The Color Purple - An ADHD Homework Nightmare

He emptied his backpack onto the living room floor.  It was like Mary Poppins' carpetbag or clowns coming out of a tiny circus car. I still don't know how he fit it all in his backpack to begin with but after he started pulling things out I had no question why he couldn't find the purple piece of paper that was the last and final part of his Service Learning Project Board.

For my two youngest sons, this is their first year back in public school after five years of home school. 
There certainly have been some major adjustments, homework being at the top of the list. To this day one of my favorite things about the home school years was no homework. No homework to keep track of. No makeup work after illness. No homework to agonize over when the meds have worn off and the brain just isn't functioning. No homework to lose.

Keeping track of homework, remembering to do it, doing it, remembering to turn it in are all hallmark problems for ADHD kids (and for adults though it wouldn't necessarily be called homework it would more likely translate into work assignments or projects).

My son's backpack is probably the stereotypical ADHD backpack. Looking at it I, myself, had to wonder how on earth the child is getting good grades and turning anything in on time.

It's simple: his absolute obsession and fear of disappointing a teacher overrides his absolute lack of organization. His anxiety level is intense, it's one of the reasons why we went to home school right before the 4th grade when the class size and intensity of curriculum were both going to take a big jump up. Nightly he paces the halls and worries that he didn't write something down in his planner, no matter how many times he reviews it. Clearly, organization is a coping skill we are working on but haven't come close to mastering.

This project board about sent him over the edge. Projects with lots of pieces and parts are also notoriously difficult for ADHDers. He had arranged to do the 10 hours of service at our local library, as an avid reader this was a magical place to serve. He had written all the parts of the project up, printed out the blurbs and pictures to glue onto the project board which he had painstakingly decorated like a huge bookshelf.  All he had left was the purple paper.

For days I had suggested talking to his teacher. His response, "I can't. I truly fear that woman." I reassured him as best I could, but, her strong PE teacher personality had him shaking in his boots. I've talked to her several times, truth is she loves him as a student, gets a kick out of his unique personality and intensity. But he still wouldn't talk to her. He was convinced that she didn't have any more of the precious purple papers, not one. Sure that he was going to fail the entire project without that purple piece of paper he turned to any alternative he could come up with.

He was going to talk to the girl he was supposed to do the project with, who bailed at the last minute, she might have one. She wasn't using hers, he explained, she's failing the class anyway so she didn't do the project or the board. I questioned whether someone who was that disconnected would have the purple paper. "Good point," he said, "good point."

At my request, he braved the backpack and went through it one paper at a time looking for the purple paper. I tried to edge in a little organizational time by having him sort everything into piles, one for each class. That didn't work, though he did find half of a white copy of the purple piece of paper. Clearly, it wouldn't do, he argues. In addition to being ripped, it was not purple.

He came up with a plan, he was trying to enlist the help of his oldest sister to "forge" the purple paper. She could do the forgery on the computer and then we could go to the store and find the right color purple paper and print it out.  How is this easier than asking for a new one? It's not, but, he reiterated that he really really fears that woman, so in his mind, it was safer.

Board completed. Minus the purple paper, having never found the original. No copy to take from a fellow student. Forgery vetoed by mom and dad. He took the project board to school to turn it in. He was going to have to brave his teacher and ask for a new one to glue on the board.

When he got home from school I asked how it all turned out.

"Oh," he exclaimed cheerfully, "the purple piece of paper didn't have to be on the board."

For your entertainment I have written down some of the fake book titles that my son put on his project board. He and his sister, the one he was trying to rope into a life of crime as a forger, had a great time coming up with them. It was late and the meds had definitely worn off (for both of them).

Sometimes I Eat Paper Clips - Overcoming PICA


Prunes and Prejudice

Fish - A Complete History

101 Ways to Slay a Clown

Mayonnaise is NOT Marshmallow Cream

Tapping Into Your Inner Dolphin

The Super Guide to Malaga and Beyond

How to be a Lumberjack - Sleep All Night - Work All Day

They Call Me The Rabbit Whisperer

Coping with Alien Abduction and Probing

So You Want to be a Llama Herder

Thank Goodness This is the Last Book by Ima Exhausted

and the banned book: 10 Reasons NOT to Get a Colonoscopy

Vacuum Tube Transportation and Other Strokes of Genius

I have to admit, the older the kids get, the more responsible they are for getting their own medication in the morning, the harder time I have managing when they are getting close to running out.  Then, I'm in a rush to call the doctor's office for refill prescriptions, get them to pharmacy, and get refills before they run out.  So, more and more I end up in the drive through line at the pharmacy with one or more of my kids.  They're there because they are completely unmedicated.  Best bet is to take them with me.

