ADHD Parenting Blog

Archives: June 2008

When the Punishment Is Too Harsh

Has someone ever disciplined your ADHD child in a way you believed to be inappropriate?

Has a care provider, teacher, or even a family member ever disciplined your child with ADHD in a way you believed to be inappropriate; because they didn’t see or believe that a specific behavior stemmed from a disorder?

Natalie had a wonderful teacher this past school year. Mrs. Junck was a dream come true — warm, energetic, highly skilled, and experienced. She not only tolerates kids with special needs, she enjoys them. And since she was Aaron’s first grade teacher, I knew her and trusted her from the start.

When Mrs. Junck wasn’t there, she had one regular sub, a retired teacher she knew well. Although Natalie preferred the consistency of Mrs. Junck being in the classroom, she got along fine when this substitute was there.

One day, Mrs. Junck was gone, and her usual sub wasn’t available. Natalie was anxious when I kissed her goodbye at her classroom door that morning, but I wasn’t worried. I was sure she’d be fine.

That night, however, she told me that the substitute teacher was “mean”. According to Natalie, the sub grabbed her head with both hands. “Look right here!” she demanded, when Natalie wasn’t focusing, and physically forced her to look where she wanted her to look.

I wasn’t happy to hear this, of course, but I wanted more information. Natalie is normally an accurate reporter, but I was willing to see if there was more to the story.

The next morning I asked Natalie’s special education teacher to check into this report. I don’t know exactly what she found out, but, as a result of my inquiry, the principal had a talk with the sub, and Mrs. Junck guaranteed that the individual wouldn’t sub in her classroom again that year. She apologized like crazy.

This incident was very small; benign, really. But how many times do our children experience this type of treatment? One incident may not hurt them, either physically or psychologically, but a series of them very well could.

Last Thursday, Natalie disclosed to me a much more unsettling incident with a care provider. Over the next few days, I’ll share this experience with you through a series of posts. My intent today is to start a discussion, to pose the question: Do our children suffer when adults misinterpret behaviors that stem from ADHD or other special needs?

Natalie certainly has. Don’t miss tomorrow's post.

Tales of Destruction

What’s the most expensive item your ADHD child has destroyed within 24 hours?

Thanks for all the comments on my earlier post about Natalie destroying her blue jeans. Wow, I’m not in this alone! Reading your responses made me realize… I have more to say on this topic. Boy, do I ever!

Last Christmas, Nat’s “big” present was a children’s drum set. She loves music, and I thought that, given her problems with sensory integration, having control over loud sounds as she experiences them might help her learn to tolerate them. Someone else will have to test that hypothesis — I never got the chance.

On the first day - THE VERY FIRST DAY — the drum set was in her bedroom, she played in her room, with the door closed, with Ty and Lindzey, friends who live across the street. With one ear tuned to the happy voices and “music” coming from Nat’s room, Don and I went about our business without constantly checking on the kids as they played.

Mistake! The sounds of the drum were not happy sounds at all. Nat took apart the stool, and used one of its metal legs to ram holes in the drum heads. Ruined. And that puppy was not cheap. The drum set went back in the box, and to this day, it’s in the garage, where the sight of the box is a reminder, to me — not to Natalie, I’m sure — of this frustrating event.

It’s contest time! What’s the most expensive item your child with ADHD has destroyed within 24 hours? I’ll start. One drum set: $120.

Can you beat that?

Outing My ADHD Child

I hope that my decision to be upfront about Natalie’s differing abilities helps her grow up believing that having ADHD is no big deal.

Natalie and Harry were thrilled to participate in Story City, Iowa’s Scandinavian Days parade, which took place a couple of weeks ago. ChildServe,

the agency where Nat receives occupational therapy invited them to be a part of their parade entry. Nat, Harry, and another boy took turns riding therapy bikes. Harry’s mom and I both helped—she worked her rear end off keeping the kids together, and moving forward; I helped a young man named Ben carry the ChildServe, banner. The kids felt like celebrities—waving at spectators, and hearing a few people along the parade route—friends and teachers—call their names.

