where I probably wouldn't have had a chance to say much more than "hello" to Bear's teacher. Some days escaping to the quiet confines of the shower seems like heaven, so you know you're tired when it seems like work.

So what did I do instead of showering? I napped. Yup, I crawled into bed and napped for an hour before TheODDDad got home from work. Then I got up, served supper, put the kids to bed, made muffins, did some work I actually get paid for, did some dishes, and then made bread. (Yes, I make my own bread. No, I'm not insane. Yes, that's a blog for another night.) Now it's almost midnight and I'm just waiting for everything to finish cooling so I can put it all away and finally go crawl into bed for the night.

Sweet dreams.

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.