Interestingly enough, my 13 year old son was talking about the experience of being unmedicated as we were on our way to pick up the medication.  He said he kind of enjoys being with out medication at first - there's a sort of freedom to his thoughts.  He indicated that at first that is a fun feeling - ideas bouncing around in his brain like a hand full of bouncy balls that have been thrown down really hard on the ground.  A sense that he's carried by his brain - having no control over where it will take him.


But, he added quickly, there's a relief when he takes his meds.  A sense that control is on the way, that soon he'll be able to manage the thoughts running through his mind.  He'll at least have some control over what he thinks about and where it will take him.  What an odd paradox - the freedom feels good but uncontrollable and therefore a little scary.  The control from the medication feels safe but somewhat restrictive.

We were still very much in the "freedom of thought" state when we pulled up to the pharmacy's drive through lane - the one with the vacuum tube that sucks your payment and paper prescriptions up a tube and deposits them in the pharmacy and then sends the medications back the same way.  I thought my boys were going to have an aneurism they were so excited.

They wanted to jump out of the car and into the tube themselves. They wanted to take it apart.  They wanted to know all about how it worked.  They wanted to make a super large one that ran from our house to their father's work and stick him in it every morning to send him off.  Dad's 6 foot 3 - he is a big guy.  This was an amazing visual that they could not resist.  Can you imagine, they mused, somebody's standing at work and wooosh, "Hey, it's Mark.  Mark's here!"  The sound effects and scenarios filled the car.

But what if he got stuck?  Easy, all they needed was a gigantic plunger or maybe a bunch of gigantic plungers.  A hatch would open, the gigantic plunging system would fall into place and plunge until daddy was successfully dislodged and sailing through the vacuum tube once more.  I was slightly disturbed - they were in heaven.

My next stop was to take my husband his lunch and medication, since he is equally as bad at telling me when he's close to out of meds, great at telling me when he has taken his last day.  As he walked up to meet us at the car the boys couldn't contain their excitement - they were talking over each other explaining design and functionality of vacuum tube travel.  The sound effects were flying like bullets in a war zone.

What did Mark have to say about all this, "Hmmm, what if you got positioned in the tube wrong.  You could get a really horrible wedgie."  Well, that was an unexpected answer.  The boys loved it.  Jaren pointed out that they were not going to stick him in the tube directly - he would be in a pod of sorts, sailing through the tube underground.  No atomic vacuum tube wedgies.  Mark was not happy about traveling underground.  He was totally up for vacuum tube travel as long as he could be up high, have a sense he was flying, and a great view. 

I passed out the meds and bottled water.

It was time for a little thought management.  Freedom of thought is not bad thing.  Most of the time it's amusing and certainly adds a lot of humor into our lives.  I am sure that many of the world's greatest creations have come from moments just like ours when one thought sparked another until something totally new and revolutionary came to mind and then into existence.

One thing that all of my ADHD/ADDers have pointed out is that medication does not take away their creativity and, believe me, they are an intensely creative group.  The minds in our house are full of art to draw, music to compose, inventions to build, films to make, and novels to write.  Medication allows them to aim their creativity, to follow through with their thoughts.  It allows them to take a concept, have the wherewithal  to take out of their mind, and create it in the real world.  Not without struggle, but it opens up the potential and makes success plausable.

This same son, Hunter, who was talking about his love hate relationship with medication pointed out that one of the hardest aspects of ADHD and its co-occurring conditions is to have such great thoughts.  So many thoughts that completing any of them is a struggle.  One great thought knocks the other out of the spot light, then that one is knocked by another in never ending bombardment of great ideas. The medication gives him the concentration and focus to further that cascade of brilliance and carefully direct it towards a fabulous end.