I didn’t hesitate to say “yes” when Summer, Nat’s O.T., called to ask if Nat might want to participate. Are you kidding me? Being in a parade would be a dream come true for Natalie! But after agreeing, I had second thoughts. Was I making the right choice, as Nat’s parent, to identify her to the public as a child with special needs—a consumer of services?

Obviously, I’ve thought about this issue before. After all, I write this blog. I use real names; I refer to our real hometown. Am I exploiting my child?

I hope that my decision to be upfront about Natalie’s differing abilities helps her grow up believing that having ADHD is no big deal. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, so why hide it? It’s just the way it is. I see my doctor to monitor my diabetes. Nat sees hers to monitor her ADHD.

Besides, if Harry was in the parade, and Natalie wasn’t, I’d never hear the end of it. Did I really have a choice?

From Snuggle to Struggle

If you take your medicine I'll give you ice cream!

When I got out of the shower this morning, Nat had just woken up, and was coming up the stairs to find me, dragging her latest favorite blanket. “Let’s snuggle,” she said, “the first one to the bed gets your pillows!” She won, of course, and I climbed in bed next to her. She was just telling me about her dream, where Kallie, and Casey, and Adrianna, and Lindzey were all her girlfriends, and Ty and Harry were her boyfriends, when the phone rang.

It was Jacquie, the young woman who babysat Nat last summer. She’s a newlywed now and just moved to Virginia, where her new husband, Luke, an engineer (Iowa State University is known for them), got a job doing something for NASA. Jacquie is preparing to look for a teaching job, and asked for a letter of recommendation.

I talked to Jacquie for a minute, and then Nat demanded the phone. Then I got the phone back, and then Nat demanded it again. You get the picture. What’s missing in this picture? RITALIN!

Nat hadn’t taken her morning dose yet, and God help me, now she was wide awake! By the time I hung up the phone, Jacquie and I were yelling to be heard, and Nat was on top of my extra-high chest of drawers, with a highlighter, turning everything in sight sunny-yellow.

By this time, getting her to focus enough to put pills in her mouth and swallow was a major undertaking. I grabbed the highlighter out of her hand; she grabbed a handful of stickers before I could put the pills in it. I shook the stickers loose, replaced them with the pills. Meanwhile, she grabs more stickers with her other hand, before I could hand her a glass of water.

“Put those down. Take your medicine. Stop! Take your medicine before you do anything else. If you take your medicine I’ll give you ice cream!”

That got her attention! Whew!

It was great to catch up with Jacquie. Now, if the Ritalin would only catch up with Natalie!

Respite

Nat spent the weekend with her aunt and we got to focus some attention on our son.

It’s Monday morning, and I’m looking back at a great weekend. Natalie went to Aunt Ann’s for a respite weekend, and unlike last time, it was successful all around. Natalie had a fantastic time, and wasn’t homesick for a minute. Don and I relaxed a little. Most important of all, we spent some enjoyable time focusing on Aaron.

Nat was too excited to go to sleep Thursday night, knowing that Friday morning, Kallie was coming. Kallie is my sister Ann’s granddaughter. She’s six months younger than Natalie, and although they only see each other a few times a year, Nat and Kallie are great friends. Kallie's mom dropped her off at 8:30 Friday morning, and the fun began.

We spent all day Friday together at Ann's. We played with her adorable new puppy, Benny, then swam the afternoon away at Clear Lake's new aquatic center; Aaron hurling his body off the high diving board in increasingly daring stunts. When Aaron and I left Friday night, Natalie and Kallie were playing happily in the bathtub, and Nat barely had time to offer a quick good-bye.

Saturday was Aaron’s Choice Day. We ate at Wallaby’s, where he combined his two favorite activities (three, if you count eating chicken strips and fries)—watching sports and talking sports. And we laughed our way through the movie "Get Smart".

Natalie returned Sunday evening, happy and tired. "Did you miss me?" I asked. "No," she said, and ran off to play at a friend’s house.

Now, that’s what I call RESPITE.

Pool Days

I’d be proud to have a child who is immature and needs lots of supervision, rather than a mature child who is neglected.

Natalie’s birthday is coming up. She’s about to turn eight. Although I know I shouldn’t compare my two kids, I can’t help but do so sometimes. I honestly think Natalie’s about as mature as Aaron was at age five. And that, at five, Aaron was light years ahead of where Natalie is now in reading and math.

