What Does ADHD Mean?

What does ADHD mean?

If you Google ADHD, you will learn that the acronym stands for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and you will read about distractibility, hyperactivity, and impulsivity.

If you go to a medical professional for answers, chances are you will be given pamphlets, and told of medications that might help.

Educators and friends might tell you that ADHD is way over-diagnosed, and often a parent’s made-up excuse for a child who is undisciplined at home.

The best place to go for a true understanding of ADHD is into the home of a family who lives with it. My twelve-year-old daughter has ADHD. I’d like to tell you what ADHD is like for us.

For my daughter, ADHD means waking up in the morning with no desire to linger in bed or stretch and rub her eyes. ADHD means waking up in the morning and jumping out of bed, eyes wide open, and ready to run a race. ADHD means she believes everyone in the house should also be up and ready to run beside her. ADHD does not believe in sleeping in.

ADHD means she might forget to take her pajamas off before she pulls her clothes on. Or she might remember to pull the pajamas off and forget to put the clothes on.

ADHD means not being able to sit still long enough to eat a bowl of cereal, tie her shoes, or even go to the bathroom.

ADHD means she strives to fill every moment with noise and movement. If she runs out of things to say, then she will sing, bark, moo, or even cluck like a chicken. There is no room for calm or silence.

ADHD means playing too rough, spilling things, breaking things, knocking things over, and constant apologies. But then repeating what she just apologized for.

ADHD means never knowing what page the teacher is on, and wondering how the other kids always seem to know.

ADHD means she asks half a dozen questions in rapid succession but never waits for an answer, because she cannot stop her mind from wandering from one topic to the next.

ADHD means she forgets to bring her homework home every single night.

ADHD means she is often distracted from the task at hand by things the rest of us do not even notice: a squeaky chair, a dripping faucet, the flicker of a light, a voice in the hall, a movement across the room, or a dog barking outside.

ADHD means that other kids avoid her because she is a lot of work to be around.

For me, ADHD has meant constant interruptions, visual schedules and reminders, going over the rules repeatedly, hoping this time she will remember, while knowing she probably will not. 

ADHD has meant I have to model a quiet voice and talk often about volume. ADHD does not believe in whispering.

ADHD has meant pulling the car over to put my child back into her seatbelt, holding on tight to her hand when we go out in public, and constant reminders about safety.

ADHD has meant awkward explanations to family, friends, and acquaintances for my daughter’s behavior.

ADHD has meant medications that were hard to afford, but even harder NOT to afford. And getting those meds into her mouth as soon as possible in the morning.

ADHD has meant dreading the first hour of the day and watching the clock, waiting for the meds to kick in. Then, indescribable relief when they do, because my daughter is going to be able to organize her thoughts, have real conversations, follow multistep instructions, and learn for the next few hours. And there will be bouts of quiet. Oh how I used to take quiet for granted. 

ADHD has meant meetings with teachers and requests for help and understanding. And apologies.

ADHD has meant losing my patience over and over again, and having tremendous feelings of guilt for not being more understanding. 

ADHD has meant lots of giggles, silly misunderstandings, fun games, made up words, a huge imagination that never stops, hugs and back rubs.

ADHD has meant learning to parent differently, realizing that no amount of discipline can fix ADHD. ADHD has helped me to find buckets and buckets of perseverance and compassion I had no idea I had. ADHD means I work harder and longer, knowing that she is worth it all. 

                                (By the way, Riley is a doll.)

If you liked this post, you might also like to read what it is like to go shopping with my little girl. The Air Freshener Incident

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The Air Freshener Incident

I normally go into Walmart on my own, solo, unaccompanied, without kids, unattached, unaided and alone (but not lonely), intentionally unassisted, in order to do my shopping without incident. “What kind of incident?” you ask. That’s right. Not all of you have spent time with my Sydney.

Sydney is truly a unique young lady who marches to the beat of her own drum. Sydney has no filter. If she thinks it, she says it. If she sees it, she touches it. If she likes it, she needs to own it. In a nutshell, there is rarely a dull moment when Sydney is around. She keeps things interesting. 

Sometimes when I take Sydney places, “things” happen. Things happen that should only happen in sitcoms to fictional families, or in silly children’s books, never in reality. The author Barbara Parks wrote a series of books about a little girl named Junie B Jones that my older kids and I enjoyed very much. Sometimes I wonder if Junie B came to life, and is living in my home. Only I call her Sydney P.  

My kids were out of school today for a teacher workday. And I needed a few things from Walmart. Against my better judgment, and because my list was very short, I took Sydney with me into Walmart. Milk is one of those things that cannot wait and we were out. So I threw caution to the wind, and drove to Walmart. I rationalized that Sydney and I could get in and out of the store quickly and I gave her a pep talk in the car before we entered the store. I was determined there would be no drama, and I would not give Sydney the opportunity to disrupt my mission.

