You Can't Just Spank It Out Of Them

Now that elections are over, and political articles and posts are dying down, it seems like the judgmental parenting one’s are again taking over.  Specifically, I have seen no less than 4 on children with ADHD or Autism in the last 24 hours.  While most of the articles and blogs are positive, there is always a barrage of negative comments, or sharing of the articles with a negative post.

As anyone who regularly reads this blog, or those that have known me for a while, knows, my 15 year old has ADHD. He has a couple other side diagnoses too, which is typical for kids with neurological disorders.  Fighting the ignorance on these disorders is something I will do till I’m dead, because I know first hand how that ignorance can affect a child’s life, well into adulthood.

The biggest fallacy that people cling to in this area is that ADHD is not real, and that parents just don’t discipline their children.  Let me talk about that for a moment.  People that have met my son in the last few years, they looked shocked if he mentions he has ADHD.  Some of those people may be shocked right now reading this, they see a polite, somewhat shy, smart, sensitive, caring, athletic, disciplined, amazing teenager.  Why?  Not because I am a lazy parent who sits on the couch eating bon bons and watching TV while my child runs wild, but because as a parent of a child with ADHD, I have invested huge amounts of energy in finding resources, treatments, and strategies that help him cope with his symptoms and frustration. 

For us, one of those is medication.  Medication that gets him through the school day and wears off in the late afternoon or early evening.  He doesn’t take it so that I can drug him into submission and not deal with him (though it is nice when it’s still in effect and he isn’t a constant chatterbox), it has worn off by the time I am around him.  It is so that he can focus in school and learn.  It is so the stimuli isn’t all hitting him so hard he can’t filter through it.  It is so he has a chance to process his feelings and thoughts without something else interrupting.  It is so he can practice the strategies we’ve worked on for years.

When my son was younger, before anyone would listen to me that something was wrong, I was more of a disciplinarian than I am now.  He was grounded, he was spanked, he had toys taken away, and privileges revoked.  Yet, he still was not reaching his potential in school, I got notes and calls from teachers, he was actually suspended once in the 3^rd grade, he would hit me, throw things, destroy his belongings, lie constantly.  We did sticker charts, behavior contracts.  When I pushed, teachers told me they were going to get him tested through the school system, and none of it ever came through, and many of those same teaches treated me very condescendingly at conferences, as if I was to blame for everything.  I spent way too much time hiding in the bathroom crying out of frustration.

For my son, a turning point came at the end of 5^th grade, when a new teacher (I think he had 4 different teachers that year, which definitely wasn’t a help!) had a conference with me, and to my surprise agreed with everything I said about my son, because she actually saw his full potential.  She encouraged me and helped me to get private evaluations done because it would be much quicker than going through the school system.  She filled out paperwork in a very short time frame for the neurologist evaluating him, and the summer between 5^th and 6^th grades he started medication.

Because we don’t really just drug the children of our society, the doctor started him on a very small dose.  It can take a while to find the right medication and dosage that works for a child.  While we worked everything out with the medication, he still struggled, and ended up failing 6^th grade.  However, about that time, we found the right medication treatment and I enrolled him in a private school for children with learning disabilities.  The child he always was, was finally visible. 

He excelled in school, getting all A’s but for ONE B in the next three years, and now in a regular high school he is still getting all A’s and B’s.  There were not nightly fights about homework.  I no longer had to ask him for a 5 minute break here or there, because he discovered how to entertain himself.  He still hates grocery stores, noisy restaurants, and crowded events because of the amount of stimuli, but he can handle them without a meltdown.  We still technically have a behavior contract, but the only part of it we look at anymore is the part about school grades, specifically the rewards he earns for them.  He now has an “off switch” that he can control. As a hormonal teenager, he can get loud and rude and obnoxious when I ask him to do something or not do something, especially after his meds wear off, however I have learned to tell him he is being unacceptable and walk away, and wait the 10 minutes for him to calm down and inevitably come and apologize to me for it and then talk about the problem and he follows through on my requests. And, well, I hand it to the naysayers, I rarely, very rarely, discipline my child anymore.  I don’t need to.  Those lessons that I tried to teach when he was younger, they actually did sink in, it was just hard for him to find them before.  If he does get stubborn, all I have to do is give the look or, at the worst, start to pull the cord out of his PS4, and there are no more issues.  He has really come to recognize his symptoms and is in control of telling his doctor if he needs a medication adjustment, as well as learned how to recognize them in others.  We often give each other that knowing, our heart feels for them look when we see a child struggling with his own issues.

