Happy Mother's Deja vu

Last year on Mother's Day, we had a lot going on. Our house was on the market as we prepared to move to Texas; my husband was in the middle of an enormous project that had him leaving for a cross-country flight; and the kids were anxious because of all the changes. Ian had not eaten well since the previous August when we put him on medication for ADHD and was so thin it made my heart break. I decided that as a good mother, I owed him the opportunity to regain his appetite and put on a few healthy pounds.

It was that day I decided to give him a medication vacation just to see what would happen. Fortunately, I approached the experiment with a sense of humor and expected the worst. Throughout the day, Ian bounced off every wall in the house, expending energy I didn't know could exist in such a small body. Surely at some point he would be famished and want to stop for some mac-n-cheese, spaghetti o's or a peanut butter and fluff sandwich. No such luck. He spent most of the day talking endlessly, running aimlessly, and giggling at jokes in his head. He was an exhausted mess by the time he took his bedtime bath, and he was certainly no heavier than he was that morning. I put him to bed and decided to abandon the plan for his sake.

The next morning I gave him his usual dose of medicine and waited the customary half-hour for it to kick in. We sat in his room and chatted. I asked, "Ian do you feel any better today?"

"Yes," Ian replied calmly.

"How do you feel better?" I inquired.

"Everything is quiet today. Yesterday I felt awful" Ian said.

"Hmmm. Do you remember that you didn't take your medicine yesterday?"

"Uh huh."

"Are you saying you prefer the way you feel today?"

"Mom, I don't want to not take my medicine ever again." Point well taken, duly noted, and will adhere to forever - I promised. For a 5 year-old to be able to articulate such a strong desire to feel in control, I had to respect his wishes.

It is one year later - Mother's Day 2006 - and the wild boy awoke at 7:45 in a great mood but in his usual untamed premedication frenzy. We were spending the weekend with my parents, and I guided him to the kitchen to present him with his Concerta and first dose of supplements. This kid is so good about taking medicine. He can take 4 capsules at once with the tiniest sip of water. The problem that morning was I am not certain all of the pills made it into his mouth. None were on the floor around him or on the counter nearby; still, I had this nagging feeling one of them had escaped.

The morning continued with the Sunday newspaper rituals of our house - I read the sale ads, Ian read the comics, my parents and husband worked the crossword puzzle. Ian just couldn't sit still though. He figited, made animal sounds, ran from room to room, and refused to eat. The Concerta just never kicked in. Everyone noticed that he was not himself.

My husband and I exchanged knowing glances. It was probably the beginning of the meltdown. Ian has one every time we travel, but it usually hits right after we return home. After spending a couple of days out of his routine and putting 150% of his energy into meeting social behavior expectations, he just collapses into tears, sometimes becoming violent. Our extended family has always commented on how well behaves he is when he visits; but they had never seen one of these episodes...until now.

Fortunately, Steve and I have learned to tag team him. We remove him to a quiet room, and take turns with him, making sure he doesn't hurt himself. He usually tells us how much he hates us and wants us to go away. Then we leave him alone for a while. Eventually, I hear him crying softly, and that is when I know it is over. This time he had decided he was hungry for pancakes and bacon - good thing, too, because that is what I had fixed. He ate, and everything was fine...

...until we were halfway home. It started all over again, only this time he was kicking his window and attempting to take off his seatbelt while I drove 70mph (o.k., maybe it was 80 - I was distracted) down the highway. I pulled the van over, and my husband went to the back seat to straighten things out - literally. We told Ian he could have his meltdown, but he had to do it within the confines of his seatbelt. It's a completely laughable prospect, especially for a kid with ADHD whose medicine most likely had rolled under grandma's refrigerator that morning. As we hit the road again, he continued muttering something under his breath and turned as best he could so his back was to us. After a short time Ian saw a book in the pocket of the seat in front of him, took it out, and began to read. Soon he was calm again and ready to carry on with the day.

Even the worst days seem to end with a calm sigh. I crept upstairs to kiss Ian good night one last time, touched is soft hair, felt his sweet breath on my cheek, and watched him sleep silently. I wondered if somebody had stolen the molten child from a couple of hours before and replaced him with this peaceful one just so I would be willing to get up in the morning and try again.

I have decided that Mother's Day is not about cards and gifts or about my family telling me how much they love me. It is a day for me to reflect on how fortunate I am to have been chosen for the adventure of parenthood and all that it has to teach me. Next year, however, I think I'll stay home.