Wednesday, February 27, 2013

But I never win ANYTHING!

When I first decided to blog, I kinda hoped my mom, my husband, and a couple of my best friends would (pretend to) read it, that they would tell me how witty, and smart, and charming, and pretty I am, and they would at least wait until my back was turned before they rolled their eyes at my inability to shut the hell up. It hasn't quite turned out that way. It seems some of you actually ARE reading it and even better, it's resonating with many of you. 

But I don't think, in a million years, I ever expected anyone to think I'm "inspiring". So when I saw that my new virtual friend and fellow blogger Shannon nominated me for The Very Inspiring Blogger Award, I was shocked, then completely humbled. Shannon's husband Seth is a childhood friend, and I started following her blog (www.sweetoliana.blogspot.com) at Seth's recommendation. Shannon and Seth's daughter, Oliana, was born blind and is autistic. She writes a very frank, honest blog about the challenges they have raising Oli as well as their 3 other children. SHE'S inspiring. She's someone I look at and think, "What an incredible human being!" Me? I'm just some lady who can't seem to get her shit together. No way am I in the same league. Shannon was also one of the first people I reached out to when I was wondering if I should make the leap into the blogosphere. She was so helpful and patient and caring and INSPIRING.  The fact that Shannon thinks I'M inspiring blows my freaking mind. 

But being the attention whore I am, I'll take the nomination with a heartfelt thank you then get on with the business of officially accepting the nomination for Very Inspiring Blogger.

The rules for the award are as follows:

  • Link back to the person who nominated you. See above, and seriously, check her out. She's awesome, and I'm not just saying that because she nominated me. She's honest, funny, and insightful. And she kinda freaks me out sometimes because I feel like she's IN MY HEAD!!
  • Post award image on your site. I have, and will wear it with pride!


  • List 7 random facts about yourself. The only tough part is narrowing it to 7. I'm one quirky bitch.
    1. My favorite movie of all time is The Sound of Music. I have watched that movie so many times that when I was a kid, I could recite every single line. Seriously - how can you not think of Maria singing "I Have Confidence" while jaunting down the cobblestone streets with her suitcases, and smile!? I was probably 4 when I first  had romantic feelings for Christopher Plummer. To this day, even though he's gray and a million years old, I think of him as Captain von Trapp. What's not hot about an authority figure in uniform blowing a whistle!? Whew! Getting a little worked up over here...Pardon me...
    2. I eat burgers and all circular sandwiches around the edges in a counter-clockwise motion. Always have. I'm convinced this is a sign of genius. But it just makes sense - when you eat around a circular sandwich, there's always a corner to bite off. And you're totally going to try that now, aren't you?
    3. When setting thermostats, I will only set them to even numbers, or multiples of 25. Yes, seriously. Ask my husband. I go ape-shit crazy when he tries to set the thermostat to 73.
    4. My favorite word is "fuck". (If my mom IS reading, I just lost her.) There is no better word in the English language, in my estimation. It communicates so much and it can be used as a noun, as a verb, as an adjective, or as an exclamation. I don't use it for shock value. I use it because I really, really like saying it. I try to be sensitive to those who don't feel similarly, and I don't go around schoolyards shouting it at little kids, but I use it, and don't feel like apologizing for it.
    5. My least favorite word is "panty". Gross. I need a shower for just thinking of that word.
    6. When I get really, really nervous, I speak with a Southern accent, and not on purpose. My first college boyfriend thought I was from the South for almost 4 weeks after we met. I also slip into it when I go back to Oklahoma to visit family there, but I can't do it on command to save my life.
    7. I have a Performer's Contract with NBC. True story. Matt and I were on Season 2 of The Marriage Ref. I'm a football lover and Matt couldn't care less about it. On Sundays during football season all I want is my beer, my wings, and my Broncos, but Matt wants to, like, hang out and stuff. Anywho, they flew us to NYC, I won the argument, and we didn't win the grand prize but our consolation prize - a weeklong all-expenses paid trip to St. Lucia - didn't exactly suck. Inside scoop - Nick Cannon is super cool and called Matt his "brotha"; Caroline Rhea hated me. Whatevs, Aunt Hilda; Jim Breuer actually seems like he's an intelligent guy; Tom Pappas thinks I'm "adorable"; and Jerry Seinfeld is very nice (but really serious) and very short.
  • Nominate 15 other blogs and inform them. Waaaah! I'm the new kid at school, and I don't know anyone or any blogs well enough to be able to give you 15 personal recommendations. But here are blogs that I personally love reading, and that have inspired me in some form or fashion:
God, that feels pathetic, that I could only come up with that many. I know there are more, and there are a ton of Facebook pages that I would consider inspiring, but not associated with blogs. I'll keep updating this list as I come across other blogs.

