Attention, Please

“H, sweetie. H? Look at me. Over here. I need you to put this book in your room and then get shoes on. OK?”

She looks at me and vaguely nods. I ask, “What did I just ask you to do?”

The vague look briefly intensifies and then turns to a look of anger/annoyance. I get something between a whine and a grunt.

“What did I ask you to do, please?” I repeat.

After one or two more exchanges of that sort, I finally get her to answer me in words. “I don’t remember,” she tells me, not looking at me.

And then we start again. It either ends in the book put away and the shoes on or it ends in a tantrum and some time out.

It was moments like that, plus a lot of other things that finally led us to take H to a developmental pediatrician right around her birthday this year. We’d begun to suspect that she had Inattentive ADHD, and it turns out that she does. I know those of you who know H are thinking, “No! She’s not hyperactive. She’s so sweet and quiet.” You’re right. She’s not hyperactive. It turns out there are two sub-types to ADHD: Hyperactive and Inattentive. She has the inattentive type.

Suddenly we had an explanation for her behavior. We knew why, at five, I still had to stand in her room and remind her of every item of clothing that needed to be put on—sometimes multiple times. We knew why she seemed to forget immediately the things we’d talk about. We knew why she was sometimes so rigid in her preference for routine—asking her to brush her teeth at the wrong time of the morning could spell disaster.

The news also brought me such mixed emotions. There was relief that we weren’t crazy; that something actually was going on. Relief too that I wasn’t just a bad parent who couldn’t teach her kid to be independent. But then there was the realization that this is a lifelong condition. There was the fear of the hurdles she’d have to overcome to be the independent, successful adult we want her to be. There was concern for how she’d manage in school, and whether this meant a lifetime of meds to improve her concentration.

It’s been a few months, and I still feel all of that. You can also add in the frustration I feel when I realize that her behavior is motivated by the ADHD, not her desire to drive me insane, yet there’s NOTHING I can do to change it. I suspect that this is kind of a new normal, which I hope will improve as she gets older and her understanding of her world and herself improves.

I recently read my awesome friend, S’s, blog. She’s a homeschooling mama and was talking about her struggle to reduce interruptions from her three boys as she tries to provide each one-on-one instruction during their school day. She talked to her oldest two about the issue, they brainstormed ideas, put them into action, and she saw progress immediately. The kids are doing great with it, and everyone is happier.

It was sort of like reading fiction for me. That would never happen in our house. I would take the same route to try and talk rationally, on her level, about the problem. She would tune out two minutes later and interrupt me to ask a complete non sequitor. I would try to redirect. The conversation would end with me realizing the entire content was completely lost on her. We’d try again later. I’d try to implement some simple strategies. If I managed to stay sane and incredibly consistent then we might see progress in two to four months.

I’m not kidding. I’m not exaggerating. She’s a smart kid. She’s a loving child. She just can’t concentrate long enough to listen and remember things most of the time.

What makes the entire situation more perverse is the fact that Josh and I are both extremely logical people. We are cause and effect people. We are problem solvers. We are practical. When H begins to sob uncontrollably in the middle of a project because she can’t open the lid to a jar, we are both baffled and bewildered. To us, this is no big deal. Try again. Ask a grown up. Problem solved. To her, it seems as though a dragon has appeared and inserted itself between her and all the happiness in the world. Getting her to “see reason” is so difficult. Even after we resolve the problem, you get the sense that she may not have learned the lesson you were hoping to teach.

The list goes on. Her ADHD touches all aspects of her life—intellectually, socially, and emotionally.

I’m hopefully not whining here or even really venting. My purpose today is just to be real and express my concerns. I’m also curious if anyone else has gone through this with a child. The further we travel this rabbit hole, the more likely it appears that we will at least need to try concentration meds. This is not something I am enthusiastic about. So far, removing gluten from her diet has improved her appetite (a huge win) and lessened her mood swings (also a huge win), but it has not addressed her main problem of inattention. We could try more extreme elimination diets, but I fear that we will start to see push back if we start taking away things she loves, like dairy. She’s five, and it’s really hard for her to understand the abstract interaction of food and behavior. On an everyday basis, we coach her as best we can on coping methods when she runs into a speed bump, but it can be hard to find the right language and approach that makes sense to her. It’s almost like she speaks a different language. We just don’t think the way she does, and I feel like that’s starting to show more and more.