A neurological disorder is not something you can just spank out of your child.  It takes a lot of hard work, education, rethinking how you deal with your child.  And it takes TIME. Time in which both the parents and the child are frustrated and working hard. The next time you see a mom in the grocery store who looks like she is about to burst into tears because her kid throws a box out of the back of the cart on the floor AGAIN, try picking it up for her instead of giving her a dirty look.  She might just think back on it at the end of the day and feel encouraged, instead of having to cry in the bathroom.

That’s why they have wine.

It's The End Of The World As We Know It....And I Feel Fine.

On the way to school this morning, my son, a high school freshman, asked, “Tuesday is election day, right?”

“Yes”

“Ok.  Then Wednesday is the end of the world.”

Election time.  Isn’t that kind of how we tend to react?

8 years ago around this day, that same son got in the car after school and said, “Mom, you are a racist.”

“Um, what?”

“We did mock elections at school.  If you don’t vote for Obama, you are a racist.”

I tried to teach him his first lesson about voting.  “You don’t vote for someone because of what color they are, you vote for them if you feel they represent you.  You vote for a President based on if you think they will be a good representative of our country and you have the same kind of opinions they do.”

“Well, according to school, you are a racist.”

Ok, then.  Apparently he was not ready to learn politics.  He was 7.  Unfortunately, there were people who were old enough to vote that weren’t ready to learn that either, so, I resigned myself to being labeled a racist, I was still going to vote for who I felt was the best candidate for me.

4 years later, my son was much more interested in what was going on.  I told him the candidate I was voting for, and why.  I explained differences between beliefs of candidates.  He followed the campaigns.  He went in the voting booth with me and read everything, and we discussed the amendments. He watched the election results all night. Again, in school, they had lessons revolving around politics, and had a class President election.  He introduced his grade to the Libertarian party, and subsequently became their Libertarian President-elect.  I’m pretty sure, however, that his promise of “Fun Fridays” appealed to all, regardless of party.

During this time my son actually APOLOGIZED to me.  He now understood why I voted for who I do, and he couldn’t believe he ever called me racist.  He’d learned a true lesson, not only that you should vote for who you feel would be the best President, but that sometimes politics are really ugly, and we try to influence people by calling names, a tactic most 11 year olds can tell you is pretty counter-productive.

This year, he didn’t have to ask me who I was voting for, he knows me well enough by now.  And, well, that Johnson/Weld sign in our front yard kind of gives it away.  We still talk about politics.  He actually got me back into listening to talk radio a few years ago due to his interest, so we hear a lot of things in the hour and a half or so we are in the car together every day (thus his sarcastic doomsday comment this morning).  He laughs when I yell at the radio and tell them they are wrong.  He asks questions if he wants to know more about something.  He’s formed his own opinions on the candidates.  I’m pretty sure he’s glad he’s not old enough to vote.

Most importantly, he’s gotten to see what the third party movement actually is, and he has learned that our choices in life aren’t really as narrow as the majority would have you think.  He’s learned that being successful doesn’t necessarily mean winning.  He’s seen that getting excited over the small stuff can be a big deal.  He sees parents who don’t back down on expecting our leaders to have integrity and be someone we can be proud of, and none our discussions have had to be why it is OK for Presidential candidates to do and say things that he would be grounded for life for.  

I don’t expect Gary Johnson to win the election tomorrow.  Gary Johnson doesn’t expect Gary Johnson to win tomorrow.  But we’ll be watching the results, not to see who wins (after all, Wednesday is the end of the world!), but to see if history will be made in Johnson getting 8%, which will give the Libertarian party equal access to state ballots and funding that the major parties have, thus the beginning of the end of the era of the two party system.  Some people will consider it success if we have our first female President.  Some will consider it a success if we build a wall.  I consider it a success if just one more person did some research on the other candidates.

