The Never Ending Quest For Answers 

So. I know some of you may be wondering about the utterly disgusting sponge. We will get there. I promise. But not today. Today I thought I’d talk about Slugger. 

So as I discussed before, Slugger has been diagnosed with ADHD with ODD.  The Oppositional Definiace Disorder never came as a surprise to me. If anything I was more surprised that there was a disorder to fit what I thought was just a serious personality flaw. I spent countless hours wondering where I went wrong and why the basic concepts of human interaction just didn’t make sense to my child.  I was actually a little more than relieved to know this was something wrong with his “wiring” if you will, and not just him intentionally trying to hurt people with his lack of empathy. That might sound horrible, but trust me when I say knowing he has little control over it makes it a fraction easier to tolerate. Just a fraction. 

Now on the other hand, ADHD was something I didn’t see coming and have struggled with accepting since he was first diagnosed. He doesn’t exhibit the typical signs and behaviors associate with ADHD.  In fact, I didn’t notice any hyper activity or restlessness UNTIL we put him on medication. That being said, maybe I’ve put too much trust into doctors and modern medicine. Even though I was super aware of how often kids are diagnosed with ADHD, and even though I know we live in a society that is quick to throw a label on everyone and everything, I also know that I am not a medical professional. That I need to be open and try to cooperate.  With in reason. 

So at the time Slugger was first labeled “ADHD” I had to consider the signs and symptoms that prompted the diagnosis.  He was struggling with basic tasks and school work. When I would try to help him, I’d be met with resistance in the form of “I just can’t.”  Or “I don’t get it. I’m stupid.”  That last phrase in particular led me to believe that maybe he wasn’t grasping the concepts being presented to him and that there had to be an underlying reason why. So I entertained the notion that it may actually be ADHD and we would treat it as such with hopes of improvement. 

Fast forward. 

Two psychiatrists, two therapists, and several different medications later, I wasn’t seeing any results. If anything, we went through a period where the cocktail of medications he was on starting causing terrible changes to his moods. He was acting legitimately crazy. We got to a point where I was actually considering inpatient treatment just to keep him safe from himself. It was a dark, dark time.  Thankfully, it was as simple as taking him off all the meds and letting him even back out. It was at this point that we changed doctors. (Needless to say I was less than happy with the way things were handled with the first one.) 

This is point where Slugger wanted to get creative with what he told the doctor and decided to blame his behavior on ghosts telling him what to do. Which got us a temporary diagnosis of schizophrenia until he confessed to making it all up. (Heaven help me). Eventually we once again ended up with an ADHD/ODD diagnosis and the doctor prescribed a new medication. Just one. (Lesson learned)

So after months of taking this new medication, I saw little to no change.  It was around this time that we learned his therapist was leaving the practice to have a baby and would not be returning and we now had to hunt down a new one. I may have been just a little more than frustrated.  It seemed like we just could not win and having to find someone new and build a relationship with that person all over again was the LAST thing I wanted to do. But we had no choice. Let me just add here, if this had all been for me, at this point I would have given up. I felt alone and abandoned. At every step, it was like pulling teeth to get someone willing to help us. 

Moving on. 

We found a new therapist. I knew instantly upon meeting her that she was going to be different. Every other therapist had been the sweet, nurturing, safe zone kind of therapist. Which is great for some people. But not my son. Slugger has the ability to find a week spot and work it. He takes advantage of kindness. He avoided speaking to therapists for years and our weekly sessions turned into play time for him. Which would have been fine if he answered questions and cooperated while he played. But he didn’t. 

The very first meeting with the the new therapists, I watched her put him in his place. And that’s when I knew THIS was what we needed. She didn’t allow him to run the show.  She didn’t allow him to argue and fight. And while her blunt manner would certainly be a turn off to some, it was exactly the kind of no nonsense authority we needed to get anywhere with Slugger. No loopholes here, kid.  

Fast forward. 

