Why I'm ODDly ADDing

Being a mom to three hyper kids has always been an adventure.  Having a ramped up personality myself, I figured my apples didn't fall far from the tree.

But as my oldest son grew older, things that should have gotten easier got harder.  My enthusiastic, lovable, adventurous little man grew argumentative, angry and generally unhappy, and I couldn't put my finger on why.  He had a hard time controlling himself, hated school and had outbursts that were more typical of preschoolers.

We started clamping down and disciplining him for misbehaviors and willfullness.  We even canceled his 7th birthday party.  One evening at dinner, he was punished for misbehavior and was not allowed to play with his father's iPad, a usual evening ritual.  The next thing that happened gave me chills.  Unfazed, my son very politely asked for paper, scissors and markers.  He wasn't upset over the punishment, but was very intent on getting something done.  When I inquired why he wanted these things, he very happily said, "I'm going to make my own iPad, so I can play it."

What gave me chills was that he was comfortable with shifting from reality to fantasy as a coping mechanism.  He was so chipper that it was eerie.  While this incident, in and of itself, was not a huge problem, I saw a dangerous future, where my son would easily be able to distort reality in order to cope with an undesirable situation.

I talked with a good friend with a counseling background and the words Oppositional Defiance came up.  I read more about Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD) and found that my son exhibited all six of the symptoms of ODD.  The symptoms were like a playbook of my son's recent behaviors.  While he wasn't busy destroying property or kicking people, I could see that his frustrations, left unchecked, would get worse.  Oh, and get this, punishment and negative discipline is the WORST thing you can do for an oppositional child.  So, while I prided myself on positive parenting, I was falling into the trap of ramping up consequences and shifting into a more negative way of parenting. (That's a whole new post, more on that later....)

A year later, and my son has been officially diagnosed with ADHD.  In fine fashion, my boy hit the double jackpot, Attention Deficit with Hyperactivty and Impulsivity.  Ironically, I never would have entertained the idea of ADHD without first discovering ODD.  I just assumed my son was strong-willed and hyper.  When he was interested in something, he had laser focus, not an attention deficit!  However, that hyperfocus is actually a trait of ADHD.  Go figure.

So now, parenting techniques that may work for neurotypical children will NOT work for my little man.  It is an odd thing that enforcing more punishment just breeds more misbehavior and frustration in our home.  This shift, a new strategy, is why I am now ODDly ADDing.  As a result, my son is getting the help he needs, tapping into his emotions and getting boundaries established in a way that is encouraging and effective, even if it isn't easy.

Easter 2011: His Name is Mark

Easter Lily, a photo by **Mary** on Flickr

I cried when I got the news.  I wasn’t ready for another baby.  I wasn’t ready to add another washing machine to the spin cycle of my life with three other little ones.  After taking the pregnancy test, I wept bitterly and told God that I wasn’t ready for this one.  It was the first time I was not happy about the little blessing growing inside of me.

My world was turned upside down in an instant.  It took about two weeks for the shock to wear off, and in usual tradition, we would tell NO ONE until after the first trimester.  Then, I began to embrace the news.  Yes, I’d have to start all over again with sleepless nights and spit up and diapers.  But, there would be four!  God saw fit to bless me, so I rejoiced in the blessing.  Yes, I was a bit worried that four might be my breaking point, but God knew what He was doing.  My little pumpkin was due November 4^th, a perfect accompaniment for the “biscuit’, my youngest boy.  I was floored that I’d be the mother of four.  I’m pretty sure that he was a boy, but I won’t know for sure until I get to meet him in heaven.

After 11 weeks, I got more devastating news.  Baby was only the size of a 6 week old.  He had not grown for 5 weeks.  It made perfect sense now.  During my pregnancy, I struggled to eat. (Those of you that know me know I love food!) While I didn’t get “morning sickness”, I felt a queasy uneasiness for weeks at a time. 