Revolutions can start small, but they can have a big impact.

Make sure you vote, for whoever you feel best represents you.

That’s why they have wine.  Here’s to successes, not matter how small!

Be Not Ashamed

Shame, it’s a powerful weapon.  One that seems to have become quite popular, especially on social media.

And one that is often misused, sometimes even unintentionally.  We’ve somehow found ourselves in a time where we have decided our dislike of “political correctness” gives us justification to treat other members of society in demeaning ways, to not give a second thought to how they feel, to write off anyone else’s opinions, or, sometimes, even facts.  We have decided our opinion must be the only way, the right way, because we’re the only ones to speak up and call out the other opinions as politically incorrect.  In reality, we are just trying to get them to not voice their thoughts, to make them feel ashamed of their opinions.  We are actually just being mean.

There is a place for shame, but, ironically, it’s often missing from that place.  Shame should serve to stop us from actually doing things that are inappropriate, immoral, illegal.  It is the emotion that helps us to feel remorse when we have crossed those lines.  It’s not something that is supposed to be used to make others feel at fault for something they have no responsibility for, and to justify our behavior in making them feel that way.

Some of our shame is very ingrained in society.  I grew up in a home with an alcoholic parent, it was a very dysfunctional environment.  I’m not even supposed to say that out loud.  Shame is supposed to make me keep those facts hidden.  Ironically, most of my memories are actually of the shame.  That shame, while I, myself, am no longer ashamed, is keeping me from writing any details because it could trigger shame in family members who read this.  This isn’t how we are supposed to live.  I shouldn’t feel some kind of blame for things that I didn’t even do.

Things I didn’t do.  That seems to be what we like to shame, actually.  We like to kick those that are already down.  Maybe it makes us feel better about ourselves, about our own shame, to shame others.

Children are often shamed, particularly those with disabilities.  What kind of cruel people are we?  Read through your Facebook feed.  There might be a post about a horrible, horrible 6 month old that had the audacity to cry when their diaper needed to be changed, ruining someone’s trip to the grocery store for a carton of milk.  There might be a complaint that someone couldn’t send in peanut butter cookies for a class party because a child in the class had a deadly allergy.  There might be several memes suggesting a child with ADHD just needs to be spanked.  There might be comments on all of those that suggest that the child and the parent’s should be ashamed how much inconvenience they cause, just by existing.

I have a child with ADHD.  I’m not supposed to say that either.  I’m supposed to keep that secret, or else everyone will know what a terrible parent I am, how ill behaved my child must be, and that I’m just perpetuating a myth that striking a child with a belt doesn’t solve all problems .  I’m not supposed to say that he takes medication, or else people will think I am just drugging him like a zombie.  I’m not supposed to let him talk about it for all the same reasons.  I’m not supposed to let him know it is no one’s fault that he has a neurological disability, that it even IS a neurological disability, that it is something that neither he nor I caused, that there are actually some benefits that it gives him.  I’m not supposed to let him feel OK with it, I’m supposed to tell him to keep it secret, to be ashamed. To be ashamed for something that is not his fault, that does not make him inferior, that only gives him a few obstacles in life just like we all have.   I’m not even supposed to say that he’s actually one of the most polite, well behaved boys you will ever meet, because that doesn’t fit the narrative.

A recent news item has brought the treatment of women into the limelight, from catcalling to misogynistic statements, to name-calling, to inappropriate workplace behaviors, to actual assault.  I am a victim of all those things, but, again, I’m not supposed to say that either. I’m not supposed to have any sort of emotion whatsoever when someone calls other women derogatory names or judges their abilities on their looks. I’m supposed to feel like anything that is directed at me is/was my fault.  I’m supposed to feel like “boys are just boys.”  I’m supposed to believe that I don’t really understand what sexual assault is.  I’m supposed to think that if any woman ready a particular book, that no woman is allowed to speak out.  I’m supposed to believe that I can’t tell the difference between someone whistling at me and someone raping me, that I think it is all “assault.”  I am supposed to be too ashamed to say when something happens, and then I’m told if I don’t tell someone right away that I can’t possibly be telling the truth.