Does that mean that those that can't take medication or choose to not take medication are doomed.  No.  We have a daughter who has recently gone off stimulants.  They aggravated her anxiety, impulsiveness, and some other ADHD qualities to that point where what she gained in focus was nothing compared to what she lost to these other symptoms.  She would be the first to tell you how hard it has become to direct those brilliant creative thoughts into tangible completed work.  She's having to master her brain without the benefit of a stimulant and it is exhausting.  It easily one hundred times as hard, but, definitely doable.  Especially, since she is aware of the battle that's raging.  Trust me when I say she has a lot of, "lost the battle but will still win the war" days.

We are still laughing about my big husband, Mark, sailing through the vacuum transportation tube with a wedgie, on his way to work, hoping to avoid getting stuck in the tube, and having to be plunged to continue on his way.  We will be for a long time.  It's not likely that this particular idea is going to be the one we see to completion - I'm not so sure it should be.  But there are many more where that came from, in my house and in houses around the world where these brilliant brains reside.

These are the brains that given the right support, encouragement, and tools will change the world.  They will change the way we see it, feel about it, and interact with it.  The trick for us as parents, teachers, and caretakers of this unlimited amazing potential is to remember the possibilities, continue to encourage, and direct even when we are exhausted from being up all night because that child has insomnia. Even when your teenage daughter is torturing the cub scouts because she's frustrated and over stimulated.  Even when your brilliant child is in danger of failing because they haven't turned in one homework assignment all semester and no one told you until it was almost too late to fix.


The trick is to remember and hold onto the knowledge that they are brilliant because of their unique BRAINS not in spite of them.

Please, No Memorial Day Repeats

As we are approaching the 4th of July I can't help but find myself pleading with Heaven that we don't repeat our Memorial Day mayhem.  The injury was not all that bad but the drama surrounding it wore me out.

It all started with a little obsession.  Weed eating.  My son had made a deal with his father; a video game in exchange for weeding around the house.  This was a big deal.  Hunter became the very definition of hyper focused.  I would never have guessed that, as a parent, I would have to tell a child to stop doing a chore but he was obsessed.

No, Hunter, you may not weed eat in the rain with an electric weed eater.  No, Hunter, you may not weed eat at the crack of dawn.  No, Hunter, you may not strap a flash light to your head and weed eat in the dark.

He was freaking out.  Late rains in the season and weed eater malfunctions were tripping him up.  He was sure that the weeds he had already whacked were growing again.  Finally, all things combined in his favor and we let him back at the yard.  The problem, once he started he wouldn't stop.  We were trying to keep him hydrated, and make him eat.  We finally had to pull the plug and make him stop.  He was very upset.

I consoled him by sending him to the shower, one of his favorite ways to calm down when overstimulated, and telling him to get a snack when he was finished.

He took his shower and headed straight for the peanut butter.  He and his oldest sister are obsessed with peanut butter, they could both eat it all day.  She, however, is much taller and to preserve it for herself stashes it on the top shelf of the cabinets in the kitchen, high above the counters.  Hunter is used to jumping up on the counters to reach it.

This time his aim was off.  He gouged his head on the cupboard corner.  Heads naturally bleed easily and his hair was still dripping wet from the shower.  Blood went everywhere.  Screaming filled the house.  It should be mentioned that Hunter, in addition to ADHD, is very obsessive.  In fact, he has self proclaimed "safety issues."  This is the boy that told me he saw the jaws of life on a TV show and thinks we should get a set for the trunk of the car "just in case."

This is the wrong child to have blood pouring down his head.

We spring into action.  Mark, the first aid guru, goes to look at the wound.  Fernie is trying to help calm Hunter down.  Jaren, who has quite a history with stitches, is lending his support.  I am trying to find my shoes, phone, keys and thinking about how long the ER wait is going to be for a minimal head wound on Memorial Day.

In the mean time I catch wind of an argument brewing.  Hunter's two oldest sisters are arguing over who is going to the ER with him.  Rachel is complaining that Mariah always goes.  It's true, she does, she hates worrying about people that are hurt and not being there to know what is going on.  Waiting is bad, waiting at home feeling helpless is worse.  Consequently, she has been present at nearly everyone in the houses traumatic moments.  It is a favor, really, to all those that would have to sit at home with her and endure her freaking out if she were left home.