I'm under no false pretenses about the award. I know it's not going to make me rich and famous, I know I don't get to take home some phallic-shaped Waterford crystal trophy, and that really, this is a way to promote and support our fellow bloggers. But I look at this as someone wanting to promote and support little ol' me (Thank you, Shannon!), and for that, it truly is an honor just to be nominated.

Monday, February 25, 2013

An Ode to my Girlfriends

I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and new. - Ralph Waldo Emerson


I haven't posted in almost a week (bad Mommy blogger!), but I've been busy being awesome with even more awesome women. I spent the last week gearing up for and running Ragnar Del Sol (http://www.ragnarrelay.com/race/delsol), which is a relay team event that runs 202 total miles over 2 days. Our team of thirteen amazing ladies was split between two vans, and each runner ran 3 legs varying from 2.5 miles to 13.5 miles (not it!). The vans leapfrogged one another after every six legs, so each van had a few hours of downtime to sleep, shower, eat, and question our sanity. When our team crossed the finish line Saturday evening - 37 hours after we started - I had slept a total of 6 hours, ran about 11.5 total miles, and survived on a steady diet of Gatorade, beef jerky, peanut butter pretzels, and M&Ms. We would probably tell you we survived two days of hell together, but hell might have had better scenery, fewer hills, and smell a little better.

And I actually loved it.

I loved it for a couple of reasons. One, I love challenging myself physically. I'm competitive, mainly with myself, and I love the satisfaction of finishing something that common sense (and my mother) says you're crazy to try. I actually like the feeling of my muscles aching - it means I DID something. (I completely accept that I'm a masochistic freak. One of these days, I'll tackle that in therapy.)

But the bigger reason I enjoyed the weekend so much was because of the time I spent with my girlfriends. Of my 12 teammates, only 3 of them are new friends. With the others, I've run a half marathon through the hills of San Francisco, run a full marathon through the streets of San Diego, walked 60 miles to fund breast cancer research and programs in Chicago and Phoenix, and spent countless hours sharing wine, beer, and conversation. I have no doubt that I'll share more future adventures with both the new and existing friends.

I spent the most time with my five vanmates, only one of which is a "new" friend. We all have motherhood in common, we all have spouses or significant others, and we all work. I'm sure we had a ton of differences too, but I couldn't easily tell you what they were. We spent more time talking about shared experiences and empathizing over one another's stories than stressing out over what we didn't have in common. One of my friends is a mother to two kids who are also ADHD - her gentle support over a phone call I shared with my husband about Sam's meds was what I needed in order to feel good that I was handling things in the best way possible for my son. Our van ride wasn't a total chick flick though - we spent just as much time talking about poop, farts, and body odor as we did about home life, work, and kids. Think of it as Boys on the Side meets Bridesmaids meets Chariots of Fire.

