I know I hadn’t mentioned on here before that my son was diagnosed with ADHD-Inattentive Type. I was keeping it under my hat for several reasons.

First, I don’t “get” how you can have the H for Hyperactive when the Inattentive Type usually means lethargic, daydreamy and very UNhyperactive. When I said “oh, isn’t that just ADD then?” The fancy-shmancy psychiatrist shot me down with a “ADD is an outdated term”. Really? Cause people still use it. Doctor people still use the term. Book authors with many letters after their name still use it.

Second, I wasn’t sure I agreed with the psychiatrist. There were some comments in the report (that I paid $1800 for) that were just flat out wrong. Like, I’d been there and they hadn’t happened, wrong. Not just “I disagree with your interpretation” wrong.

Third, the only time my son manifests these sort of daydreamy, lack-of-focus behaviours is at school. The rest of the time I see him as a bright, imaginative, creative individual that requires a little extra support in the praise and reminders department.

But recent events (the suicide of a colleague) had me questioning my ability to be objective. What if the young-psychiatrist-without-children is right and my son is at risk for depression, drug use, poor school performance and suicide? What if this medication they talk about  really is the wonder-drug they say it is?

So we tried it. Last week we got the prescreption and on Sunday morning he managed to swallow the pill.

And pretty much all hell broke loose.

Depressive state. Facial tic. Stomach aches. Crying jags. Zombie-behaviour. Grumpiness.

And the, at the wonderful hour of 8pm . . . totally awake child who talked to me from 9 pm to 11 pm.

Still, I thought maybe we need to keep going. Even though every little cell in my body was saying “no! stop! no more!” I thought, he needs to have some for Monday so that the teacher can see … or maybe it works better when he’s engaged all day at school.

But my son had other plans. He refused to take the pill. He tried. He gagged. He choked. He cried. Then he said “I don’t want to take it mommy, I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

Enough said.

I know that we could play with the dosage. But this matters not when he won’t swallow the pill. Heck, I couldn’t swallow a pill until I was in my teens!

And you know what? I don’t care to put him on this medication. I don’t care to put him on any medication. In the last two months I’ve learned two very painful lessons about listening to my intuition. Two times when I ignored that small, still voice and did something I didn’t want to do. Or didn’t do something I should have.

Right now, every mother bone in my body is saying no to medicating him. (Note: I’m in no way saying that medication is wrong or doesn’t work, I’ve heard some great stories about how much difference certain medications have made.)

In fact, I’m going to get all Jesus Freak on you and tell you that I distinctly felt God saying “this is the child I gave you, you are the perfect parent for this child, I gave him to you with this special gift”. I laughed a bit, thinking “gift? which gift?”

Then today a friend sent me this article.

Did swimmer Michael Phelps succeed at the Olympics in spite of having attention deficit hyperactivity disorder — or partly because of it?

Olympic champion Michael Phelps. (Doug Mills/The New York Times)

That question is at the center of a debate among doctors, parents and educators in the A.D.H.D. community. Mr. Phelps obviously has physical talents that propelled him to become a world-class athlete. But A.D.H.D. success stories like Mr. Phelps are behind a push for a new view of A.D.H.D. that focuses not just on the limits of the disorder, but its potential.

And my entire body resonated with that message.Yes, said my mother bones. This is not a curse, it’s a gift. Our family doctor said it’s entirely possibly that I have this as well, especially after I read my son’s report and said “this? this is me.” And I happen to like how I am. I see my daydreaming “lack of focus” to be the way that my mind organizes itself. It needs downtime. Like a screen saver for my brain. Lalala… just thinking for a minute here, chillin’, breathing. But my mind is reorganizing, replaying, reshaping, reforming.

I mutter to myself a lot. I find just thinking about emotions immediately causes a body reaction and many times I can’t control it. I lose things. I am oblivious to other people even when they stand next to me and talk (hey, it’s how I write with kids at home!) and I am inherently lazy. (Really.)

But I’m also very ambitious and driven and can focus on something that offers a great reward. That’s key to the ADHD-I, they focus when there’s a big personal pay-off.

We’re still going to look at some homeopathy and possibly visit a naturopath. I’m not denying that he needs extra help focusing in school. His teacher has been wonderful by helping him learn organizational skills. She’s awesome. When I told her that the trial was abruptly stopped before it really began, she was more concerned about his well-being than how he might be “managed” in the classroom.

I’ve been quiet, I know. I’m sorry to anyone who came here some-what regularly and noticed the chirping crickets.