There was a letter to the editor in the Tribune, our daily paper, the other day, which prompted me to think about how children mature at different rates. A grandmother, who evidently cares for her grandson five days a week during the summer, complained that the pool in Slater, Iowa, won’t allow her grandson to spend afternoons there unsupervised, even though she believes he’s mature enough to handle it.

She didn’t state his age, but implied he was 7 or 8. Her solution was to drive him to a pool in Nevada, Iowa, maybe 15-20 miles away, and drop him off for the day, a couple times each week. They’re perfectly happy to take her money, she says. The Nevada pool reportedly allows kids as young as 7 to swim unaccompanied.

Natalie’s about the same age as the grandson, as far as I can tell, and I love taking her to the Nevada pool. But I don’t let her out of my sight! Come to think of it, I wouldn’t leave Aaron at a swimming pool alone, and he’s almost 12!

Reading this letter got me thinking about how children mature at such different rates. Birth order makes a difference, as does parenting style. And, I’m convinced, ADHD makes a difference. After all, developing impulse control, using good judgment, and delaying gratification — being able to wait — are all signs of maturity, and they develop more slowly, if ever, in kids with ADHD.

I’d be proud to have a child who is immature, and needs lots of supervision, rather than a mature child who is neglected.

I love my kids. I’ll do everything in my power to keep them safe as they grow up. No matter how long it takes. And in Natalie’s case, it may take forever!

Pick & Rip

Left to her own devices, Natalie would happily rip the shirt right off her back, plus her jeans, and her shoes...

Pick and rip. Pick and rip. If there’s a flaw in fabric, Nat will find it. She just can’t leave stuff like that alone.

Nat put on blue jeans yesterday that our neighbor, Julie, gave us. Her daughter, Madeline, wears slims, like Natalie, and she’d outgrown several pairs. The knees on this pair were worn; there was a tiny hole in the left one. But, they were still perfectly good for playing at home on weekends. As fast as Natalie is growing, I’m happy to accept hand-me-downs. Besides, these were really cute!

“Keep your finger out of that hole! You’re going to ruin your jeans!” By lunchtime Nat’s entire knee was exposed — the tiny tear had mysteriously morphed into a gaping hole, and Nat contently covered her exposed skin with tiny flower stickers. A great fashion statement, if she’d only stopped there.

By 3 pm when we changed into swimming suits for a trip to Carr Pool, the whole left pant leg was in shreds — literally from the waistband to the hem at the ankle. From fashion statement to fashion faux paux in under eight hours! I needed that dip in the pool to cool off. The jeans took the plunge into the garbage can.

My friend Lisa’s son, now an adult, has ADHD. I remember her saying that they only bought him inexpensive tennis shoes and clothes, because he ruined them so quickly. So, I’m thinking this is an ADHD thing. As was the incident with the brand new shirt and the scissors… and the scissors and the straps on the backpack…

Any tips to share, moms? If not, I guess my shopping battle cry will have to be: Keep it Cheap!

Bouncing Off the Walls

How quickly my happy, playful girl morphs into a growling, furious creature when we enter the vicinity of unsuspecting strangers in a quiet auditorium.

Aaron will be in sixth grade next fall, and his middle school orientation was last night. I really wanted to be there with him, but taking Natalie to events like this — noisy, crowded — and expecting her to tag along quietly is asking for trouble. So, the plan was that Don would take Aaron to the orientation, and I would stay home with Natalie until Gayle, her in-home therapist, arrived. Then I’d join Don and Aaron at the middle school.

Gayle arrived to an idyllic scene: Natalie and I smiling and laughing, jumping on the trampoline together. As soon as I tried to say good-bye, Nat fell apart.

“You can’t leave! I need you! I’ll miss you!” Nat said, arms wrapped around me so I couldn’t climb down from the trampoline.

“How many kids does your mom have?” asked Gayle.

“One!” Nat answered.

“No,” Gayle said, “She has two. You have to share mom with Aaron. Aaron needs her too.”

Nat’s anxiety escalated. She bounced around on the trampoline, growling, throwing herself into the safety net.

