Tegu Mobility: The Real-Life Benefits of Make Believe Play

Blocks connected by hidden magnets.  The wheels just snap on by magnetic force -making virtually anything mobile.  (photo courtesy: Tegu)

WHAT: Tegu Mobility Line 
DOES:  newest addition to Tegu blocks (see that review tomorrow); wheels snap easily onto any Tegu blocks, kids build cars, structures, animals, people, and more with unique blocks and wheels
INVEST: one set of 4 wheels- $15; cars range from $19 - $38
TOOLS: Express Yourself, More Make-Believe Please, People are People, Think Like A Scientist/Engineer

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Lions and Tigers and Bears...Oh My!

Sweaty palms, dry mouth, nervousness in the pit of your stomach. It's not only the feelings you feel when walking into an IEP meeting, but what your 9 year old feels walking into the dreaded End of Grade (EOG) Assessment! Can you imagine? Playing with your superheros, combing your My Little Pony's pink mane one minute, the next being told that if you don't pass this test you will FAIL THIRD GRADE!! None of your hard work matters if you don't get a "3" on this exam!

Perhaps you have been sitting in an IEP meeting when the teacher says to you, the parent, "I can't give all these accommodations, he won't pass the EOG tests!" Or how about "If your child leaves the classroom to go to the EC room at that time he will miss test-taking skills in my classroom!" Even better, "She won't be able to go to 5th grade if she doesn't pass the Reading part of the EOG." Lastly, "If I modify the work for his disability, how is he going to pass the Writing Exam?" To these teachers I say, "learn the law, stop bullying children and parents and please, leave my child behind."

No Child Left Behind was the brain child of the Board of Education to monitor children's progress in schools. It was initially mandated to monitor our status in Global Education to show that ALL American children are smart, and more importantly, smarter than other nations. What this law has done instead, was create a generation of stressed-out test takers that place information into their short-term memory in order to pass a nonsensical test. They complete this task in order to demonstrate that the teacher did teach the State-generated components of the assessment long enough for the child to regurgitate the information.

What is even more fun are the nine-week assessments that the students are forced to take to show that the teacher is teaching congruently to the State-developed curriculum calendar. Humorously, the State Board of Education includes in the nine-week assessment information which isn't included on the nine-week calendar of information to be taught that quarter, but is included in the next nine weeks' curriculum. This gives the teachers the feeling of complete failure and doubt when they look at the assessment and see that they haven't taught 80% of the material yet. Even more fun is the students' feeling that they have failed before they even finish because they haven't seen the information before and have no clue what they are doing. Ah, this is where the teaching test-taking skills come into practice -- the trusty 50/50 and process of elimination and guesstimation come into play! Joy.

My last semester of teaching I had a lovely young boy with severe autism in my classroom. Actually, he was in the severe and profound classroom, but his IQ showed above average intelligence so I had the privilege of giving him his nine-week assessment. For three days his answer to EVERY QUESTION I read aloud was, "lions, and tigers and bears, oh my!" It became our thing. "If 1+2=3 then 3-1=???" Let me guess, "lions, and tigers and bears?" His response "oh my!" Sweet Boy and I had a good time for three days. Where were my regular students? They all completed the nine-week assessment in the library with another proctor and, after completing the work in record time, were sent back to the classroom to be with their "peers." I didn't get to teach my kiddos, but I did spend a great amount of time in Oz.

If a teacher says to you or your child that he/she will not advance to the next grade because they did not pass the EOG, they are lying. It's not the teachers fault, this is what they are told. I feel bad for the regular education teachers. I do. They are paid based on how their classroom performs during the school year. If their students don't pass, they don't get a bonus (the bonus is typically given to the school that shows growth). 

Here's a fantastic problem my school encountered in my last two years of teaching. We had 98% passing rate for our EOG's! Guess what happened... we couldn't go up to 100%. We went down (gasp!) to a treacherous and demeaning 95% passing. We lost our bonuses because we declined and didn't have a higher passing rate. I know what you are thinking-- was it because of my darling lions and tigers and bears kid? Did he take us over the edge of failure? No. We can't expect perfection all the time. Principals place so much stress on teachers to have their classroom pass that the teachers are as stressed out as the kids. 

I remember, clearly, being called into the Principal's office and seeing two third-grade teachers, whom I was supposedly "co-teaching" with, crying. Yes, they were crying, because they feared that my teaching style (of teaching to each child's learning style) would cause failure of the EC kids when it came to the EOG testing. Because I threw away (literally) textbooks and taught to each child's individual talents, skill set, and passions in life (lots of comic book creations going on that year), the hypothesis was that my students would not pass. This was in February. The EOG's are in April or May. Guess what? They all passed. The teachers received their bonuses and life as we know it moved on. The result of the meeting with the Principal, I had to use my precious instruction time to "co-teach" test taking skills. Didn't quite see that in the IEP's my kiddos had, and yet, there I was. Two days a week I taught "with" another teacher and lost time to teach to their individual goals.

As for my Wizard of Oz darling boy, he moved on to the next grade. Becuase of PL 94-142 (Public Law 94-142 states he has a right to free and appropriate education), he was integrated into the regular education classroom sparingly. It caused too much stress for him to deviate from his routine to be in a Least Restrictive Environment (LRE). Sometimes the LRE is restrictive if it promotes learning, structure and security. But we will save that for another time.

If you find yourself being confronted by a stressed-out teacher that is convinced that YOUR child will FAIL the EOG. Feel bad for her. Offer her a cookie or a brownie and a hug. Politely remind her that your child has an IEP. All he has to do is make advancements on the IEP, not the EOG. He/She only has to show growth in their grade to advance. Breathe. Your child will get there.

Now, meet me at the Happy Mama Conference and Retreat that Penny, Adrienne and Amy are organizing so we can work on your school experiences. Let's get you prepared for your IEP meetings. No more sweaty palms, questioning yourself or feeling nervous. Celebrate being a mother of a child with learning differences. Let's get you feeling like you "got this" with confidence in your place in the world. Do this, and I might let you pass to the next "grade".... the badge of honor, Confident MOM, Conqueror of IEP Meetings!

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Duck and Cover: Father-Daughter ADHD Rage

“God, you guys -- I’ll do my homework after I eat, okay? Stop bugging me about every stupid thing every stupid second! You make my life a nightmare!” With that, my fourteen-year-old ADHD daughter, Coco, storms into her room with her bowl of mac and cheese, and slams her door so hard it sounds like a gunshot, which sets the dog on a barking jag. Between barks, I can hear Coco kicking the wall. I stand in the kitchen still holding the pot and spoon I made her dinner with, close my eyes, and keep my mouth shut.

My grip on the wooden spoon is tightening. I’m pressing it against the edge of the pot so hard it’s about to snap in half. But I am not going to respond to her in kind. I can physically feel the dark red pulsing rage expanding from my head to my chest, pushing desperately to be released in a Samuel JacksonPulp Fiction firestorm of righteous badass parental justice. “You want a nightmare, young lady?” is aching to get out, followed in a flaming rush with me waving the broken spoon in the air, “I’ll give you a freaking nightmare! How about you get no dinner for a week and I take all your electronic game, video, and music crap that’s turning the bright, funny, inquisitive little girl I used to know into a mindless pop-culture zombie, and burn it all on the front yard!”