We take possession of our house in five days. My book edits are also due in five days. I’m PMSing, scratch that, it’s moved to the next stage known as Defcon 10. We are also potty training. Hubster is in full-fledged shift work mode now, he was home at 7 am and is sleeping now as I write/edit/clean up pee/pack a box or two/scrounge for food.

Coffeemaker broke, so every weekend morning I trek over to the local Timmies for my $2.05 double-double with a butter caramel flavour shot.

And I wonder why I’m getting fatter.

I’ll be starting weight watchers on Oct 31 with a friend of mine. We started together before, then I went and got knocked up.

30 lbs later, I’m joining again.

Well now, the political blog-o-sphere is all a hopping about Sarah Palin. Some refer to “Palin Derangement Syndrome”, which is the obtuse focus on any rumour that may have anything to do with Sarah Palin. Now some anonymous waitress has said she made a racial slur. Maybe it’s the same anonymous source that said she wanted to ban books at the library.

What I find most interesting is that there’s a segment of women who are poo-poohing her decision to hold this big job because she won’t have time with her kids. Raise your hand if you don’t have enough time with your kids.

Me neither.

As a working mom, I don’t have enough time with my kids.

There are other moms who would judge me because my daughter is in day care (”I didn’t bring her into the world for someone else to raise her!), some who believe I should homeschool, else I abdicate the instruction of my children to people know don’t know and value them; others may feel I’m neglecting their spiritual education.

What is wrong with the father being the primary caregiver? We did it for a while and it was great, it brought Major Man much closer to Army Baby. In my first marriage one of my greatest faults was not valuing the father-baby bond enough. *I* wanted to be the one to do it all. *I* was the Mother. *I* was queen above all.

There is nothing at all wrong with valuing mothers and wonderful, incredible influences on their children. But when we don’t give equal value to our other halves, we fall short. We are 50% of the parenting unit. For so long we’ve insisted on being Queens of the Household, being Supermom, being the mom that works a full time job and is still queen of the castle, the one who has it all. We’ve forgotten to thank, love and adore the husbands who stand up and be real men and take care of their family too.

Who is the only segment of society who you can still make fun of in a crowd? Men. Black, white, brown, whatever the colour, you can still make a joke about a man and it’s shrugged off. When was the last time you uttered “typical man” or “he’s such a guy”?

My point (that I’m taking a long time to get to) is that judging another mother is a useless endeavour and serves only to justify what you, yourself, are doing. “She is neglecting her kids” is followed by an unspoken second stance, “unlike me.” Why are we so sensitive about our own parenting choices? If we were totally confident in the choices we’d made - we would feel no need to comment on anyone else’s situation.

Women need to be in politics. Do moms need to be in politics?

Let me ask it another way: Do you want to live in a country where there are no mothers in political office?

Because I’m trying to bless my husband by NOT COMPLAINING (it’s tough, I admit) and by stoically taking care of the kids after work without throwing any temper tantrums (mine . . . theirs are assumed), I decided to take Monkey Girl over to the bookstore so I could check out a potential purchase of crack books.

There was a homeless man having a coffee at the Starbucks and he asked me for change but God-strike-me-down I said no. Homeless and drinking Starbucks coffee don’t mix. Ouch, that was really judgmental of me.

Back to safe territory where I’m NOT a jerk. Monkey Girl was well-behaved, but it was tenuous. She didn’t want to share the Thomas toys that were set up for communal use, she wanted to open every book that had Dora on it. I decided not to buy the book I’d come for, but I did pick up a book on tape for my work outs. As we were leaving, I picked her up and put her on my hip, latte  in hand. As we excited, she launched herself forward and I ended up carrying her several steps to my car while holding her by the waist, upside down.

As I got to the car and put down my drink. I flipped her back up.

Two young women passed me, pausing just long enough to say “OH! She’s LAUGHING… we thought it was borderline child abuse.” Yes, right, I’m dragging my daughter out of the bookstore, upside down, as punishment. Sheesh.

Why oh why did I choose child care at *anonymous leisure centre in Calgary*? This was the me centre that I had problems with earlier this year. But they were offering drop-in camp in the summer and it was close by. And I was in need of child care because I’m an overworked working mom, well, just because. 

