A delicious mess to clean up

Why are ADHD kids messy? That's like asking why the sky is blue. OK, maybe not. I'm not entirely sure why the sky is blue actually. 

Let's put it this way instead -- it's like the elephant in the room question. And literally, an elephant could be hiding in their room. Who knows! In one week, you might lose track of where the bed went. 

For those of you who aren't blessed with a child with ADHD. Here's just a few reasons you feel like you're on the verge of living in an episode of Hoarders:

They're forgetful. As in, they go in to clean their room, but moments after walking in the door they have no idea what they supposed to do so they sit down to play in the pile of Legos closest to the door. They're disengaged with the cleaning process -- entirely!

Also, they're distracted. See example above, especially the reference to Legos. And who wouldn't be distracted by...oh, look at that -- glitter glue. Oh I could make a glitter mail box right now for all my Valentines. Valentine's Day is coming up. Last year grandma gave me a card with a dog. I love dogs. I think I'll draw a picture of a dog. Oh, look, glitter glue! 

What was I saying again? Yes, children with ADHD can't follow directions the same way other children can either. I might say to my children: "Abby and Ryker, go brush your teeth, brush your hair, put your shoes on and meet me by the back door." Or, "Go pick up all the books on the floor, put them on the shelf, then pick up all your dirty clothes and put them in the hamper."

In two minutes and 38 seconds, Ryker would be have completed his assignments in either example. I would likely find Abby standing with her toothbrush (toothpaste in a slow drip toward the sink) in hand, staring at her reflection in the mirror, or sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book open. She definitely can't get from A to E. It's better just to get A done and then move on to B. If you get to E that week, it's definitely a good week! Some days, just getting through A means I stand behind her at the bathroom sink, her with toothbrush in hand and ask about a half dozen times if she would PLEASE brush her teeth. 

I hope this makes it easy to see why kids with ADHD might have messy rooms, school desks and backpacks. For the record, they also are good at making the floorboards in the back seat of your vehicle disappear under a mound of stuff in about oh, two days. 

I'm not sure, exactly, how the mess carries over into other things, however, such as icing a cake. But I do know this, Abby is a creative genius who makes very beautiful things, but not without leaving a trail of clutter -- or icing -- in her wake. She does this with painting, cooking, playing with dolls, building with Legos and even getting herself dressed. It's exhausting!

For Ryker's baptism, she helped her grandma make an angel food cake. We all left her alone in the kitchen for what should have been 10 minutes but what turned into 20 minutes for icing it. 

Here's how it turned out: 

Ta-da! Oh, I got a little on the cabinet.

Grandma notices some on my shirt. 

Oh, and here's some more, too. And there's some back there on the other cabinet, too. 

No problem, I'll just lick it off!

And here's the finish product. Frankly, this is beautiful for a 9-year-old with ADHD who's icing an angel food cake for the first time -- they're tough to handle! Mom wouldn't have done much better or made less of a mess. In fact, mom might just be a touch ADD herself. I'd rather have the H, just the H. Then I'd probably at least burn a few more calories in a day. 

Legos and paint...late at night

Why do kids do the weird things they do? And especially why do ADHD kids have peculiar behaviors? 

It's always fascinating when I get a glimpse into the motivations behind Abby's bizarre behavior. Often when I understand what was driving it, I'm much less angry and frustrated.

As in this scenario:

Last week I worked 8:30-5 p.m., went to shoot a photo and interview a family for work at 5 p.m. Left there at 6:40 and headed to Ryker's basketball tournament in Springfield. From there, I went to Wal-mart to shop for two weeks of groceries. I pulled into the driveway at 10:15 p.m. and noticed Abby's bedroom light was on. She rarely sleeps...ever. One of the delights of ADHD.

I walked straight to her room and opened the door to catch her on the floor spread out in a Lego paradise that stretched the width of her room along one side of her bed. What a mess! I bit my tongue and gently said:

"Abby. It's after 10. What a mess you've made. You need to get to bed, and you'll have to clean this up later."

She had already sprung into bed as soon as I opened the door. As I walked to the far side of the bed to tuck her in, I discovered her art portfolio bag was open and paints were spilled out everywhere. Only one paint was open, and the mess was relatively contained. But the brush was ruined with sticky, dry blue oil-based paint on it.