I consider myself extremely lucky to have a wide and diverse network of girlfriends. For every friend I ran with this weekend, I probably have two more who couldn't care less about arch support and stride length, but who are just as important to me. My truest and best friends are loyal, principled, and emotionally healthy (eh, relatively so, anyway. Birds of a feather, and all that.). No Drama Llamas allowed. My friends and I have similar sensibilities, none of us take ourselves too seriously, and all of us have what I consider to be a healthy sense of humor. Whenever I spend time with any of my girlfriends, I'm inspired, energized, and thankful for the gift of their friendship. My friends are my sounding board, my dose of reality, my shoulders to cry on, and my advice givers. I endeavor to be the kind of friend for them that they are for me.
I live for my kids and love and adore my husband. But were it not for my girlfriends, I'm convinced I wouldn't have my sanity. I hold these true friendships sacred. I can go for months without speaking to some of my oldest and dearest girlfriends, but we always seem to pick up right where we left off. I honestly feel sorry for people who don't have these kinds of dear friends. I truly don't know what I would do without them.

If the making of real friends is the measure of true success in life, I've won the lottery.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Just another Tuesday night

I had a surprise dinner date last night with one of my favorite people in the whole world. He's good-looking, funny, smart, engaging, has my eyes and his father's chin. Jack Jack has always been just about the coolest human being on the planet since (and maybe because) I gave birth to him.

Before Sam was born, Jack had us all to himself for about 5 years. When I became pregnant with Sammy, we worried that Jack would feel replaced and that he would resent his brother, and eventually us. We instituted regular "Mom and Jack" and "Dad and Jack" days, when Jack could choose an activity and at least twice a month, he got one-on-one time with one of us. Because Jack and I are the football fans in the family, during football season, we would usually have our M&J dates at a sports bar, eating wings and drinking beer or soda. (Feel free to use that blurb in my Parent of the Year nomination.)

But in the past year, as we've battled with carving out time for work, home responsibilities, sports, and Sam's appointments, these Jack dates have become fewer and fewer. My firstborn will be a teenager this year (cue tears) and I'm already finding few opportunities to get to spend time with him. So even though last night was a school night, Jack finished his homework early so that he and I could enjoy a cozy dinner of wings.

We talked about a lot of things - school, friends, home, his brother. Although I know that he's a pretty spectacular person, and although I know he's getting older and more mature, he still managed to surprise me. Among the things I learned:
  • One of his best friends has a "crush" and that it's not official yet, but that EVERYONE knows what's going on.
  • He's worried about what being a seventh-grader is going to look like, but he's excited to go to Jr. High next year.
  • Sam is kind of a like a demi-god, because according to the Percy Jackson books, all demi-gods have ADHD.
  • He had a girlfriend last year, but he didn't know about it until they broke up. (I laughed my ass off at that.)
  • He feels sorry for his brother sometimes because of how hard he has it, but he thinks Sam is a cool kid, and he loves his brother something fierce.
We talked about that last item for a while. I asked Jack what he thought life with ADHD was like for Sam. His response was incredibly empathetic and insightful: I think he gets frustrated because he can't concentrate and sit still like other kids can and it makes him sad because it makes him feel different and not in a good way. Things that are simple for other people are hard for Sam because of his ADHD and it's probably scary for him. My 12-year old son showed more understanding and compassion for his brother's challenges than most adults do.

He told me that he gets upset when he finds out people have been picking on Sam when Jack's not around. He knows Sam is not an easy-going kid, but Jack firmly believes his job is to be the best brother he can be to Jack, and to have his back. In this regard, Jack reminds me of our late Golden Retriever. Cooper was a beautiful, gentle, loving, sweet dog, but God help you if you messed with his people.
Jack also talked about how much he's liked going to Kris, Sam's therapist, and sitting in on those sessions. He thinks what we're learning there has been helping the whole family. He says that as a family, we don't get angry as quickly (probably), we talk more (definitely) and yell less (up for debate). He sees that Kris has helped him to manage his tantrums, and has also noticed that the medication seems to help him rein in his impulsivity. He still thinks his brother is a handful and hard to keep up with, but he said he couldn't imagine our family without him.

And then the topic turned to some hockey fight on TV and Jack's school play, and he was back to appropriate 12-year old boy talk. But I woke up this morning still feeling warm and fuzzy over our quality time last night. About how he opened up and chatted with me about this stuff the way I open up and chat with my friends. And about how it wasn't an effort - we just TALKED. On a random Tuesday night. Over wings.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Where did the time go?