Rachel, is so socially deprived by living in the secluded foothills, that the ER on Memorial Day seems like a great way to interact with society.  Clearly, I need to get her into town more.

I hesitated to take them both, the last time I did that was when Rachel went for torn ligaments.  She was so annoyed by her sisters inability to wait that she tried to safe surrender her to the workers in the ER.  "Is there an age or size limit on the safe surrender?"  Rachel asked the man at the admissions desk.  He looked very supportive and understanding as he started to explain the policy. "Cause, I want to surrender her."  she said as she pointed to her then 16 year old sister.

Both girls are now following me around pointing out why they should be the one to go with and how they have Hunter's best interest at heart.  Mary runs by with electrical tape.  Mark is applying direct pressure.  Hannah is serving up cheese cake and peanut butter, feeding the traumatized masses.  Mary is looking for paper towels.  The girls are still arguing.  I don't think Hunter wants either of them to come at this point.

He wants his Dad and Fernie.  Fernie, went with us when he had to have his eyelid stitched up because he ran into another scout.  Fernie, attentively talked about different weapons for hours while we traveled to the ER for that set of stitches and kept Hunter calm. 

I keep telling to girls to stop arguing, it doesn't matter who is going at the moment.  I am trying to call a friend who is a nurse to see if she can look at it.  I am thinking, I really don't want to go to the ER on Memorial Day, spend hours at the bottom of the injury totem poll, and contract some other evil illness that is waiting patiently for me there. 

Mary announces that she has fixed the cupboard, making it safer.  Hannah, hands me cheese cake, that is my weakness, definitely a comfort.  She hands Hunter cheese cake and a huge spoonful of the elusive peanut butter.  The girls are still arguing.

Donna, the nurse, answers the phone.  Thank goodness, she had just gotten home to our remote neighborhood, divine timing for sure.  The girls are still arguing as we pull out of the driveway to have her check his wound.  It is small, Mark tells me, but a little deep. 

Thank goodness she was home, she spared us an ER visit with sound advice and good instructions.

No one went to the ER.  Mariah didn't have to worry.  Rachel missed the stimulating social interaction, but lived.  Hunter's head stopped bleeding and he happily ate his peanut butter.

Everything went back to our normal dull roar of chaos.  Soon you could hear me say, "No, Hunter, you may not weed eat with a head wound."

Life Used to be SO Simple

I was driving the other day and came up behind a truck with this saying plastered to the back window, “Life used to be so simple.”  WOW!  This was very profound and especially hit home this week which seemed to be the explosive culmination of several crazy weeks in which life seemed to go completely sideways. 

So here is why I have not posted in such an intolerably L O N G time.  It started with Hannah’s anemia.  It has been a while now - Hannah has lived a tortured existence of iron pills, multi-vitamins and gross iron rich food.  I can not see a difference.  She is still exhausted, weak, and in pain.  She stays home at least one day a week to try and catch up.

Enter stage right Mark who has decided that now is a great time to abandon good health and be sicker than I have seen him in nearly 19 years of marriage.  A sinus infection and Bronchitis?  Really?  Bronchitis is my game not his.  He has been saying for three weeks now, “Man it stinks to be you!”  I appreciate the empathy but I wish that he would have kept it at imagining life in my shoes rather than living life in them.  He is now on a second round of antibiotics, prednisone, and inhalers.

One week ago Mariah injured her ankle; it has been hard to take it too seriously because she did it while sitting on her bed.  Surely, you can’t do that much damage just changing positions on the bed.  Wrong, she hasn’t been able to put pressure on it for a week, she has a date with the doctor on Monday to try and figure out what is wrong.

So we start the week with three members of the team benched for injury.  We are strong, we plug on, moving forward as best we can, faced with a crazy busy week of writing tests and Blue and Gold Cub Scout Dinners.  We are plate spinning at our best juggling school, church, film, life just to mention a few.

We get to Wednesday.  It is looking like Rachel is getting a little congested but I am hopeful because Rachel, like Mark has a stellar immune system.

We are baking cakes for the Blue and Gold Cake Auction, making casseroles for the potluck, racing to the church, decorating.  I think we have arrived when we sit down to eat.  Ha Ha Ha - silly me.

As we finish dinner and are getting ready to hand out awards when there is a huge collision in the doorway.  Hunter was running to get one of the boys and the boy was running to get into the room for awards. 

