I was sitting at the kitchen table this evening, attempting homework with Milo--Grace and Grant were busying themselves with drawing 3D images of cubes, triangular prisms, cylinders, and spheres--when the noise over-took me. I stopped talking, leaned back in my chair and just observed... My conclusion: I should blog about this. So instead of trying to quiet the noise--and not having my favorite co-coach (Jason) around to incite the fear of the wrath of Dad in my children--I got up and went to my room, pulled out earplugs (for both Milo and me), came back to the kitchen, inserted the ear plugs, and went back to work.
As Milo attempted to count by 20's, and Grace and Grant continued their intricate drawings (with Grace's verbose, yet wise, instruction). Mind you, Milo is going through eye therapy that will take him through age 9 (he's barely 7). Atrophying drops or patching over the strong eye (20/50 without glasses--20/20 with) to strengthen the muscles of the weak eye (20/150 WITH glasses--without: blind). We've been haphazardly attempting this therapy for 2 years, when the last time I was at the eye doctor's she flipped through the chart and looked me in the eye and said, "It's been two years with basically no improvement. Either do this, or quit." Nothing like MAJOR maternal guilt inflicted by a medical professional, no less. "But," I protested, "He broke his leg, and I think he's an at-risk reader, he's got food allergies, and ADHD, and now we want to put him in a classroom where he can't see the board? The patches stick to his long eyelashes!" Again, staring me in the eye: "It's a week of his entire educational career. Just do it." Fine. Even that was three weeks ago. So, Jason finally put his foot down and said, "Forget the patching--we're going for the drops." So Milo came home today after school (having had the drops this morning), where he told me that he used the strong side of his glasses to read some test with his good eye (holding his glasses sideways across his face) because the teacher told him, "the score will follow him through all of his school career." Really? I mean, really?
How bad could that eye be? Well, we sat down to do reading and he picked up his paper sideways and upside-down, all the while fidgeting and telling me stories of a strange and unusual nature: The new girl who swears, his teacher who is going a way for a while, when can he have a play date with friends, can he watch a show on TV, did I know about his discovery that he can make into an invention?
Finally I state, "STOP! Focus! Why can't you read this?"
Milo, "I can't Mom." Me, "Where's the magnifying glass?"
Grant, "I know!"
2 minutes later Milo is reading through his bad eye (good eye atrophy dropped and patched with a cloth, dress-up, pirate patch) with a bumblebee magnifying glass that is probably 30-40X strength. This trooper, Milo, reads, and writes through this magnifying glass, through one eye, pausing occasionally to stand, sit, and get distracted by silly bands and the price of beans in China. He kept singing parts of "Must be Santa..." randomly. At one point I told him to put his pencil down and we sang 3 verses of that song, hopefully to indulge the impulse and allow his brain to move on--like a skip in a record.
On to math. Dot-to-dot counting by 10's. Holding his magnifying glass, I use my fingers to point from one number to another, while he draws his lines and I ask him to read the numbers. He becomes exasperated that the dot he thinks he should connect is not the right number... finally he finishes: the penguin. He's proud of his work!
We have to pause: Grant and Milo are told to do 10 push-ups, and then have a race to the fence and back in the back-yard. While they race, I get 2 bean bags. They come back in, 10 more push-ups. Then I have Milo stand on one foot and throw me a beanbag with the opposite hand, five times, then switch. Then have him throw me two across his body. This is some variation of some dyslexic trick I heard once--I'm sure I'm off-base, but we needed SOMETHING to reengage his brain for the next page of work.
Turn the page over, we have to count by 20's to 1,000. He's lost, he wants to count by 10's, he doesn't get it. So we get a paper out and he counts by 2's to 100. I transcribe as he dictates, he watches my writing--through the magnifying glass. I ask him, "What happens if we add zeros? Watch Milo... 2 becomes 20, 4 becomes 40..." I got until 200 in this manner. Milo declares, "I get it!!" His face beams, my heart relaxes. As I add zeros he transcribes into his worksheet, while reading the numbers as he goes. He gets to 1,000! No one could have contained the pride at our kitchen table! We pause for a clip-up, and discuss his accomplishment.
Me: Milo, you did it! How do you feel?
Milo: I feel good Mom! Really good.
Me: I'm SOOOO proud of you Milo! This was really tough work and you worked hard at it, even with one eye! You have a great brain Milo! You can do tough things Milo! I am so very proud of you!
Milo (beaming): Thanks Mom. (big hugs around)
Milo leaves and I sigh with relief but can't help to smile. We did it.
* * * * *
I love my kids, they teach me so much! Today I learned a little bit more about life with a family of ADD. Mind you, while Grace and Grant were working, Grant was also practicing his letters and his name (which I put him to doing while I helped Milo, because why not? We're all at the table?). So Grant wanted feedback and encouragement. During that time Grace came home with enthusiasm and stories about the playdate she had returned to, but when she saw Grant writing and Milo doing homework in his three-ring-binder study carrel, she wanted to be part of it, and started the 3D drawings. While I'm working with Milo, I can't help but observe the amazing 3D drawings! I'm drawn to them, but force redirection for myself to Milo. Bouncing between Milo and Grant, I'm grateful that Grace has brought this enthusiastic drawing to the table. Grant stops seeking my reinforcement for letter writing and I can focus on Milo. Except in the gaps between my instruction/encouragement my brain wanders: what for dinner? when will I have time to complete my business work? did Jason get to IF safely? did I get a babysitter tonight? Is that meeting at someone's house or the church? did we call Grandma to wish her happy birthday--no, we can't forget! And I need to make those calls tonight, don't forget those emails too. With each thought, I redirect myself to the task at hand: Milo.
When it is all over, I am filled with gratitude as they run outside to play. I'm grateful for a new awareness of ADD in my life and my family. I'm smiling now as I think about us leaving from the YMCA Monday. Jason's on the phone, I'm in my head thinking about undone things and things yet to be done, while Milo finds someone interesting to talk to, Grace slowly walks down the hall because she's reading the posters on the wall, and Grant goes down another hall because there's a table display that's interesting. I walk out the door and I turn around and Jason's barely behind me and no one is behind him. We both turn around to observe our kids engaged in every possible thing--besides leaving! A week ago I would have given a lecture about how we should leave, what the proper way to exit the building is: follow directions, stay close to Mom and Dad, don't wander off. Instead: I laugh out loud and comment to Jason, "This is what it's like to get a whole family with ADD out of a building." It's not good or bad, it's what is. And I'm becoming more likely to embrace it, instead of resist it.
Now, I say ADD prematurely. Jason, Milo, and I are headed to a doctor's office in November for official diagnoses (a Dr. recommended by the school counselor). ADD is not laziness, or curable through routine or habits or working harder. It is a biological disorder of the prefrontal cortex. I all but know Jason, Milo and I have it. Perhaps Grace and Grant. ADD is also a spectrum disorder. I believe most of us fall on the spectrum at some point. As Dr. Hallowell says, we live in an ADD society. Regardless, this label, in and of itself, is a cure for me. It is an explanation for a lifetime of distraction, frustration, depression, longing, dissatisfaction, procrastination, and massive disorganization combined with ingenuity, brilliance, and a constant flow of ideas.
I am excited for the peace that enters my heart having an awareness that I'm not lazy, crazy, or stupid. That actually no one in our family is! We require routines, habits, structure, practice, modeling of appropriate behavior, checklists, schedules, calendars, reminders, and many other tools and tricks to keep us in a direction where we can live and enjoy life, achieve our goals, and love ourselves in the process!
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