Three minutes in, as we turned down an aisle to grab a cleaning product on my list, Sydney caught sight of the air fresheners. She became hyper-focused on those and stopped to look at them, hands on hips.

Knowing that she had to talk fast, because I was not slowing down, she loudly told me that we had an urgent need in our home for an air freshener. I looked back over my shoulder and told her to catch up, and that air fresheners were not on my list today.

Now, Sydney does not speak quietly, nor does she understand the concept of being discrete. We were not alone in the aisle, and Sydney’s claim that our home was in need of an air freshener drew the attention of at least four people. In order to make her case, and guarantee that an air freshener make it into our cart, Sydney began to describe the smell that she was sure enveloped our home. The people in the aisle all looked at me. They were not even pretending to look at anything on the shelves.

I asked Sydney again to move away from the air fresheners, assuring her (mostly for the benefit of the people listening) that we do not have the unseemly odors in our home that she was describing. But Sydney did not take a step. Instead she bent down to examine the different fragrances more closely. I walked back toward her and quietly told her that we needed to move on.

“Mom. Why are you whispering?” she said. “We need to talk about the smell I keep smelling in my room! Last night I couldn’t even sleep. It was so awful. I’m pretty sure an air freshener would really help.”

It just so happens that I go into Sydney’s room several times each day. I had been in her room that very morning to put away laundry. There was no odor. There is no odor. And I told her as much while she was bent down inspecting all the Glade, Renuzit, and Febreeze containers. She wasn’t listening, but I could see out of my peripheral vision that everyone else in the aisle was leaning in and had heard it all. And the crowd had grown slightly. I briefly wondered if one of those folks might even offer to buy an air freshener for the poor little girl whose mom had her living in a room with a stench.

“Mom. Do you know how these things work? I don’t even see how you open them. Do you have to take all the paper off to smell them?”

I tried again. “Sydney. There is NO smell in your room. We don’t need an air freshener.”

So, she changed tactics. “Mom. You know that smell when we make a fire outside to roast hotdogs and the wood is burning? I smell THAT smell in my room sometimes too.”

And as one more person walked into the congested aisle, I reached down and picked up an air freshener, tossed it into the cart, and hurried away, chin held high.

That air freshener is on Sydney’s dresser this evening and she comes into the living room every few minutes to tell me how wonderful her room smells.

If only those folks at Walmart could hear THAT.

If only I had waited and gone to Walmart tomorrow. We could have lived without milk for twenty-four hours. 

If this story made you giggle and you want more be sure and find us on Facebook at Quirks and Chaos. 

The above is just one of hundreds of stories I could tell. Here are two I have illustrated:

   

If you liked this post, you might like to read another. Saturday morning with Sydney

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Plastic and Stuffing and Love

Misfortune struck our home this morning. If you are fond of Sydney let me warn you: This is a sad story. You’ll need to grab a box of tissues and sit back. 

If you’ve followed our Facebook page long at all you will know who Riley is and probably even remember Liberty from stories long ago. But just in case you need the background: Sydney has had a doll since she was toddler. Her name is Liberty, named after one of Sydney’s friends from preschool. Liberty has been pulled for miles in wagons, ridden on the back of bikes, swung for hours on a tire swing, pushed in strollers up and down the driveway, and gone on many family road trips. She has been carried, dragged, hugged and loved a lot over the years. I have washed her, repaired her, Febreezed her, and detangled her hair many times. Liberty has become quite unsightly, a raggedy mess in fact. But looks do not matter to Sydney. Others recoil at Liberty’s appearance but Sydney still loves her. I had many times tried to get Sydney to transfer her affection to a newer or more attractive doll. Sydney has several nicer dolls but none meant nearly as much to her as Liberty…. until she met Riley. A year ago in March Sydney and I were shopping. Sydney had some money to spend. She usually spends her money on farm toys like tractors and plastic animals. But this day Sydney saw a 20” baby doll she just knew she could not live without. Riley was named before she was even removed from the packaging. It was love. And for the past ten months Riley and Sydney have been nearly inseparable. (Liberty is still loved too but she mostly hangs out at home these days.) The only place Sydney goes without Riley is to school but if it was allowed then Riley would be sitting right beside Sydney every day at a desk of her own there too. Riley has not just become a part of our family, our friends have grown fond of her. Riley almost never misses a worship service and Sydney often asks one of the ladies from our congregation to hold Riley and tend to her while Sydney goes to Bible class. The ladies have played along so often and talked with Sydney about her doll on so many occasions they notice if Riley is not in attendance. Sydney loves the attention the ladies give her through Riley and the ladies love to give Sydney that. 