Welcome to the post that I started writing 4 days ago.

In the time since I started working on posting, I:

  1. Celebrated Valentine's Day with a dear girlfriend. Matt and I don't celebrate Valentine's Day for each other. We do breakfast with the kids, then celebrate our anniversary of the day we met on February 15. Yes, we're pukey cute that way.
  2. Had date night with Matt for our pukey-cute Night We Met anniversary.
  3. Herded cats kids.
  4. Spent the day with Matt, my cousin, and another great girlfriend, running a 5k and enjoying the post-race music, food, drink, and company. I used to pretend I love running. Now I pretend to tolerate it. The truth is it's a great reason for me to hang out with friends who also pretend to tolerate running.
  5. Taught a Sunday barre fitness class. (Shameless plug alert: If you live in the East Valley of the Phoenix-metro area, come check us out! www.karvestudiogilbert.com)
  6. Herded cats. No, really. Coco the Cat got out, and she is too prissy and pretty for the outside world.
  7. Went to a picnic with friends and their kids. I'm not Arizona weather's biggest fan, but the weather for # 4 and # 7 was pretty spectacular.
  8. Hosted a sleepover for Sam and Jack's BFFs. Pizza, smores, and Nerf battles for four. I hid in my room with Coco, who decided that the world has gone mad and wouldn't leave my side.
And as I speak, I'm still refereeing fights between the younger two boys over Minecraft and the older two boys over some video game that I'm too much of a girl to know/care about. It's taken me almost 40 minutes to post what I've posted so far. Oy.

I'm one of those people who (feels like she) does better when I'm busy. However there's a fine line between "busy" and "overwhelmed", and an even finer line between "overwhelmed" and "OMG I'm going crazy and I'm about to lose my shit!" (For the sake of time, let's call this last one "FML mode").

When I'm in FML Mode, as I'm so dangerously close to now, Matt gets snippy, I am dangerously short on patience, and the boys are on edge. It's chaos. I'm not a good mom or wife. And that feeling feels like a whirlpool that seems impossible to get out of. In that moment, though, I get how Sam feels out of control and how difficult it is to rein in the panic and unsettled emotions. If I, as a responsible (?) adult, can't control these yucky feelings, how is my 7-year old kid expected to pull it together right away? The fact that many times in the past week he's been able to do so, tells me that he's more advanced than I am.

And because we're so close to FML Mode, I need to keep this brief and will be back later this evening with something much more Zen. Hopefully.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

"A" for effort

I'm my toughest critic. I'm always measuring myself against and comparing myself with friends, strangers, TV characters, pretty flowers - basically anyone and everything. And when you set the bar that high, you get just a TEENSY bit stressed out. So this week, I have been anxious, tense, and sick to my stomach leading up to this afternoon...

Today was Parent-Teacher Conference day. (dun, dun, DUN!)

I always feel like Parent-Teacher Conferences are the ultimate job review: Let's talk about how well you've been parenting your child so far this quarter, shall we? When the boys were younger, these were just formalities; an excuse to get out of work for an hour to look at some tissue paper collages and potato-stamp art and to talk about how nice it was to have them in class. But as Sam's ADHD behavior progressed, and as Jack got older, these conversations began to take on a little more weight.

With Jack we're constantly dealing with his lack of organizational skills and how that's negatively impacting when (or even if) he's completing his classwork and homework. He would much rather be reading a book than paying attention to a lesson. He's that kid who has his Hunger Games book hidden under his assignment, thinking he's SO clever because no one has figured out his trick. (Newsflash, Jack - I'm still scarred from getting caught by Sister Agatha in 4th grade, reading a a Disneyland guide book when I was supposed to be doing a writing assignment. That shit sticks with you.) Jack heads to Jr. High next year, and I'm scared to death of him falling behind because of these poor organizational skills and bad habits. I'm worried about how his "permanent record" will look. (Because although I'm pretty sure my boss today knows nothing about the Sister Agatha incident, I still have this unreasonable fear of the "permanent record".) 