I sighed. Probably loudly. "Why would you do this?" I asked. It's a question that she hears a lot.  She shrugged her shoulders. I mumbled something about how unreal the mess was and that she should be sleeping, and she did what she always did -- quickly agreed with everything I said. It's a game we play, I think, to avoid real conversations on the issue. Then I left the same way I came in -- quickly and quietly.

Two minutes later she was standing in the kitchen crying about needing her iPod back because she can't sleep unless she's listening to Harry Potter books. I refused. Taking away the iPod was punishment for the mess and she'd have to live without it.

Her drama, tears. My refusal. Repeat.

Finally, she went to bed.

Two days later -- after numerous attempts to spark a conversation about what could be so important that she's doing it at 10 p.m. on a school night -- she tells me that .....

she was recreating scenes from the fourth Harry Potter book. And she didn't have a Fleur Delacour character, so she had to use parts of other Lego figures. None had a blue shirt like Fleur is SUPPOSED to have, so she got out the paints to fix it. (See below)

After three or four days of stumbling over Legos in her room, I finally asked her to explain what was going on. I think I slept through No. 4, so I didn't understand the level of detail. But maybe you will.

This is the Beuxbatons carriage (on the left) used to take students to the tri-wizard tournament. And the Durmstrang boat (right).

The tent from the Quidditch World Cup competition.

A closeup of the backpacks on the end of the bunks in the tent.

Harry and Ron sitting on the bunks.

The Abraxan (winged horse) that carries the carriage. Since she didn't have a winged horse, she made this camel appear to have wings 

Fleur  Delacour with her new blue shirt. 

An overview of the tent that shows the restroom on the right.

The Tri-wizard trophy, as per Abby's design. 

The Goblet of fire.

A view of the fire on the inside of the goblet.

She can hyperfocus on Legos for hours on end. Some days this is great, and other days -- as you can imagine -- it causes problems as it turns into a distraction from the things she should be doing. But I'm proud of her determination to recreate and create using her imagination. This stuff is pretty impressive, but of course, I'm a tad biased!

No more recess "on the wall"

This fall, our hearts broke when our daughter told us she hardly ever gets a recess because she’s always "on the wall." As in, standing or sitting on a sidewalk and facing a brick wall literally steps away from the rest of the grade that’s running and playing on the playground.

We had never heard of such a thing and after talking to both of our children, we discovered it is commonplace for many teachers at our elementary school to use this for discipline of entire classes and/or individual students. Abby expressed humiliation at being put "on the wall" in front of her peers. Oftentimes, the individual discipline was for something caused by her ADHD -- losing a paper, not finishing an assignment, etc. Children with ADHD are often emotional -- Abby is -- and are already set apart in so many ways because of their differences. Mostly she just wants to fit in, like all kids do. Facing the wall at recess is yet another way she's cast into the role of “different” or “awkward,” quietly chipping away at her overall self-confidence and emotional well-being. And honestly, a release of activity is critical in her routine, helping her to regroup and focus once she's had that burst of energy. 

We couldn't find a policy in the school handbook or teacher handbook that even mentioned using the withholding of recess as a disciplinary option. But after expressing our concerns, Abby's teacher has been very accommodating in making sure Abby has recess, even though it has meant doing things differently for her entire class. We’re so appreciative that she’s willing to work on what is best for Abby. 

We don't know what next year will hold for Abby, whether her teacher will be flexible or rigid. But we know she's not the only child with ADHD who has spent recess periods stoically at a desk in punishment for behaviors that are difficult, at best, for her to control. So I’ve sent this note to school administrators and board members seeking either a district-wide policy on recess or simply spelling this out in the disciplinary section in the handbook. That way parents with special needs kids will know this is commonplace and can work with their teachers ahead of time to avoid humiliation of a child. 

We understand the complexities in developing such a sweeping policy, but we also believe that our own child functions better when she's able to have recess -- the fresh air, social connections and physical activity feed her soul and improve her cognitive functions, making her more able to focus inside the classroom.