Gayle and I decided we’d all three go. Natalie could stay with me as long as she was calm and quiet, Gayle would watch her in the hallway or outside if she wasn’t.

We parked at the middle school and started to walk in. Gayle and I walked, that is. Nat ran ahead. She kicked off her flip-flops and... ”NATALIE! YOU APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW!” One flip-flop hit a dad as he walked toward the school.

Inside, we found the parents listening to a presentation in the auditorium, while the soon-to-be 6th graders toured the school. I slid into a seat near the back. Nat wiggled onto my lap, grabbed my head between both hands, squished her nose up against mine, and whispered gibberish furiously into my face.

“Shhhhhh!”

Within seconds I was up, passing her off to Gayle. Gayle took her out to the hallway, but before long, she charged back in... ”Shhhhh!”... I passed her back to Gayle... she charged back in...

I heard about 3 minutes of the presentation, and I never found Don and Aaron. I went home frustrated, tired, irritated, and feeling guilty. I let Aaron down again.

“That was an eye-opener,” Gayle said. To her, maybe. To me, that’s Natalie! That's life with ADHD.

Take Me Out to The T-Ball Game

Natalie behaved like a perfect child and I'm happy. I'm proud! And I'm embarrassed!

I must be either crazy or incredibly stupid. Either way, I'm embarrassed.

Natalie started T-ball last night. She stayed with the group the entire time. She sat and listened when she was supposed to sit and listen. She followed the coaches’ every direction. She greeted a friend from daycare, Jared, and made a new friend, Carson, and played with him at the adjacent park — joyfully, appropriately — after practice.

Who was this perfect — normal — child? And why in the world would this scenario embarrass me?

We've never had very good luck with Natalie doing any kind of group sport or lesson. We've tried gymnastics, soccer, swimming, and Kindermusic. Even semi-private gymnastics lessons, just Natalie and her friend Harry, were a disaster.

Let me qualify that — they were a disaster when I was there. Nat wouldn’t stay with the group or follow directions. She disrupted the group and monopolized the coaches’ time. However, she does better when someone else takes her. She and Harry had one great gymnastics lesson — when Allie took them instead of either of Harry's parents or me. She did fine all last summer at a dance class — accompanied by her babysitter, Jacquie.

So, when Natalie wanted to sign up for T-ball this summer, I made arrangements for Gayle, Nat's in-home therapist, or Gayle's staff, to take her. I wanted her to be able to participate, and to have a good experience. And I didn't want her presence to be a burden to the coaches or to detract from the other players' experiences.

Gayle's staff would act as Natalie's 1:1 "coach," teaching her skills to help her succeed in a group situation, and taking responsibility for keeping her with the team and focused. Great plan, huh? Don't you wish your kid had this dream service?

So, the first practice starts, and there are three of us there. I’m there because it’s the first night. My plan is to stay until Nat seems comfortable, and then slip away. Gayle is there, along with her staff member, Robin. She's going to introduce Nat to Robin, and stay while they get to know each other, so that Nat feels secure. Robin is out on the field with Nat, ready to chase, coax, and re-focus.

Within minutes, Robin comes over to sit with Gayle and me at a picnic table. Natalie's doing fine, so for now, she'll just observe. After 45 minutes, we've decided to drop the whole plan. Nat's doesn't need any extra help. She's doing better than some of the "normal" kids.

So, we change our strategy: Nat's reward for doing so well is that mom or dad will take her to T-ball. If she starts having problems, we'll bring Gayle and Robin back in to help.

This is a huge success — a milestone. But, does Gayle think I exaggerated my past experiences with Nat? That I'm just spoiled, or stupid, or lazy?

Natalie succeeded! I'm happy! And proud! And, logical or not, I'm embarrassed.

Can I Get a Little Respite?

Carving out special time for Aaron - the non-ADHD 'other' kid - is supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be relaxing. So how come I'm wrought with guilt?

How do I spell "guilt?" R-E-S-P-I-T-E!

My family started receiving respite services through a Child Mental Health Waiver in January. The goals are for Don and I to get some relief from the challenges of parenting Natalie, to spend some quality time together, and to give Aaron some much-needed attention.

