Eat Me
First, a little note to all the well-meaning people in my life who are always trying to "help:"
Please stop telling me my son has ADHD. I've been hearing that since he wasn't even 2 years old, and I'm tired of hearing it. If I believed for a second that was the crux of his problems, I would be all over it. But I don't. And I think I've got a pretty strong case for my beliefs. For some kids, hyperactivity is caused by other things. ADHD isn't always the answer.
Please stop giving me names and phone numbers of therapists and psychiatrists to call. Chances are very good I've already called them and found out they either don't treat children or don't have any openings or only take kids with state-documented disability or some other reason. I've had my son under the care of a psychiatrist's office since November. I've made an appointment with another for the near future. Trust me, I'm all over it.
Please stop telling me things I already know. I know the kid can't sit still. I know the kid has uncontrollable rage. I know all this and a helluva lot more than you know about him.
I appreciate your desire to help, but beating me over the head with all this more than I already beat myself over the head with it isn't helping me. Some days, a nice "how are you?" that doesn't require a 500-word dissertation would be nice.
And now, back to our sponsor...
I got through the veggie beef soup last night. As I suspected, Ben wanted to "help," but I shooed the Iron Chef back into the living room and told him he could help by keeping Bob out of my hair.
Bob--wow. I didn't get any phone calls from school yesterday at all. That's not to say it was a perfect day, but it was at least a better day, a day without any major shit fits that required him to be restrained. He did have to sit in the office for a while because he was turning somersaults in the classroom and wouldn't stop. I was told he was zing-zing-zing all day and talked non-stop to the point they had to eventually say "Please stop talking!" which I've been known to do myself. In the 10 minutes involved in picking him up, I was exhausted by his constant movement and non-stop jabber. He finally shut up in the car, and remained quiet for the most part in the car (and not because I told him to, either--he did it on his own). When we got home, he put his stuff away, I allowed him to put a sticker on the calendar because it was a "better" day, and then he asked to get on noggin.com, and I said "sure." I figured that would last 3 minutes or less, but no, he was on there for a good 40 minutes while I made dinner.
I chopped. I chopped onions and browned them with stew meat. I added a bit of red wine vinegar, salt, pepper, garlic and savory. I added chopped carrots. I added diced potatoes. I added beef stock and low-sodium V8. I added chopped celery and a can of white corn. I added a cup of barley and some worcestershire sauce. I simmered.
It was delicious. Bloody delicious. Bob even sat and ate a whole bowl. Then he started drawing until he heard Ben whistling the "Star Wars" theme, at which point he ran into the dining room and said "Ben, can we play Star Wars?"
So the boys zoned out to a video game and I went for a long bike ride. (Okay, 20 minutes, but it felt long.) Aside from the fact I got a headache even with ear plugs, it was great.
Long story short, we had a great evening, although I'm pissed as hell at Project Runway for not eliminating someone last night. If I'd known they weren't going to eliminate anyone, I wouldn't have bothered watching. I feel like Bravo stole an hour of my life and I want it back. Fuckers.
Please stop telling me my son has ADHD. I've been hearing that since he wasn't even 2 years old, and I'm tired of hearing it. If I believed for a second that was the crux of his problems, I would be all over it. But I don't. And I think I've got a pretty strong case for my beliefs. For some kids, hyperactivity is caused by other things. ADHD isn't always the answer.
Please stop giving me names and phone numbers of therapists and psychiatrists to call. Chances are very good I've already called them and found out they either don't treat children or don't have any openings or only take kids with state-documented disability or some other reason. I've had my son under the care of a psychiatrist's office since November. I've made an appointment with another for the near future. Trust me, I'm all over it.
Please stop telling me things I already know. I know the kid can't sit still. I know the kid has uncontrollable rage. I know all this and a helluva lot more than you know about him.
I appreciate your desire to help, but beating me over the head with all this more than I already beat myself over the head with it isn't helping me. Some days, a nice "how are you?" that doesn't require a 500-word dissertation would be nice.
And now, back to our sponsor...
I got through the veggie beef soup last night. As I suspected, Ben wanted to "help," but I shooed the Iron Chef back into the living room and told him he could help by keeping Bob out of my hair.
Bob--wow. I didn't get any phone calls from school yesterday at all. That's not to say it was a perfect day, but it was at least a better day, a day without any major shit fits that required him to be restrained. He did have to sit in the office for a while because he was turning somersaults in the classroom and wouldn't stop. I was told he was zing-zing-zing all day and talked non-stop to the point they had to eventually say "Please stop talking!" which I've been known to do myself. In the 10 minutes involved in picking him up, I was exhausted by his constant movement and non-stop jabber. He finally shut up in the car, and remained quiet for the most part in the car (and not because I told him to, either--he did it on his own). When we got home, he put his stuff away, I allowed him to put a sticker on the calendar because it was a "better" day, and then he asked to get on noggin.com, and I said "sure." I figured that would last 3 minutes or less, but no, he was on there for a good 40 minutes while I made dinner.
I chopped. I chopped onions and browned them with stew meat. I added a bit of red wine vinegar, salt, pepper, garlic and savory. I added chopped carrots. I added diced potatoes. I added beef stock and low-sodium V8. I added chopped celery and a can of white corn. I added a cup of barley and some worcestershire sauce. I simmered.
It was delicious. Bloody delicious. Bob even sat and ate a whole bowl. Then he started drawing until he heard Ben whistling the "Star Wars" theme, at which point he ran into the dining room and said "Ben, can we play Star Wars?"
So the boys zoned out to a video game and I went for a long bike ride. (Okay, 20 minutes, but it felt long.) Aside from the fact I got a headache even with ear plugs, it was great.
Long story short, we had a great evening, although I'm pissed as hell at Project Runway for not eliminating someone last night. If I'd known they weren't going to eliminate anyone, I wouldn't have bothered watching. I feel like Bravo stole an hour of my life and I want it back. Fuckers.
posted by Mitzi Green at 9:21 AM
1 Comments:
sarah--you raise an interesting question. and no, i don't think you're trying to be funny, nor am i in any way offended.
it's true the boy is smart. every parent thinks their kid is a genius, but in bob's case, he really is. i can remember listening to kids in his preschool classes babbling incoherently and wondering "why aren't they speaking in clear complete sentences like bob?" it took a while to realize he's the exception, not the rule.
you know, this could get long. maybe i'll save it for a post.
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