But no.

No blowing my top for me. This dad has been working on his issues. So, I am going to breathe. Slow even breath in, slow even breath out. I learned this from my last therapist. The therapist, who after years of working with me on my own ADHD, alcoholism, and hypomania - slowly building mutual trust and rapport, deserted me to face being a mentally erratic, reality challenged, and let’s not forget unemployed, middle aged man still ill-equipped to take the daily emotional pummeling of parenting alone. So this nightmare is all his fault - the selfish creep. I should hunt that bastard down and beat his head in with this mac and cheese spoon. But he’s not a selfish creep. He set me up with another therapist before he closed his practice. Besides, you couldn’t blame him for hanging it up after a few years of dealing with me. Also, I’m not facing this parenting stuff alone. My wife, Margaret, is right here, sitting at the kitchen table.

“Your cheese is dripping,” she says. Margaret has a less extreme approach to life. She sees the humor in both of our kids’ dramas. She watches as I put the spoon in the sink and wipe up the cheese sauce from the floor. Breathe in, breathe out. Stop growling.

“Are you okay?”

“Mmm -- hmm,” I nod, between slow even breaths.

“Your problem is, you take things too much to heart,” Margaret says and smiles.

That’s a phrase Margaret and I picked up from Richard Russo’s novel, Bridge of Sighs, describing Lucy, a man prone to occasional blackout spells who’s nearly immobilized by love, family, guilt and obligation - and who I identified with quite a bit. It’s become a gentle joke between us, because I do; I take everything too much to heart. It’s not that I get my feelings hurt; it’s that I get disoriented by my identification with others’ emotional lives. Through their eyes I often see myself as the villain, and then my defenses go up but I see that from the others’ eyes too and back and forth until I have to fight the impulse to either flee the area or destroy everything within a fifty foot radius just to get some peace. So lately, like Russo’s Lucy, I can find myself stuck, mired in confusion – the dark red rage not dealt with but just chained to the mast. But that wasn’t always the case. I used to just damn the torpedoes and go with destruction.

So, when Coco yells and explodes out of frustration, I identify with her, too. I can see the overload crowding into her head pushing all rational thoughts into an airless corner where the only way out is to react and react big or you’re sure you’ll suffocate.

No matter how gently requests or questions are put to you -- and sometimes that’s worse because then it sounds like condescending “careful of the mental patient” talk -- but however it comes at you in a short amount of time or just the wrong time for you -- you lash out to stop it, but you’re also lashing out at yourself inside your head looking to break apart this wall holding in the overload and let air in -- just one second of quiet air -- that’s all you want, and in the moment, bright red rage is the only hope for release and you don’t give a damn about anyone else. A second later, you apologize and add that new bag of guilt onto the huge pile you carry around your whole life. And of course, the pressure of that guilt adds to the next overload.

So I’m always telling Coco, “No sorries, it’s all okay,” whenever she apologizes over small things, or even medium things. I think we need to forgive others their slights and slips as much as possible. But more importantly, we have to learn to forgive ourselves and, maybe with some help from others, work on adjusting how we handle things.

Coco and I both have been working on managing our tempers and doing pretty well at it. She told me what she does is slow things down and not talk. “It’s not that I’m not listening, Dad,” she says “I just don’t want to lose my temper and mess things up.” The more pressured she feels in her head, the slower she takes it -- whether it’s getting ready for school in the morning, doing homework, or getting ready for bed at night.

I don’t know what I can do about taking everything too much to heart, especially when it comes to those I love and value, but I can probably do better at shaking off the anxiety. I’ll work on adjusting that. I might try a little of Coco’s “go slow” approach myself.

This was two and a half years ago, before we moved to Georgia from Hawaii, and both Coco and I have kept making progress with our tempers even as the stress on all of us in the family has increased in some ways. We’re all working on forgiving or ignoring each other’s human errors - which frees up more time for jokes and goofing off together.

“I’ve always known that there’s more going on inside me than finds its way into the world, but this is probably true of everyone. Who doesn’t regret that he isn’t more fully understood?” – Lucy, in Richard Russo’s Bridge of Sighs

For more resources and solutions for child and parental stress, you might want to check my friend Lori Lite’s web page, Stress Free Kids. She’s got tons of stuff from blogs and articles to soothing cd’s to help teens relax and maybe, you know, sleep.

One more thing; the photo at the top of the post is of my daughter Coco and me dancing when she was in 5th Grade. It doesn't have a lot to do with ADHD rage or the stress of being a teenage girl, but I think it illustrates something about our relationship that I hope will always be there underneath all the other drama of growing and living.

Original version of this post published in additudemag.com

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The Ties That Bite: Sibling Battles

My mother has a favorite story she likes to tell. According to her, when she was in the thick of raising my sisters and me, she often experienced a phenomenon wherein she'd pull up to a friend's house with all three ragamuffin girls in her banged-up dark blue pinto station wagon and the friend would promptly shut the door and pretend not to be home. Each and every time. Even if there were cars in the driveway and a tv blaring int he background. The friend would refuse to answer the door.

For at least 30 of my 35 years, I've rolled my eyes at the pure hyperbole evidenced in this story. But then I gave birth to a sibling for my ADHD son Javier (11) and my world view went spinning in a different direction. Not only are siblings each other's favorite torture subject, but my particular set of siblings have a great big ADHD umbrella shading their every move. He can't let anything go and overreacts about everything (aka, no impulse control, inability to react appropriate to stimuli). Bella (4) is neuro-typical and smart as a whip, meaning she quickly spots his weaknesses and exploits for the pure joy of watching him explode. I am the peacemaker, trying to keep them away from each other because neither has done anything "wrong."

At first their interactions were subtly problematic. My boy would scream bloody murder after his little sister crawled over to his Lego empire to destroy it and gnaw on the minifigs after watching him slave over it. She'd scream when he'd jump in to answer any question we asked her, which rarely veered from the elementary, "Can you show me the green fork?" or "What sound does a cow make?"

That was then. Over the past year or so, the sibling infighting has reached new heights. For instance, recently, Javi was passing Bella on the stairwell and his backpack grazed her face. She immediately set to screaming her head off about him "hurting" her "on purpose." (Those words are in quotes because I am not at all convinced she was hurt and I also don't believe he was trying to hit her with his bag. If he was trying to, he would've done a better job of "hurting" her. Ehem.)

I quickly sent them separate ways, but he was already on the emotional spiral of worry about getting in trouble. She could smell his fear and so she said, in a very clear little voice, from her room, "Purpose" ... and all hell broke loose. He was screaming about how it was an accident and she was stupid and he was going to kick her face in. She stayed in her room, quietly stringing beads onto plastic cord, and made up a song that went, "Purpose purpose purpose." He screamed some more, wailed about how he hated her, and then threw himself into his bedroom wall so hard the house shook.

The next step is always calming Javi down while trying to distract Bella. Because she's being an asshole, but he has to learn to let things go. Because she's provoking him, but only because he's treating the word "purpose" like hot acid on his skin. So my strategy is to calm him down by talking him through it. Using words and deep breathing to bring into focus what's setting him off: Fear. Fear that he'll get in trouble. Fear that we'll believe her tried to hurt her on purpose.

