When my son was seven, I’d ask him to clean his room.
Unfortunately, I could come in half an hour later and the place still looked like someone had turned the place upside down and shook it, then sprayed cheese-in-a-can on top.
When my son was seven, I’d ask him to clean his room.
Unfortunately, I could come in half an hour later and the place still looked like someone had turned the place upside down and shook it, then sprayed cheese-in-a-can on top.
As we all prep for school-or-not, ’tis the season for Death by Appointment. The last few weeks have carted my kids to the dentist, the doctor, the counselor, the orthodonist, back to the dentist and doctor (four times, at least), and finally, the endodontist. I am now old enough to have a child who needs his wisdom teeth out.
As God continues to nudge me to not do for my kids what they can/should do for themselves, I had my 16-year-old fill out his own paperwork. But y’know, he’s the kind of kid that takes his own spin off, say, the boxes asking, “Are you pregnant?”
It’s been more than one mom who I’ve talked to about it. I recognize the furtive look in their eyes, the zealous advocacy–of a different kind than mine, I think. He doesn’t need the stigma, they’ve told me. Do you know what teachers think of kids with ADHD?
Actually, I do.
I recall vividly the very night someone suggested my son might have ADHD. I remember the day, too, when his teachers suggested there might be something wrong. And while a diagnosis was scary? From the place where I stand–the opposite is scarier.
Around the world, so many of us are grieving this senseless tragedy in Orlando, trying to make evil fit into a narrative that would make sense. Beginning on Monday morning, I’ve felt myself pushing against that gray, shapeless mass that is anxiety–for a number of personal reasons, not the least of which are these heart-rending events in my home country. Though I don’t feel my voice would add something unique to the reaction, after talking with our kids on Monday evening and praying together as a family, I found my friend Kristen’s post, Dear Kids: It’s a Sad Day in America, to be a good word.
My anxiety doesn’t compare to what many are mourning right now, and I continue to pray for Orlando families and churches. But perhaps you can identify with some of these thoughts as we confront fears of all dimensions. -Janel
Parenting is…overwhelming sometimes pretty much all the time. Last night I recognized a sensation creeping over me with shadowy fingers, as my thoughts slammed into my kids’ schooling and implementing solutions for my son’s ADHD and appalling, heart-rending current events: anxiety. If I were to have drawn my heart, it may have looked like this:
My son was five. The six of us were headed to Uganda in about three months. And there were so many reasons I did not want to encounter the realities uncovered by the Vanderbilt Assessment, or my child’s pediatrician, or our family tree: ADHD, and eventually, accompanying (and profound) dysgraphia.
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