Sometimes you find amazing quotes in the oddest places:
(Courtesy of Shit My Dad Says by Justin Halpern)
I think I do a pretty good job of balancing the funny and the serious here on this blog. In fact, I try to write more about the good than the bad because I feel like people don’t want to read about downbeat things…because no one likes a Debbie Downer. No one. Don’t lie and say “yeah they do” because no one really likes a liar either.
Don’t be that guy.
So anyway…I don’t think I have ever really posted about my son outside of cute anecdotes. I was so hesitant for a long time about even writing about him at all…but I felt like when I eventually did after not doing it for like four years, it would be the Internet version of being that girl who hid being pregnant by wearing hoodies for nine months and then showed up with a ten year old. It would be like “whoa, where did that kid come from?” and this is a blog, not Maury. I was even on the fence about using his real name. One of my favorite blogs, Diary of a Mom, uses two pseudonyms for her daughters. I considered using the name Noah for him, but fuck it…it felt weird to use a different name for him, so Nick it is. If he gets embarrassed about me blogging about him, I’ll just tell him that all moms embarrass their kids and it builds character. I’m all about telling him that the things he doesn’t like build character. It’s my mom thing.
So Nick has ADHD. He was diagnosed with it at the end of third grade. I went to a therapist and we screened him and sure enough, he had it. It explained all the things about him that drove me crazy–easily distracted, forgetting things (his homework, stuff for school, things he was told to do), jumping from task to task without finishing, not being able to focus, not finishing classwork, not listening when he was being spoken to, daydreaming, not following instructions…talking nonstop, constantly moving (some part of him would always be moving, even if he was sitting down), fidgeting, impatience, showing his emotions without restraint, interrupting conversations, and being unable to wait for things. Apparently Nick was the textbook definition of a child with ADHD. In fact, he was so good at ADHD that he wasn’t the predominantly hyperactive-impulsive subtype or the predominately inattentive subtype–he was the combined hyperactive-impulsive and inattentive subtype. He was also diagnosed with an aggressive behavior disorder too, because why the hell not? It explained his crazy tantrums and temper.
My son is a brilliant, funny, and sweet child. But he has a hard time functioning with his severe ADHD. So I decided to try both the medication and therapy routes. I love his therapist, Bekah. She is an angel. He looks forward to meeting with her and he says he likes to talk to her. I am grateful for her. Our family physician at the time of diagnosis until this past July (the clinic we go to uses residents, so we have a doctor for three years at a time) was amazing. She truly cared about Nick and his situation. We put him on Adderall, starting at the 5 mg dosage and then working up to 10 mg.
Anyone who has a child on Adderall or who takes Adderall themselves knows that appetite loss is a huge side effect. Nick was functioning well on the 10 mg, but his appetite was non-existent. Due to weight loss and the fact that he is 10 and a half and can’t afford to lose weight since he is bound to have a growth spurt soon, we had to lower the dosage to 5 mg for the summer. And of course, we lost our amazing physician in July. (Thank you, Dr. Kolp–you were such a great doctor. I truly appreciate everything you did for us.) I decided that we needed a permanent physician with all the things going on with Nick. We have an appointment with her at the end of the month, which seemed like an okay thing but I think I have to try to get a hold of her much sooner than that.
Nick has anxiety, and it first really manifested in the beginning of June with his first visible panic attack. We were referred to a child psychologist for it, because ADHD has a way of bringing their friends into the mix–in our case, it’s the aggressive behavior disorder and the anxiety. We are on the waiting list to go in and see the child psychologist. He doesn’t do well with crowds and this summer was hard on him. He is still taking the 5 mg of Adderall, and school started two and a half weeks ago. It hasn’t been a good start to the school year…the 5 mg is like him being off the medication entirely, and he is acting out in ways that are making me upset.
He has been losing his temper much more than usual, and has taken to punctuating his tantrums with swearing. I know that kids swear. I did it, we all did it, but you don’t swear at your mother or your grandparents. He got in trouble in school yesterday for not paying attention and for not finishing his work, and got a written warning for it. Naturally he forgot it at school (he has also forgotten his homework twice since the school year started) and decided to not tell me about it…and proceeded to forge my signature pretty badly. He then lied to his teacher and principal and got a phone call home and a detention to serve next week after school. I’m very disappointed in him because he should know better, yet it’s hard to be completely mad at him because I know that a lot of it has to do with his medication. I didn’t tell his teacher about his ADHD because I assumed she knows about it since he has an IEP–I’m guessing that was a rookie mistake. I will be writing her a letter tonight explaining his situation to her.