But it doesn't work because it never does and so she's in trouble for instigating and must be in her room with the door shut. He's in isolation to calm down in his room with the door shut. Only she keeps opening and shutting her door and he can hear her and he wants her in trouble. So he yells down the stairs to tattle and she yells down behind him to remind me that she's just opening her door. And then he starts copying her words using a mocking voice and now she's angry and screaming ON PURPOSE! and he's banging his head against the wall.

And so I understand. I understand how my mother felt when her friends pretended to be anywhere but where her children were. I understand why she felt the need to tell that story for years and years after the last time it happened. I understand that she carries scars in her brain from where it began to melt from the logistical clusterfudge that was her children's relationships with each other.

I have no solutions. Spank them both? Hasn't worked. Create kindness rules? Hasn't worked. Encase both of their rooms in sound-proof glass? Can't afford it.

What else ya got?

How do you manage your ADHD and non-ADHD siblings' interactions? How do you stand being in the same 50 foot space as them? And how is that a 4 year old has so much power over an 11 year old's emotions?

Kelly Quinones Miller is the mother of an adopted son with ADHD, inattentive type. She works from home as a freelance writer and designer while trying to teach her son the strategies and skills he'll need to succeed. Kelly blogs about family issues, casual environmentalism, backyard chickens, and more at The Miller Mix.

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Adding to the IEP or 504

An IEP or a 504 plan is designed to help the student with ADHD function more effectively and easily in school. Most students with special needs respond positively to the normal daily structure and expectations of the school day. For the ADHD child, the hardest part of the day is sitting for long times and completing work. For my son, the amount of work was overwhelming, so he has an IEP with accommodations since first grade. He also has accomodations for one on one help. The IEP goals also include assistance in organizing his materials and planning assignments. Now a sixth grader, he appreciates the extra teacher assistance and modifications.

Unfortunately, what was missing from his IEP this year was a plan for the rare times the school day or the sheer amount of work has overwhelmed him and he shuts down. Shutting down at home is commonplace. Refusing to do homework at home after school is a daily occurence for my child. It is not pleasant. It has been particularly challenging since middle school started. All year long, we have worked with the school to help mitigate the stresses of the school day. The school staff assured us our son was doing very well and having few problems. However, as the workload increased, we could see our boy acting out more at home and he appeared very stressed.

Eventually this stress was expressed at school during an after school homework session. For whatever reason, our son decided to shut down at school. As I mentioned, it isn't pleasant and it also apparently violates the school's rules. When my child shuts down, he truly shuts down any type of communication. His sweatshirt hood is pulled up, his head goes down, and he stops communicating. He is visibly upset. Apparently, he simply refused to do what was asked. He also refused to leave the room, he wouldn't respond at all to the adults. He was eventually escorted to my waiting vehicle. He was also then suspended for one day.

I understand the need to suspend my child for his disrespectful behavior. One of the reasons the principal gave as to why she was suspending him was "other children were in the room and watched him act uncooperative". I think that alone for a child in middle school is punishment enough. The principal also wanted to make sure the other children understand this behavior is not acceptable. Of course it isn't. I am pretty certain, those other students already know that information. It is my belief, the other students probably had more compassion than the adults did in the situation. The principal noted my son's hands were shaking he was so upset.

This is not a child willfully being disrespectful. As the mom, I am well aware it is embarrassing and awkward when your child is either out of control or simply shut down and not responding to your entreaties. I also know, he is not in control of himself. My analogy is it is similar to a child having an epileptic fit. They need space, they need time, and sometimes they need a bit of food or drink to get past this difficult moment where their brain isn't functioning properly.

Since the suspension, my son shut down in spirit. I think he felt let down by the adults he trusted to help him. Unfortunately, there was no plan in his IEP to address this possible behavior. As his parents, we knew for almost a year, the potential for him to "fall apart" at school was there. We voiced our concerns but never put it in writing. There is a plan now in his IEP. The plan details a better, more proactive way to handle a stressed out child whose day has overwhelmed him. The plan is designed to help both the child and adults handle the situation should it ever occur again more effectively.

As parents, we can advocate for our children and ideally use these tools of the IEP and 504 to add in accommodations, assistance, and action plans.


Kim Stricker is a teacher, freelance writer, and blogs at www.lifeslikethis2.blogspot.com

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School days, school days...why I love my son's non-inclusive classroom

Today’s post was going to be about why I think inclusive classrooms are a bad idea for many kids with ADHD or other brain-based disabilities that impact behavior, learning, development, and social skills. If we reached the ideal of the inclusive classroom, yes, it would be a great thing, but so many of today’s traditional classrooms are so far from the ideal it’s laughable. Teachers are trying to manage more and more kids in the classroom, forced to spend much of their time prepping for standardized tests, and full inclusion of children without proper support (because that’s what’s going on - in addition to putting all of this on the classroom teacher they’re also losing support through cuts to teacher’s assistants, reading teachers, art + music + P.E.) is a recipe for disaster.

But that’s not what I’m going to write about today. For giving that subject any justice I’d have to do a lot of research. I want to get my facts right. 15 years working in schools over the past 22 years will not suffice. The fact that our local public schools failed my special needs child AND my gifted child in inclusive classrooms is not enough. I want facts and figures on my side because I know this will be a hot-button issue. People whose children are closer to “normal” than not don’t want their children singled out and treated differently. I get it. But I still think that many children are seriously harmed in a system that says inclusion is a good idea, but doesn’t give it the resources it needs to really succeed. How a classroom teacher is supposed to have 25 -30 kids in her classroom, 5 with ADHD, 2 with autism, 6 or 8 with some kind of learning disability (and not the same one, oh no - a couple who have dysgraphia, a couple with dyslexia, a couple with dyscalcula and a couple more who are teetering on the edge). 2 more probably have FASD, which make them serious behavior problems, 2 or 3 have mental illnesses, 2 have a serious physical disability, 5 are ESL students, 3 are in foster care, and a couple are being abused at home. Oh, and don’t forget the 4 or 5 gifted kids. Oh, and the kids living in poverty. And none of these kids probably have one or the other “label.” They overlap.

Really, how is a happy inclusive classroom supposed to happen in that situation? I can’t see how one person can do more than just teach to the middle and hopefully maintain some peace. Maybe if the teacher had 12 kids in her class. But she doesn’t.

The argument is that kids with special needs need to be mixed in with all the non-special needs kids because one day they will be adults in a society that doesn’t care if they have special needs. So they should learn to suck it up now. Because really, that's what happens when you grow up and join the world of work. We only work with people our exact same age, and it doesn't matter your interest and skills and work habits, we're all thrown in together. There's no differentiation in the real world. Um, right. Oh, and the non-special needs kids should learn to tolerate differences in the world and to be kind and accepting, even if it means that half the day needs to be spent dealing with one child’s behavior problems (this happened in my younger son’s 1^st grade). And even if another child finishes his work in 10 minutes and it takes everyone else 60 (this happened every single day in my older son’s 5^th and 6^th grade classrooms). And oh, everyone better score at or above grade level on that standardized test, no matter what their IQ or developmental age or learning disability…or else. Or else what? The school is failing? The teacher should get less pay? Seriously?