And our next psychiatrist appointment, I decided to address the fact that I didn’t think Slugger’s medication was working.  I sat there explaining to this man, who had terrible bedside manner, that my son was driving me crazy and I didn’t know what else to do. While having this conversation, my children were destroying his office, which definitely made it that much better.  He expressed zero empathy.  In fact, he almost made it seem like I was bothering him.  He proceeded to explain to me that Slugger’s ADHD wasn’t really the problem. That no amount of medication could make him do something he didn’t want to do.  It was his ODD that I was describing and only behavior modification could fix that. I’m pretty sure it was about this time that I wailed “We’re screwed!” through ugly tears. And I really felt that way. How do you make someone do something they don’t want to do? It was like trying to solve an enigma. With no help. I dragged my kids out to the car and cried.

Shortly after that meeting, I received a letter in the mail letting me know our psychiatrist was also leaving the practice and we would have to find another one. I wanted to throw my hands up and scream. We had enough medication to last us two months and I figured I would run off of that and come up with a new plan as we started to run out.  

In the meantime, we had been working on behavior modification with his therapist. We were starting to see some results in school it was actually getting completed.  Where we had ended the previous grade with Slugger out right refusing to do his work, we were a couple month into the new school year with grades actually on the rise. 

So three weeks ago, I made the decision. No more meds. His therapis agreed as well.  We had a nice long talk about how ADHD may not even be on the table and it just might be anxiety presenting as ADHD. Which would certainly explain more than a few things. At this stage, there has been no change with Slugger. School work is getting done, some days more easily than others. But there is zero change in his ability to do the work.  None. So as of now I stand by my choice and am always open to medication in the future if we decide it’s needed.  

So why share this long, boring story with only a semi-ending?  Well, here’s how I see it. Anytime you hear a story like Slugger’s, you hear a much shorter version a that usually consists of “We had this problem, took this med, and now things are so much better!”  You rarely hear about how hard it is to find someone willing to help. Or how hard it is to find someone who doesn’t just see dollar signs when you walk in the door. I never imagined how hard this would be and just how much I would have to advocate for my son. Granted, this was the super abridge version. But next time you see a kid acting a damn fool, or lashing out at others, maybe you’ll consider there might be an issue there and maybe that family is trying desperately to get the help they need. 

Help lift  each other up.  That’s all. 

The Oils in the Oils Monster 

  So, for someone who calls them self the “oils monster” I haven’t spoken very much about these oils. 

This isn’t going to get preachy. I promise. Just follow me here. 

When I had first heard about these weird essential oils, I was mildly interested at the very most. I didn’t quite understand what they were or what I would even need them for.  The only oils I’d had any experience with were synthetic perfume quality oils. And yeah, I appreciated a good patchouli or sandalwood (because let’s face it, I’m a hippy at heart) but again, I didn’t really understand. I don’t know that I cared to, either. 

So fast forward just a tiny bit. When Pixie was born, I embraced my inner hippie harder than ever and decided since I was slightly more confident in my mothering abilities, I was going to do what felt right to me and not worry about the excessive eye rolling. I didn’t birth her in a cave or anything crazy. Don’t worry. But I did decide to handle my role as a mother a little differently than I had with Slugger. This meant baby wearing, extended breast feeding, cloth diapering… All that crazy. Now doing this opened my world to a different group of women with ideas and mom hacks that blew my mind. Here I was introduced to the voodoo magic that is coconut oil. And here’s where I started to peer into the mouth of the rabbit hole. 

So fast forward more. My enabler bestie and I started talking about these essential oils and maybe giving them a try. We’d heard good things. All over the place. In fact, it seemed like we were stumbling on essential oil references all over the “mom” community. We discussed the many options out there and both agreed on Young Living, for many reasons. 

So she took the plunge. 

And true to our fashion, about a month later, so did I. 

Now let me clarify. I was excited by her excitement. We are generally the same person so I knew if she was using these and enjoying them, I probably would too. I figured if absolutely nothing else they would smell good. I like things that smell good. Win. 

So, there I was, opening this huge box containing things I barely understood.  (Because why just buy one bottle?) I remember thinking there was no way I would use all of this. Eleven bottles of oils?  Some of them didn’t even smell good to me. I tried to tuck away my pessimistic side and roll with the punches. 

It wasn’t instant love. At least I don’t think it was. It was more determination.  I wanted nothing more than to find out whether or not these oils were worth the hype.  I thought I saw results. And second guessed myself. Because the things they were doing for my family and I seriously sounded too good to be true anytime I tried to share my experiences with anyone. I didn’t want to be that person spouting ridiculous claims. I didn’t want to sound like a sales person. 