We hand-picked two respite providers that we thought Natalie would love to spend time with. Allie, the lead teacher in Natalie's daycare room, hangs out with Natalie for a couple of hours 2 or 3 times per month. They eat at McDonalds, then go shop for a toy at Target. Natalie goes to her Aunt Ann's house (my sister's) one weekend per month, most months.

Natalie left with Ann this afternoon, and the police haven't rung my doorbell yet! Apparently none of the neighbors saw me drag Natalie, arms and legs wrapped around my right leg, down the front steps, across the grass, and force her into Ann's car, screaming like she was being abducted.

I walked back into the house. "I'm doing this for Aaron." I remind myself. Aaron is burying his face in the couch. He looks up, looking like he's about to cry. "Why can't I go to Aunt Ann's?" he asked, and I can see the hurt on his face. In his eyes, Nat's the chosen one. She's getting special attention, while he's left behind.

Relax? Rest? Reconnect with my husband and son? Someone make me a gin and tonic — fast! I'm supposed to be having fun.

Must Be Nice...

Yes, I get my house cleaned every two weeks, OK?! Do I feel guilty? Who has time for guilt?

“Remind me that I need to give Marshall $40,” I told my sister-in-law, Teresa. “I paid him to put together some shelves for the basement, and he washed the check I gave him along with his blue jeans.”

“Oh, you’re one of those people: who pay for people to do things for you,” she said jokingly.

You’re damn right, I am. At least, I’ve become one. It’s the only way I can cope with the mess and the stress of parenting a kid with ADHD.

I know what people think when they find out I have my house cleaned every two weeks, even though I only work part time: Must be nice to be able to afford (fill in the blank with the service of your choice). I thought the same thing about Oprah: If I could afford to hire a personal trainer and a live-in chef, I’d lose weight too!

Well, I’ve got news for you: I’m not Oprah. I drive a 2001 Toyota Corolla — not even a Camry. We qualify for George’s economic stimulus check. We live in an 1800 square foot house — no spare bedroom, no office, no family room. We’re in debt to the very limit of what our credit union will allow.

How people spend is all about priorities. I pay people to do things for me so I can cope, and I focus not on the cost, but on the payoff: a more peaceful home, more time with friends, the energy to enjoy my kids.

In the long run, I’m saving money. It’s either get help, or get therapy. Household help is cheaper. (And most therapists don't do windows.)

Meet Harry

Nataline and Harry both have ADHD and I wouldn't discourage their friendship for all the Ritalin at Walgreens.

I think Natalie's friend, Harry, was 5 when he told his mom, "Natalie and I are married."

"When did that happen? I would have liked to have been there," his mom said.

"Well, we had to do it in kind of a hurry," Harry explained.

Nat and Harry both have ADHD. They do everything in a hurry.

Nat and Harry met at age 3, in Audra Watson's preschool class at Wilson-Beardshear School, where kids with special needs are integrated with typical learners. From the beginning they were like two peas in a pod. Both had suffered from the moment of conception through age three, and were just finding out how it felt to have food, love, safety, and a stable home and family. If they hadn't been born on opposite sides of the world, and two months apart, I'd swear they were twins. They have an unusual connection that goes beyond friendship.

If one has a med change, within a few weeks, the other usually follows. What one's psychologist says the other's in-home therapist echoes. They miss each other when they're apart; they fight like siblings when they're together. Natalie bosses Harry around; Harry is Natalie's fierce protector. Natalie doesn't mind a bit when the other girls tease her about Harry being her boyfriend. After Natalie played at his house one evening last week, Harry sighed, and told his mom, "I love Natalie." He gave her a bouquet of weeds Friday night. They're still in a vase in her bedroom.

Their friendship isn't without problems. Their special education teacher has concerns about the dynamics in their relationship. And until recently, when they played together, it took two adults to keep track of them and keep them safe: 1 child with ADHD + 1 child with ADHD = DUCK AND COVER!

But I wouldn't discourage their friendship for all the Ritalin at Walgreens. They are soul mates, soul siblings. And they were born with marks: one large, round, brown mole on each of their left hips--to prove it.

School's Out

School's out for the summer, the kids are sleeping in, and my new morning routine is bittersweet.