You can see where this is going, but here is what I didn’t expect.  The other boy is taller than Hunter and apparently had his mouth open.  His teeth went right into Hunter leaving about an 1 ½ inch gash right below his eyebrow.  

Hunter is realizing he is bleeding and starting to freak a little.  Hunter is a little OCD about such things, often telling people, “I have safety issues.” 

The other boy is walking around clearly astounded telling people, “I have blood on my teeth, but it isn’t mine.”

I grab napkins and slap them on Hunter’s eye.  Rachel announces that we hate to eat and run but that is exactly what we are going to be doing.

I say stitches, the other parents are trying to console me, maybe a butterfly bandage.  Until one grandpa opens it a little and the adults, who are all gathered around looking intently at the wound, step back in unison and announce, “Stitches.”

Off we roll; I drop off kids at home, and take a couple of the teenagers with me, Rachel and Fernando (faithful family friend).  We are on the road for an hour long journey to the hospital emergency room.  Fernando is dedicated about keeping Hunter calm and distracted by talking about various weapons and video games the entire ride.

It does not look good when we get there and of course you can’t help but over hear the horror stories of people there for 6 to 12 hours. 

I call Mark along the way and he wants to meet us at the ER, he has been working on the film after a full work day at the news station and the doctor’s appointment that lead to the prednisone.  Problem he is dizzy sitting down and dizzier standing up.  Not looking like driving is a good idea.

Hunter is sad, Mark is sad….I am SAD but life keeps going and I have to also.  Wait, wait, wait, stitch, stitch, stitch, and we are out of there.  I am thinking this going to be okay.  We get a snack and hit the freeway when Rachel announces she has a bloody nose.

Rachel gets bloody noses pretty frequently so I am not too alarmed…at first.  This bloody nose just goes crazy, the craziest thing I have ever seen.  Blood is pouring out her nose and she is gagging on it going down her throat.  I am trying to find every absorbable material in the car - I am running out.

I am thinking I am headed back to the ER.

But first I have to get some more paper towels or something, so I get off the freeway and think mini-mart.  There are NONE open!  I finally find one BUT they don’t sell paper towels or any towel like item!  After my frantic description the attendant hands me a whole package of there bathroom paper towels and a plastic bag of ice.  Thankfully the bloody nose stops.  We go home.

Wednesday transcended into Thursday - pharmacies, flat tires, more sickness and so it goes, right?

Friday, as I drove Mary to speech therapy in one town and occupational therapy in another town calling home intermittently to check on ankles, noses, and eyebrows I saw that truck, the truck of truth.

Life used to be so simple!

Nesting...and I Don't Mean the Obsessive Desire to Clean

Over the years we as a family have found that we have our own definitions and terms we use all the time – our own family language.  Take for example the term nesting.

Nesting:  When someone refuses to put anything away in its place and insists on having their belongs piled around a central spot like their favorite place to sit or their bed.  Creating a nest of stuff, where everything is mostly visible.

It is a strange phenomenon, nesting, one that took me years to figure out and I am still working on resolving it one child at a time.  It started with my oldest daughter, Rachel.  Rachel loves to draw and has drawn since she was about 18 months old. Rachel, I am sure, is personally responsible for the demise of a good portion of the rain forest.  In fact she is bound to be on an environmentalist watch list somewhere.  All those papers, piles and piles of papers ended up on her floor.  We bought colorful bins and folders, purple binders and decorated file boxes but they were never in use very long.  It was maddening. 

No matter where it started out it would end up in a tight circle with just enough space in the middle for her to sit. I turned to organizing books and plans – all laid to waste by Rachel.  Some did have interesting idea – one of which started me on the path to understanding.  Though I can not remember the name of the book the idea was that you had to organize based on your personality and needs.

This sent me on a quest to understand why Rachel felt the need to have everything she owned in plain sight.  It ended in a very interesting perspective.  Rachel was afraid that she would forget where she put something. She brought a whole new meaning to out of sight out of mind.  All my pretty colorful solutions were blocking her view and enhancing her fear that her memory would fail her. 

In my house, at least, this is a very common manifestation of ADHD (Attention Deficit hyperactivity Disorder) and causes a great deal of anxiety.  It causes anxiety for my kids as they try and keep everything visible; anxiety for me as I want it invisible.