We’ve reached a point now where it’s all I can do not to explode with crazy passion and scream “You have to try these!” at every person I see. I’m holding it in. Just know this friends and family, if I could slather you all in oils freely, I would. 

This all brings me to my point, I hope to include some more posts about our oils and how we’re using them. I solemnly swear not to sugar coat or oversell. For instance, one of my favorites blends, DiGize, smells horrendous. Awful. But I use it nearly everyday because of how well it works for me. I hate the smell a little less, but not enough to tell you it smells good. 

Cross my heart I’ll be honest and open and do my best to shed some light where I can. Keep your eyes peeled. 

Things I Never Thought I’d Say Out Loud (especially in public)

never thought i would say

I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth, though it certainly seems like I have.  We have been running around like crazy people the last couple of weeks and in the fray, my laptop charger decided it no longer wanted to do it’s job.  Facebook ever so kindly informed me that it has been eleven days since I’ve posted anything on the Oils Monster page.  So here I am.  Assuring you I’m alive.

On that note, Pixie just recently turned four this past weekend.  I don’t know how this happened, or when time decided to speed up, but in honor of her birthday I’ve compiled a slightly nonsensical list of things I never thought I’d have to say.  This list is a tiny representation of the absolutely insane things that I have found NECESSARY to say.  I should point that out.  I don’t say these things just because they’re funny.  Like, there has actual been an occasion to say each of these.  Ponder that.

So, without further ado, prepare yourself to question my entire life.  Here we go.

Stop eating the dog/cat food.  (I say this A LOT)

No, eggs don’t change color in the fishtanks like Easter eggs.  See?  They’re all still white.

We don’t eat toilet paper…

You can’t show your pee-pee to everyone…

We don’t color on our teeth.

No, if you shoot me, I won’t come back to life.

Why is the dog in the dresser drawer?  (I’ve had to ask this more than once.  Not awesome.)

No, we can’t name the baby “Sausages” or “Spongebob”.  (Good thing Slugger didn’t get final say on Pixie’s name…)

Please don’t keep chapstick in your underwear.

Well, now that you put that candy in your underwear, I guess we have to buy it.  But you still can’t eat it. (Yeah, I’ve said this.  Checking out at Staples.  It was just as awkward as you imagine it.)

Your underwear is not a substitute for pockets! (Gee, wonder why I had to say that.)

We don’t hit people with dinosaurs.

You can’t ride in the washer machine.

Please put that down.  It’s a urinal cake. (Uh huh.  Yup.)

No, I’m pretty sure bears don’t eat cars.  (Just pretty sure.  Not certain.)

Please don’t wash the cat.

No, no one turned Jesus into a statue.  It’s just a statue.  Of Jesus. (Pixie was incredibly concerned about this one…)

Pantyhose aren’t pants.  I can see your underwear.  And it’s on wrong.

And everyone, gag with me:

Please stop eating the cat’s hair!

Now of course this list isn’t all inclusive.  I’m sure there are plenty of ridiculous things I’ve blocked from my memory to preserve my own sanity.  Any fun ones you’d like to add??  Leave them in the comments.  You know, so I can feel like this is normal.

How to Survive Being a Sideline Mom

sports mom

School has officially started here!  WHICH IS WONDERFUL!  And also means something else has started.  I’ll give you a hint.  Ready?

planner

Do you see it?  Do you?

For those who don’t know about my crazy obsession, this is my planner.  Like, really.  I use this to plan my entire life.  (And for the record, Steve isn’t some heart broken man that I plan on counseling through a break up.  It’s Slugger’s teddy bear, who was missing an arm.) And there, there at the bottom!  Fall baseball season has begun!

Slugger has been playing ball since Kindergarten, and though I wonder about how much HE has learned, I’ve learned a tremendous amount over the last few years.  And because I’m a giving person, I plan to share that knowledge with you.  Now, if you’re looking to the learn the definition of “short stop” or “pinch hitter”, this isn’t the place.  Seriously, you guys, google.  I’m here to teach you something far more valuable.

How to survive being a side line mom.

Now, though in my case this applies to baseball, the tips I’m about to teach you can be applied to just about any activity you are forced happily spectating.  So pay attention.

baseball kid

This first nugget of wisdom applies to almost anything kid related:

  1.  No matter how much they enjoy the activity once they’re there, your children will fight you tooth and nail about actually going to said activity.

