I usually eat alone

Lizzy is her own little person.  Growing to be her own lady... and someone I admire perhaps more than she'll ever know.

I ask her often about her day.  I ask what the best part was or if she made someone smile.  I'll often use a sentence like "what did your friends think of..." and she'll reply "mom I don't have many friends".  I asked her recently about recess and she said "I usually play by myself" and when I asked who she eats with at lunch she replied, "I usually eat alone". My heart sank when she said that.  To me it was such a sad, lonely picture.

The last time we asked her teacher about it, her teacher said, "Liz is very well liked... I often hear other kids ask her to play, she just usually says 'nah' and chooses to be by herself so she can make up stories or talk to her 'imaginary friends'.  I think after a while, they just give up asking".

I asked Lizzy if it made her sad to not have many friends and if her being alone is by choice and she replied, nonplussed "oh I don't care. I usually like to be alone.  I don't want to play what they're playing and I like my stories better".  She truly likes her own world, the one she invents the characters for and the interactions in.  Is that because she can control it?  She gets her feelings rather easily hurt in the real world.  She burst into tears one day because a girl who HAD been a friend said, "hey Lizzy, I like your earrings... NOT!" causing some others to laugh at Lizzy.  What was heartening is that apparently a number of girls, girls she doesn't hang out with every day because she doesn't hang out with anyone, came rushing to her defense and ran to the teacher saying "Liz doesn't deserve that! They shouldn't make her cry like that!" Or, control or not, real world or not, does she just truly like her own world and doesn't care if that many are interested in sharing it with her.

There's a struggle, as a parent, to let your child be who THEY are.  To not foist upon them your habits, fears, likes, dislikes, better attributes and worst detriments.  I was a VERY different child.  I was very sensitive, very shy, had a huge imagination, poor social skills and was often lonely because of it.  I did NOT tell my parents however.  I didn't tell them that I played and ate alone most days.  I didn't tell them that I wished I could make friends as easily as my sister did. I didn't tell them about the bullies who dumped my lunch nearly daily in elementary school from 1st through 3rd grades.  I didn't tell them about the girls who bullied me in middle school.

So when I hear Lizzy say she CHOOSES to be alone,  or she's FINE without friends,  or that she's not sad or lonely because of it... I find myself balancing my worry that she's actually lonely and has hardened her heart to being different and my absolute ADMIRATION that she's already confident enough to be exactly who she is.  She makes no attempt to even discern what the trends are.  She said simply, when I asked why she doesn't compromise with other kids and sometimes make an attempt to understand their game and then ask them to do the same in return, "I don't think they'll get my world, mom.  And theirs doesn't interest me."  So I have to fight that parental instinct to let her be EXACTLY WHO SHE IS.  Not worry that she's lonely like I would be in her shoes.  Not worry that her "weirdness" will make it hard to have friends.  I have to let Liz be Liz (that is her name of choice in school, not Elizabeth and not Lizzy, but she says she likes that I call her Lizzy).

Her stepsister once commented about what the "popular" kids at her school were wearing and doing and when she asked Lizzy if it was the same at her school, Lizzy said "I don't know, actually".  Lizzy honestly doesn't know.  She doesn't keep an eye out for these things.  She does't honestly care.  She dresses by mood and her interests go by mood too.  I suppose THAT part of her I relate to.  I just didn't posses that confidence until high school.  Before that, I cared and wanted so badly to be liked.  By high school I dressed by mood.  One day I wanted my all black and stick straight hair.  The next a crazy printed skirt, fringed shirt and 90's poofy hair.  I'm still like that.  I go by mood.  I start knitting a scarf but then turn to painting.  Then I take up writing a new story.  So I UNDERSTAND that side of her, but I have to fight the urge to say "well, like me..." because she's not like me.  She's exactly like Elizabeth Grace Plavin.

She's a little girl who one day loves starting a "writing club" with a bunch of girls at school and who chooses to be alone the next because they've lost interest in the stories and "just want to walk around" (as she puts it) and she would rather write.  She's a little girl who one day wants to play dress up and make up with her stepsister, but the next day really wants to just wear her leggings and high tops and could care less about "looking pretty".  She's a little girl who one day wants to dress in a skirt and knee socks to look like the "Kawaii" anime girls she draws, but then the next day wants to dye her hair blue and wear something that more resembles the tough armor the Overwatch character she's been inspired by wears.  She's the little girl who cares that a an "old friend" who she used to play with "hates her" but at the same time, chooses not to play with  that same girl because "she doesn't get me anyway".  She lives with headphones permanently in her ADHD ears because the strange amalgamation of big-band/ragtime/electronica/pop/metal/classical that make up her playlists (because they've been featured in a video game) helps her focus.  She's the girl who seems barely to hear you when you speak to her, not because she's not enthusiastic or not because she doesn't like you, but because her head is already somewhere else or because (as she told me today) "she's tired a lot".

