Whack-a-Mole

Remember that game? That's me as a mom (except I really don't hit my kids with a mallet, you get the picture, though). In the ever-challenging world of parenting, I'm constantly trying to find a balance between the three kids so that they each feel equally loved and get what they need from me. Often, I am lost in that process. So I'm making a real effort to listen to my inner-voice and quiet my thoughts. But I cannot put myself first most days. It's just a part of motherhood. This post is about NC and Gracie. That's the beauty of parenting, Ben's turn is surely right around the corner.

Last week, my poor sweet Gracie was sick with a stomach bug. It was the typical run-of-the-mill puke fest which kept me hopping all through the night on two consecutive evenings. This child amazes me in how predictable she is when she gets these things, but because I'm awakened in the fog of slumber I do not recognize the pattern until it is too late. Every single time. She makes a gurgling sound and says "Mommy" three times. Exactly three. And then she lets it loose. And since she was calling (and reaching) for me, I was the target. At the onset of any sickness, this gets my immediate attention, but requires a major cleanup effort. Not only are the surroundings scoured immediately, but the carpet, walls, and the pathway that led to "Mommy". And then there are the middle-of-the-night showers, both of us cleaned top to bottom. Once I'm awake, and she's cleaned up and put back to bed, the sprinting down the hall every few hours commences. I'm terrific at arriving just before that third "Mommy" after the initial shock, and grab the bucket just in time. She's never going to win a contest that involves aim because the poor thing cannot hit the bucket. Ever. She really prefers me.

Unfortunately, this time, I was scheduled to go away for the weekend with my music ministry family for a youth retreat. The band was to perform all weekend for the kids who are preparing for their confirmation. I love doing this, but I was really torn since Gracie was coming off of being sick. She made my decision easy Friday evening, though, when she said she was feeling fine and that she'd be ok until Sunday. She was true to her word, because when I returned on Sunday, she was once again sick. On Mommy. And the massive cleanup effort repeated itself. And here I am having trouble returning to sleep.

The weekend really began Friday afternoon when I received an email from NC's guidance counselor that he had not done his part on the tutoring offered or the assignment book we discussed the week before, so I was feeling a bit hopeless once again with getting him back on track in school. How in the world can I help him reach his potential if he doesn't put forth any effort? I've been telling myself (and him) that if he wants to do better, he will. But I now believe that's not enough. For some people (like me), wanting it is enough motivation. It just comes from within and as the desire builds, so does the drive. With NC, I believe he does want to do well in school, but he does not possess the skill to make that desire a reality. He has a disability. For fifteen years, I've struggled with admitting this. He has a disability.

I believe that his ADHD has been robbing him of a more positive experience with school, and frankly, our family life. And we've been expecting more of him than he can deliver without the right kind of help. When I first graduated from college and began teaching, parents were telling me quite often that their child had this new thing called ADHD. Child after child that I witnessed on this medication had no improvement in concentration, but instead had a more disturbing presence in my classroom. I was convinced at that time that ADHD was not real and quite frankly, the medicine scared me. So the first time our pediatrician suggested that NC might have ADHD, I really did not want to hear it. We tried medication for him, but without the right kind of help, and we failed miserably.

The timing of meeting NC's new ADHD doctor could not have been more perfect. We drove to West Chester Friday afternoon and love him! Not only does he get NC because he himself has ADHD, but NC wants to go back, which he'll do after he's tried his new meds for two weeks. I am struck by just how "real" this disease is as I listen to NC share his frustration - with school, his parents, his teachers. He doesn't know how to fix it, he says. He doesn't know how to make it right. And he doesn't want to disappoint me. He said that school was always easy until he got to high school and he feels Shanahan is really hard compared to Octorara. The doctor asked him, "What's the best grade you ever got at Shanahan?" NC answered, "95 or 100". The doctor replied, "That's your potential, son."

He encouraged NC and reassured me that in his opinion after an hour and fifteen minutes with us, we have a classic case of ADHD (and not bipolar). The good doctor tells us to keep the faith because the trick is in finding the right dose of medication. I'm relieved about the bi-polar part but felt pretty sure that we were free and clear of that one after reading The Bipolar Child last week. Instead, I'm going to focus on helping him learn how to chunk out his schedule so that he can be empowered to overcome his disability. He will overcome this.