The next few days with be filled with phone calls to the new doctor, his therapist, and trying to secure a higher dosage of his medication. He is currently grounded until further notice. I am starting to feel the way I did back in the days before he was diagnosed–stressed, with a constant headache and upset stomach. It’s very hard to watch your child and know that he wants to behave but he has a hard time trying to keep it together. It’s hard being the parent of a child with ADHD sometimes not because of your child, but because of the community around you. I hate when people tell me that ADHD isn’t real and Nick is just being a typical 10 year old boy. No…he definitely is not. I want to put these people in a room with him when he hasn’t taken his pills for days and then have them tell me that his behavior is normal. I constantly have “Facebook physicians” telling me that I shouldn’t medicate him because he doesn’t need medication. That’s like saying we shouldn’t vaccinate our children against dangerous and infectious diseases. Cutting sugar and washing our clothes in plant based detergent (which is very expensive, by the way) and embracing a crunchy granola mom lifestyle isn’t going to magically make my son better. My siblings all have it to a degree, and I think that I probably have a touch of it myself. The best thing that I can do is help him to learn strategies for certain things in his life that are difficult for him to control, and help him embrace his strengths and work on his weaknesses.
And, of course, love him. I don’t let his ADHD define him or let him use it as an excuse. I tell him that he just happens to have ADHD, but it makes him more awesome than he already is.
I hope I didn’t sound whiny or dull. I really just needed to vent after this long, frustrating day. Thanks…XO.
So last Tuesday night I went to the Matt and Kim concert at the House of Blues with one of my friends. Prior to stepping foot in the venue, I had heard of them a few times and listened to some of their music for literally the very first time on their Pandora station while I got ready for the show. I decided to go in with an open mind, because I love music and will give anything a listen at least once.
So. Many. Hipsters.Hipsters in denim. Hipsters in scarves. Hipsters wearing fedoras. Hipsters in plaid. Buddy Holly glasses. PBR. SO. MUCH. PBR. Cardigans. Chuck Taylors. Irony everywhere.
AND BEARDS. HIPSTER BEARDS ABOUNDED.I enjoy hipsters, for the most part. I like that they ride bikes and urban beekeep and garden and the uncanny ability they have to go reside in a shitty neighborhood and BAM, almost instant gentrification. I admire their dedication to microbrews and tattoos and the obscure. Without them, I would not have Portlandia. And I love Portlandia. But anyway. There were hipsters, and the sheer number of them in one small venue was mildly overwhelming. So I went to message my best friend on Facebook Messenger (he is in the Caribbean and cannot use his phone because international rates and stuff), and I HAD NO CONNECTION. I cursed the House of Blues gods for blocking my 4G and proceeded to take notes in my Notes app of the funny stuff I thought of while the show went on. After the show (which I really enjoyed), I read over my notes and realized they might make a witty blog post.
So here y’all go. Matt and Kim, AS IT HAPPENED (four days later):
I hate tall people.
(I am 5’1″ and all short people will understand the hatred that is getting stuck behind anyone who is more than three inches taller than you at a standing room only concert.)Either my whiteness is coming out and I have no rhythm, or either all the white people around me have no rhythm.
I’m going with all the white people around me because I feel like I can dance.
Someone control the bros. They’re getting out of control.
(Shortly after this, a drunken bro was escorted out of the venue for turning up too hard.)
I am the calmest person at this concert.
I don’t know how to dance to hipster music.
Like, is bouncing my leg and nodding my head appropriate?
I feel like it is.
That’s what I’m going with.
Oh hey…they’re covering “Ignition (Remix)”. I love that song.
That man across the room is wearing the shortest, tightest jorts I have ever seen on a man.They are seriously like Daisy Dukes. He’s wearing denim hot pants.
I will not jump, Matt and Kim. I’m in a room of uncoordinated young white professionals.I have upgraded my dance moves to wiggling my body and shaking my head back and forth.
This band is pretty great. I would be friends with these guys.Oh…they busted out the fucking smoke machines. You know shit is serious when they bust out the smoke machines. Is this hip hop?
Oh shit…I can dance to hip hop. And dance briefly to the blip of music I shall.
The guy in front of me smells like Beefaroni and stale PBR.No Kim…I cannot FaceTime someone because I went over my data this month and AT&T charges $10 an extra GB.
Blue eyeshadow just is not flattering on ANYONE. I don’t care who you are.
Wait wait wait wait…she’s gonna dance on their hands?
Holy shit…she’s dancing on their hands.
Okay…I am downloading their albums from iTunes when I get home.
(Here is an actual music video of Matt and Kim performing “Hey Now”.)
So I am still talking to said guy, who still does not have a nom de plume. I really need to give him one. The fact that I am talking to him still is actually kind of a miracle–not a walking-on-water-in-the-middle-of-a-crazy-storm kind of miracle, but more like a I-ate-like-crap-all-week-and-ran-once-and-somehow-didn’t-gain-weight kind of miracle–simply because I am not good at this. At what, you may ask? Talking? Well…no. I am rather good at talking. I am not good at talking to guys that I like. Or know how to successfully flirt. Or nab a guy…see how I used the word nab? I make it sound like I am a police officer who successfully caught a bank robber. I should twirl my mustache too, while I’m at it.
