Meal times

Dinner tonight. I sat at the head of the table. Abigail sat on my right. Seth sat on my left.

Seth dancing.
Me to S: "Hold still and eat."
Seth holds still but shakes his head.
Me to S: Hold still and eat please."
Seth holds still but begins  humming/singing
Me to S: "Stop singing please and eat.
Me to A: "You too."
Me to S: "Don't hit your head. Eat your dinner please."
Me to A: "Use your spoon and take a bite."
Me to S: "You too."
Me to A: "Get your foot off the table."
Me to S: "Get your foot off the table."
Tyler to A: "Foot off the table
Seth: burp
Me to S: "Get your foot off the table, and what do you say?"
Seth: "'Scuze me. Screech!" His hand smacks his forehead.
Me to S: "Eat your dinner please.
The kids look at each other.
Me to both: "The next person to put their foot on the table is excused from the table with no food."

My head was constantly moving left and right. As soon as I'd finish correcting behavior on one side, another would pop up on the left.

Meal times are hard at our house. Seth is confined. He has a simple task to complete and yet he makes it so difficult to do so. There are very few other situations in which his ADHD is more apparent than at mealtimes. He's constantly moving. He'll take a bite of food and stand up while he's chewing. He'll do a few ninja moves and sit down. He'll take another bite, then rhythmically bang his fists on his head. He'll reach out and touch everyone and everything. He'll squeeze my arm and tell me he loves me and then kick his sister under the table. He'll lay down on the bench and hold his breath. He makes noises. All kinds of noises and hand gestures to accentuate him.

I used to hate sitting down for meals with my kids for that reason. I'm always getting after them to do this or stop doing that. Tonight was a perfect example of why I used to hate meals. I still don't love them, but at least I'm able to manage my frustration. When I was dealing with frustration and anger, it was unbearable.

Now I'm not scolding. I'm teaching and reminding. Seth knows how to eat. He just needs to be reminded that it's time to eat and not time to tell the same knock knock joke 80 times. (Especially since he tells it wrong but he's convinced I'm the one telling it wrong.)

And honestly? Now Tyler and I will catch each others eyes over the kids' heads and laugh.

It's good to laugh at these things, right?  

Day Three of ADHD

Living life with ADHD means that we’ll have to make sacrifices. If we don’t, we’re going to pay the price later on.

For example. Last night we went to my brother and sister-in-law’s house for dinner.

Ok, back that thought train up.

Yesterday morning, we went to my nephews’ basketball games. They spilled over passed lunch time. But we had the pizza parlor reserved for almost two o’clock. By the time we finished eating, it was almost three o’clock. But the fun wasn’t over! For the rest of the day, we were in and out and all around flying by the seat of our pants.

And it was great. Seth was great. He had one outburst as we were leaving a fun activity. He holed himself up in a time out and screamed at me that he couldn’t handle me anymore. After I reminded him (Kinda forcefully) that he was allowed to be upset and frustrated, but he was not allowed to yell, he took a shuddering breath, wiped his eyes and said, “Mom. Did you know that some venus fly traps have teeth?”

Thus it is with a kid with ADHD.

The day of games, family and fun ended around 9pm last night.  Over an hour and a half passed Seth’s bedtime. I shook my head the whole way home and said, “We should have left an hour ago.”

This morning, Seth was a terror. An absolute terror. I was physically shoving his church clothes on as he screamed “I hate this day!”

Fortunately, he was able to calm down enough to be good for his teachers at Sunday school. Thank heavens. But all day we’ve been dealing with the consequences of staying out late.

I told my husband, “We cannot go out anymore on Saturday nights.”

He sighed in defeat and said, “I know.”

I wanted to echo his sad little sigh.

It stinks. We don’t like having to stick to a set routine. We don’t like that we can’t just pick up and go out without worrying how Seth is going to react. For years we’ve avoided fun activities because we know when it’s all said and done, our son is going to make a scene when it’s time to go.

We don’t like that.

We rearrange our schedules to make sure he’s not too over stimulated. To make sure he sleeps enough and eats at the right times. He throws fits. In public. And we handle it with patience and calm – which sometimes seems like our five-year-old is walking all over us.