Here's what some experts say on the issue: http://www.additudemag.com/adhd/article/9346.html Be sure to check out the comments, too, for some different perspectives. What do you think…are there justifications for withholding recess from a child with ADHD?

Sleepy time for the girl who NEVER sleeps

We had a rare day yesterday. The kids had a late soccer practice -- 7-8 p.m. And Abby, who was awake until 10:30 p.m. Sunday night woke up at 5 a.m. Monday. We made the executive decision to delay her medication (Vyvanse) on Monday until about the time I dropped her off at school so that she'd still have SOME focus left for soccer practice. But it was Monday, the busiest of mornings, and I forgot my phone and purse. My son forgot his lunch. I returned home once after dropping the kids off at school and delivered the lunch. Ten minutes later I realized I had forgotten to give Abby her pill!

At this point, my day was already delayed. I wasn't turning around again. Dan told me to be sure to contact her teacher and giver her a heads-up, but it was Monday. And I still had 20 minutes of driving, a long to-do list at my desk. It was after school hours when I remembered that I'd forgotten.

Monday evening was interesting. She was focusing decently, but she was VERY energetic. It was quite obvious to us that she was unmedicated. Her voice teacher, who happens to specialize in children with behavior/emotional disorders, clued in, too. In fact, Abby started her lesson out by jumping on Jeni's furniture. Yikes!

She didn't listen very well at soccer practice, and I took a fascinating video of her watching a few minutes of television. It's insane how much she was moving!

So the next day she had a little tummy ache, and I discovered she had taken a science test while unmedicated on Monday. I definitely couldn't forget to send the teacher a note. I didn't, and I learned two surprising things:

1. Her teacher didn't notice that she hadn't taken her pill. That was shocking to me, since every other teacher has been able to discern those rare days within five minutes. Maybe this is a good thing.

And 2. She found Abby passed out at her desk during a 10-minute study period and then struggled to keep her awake all day.

What?!? My daughter was sleeping? Without Melatonin? All on her own? It turns out that extreme sleepiness/fatigue is a possible effect of skipping or missing a dose of Vyvanse. I'm thinking her tummy ache was, too, so even though it sounds tempting to skip a dose in order to get this child to sleep, it's not a good idea for the long-term effectiveness of Vyvanse.

This day off meds wasn't the worst by far. It was almost amusing to see her on the move as much as she was! Much more dramatically than when it wears off at night. In general these rarest of days are a reminder to us -- and to Abby -- that her medication helps her focus and helps us function well as a family. It's a reminder of how far we've come and that medication is definitely not a bad thing.

Abby's first C and my subsequent breakdown

Oh, the horror!

My 9-year-old came home with a ‘C’ on her second quarter report card. I’m hyperventilating as I write this. Really. I am. My type A personality can hardly bear it and now I’m sharing it. Oh my. I have to walk away and get some air before I continue.

I’m back and still upset. Sorry. This may come off as a whiny rant.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that her teacher didn’t have time to send home the report cards on report card day (does she get a ‘C’ for that?) and I had to sit on pins and needles all weekend blaming Abby for leaving her report card at school, which she honestly thought she did because that’s where her winter outerwear wardrobe is and several uneaten lunches. 

Pardon this rambling side note, but shouldn’t teachers be held accountable, too? She could have at least sent a note that she wasn’t done with grades, as I personally know of at least one class parent who called the office that day questioning the existence of their child’s said report card. Not in our case, because we simply assumed our ADHD child forgot/misplaced/exchanged/ate her report card and no longer had a recollection of it. In retrospect, I feel kinda bad for that because the poor soul was racking her brain about the report card she thought she left behind. And this time, for once darnit, it wasn’t her fault!

So three days later than I expected to I had to be read this news over the phone by my husband. Who first ran down a list of all the A’s and V’s (I cannot remember if that stands for victory or very good but only that it’s the best of the non-ABC grades you can get) and then realized there was a – GULP – back page. He flipped it over to see two more classes listed, and there it was, THERE WAS A ‘C.’ And said husband who was reading this could be heard through phone shrugging shoulders because in his experience, ‘C’ means ‘good job’ and isn’t worth discussing further. 