But let's be honest here - I see his grades as a reflection of myself. If he gets a "C", that means I'm just doing an average job as his mom. God forbid his mother he should fall below average or fail. My head knows better, but as with so many other things, my heart hasn't quite figured that out. And even worse, I take that out on Jack. Jack would probably tell you I have very high expectations of him. Really, I have very high expectations of myself. My mother would probably tell you the same thing about herself and me when I was a kid, and just like I didn't get it until I was a mom, Jack won't get it until he has kids of his own.

Don't get me wrong. Jack is seriously one of the smartest people - not kids, but people - I have ever known. He knows more about the things he's passionate about, like military history and Greek mythology, than adults who hold doctorates in those areas. The kid is a sponge. And his teacher reminded us of that today. We have been very lucky with our boys' teachers in the past, but Jack's teacher this year really holds him accountable and doesn't pull punches, and she recognizes his excellence at the same time. I kinda have a parent crush on her.

Sam's conferences cause a different kind of anxiety. He doesn't get letter grades yet, so instead we talk about his skills and abilities (YAY!) and his behaviors (not so yay). Because it seems we're always meeting with his teacher at IEP meetings, I wonder a) if she's sick of seeing us, and b) what the hell else can we discuss!? My worry with Sam's conferences is that something really, really bad happened since the last note home (there wasn't, thank God) or that his ADHD behaviors are getting worse. Actually, because this is the first week of school since Sam started medication, we did have something new to talk about. It seems that so far, so good. His teacher has reported that Sam seems to be more focused in class and is not quite so temperamental this week. In fact, today Sam stayed at his desk during free time in order to complete a writing assignment - something I could not have imagined Last Week Sam doing. And so far, no whiffs of scary side effects - the fact that he titled his writing assignment "Mystery Farters 9: Lost in Space" tells me that my little boy's irreverent humor is still firmly intact. (Yes, there has been a Mystery Farters 1-8. With accompanying artwork.)

I walked away from today's conferences feeling pretty good. I feel like Jack has a game plan with his teacher as to how he's going to stay on track for the rest of the quarter and the school year, and Sam seems to be showing some promising positive changes. If this were a job review, I don't know if I would be getting a raise, but at least I get to keep my job, and it's a pretty great job to have.

I will likely never stop being too tough on myself, but if I can just learn to look at days like today as positive feedback, instead of looking at it as all the ways I haven't measured up, I would be doing myself and my kids a huge favor.

But in the meantime, I'm going to entertain myself by imagining Sister Agatha reading a Mystery Farters writing assignment...

Monday, February 11, 2013

An open letter to That Mom

Dear That Mom,

I saw you today while I was at a red light. You were at the bus stop, leaning over a little boy who looked like he was about 4 years old and he was PISSED! He was flailing on the ground, crying and screaming over who knows what, while everyone else at the bus stop stood at least 10 yards away, lest Screaming Kid is contagious. I'm not a mind reader, but I'd bet money that you were thinking at least one of three things:
  1. Dear God, please stop screaming!!!
  2. How long before someone calls the cops?
  3. For the love of all that is good and holy, please STOP SCREAMING!!!
Girlfriend, I have SOOOO been That Mom. Many times over. I hold a PhD in That Mom.

You probably have seen me at various restaurants around town, desperately trying to shush my kids long enough for us to stuff our faces with our dinner before slinking out, all while pretending I don't see the disapproving glances. I have been tempted to print a shirt that says, "I swear my kids were acting like angels when we left the house, and no I have no fucking idea what set them off and yes, I don't want to eat around them either."

Or you may have seen me in the grocery store checkout line pretending I don't know the kid standing next to me who is weeping and yelling that I'm the Meanest Mom Ever (I've held the title from 2009-2012, and 2013 is looking like my year again too) because I won't buy gum/candy/chips/toys/soda.

