My Dreams Are Pinned to a Shiny Red Bicycle

I am pinning all my hopes and dreams on a small red children's bicycle. OK, that might be a little too dramatic. But it is totally true to say I am pinning a lot of hope onto this shiny new bike. My youngest son's shiny new bike. I have prayed for a breakthrough like this. Yes, I have prayed for the power of a bicycle to come and rescue my son. To some my bike prayers may seem silly. To me, it's just another day.

My youngest son has RAD. Reactive Attachment Disorder. This is the latest in an alphabet soup of diagnosis. ADHD, (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). SPD, (Sensory Processing Disorder). PTSD, (Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome). Possible FAS, (Fetal Alcohol Syndrome). Toss in anxiety and you have an alphabet soup no parent would wish to serve their child. I have come to learn that the diagnosis doesn't matter as much as the treatment. And I have learned that it is not one size fits all when it comes to treatment.

OK, now it's test time. Let's practice that alphabet. The SPD my son displays is a direct result of his FAS and RAD. One of the treatments for this is to teach him to take what we call "sensory breaks". We want him to take these breaks to break the cycle of hyperactivity, brought on by anxiety and PTSD. He doesn't want to take these breaks because he likes the way he feels when hyperactivity sets in. Plus this hyperactivity causes chaos in the household, which keeps him in control, something he is seeking thanks to his RAD. Got it?

The types of activities he needs to complete for these sensory breaks does not always make sense to someone not well versed in how the brain works. Which is me. With my oldest son, if I want him to calm down, I simply tell him to stop whatever activity is winding him up and offer a quiet one, such as an art project, a walk, or a TV show. When I want  my alphabet soup son to calm down I need to offer him activities such as jumping, bouncing, swinging, push ups, and bike riding.  And it usually goes something like this:

Me: "Let's take a sensory break!"
Son: "NO!"

And this goes on for a while. And then goes on some more. He'll try an activity and then discard it 30 seconds later. He doesn't want to change, and he cannot process why this would be good for him. As he winds up tighter and tighter his older brother watches and decides he wants to join in the fun. While he will listen when I tell him to stop, he cannot fully process they "why" part of my request either. And I wind up feeling like the mean mom who never lets her kids have any fun. I can't win, because if I let the fun and hyperactivity continue it will literally take hours for the youngest to wind down. He simply cannot play like other kids. Confused? Me too. Imagine how difficult this is to explain to a 7 year old!

So, back to bike riding. After years of refusing to pedal a bike my youngest has finally joined the party. And we celebrated by getting him his very own bike yesterday. He was beyond thrilled. After trying it out last night he asked if he could ride it some more this morning. (Notice I said he asked. He didn't demand. He didn't just run outside and do it himself. He asked! Progress. Slow, but it is there.)

He likes to ride his bike. Maybe, just maybe, he will occasionally accept this as a sensory break. Maybe he will do this activity for longer than 30 seconds at a time. Maybe he can complete this activity with his older brother without it going south and ending up in hurt feelings and tattling. Maybe I can actually do something else, every once in a while, instead of standing over him administrating a sensory break.

I have learned that there are no quick fixes here. It will take years to bring my youngest son back from the edge of early life trauma. So I celebrate this tiny victory that has been won in the form of a shiny red bicycle. We celebrate the small stuff around here, the every day, the mundane. There is always something worth celebrating- that alphabet soup of diagnosis? They keep our young family on a constant roller coaster of emotions, so we look for the small victories. And today that victory comes on a bike. A shiny, red, big kids bike. And I could not be more proud.

Things I Learned While Spending Alone Time With My Husband This Weekend

 

 

 

 

• My boys can survive without me. In fact, the frustrating four year old is even better behaved when left with his aunt. Said aunt has been warned- more visits to come!
• The frustrating four year old CAN, in fact, sit still and occupy himself while his caregiver makes dinner. (I have not seen this, but I swear this is what was reported to me.)
• Grandparents with older cell phones live on "retiree time" and don't always call to let you speak to your super six year old when you wish they would. But they do eventually call, and always, everything is fine.
• Wine tastes better when served in a real wine glass and not being drunk out of a plastic child's cup in between folding laundry and refereeing fights between small children.
• If I stand over my husband at the casino slot machine chanting "Bet max! Bet max!" repeatedly, he will give me more money to lose  spend at my own slot machine.
• Old bank buildings do not always convert naturally into hotels. The echo at the front desk would drive me insane if I worked there 8 hours a day.
• Tiny elevators that can barely hold two adults and one suitcase also do not serve hotels well.
• I like hotel rooms with wood floors.
• I have been missing my husband. I found him again. And it was great.
• Reading magazines for pleasure, and not for parenting, discipline, trauma, or ADHD, can be very relaxing.
• You truly do see everything on public transportation.
• Older adults seem to find us no matter where we go and ask for help. This time it was my husband, giving directions to a food court. We picked up the two little old ladies about two blocks from Tower City and walked with them all the way inside, assuring they knew where they were going.
• Helping people, no matter how insignificant it feels at the time, still feels good.
• Making up conversations between diners at neighboring tables is as much fun as I remembered it to be.
• We miss living so close to the city.
• We missed each other.
• My husband never knew I was asked to a high school dance on the steps of the garden at the Cleveland Art Museum.
• Despite not having either child with us we still couldn't stop talking about the boys.
• We need to do this more often.
• A little melatonin goes a long way in obtaining a peaceful 3 hour car ride home.