Um. NO. It means you’re average. Probably below average. A C IS HORRIBLE NEWS!! I never got one in my entire existence, although my mom may lovingly point out the ‘U’ for the lowest possible grade of ‘unsatisfactory’ I got in scissor cutting in kindergarten. Which, by the way, was totally her fault because her obsessive-compulsive nature couldn’t handle a 5-year-old in the house with scissors, especially since there was a 2-year-old also living there. I cannot be expected to take responsibility for her cautious ways. I may have gotten a ‘C’ once in Physical Education, too, but upon negotiation was able to convince the teacher to lift it back up to a ‘B’ due to obscure questions about badminton on the exam. All this after living in a home where good grades weren’t really the expectation. Well, they probably were after I made such good ones, but nobody ever told me I needed good grades. I just NEEDED good grades. That’s how I operate, you see.

“Put Abby on the phone,” I said.

And Dan did.

Which shocked me, because he had to have known I might go ballistic about the ‘C.’ Really I had no business doing it, and good for him for trusting me so because as I took a deep breath, I regained internal composure and this is how our conversation went:

“Abby, you got almost all A’s on your report card, honey. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom. Today at recess….”

“Um, that’s nice. I know you’re not a ‘C’ writer Abby, but you got a ‘C’ in creative writing,” I said in the most pleasant June Cleaver voice I could muster. “What’s that about? Did you forget to turn something in or lose a test again?” (Yes, Abby actually lost a test – during the test. It was never found in her classroom again. She does amazing feats of magic apparently but can’t seem to make her broccoli disappear.”)

A pause. Uncomfortably long. I thought an explanation was coming. “No, mom. I didn’t. I gotta go……..”

Dan was back on the phone, and I demanded he search for an explanation before I came home to dig deeper into this mystery.

Abby. Yes, she’s got major focus/attention/hyperactive/behavioral issues. But she’s also still my child, my firstborn who must achieve and please. It runs thick in her blood. And she’s so darn smart and totally undeserving of a ‘C.’

My commute home is 30 minutes. I obsessed over this for 26.5 and listened to NPR news the other 3.5.

My June Cleaver conversation was much more genuine when I got home. More gentle prying. No answers.

I should also note that Abby lies – often. I don’t know if it’s an ADHD thing or a first-born thing in which she doesn’t want to disappoint. (Although I’m firstborn and I never lied. I tried a few times, and my mom could read me like an open book. I don’t even bother anymore. Please don’t ask me something unless you want an honest answer, ‘cause it could be uncomfortable for both of us!) Maybe it’s the impulsiveness of her ADHD or the forgetfulness. We try not to dwell on it too much, but we have to keep asking when we know there’s more to the story. Often it’s just a matter of time before she spills all.

More than four hours after Dan first read Abby’s grades, I’m done fighting with her. The truth is, she’s an AMAZING writer! When she was 5, she started writing these great books with her Mema. They’d write them together, and she’d illustrate them. She writes the best notes for Dan in the wee hours of the morning when she can’t sleep and decides to make her lunch for school the next day. She craves her own blog where she can have not only an unlimited space to document her ideas but also an audience to read them. Abby is one of the very best readers in her class. I KNOW she can write. I KNOW she’s a successful creative writer. I KNOW the ‘C’ doesn’t mean she can’t or won’t or struggles. It’s just a letter, the third letter of the alphabet darn it, and I’m OK with that!

“Mom, you know how you asked if I forgot to turn something in?” she asks as we’re driving home after soccer practice.

“Yes, Abby,” I say and then smile because I feel the relief already.

“I couldn’t find my journal. I looked everywhere, and it’s not in the classroom. And I never brought it home.”

“That’s OK, honey. Just because you got a ‘C’ doesn’t mean you’re an average writer. We all know you are the BEST creative writer. Grades don’t determine success anyway.”

I said that last part through gritted teeth. It was SO hard, even though deep down it’s what I truly believe. Then I added:

“But grades can determine scholarships, Abby, so when you get to high school, please don’t lose your journal.”

The Interview

As a mother of an ADHD daughter, I admit my bias. But I happen to believe wholeheartedly that ADHD children have some of the best imaginations. Abby is inventive and creative -- with no input from us. She comes up with the most unique ways to play, writes wonderfully and builds amazing structures with Legos and Lincoln logs. These are among the many strengths she has. 