Yesterday was Aaron and Natalie's last day of school. This morning, I woke up to my alarm at 7:10 - and Nat didn't! She stayed asleep (on my favorite pillows, on my side of my bed) where she'd appeared in the middle of the night. "I'm scared," she'd said, and fell right back to sleep.

With Nat still asleep, I took a longer shower. I didn't have to worry that she was squeezing the life out of Smokey, our cat.

With Nat still asleep, I had time to put on jewelry. I wasn't redirecting her to get dressed. ("Shoes — think only about your shoes. Put the toy down. Natalie! Focus! Find your shoes!")

With Natalie still asleep, I had time to make coffee. I wasn't packing up her lunch, then repacking it after she took everything out of her lunch bag to look at it, and left it spread out on the living room floor!

With Natalie still asleep, I sat down for 10 minutes, waiting for Krista, our summer babysitter, to arrive. I drank some coffee. I ate some toast. I wasn't looking for Natalie's glasses, combing her hair, repacking her backpack.

Ahhhh. Paradise. I'll savor these summer mornings! For now, but not forever.

After all, with Nat still sleep, I went to work without a kiss. Without a hug. Without hearing "I love you, Mommy." And without saying "I love you" back.

Is it time to go home yet?

Leave It to Beaver

I've discovered that I've got more in common with June Cleaver than I ever expected.

Natalie was the "Very Special Person of the Day" at school on Wednesday. In Nat's first grade class, the VSP brings a couple of items for show and tell, a book to read to the class (and sometimes a parent to read it), an afternoon snack for the class, and gets to be the line leader for the day.

The night before, Nat and I picked out the things she wanted to share about — a chrysalis she found while rock hunting, and a "real" firefighter badge from the Hills, Iowa, volunteer fire department, that she'd charmed out of a firefighter on her last visit to Grandma's.

While trying to choose a story that I'd read to the class, Nat found several old books that belonged to my siblings and I when we were kids. We thumbed through them, and Nat couldn't decide on one — she wanted to take them all. So, I chose one that looked like it would tie in with the firefighter theme (that's the librarian in me!): Leave it to Beaver, "A Little Golden Book", copyright 1959. It probably belonged to my older brother (I'm old, but I'm not that old).

I remember the TV series the book is based on, probably from re-runs (I'm old, but I'm not that old) but I hadn't revisited the Cleavers on the tube or in print as an adult. So, I couldn't believe my own ears as I started to read:

"Beaver Cleaver was the busiest boy in town. He was busy from sun-up to sun-down. But somehow he always found time to get into trouble."

Oh my gosh! The Beav had ADHD!

Sure enough, in the story, the Beav is impulsive, he's a concrete thinker, and all of the adults, and even other kids are irritated and try to redirect him when he unintentionally gets in their way.

I've always thought that, as a mom, I'm no June Cleaver. But, maybe I'm wrong! Check out how the book ends:

"You know," said Mr. Cleaver, "I think Beaver is growing up. Maybe he won't be getting into so much trouble any more."

"Maybe," said Mrs. Cleaver. "But right now, he and the dog are digging up the beans you planted the other day."

"My beans!" said Mr. Cleaver. And he dashed out of the house.

"Leave it to Beaver!" Mrs. Cleaver sighed.

June knows her boy well, and I sure do know my Natalie. Maybe I am a June Cleaver kind of mom, after all!

Success! And Cookies

It is a major triumph to make a plan AND successfully execute it.

Aaron has “Pioneer Day” today at school, and last night he needed to prepare period-specific food, wrapped in waxed paper (no baggies) in a metal lunch pail, made from a coffee can, covered with a red and white checkered dish towel. He had a list of acceptable foods — and chose beef jerky, two biscuits with butter and jam, and root beer in an old-fashioned glass bottle. Cookies were on the list, but they had to be homemade.

"Does that mean it's okay as long as we bake them, like from a mix, or do they have to be from scratch?” I asked Aaron, via cell phone, on my way home from work. It was a weeknight, I had to make supper, make sure both kids did homework... how would Aaron and I make cookies with Natalie around?