And if you fly, I'm the one telling the kid behind you to stop kicking the seat because the nice people in front of us don't like that. (Except for the flight where the other That Mom in the row in front of us allowed her toddler to lean over the seat and throw up in my face, with no apologies to me. Yes, that really happened. And that That Mom had her seat kicked all the way over the Pacific Ocean and I don't feel the least bit bad about it.)

At any rate, That Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry your child (or at least a child in your care) was overtired or bored or pissed. I'm sorry that people who have no idea what's going on in your life looked at you and made assumptions. I'm sorry that you felt scared or angry or helpless or all of the above. I'm sorry if you were or felt judged by others who have never walked in your shoes. I'm sure you were doing the best you could with what you had.

That Mom is a sisterhood. Even Puking Toddler That Mom, although her membership is currently under review. We even have a That Dad chapter. We've all been there more times than we care to count.

I hope your little guy decided to suck on the lollipop or play with the toy or agree to whatever stall tactic you employed today. I'm sure we'll see each other again someday soon. Keep on keeping on, That Mom.

Love,
That Mom Too, PhD

Winner, Meanest Mom Ever: 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012





Sunday, February 10, 2013

My son, the pill popper

I'm going to come right out and say it: We have chosen to medicate Sam. Two days ago, after almost a year of behavioral therapy, after a lot of research and second opinions, and after very serious and honest communication with Sam's doctor, we started him on a stimulant. It's too soon to say how effective it will be in the long run, but so far I'm extremely encouraged.

This was not a decision that we made lightly, and it wasn't made in haste. We understand the risks, but we believe the benefits far outweigh them. It's a decision that I understand is not the right choice for everyone, but Matt and I are very clear that it's the right choice for us.

I was raised by two pharmacists, and spent a good chunk of my childhood in the back rooms of the pharmacies my parents worked in. Western medicine put food on our table, clothes on our backs, and a roof over our heads. Various family members have scrips for blood pressure medication, heart medication, insulin, birth control pills, and inhalers. I don't believe in handing out pills like candy, but neither do I discourage the proper and intended use of medications.

Nonetheless, when we finally did accept that Sam was likely ADHD - when he was 5 and before his first official diagnosis - we were adamant that we would not medicate him. Instead we would do everything in our power - diet, behavioral modification, accupressure - to keep drugs out of his tiny body. We got rid of all processed food and went to an organic, no-gluten, no-dairy, no-fun diet. We all took multivitamins and Omega-3 supplements daily. We threw the kids in the pool at every opportunity in order to burn off extra energy. These healthy lifestyle changes felt good, and had a positive impact on Sam's behavior, but our overall struggles continued. After about 6 months, we knew weren't seeing enough change to justify the increased time and cost of our new lifestyle.

By then, Sam had started kindergarten, and by the second quarter of the school year, we were hearing the familiar refrain: Sam's a bright boy, but he's a little loud/aggressive/impulsive/disruptive. By the third quarter, we were getting calls from the Principal's office that Sam had lashed out at other students. It wasn't his ADHD itself that was causing this behavior, but the ADHD was making him feel out of control and he lacked healthy coping behaviors to handle that scary feeling. His poor kindergarten teacher was a sweet young lady, just out of college and was in her first year of teaching kindergarten. I knew she liked Sam, but was at a loss as to how to handle his increasingly violent outbursts. It was an awful cycle - Sam would shout out an answer in class, he would get in trouble for it, he would get angry, he would get in more trouble - he was becoming the "bad kid" all over again, and he knew it.

And it was carrying over into our home life. Matt and/or I would get angry because Sam got in trouble - again! - at school. We would get mad at and resentful towards one another because neither one of us could control our child. We would get mad at and resentful towards Jack because - shit, sometimes it was just because the sun came up. Our family was suffering and spiraling down.

The calls from the school kept increasing, and finally we were told that we had to find someone to help Sam or he would be asked not to return to his school. It was told to us that nicely, but it was still a sharp wake up call. We couldn't sweep this under the rug anymore. And being forced to face this head on scared the living shit out of me.