Not long ago, she appeared in the kitchen wearing one of Dan's ties and glasses and carrying a clipboard with a list of questions. I wish I had videotaped it instead of photographing it. But it's a great collection of images that represent the usual in our house, which is always expect something unexpected -- but hopefully delightful -- from Abby. We sure cherish the days her unexpected behavior is charming. Most days, as ADHD parents can attest, the unexpected is typically frustrating. 

So, without further ado, here's Abby Denney, manager of the St. Louis Cardinals. She's interviewing a potential player, Mr. Dan Denney of Athens, Illinois. 

 "What position do you play?" "What team do you want to play for?"

"What would you do if you struck out?" "What would you do if you were hurt? Too tired to play?"

"What would you do if you hit a homerun?"

"OK, Dan Denney, you are now a player for the St. Louis Cardinals! Whoo-hoo!!!"

Kids on controlled substances: Crazy...or not?

A few days ago, my husband and I were talking about our choice to put our then 7-year-old on Vyvanse for ADHD. I asked him: “Do you think someday our daughter will condemn us for our decision to give her a controlled substance like we criticize our parents for not buckling us in seatbelts when we were little?”

He didn’t think so. I had to do a little role play in my mind. Surely there were news articles about children flung from cars and killed. Wouldn’t normal rationalization skills make parents (or lawmakers) think seatbelts might help save lives? I suppose some people thought it. Legislation to require smart parenting took another two or three decades, and seatbelt (and car seat) laws have been evolving and improving ever since. Compare that to giving a minor child a drug that mimics the effects of some street drugs. Hmmmmm….can I pretend I didn’t just write that. Makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. How do we know what the long-term implications are? 

I'll admit it doesn't seem like I'm putting my child in direct danger. I mean it's not as crazy out there as putting a child in a “pumpkin seat” on the front passenger seat not buckled down in any way. But I just wonder if some study will come out that makes us think we were all wrong. 

I don't know why I think that, because I can attest to just how well (miraculous-like) the drug works firsthand, illogical as it seems. (Not even medical experts are sure how it works, just that it does -- amazingly!) We knew it was the right decision on Day One when Abby was picked up from a mini cheerleaders camp and told Dan her pill worked. 

“How do you know that?” he asked. 

“Nobody yelled at me today!” she replied. We haven’t looked back since.

No shirt is too unworthy for a temper tantrum!

Yesterday, I experienced a 9-year-old meltdown of epic proportions.

Well, actually the ones we all experienced when she was 7 were probably much more noteworthy, though stashed into my “let’s forget that ever happened” mental folder that I tucked between my own dusty mental folders containing grade school spelling and elementary history. Interestingly enough, it seems I need those other two folders to navigate my children’s homework, not to mention their literary interests. 

Funny how all things old become new again.

It’s been awhile since my daughter has carried on (and on and on) with tears and sobbing that could bring U.S. Army drill sergeants to their knees. The first few times we encountered these severe emotional outbursts, we were angry with her. And we were determined -- like the good parents we were trained to be -- to outlast her. Put our collective foot down and not give in to her whims or acknowledge that her behavior was even remotely acceptable. Besides, how could anyone in their right mind be so upset?

Turns out, those two words – “right  mind” – might have been a key indicator. Several early fits, including one that still strikes guilt into my heart for my unrelenting stubbornness after a full hour of her crying, were indicative of the side effects of her new ADHD medication. Would have been nice if we’d been warned by the doctor so I wouldn’t still be reeling from the side effects of my who-will-outlast-who showdown with Abby over God knows what? The details escape me now. Needless to say, when we realized it was a medication thing, we got very forgiving real fast. We aren't monsters, you know! 

Sometimes when you have a very strong-willed and emotionally-driven child who also happens to have ADHD, the line between what she can control and what she cannot becomes very gray and blurry. So, we’ve made mistakes – hope she’ll forgive us – and applied what we learned as we move forward.