Rachel ended up with very plain clear plastic bins that could be stacked easily and viewed from all angles. When we finally got Rachel’s nest under control we found the most interesting things residing in it.  Not the least of which was a huge red onion. We knocked her nest down a notch or two and made her room manageable for me and for her.  Notice I did not say perfect…manageable is okay.

I wish I could say that clear plastic was the solution to all life’s organization quandaries but then there was Mary.  Mary is my current nester.  She makes Rachel look like an amateur. 

When I brought home the clear plastic bins she wanted to pick the largest most unreasonable things to put in them, huge stuffed animals.  That filled the bins in no time at all with the mashed up faces of Build a Bears.  At this rate her room would have been filled with clear plastic bins and still had a nest of My little Ponies, Littlest Pet Shops, photographs, drawings, writings all held together by some brewing science experiments.

Not the idea or the result I was looking for. She thought I didn’t realize that ploy of distraction to draw me away from the nest of treasures.  I am not so easily fooled.  She may win the battle but I will win the war.

I am currently in the process of figuring out what works for Mary and it isn’t working as quickly as I want it to.  As much as I want to go in there and clean it all for her I know, by experience, that unless she has buy-in and is a part of the solution that works for her then it will be another short-lived de-nesting experience.

Can't help but wonder if this extreme nesting is another side helping from the ADHD buffet of co-existing conditions, maybe a little Obsessive Compulsive Hoarding going on!  Rachel, Mary, and Hunter I can definitely see it...all over the place.  Ahhhhh Hunter, who wants to keep the Hulk big wheel trike he had when he was little, the one that got run over by a car about 5 years ago, for his children.  Along with every paper he ever touched, every item of clothes and every toy.  

In the end i just hope for a reasonably clean room, I hope they’ll have learned to understand themselves a little better and come up with a coping mechanism that will help them manage themselves when they are on their own.   

Hopefully, I can have my house full of kids and be an empty-nester at the same time, hopefully.

Check out this link to hoarding that was sent to me and remember that the internet is full of it (LOL) so judge information you read on it carefully:   

http://www.ocfoundation.info/hoarding/about-hoarding/compulsive-hoarding-syndrome-introduction.php

What Box? Where?

This weekend has given me more material for this blog than I really care to admit.  After all, do I want the world to know that my 11 1/2 year old son, Hunter, tried to flavor his bath water with lollipops.   For that matter do I want the world to know that the summation of the experience was that he thought he really needed more lollipops to make it successful.

Ironically, Mark and I had been discussing our families inability to think inside the box, in fact, as we were reviewing a few experiences it became clear that we are far beyond the notion of 'thinking outside the box.'  We are somewhere around, "Box?  What box?  Where?"

Some people would definitely have issues with our embracing our uniqueness so wholeheartedly.  I am sure that some of our extended family question our tactics, feel that we should conform more.  Teach our children not to embrace who they are and what they are but squash it as much as possible.  As if it could or should be willfully set aside.

I want to be clear that we are not saying we or our children should act any way they please anywhere they please.  We have standards we expect to be met and consequences both good and bad.  We encourage choice with the understanding that they make their choices but do not choose the consequences. We, Mark and I, feel and have tried to teach our kids to embrace their uniqueness while respecting others and the boundaries of the situation they are in.

Boy that sounds simpler than it really is, it is a lot of constant work teaching them to recognize and establish boundaries.

For example, we went out for Chinese food for lunch on Saturday.  Our favorite family owned restaurant, The China Garden (in Fresno, CA).  Hunter's medication was clearly wearing off, actually that was a common problem at the table, and he was getting more and more hyper.    His hyper is not running around jumping on things hyper, his brain speeds up, he will sit in the same spot but is very fidgety and talkative, usually obsessively about one subject. He spent a great deal of time turning straw wrappers into a surly disguise while repeatedly asking Fernando, who is like a big brother to him, about a certain aspect of a video game.

Here is where my standard were enforced.  You can use all the straw wrappers on the table, no matter how embarrassed we get.  You have to stop driving Fernando crazy, and instead of your volume getting louder and louder you need to tone it down.

