For about 3 years, I've struggled with this: a child who is bright and intelligent, imaginative and social, inquisitive and thoughtful. Oh, and also hyperactive and impulsive. And sometimes a little violent. And disobedient, unfocused, and obnoxious. That's all. Just that.
Many parents would be drinking by now. Many would have turned to child abuse, or demanded medication to drug this child into a zombie-like oblivion. I took him to counseling, tried with fervor to work with him at home, and spent endless hours on the internet, doing research on this sort of behavior. And I cried, certain that I had failed as a mother.
I consulted Isaac's teachers recently, after finally wrapping my mind around the fact that he may, indeed, suffer from ADHD. Some people who know us might be laughing right now, muttering something along the lines of "duh!" But those people don't get it, unless they've been through this. Mother's of children with ADHD don't admit it easily. At least I didn't. I didn't want this diagnosis, considering it's a mental disorder. What mom wants to hear that their child has a mental disorder? The pediatrician suggested it quite a while ago, but that only put me into the frenzy of research, along the way deciding to obtain my master's in child counseling because of it. The teachers' evaluation of Isaac was what really shook me. It was devastating to me. I realized that I was only hurting him further by waiting. We sat down and had a long talk, which was when this six-year old with amazing potential told me, in a nutshell, just that.
"Mom, I want to do well. My brain tells me to do things that I know are bad, and I can't stop it, even when I want to."
So all this time, maybe he could have done well, he could have struggled less...and I was too stubborn to try medication.
Until today.
He had his first dose of Adderall at about 4:30 p.m. The doctor and the pharmacist both told me it could take 2 or 3 months to level out in his system, but this was an immediate-release, six-hour formula, and I'd likely see a change relatively quickly. The first 30 minutes, I noticed nothing. He was insane in the grocery store, and acted as though he could hear me. He grabbed for everything on the shelves, begged for candy, and ran in the parking lot. Hmph...yeah, immediate release. Right.
By the time we returned home, however, something changed. He was oddly quiet. He was respectful to me while I made dinner. He asked for salad. He ate his meal without jumping up from the table, complaining about the food or making obscene noises. He volunteered to take a bath, did homework without any nagging, and even helped his brother make his bed. I thought surely it was a joke. He had to be making it up. Except for the part that he's six and has no idea what that little blue pill was for.
So I find myself, still, holding my breath. Tomorrow is a new day, another 2 pills. I am immensely curious as to how his teachers perceive his behavior. And I continue to stress, because that's what moms do. They live and breathe for their children, I suppose. And cry for them, and laugh for them, and celebrate their victories.
I'm certainly opening up to the idea that this might be one of those victorious occasions.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
To Go to Heaven: The Simple Version
We're driving to church Sunday morning, and between chattering teeth because the heat hasn't started working yet, Isaac opens up a conversation, again, about Sarge.
"I really miss that dog, Mommy. He must have been very old if God wanted him back in Heaven."
"Well, he was old," I say, "But you don't always have to be old to go to Heaven. Often, God needs to take back young people, too."
"I'm so mad that I'll be seven, soon," he says."This means, I'll be seven and my brother will only turn 4, and I'll always be older than him. Which means, I'll have to go to Heaven first."
I reassured him that age is not the only reason people die and go to Heaven. Although, I told him I hoped it would be the reason that all of us go...that we'd live a full life, grow very old, and then one day, God would come for us.
He sat quietly for a while, his six-year-old hands stuffed into his coat pockets, shoving his feet against the blower of the now-warm heater. Then he pipes up:
"Sarge probably has to protect people, even in Heaven. I think that's his new job. Like maybe he protects God, or the angels or something. Or maybe he is an angel and he protects me."
"Maybe. What made you think that?"
"Easy, Mom. He was a lifeguard."
And that, he was. And this conversation did to me what many conversations do to me. It provoked so many thoughts. Thoughts about the mind of a child, and how vast the world must seem to them. Thoughts of how fleeting it all really is.
We went to my late-grandparents' house later in the day, and I took a few pieces of Grandma's old costume jewelry, and a sugar bowl that sat on the table every day I ate there. They didn't have lavish things in life. Nothing of great value, material-wise. They were just great people. I didn't want anything of great value, anyway. I got that while they were alive, just soaking in their presence. I wanted a few things that I knew they used often...a bowl that held the sugar that Grandpa spooned into his daily coffee, and a couple pairs of earrings that not only do I remember Grandma buying (from the Avon lady, at that), but wearing. I wanted things that they touched. So fleetingly.