Shame.  I’ve decided to not let it be used against me anymore.  When I first became very public about my son’s ADHD, you have no idea how many other moms, and even some adults, told me in private messages and whispered conversations, relieved to have someone to talk to, that they were dealing with the same issue.  The same shame.  It was almost as many as have started to speak out on the issues that affect women.

And I’ve only touched on the tip of the iceberg of the things we shame people for – religious beliefs, physical appearance……even what kind of food someone chooses to eat - I could probably write a book.

We’re all in this life together.  Have some understanding, have some respect, realize that many problems are not just something made up to advance political correctness, but that they are real and can cause hurt.

That’s why they have wine.

What That Meme Tells Me

That meme.  That one.  You know, the one that appears to be mandatory to post for every supporter of a particular candidate.  The one that accuses people of being offended by a subject or words, while feigning ignorance to what the context means.  Yeah, you know it.  The one that tells me I’m a hypocrite for finding something despicable when I’ve bought or read “50 Shades of Gray.”

Except, I haven’t.  

So I guess I have your approval to write this blog.  Not that it matters, because I don’t need your approval, I am lucky enough to live in a country that gives me the right to express my opinion, whether you like it or not.

Let me start with a disclaimer, to stop the other talking points that everyone finds so factual.  I don't plan to vote for Clinton.  I condemned what Bill Clinton did and still do.  If this kind of fact comes out about who I do plan to vote for, I will be writing in Mickey Mouse.

Let me tell you what I hear every time I see that meme:

• As stated above, I’m not allowed to have an opinion if I read a book.  A fictional book.  One that has no possibility of having an impact on my life for at least the next 4 years.2.      

• I’m obviously a hypocrite.  Because ALL women have read the book, and that the book about a consensual sexual relationship is an indicator of our morality.  Well, maybe I should read it, because I do support consensual sexuality.     

•  You don’t get it.  You really don’t, or you think it’s better to feign stupidity.  It’s not about the “dirty words.”  Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy….look, I can say that. (And darn, now my cat thinks I’m calling her.)  It’s about those words in context.  It’s about what the context means.

• You don’t think I can understand the context, and that I’m going to fall for the accusation that I’m just offended by words.  Guess what, women are not stupid, at least not all of us.

• You think all people need a tic-tac so that they can go kiss some unwilling person, that’s what you all talk about with your friends.

• You think that women are dying to kiss that man or be groped by him.  Or you.  It’s just a fact.

•  You are so enamored by a charismatic person that you don’t care what they do or say.  That is actually just downright scary.  His wife, running mate, and even himself can say it was offensive, but you will defend it as harmless locker room talk….   

• YOU THINK THAT A MAN TOUCHING OR KISSING A FEMALE JUST BECAUSE HE WANTS TO IS OK

I’m not a person who is offended by much. I have male friends, I roll my eyes at their actual “locker room” talk, but I’m not offended by a man finding a female attractive.  I’m actually not OFFENDED by what this candidate said, I am saddened.  I am saddened that there are men who still think women are nothing more than objects for their pleasure.  I am saddened that it’s so widespread that we find that to be acceptable.  I am saddened for anyone who has actually endured some type of sexual assault (including myself, sadly, millions of women have been), I am saddened that there are a number of friends that I will never see the same way again, and really unsure if I want to associate with them if they think that those of my gender only have the worth of their “pussy.”  Especially when they themselves are female.

I don’t have issues with people for voting for a particular candidate because they think they are the best choice.  I don’t let politics get in the way of friendships.  You vote for who you think is best in your opinion, I will vote for who I think is best. But I do have standards for those I choose to call friends, and one of those is that they don’t condone sexual assault, or the vocalization that it is OK.  I’m hoping some of you, those who really think they are just somehow being patriotic, will rethink what you are telling others.

That’s why they have wine.

I've Got This

In the last month or so, my son has started high school, started playing baseball for school, and has been given house keys.  And he is handling it all like a champ.