Here is a great article that sums up the pros and cons of the inclusive classroom.

Anyway, I’m not going to write about that. No, what I’m going to write about today is why I am in love with my son’s new school, a teeny tiny private school that helps kids with special needs like his improve their behavior, gain social skills, improve academics, and move them along developmentally. I believe they’re able to do all of this precisely because they are not an inclusive school. They are a school specifically for kids like him.

Here’s what they do:

-->Everyone is taught at their level. Age is not the determining factor in grouping, ability is. So a child whose reading is at a 1^st grade level but who is 12 is not in the same reading class as a 12 year old whose reading level is at a 12^th grade level. Same with math. Same with social studies and art and science. Same with SOCIAL SKILLS.

-->Feedback on behavior occurs often (every 15 minutes) and is not JUST about academics. It includes “being kind” and “positive participation.” If a child doesn’t meet those goals, he or she can turn it around swiftly. And if the goals are met for the day, that day there’s a reward. If the goals are not met, the next day is a new day. If something serious happens, the child is not shuffled off to an administrator who only has a scribbled behavior referral for reference. No, the child, with the help of the teacher, fills out a behavior map in his or her own words, including brainstorming ways to deal with the problem better next time.

-->All consequences are natural. Yesterday, for example, when J refused to do his math and another child in the class whipped through it, the other child was allowed free time. J was not. (And they actually checked to see IF J had completed his work. Sounds crazy, but in his previous elementary school they actually took his word for it. I know my kid. You can’t take his word for it!)

-->Communication with the parents is paramount. We get daily e-mails from the director summarizing the day, and if there is a serious problem, a phone call or email when it happens. And not a phone call complaining about our children and assuming it is somehow our fault what our child did at school - but a head’s up. This is what happened.

-->They have social skills groups.

-->They have 1-1 reading tutoring by people trained in helping kids with reading disabilities,

-->His math class has 5 kids.

-->They are very structured and routine.

-->They have movement every single day.

-->There are no grades.

-->There are no standardized tests.

-->My first parent-teacher conference was over an hour long and it included every teacher in the school. And it was not combative nor was it a list of what J. was doing wrong nor did I feel rushed or did I have test scored thrown at me and I felt like everyone heard me when I spoke. I felt like they were on my side. This hasn’t happened with J since kindergarten.

-->They recognize that overstimulation, sensory integration dysfunction, and anxiety are real things that can impact learning. Imagine that.

Imagine any of this. Would this be a good place for your child? Do you think any of this can be accomplished in today’s traditional classroom?

Adrienne Ehlert Bashista is the co-editor of Easy to Love but Hard to Raise: Real Parents, Challenging Kids, True Stories. She and her editing partner are currently seeking submissions for the next 2 books in the series: Easy to Love but Hard to Teach, and Easy to Love but Hard to Treat.

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Classroom Strategies Series from My Attention Coach: #5 Encourage Fidgeting

Fidgeting can help the student with ADHD and I would like to share a few specific ideas. I would also encourage you to check out Fidget to Focus, a book written by Sarah Wright and Roland Rotz for more ideas and information.

Stress Balls
Allow students with ADHD to hold and squeeze a small stress ball or a Koosh ball with knobby ends to it. Of course, the fidget should not be distracting for the student with ADHD or others in the classroom. Different fidgets will work for different students. If they are going to throw the ball to their friends, it probably is not a good strategy, but if it something helps them focus, everyone can benefit.

Move!

Just general movement, having physical breaks to move around can help. It allows them to release some energy, but it does not disrupt your classroom. Tied in with this, I also encourage you, if you are an elementary teacher, not to take away recess. I understand that it is a natural consequence of not getting work done, but you are potentially taking recess away from the student that needs it the most.

Teaching the value of exercise to the students and encouraging them to do it can also help. I recently taught a workshop and someone mentioned “Brain Gym .” Although I have not personally tried it, just doing some of those exercises where you move your arms across your body may help with focus.

What concerns do you have about fidgeting?

Laura Rolands is an ADHD Coach, the founder of My Attention Coach, and host of Practical ADHD Strategies.  She works with students, adults and families to find effective solutions to their ADHD challenges. 

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It Is Love, Actually

It's all we need, right?

Love.
Love.
Love.


We just made it through another Valentine's Day, where a young boy's heart naturally turns to, what? Love, right? Well, sort of. Theoretically. For some young boys, love looks and feels differnetly, though. Take my ADHD Wonder-son who we call "Clark Kent," for example. He's in his junior year of high school. He thinks about love. He even has love, or something like it. He has dated the same sweet neurotypical girl for over a year. 

But the form love takes when practiced by an ADHD teen doesn't look like the love I, as a non-ADHD person, remember feeling, or that I do feel for my gorgeous husband Eric even now. To me, young love is urgent. It is all-consuming. It makes you do crazy things. Operative word? DO. As in "take action."

That's where my son differs so much from my experience. Clark is completely happy in his 4-second window of life; the past is gone, the future doesn't exist. Anything that enters that window and stays with him is awesome. But if it's not there, then he really doesn't miss it all that much. Maybe a little. If his girlfriend texts him and asks him to miss it, for instance. As in, if she texts and says, "Look, here I am, and I'm not with you." Then he misses it. He continues playing FIFA Soccer on the Xbox with a smile on his face, but he kinda sorta misses her. Things might be even better if she were here. She's not though. And he's still happy. He doesn't need to DO anything. It's all good.

Sometimes they ride to school together. Her sister drops her at our house before 7:00 a.m. Eric and I aren't always dressed and out of the bathroom yet at this time. She rings the door bell in the dark. Surely Clark is up and will answer, I think. Surely he knows when she was due to arrive. The doorbell keeps ringing. She weighs 90 pounds sopping wet, and I can't take it any longer. I sprint to the door in my half-tied robe and let her in.

"I'm sorry. He's not awake. I'll get him," I apologize. She and I have had this exchange before. We have it most days.

She settles in happily, making strawberry icing doodle-art on the toaster streudels. I stomp up the stairs where two alarm clocks blare over Clark's snore.

"Wake up."

It takes three tries, but he does, finally.

"Shower, take your pill, get downstairs. You promised to wake up in time to let her in. You left her standing in the dark again."

Grunts tell me he hears me, and I stomp back down the stairs.

Later that night, Eric and I ask each other, "What kind of love is it when a boy -- a young man -- leaves his girlfriend outside in the cold, in the dark, day after day?"

I know what kind. It's the feeling of love, the emotion of love, but without the urgency of the future consequences to the lovers. It's the kind of love that doesn't anticipate the stranger with the knife in the bushes watching the girl. It's the kind of love that doesn't see the new boy next year who would never leave her standing alone in the dark. It can't imagine how much a broken heart will hurt. For awhile.

I've had this love before. Clark's father. It didn't last. I needed the action of love. I needed a love that remembered I hurt when I wasn't screaming. That everything wasn't okay just because the crisis fell outside the 4-second window.

I sat across the table recently from a man in between Clark's age and the age of Clark's father. He had just told me had ADD. He had questions.

"It's so hard," he explained. "Relationships, I mean. I don't do them very well."