So I go to pick up Army Boy at the camp and they are just coming out of the pool. Or, rather, most of them are already out and waiting for the stragglers to get changed. Army Boy is always a straggler marches to his own drum and is on his own schedule, don’tchyaknow. I wait five … ten minutes. When I can’t wait any longer I hope the “Exit Only” turnstile and stand outside the boy’s room and yell “get out here this minute or you are going to lose some serious privileges!” He pops right around the corner, fully dressed. What the heck?

I’m about to read him the Dawdler’s Bill of Rights when something makes me stop. I ask him why he was in there so long.

Oh, no reason…other than helping one of his classmates get out of a locker he was locked in.

What?

I asked the camp leader if she was aware of this. “Yeah.” She seems to be sympathetic. So, someone is in there helping him? “Yeah.” Does this not seem wrong to you? I am paying to have my kid at Lord of the Flies camp or what? “Yeah.”

I headed over to Guest Services and let them know that I was not pleased. Army Boy is not big, he’s practically hand-in-glove for a locker. In fact, the one locked in is actually older and bigger.

Hand to God if I find out my kid gets locked in there they’ll have hellfire and damnation coming down their road. Guess what it’s called when you lock someone in a locker: assault. If I were to grab another adult and stick him/her in a locker I could face charges. So what’s the deal with some grade three kid getting locked in there and it’s no big deal?

What would you do?

Dear Dora,

I’m sorry, dear Dora, but you have a bad name in our house. We secretly call you Crack for Babies. I’ve never seen anything like it… If I need five minute (or an hour) I can throw in your Dora Dance To the Rescue and sit back as my beautiful baby’s brain turns to mush.

Well, mush that can speak Spanish a little.

But you may be banned from our lives if I catch myself singing “one big wish” one more time at work.

Seriously.

Heather

We are almost half-way through summer. Do you realize that? Holy cow… summer used to be the days of laziness, the slow, hot days where you wandered about with not much to do other than beat your best score on Ms Pacman or play the newest Atari game. Or racing through the latest Trixie Belden book, stealing your cousin’s newest Sweet Valley High book (sorry Jo) and living in a bathing suit. 

Anyone remember those days?

I definitely miss those days. I hope that my kids’ summers are just as relaxing, that they are able to have time to be bored and come up with something to do on their own. I feel quite guilty as a working mom. My daughter is in day care, spending her summers in the same schedule as any other season. My son is thrust into a bunch of different day camps. “Sports of all sorts” one week, “soccer camp” the next, “science camp” to come.

Back Then When We Were Kids, our moms didn’t work outside the home. They could let us sleep in (they could sleep in!) and they had time to dry our bathing suits in the sun before we put them on again; they could make lunch fresh instead eating out of ziploc bags. We could spend a week with our cousins … even a month. 

I’d love to live in those days. Only this time as a mom.

No, it’s not even one of my books. And no, I’m not getting money for saying this. (I can’t quite figure out those affiliate programs with Amazon or Chapters…)

 

I started to read the book yesterday. It was sort of an impulse purchase while I was perusing the local Chapters to find myself a present (for myself) for finishing my book. It practically screamed at me from the shelf, “Pick me! Pick me!”

Army Boy will be going into grade two in September. Like any other parent, I had these wonderful visions for his school years. Oh how he’d love to write stories with me, do homework at the kitchen table, enjoy the learning environment… oh, wait, that was me you say? And my son is not me? Gee. How did that happen?

Let’s just say that his first couple of years in school have not been very much fun. (School is not supposed to be fun, you say, I disagree.) He has experienced some… friction … in the classroom. Last year he had two teachers and I won’t go into too many specifics but there was one who was simply amazing and another who was new (and didn’t have children of her own, which the other one did). The new teacher was his main teacher and she said things like “Army Boy needs to learn to be more organized”, “Army Boy needs to work on his organizational skills”, “Army Boy is disruptive during quiet times”.

When it came to a head this spring I asked her, “Please, tell me his strengths. Tell me what he is good at.”

I recieved no answer. None at all. Not even an acknowledgment.

Instead of being angry (which was a very viable option, I am a redhead afterall), I was sad. Very sad. How can a child go through several months of school with a teacher and that teacher not have one thing to say about what he’s good at.

I know what he’s good at:

• He’s empathetic
• He has high verbal skills
• He is thoughtful
• He is creative
• He thinks ten steps ahead
• He works hard at making the right choices
• He runs fast and has great hand/eye coordination
• He expresses emotion

Then there are things he does not do well, but I don’t bother to list them because there is no point. Yes, you heard me, there is no point to listing deficiencies.