Did I feel a sense of relief, knowing that I wouldn’t have to start all over again? Not in a million years.  I loved this baby and grieved that I would not be able to see him or get to know him.  It was only 11 weeks, but in that time, I turned my wants and desires to God.  With prayer, I got excited about baby.  Meanwhile, hubby and I talked about long-standing unresolved issues.  We started a new page of dialog in a relationship that had gone dusty and dry with neglect.

A post that really helped me deal with my loss is here.  It’s a bit graphic, but knowing that I was going to go through a miscarriage before it actually happened, I wanted details.  I wanted to know what to expect and the writer’s experience was touching and moving.

 

Thankfully, I was also able to say goodbye in the privacy of home.  As I “birthed” the baby that was not to be, I named him, said goodbye, and thanked God for the precious gift He gave me.  April 20^th, 2011 at 1:55pm is my commemoration, and I decided to name him Mark.  The name is fitting because he left quite an impression on me in his short life.  His name is only one syllable, a break in the usual two-syllable convention I’ve preferred for naming my kids.  Like his short name, Mark’s brief life served a purpose.

I realize even more poignantly what a miraculous gift my three beautiful, healthy children really are.  I envision that as my husband and I made an appointment to see a counselor early in my pregnancy, God called Mark home, telling him that his work here was done. 

Hubby and I are both saddened by the news.  But a spark has started.  A seed has been planted that will allow us to grow and communicate better with each other.  In Mark’s place, our relationship is undergoing a resurrection.  Just as in the Easter Story, I rejoice because while Jesus died, He rose again.  That is the hope that transcends death.

A Contrite Heart

This Lenten Season started with a crushing blow.  After many talks and discussions, elevated punishments and shorted patience, we did the unthinkable.  We cancelled the boy’s birthday party which was to happen in a few weeks.  The behavior in school was getting worse and it didn’t seem to phase him one bit.  So, we had to up the ante.  Interestingly, hubby and I talked it over ahead of time and we were both in agreement about it.

At dinner, hubby delivered the news.  The boy’s face mirrored what I felt inside.  He was crestfallen and couldn’t believe it.  He was also speechless, which is indeed a rare sight.  While I was glad that the boy realized the severity of the punishment, it gave me no great joy to administer the sentence. 

That night, it was also Ash Wednesday.  While I am a reformed Presbyterian, as a Catholic growing up, Ash Wednesday and the Lenten Season are sacred traditions that are dear to me, so I wanted to go to an Ash Wednesday service.  The boy, having lost his TV, computer and games privileges was a virtual prisoner in his room.  So, while he wasn’t exactly leaping at the chance to run off to church with me, it afforded us some alone time to get away from the dark mood of the house.

While the boy was sad, I also felt a wrenching grief inside.  Looking back, there would be a conspicuous gap in pictures and birthday memories for 2011.  There would be no fun birthday party with his friends (and my friends, their parents!)  The time that I used to mark my induction into motherhood would also be an unmarked blip in space.  Heck, the birthday party, while it’s something done to honor him, is something important for me as well!

One of the most poignant parts of the evening was when the boy lamented, “I wish I could take back time.  I’d do things better and I’d have my party.”   I said, “You can’t go backward, but you can go forward.  There will be other birthdays and other chances.” 

We trodded off to church with our heavy hearts.  I had already explained that the church service was going to be a solemn event.  There wouldn’t be any joyful singing or carrying on like that.  And yet, the service was a divine blessing for both of us.  While it might have been spooky for the boy to understand that our bodies turn to dust when we die, the sadness of recent events really brought home what Ash Wednesday means to me.

Do I love my son less because I took something away from him and had to punish him?  Certainly not.  In the same way, God sometimes allows bad things to happen to us, or more importantly, to His Son, Jesus, so that we can try to understand the depths of His love for us.  My son will still make mistakes and need correction and forgiveness.  In the meantime, I will never stop loving him, even if he doesn’t “get it”.  God is the same way with us.  Even when we mess up, He is still there to forgive us and guide us, if we let Him do it and get out of our own way.