I thought of Clark's father, and the love that withered, the problems left unresolved, the attentions not paid, the actions not taken, the things said that fell outside his focus. The challenges he had that were too much for me. I thought of Clark, and the years ahead. The beautiful young girl in the dark on the front porch.

My heart aches. I've worried about this for a long time. Like I've worried about homework, grades, his previous lack of friends, wrecked cars, and drugs. In the same way as I worry someday that his Asperger's will assert itself at work in the form of an unfiltered and outside the lines comment that seems totally appropriate to him, and costs him a job he loves, or at least needs.

I've worried about how to teach him that the feeling of love feeds on the acts of love, which are spurred by the future of love. Future. The future he doesn't quite anticipate.

Love.
Love.
Love.

I love this boy. I love him enough to let him find his own path, my voice as I try to explain in a way he'll understand hopefully echoing in his head. "Love, showing love, means you make her the emergency. Love is urgent." He doesn't understand now. He doesn't need to yet. Maybe if he's lucky, he'll find someone who understands him and doesn't need anything more than he gives.

Surely a heart as kind and loving as his doesn't need to be broken.

So, I pray.

Pamela aka Clark's Mom

Pamela Fagan Hutchins writes the Clark Kent Chronicles on parenting ADHD wonder kids, thanks to the crash course given to her by her ADHD son and his ADHD father. She focuses on the post-elementary school years. Watch for her upcoming books in 2nd quarter 2012: The Clark Kent Chronicles, How To Screw Up Your Kids, Couples Who Make You Want To Puke, Hot Flashes and Half Ironmans, and Life Beyond the Center of the Universe. Visit her blog, Road to Joy, but hang on for the ride as she screws up her kids, drives her husband insane, embarrasses herself in triathlon, and sometimes writes utter nonsense.

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Book Review: "Easy to Love but Hard to Raise"

I recently had the pleasure of reading the book, “Easy to Love but Hard to Raise: Real Parents, Challenging Kids, True Stories” (DRT Press, 2012). Co-Edited by Kay Marner and Adrienne Ehlert Bashista (You may know them, they’re kind of a big deal around here), this book stirred up such a huge range of emotions and memories of my experiences raising my own “ETL” (Easy to Love) son. I knew I was in trouble when I found myself crying while reading the Foreword, beautifully written by Dr. Ed Hallowell, ADHD guru and author of one of my favorite ADHD books, “Superparenting for ADHD.” Kleenex in hand, I forged on.

The book is a collection of true stories written by parents who are raising children with a variety of conditions (ADHD, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and Sensory Processing Disorder just to name a few). The conditions and names may differ, but it’s the depth of love they have for their children that ties all of it together. The book is structured around the idea of “Eve”- a parent raising an Easy to Love but Hard to Raise child. Eve is all of us – the Everyparent. Eve’s stories are eerily similar to mine, and I am willing to bet Eve’s stories are quite similar to yours as well. Having the Eve element in the book is quite brilliant, because Eve provides a standard, a constant to which I could reflect my own experiences.

When my son was diagnosed with ADHD, I felt incredibly alone. I didn’t know anyone who was going through a similar experience, and I didn’t have support groups available to me. Reading this book is like sitting down with a friend who will tell you all the gory details – the good, the bad and the ugly. These are parents who have been through it all, and they’re not glossing over anything. You will read about parents who cry themselves to sleep. Parents who are judged by others. Parents who judge themselves. Parents who aren’t afraid to admit that at times, they want to leave it all behind. Parents dealing with the opinions of doctors, schools, parents, friends, relatives and bosses. Parents who found a glimmer of hope amidst so much hardship. Real, honest parents - such a breath of fresh air in a world that always seems to sweep uncomfortable stuff under the rug.

There wasn’t one story I couldn’t identify with in some way. Some favorite moments for me were:

• Cringing while reading Jeanne Kraus’ essay, “More Cory Stories,” when she described being unable to relax and enjoy herself at social events because she was too focused on her son’s behavior (I do that).
• Feeling Rachel Penn Hannah’s desperation in her essay, “Butterflies,” as she shared that popular parenting techniques didn’t work on her daughter (I felt that).
• Wanting to stop time when Frank South scared the bejeezus out of me with his essay, “An ADHD Horror Story,” detailing his son’s choices with alcohol (I’m sooo not ready for that).
• Reminding myself while reading Penny Williams’ essay, “Self Reflection,” that it’s too easy for me to lose myself in what I call “The Tidal Wave of My Life.”
• Crying while reading Adrienne Ehlert Bashista’s essay “Dominoes” in which she admits that some days she wants to get in the car and drive away from her ETL son (I’ve had more than one day where I have actually been afraid to get on the highway for fear that I may end up in Denver).
• Smiling while reading Laura Grace Weldon’s essay, “Walking Away,” about her journey to homeschooling her son (Wish I’d done it earlier).

“Easy to Love but Hard to Raise” isn’t just anecdotal. The Co-Editors did an excellent job of rounding up experts in the mental health field (and in the special needs community) to answer some hard and substantial questions about diagnosis, medication, school, caregiving, stress, socialization, education, and so much more. The back of the book also has an excellent list of books and resources if you are wanting to learn more.

My only complaint is that I didn’t have “Easy to Love but Hard to Raise” available to me seven years ago. I would have read this book over and over again just so I didn’t feel so isolated. I will recommend this book to the people I know who are parenting a special-needs child, and will also recommend it to applicable clients as a first-line reading resource.

“Easy to Love but Hard to Raise” is a special book that has the potential to provide comfort to someone who is feeling lost and frustrated about how their child’s diagnosis is impacting their life. This book also has the potential to change the minds and hearts of skeptics who believe we should just crack down harder on our kids and give them a good spanking. It's needed, and I'm so glad it's out there.

The editors and contributors of this book want you to know that they’ve been there, they’ve done that, and they’re here for you. The Co-Editors, Adrienne and Kay, created a Facebook page you can visit to share your own stories and feel supported:

https://www.facebook.com/easytolovekids.

You can also purchase “Easy to Love but Hard to Raise” on Amazon.com by clicking this link:

http://tinyurl.com/easytolovebut.

Kara Thompson is a Marriage and Family Therapist in Lenexa, Kansas. You can visit her website at www.karathompson.com, find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/karatherapy or follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/karagthompson.

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Interim Reports...says who?

Interim Reports are reports that you, the parent, receive which inform you of your child's progress on making and meeting their IEP goals. Many reports show things like this: P, P+, P-, NP, NA, NP-, M. What does this mean and where's the proof?

I am guilty of not always keeping the best records on my student's progress on their IEP goals. Sometimes I would get bogged down in testing or helping students meet their classroom goals and not necessarily their IEP goals. So, when Progress Report time came along, I would look through the records I did keep and see only a few "grades" or notes on their progress. Hence, they would receive a P- progress. But I learned, quickly, that for me, that wasn't good enough. And it shouldn't be good enough for you.