At times, I feel so distressed and helpless. I keep hoping that as she gets older, she’ll understand more and things will just click. But I fear the reality is that as she gets older and life gets more complicated, the problem will only get worse as her meager coping skills become stretched to their limit. How do we help our kids when we don’t know what’s best for them? Meds can be a dangerous path. Side effects can be worse than the symptoms they alleviate. She may have to be on them for years, and we don’t really know the effect on a growing brain. But not giving drugs could carry a heavy price in terms of self-esteem and self-confidence with “untreated” ADHD. Does she really need them? Or is it just that I want an easy solution? And nowhere did anyone issue me that instruction manual kids were meant to come with.

Blessings

Once upon a time in 2011, we lost a baby that I thought was a boy. A few months later we lost identical twins, who were badly conjoined from the neck down. It broke my heart in ways that I didn’t know a heart could break. I am not ashamed to say that I still cry every once in a while if I think too hard about those lost babies.

But then in 2012 we got pregnant with J. Here was my little boy and the balm of my heart. All I could say was, “Thank you.”

Now, we’re pregnant with twin boys who are very likely identical. They are due at the end of January. My heart is so full I can barely choke out my “Thank you.” But it’s there. Every moment.

How was I to know that those losses were not the end of a story but a beginning? How could I have known that the family I thought I lost was the family I will gain? I can’t tell you why that timing wasn’t right for them to be born, but I can tell you that we are so grateful to be able to welcome them now.

Every pregnancy is different. When I was pregnant with J, coming off two losses, I couldn’t bear the thought of having to un-tell people I was pregnant another time. That was too much for me. We kept a very low profile, and if you weren’t someone we were very close to or someone we saw every day, you probably didn’t know I was pregnant until J was actually born. That was how I dealt with the uncertainty that haunted his pregnancy.

This time around I know that I’m going to need help. I’m going to need support. I feel confident that the boys are going to be healthy; so far they are growing great and doing well. I’m sharing this information with you. Incidentally, if you want to come and stay and hold babies in early 2015, we are accepting applications. I pray that the rest of this pregnancy goes smoothly, as well as the delivery, which I will have to make in the hospital for the first time. And I remain thankful for every moment—hard and easy—that comes after.

The One Doing the Judging Is You

How often do we talk about the Mommy Wars? How often do we feel judged because we didn’t do something others did? Or did it too much? Or didn’t do it the same way? All the ways in which we feel judged have become exhausting.

This morning I read a new comment on a Facebook inquiry I’d posted to get some information on a new baby carrier. The people who had responded so far had been polite and helpful. The new comment blasted us for being judgmental of how other people use baby carriers. It was a “This makes me sick. Why can’t we all just get along?” sort of comment. The thing is, no one had said anything negative against other moms or even really against the carrier in question. We’d speculated on why the manufacturer made some changes, and someone who had tried the carrier commented that it wasn’t as comfortable as the old version.

I was honestly rather amused at this sudden “drama” over something pretty simple. It also gave me an A-ha moment. None of us had been intentionally judgmental, but this mom felt judged, not because of anything we said or did, but most likely because she was feeling insecure. The person who did the judging was her! She judged herself, using others as scapegoats.

Now, I don’t know this woman, and this post is not about her. It’s about all of us. We have all had these moments when we take innocent opinions or observations and turn them into judgments against ourselves. We put H into preschool pretty early, even though she was our only at the time. It was a decision we made for a lot of reasons, but most importantly, it worked for us. It made sense for our individual family. When we first moved here I ran into a lot of moms with kids H’s age, but many of those kids were younger siblings. These moms were at home with their youngest in a lot of these cases, and I heard a lot of talk saying, “I just can’t see sending Susie Q to preschool, because if I do, then why am I staying home?” or “I just really want another year at home with little Bertie before pre-K.” These are valid opinions. These women had different families from me. They were not super-subtle attempts to tell me that I was a lousy mother because not only was my three-year-old in preschool three full days a week, but she’d done two half-days the year before. Yet every once in a while, it did feel like judgment—because my decision was different from their decisions and because I was occasionally conflicted over my own decisions.