I remembered her first therapist saying "It's exhausting being Elizabeth".  Because her head was SO busy and so full and her imagination was constantly running and her senses are constantly either on overload or SEEKING input because her sensory disorder is marked by under-responsivity, her therapist said it's truly exhausting being in her world for her.

And yet, she likes it there.  She loves her world of (at least today) Warrior Cats (from a book series) and bed wars (from Minecraft) and Kawaii-style characters (from her love of anime) and whatever drama she cooks up in her own stories.  At least, I think she does.  I truly hope she isn't just saying she "chooses to eat alone" because she's hardened her heart and figures "fine, if no one will be my friend, then I don't need friends", but is actually lonely.  I think she truly just likes her world.

She seems to be a happy kid.  She really does.  She doesn't avoid school.  She does't feign illness or seek reasons to stay home.  She's often cheery and upbeat.  She's my sunshine really.  She's this burning bright ball of ideas and drawings and stories and smiles and silliness and love and hugs and emotion.  Even if that ball comes with a girl who will strike out at me if her tangly hair hurts too much to brush.  Even if that ball comes with a sensory seeker who needs to jump around or touch everything or be in constant motion but doesn't notice when she's stepping on your feet or walking on your papers.  She is an amazing, courageous, funny, creative ball of sunshine whom I don't think I completely understand.

But I admire her more than anything.  I, myself, am still afraid to eat alone.

Of Step-parenting and Heroes

You know how you can appreciate someone, but you may not REALLY appreciate them until you've stood where they stood?  Yeah, step-parenting has put me there.

My step-dad, Phil, has always been one of my heroes.  Sounds cliche, I know, but he is.  Not that in-fallible super-hero that parents are when you're tiny.  And past that hard time when they fall from super-hero status and you see them as humans who make mistakes and with whom you may not always agree.  He, like my mother and father, are now in that "hero" place where they are someone who serves as a role model.  Someone I understand now, has walked a path that is not always easy, nor clear.  And he's done it in such a way, that he looms even larger now than he did previously.

Phil made it look easy.  The step-parenting thing.  My dad was still very much in my life, so Phil didn't come along as a replacement, nor did he just decide that because of that, he'd stay on the periphery as just my mom's husband... he carved out his own role.  The bonus parent.  Some kids only got two parents. I got 3 parents growing up  - 3 parents at back-to-school night and at football games and cheerleading competitions.  I got 3 parents to ask for advice and cry to when I faced a hill I thought I couldn't climb.  And am now I am blessed to have 4 with my dad's remarriage when I was 23.  I'm blessed that Phil made the role so much.

Phil didn't treat us as a means to and end (my mother), nor did he treat us as in the way.  He didn't disrupt the little unit my mom, sister and I had become.  He ADDED to it.  Gracefully.  Quietly.  With strength and humility I don't even know if he knows he possesses.  I don't know if he knows what the moment meant to me, sitting on our shit-brown shag carpet, folded between the couch and coffee table (why didn't we sit on our furniture?) where he pored over a newspaper with me to help me understand what a "current events" assignment entailed.  How he taught me that it wasn't a perfunctory assignment of read-repeat-write-get a grade.  But to UNDERSTAND the article, think about it for myself, roll it around in my head, then write about it.  I don't know if he knows how much him holding us on boogie boards in rolling surf as we learned, or patiently demonstrating snow-plowing with our skis on a bunny hill, or rolling our fingers on a football for a spiral, meant to me. But now I think... I didn't have any idea how those days and years were a careful balancing act for him.

I'm a step-parent now.  And like Phil knew we had a father in our lives, my step-kids have a mom in their life.  They live with her half the time, as a matter of fact.  So I'm not a replacement, but I don't want to then act like I'll just be their father's wife and they don't matter to me like my own kids do.  I'm doing what is turning out to be a difficult, rewarding, humbling, complex dance.  I had no idea just how complex it was.  No idea just how graceful Phil was... until I got here.

This step-parenting thing is not easy.  But I wouldn't trade it for anything.  ANYTHING.  I have my two kids, and now I have two bonus kids.  And it's a careful dance for me.  With my two kiddos I make lunches when they don't want to buy hot lunch.  I make sure that at my home, they have 1 1/2 - 2 weeks of clothes for whatever season we're in and Mike does the same at his.  I proudly attend baseball games and swim classes and music performances.  I try to come up with art projects or activities to do together. I want to vacation and fish and hike and make memories with my kids.