We met Miss Kris in March of last year. Right away, I liked her. She was no-nonsense, but she was also kind and warm. Sammy won her over right away with his humor and intelligence, but she also saw the anger and fear he carried. And she was the one who answered the question we had carried around for the last 2 1/2 years - yes, your son has ADHD. From her, we also learned that Sam was ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder) and had high anxiety. She worked with Sam to teach him appropriate coping mechanisms and the ways to fight off Angry Monster (Sam's name for the feeling he had when he would lash out) and she taught us the behavioral therapies to use at home to further encourage healthy behaviors.

These tools were moderately successful. Sam's behavior at home was becoming more even-keeled, but at school he was still lashing out and being sent to an "alternative classroom for reflection" (First Grader-ese for "detention") on a regular basis. He was still unable to keep Angry Monster at bay.

We were all out of Hail Marys, and Miss Kris agreed. She referred us to The Melmed Center in Scottsdale. After waiting almost 3 months to get in, we sat down with a doctor for 2 1/2 hours on a Friday morning. They quantified his teachers' and our experiences with Sam. They measured his ability to focus. They talked with Sam, and then with Matt and me about the last 3 years. And they came back with the same diagnosis that Kris had: ADHD, ODD, and anxiety-type depression. They sat down with us and explained what we had already come to accept - that ADHD is a medical disorder, and just like other medical disorders, you can choose to treat it with medication.

After years of feeling like a bad mom, a terrible wife, an awful human being because I couldn't help my son; after watching my youngest become so angry I swear he was going to turn green and so sad I thought he would drown in his own tears; after trying to convince my oldest that even though we were spending so much time and energy and money on his brother, we still loved them equally; after being scared, confused, and feeling lost for most of Sam's life - the prescription that was offered to us was the best next step for our family.

The decision to medicate or not to medicate is a personal one. One size does not fit all. But I don't believe that any educated decision made with deep consideration for the possible consequences, and made in the best interest of your family, can be a bad one. The medication will not change Sam, won't turn him into a mindless zombie, and will not make him an addict. What we - his medical doctor, his counselor, his dad and I - hope is that it will help him curb his impulses, will help him focus better, and will help him take a mental time out that will give him the time to choose the proper coping mechanism.

So, actually I guess we do hope it will change Sam - and all of us, really - for the better.


Friday, February 8, 2013

Boy, he sure is......active

We used to joke that Sam went from crawling to running. Honestly, I can't remember when he started walking because I don't ever remember him NOT walking. Once he figured out how to be mobile, he never stopped. Same thing with verbalization - once he learned to talk, he was never quiet. We assumed that because he had an older brother that he idolized, he progressed faster to keep up with him. It was cute. Sam was precocious, coordinated, intelligent - how could that be a bad thing?

I remember so clearly that day when he was two years old, though, when Sam was trying to sit on the couch with his brother to watch television. He fidgeted for a long time, then got up, stood in front of the TV, and just bounced. His two little feet were planted firmly on the ground, but he bounced up and down like a little spring. Wow, I thought. He really CAN'T stay still, can he? I remember laughing it off when I brought it up to Matt, but my gut was screaming something at me. To this day, I don't know exactly what I was really feeling in that moment, but it was the moment I KNEW my baby boy had ADHD.

Saying that now is like saying the sky is blue, grass is green, and wine is good. It just IS. But back then, admitting to myself that my son had ADHD was like admitting that I sold crack to baby seals. It meant I was a terrible human being who had done something wrong to break my child. So I buried it for about a year, and bought into all those hurtful fallacies about ADHD: he's just being a boy; all kids are hyperactive; he'll outgrow this behavior.

But he wasn't outgrowing it, and it was beginning to affect him negatively in social situations. In his preschool, he was always getting into trouble because he was so impulsive and talkative. He started to see himself as a "bad kid", and nothing will break your heart faster than your 3-year old son telling you he doesn't have any friends because he's a bad kid. One day, Sammy told me through tears, "Mommy, I try SO hard to be good. My brain tells my body to be good, but my body just won't listen!!" I knew it didn't matter if I broke him or not. I needed to fix him. I took him into his 4-year well check and told his pediatrician that I thought there was a high likelihood that Sammy had ADHD. He asked us some questions, gave us some checklists to fill out and to have his preschool teachers fill out.