In college, we Exceptional Children Teachers, were never taught record keeping. I was taught how to teach and test reading fluency, how to diagnose and recognize the signs of different behavior disorders, but not how to keep record of progress. Then it hit me, after my first year, I signed a LEGAL document, the IEP, that says the student in MY care would make progress in my classroom. They would not just make progress, but satisfy their goals which I was a part of designing. Whoa! If I wrote that Susie has to write three out of four complete sentences with appropriate 3rd grade conventions, I had to make sure that Susie completed this goal. I was responsible to show, if I was ever audited, that she made progress. As an EC teacher I not only had to know all the different arrays of possible disabilities my students would have, learn how their minds might work, come up with goals for them, work with parents and other therapists, but I was responsible for maintaining appropriate records of my teaching and their learning!

What does this mean for you, the parent? It means, when you receive a progress report that states your child has made P (progress), the teacher is working on this in the classroom. If you receive a progress report that says NP, that means either the student hasn't even come close to meeting the goal that was set or they haven't attempted to meet this particular goal. Either way, YOU have the right to ask to see how the teacher keeps a record of progress.

If it's a P, it means that progress is slow. Why? Was the goal too challenging for the student? Has the student, or teacher, been absent too many days to make appropriate strides toward meeting this goal? Ask. Perhaps an IEP revision is something to consider. I know what you are going to say, you don't want to rock the boat. You don't want the teacher to think you don't trust what they are doing. You don't want to cause trouble for your beautiful child. I get it. But, in my opinion (and, coincidentally the opinion of the National Teacher Certification Board) accountability is a major part of being a great teacher. You never want it to be the teacher's opinion that your student has worked toward his/her goals. You never want anything to be vague when it comes to your child's learning. Just ask, "May I see how you are keeping record of Joey's progress?" Even blame it on yourself: "I am learning how this all works. Could you show me how you determine that he has made progress?" Is one worksheet, in which he appears to have met his goal, enough to say that he has Mastered this task? No! 8 out of 10 was the goal, not 1 out of 40.

As a parent I encourage you to keep a binder with your child's IEP goals and whenever you receive a worksheet, test, report, etc. that matches the goal, put it in there! This is great preparation for your IEP meetings. If your child has many goals in many different subjects, perhaps there are too many goals for one school year. No child, or teacher for that matter, can master 50 different goals in one school year. If your child has 3 goals in writing, 3 in reading, 4 in math, 2 social skills and 1 organizational skill goal and only has the EC teacher for 30 minutes twice a week, it's impossible. No progress can be made unless it is the job of the regular teacher to teach these specific goals. In either case, make sure the records are being kept to show, without a shadow of a doubt, that your child's specific IEP goals are being taught and learned.

If you have any questions about IEP goals, Interim Reports, or anything of the sort, please write a comment below. I am happy to help guide you in advocating for your sweet child.

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Classroom Strategies Series from My Attention Coach: #4 Involve the Student

Self-Advocating Skills
I know that advocating is very familiar to parents of students with ADHD and other challenges around learning. I also encourage teachers, school social workers and school psychologists to help students learn how to advocate for themselves. It can be very helpful for everyone involved if the student with ADHD knows what they need to succeed and what will work for them in their school day. I find in coaching students that they often have the best answers! Chances are you talk to one of your students with ADHD; they are going to come up with strategies that I have not even considered in this series. Teaching students to self-advocate and to be more confident in what they request can help them gain confidence along with empowerment. Both are key to success later in life.


Study Skills

I find that many students with ADHD benefit from reading their notes out loud. My guess is that this helps all students that prefer to learn by hearing. This can help them study and perhaps two students can use the strategy together. Could this be a solution for the two students who talk too much in class? Make it an acceptable form of studying and see if their results improve.


What could be different?
Seth Godin wrote an article a while back that got my attention. He talked about how we teach to fill jobs that may be not as much part of our economy as they were 75 to 90 years ago. My take-away from the article was to wonder how we can re-think things and use more experiential learning. How could you take student interests and apply their interests to math and really get them engaged? How can you tie social studies and science together? I think students with ADHD can learn by doing with some non-traditional approaches.


How could you involve your student in the solution?

Laura Rolands is an ADHD Coach, the founder of My Attention Coach, and host of Practical ADHD Strategies.  She works with students, adults and families to find effective solutions to their ADHD challenges.  

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Kids with ADHD are Hungry for Praise: Let's Feed Their Need

If you've visited the Easy to Love but Hard to Raise blog or Facebook page lately, you may have seen the announcement that books 2 and 3 in the “Easy to Love” series are in the works. Book 2 will be titled: Easy to Love but Hard to Teach, and will focus on the many challenges involved in getting our kids with ADHD and other "alphabet soup" diagnoses educated, from the perspective of adults involved in their educations—parents, teachers, school administrators, advocates, and so on. Adrienne Ehlert Bashista (my co-editor and the series' publisher) and I arrived at the decision to focus on education because in our many interactions with parents, both online and in person, problems with our neurodiverse kids and school seem to be incredibly prevalent, possibly the most prevalent of all special needs parenting issues. We hope that Easy to Love but Hard to Teach will illuminate the depth of the problems our kids face regarding school; offer potential solutions, big and small; and encourage alliances between parents, educators, and others for the sake of our kids.

I have my share of worries about how my daughter, Natalie, gets along at school, but I’ve also learned, through many of you, how wonderful our local school system and individual teachers are in comparison to some others around the country. You’ve helped me see how lucky we are to live in Ames, Iowa; to truly appreciate Natalie’s teachers and school. So, in the spirit of sharing solutions, big and small, I thought I’d brag about Mrs. McCasland, the special education teacher Natalie has worked with in fourth, and now fifth, grades.

For background, read this post (Don't All of Our Kids Deserve Teachers Like This?) about Natalie’s recent surge in anxiety, and the resulting urge to avoid going to school. One of Mrs. McCasland’s ideas for helping Natalie (and me!) through this rough patch was to schedule a 10-15 minute meeting on Wednesdays, just before the start of school, with Natalie, me, Mrs. McCasland, and Nat’s general ed classroom teacher, Ms. Trautmann, in attendance. The only item on this meeting’s agenda is heaping praise on Natalie for everything she’s doing right at school. We’ve met three times so far. I think this plan is brilliant, in so many ways:

• Our kids tend to be told “no,” corrected, and criticized way too often. Why not schedule a regular time to “catch them being good?”

• As parents, too often we hear only what our children are doing wrong in school. We need to hear what our kids are doing right, just as much as they do.

• In my search for solutions to Natalie's school avoidance, the best advice I found was to 1) make her go to school, and 2) reinforce that she was successful, that things were okay once she got there. This is a structured way to do just that, and to keep doing so on a regular basis.

• A before-school meeting gets the day off to a positive start. A mid-week meeting allows this to be a check-in about how the week is going, in addition to a cheerleading session to keep a child on a positive track.

Can you imagine suggesting this strategy to a super-negative teacher, and then role-modeling how to do it? Just think what an impact that could have, not just on your child, but on that teacher’s future students.

What do you think the reaction would be if you asked your child’s teachers/school administrators to commit to this kind of meetings? I dare you to try it!

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, despite all of Natalie’s struggles, it’s easy as pie to fill 15 minutes with nothing but good!




For more information about books 2 (Easy to Love but Hard to Teach) & 3 (Easy to Love but Hard to Treat) in the “Easy to Love” series and to see the complete call for submissions, visit drtpress.com.