Fernando had asked him to stop because he was in public, to Hunter he was not in public, he was in a restaurant we always go to.  Hunter's world and perspective had shrunk to the table we were at with family and friends.  I turned him around and had him look at the other tables, "Hunter, this is the public, the other people around you."  Ahhhhhh...public.

So we are adding a sidebar box called Box? What Box?  Where? to illustrate the rather unique thought process and perspective that flows so freely in our house.  The perspective that leads a little boy, Jaren, in a new ninja suit to offer a sweet and humble family prayer asking for protection and safety for his family, say amen and then add maniacally - "protect them except from me." Then strike a menacing ninja pose.

Or to come up to me this morning with these little toothbrush shaped erasers that his sister got for Christmas and tell me that he wanted  his own set of toothpaste and toothbrush erasers so he could draw a picture of nasty teeth and then clean them.

But why encourage that mindset? Mark said this morning, "Our imagination is fed by what others see as impossible because it lies outside the boundaries of their own BOX."

We feed it because on the other side is art, music, humor, literature, film, acting, science that might never be dreamed of or created if we never got outside the box.  I feed it in faith because I am more of a why person than a why not person like my husband.

Yesterday it was a most painful rendition of Phantom of the Opera by a 6th grader that was just beginning to sing, sung over and over and over again. It was her sister who cried because she couldn't read music after her first music lesson but was reading it two lessons later. Today it is Border Patrol sung by those same young women who now have a message to share and the voice to move it forward. (www.blissmethod.com)

Attack of the Breadi

Darth Breader?  Is he white or wheat?  Was he wheat and then came back to the white side? Ahhh the early morning wanderings of the ADHD brain!  A family passion for Star Wars and a long standing debate over white and wheat bread had meshed together, the kids were riding the morning ADHD wave. 

Most of the time I am not as amused by the distractions. The time between when everyone gets up and everyone’s medicine kicks in is entirely too long.  But it was summer and nothing was pressing so I sat back, the passive observer.

Today’s musings centered on white vs. wheat bread.  There they were, all six of the kids then ranging in age from 16 to 7 years old at the time entangled in the heated debate.  They argued over texture and nutrition, lack of time and effort it takes to return white bread to dough form, sculpting abilities and flavor – They divided into sides and clubs; the ‘I love white bread’ club and the ‘I love wheat bread’ club (only to be compared to the past clubs of love and hate for enchiladas, kielbasa and other foods).

The white side even refused to acknowledge the existence of any bread but white bread.  Is there any other real bread?  They manipulated and argued, pointing out that “wheat breaders” do eat the white bread.  Does that make them traitors to their wheat bread cause? The “white breaders” insisted that they would not endorse the creation of a wheat bread army.

 “I am sorry, but the debate is not over. The senate will never approve the creation of a wheat bread army,” Hunter said mixing his current Star Wars obsession with the white vs. wheat issue.

 Maybe they need an army for protection since one of the other kids, Mary, mentioned something about having her younger brother for lunch on wheat bread with BBQ sauce. 

"STOP arguing and TAKE Your Medication!"  It was time to move on with the day.  

Someone cried out for a peace treaty.  The wheat breaders ate wheat and the white breaders ate the last bit of white bread.  What will they do for lunch? They will have to wait for the sequel, Hannah says. . . “Return of the Breadi!” 

On a different day with more pressing obligations, I would not have been so amused.  I would have been frustrated, bordering on angry as I fought the never-ending tide of distractions, as I pushed my crew of six up the river against the stream of their ADHD mindsets. On those days distractions and musings are very similar – I don’t enjoy them as much as I probably should.  Mornings and pressing schedules work in complete opposition to the ADHD brain.  A constant barrage of reminders about things one really thinks should be automatic and not require a parent’s attention: flush the toilet! Put your pants on!  Shoes!

I feel A bit of envy for the mom whose child gets up and ready and out the door in minutes rather than hours.  A driving desire to be more like that sends us on a never-ending quest for morning relief. 

I have used check lists, charts, and set out essentials the night before, so that we could slide the kids from one morning activity to the next, into their clothes and out the door.  I have begged, pleaded and threatened to take people as they were at the designated time – even if that meant they were half dressed and shoe-less. In the end I chickened out, I have yet to take anyone half dressed, ¾ dressed is another story.