Some of the hottest topics that make moms feel most judged are the same ones that many of us can easily feel conflicted over: where we give birth, how we give birth, if we breast feed, how long we breast feed, if we work, if we stay home, etc. Every mother at some time has been carrying insecurities about her decisions on these topics. When she hears other moms expressing themselves on how they’ve done something and why, it can be easy to take the leap from intellectually understanding that the other moms are expressing opinions to emotionally responding to difference with defensiveness. From there it’s a tiny baby step to, “She’s judging me.”

There are of course times when people say mean things, on purpose, to judge and hurt others. That is clearly not ok, and hopefully we all avoid those people because they’re no good as friends. But the next time we read something on Facebook or a blog or hear something in person and we start to feel judged (or have someone accuse us of doing the judging), let’s all take a breath and a step back and ask ourselves, “How do I feel about this topic? Am I at peace with my decision? Does this person I’m in conversation with seem at peace?” If someone is not secure in themselves, then they’re going to be defensive, they’re going to lash out. It’s probably not personal. It’s a reaction we all have to protect our families.

The best thing we can do is to acknowledge the unrest in our own souls and grant grace to the unrest in others. We cannot grow, or get to that place of peace, while we hold on to our insecurities. Explore them. Ask questions. Discuss. You may learn something new that changes your mind or you may find that you are re-affirmed in your decision. Either way, choose discussion and fellowship—not judgment.

Not What I Asked For

This morning I was on the phone with my Dad finalizing plans for their trip out to see us. I told him how excited we all are to see them. Dad’s voice warmed on the phone, reassuring me that we were not half excited as he and my mom were. We talked about the kids and how much of a blessing they are. I told him, “They’re so much better than I ever could have asked for.”

Both my kids are so incredibly much more than I could have thought up. They are so much more complex, layered, and nuanced then I could possibly have imagined. There are a million things about them that I’d never think to ask or include if I made a list of what I wanted my kids to be. They are exactly what I never knew I wanted. I might have known H was a girl and J was a boy, but I didn’t know how amazing they’d be. The children I imagined when I was pregnant were nothing but poor shades compared to the full, shining roundness of their reality.

I watched them in the morning light with shining eyes and imagined that if they made my heart this full, so full I wasn’t sure if I would cry, laugh, or just burst—how much more must God feel when he sees us love each other the way we should.

Then H threw tantrum number one of the day. No, she would never get dressed. Ever again. She was literally one minute away from wearing fleece pajamas to school on this warm spring morning. Sigh.

Then J decided morning naps are lame, ruining my plans to get the grocery shopping done before school pick up. That segued perfectly into H’s afternoon tantrum in the produce section of the commissary. We left the grocery store with only vegetables and the sense that, God’s gift though they might be, there are times when I could just as easily sell them to gypsies. I wondered how God feels when we don’t appreciate each other and treat each other badly. Does it break his heart as much as when I see my kids hurting?

It might seem like a day of perfect highs and deepest lows, but it’s really just a Tuesday. It’s an everyday opportunity to remind myself how lucky I am. This is not the family I imagined in my head. It’s not the family I thought I’d have, with three angels in heaven. Yet, it is exactly the perfect family I could never live without. H is one of the most frustrating human beings on the planet, and yet her sweetness, creativity, and toughness inspire me. J doesn’t have access yet to a full toolbox of Mom button-pushing, but there is no sweeter sight and sound then his laughter at belly tickles and neck nibbles. I haven’t mentioned Josh, but believe me when I say I’d be lost without him. If I’m going to have the best of life, with the best kids I would never have been able to ask for, then I will grudgingly, I mean, gratefully take the hard times too. I repeat my refrain, mantra, prayer: “If I do the hard Mommy work now, then they’ll be awesome adults later.” Then I pray for patience. And chocolate.

Perfect.