Kay Marner is a freelance writer specializing in ADHD, its common comorbid conditions, and special needs parenting. Marner co-edited Easy to Love but Hard to Raise: Real Parents, Challenging Kids, True Stories. She's a regular contributor to ADDitude magazine, and writes an ADHD parenting blog, My Picture-Perfect Family, for ADDitudeMag.com

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Liar, Liar, Brain on Fire

“I’m concerned that you are possibly misrepresenting yourself,” the soft-spoken, middle aged woman said, “Or at the least, you’re exaggerating some small problem of yours for dramatic effect.” It’s the end of an exhausting three days of passionate self-expression and concentrated listening at an autobiographical writing workshop. Earlier in the afternoon I’d read aloud my story about living with ADHD. Now, as we head to our cars, this perfectly nice lady pulls me aside and accuses me of lying about who I am.

“I mean, Frank you obviously don’t have any mental disability. So pretending you do, could be seen as disrespectful of those unfortunate people that really do suffer from mental problems,” she continues.

I’ve seen that hard-eyed “worried mom” look on my mother’s face every time I tried to get a line of b.s. past her when I was growing up, so I know what’s going on here. No matter how much psycho-babble code this well-meaning lady is tossing at my face like wet confetti, she’s calling me a liar.

Thing is, when I got caught lying as a kid, - and I lied constantly, wildly, and unnecessarily about nearly everything - eventually I confessed, took the punishment and moved on to the next fib. But I pretty much gave that behavior up around sixth or seventh grade because day to day it was way too hard to remember what was actually real, never mind a bunch of weird junk I made up.

Of course there were exceptions. In my thirties, on our second date I told Margaret, my wife-to-be, that a half-wild mule kicked out my front teeth when I was working on a dude ranch in Colorado. That sounded a lot more impressive than getting bridgework after a swimming pool accident. But the point is, these days as much as humanly possible I’m all truth, all the time. So I don’t know how to respond to this woman who’s keeping me from getting in my car and going home.

Her eyes are wide with a mix of concern and suspicion as she touches my arm. “Frank, I listened carefully to your comments on other writers’ work including mine, and everything you said was so well thought out and succinct,” the woman says.

“Oh, well, thanks...”

“The point I’m making isn’t really a compliment though, you see. During this weekend I’ve noticed that when you’re not acting out your ADHD material, you are very normal, calm, and perceptive.” At this point I admit I am staring at her open-mouthed. I dig my car keys out of my pocket and immediately drop them on the gravel driveway. I pick them up, unlock my car door, and throw my bag and bedding in the back seat. I don’t want to talk to this person. Her assumptions about me and mental illness, learning disabilities, and basic human nature are so skewed and push so many buttons that I think I may short out and scream at her at the top of my lungs to get the hell away from me before I rip her head off and suck the blood from her corpse -- but I’ll be damned if I’m going to play to that stereotype. I like stereotypes with more soul and romance.

As I’ve written previously, I have “Middle-aged Man Interrupted” fantasies, but without the Angelina Jolie sad raving animal sections. So, I don’t scream at my interrorgator. I explain as patiently as I can that, yes, I do listen to others in the group carefully. But, I told her, if you notice, I almost always give my comment last in a group conversation so that I can organize my thoughts and rehearse my comment in my head a couple of times. Then when I have to speak in public I go right through it, calm and collected.

But if the conversation starts going back and forth I back off and stay quiet, unless I’m around folks who know me and are used to my impromptu mangled sentences, malaprops, lost thoughts, names, and ideas, stammering, and back-flip subject-jumps. Over the years I’ve worked hard at developing ways to keep that part of me hidden when I have to -- like the careful construction and rehearsal before speaking gambit. It’s something I figured out after realizing that when I was acting on stage with a script I’d memorized, I didn’t lose my train of thought or stammer. So in certain situations I can write little plays in my head, rehearse, and then act like what’s considered a normal person. In the end I’m not angry with my acquaintance from the writing group. Whatever her trite preconceptions of ADHD or other comorbid conditions, she’s just buying into the “normal act” I play out there.

I believe that those of us with any sort of mental or physical disability have developed myriad coping skills to deal with daily life in ways that help us get by as just people. After all, despite whatever challenges each of us face, that’s what we are and in the end, that’s how we want to be seen. Just people.

Original version published at ADDitudemag.com

Besides {a mom's view of ADHD}, Frank South, a writer and performer, also contributes to Easy to Love but Hard to Raise, writes articles for ADDitude Magazine, and writes the ADHD Dad blog for additudemag.com. Read all of Frank's posts.

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ADHD & The Age of Independence

Me: Lock this door and don't answer it if someone knocks. I don't care if it's grandma or Jesus. You don't come to the door and stare at the person knocking, you don't make gestures at the person, and you don't yell that your parents aren't home. You do not come near this door at all. Do you understand?

Him: Yes, mom.

Me: And don't answer the phone. Even if it rings 800 times and you hear Santa Claus on the answering machine. You do not touch the phone, not to make a call or answer a call. Are we clear?

Him: Yes, mom!

Me: And you don't go outside. Not even if your homework is finished and your chores are done and you really want to ride your bike. You do not step foot out of this house, okay?

Him: Gahhhhh! Yes, mom!

Me: After your chores are done, I want you in your room. No trying to cook any food or be helpful in any way outside of your chores. Do you understand?

Him: YES! MOM! I said YES!

This is the routine Javi -- my 11-year-old son who has ADHD -- and I go through several times each week. He could repeat it back to me, word for word, and has on occasion when I'm not sure he's listened and I need to know that he knows the rules. These rules are the most important I can think of for keeping him safe in our home.

Safe in our home -- alone.

Despite being unfathomable just a year ago, Javi has graduated to a maturity level that allows me to leave the house without him. The time spans are brief: 15 minutes while I pick up his sister from school, 30 minutes while I ran by the bank or run into the grocery store, 45 minutes between when I leave and his father gets home.

He's alone in the house with the fire hazards (a lighter in the junk drawer, the oven, the toaster) and the inappropriate media potentials (Family Guy reruns all day long, the Internet) and the gateways that could be too easily opened to predators (telephone, doors, windows). The dangers are numerous and his attention span is short.

But I've learned to trust him. I cocoon him in the only protection I can offer from afar -- my words -- and then I roll off into the distance while he holds down the fort at home. To date, the house hasn't burned down and no one has burrowed their way in to hurt him. (And do I need to write down how relieving it is to not have to manage his behavior while running errands?)

It's naive to think he'll always remain tucked inside the protective shield of his parents' determination to provide him with a trauma-free childhood. In five short years, he could be driving. In less time than that, he'll be at the movies and nighttime parties and other hangouts ... all without the buffer of his parents.

And so it starts here: short stabs at independence, time to make smart choices or learn from dumb ones, the chance to watch the foundation we've provided hold him up in situations that could go wrong.

My approach seems simple now but I'm hoping that it will pack that foundation more solidly and give Javi a platform for seeing what doing the right thing will earn him. A sucker from the bank teller, a new notebook to record his doodles and stories, a longer stretch of home alone time in the future.

