Directions Out of Oz

I was talking to my mother-in-law the other day, and she was telling me about their visit with — follow me here — my husband’s cousin’s daughter who has ADHD (hey, at least I didn’t throw in step-son’s ex-wife’s dog).  Anyway, my mother-in-law suggested that we — my husband, Tenzin, and I — might be able to guide this cousin a little because of our past experience with our own son, who was a crazy person at around age 3.  Newt was diagnosed with high-functioning autism, and he threw whopper temper tantrums.  He was what you might describe as a “spirited” child (love that term) and not very responsive to traditional discipline.  So my mother-in-law thought we could help.  And I think we probably could.  But what I told her was, “I don’t know if she’d really want to hear what we’d have to say.  Because in our opinion, a lot of that behavior comes from crappy parenting.”

I said that, and it’s true — we have very strong opinions about what you can do for a child who is very high-functioning and, frankly, needs a ton a behavior modification.  But I finally read something this week that clarified my stance on the matter much more succinctly.  I found a horrendous article about a mother whose son has ADHD (I’ll get to it), and the medical explanation section at the end said, “There is no evidence it is caused by bad parenting.”  Caused.  Caused.

I’ve never in my life said, implied, or believed that ADHD, ADD, autism, PDD-NOS, OCD, SPD or any other of the potpourri of neurological disorders is actually caused by parenting, bad or otherwise.  I do, however, very strongly believe that said disorders can be exacerbated by parenting.  And that parenting can either be the dam that redirects the river or the floodgate that opens and just lets the water pour right through.

If you’ve read our saga, you know all about Newt.  You don’t however, know about his cool-tempered, calm, Zen-like father.  You don’t know that as a child, Tenzin most likely would’ve been diagnosed as having ADHD (or something of the sort).  His mother remembers thinking, “My other sons aren’t like this — what’s wrong with this one?”  He couldn’t sit still, had no impulse control, and didn’t care about consequences.  When he was in second grade, his parents dragged him, kicking and screaming, into his classroom (dragged him — actually dragged him).  He busted windows with slingshots, broke bones falling out of trees that were too high, and got yelled at in front of the entire congregation at church (his dad was the pastor, so you can imagine how well that went over).

The thing is, his parents didn’t just say, “Well, he’s a high-spirited child,” or “I think he has some problems.  Poor guy — this is really hard on him.”  No.  They just pretty much sat on his ass.  He got busted, all the time (and made his mother cry just about every day because he made her so crazy).  He had to learn how to sit still in church (and it sucked for everyone).  He had to go to second grade (and fortunately had one of the best teachers in the universe).  And then he went on to become a functioning member of society and have a kid just like him. . .

What I guess I’m trying to say is that I think there are a lot of kids out there right this second who are getting really screwed over because their parents aren’t sitting on their kids’ asses.  Actually, the parents are sitting on their own asses and not doing their jobs.  Take for instance the story of Leanne Maloney.  You can read the whole, gory nightmare, but the nutshell is that she has a 7-year-old son with ADHD who beats her up.  She’s a battered woman.  And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the reason her son has absolutely zero control or self-discipline is because his parents are complete doormats.  When he broke his father’s nose, they sent him to bed without supper.  When he pushed his mother and she broke her wrist, they didn’t do anything.  So, golly, I wonder why he acts that way?

Now, obviously this is an extreme case.  And it’s easy to look at it and see what’s going wrong (at least, I hope it is.  If you guys are actually thinking this kid is just “acting out his disorder,” you need to stop reading right here).  But what I think is happening on a micro level is people not cracking down on their messed-up kids in order to help fix the mess (and I say this as the mother of a messed-up kid).  Yes, your kid has problems.  Yes, he is really, really difficult — way more difficult than any other kid you know.  Yes, he makes it impossible for you to go to the grocery store or storytime at the library or gymboree.  Yes, that’s your kid.

So, here’s my latest self-righteous, Tammy-knows-everything-because-her-kid-is-now-perfect advice for people who want to hear it (this applies, incidentally, to high-functioning kids).  These are some of the things that we did to help fix our kid.  And trust me, he really was messed up.  He could rage around his room for two hours, say the same phrase over and over for a 30-minute car ride, quote the Little Red Caboose verbatim, and not drink for an entire day if you gave him the wrong sippy cup.  And now, he really is doing well.  I swear.  It’s not a trick.

1) Forget your child is autistic (or ADHD).  If you want a kid who can live in the normal world, treat him like a normal kid.

2) Try to take every opportunity to be physically affectionate and verbally positive.