One mom shared with me that she dressed her big 12 year old son or they would never get out the door.  She isn’t alone.  At one point I slipped my children their medicine in bed and let them go back to sleep for a little while so that they got up semi medicated – surely the closest we ever got to that ideal of the ‘normal’ house and morning ease.  I stopped that when I figured out that I was losing medicated time in the afternoon – homework time – precious much needed medicated time. 

Structure, my husband suggested over and over – following a flight plan so you have something to return to when they wander off forgetting what to do next.

For a long time, I thought the structure wasn’t working; I have used the same schedule since my oldest daughters were little. Early on I realized that feeding them before I got them dressed just meant dressing them twice.  Our flight plan: they get up, take medication, eat, wash up, and get dressed.  Every day I reminded my kids  what came next, as if this was a brand new system.  A decade of reminders makes you really question your system.

 I was not a believer in the structured morning, but my husband, who has ADHD swears by the importance of routine and heaven knows his routine is critical to the tone of his whole day.  When we changed to home school, I thought I would change the morning routine to  fit our new schedule.  Only then was I taught a valuable lesson.

There was a general revolt!

I was reminded, even lectured that I was wrong and we “didn’t do it like that.” It was obvious that the structure they appeared to ignore was a foundation for them.

In the end, what has changed the most is me.  I started to let go of the “Easy Morning” pipe dream and embrace the morning struggle.  It is our normal. 

Our normal is retelling every dream, talking over each other and interrupting in an effort not to forget that stroke of genius that hit like a bomb and is surely fleeting.  Our normal is bizarre plans for the day and profound thoughts like, ‘Pretend it’s the future and everything is chrome.” Our normal is a spontaneous discussion about Napoleon's European campaign and defeat in Russia.

I have learned to allow more time for normal, even hours.  Learned to roll with it on most occasions, the ADHD wave that rolls through our house .

I stop more to enjoy the chaos and creativity and at least chuckle as I say for the umpteenth time, “that is great, now please go brush your teeth.” and watch as a look of recall rolls over a child’s face, the “oh yeah that’s what I was doing” look.   

The Picture of ADHD

Here are my boys, Hunter and Jaren! They are a couple years apart in age and about the same size in stature. They are often confused for twins. Some people ask me HOW to tell them apart. I tell them it is easy Jaren always looks very put together and Hunter always looks disheveled, like he just walked out of a tornado.


I couldn’t help but think about how individual ADHD can be when I looked at this picture. Believe it or not both boys are ADHD, both take medications (though not the same meds) but clearly there are some differences in how that ADHD comes out in their personalities.

Jaren obsessively fights his inattentiveness and Hunter is overrun by it.

Jaren has responded wonderfully to medication, Hunter has struggled on a journey of trial and error with little patches of success here and there (luckily we are in a good place right now).

Hunter is often drowning in his own thoughts and has a hard time expressing them. One night I asked him if he was swimming in thought. He cried and insisted, “No, there is no room to swim.” Jaren finds expressing them easy, almost effortless and charming. At four he serenaded his pre-school teacher with Phantom of the Opera. He has charm and wit and catch phrases.

Hunter misses nothing, often memorizing books and movies with one exposure reciting them with ease. Jaren has to work at it and often repeats things over and over to learn them.

It would be SO easy if there were a simple way to diagnose and treat ADHD, if you could measure it scientifically like diabetes and give a proportional response. It just doesn’t work like that, it is so much trickier. Each person having their own struggles and reaction to how their brain functions, to this neurobiological disorder called ADHD.

We have always tried to approach each child individually even before we knew anything about ADHD. Teaching, disciplining, guiding, encouraging in a way that works for that individual. We have sought out doctors that are interested in treating our children in the same way that we raise them; treating the child not necessarily the disorder alone. As our psychiatrist now says treating what is in front of you. This is especially important because ADHD in not usually a stand alone disorder, it likes company. My husband Mark often calls it the buffet of mental health issues. A virtual smorgasbord, “I’ll take a little OCD and anxiety with my ADHD, throw a little ODD on there for desert.”

So when the kids piled out of the car for church on Sunday Hunter’s outside so completely reflected his inner struggles I called out to Mark, “Quick, get a picture!” It’s a picture of two brothers who share so much. A picture of how unique ADHD can be.