Liberty, after years of being loved

Sydney with Riley out to dinner

A road trip with Sydney and Riley

Riley rarely misses a church service

Birthday gifts!

Now, for the real story: Got those tissues? Yesterday was Sydney’s birthday. After school Sydney and Riley jumped on the trampoline, swung for a while, and then took the stroller for a walk. Shawn got home from work and Sydney ran to greet him, leaving Riley unsupervised. A few minutes later, Sydney’s older sister drove in. Sydney’s excitement was intense. It was time to start our birthday celebration! And in all the excitement of our family birthday dinner, cake, candles, phone calls from siblings who live in other states, opening gifts, and putting together a couple of new little toys, Riley was forgotten. Even at bedtime she was not missed and Sydney had a sort of campout in her sister’s room. This morning Sydney could not find Riley. I helped her look. Her brothers helped her look. Sydney told me more than once, “This is making me nervous.” and I reassured her that Riley was fine, just under a blanket somewhere or behind something. We looked in the car. Twice. 

I asked Sydney if she could have left Riley outside, thinking back to the last time I remembered seeing Riley the afternoon before. And I started feeling slightly ill as I began to imagine the worst. I asked Shawn to go outside to look around the yard. I could hear Sydney upstairs calling Riley’s name, looking again. I looked out the front window as Shawn bent over to pick something up. He was way out at the edge of the yard and I could not quite see what he had. Then he bent over to pick something else up. And although I could not see clearly, I knew. I knew our two puppies had found Riley. I knew how badly Sydney was going to feel and I knew there was nothing I could do to shield her little heart from the hurt it was about to experience. As Shawn got closer to the house I could see he held pieces of the doll. There would be no washing, repairs or patching I could do. I frantically tried to think of something I could do or something I could say that would protect Sydney from the truth. And then Sydney came down the stairs telling me Riley had not yet been found. I stepped between Sydney and the window. Sydney looked at my face. I saw fear in her eyes. I told her there was bad news and Riley was not okay. And then my little girl, who almost never cries, even when in pain, began to sob and choke out, “But I love her” over and over. I picked Sydney up and went to the rocking chair where we bawled and rocked together for a long while. This fifty-two year old, rational, somewhat cynical, experienced mother cried like a baby. I kept telling myself I was being silly, crying over a ruined toy. But I was not really crying over a ruined toy. I was crying over my little girl’s anguish. I could not take it away from her. So I shared in it.

I know. I know. A doll is just plastic and stuffing and this is ridiculous, blown way out of proportion. But if you can think back to your childhood and the most prized possession you owned all those years ago, then you might get an inkling of how important Riley has been to Sydney. 

As the tears subsided this morning I asked Sydney if she would like to go shopping to try to find another doll. I remembered the store where we’d found Riley and knew it was likely we could find an exact match there. I knew I might also have luck online. It took a while for Sydney to warm up to the idea of a replacement. I suggested we could even pretend the second doll was the same doll and this day had never happened. Sydney did not think that would be possible. But as the day progressed I could see the pain lessen. 

We did go shopping. And we were able to find a doll that is an exact match. And although Sydney insisted we choose a different name (because this was NOT Riley) before our day was through we had all accidently referred to the new doll as “Riley,” several times, Sydney included. The new doll was named Kennedy initially but now we are told she is actually Kennedy Riley and will be going by Riley mostly.

I am reminded of the Disney movie Inside Out as I look back at the day we just had. Ironically the character in that movie was also named Riley. The movie’s message was: We cannot always protect the ones we love from sadness. Sadness is an important part of life and we all need to experience it to grow. Without sadness would we really even know what true happiness feels like?

Steve and Murphy

Tate sent out a text message today to spread the news about Riley. I thought nothing about our tragic morning was worthy of a smile until I read Tate’s words. And before you ask: No. There will not be a funeral, flowers, Cheetos, or Pretzels. 

This was not our first tragedy. We've had broken hearts before. Breaking Bad News

Sydney's lopsided conversations

I tried to document a lot of Sydney’s morning before school today. I haven’t done it in a while and it is always interesting. This was mostly before the medications would have begun to help her slow down and focus. I couldn’t get it all because she talks way faster than I type, but I tried to jot down the highlights. You’ll notice that I do not always respond. I would if she would pause long enough but she does not usually even wait for an answer to a question. She just jumps right to another topic.

In between a lot of these lopsided conversations she was running in circles, opening doors, counting by fives, clapping rhythms with her hands, turning on noisy toys, running in and out of her room, looking in the refrigerator, knocking on the window at the dogs, eating her breakfast, and pestering Tate.

Sydney, first thing this morning: “Mom, Does your jaw hurt?” Me: “Umm, no.” (I have not had any jaw problems…) Sydney: “Well, my shoulder hurts. Do you know why it hurts?” Me: “No.” Sydney: “I know why it hurts. Do you want to know why it hurts? It hurts with a throb.” Me: “Did you sleep on it wrong?” Sydney: “No. I think it is the bone inside of it or the stuff around it.”