This called for some planning. I grabbed groceries on the way home from work, before picking Natalie up from daycare. Went home, set the butter out to soften. Made supper while Natalie played with a friend outside (I found out later that she was actually tearing open bags of garbage in the garage, and rescuing cardboard pizza boxes, among other treasures, but that’s another story). Ate supper, fed Nat and Aaron and Nat’s friend (She's ten years old! Wouldn't you think she'd say something when Nat started pillaging the damn garbage?) Took Nat and friends to the park. ("No, Natalie isn't allowed to go to the park without an adult. Is your mom going? Okay, I'll go with you.")

When we came back from the park around 7:15, Don was home from work. "Will you help Natalie plant her garden while I help Aaron make cookies?"

Aaron and I made sugar cookies from scratch, working together on every single step. I showed him how to roll the dough into balls, dip each one in water, then sugar, and press down with the tines of a fork, in two different directions, to make a pattern on the cookies’ surface. The cookies turned out beautifully — brown on the bottom, shiny and sugary on top, soft in the middle. “This recipe is from your Grandma Cindy's (my deceased, much-loved stepmother — Cindy Timm Goodhart Kaloupek's) family,” I told Aaron. I thought of Cindy, and my mother (Miriam Natalie Kaloupek, also deceased) and how much they would have loved Aaron and Natalie.

Don, in the meantime, recruited our neighbors, Bob and Chris, to help him and Natalie plant her garden. The three adults and one highly motivating activity kept Nat happily occupied — except for a brief invasion of the house to grab Smokey, our cat, and show him the garden. Afterwards, Nat ate some cookie dough, and never even complained that she didn’t get to crack open the eggs.

What a great night — quality time with Aaron. I wish I had more of it.

(Mmm... what a great cookie... I wish I had...)

Plain Sugar Cookies

St. John’s Lutheran Church Cookbook, Tama, Iowa, printed in 1985

1 cup butter
1 cup sugar
2 eggs, well beaten
3 teaspoons vanilla
3 cups flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt

Cream together butter and sugar. Add eggs and vanilla; mix well. Add flour, baking powder, and salt. Chill before rolling and cutting with cookie cutters. Bake at 350 on ungreased cookie sheet.

(Aaron and I chilled dough, formed into 1 inch balls, dipped in water and sugar, flattened with tines of fork in two directions, and baked for 12 minutes. My rolling pin and cookie cutters are in the Play-Doh bin!)

The Quest for Unbreakable Glasses

Natalie is supposed to wear glasses. The problem is, both Pair A and Pair B are usually broken!

Natalie wears glasses. Well, she’s supposed to wear glasses. She has two pairs, so that when one is bent or broken, she can wear the others. The problem is, both pairs are usually broken!

She picks the tiny silicone pads off the nose pieces. If she can’t peel them off with her fingers, she bites the whole nose piece off. Oh, no, sorry, SOMEONE bites them off, not Natalie. Or she pops a lens out. Or she gets frustrated, grabs one temple in each hand, and PULLS!

Somehow, she usually does this without her teacher noticing. “I never see her messing with them!” Mrs. Junck says, and I believe her. She provides other stuff for Nat to keep her fingers busy — a fabric sensory thingy that looks kind of like a mop head, a squishy ball. In spite of this, we’ve yet to finish an entire school week with one wearable pair of glasses.

I talked to Missy, the understanding technician at the optical shop, who never makes me feel bad for bothering her — (You, AGAIN?!) She didn’t know of any miracle frames to recommend. I Googled “glasses & ADHD.” Nothing.

Here’s my plan. Even though we’ve had such good service (thanks, Missy) at Ames Eye Clinic, I’m going to buy Nat’s next glasses at the West Ames Hy-Vee. They are closer to our house, and they’re open longer hours, including Saturdays, so I can take Natalie there daily, if needed.

I’m going to buy plastic frames, so there’s not a separate nosepiece. (I can hear it now — SNAP! — I’d better check the warranty.) I hope the staff there will tolerate us. I’ve told Nat a million times, “If you weren’t so darn cute, you’d be in really big trouble!” Turn on the charm, little girl, we’re going to need it.

In the meantime, I’m off to visit Missy. I hope there are new magazines in the waiting room...

Me? A Stressed-Out Mother?

What kind of mother admits to being stressed out by her child? One like me.