But you know what?

Seth is worth it.

Day Two of ADHD

This morning Seth burst into my room with his “night vision goggles” trained on my face. Meaning two laser points of light were stabbing my sleep weary eyes.

I waved him off with muffled outrage and he disappeared. I blinked at the clock. It was early. Very early.

Today we have plans to go out and do things. And I’m nervous. What if he has a melt down? What if he has an episode where he has an emotional out burst and yells? What if he’s crazy and people look at him like he’s that kid?

And then I remember that we’ve been taking him in public and hanging out with friends for five years now. Why should an official diagnosis hold us back?

Yes, he is sometimes unruly. He says embarrassing things. He forgets and ignores and talks out of turn. But you know what? We’ve been dealing with this for five years.

We got this.

Day One of ADHD

I know today is not his “first” day of ADHD, but it’s our first full day with the knowledge that this is really what’s happening inside his little brain and body.

I admit, when Seth walked into my bedroom this morning and said, “Hi, Mom.” At first I responded by saying, “What?” And then I thought, what is wrong with me?

What’s wrong with me? Well. My relationship with Seth has been straining increasingly thin the last few months especially. I don’t always enjoy being around him because obnoxious. He talks. All. The. Time. He makes these bizarre noises and can’t keep himself quiet. He freaks out over the smallest things and shrieks until my ears start bleeding. He follows me around the house asking me the same question over and over and over and over again, like he didn’t hear the answer the first dozen times I said it. He ignores me when I ask him to do something until I finally pop my lid and yell at him. And then he cries. And then I have guilt for being Monster Mom.

Even the seven hours of mostly uninterrupted sleep does little to soothe my frazzled nerves.

And then, I remember the words of the therapist yesterday.

He can’t help it. It’s not who he is, it’s something he has to deal with. His brain is working so hard. You will help him cope with it and teach him how to appropriately respond, but you’ll never make it go away. If it’s hard for you as the parent, think of what it’s like for him.

And then I think of his laugh when I tell him a joke. I remember how he snuggled me and kissed my arm last night and told me I was his favorite mom. And how he sat down and read Green Eggs & Ham all by himself.

And I blink and see the sleepy face of my darling little boy. And I swallow and say, “Good morning, buddy.”

And he smiles and says, “Morning.” Then he tells me he wants to go find his camera and take pictures.

Knowing he has a disorder helps me not get angry at him. I don’t yell at him anymore. It’d be like yelling at my dad, telling him to see better, without his glasses. That’s ridiculous. He can’t help his eyesight. My kid can’t help his brain.

And though I don’t get mad, it’s still frustrating to have to follow Seth around reminding him twenty times to put his pants on.

End of Day 1: Well. It started better than it ended, though in some ways, the end was better.

While getting his pajamas, Seth pulled out his regular undies to wear. I reminded him that he needs night time undies. He couldn’t find any, and we discovered they were all dirty. So I told him to grab a pull up.

“I HATE Pull Ups!” Which he’s never complained about before. But what I heard was, “I’m unhappy t hat I don’t get to do the thing that I wanted.” So I just hugged him and gave him a kiss and gently pushed him toward the bathroom to grab a pull up. After that it was like pulling teeth to get him to go to the bathroom and put his pajamas on.

By the time he did all that, everyone was waiting for us so we could read scriptures. And wouldn’t you know it? None of the ones we were reading had his favorite phrase: And it came to pass. He refused to read any of them. So we skipped him. And then the wailing began. He tossed and kicked and cried. We read as though he wasn’t bothering us, then we went in the other room to say prayers.

As we knelt to pray, Seth was in the living room dying a slow and painful death. I can still hear his wails of despair.

And Tyler and I broke into a fit of giggles.

Isn’t it better to laugh than to cry? Or yell.

Tyler calmly picked him up and put him in bed. Poor Seth fell right asleep.

I was glad tonight that we have extra knowledge because a meltdown like that would have sent me to the pantry for a stiff drink. And by stiff drink, I mean water with a squirt of caffeinated Mio.

Peace out.