My Grandma used to talk about the end of the world. She read the National Enquirer and half-believed all the outrageous stories about a "half-child, half-monkey" or an "alien invasion impregnating rural farm community women." But she really believed everything about the end of the world. About the apocalypse, and Jesus' second coming. She thought it might even happen during her lifetime. Turns out it didn't, but I am not sure she was far off.
My mother noted, today, that the devastation at the World Trade Center was on 9/11/01, and the earthquake in Japan was on 3/11/11. Then I saw on a website that someone took the time to add those numbers together, reaching the conclusion of "12-21-12," the date Nostradamus predicted the world would end. Hmm...but then I did some further browsing, and noticed that the Madrid bombings happened on 3/11/04. Coincidental, maybe. I don't like being too superstitious.
However, the other day, at church? I opened our Daily Devotional. The 40 day one we are supposed to use during Lent. It has little blurbs, each day, about things we can ponder during this time of reflection. I read March 9 (Ash Wednesday) and then the 10th. It was when I flipped to Friday, March 11, that I got goosebumps. The topic for that day was "Seismic Shocks." It was all about great earthquakes, and David. The prayer? "Lord, use seismic shocks to wake us up to your Message, and use us to spread your word so that others may learn that they must turn to you for their rescue."
That, my friends, is no coincidence.
How can I tie this all together? What's the point? The point is: life is fleeting. If you've ever lost something you love, you're aware of this, all too painfully. There's nothing we can do about it, except to live well and live right while we live here. There's no telling when the world will end. There are plenty of hints in the Bible, things to look for. Either way, we have to agree, he's given us ample time to prepare...so that's all we can do. It's never to late to repent all the bad stuff and start over. If we know anything from Lent, it's that the ultimate sacrifice was made over 2000 years ago, and it didn't have an expiration date. Trusting in that, I think, is the simplest way to get to Heaven.
"I really miss that dog, Mommy. He must have been very old if God wanted him back in Heaven."
"Well, he was old," I say, "But you don't always have to be old to go to Heaven. Often, God needs to take back young people, too."
"I'm so mad that I'll be seven, soon," he says."This means, I'll be seven and my brother will only turn 4, and I'll always be older than him. Which means, I'll have to go to Heaven first."
I reassured him that age is not the only reason people die and go to Heaven. Although, I told him I hoped it would be the reason that all of us go...that we'd live a full life, grow very old, and then one day, God would come for us.
He sat quietly for a while, his six-year-old hands stuffed into his coat pockets, shoving his feet against the blower of the now-warm heater. Then he pipes up:
"Sarge probably has to protect people, even in Heaven. I think that's his new job. Like maybe he protects God, or the angels or something. Or maybe he is an angel and he protects me."
"Maybe. What made you think that?"
"Easy, Mom. He was a lifeguard."
And that, he was. And this conversation did to me what many conversations do to me. It provoked so many thoughts. Thoughts about the mind of a child, and how vast the world must seem to them. Thoughts of how fleeting it all really is.
We went to my late-grandparents' house later in the day, and I took a few pieces of Grandma's old costume jewelry, and a sugar bowl that sat on the table every day I ate there. They didn't have lavish things in life. Nothing of great value, material-wise. They were just great people. I didn't want anything of great value, anyway. I got that while they were alive, just soaking in their presence. I wanted a few things that I knew they used often...a bowl that held the sugar that Grandpa spooned into his daily coffee, and a couple pairs of earrings that not only do I remember Grandma buying (from the Avon lady, at that), but wearing. I wanted things that they touched. So fleetingly.
My Grandma used to talk about the end of the world. She read the National Enquirer and half-believed all the outrageous stories about a "half-child, half-monkey" or an "alien invasion impregnating rural farm community women." But she really believed everything about the end of the world. About the apocalypse, and Jesus' second coming. She thought it might even happen during her lifetime. Turns out it didn't, but I am not sure she was far off.
My mother noted, today, that the devastation at the World Trade Center was on 9/11/01, and the earthquake in Japan was on 3/11/11. Then I saw on a website that someone took the time to add those numbers together, reaching the conclusion of "12-21-12," the date Nostradamus predicted the world would end. Hmm...but then I did some further browsing, and noticed that the Madrid bombings happened on 3/11/04. Coincidental, maybe. I don't like being too superstitious.
However, the other day, at church? I opened our Daily Devotional. The 40 day one we are supposed to use during Lent. It has little blurbs, each day, about things we can ponder during this time of reflection. I read March 9 (Ash Wednesday) and then the 10th. It was when I flipped to Friday, March 11, that I got goosebumps. The topic for that day was "Seismic Shocks." It was all about great earthquakes, and David. The prayer? "Lord, use seismic shocks to wake us up to your Message, and use us to spread your word so that others may learn that they must turn to you for their rescue."