Some days I Just Want To Be Normal

Watching your child struggle is not easy. Watching your child struggle and wondering if your child even knows he is struggling is not easy either. This week marked the end of the school year for both my kindergartner and my preschooler. Both boys had special end of the year programs, on the same day. My super six year old sat still up on stage, singing songs and reciting bible verses, all while wearing a cap and gown and proudly displaying the medal he was awarded for learning all of his bible verses this school year. He walked across the stage, accepted his certificate, hugged his teacher and posed for his photo op. Mommy and Daddy took him out to dinner, where he sat still, ate his fruit cup and was allowed to walk across the dining room to say hello to a few friends from his class who were also out celebrating graduation. But before the calm and the proud came something I am not used to; the sadness of watching your child struggle.

Earlier that day my super six year old and I waited in the hallway of my youngest son's preschool. We were waiting for the green light to go into his classroom for the last day of school program. As we waited a teacher walked by with my son. He smiled when he saw me and ran to me for a hug. He then continued on his way with the teacher. The doors opened, the program started, and my son was still missing. His little class sat on tiny chairs all lined up in the front of the room. They sang a song, complete with hand motions. My boy was nowhere to be seen. Tears filled my eyes as I realized that he was out on the walk with the teacher due to his disruptiveness. He wasn't even able to participate in this program. One of the teachers in the room caught my eye and suddenly realized that my boy was missing. She left the room and returned with my son, holding his hand and keeping him close. The children continued with their program, singing songs and dancing. My son stood with his back pressed up against the teacher, occasionally trying to break free while she held on tightly to his active little body.  He stared around the room with a blank stare. He did not sing a single word or follow a single direction. When the songs were over and it was time to make a craft all of the children sat at the tables and worked with their parent. Mine sat on his chair, then stood on his chair, then dumped over his bowl of craft supplies, then hit his brother, who was trying to help him glue pretty jewels onto a foam picture frame. At snack time my youngest plowed over the other children while running to the bathroom to wash his hands. He turned on the water full force and dumped soap all over the sink. He ran out of the bathroom and grabbed his place mat with such force he dumped the entire stack on the floor. He then threw the place mat at his brother and ran for the puzzle table. And it just went downhill from there. I sat there, watching my two boys, the oldest sitting in the tiny chair that was almost too small for him, his legs crossed, carefully taking pictures with the disposable camera he had begged me to buy him earlier that day at the grocery store, and the youngest, literally bouncing all over the room. The realization hit me: in this room full of special need children my child wasn't keeping up. Suddenly I felt as though the rest of the room was moving in slow motion and my child was running full speed ahead. I watched the other children sitting still, happily gluing and snacking and smiling. I watched the other children giving the teachers hugs and calmly walking from one activity to another. I felt my heart race as I watched my boy wind up tighter and tighter. Something is not right with this picture, I thought, and I never fully understood it until that moment.

I know that there are many reasons for the behavior I saw that afternoon. I know that my son is smart. I know that while he can't seem to process consequences he is starting to get basic preschool concepts. He can spell his name. He can count. He knows his colors and some letters. His speech is becoming easier to understand. Last night at dinner I asked my son if he knew one of the songs his class had been singing and he was able to sing most of it with me, so I know that had been paying attention in class at some point. I am sure that the addition of parents and grandparents to his classroom may have caused him to shut down during the program and to wind up during the craft. But I could tell from the teacher's expression that the behavior I saw that day is nothing new for my little boy. And I also know that he has only been home for two years. That he has not caught up to his peers and can be considered more of a two year old than a four year old. I would be thrilled with his progress if he were only two. Excuses? Maybe. Grasping at straws? Probably.