Those that know me, know my son, like his mom, can be an anxious kid.  This mom, however, has always had a goal to not let him suffer from it the way I have at times.  My many years of “You’ve got this” have now turned into “I’ve got this” and I couldn’t be prouder.

While anxiety is a struggle, understanding it personally does really help when dealing with it in someone else.  When my son is uncomfortable with something new, I instinctually know why, and can give him the tools and the coping mechanisms, and, most importantly, the security, which I wish someone had given me.

He likes to know the details:  What time are you going to be here to pick me up?  Where will you be? What time will you get to the game?  What if it rains?  Where do I store my equipment bag during the day?

Having the plan is key, and having a cell phone for when the plan goes astray is a wonderful thing.

In this last month of changes, a month that has made me an anxious mess, he’s been prepared.  I was a lot more nervous about the first day of school than he was (he played summer baseball for the school so he would know some other kids before going).  Anxiety about going out for fall ball was quickly alleviated by some answers I got from some of my fellow alumni about the program.  Realizing he could do those things, he’s really started to not need me anymore on anything else.  He’s got this.  He has taken things to the office for me, found out information about downloading text books we bought online, figured out software he needed for school, and a million other things, all on his own.  When I told him another player’s mom would be picking him up to drive him to Away games, he was fine with that, no complaining and no questions asked, though he used to not even want anyone but me, not his Grandma, not his Dad, no one, picking him up from school at all.  He does his homework without prompting, and WANTS me to look up his grades so he can gauge how he is doing. 

When we gave him house keys last week so he could stay at his friend’s house after we left for some errands, I let his friend’s mom know what we were doing.  He got mad at me, “Mom, I’VE GOT THIS!”

When I left to meet a friend yesterday evening before his dad got here to pick him up for the weekend, I told him his bag and keys were on the kitchen table, and didn’t worry about it.

He’s got this.

It makes me so happy to have a confident teenager.

That’s why they have wine.

The Gift of Confidence

Confidence.  It really is an important thing in life.

I’ve always been strong willed and independent and marched to my own beat, but I didn’t always have the confidence to show it.   I remember both high school and college fondly, I really did enjoy my life, but there are things that when I think about them, I want to slap myself for.  Things I should have done, not done, stood up for, had influence on.  Things that I was just too shy and not confident enough to do.

Right now, at the age of 48 and ¾, I consider myself a confident person.  I still have some things that make me uncomfortable (talking on the phone, attending events alone, public speaking….), but that is more because I’m just an introvert.  Now you can’t get me to NOT express my opinion, to not take the action I feel is right, to not feel like the most important person to make happy is myself.  It took a long time and a lot of work to actually make it here though.  Having a child was actually a big help, when the only way you can make it through the grocery store is to sing along with the song playing on the speakers, LOUDLY, to appease your toddler, you have no choice but to let go of a lot of that pesky self-consciousness.  Having people actually finding my sarcastic wit to be funny when posting online was actually another big help, technology has been my friend.

I am proud of who I have become.  I am proud because I really, truly LIKE myself, and I really, truly, don’t care if anyone else does.  That, to me, is really what confidence is.

I know that in some political opinions, making sure your child has self-esteem is considered some kind of crazy notion, but, really, I think that is the biggest benefit you can give your child to get them through life.  Real self-esteem, that which comes not from just telling them they are great all the time or spoiling them or especially not teaching them that they are better than others, but that which comes from realizing we all have strengths, that we all have flaws that we have the capability to overcome, that we are worthy of love, especially love that comes from within.  That is what builds confidence.  It took me years of therapy and surviving bad choices that got me there, I’d rather try to give my own kid an easier road.

What made me even think about all this?  Blow drying my hair this morning.  Yep.  I’ve always hated my hair.  Its baby fine and easily gets split ends and ties itself in knots once it reaches a certain length (which is not even to my shoulders).  I listened to people who told me I should have longer hair, even though I felt it looked terrible and was really a pain to do anything with.  I usually just pulled it back in a ponytail because I couldn’t stand it.  I didn’t have the guts to try to find a style that might actually work with my hair.  A couple of months ago, I decided I wasn’t going to worry about what anyone else thought.  I got my hair cut short, and not just short, but cut in a rather alternative style.  AND I LOVE IT.  I’ve gotten negative feedback on it.  I don’t care.  This is the first style I’ve ever had in my life that I actually think looks good on me and works with my hair.  I feel good every day when I leave the house.  I feel confident.