That, my friends, is no coincidence.
How can I tie this all together? What's the point? The point is: life is fleeting. If you've ever lost something you love, you're aware of this, all too painfully. There's nothing we can do about it, except to live well and live right while we live here. There's no telling when the world will end. There are plenty of hints in the Bible, things to look for. Either way, we have to agree, he's given us ample time to prepare...so that's all we can do. It's never to late to repent all the bad stuff and start over. If we know anything from Lent, it's that the ultimate sacrifice was made over 2000 years ago, and it didn't have an expiration date. Trusting in that, I think, is the simplest way to get to Heaven.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Just a Dream
Have you seen the movie "Family Man" with Nicholas Cage? The one where he is a high-falutin' business man with everything and then after the altercation with the guy robbing the convenience store, he wakes up with a full-fledged family on Christmas morning? And...um...doesn't really dig it?
Some days I wonder if I'm dreaming...if my life, pre-kids, pre-responsibilities, pre-marriage, etc...isn't just a "wake-up" away. No, I'm not saying that I don't want my family...no I'm not saying that at all. I'm not ungrateful. I just feel like I'm in some sort of dream sequence, and I'm often unsure of why God chose me for this life, instead of, perhaps, another one.
Sitting at my kitchen counter, looking at the debits going out for bills vs. the credit coming in, living in a day-to-day panic, dealing with a child with undeniable behavioral issues (which the doctor calls ADHD and I haven't been able to fully accept, yet), having to move, pack, deal with sickness...the list goes on. And I'm officially griping, I suppose, for which I apologize. It's just, don't any of you ever feel this way? Please say you do.
I've been studying the purpose and meaning of Lent, and today I've finally reached the point that I think God has been asking us to reach. I sat here with my cheek pressed against the cold counter top, racking my brain for answers. "If I pay the hospital with this paycheck, I can wait on the car payment till next week...and still have some room for groceries..." and it happened. Turn it over. Our pastor preached about turning our worries over to God, a few weeks back, and I half-heartedly went along with it. It's a nice concept...but really? I doubt God'll pay my bills or make my kid behave. And truth is, He won't...exactly. But He will listen and He will see, that somehow, everything works out.
I found a greatly supportive quote by Ian Maclaren: What does your anxiety do? It does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, but it does empty today of its strength. It does not make you escape the evil; it makes you unfit to cope with it when it comes. God gives us the power to bear all the sorrow of His making, but He does not guarantee to give us strength to bear the burdens of our own making such as worry induces.
So, I'm gonna try. I really will. Pastor Pat said to cast our worries upon Him and then go to sleep. He's going to be up all night, anyway.
Some days I wonder if I'm dreaming...if my life, pre-kids, pre-responsibilities, pre-marriage, etc...isn't just a "wake-up" away. No, I'm not saying that I don't want my family...no I'm not saying that at all. I'm not ungrateful. I just feel like I'm in some sort of dream sequence, and I'm often unsure of why God chose me for this life, instead of, perhaps, another one.
Sitting at my kitchen counter, looking at the debits going out for bills vs. the credit coming in, living in a day-to-day panic, dealing with a child with undeniable behavioral issues (which the doctor calls ADHD and I haven't been able to fully accept, yet), having to move, pack, deal with sickness...the list goes on. And I'm officially griping, I suppose, for which I apologize. It's just, don't any of you ever feel this way? Please say you do.
I've been studying the purpose and meaning of Lent, and today I've finally reached the point that I think God has been asking us to reach. I sat here with my cheek pressed against the cold counter top, racking my brain for answers. "If I pay the hospital with this paycheck, I can wait on the car payment till next week...and still have some room for groceries..." and it happened. Turn it over. Our pastor preached about turning our worries over to God, a few weeks back, and I half-heartedly went along with it. It's a nice concept...but really? I doubt God'll pay my bills or make my kid behave. And truth is, He won't...exactly. But He will listen and He will see, that somehow, everything works out.
I found a greatly supportive quote by Ian Maclaren: What does your anxiety do? It does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, but it does empty today of its strength. It does not make you escape the evil; it makes you unfit to cope with it when it comes. God gives us the power to bear all the sorrow of His making, but He does not guarantee to give us strength to bear the burdens of our own making such as worry induces.
So, I'm gonna try. I really will. Pastor Pat said to cast our worries upon Him and then go to sleep. He's going to be up all night, anyway.
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