About that same time, there were some other issues with his preschool that we were unhappy about, so we moved him to a preschool that had a heavy arts-based curriculum (aren't all preschools arts-based?) that catered to his creative side. He began to flourish in his new setting and was rarely in trouble. Matt and I breathed a sigh of relief. So he DID just need new surroundings! We tossed the checklists and questionnaires - we didn't need them after all. Our little boy was just fine and we could lose the devil's horns we had forced ourselves to wear.

Slowly, though, we started getting the updates - Sam wasn't listening today, Sam couldn't keep his hands to himself, Sam shouts out the answers without raising his hand - that let us know the problem hadn't left, it just changed zip codes. And Matt and I were back to facing the reality that our little boy's body still didn't know how to listen to his brain.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Well, hello there!

So...uh...I just start talking, right?

Normally, I'm never at a loss for words. Never. Which is why I thought, "Hey, I need something to fill up my days! Why don't I blog?" But I just spent the last hour staring at this blank page, wondering how one starts blogging. (Actually, that's not completely true. I spent the last 3 days staring at templates, layouts, images, fonts, background colors, etc., etc., etc. wondering if I was even capable of blogging.)

I guess I'll start with the formalities: Hi. I'm Amy. I'm like most of you - perfectly well-behaved, adorable kiddos; a husband who is the next thing closest to God and adores me; a marriage that is perfect; a totally put-together professional who never leaves the house with a hair out of place. You know how it is.

Actually, my reality is more REAL than that.

My kids are adorable, but they are a challenge. Jack has been in a gifted program since he was in the 3rd grade, but I'm here to tell you that the Curse of the Gifted Child is not a myth. He is smarter than any human being should be allowed to be, but he is prone to daydreams, is scattered, and is approaching his teen years. Some days I wonder if I'll make it out of these years alive. Some days I wonder if he will.

Sammy is funny, bright, sweet, and sharp as a tack. And he's ADHD. Any parent of an ADHD child will tell you there's a special place in heaven for us parents, the teachers, coaches, and other adults who work with our kids. In addition, Sam is starting to show signs of Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD) and anxiety. Navigating these waters seems impossible at times, but we're trying.

And I do have a husband who adores me, and I him, but there are times we don't like each other very much. We have been married 15 years this year and have been together 17 years. We both love each other deeply, madly, and truly, but we have had our share of bumps in the road. Neither one of us perfect or always right (but I'm usually more right!) but we're perfect and right for each other. Most days.

I've been a professional for the past 16 years, and I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up. I would rather sleep in than put on makeup, and rather drink wine than work out, rather wear long pants than shave my legs. I am sarcastic to a fault, use (often inappropriate) humor to distract myself from real issues, and use language that has made truckers blush - literally.

But I'm real. I'm honest. Most of the time, I can see the glass as half full. And if I care about you, I won't hesitate to beat the shit out of anyone who hurts or tries to hurt you. My kids call that protective side of me "Momma Bear", and it comes out for my husband, my kids, my family, and my friends.

In my blog, I'm hoping to be that lady who really IS just like you. I also hope to be a resource for other moms of ADHD kids. My promise to you is that I won't pull any punches. My life is beautiful, but it's not without its blemishes - just like yours, I suspect. I hope that sharing my parenting, marriage, and family challenges helps you feel like there's someone in your corner. And honestly, y'all are cheap therapy.

I'll probably also have a few posts about how to take out a red wine stain (white wine is bullshit - doesn't work, or at least it never did for me), why some things DO taste better than skinny feels, why monokinis are the work of the devil, and I'll probably throw out a few f-bombs as I do it. If I'm going to let you into my world, you need to be able to take a few variations on the word "fuck" or you won't last long.

Nice to meet you, blogosphere.