I guess that’s why I am proud of how I responded yesterday. If I had condemned her for her behavior, as many parents would, this breakdown could have lasted indefinitely. I tried a more gentle approach. In a way because I thought – I really, deep-down believed – that surely this wasn’t really over a shirt.

Let me pause here. Because if you don’t know it, my Abby has a thing with clothes. Or, ahem, we have a thing with clothes. What we go rounds about most often is her wardrobe – the fact that she never puts things in the laundry, that she wears dirty clothes, that she wears torn clothes, that she wears the same clothes over and over, that she rips and destroys her clothes, that she won’t even try on half of the beautiful clothes in her closet. You see, I admit, the issue here is my issue. She could care less, and maybe I should be more like her, but I believe in standards – like socks that don’t stink or have holes in the toes. Is that so much to ask? I mean, I’m open and forgiving about the way in which she wears her clothes, despite not understanding it for the life of me.

OK. I feel better. So what happened is this. She and I were painting in my studio with a high school friend of ours. We decided to take a break and go on a hike. Abby wanted to surprise me by wearing jeans and a new sweatshirt I bought her for Christmas (that she pointed out on a rack one day and still hadn’t worn some 13 days after she opened it despite wearing dirty shirts from her summer wardrobe more than once). OK, so I helped her pull her socks over the pants, so I knew my non-jeans loving daughter was actually and truly wearing jeans.

Her brother walked in on her changing her shirt. Word on the street was she kicked him until he left her alone. Moments later, we were preparing to leave, and she wasn’t anywhere to be found.

I called her name. I searched. Finally, I checked the studio. She was bawling in the dressing room and screaming at me not to look at her with the type of desperation in her voice that I attributed to her having done something terrible – ruined a $500 muslin with her paint? Cut her hair? Cut her clothing? Got paint in her hair?

Somehow her brother, and then me, unearthed this surprise of her wearing this specific outfit for a hike. From there, she managed to run to the bathroom and lock the door, screaming and crying about how everything was ruined. And then oddly, if she could just find her brush, life would be good again. Can I say, WTH? 

Dan attempted to gently talk her into opening the door. I really liked his approach. He told her that we couldn’t help her find her brush if she didn’t let us in, and that if she didn’t open the door, he would just get the key. He reminded her several times that we could get in anytime we wanted but that what he really wanted was for her to open the door for us. I like that he was respecting her right to be upset and her right to privacy and to be the one in control. Ultimately though, he had to open the door with the key. Luckily, it didn’t unleash more demons. Sometimes you never know!

In the end, we found the brush. She surprised me with the shirt. I fixed her hair in an all-new do that was a stretch for this mom that can barely do a simple braid (Thanks American Girl for the step-by-step directions and detailed photo!). We hugged, kissed away tears, snuggled and exchanged several “I love you’s.” And I really, really meant it. In this moment of pure vulnerability, I so loved this complicated daughter of mine. (It was like my heart grew three times that day because I saw this stubborn little back-talking creature's potential to just be authentic -- in the good and the bad. I feel privileged to be her mother, and I mean that. Because I'm so full of pride, I don't like to let anyone, especially my mom, see the true side of me! It could be really, really ugly, and that's not how I was raised!)

What I hope Abby got out of it was this: 1. We may not always understand her, but we’ll always love her and embrace her even in her worst moments. 2. Our home is a safe place for her to express her emotions. And 3. We all have bad days, and it’s important to find a healthy outlet, get it out and come back into our arms. Because I know my heavenly Father would do 1-3 for me, and in fact, he does -- over and over again. 

What I hope I got out of it was this: 1. I don't have to totally understand my daughter, but I can still love her even in her worst moments. 2. It’s my job to make our home and my embrace a safe place for her to express her emotions. 3. We can work through her emotions together in a healthy way, and I should be able to hug her wholeheartedly every time even if I don't like what I just saw. 

I know with her temperament and her disorder, we are going to have these days. Especially in the hormonally-charged teen-age years. I am scared to death, but I hope it’s in these baby-step crisis moments that I find the tools and the patience to be the best mom I can for my daughter because I do believe in all my heart that God gave her to me for a reason. We were designed for one another, and I am capable of being her best mom. I just need to believe it – sometimes that will take daily affirmations!