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:
- Dear God, please stop screaming!!!
- How long before someone calls the cops?
- 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
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.
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.
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.