As a society we want to fix things. We want standardized regulations for everything so that we can evaluate, correct flaws and errors and make things right. This works well with building codes, laws, regulations, government and banking.

This does not work well with people.

 The author, Jenifer Fox, has some strong opinions on how our school system is structured: focusing on weakness rather than strength, standardized testing, diagnosing learning disabilities vs difficulties, medication and a host of other topics. Although she’s American and writes about the American school system, we in Canada should pay attention. We are not that much different. We are still teaching in the same way we were fifty years ago.

So she developed something called The Strengths Movement. She defines it this way: ”At its core, the Strengths Movement is a social movement intended to change how we view ourselves, our children and our world. We have all been conditioned to see weaknesses and mine for deficits. This movement seeks to change that perspective and then apply the positive strengths perspective to our families and our schools.”

As I’ve read the book I’ve been moved to tears several times. Sometimes it’s because I remember the things I went through in school — the frustration with math class, the rebellion in science class, the embarassment in gym. And sometimes it’s because I see what has happened in my son’s academic experience already, mainly the focus on his weakness.

But mostly I find myself so motivated by the book, so inspired and filled with hope that I want to jump up and shout from the rooftops to every parent: READ THIS BOOK. Hold yourself, society and the education system accountable for enriching the lives of your children, for awakening their passions and lighting the flame of learning in them. Don’t spend your time cataloging the deficiencies with your child when there is so much more inside of them.

There was one quote in the book that hit me like a ton of clay bricks:

Children are born as individuals. If we fail to see that, if we see them as clay to be molded in any shape we like, the tougher ones will fight back and end up spiteful and wild, while the less strong will lose that uniqueness they were born with. ~ Melvin Konner.

How many times have I looked on my kids as clay to be formed, as blank slates to be filled? In fact, their clay is already formed. Their slate is chock full. It’s up to us to help them scrape away the vernix and find their solid bits. We cannot view them as structures with weaknesses that need to be shored up, they are not bridges and buildings. They are not blobs of clay to be formed into useful things.

Reading this book has changed me as a parent. As a person, as a boss at work, as a wife. I’m going to recondition myself. I’m going to see strength where I’ve seen weakness. I’m going to value and celebrate that, even if it is against the norm. Even if it’s unpopular. Even if no one else is doing it.

My mother emailed me yesterday to say that she’d bought a trampoline for the kids (and for her to exercise on) and asked if I’d have a talk with Army Boy about trampoline safety before they visited (which is today).

I had a minor freak out.

Now some might suggest that you can’t bubblewrap your kids. To you I say: yeah, you’re right. It’s totally too hot and they complain. A lot.

But trampoline injuries can be serious. More serious than regular sports. Mom’s backyard is all cement. The trampoline is apparently full-sized and comes with a net, so hopefully no one will crack their noggin. But it’s not so much my son I’m worried about. It’s the baby. She’s 23 months and doesn’t have that fear gene.

(Nevermind that children under six are not even supposed to be on trampolines. Not “with supervision”, just “not on” them. http://www.consumeraffairs.com/news04/2006/05/trampoline.html, http://www.tortslaw.com/html/trampoline.html)

So is life just supposed to suck now when she goes to Grandma’s? Is she just not allowed on that big toy out in the backyard? It’s stupid, stupid, stupid to tease a kid with a big toy. They go to Grandma’s quite regularly and I can guarantee you that she will want on it every day. Army boy is almost seven, he can understand basic safety instructions. The toddler … not so much. And not for a few years either.

What bothered me most was that no one thought to mention this to me before it was all purchased and was being set up. Yes, I know it’s not at my house so I have no say over its purchase. But if you’ve bought something that is for my kids that is potentially dangerous I want to know first. By not doing so, they undermine my authority by making a large purchase for my kids without any consultation at all. It sends completely mixed messages to the kids. Kind of like the time I didn’t want video games introduced to my son at all since I knew he’d LOVE them and want to play them all the time. He was three. Grandma introduced them. What part of “I don’t want him to play video games” was unclear. Or when they bought the loft bed that was six feet off the hardwood floor for a kid that wasn’t yet five. Then there are unknowns at work, family members I don’t trust who may be asked to watch the kids “for just a minute” while they are on the trampoline.

I don’t know if I’m coming or going right now, I have a large deadline looming and some work to do. One child has slept in and one doesn’t want to go to soccer camp because “it’s booooring”. (I’ll tell you what boring is… spending the day in your room while mommy works.)

But seriously, what would you do?