Sydney: “Did you take a shower?” Me: “Yes.” Sydney: “I believe you.” My thought bubble: Oh, I’m so glad you think I am credible. Sydney: “I hollered for you and then I hollered, ‘Dad? Dad?’ and all I heard was Levi. Did Levi go to work with Dad?” Me: “Yes.”

Steve and Sydney

Sydney: “I’m so HUNGRY! Can you cut me up an apple and put peanut butter on it? CRUNCHY peanut butter.” Me: “Sure.” Sydney: “Can I feed the dogs?” Me: “Levi already did.” Sydney: “I need to see Steve.” Me: “After breakfast.” Sydney: “I’m not hungry.” Me, handing her the plate with her apple on it: “EAT THIS!” Sydney (like I’m ridiculous and she is patronizing me): “Okay. Okay.”

Sydney: “Did you want me to get up this morning or lay in my bed? ‘Cause I was awake. I checked and Dad’s clock said 7:51 [7:15 actually] but that was running too fast for me.”

Sydney (following me into the laundry room): “Can I push start on the dryer?” Me (throwing clothes into the dryer): “In a minute.” Sydney: “It sounded like there was something clinky in there. Like a penny or something.” Me: “I didn’t hear it.” Sydney: “Maybe I made it up.”

Sydney: “Why did you get me a drink of water with my pills? Now I need to potty!” Sydney from the bathroom: “Mooooooo Moooooooo Mooooooo” Me: “Sydney, please stop mooing from the bathroom.”  Sydney: “Okay Mom! I’m hurrying!” Me: “Take your time. Just stop mooing!” Sydney: “Okay!” There was silence for one minute. Then….. Sydney: “Mooooooo. Moooooo” Moooooooooooo!” My thought bubble: Why couldn’t she have liked turtles best? They are so quiet.

Sydney: “Do you know how humming birds peck at windows? Well I dreamed about humming birds and there was this woodpecker who came to my window and woke me up. I let him in and you got mad at me. You said, ‘I don’t think that is a woodpecker. It is a blah blah blah bird.’ I said, ‘it is a friendly woodpecker’ and you said, ‘it is just an ordinary woodpecker.’” My thought bubble: Even in her dreams I suck all the fun right out of everything. But I’m so confused. Was this story about a humming bird, a woodpecker, or a blah blah blah bird?

Sydney settled on black and white and it turned out great. 

Sydney (picking up a wooden cow): “I really need to paint this cow. He looks naked. I’ll paint him today after math camp. Do you know why I hate going to math camp? It is because of going to my group. ____ is in my group. He looks at me like he is mad at me.” My thought bubble: I cannot imagine why. Sydney: “Should I paint this cow brown like a Brown Swiss or should it maybe be a Holstein?”  Me: “Whatever color you want.” Sydney: “Can I use your paints or my paint?” Me: “You can’t use watercolors. You’ll have to use my paint.” Sydney: “What colors do you have?” Me: “Too many to remember.” Sydney: “I want to make it really colorful. But…. What color is an udder?”

Sydney has had swimmers ear so we’ve got drops from the doctor. I told her we needed to get the drops in her ear before school and she said: “How long do I leave my ear drops in?” Me: “Five or ten minutes.” Sydney: “So, until Nine O Ten?” Me: “No.” Sydney: “Then how long?” Me: “Five or ten minutes.” Sydney: “So when it is Nine O Ten can I get up?” Me: “There is no such thing as Nine O Ten.” Sydney: “What time is it?” Me: “Sydney I don’t know what time it is right now but ten minutes after nine is called Nine Ten, not Nine O Ten.” Sydney: “So how long do I leave the ear drops in?”  Me: “Five or ten minutes.” Sydney: “So until Nine O Ten!” My thought bubble: Where are those eardrops? I think the directions said something about leaving them in ‘til Nine O Ten. Wait….

Sydney: “When you are gone to camp I will miss you.” Me: “I will miss you too. Regan and Dad will take good care of you.” Sydney: “Why does Regan have a headache today? What is a mind-grain anyway? I have too many mosquito bites. Oh Mom! There is a wasp nest out in the chicken house. I forgot to tell you yesterday. I don’t know if it is a wasp nest or a mud dauber’s nest. Dad needs to bring that spray out there. What color are wasp nests and mud dauber nests?” Me: “I’ll show you a picture later.” Sydney: “How about now?..... Hey! What are you typing? Is that about me?” Me: “It’s time to go to school.” My thought bubble: Heaven help her teachers today.  

Want to read about other mornings we've had? Here's one: Saturday Morning With Sydney