But anyway, I am still talking to him. He is still pretty damn hot and funny and delish…and I haven’t done anything too crazy to make him think maybe he shouldn’t continue to talk to me. So…miracle. I actually think that he finds me hilarious, which is a win. When in doubt, let my sense of humor cancel out my awkwardness like FOX cancelled American Idol (too soon?). I’ve gotten pretty close a few times to doing something completely batshit but I somehow talked myself out of it. Google is a life saver. My search engine is full of random keywords that make me sound like a fourteen year old girl. Who knew that there were so many articles out there in the Interwebs dedicated to making loons like me feel less cray?There is one thing that baffles me(that is a lie…there are a lot of things in the dating world that baffle me, but for sake of keeping this post short, we will pretend that there is only one), and I suppose it baffles me only because I like him, and that is texting. Why the hell go days without texting someone (me) back? Especially if you like me/want to get in my pants/potentially more? I stress about that and I have successfully stopped myself from texting him stuff like “why you no text me back” and flat out asking him if he secretly hates me. Because I am pretty sure he doesn’t hate me. He used to text me a lot when we first started talking and it’s trickled down and I’m sure it’s no cause for concern since he is still wonderful in person. I feel like I have gone back in a time machine and it’s 1999 and I am 14 and I have bad hair and questionable fashion sense and I am all a-giggle and a-fumble over a guy in my class. I tell myself that I sometimes don’t hear from my best friend for days, and I have known her since I was 7. I can go days without texting other friends/hearing from other friends, so why do I get all panicky cliffhanger soap star when Unnamed Hot Guy decides to not text me? The only answer I can think of is because I am secretly still 14 on the inside when it comes to men. 29 Year Old Me is trying to play it cool and act completely indifferent. 14 Year Old Me has a mini heart attack when we sit next to each other and our legs touch the entire time. 29 Year Old Me smiles at him when I see him and act like I’m completely chill. 14 Year Old Me freaks the fuck out quietly when someone tells us what a cute couple we make (29 Year Old Me simply smiles because I don’t want to look like I am so into him–being chill is my constant M.O.) and he says he agrees. 14 Year Old Me doesn’t know how to be cool and calm and so 29 Year Old Me is constantly fighting an internal battle with her so that she doesn’t do anything stupid to mess up whatever will happen. 29 Year Old Me isn’t in a rush to get hurt again any time soon. 14 Year Old Me worries that he doesn’t like me. Well, 14 Year Old Me, put down the Sun-In (seriously, put it down…your hair is orange) and stop panicking and analyzing every damn thing that goes on. If something comes out of this, awesome. If something doesn’t come out of this, guess what? Life goes on. You still have wine and Netflix and comfy sweatpants and chocolate covered Oreos–he’s the one who will be missing out, not you. Just smile and be nice to him if it doesn’t go the way you planned. You’re an adult, and you’re supposed to be calm on the outside and 14 on the inside. Enjoy talking to him, because it’s fun to talk to guys. Just stop using Sun-In. Please.
So I have been talking to a boy–wait, yes, I know that is rather exciting and all that, we will go into that later–that I like for almost the past two months and things have been flirty with a sprinkling of sexy…with the occasional stumble into awkwardness (I would be the one doing the stumbling, of course). But it has been good. He’s hot and funny and into me and so hot, but mixed signals abound (because they seem like they always do–yet another post to unravel that mystery) and it doesn’t help that I have this weird combination of distrust and fear and impatience when it comes to all this boy meets girl shit.
Anyway, I texted said guy (I have not come up with a nom de plume for him yet) this afternoon, a breezy and flirty text that was not replied to at all for hours. I got irritated and decided against my better judgement to compose another text about five hours later to send him regarding the first text. This is the panic that ensued, captured in live time in a Facebook Messenger conversation with one of my best friends:
Me (7:02 pm): So…there’s that moment when you’re trying to come up with a text and it’s what you are thinking but not wanting to send…AND THEN YOU ACCIDENTALLY HIT SEND.
Michelle (7:04 pm): Oh no!!!!
Me (7:05 pm): Oh no indeed!!!
(7:06 pm): And you want to text back immediately bc you are embarrassed and mortified but you decide that entertaining an embarrassed apology or explanation would make you look crazy.
(7:06 pm): And if said recipient of text had responded hours earlier, I wouldn’t have accidentally sent a rough draft text.
(7:08 pm): So now I sit here feeling like an idiot and not replying bc I’m going to act like “yup, I sent that”.
Michelle (7:08 pm): Oh man. That is sucky.
(I’m guessing my panic is amusing because I’m sure it’s not really a big deal but it so is.)
Me (7:09 pm): And the silence.
(7:09 pm): It makes things worse bc I want to fall into a vicious cycle of word vomit to try to explain my way out of the text but that will only back me further into the corner like a lioness.
(I am pretty bummed that I could not find a witty GIF of a lioness backed into a corner.)
Michelle (7:10 pm): Yeahhhh don’t do that then you’re just gonna look like you’re talking to yourself.
Me (7:11 pm): Right. I don’t want to look crazy.
(7:11 pm): And I’m like “this is why I’m alone, I’m crazy”.
So he still hasn’t replied and he probably thinks I’m insane. Hopefully he finds my crazy endearing. Ugh. I’m seriously going to die an old spinster woman who can’t knit or embroider and who is allergic to cats.
At least I’ll always have you, Netflix. You get me.