Another day, another service provider.

I welcomed a new social worker into our home tonight. This time, we were being evaluated to see if Nat qualifies for remedial services, specifically in-home help with skill development. We’re already receiving two types of in-home services: therapy, and home and community something or other. This will be the third. Luckily, they’re all through one agency, Gayle’s, so she can figure out what to bill where, what’s allowed and what’s not. Even though I worked in mental health for 16 years, I still find “the system” hard to navigate.

I’m used to answering questions about Natalie. I can regurgitate her history, her diagnoses, the services she receives, and so on, in my sleep. But this social worker threw in a new question. “Does all of this stress effect you physically? Like, do you ever have heart palpitations or anything?”

“Me?” Deep breath. “Ummm…”

Give me a break! What kind of mother admits to being stressed out by her child — and to a social worker of all people?

“I cut back from 30 hours to 20 at work. I’ve asked for all of these services. I wear an estrogen patch so I don’t cry all the time. I’ve spent tons of money on a professional organizer. I feel trapped at home because it’s too hard to take Natalie places. I can’t go to a movie or out to eat with my family…”

What kind of mother? One like me, it turns out.

Extreme Coping

Desperate times call for desperate measures, so I've resorted to Extreme Coping.

When I got home from work last night around 9:30, Nat was in bed, and Aaron was finishing his homework in his room. Don was just sitting down to channel surf for baseball games.

There was note for me on the kitchen table. "I stopped by for four hours and did laundry. Hope you enjoy the clean sheets on your bed. I'll be back tomorrow, probably between 10:30 and 11:00 to do more. Krista."

I am not making this up!

These days, I’m engaging in Extreme Coping. What's Extreme Coping, you ask?

It's cutting back your hours at work, whether you can afford to or not, because you just can't do it. It's paying for extra hours at daycare, when you could be home with your kids, because you just CAN'T DO IT! It's paying for household help, because you JUST CAN'T DO IT! It's slapping an estrogen patch on your (my) fat ass every Saturday BECAUSE YOU JUST. CAN’T. DO IT!

This morning I woke up in a clean bed. I put on clean underwear. I drove my clean kids to school (okay, in my filthy dirty, garbage-and-toy-filled car). And when the nice lady from the orthodontist's office called to say I forgot to sign my check, and could I please stop at the bank right away to sign it, I didn't fall apart.

That, my friends, is Extreme Coping. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

The Big Sleepover

Parents of "normal" kids don't seem to want to deal with, or don't understand, children with ADHD.

I'm doing my usual Monday morning routine, drinking coffee at Stomping Grounds and checking email before heading to work. My Mondays are 10-hour work days. I start with a staff meeting at 11:00, then stock the Bookmobile with books and other library materials, and work the 4:00 to 9:00 Bookmobile stop at Sawyer School.

So, it's Don's night to pick up the kids, do homework with Nat, get her to bed. If I'm lucky, that will all be done when I get home around 9:20.

Yes, I said kids. Did I mention we also have an 11-year-old son, Aaron? Neglect is the operative word here. I've hardly seen the kid in the 5 years since we adopted Natalie!

We had a good weekend. Nat's friend Adrianna called Saturday morning and asked if Nat wanted to come to her house to play. She was at her dad's house for the weekend. I'd met him in passing as we picked up kids from daycare, but the girls had never played together outside of the daycare center.

I talked to Dad on the phone. To tell, or not to tell? When you have a kid with ADHD, that is always the question. I decided to tell. Did he know Nat has ADHD? I asked. Would he mind giving her meds while she's there?

"I'm a teacher," he said. "That's no problem."

Nat has lots of friends, but most either have special needs, like her, or are a year or two younger. She's been invited to birthday parties for her neuro-typical classmates in the past — but she's never been invited back two years running. Parents of normal kids don't seem to want to deal with, or don't understand, the extra supervision required when Natalie's around, or maybe it's the mess she leaves in her wake that's the deal breaker.

Nat's time at Adrianna's apparently went well. No reports of problems from Dad. And Nat didn't complain that he was "mean" or that he "yelled at her," typical signs that someone either doesn't get it, or can't take it.

Will they invite her back? I hope so. Time will tell.