I carried my squirming boy to the car and buckled him into his car seat. I listened to his demands for bug juice and "Donald's", (McDonald's), as I drove home. A few hours later I handed him over to the baby sitter and walked out the front door with my husband and six year old. I sat in the worship center of my son's school, watching the program, watching my son participate and follow directions. And I couldn't help but wonder. Will we get here with the preschooler? I want to be that mom who celebrates every success, no matter how small, but some days it is just so hard. Some days I want the "normal". Some days I want to just play with my boys without being on high alert for toys being thrown across the room. Some days I want to just eat dinner out with the "normal" kid issues. Some days I want to put my son to bed without the charts, without the tears, (from us both), without the spitting and kicking at me. Some days I want to just see the light in my son's eyes, instead of seeing him shut down.

I am working hard at becoming the mom my son needs. One who will fight for him, advocate for him, and who will celebrate his every success, no matter how small. One who can find beauty in every day. But last week, on that special graduation day, I was not that mom. I just wanted to be "normal". But this is my new normal, and I am all he has. I have to do this right.

While You Fight Me, I Will Fight For You

There were so many beautiful moments today. You climbed into my lap while watching your new favorite movie on TV. You leaned back into me, something somewhat new for you. You laid your head against my shoulder as you sucked your thumb and rubbed your hair between your fingers. You giggled at the movie, looking back at me to see if I was laughing too.

You shared your snack with me, walking over to me and placing your precious fruit snack into the palm of my hand. "Really? This is for me?" "Yes, Mama. Eat it!"

I listened through the baby monitor as you and your brother played upstairs in your room, something truly new and exciting. Later I learned that the two of you had built a little city on the floor of your room, out of train tracks and buildings. There was even a large dinosaur in the middle of your city, standing watch over your playtime. I could hear your brother orderingyou around  leading you through setting up your city. I smiled, as I do so many times with you these days.

You sat in your chair at dinner and ate. One quarter of a sloppy joe and one french fry. A slice of peach stolen out of your daddy's fruit salad. There was no food thrown on the floor. No screaming. No need for me to remove you from the table. No spilled drinks or purposeful spitting at me.

A nice day. Still full of pull up changes and screaming "no!" when I try to bring you to the potty. Still full of "use your gentle hands" and "please look at me". Still loud and crazy and full of boyish energy. Still full of cars flying across the kitchen floor, screaming over not being allowed to play with your big brother's stuffed baby hamster, still full of dirt and grass stains and the normal little boy fun and messiness. Still full of hyper activity. But a nice day. A good day.

Good days or not so good days, bedtime is still a mystery. So often, nearly daily, really, you break my heart. You break my heart almost every night. It is especially painful after a good day. It is so hard not to wallow in the pain of your disinterest. It is difficult to remember the good over the not so good. You climb into your bed and roll away from me, refusing to show me your beautiful eyes. You demand books but you refuse to sit still or listen as I read. You chatter over me or simply wander away. If it is a particularly bad moment you scream and spit at me as I lie next to you on your bed, trying to figure out what the trigger is, trying to figure out what is happening here. I pull you towards me and hold you against my body. You scream at me, telling me I am hurting you. I am barely holding you. This is not pain, little one. This is a hug. This is love. And it doesn't hurt. It helps, if you will only let it. You escape my grip and roll away from me. I duck as you wing your books, toys, and shoes at my head. If it is in your bed, you throw it at me. I catch each item and toss it behind me into your large toy basket, which makes you even angrier. I wait until your missiles are gone and you have nothing to throw. I pull you towards me again. You scream and spit and kick at me. Sometimes I can feel you relaxing in my arms until your head falls onto the pillow, and we can start the bedtime process all over again. We can talk about your day and look through a book. Sometimes we can get to that place where you allow me to cover you up with your favorite blanket and sometimes, if I am really lucky, you repeat it back when I say "I love you."

Sometimes I walk away while you are screaming, calling back to you that I love you and that I will always be here for you. Sometimes I go into the office, which shares a wall with your bed. I sit in my desk chair, tears in my eyes, absent mindedly surfing the net while I listen to you thrash about in your bed, screaming at me. Screaming for me. I walk back into your room. You have reloaded, and so now you throw a pillow or another shoe at me. I walk out. I hear you screaming my name. In and out. In and out. Anger, mixed with sadness, creeps into my body. Sometimes this passes and you are calm when I walk out that final time. Sometimes I tag your daddy in and go hang with my super loving six year old. Sometimes I walk away and go find the wine.