3) Speak to him with kindness and respect.  Don’t talk down to him (By the way, people always think they do #2 and #3.  No one always does #2 and #3.  #2 and #3 take a ton of effort when you’re dead tired and want to duct tape your kid’s mouth shut because he won’t stop singing the Thomas theme song.  But it’s big — so, so big.).

4) Raising kids is hard.  Raising your kid is 10 times harder.  The sooner you accept this, the better.

5) If you say no, mean no, even if it results in a 5-hour screaming fit.  The next time it will hopefully be a 4-hour screaming fit.  But there’s no guarantee (see #4).

6) If your kid is a thrower, put him in a room where there’s nothing to throw.

7) If your kid throws wild tantrums, learn a safe way to restrain him.  We suggest a body lock with the legs (be prepared to stay in this position until he wears himself out — like an hour).  We also used a travel car seat that we put in the middle of the dining room (where he couldn’t reach anything and we could hear but not see him).  We’d strap him in and leave the room.

8) Don’t reward unwanted behavior by giving it your attention.  If this means putting him in his locked bedroom until he calms down versus attempting to sit him in time out over and over and over, then go with former.  And I know you’re all laughing because time-out for autistic kids is, literally, a joke.  That’s why you need to come up with the other options like the bedroom with nothing in it and the car seat.  It’s true that the body lock method gives him your attention.  But as long as you don’t play into him (i.e., don’t let him know you’re upset or might cave if he’s upset), then it’s fine.

9) If he perseverates (for example, repeats the same phrase over and over), tell him you’re sure he likes doing it, but not everyone else enjoys it, so please stop.  This might not work until the 50th time.  But he needs to know.  It’s like everything else that’s unacceptable.  You wouldn’t let him run around outside without pants either.

10) If a behavior isn’t okay for a “typical” kid, it isn’t okay for yours.  Don’t make excuses.

11) Take him out of his comfort zone in small doses.  This could mean not giving him “his” cup at dinner.  Or changing the way a train usually goes while you’re playing.  Don’t make a big deal out of it.  But be prepared for the meltdown.  And for god’s sake, don’t give in (see #4 and #5).

12) Remain calm.  All is well.

13) If you can find a Waldorf preschool, put him in it.  It’s the best place to foster imaginative play, which is what he needs the most, and the teachers are exceptionally calm and patient.  I think any program that gets him around more kids is helpful, but what he doesn’t need is to learn letter memorization and reading.  He needs to figure out how to make a scarf look like a cape.

14) Use every relative or friend who loves him and is at your disposal to interact with him.

15) This is big:  make lots of jokes, change the words to songs, make weird faces, play chase around the house.  Essentially, act a little bit crazy.  Random is good.

16) Avoid restaurants and planes.  You can eat out and travel later.

17) Find opportunities to have him around other kids his age.  It’s going to be really tough, but you’re preparing him to live in kid world, not adult world.

18) Accept that he’ll accomplish things at his own pace and when it’s his time.  The biggest mistakes I made were trying to force Newt to do things before he was ready.  And this was almost exclusively due to me being worried about what other people would think.  Stressing about when he’d be fully potty trained.  Or when he’d stop using a sippy cup.  Or when he’d start dressing himself.  Now I just lead — he knows when he’s ready.

I realize that everyone with problems similar to Newt’s aren’t exactly like Newt.  And there’s a chance that we just got lucky and none of this had anything to do with his outcome.  But you know, I don’t really think so.  I think we’ve helped Newt “behave” his way out of autism.  If it makes you feel better, you can argue and try doing some of this half-ass and see what you come out with.  And then yell at me when it doesn’t work.   

And one last thing.  At some point, if you truly want to come out the other end of this, you have to look for that place where you stop putting your kid under the microscope.  Where you realize he’s not doing weird stuff because he has a neurological disorder but because he’s, for example, a 7-year-old boy, and 7-year-old boys are just plain freaky.  Where you quit over analyzing every new habit or interest.  Where you can start seeing your kid as just a kid.

When Newt was 3-and-a-half and recently diagnosed, we met with his teachers who told us, in semi-concerned voices, about a new sort of “tic” that Newt had developed — he’d push his top lip up toward his nose like he was sniffing it whenever he was being tested (they were big on tests).  Tenzin and I sort of smiled at each other, embarrassed, and explained that this was actually a funny face that we frequently made at home.  Looking back, I think that may have been our first glimpse behind the curtain to see what was making the scary, fire-breathing wizard work.  Yes, we were in Oz.  We were lost and barely even on the yellow brick road.  But although we had some imposing people telling us they could get us out of there if we just did what they asked, it became pretty clear that no one else really knew what they were doing either.  So we had a choice:  go get the witch’s broom, wait for Glinda to come back, or find our own road and just start heading for home.

Have I mentioned that we’re back in Kansas?