It’s a great feeling that no one, no one, should have to wait until they are almost 49 years old to experience.  I am thankful for all that happened in my life because that is what got me to exactly where I am right now, but who knows what else I may have accomplished. Make sure you do all you can to give your children the gift of confidence.

That’s why they have wine.

The Days of Princesses and Chicken Nuggets

As this was a holiday weekend, everyone in our home had a 3 day weekend.  The teen, he got even more, as he got a “hurricane day” on Thursday (his school, in the next county, was actually open, but I kept him home, the schools in ours were closed), and Friday was a scheduled day off for a Teacher Work Day.  On Saturday, my husband asked the teen if there was anything he’d like to do, anywhere he’d like to go this weekend.  Nope, nothing.

You’ve got to know what to ask.  I asked him yesterday if he’d like to go to Disney Springs, as I knew he was intrigued about a new store there, Trophy Room, affiliated with Michael Jordan.  He said yes, as long as he could “relax” on Sunday.  Relax? I’m not sure I’ve seen him leave his room since Wednesday after school, but at least he agreed to put on shoes and leave the confines or our property for a while.

We are Disney passholders, I can’t even count how many times we’ve been there over the years.  Today, however, I was a bit amused by the differences between when my son was younger and now.

At 5 years old, he would be awake at sunrise, ready to go.  At the parks, we HAD to wait in line to see Mickey, and even more importantly, Minnie and Daisy Duck, and perhaps a princess or two.  Every gift shop that had stuffed animals was a must do, and I’m pretty sure we never left without a new one.  Ice cream and popcorn and candy called his name at every possible location.  When at Disney Springs (which was then called Downtown Disney), we spent most of our time in the toy store, the pin store and carts, and the water fountains that the kids could run in.  I’ve even had to buy him new expensive Disney clothes in one of the shops (hmm, perhaps that was his plan), because his wet clothes from the fountains he spent HOURS in would irritate him to the point of tears.  When he got hungry, we’d get chicken nuggets for him at McDonalds.  He spent the day saying “I love you” and hugging me because he was so happy.

Today, he had one goal, to go the Trophy Room.  I had to wake him up at 9:30 this morning, and he slept in the car all the way there.  Though he has a good bit of money still left from Christmas and his birthday and for getting all “A’s”, he bought nothing there. He wanted nothing to eat, and when I got lunch, which was a bigger portion than I could eat, he wouldn’t even eat half (though he did eat my entire side of homemade pickles).  I couldn’t tempt him with cupcakes or candy.  As far as McDonald’s, it’s no longer there, and that is alright as he hasn’t eaten at McDonalds in years, because it is “not real food.”  As we walked through the new part of Disney Springs, with which we are not familiar, I asked him if he wanted to look at the directory to find his store.  He said no, that I should just pick a direction, only for him to tell me 5 minutes later that I picked the wrong one.  He spent our time telling me I was blind because I didn’t notice that there were a lot of people in FSU shirts, and that I didn’t notice a selfie stick.  He didn’t want to go in the toy store at all, and about the time we reached that far, he asked if I was ready to go.

At least he still enjoyed smelling the soap with me in Basin, and getting his free chocolate sample in Ghiradelli.

Kids grow up so fast, take advantage of every moment. That’s why they have wine.

*And I do know he still actually had a good time, because when we got in the car to go back home, he said “I love you, Mom.”  That is Aiden-code for “Thanks, I had fun.”  That, and he was a little taken aback when I told him when he and I go for an overnight at Disney next month, after I drop him off at school in the morning, I’m going back to Disney Springs to do some shopping while he’s in school.  A mom needs a little quiet shopping time sometimes, where she doesn’t have to worry about what team’s jerseys people are wearing!*