I can't remove the impulsivity, inability to predict consequences, or inattention that's part and parcel with his ADHD, but I can provide him with these small, fledgling solo flights so that his wings are strong and steady when it's his time to test them in trickier skies.

How are you preparing your pre-teen for the risky teenage years? Do you think I'm crazy for allowing my kiddo to stay home alone?

Kelly Quinones Miller is the mother of an adopted son with ADHD, inattentive type. She works from home as a freelance writer and designer while trying to teach her son the strategies and skills he'll need to succeed. Kelly blogs about family issues, casual environmentalism, backyard chickens, and more at The Miller Mix.

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Keep looking out the windshield

"I AM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL! I AM NOT GETTING DRESSED BECAUSE I'M NOT GOING TO SCHOOL! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

"Well, I have to turn off the T.V. if you can't continue to get ready for school by getting dressed. You know the rule, no T.V. before school if you stop making progress on getting ready to leave the house," I say very calmly. I walk over, pick up the remote, and turn off the T.V.

"YOU GIVE THAT BACK! I'LL WATCH T.V. IF I WANT TO! GIVE IT TO ME RIGHT NOW!" Luke, my 9-year-old son with ADHD, SPD, and Learning Disabilities, is screaming at me. He proceeds to cross the living room and starts pulling on my arm, trying to rescue the remote from my possession.

The situation escalates and I decide to wrap him in a bear hug from behind, a sensory maneuver that often helps to calm him in similar situations. This morning, he was too deep in this meds-induced melt and it only made matters worse.

{Smack!} Luke shot his head up and back, ramming me in the mouth. My hands release the hug and reach for my face. This morning is not going well, not at all! 


"GET AWAY FROM ME! FAR AWAY FROM ME!" I yelled and I pointed across the room. Then I fled to my home office, and let the tears flow. Not only was I in physical pain, but this situation caused a tremendous amount of emotional pain too. How did we get to this place? How have we caused this very sweet-natured kid to turn this way? To purposefully hurt the mother he loves so much? 


This really isn't Luke. And I don't mean that in the this-isn't-my child's-will-this-is-the-disorder sense. I mean, this isn't a symptom of his ADHD or SPD or general frustration with having so many disabilities. This rage is medication-induced. That's right. We inadvertently caused this behavior by trying to help him with all those disabilities. That's the crux of my emotional breakdown as I continue to stand in the other room, trying to stop crying.

My upper lip instantly swelled. It didn't feel great but the sharp pain from the onset of the injury had subsided in a short time. And by noon, the swelling had subsided too. By the time Daddy got home from work, there wasn't any physical evidence of what had happened. And I decided not to bother telling him. He always makes it clear he has no answers, no ideas other than what I and our doctor come up with.

Ah! The answers! That's the real problem here -- no one, and I mean no one, has any answers for Luke.

As of last week, we've tried every single stimulant medication since his ADHD diagnosis 38 1/2 months ago. The amphetamine-based medications make this truly kind and fun kid turn aggressive and violent. The methylphenidates will work great for a few weeks and then loose effectiveness. The best of those was Concerta, the worst was Focalin, which made him literally scale the walls and stay awake all night. For the last week he's been on the Daytrana patch, theorizing that the transdermal delivery, rather than through the digestive tract, may make a difference. It takes over four hours to reach therapeutic dose for him, all the while exacerbating his symptoms (i.e., purposefully harming his mother) until the full dosage reaches his bloodstream. He's only getting about 6 hours out of it too, likely meaning the dosage is too low. Starting today, he is also taking a  5mg short-acting methylphenidate tablet with breakfast to attempt to bridge the wide morning divide until the Daytrana is working as intended. We'll see about that. This morning was definitely an improvement.

We've also tried many other medications, off-label. He's tried two anti-depressants. The SSRI caused a psychotic episode and was quickly discontinued. The tricyclic caused severe fear episodes, escalating until he couldn't be in a different room from me. It was quickly discontinued as well. He tried two mood stabilizers as well, one caused severe anger and the other caused suicidal ideation. Not only is Luke one of the 20% of individuals with ADHD that stimulants don't work well for, he's also one of the less than 1% who has the symptoms the black box on the medication label warns you about. This is one pharmacologically-sensitive kid!

I know what you're thinking, maybe meds aren't right for Luke, maybe you need to try natural remedies. Oh, believe me, we've been down most of those {dead-end} paths too.

• He did Tomatis therapy and Interactive Metronome therapy in addition to over a year of occupational therapy. 
• We give him omega-3 supplements every day. 
• We tried a dairy-free diet with no change. 
• We had him tested for food sensitivities and found him to be gluten and oats intolerant. He's been gluten-free for nine months now with no change in symptoms and no change in efficacy of medications. 
• We tried half a dozen or more supplements from an integrative medicine doctor after an Organic Acids Test (OAT). No positive change from them either. One, which contained Tyrosine, actually made him angry. 
• And just last month we did a Hair Tissue Analysis (HTA) to check his mineral and metals levels. Turns out, according to this test, he is extremely deficient in Magnesium, Potassium,  and Sodium, all of which work together in certain ratios for many systems of the body, but every ratio is way out of whack. He is also deficient in almost every single other mineral tested (18-20 out of 25-30). He has absolutely no lithium in his body -- something the N.D. said she's only seen twice, including Luke, and doesn't know what it means. And she found that he has a lot of mercury stored in his tissues, where heavy metals shouldn't be and never in this quantity. A large box of mineral supplements and an oral chelation supplement (if you have any experience with oral chelation, I'd love to hear about it in the comments please) is on it's way to us now to try to address these metabolic issues. 

As you can see, we have been thorough and diligent in trying to treat Luke's ADHD and SPD. We keep looking further, digging deeper, every time something isn't helpful like it should be. The first 2 1/2 or 3 years I was hopeful with every new potential treatment. This will be the answer! Each time my hopes are crushed. That has been a pattern for so long now that I don't hope any more. I have ordered this box of half-a-dozen supplements but I'm certain they aren't going to change anything. Why would they? Nothing else has. This is an emotional place I don't want to be in. 

When I think about it in those terms, about how I've lost hope, I am reminded of a talk I recently attended from a very wise man named Andrew Lacey. Now Andrew has nothing to do with the medical or mental health profession. He is actually a coach and motivational speaker for real estate brokers. Andrew teaches a program in which you contact people who want to sell their property and, very simply, ask them if you can help them. It is a program where the broker will hear "no" many, many times every day, which can be difficult to take. He was talking about keeping a positive attitude and said something that resonated with me, in relation to my life with a child with ADHD. 

"You must look out the windshield." If you are looking down (in sadness or defeat), how can you see where you are going? If you are looking back, you are sure to crash. But, if you keep looking out the windshield, you will have the best chance of safely moving forward. "Keep your eyes on the horizon in front of you," he says. And that's what I intend to do. Thanks for the reminder!

Penny Williams is the creator and editor of {a mom's view of ADHD}. She is also a freelance writer, real estate broker, wife, and mother of two living in Asheville, N.C. She has published several pieces in ADDitude Magazine, the #1 national publication dedicated to ADHD, and has also been quoted in Parenting.com's Family Health Guide on ADHD and The High Desert Pulse article, When Ritalin Works.  When not writing, she can usually be found behind a camera.

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