It never fails.  My son loves his team and coaches.  He generally enjoys himself while out on the field.  But when it comes time to leave the house, he acts like I’m dragging him to a symposium on the effects of global warming.  Every.  Damn.  Time.  So, that being said, plan to leave at least a half an hour earlier than you need to.  You know, in case you have to shove them in the car, kicking and screaming.

2.  Always bring water.

Do not, I repeat, do not count on your child to remember to bring their own water bottle.  It’s a recipe for disaster.  You will remind them 345,239 times, and mid game/practice they will be dehydrating faster than you can say “I told you so”.  Or at least, it will seem that way from all the throat clutching and rasping noises they will be making in your direction.  They will spend more time whining by your side than on the field playing the sport you paid good money for them to play.  BRING WATER.

3.  Find your people.

Stop scratching your head and let me explain.  There are going to be other moms there, you know, because it’s a team made of children.  Unless you’re  a magical chameleon unicorn, not all of these moms will get you.  It’s up to you to hunt down and find the ones that do.  And then firmly plant yourself next to them.  To avoid confusion and awkward social situations, I’ve complied a list of most of the “mom types” you will find among the bleachers.

The Posh Moms:

You will know these moms from miles away.  They are always polished and well dressed.  Hair is coiffed, nails are polished, and they are dressed like they just stepped out of a high end catalogue.  Their makeup is always on point and you’ll notice they never seem to sweat.  I’ve yet to figure this out.

The Sporty Moms:

These moms clearly played some sport in college, though the debate is open as to what.  They are usually dressed like they just went for a jog, with lots of spandex, ponytails, and baseball caps.  Don’t look for them on the bleachers, because more than likely, they’ve positioned themselves behind the team bench and are leading the little buggers in some kind of group cheer.  You can also easily recognize them by their intense need to high five everyone and shoot a thumbs up to their kid on the field every thirty seconds.  Team work.

The All Together Moms:

These moms were born to birth people.  Like, really though, they seem to have the mom thing down to a science.  They are always prepared, always on time, and usually have anything any child could possibly need on hand.  When it comes time for them to provide the team snack, you can bet it’s something painstakingly homemade.  Like cupcakes with a  picture of each child made from icing and fondant.  The Martha Stewarts of Moms.

Which brings me to my final group.

The Barely Holding it Together Moms:

Personally, this is my group.  These are the moms who are in the thick of it.  They look war weary and disheveled.  You can tell by the strain in their voice and the twitch in their eye that they are one tiny person away from a mental breakdown.  They cope with sarcasm and humor.  They scream from the sidelines at their kid, who is currently throwing dirt in the air like confetti, rather than paying attention to the action on the field.  My people.

Now that we’ve covered that…

4.  Clear your entire afternoon/evening schedule for the duration of the season.

Don’t even imagine that you will have any form of a life until the season has concluded.  Just don’t.  Plan on pop up practices, last minute games, and God knows what else.  There will be parties and impromptu ice-cream.  You are a slave to the game now.  Live with it.

5.  Forget eating dinner.  Ever again.

This one kind of runs hand in hand with number 4.  Because your brats are school aged, most activities take place during prime dinner time.  Which means rushing through homework, throwing a snack at your child, and running out the door (thirty minutes early, don’t forget this.) You will spend a good percentage of your time on the bleachers wracking your brain on how to actually feed your family a meal that night.  Don’t stress it.  This is why McDonald’s was invented.  Don’t judge me.

Now this last bit is just some added advice for those fools moms out there who have more than one child, like yours truly.

To keep your additional little ones entertained, consider packing the following:

Every electronic device you own.

Every snack currently in your pantry.

Water (We covered this)

A toy loved enough to entertain, yet not so loved that losing it wouldn’t cause a complete meltdown. (Like such a thing exists.  Ha!)

Vodka (For you.  Clearly.)

Duct tape (Just in case…ummm.  Never mind.)

If all of the above doesn’t work, send your additional children to All Together Mom.  Chances are she has something they want.

Above all, have fun.  Enjoy this time.  It will go quickly.  Plus, at the very least, you know your kid will one day have a bitchin collection of “participation trophies” to show off.  It’s all good.