Later, when I have finished that wine, or when I have kissed your older brother goodnight, or when I have cried to my sweet husband for the hundredth time, I sneak back into your room and sit on your bed. I cover you up and rub your back and whisper into your sleeping ear. Later, I can remember the great moments throughout the day, and I can tell myself that this was just a moment. It was not a definition of our lives together, you and me. It was just a moment. Yes, there are many moments like this. Too many moments like this, right now. But it was just a blink of an eye. And we will do our dance again tomorrow. Because what I whispered into your sleeping ear is true. "I am your mommy. I love you, and I always will. I will help you lose this anger and confusion, your "angry insides", as we call it. I will fight for you, my son, every day. While you fight me, I will fight for you."

"The Cleaning led to Reading Which Led to Relaxing Which Led to More Cleaning Which Led to Getting Back on Track to Fulfilling My Purpose", or, "I Finished a Book!"

Yesterday I finished reading a book on my Kindle. When you finish a book on the Kindle it asks you if you would like to let the world know, via facebook, that you have accomplished the often monumental feat of actually finishing an entire book. I said yes. And then many of my friends, who will be reading the same book for a book club we are in together, all expressed their amazement. I know, I was right there with them. Me, finish a book? I haven't had time to read anything that wasn't about ADHD, early life trauma, fetal alcohol syndrome, or behavior in nearly two years. Now don't get too excited for me; it was, after all, a very short book and an easy read. And it was enjoyable, providing interesting food for thought on what it must be like for an older child to be internationally adopted and removed from the only home, and country, they have ever known. I started reading it while my super six old was at China school, when all I had was time and a comfortable chair. But I was able to finish it at home thanks to the fact that I have been cleaning like a mad woman. I have been working hard to keep the toys picked up, the kitchen counters cleaned off, and the kitchen floor sparkly clean. And when all that is in place I can relax. I can sit on the sofa after the boys are in bed and actually focus on something other than what didn't get done that day. And so the cleaning routines, (thank you fly lady!) led to the ability to read for enjoyment, which led to me being relaxed, which led to more cleaning. Finally! A cycle I don't mind being caught up in!

For some reason I am really feeling the spring cleaning bug this year. Maybe it is because the boys in my life are so messy. Maybe it is because my in-laws are visiting next week to watch my super six year old play football and have offered to stay with the boys for a few hours while my sweet husband and I sneak away for some much needed alone time. (Sadly, we are only planning a quick trip out to eat, but we are both super excited about it. I will get to drink all of my ice tea with no boys stealing large gulps from me! I will be able to sit still with no one touching me, or climbing on me, or elbowing me or kicking me. I will be able to eat my dinner while it is hot. I will be able to listen to my husband and actually concentrate on his words.) Wait, where was I? Spring cleaning. Yes.

So the in-laws are coming. And then the next weekend the social worker is visiting for yet another post placement visit for the tiny toddler. Who, while still tiny, is not really a toddler any longer- he will be four years old next month! The house certainly needs to be clean for her visit! And then a day or two after that we have a baby sitter coming over so that my sweet husband and I can sneak away again; this time to see the documentary STUCK.

Who knows what, or who, has prompted this spring cleaning bug but I am feeling more in control and happier than I have felt in a very long time. There is just something about purging and organizing that makes me happy. I have cleaned out all of the upper kitchen cupboards, throwing away chipped glasses and old vitamin bottles. I have cleaned under the sink, (gross!), and added stacking plastic bins to hold the soaps and scrubbies. I have added a shower curtain rod to the back of the boys' bathtub to hang plastic baskets holding their toys and wash cloths. Thanks to the holes in the baskets the toys can drip dry and the tub stays clean! I have cleaned the huge kitchen cupboard that held mismatched plastic bowls and lids, throwing away everything that didn't have a match. Now there is no Tupperware, but there is a large space for the boys' back yard necessities like bubbles and chalk. I cleaned and organized the walk in closet in the master bedroom- we can see our clothes again!

The cleaning out of every cupboard and closet, combined with our weekly family meeting, has made me feel more in control than I have in a long time. I have no control over the issues my youngest son faces. I have no control over schedules changing or my super six year suddenly being worried about his sweet little smushed in nose. I have no control over computer issues at work or the fact that I often feel as though I am drowning in toys. But I do have control over what lives in my cupboards and what is thrown away. I do have control over some of the chaos that naturally comes with raising a family.

Maybe it's the warmer weather. Maybe it's the cleaning. Maybe it's the new organizing bins and systems I have put in place. Maybe it is the fact that we are finally getting back to having regular house cleaning help around here; something every working mother should have. I am sure it is a combination of it all, but I don't really care. I am finally feeling more in control. Which means I am feeling more able to be the mother God designed me to be. So go throw something away. Go clean out a cupboard. Go open your window and breath in the cool Spring air. Go be the person God designed you to be!