Now I have my bonus kids and I can and want to do those things for them and with them too.  I don't want them to feel that that's a nuisance or stressful or like something I'll do only if I have extra time.  I hope I don't make them feel that way.  I don't care if 4 lunches instead of two means I'm up a bit later or the grocery bill is bigger.  I don't care if Jayden's game at noon and William's at four means I'll just fill an entire Saturday with baseball... in fact, I LOVE it.  I love wearing their team colors and praying I'm not embarrassing them as I LOUDLY cheer while they play.  I love taking TWO young girls through a Justice outlet and listening to them gleefully try makeup or declare this outfit "the cutest ever!!".  I love finding a house that sleeps six instead of a hotel that sleeps 3.

But the dance becomes that I don't want them to feel that these efforts for them are false or a means to an end.  And I don't want them or their mother to feel I disrespect their relationship with her or that I'm stepping on her toes.  I remember asking Phil about something and he would reply "ask your mom and dad"... NOT because he didn't want to be involved, but because he respected their position. And that's not an easy spot to be in.  I see that now.

I'm pretty liberal when it comes to things like funky clothes or haircuts or hair color.  My kids are amazing, bright and well behaved, so it doesn't matter to me if they do it while Lizzy has pink hair or William has a mohawk and black-painted fingernails.  It doesn't.  But that doesn't mean that all parents feel that way.  Jason and/or Kelly may have reasons or lessons or messages behind what they do and don't allow.  And the careful dance happens when those don't line up and our kids share a house.

Laney marched in the other day and announced she wanted to pierce her ears. Lizzy's are already, so this isn't a huge deal to me.    But before I could even think I said, "have you asked your mother?".  I hope she understands that it was not because I didn't care or didn't want to be involved.  Shoot, I'll hold her hand and even punch a third hole in my ear to make her feel better if she wants... but that decision has to lie with Jason and Kelly.  Can she get her ears pierced?  Yeah, I want to say "of course!!" but that's not my call.  This is where the dance is complex and I see now that I had NO IDEA how graceful Phil was at it.

I'm a huggy person and my kids and I are are pretty touchy-feely.  I grab them in hugs a lot and the 3 of us as a unit pretty much crammed on a couch laying all over each other, sharing pillows and blankets and whatever else.  We all had "sitting pillows" (you know, those pillows with a back and arms?) and we'd just grab whichever is closest, not a lot of "that's mine, that's yours".  My careful dance comes in that my step-kids and Jason are more reserved.  So I walk in and hug Lizzy, or I see her glee in a new outfit or if she's happy with the hairstyle I did for her and I check myself with Laney.  Not because I don't want to hug her, but because I don't want to make her uncomfortable.  She's not much of a hugger, like her dad. I don't want to try to mold her into a way that is unnatural for her.  And yet, I worry that in my hugging Lizzy, she'll feel less important or left out.  And she's not.  I hope she knows how much she means to me and this careful dance I do leaves me wondering just how to express that within her own comfort zone.

Like I'm not sure about if Phil understood those huge simple moments for me, I don't know that my step-kids see how much certain moments with them mean to me.  This summer, shortly before Jayden broke his leg at the Lake House, he and I went in a boat together.  I know he wanted to be with his dad, who was already on the lake with William.  And he was going to wait, but finally agreed that I could row him out to fish.  He may never know what that time in the raft with him meant to me.  Laughing, helping him unhook his fish, watching him bait his own hook and seeing the joy on his face when the tug-tug of a fish on the line came.  He may never know how much just getting to pick him up from one of his middle school football games, or having him trust me enough to help him when he's sick or injured means.  But I hope that those moments also never make him feel obligated or pressured or put upon to have a relationship with me that is beyond his comfort zone, nor ever make him feel like I would ever want to replace Kelly.  I'd like to be a bonus parent and make him understand that I respect and love the fact that he has a relationship with his mother.

Later, Lizzy, Laney and I fished 3 of us in a boat.  It is and will likely remain one of my best memories.  3 of us in a raft, trying to fish and handle a net and not spill the worms while we got soaked and laughed and yelled "fish in the boat! fish in the boat" when one of our fish popped off the hook and we tried to get it out without getting poked by the spikes that they have.  I don't know if Laney knows what it means to share those moments. And again, I can only hope that I can keep my bonus parenting in a place that is comfortable for her and respects the bond she has with her mom.

I see that our kids, too, have to do a careful dance.  Especially with William, I can see how much he wants to bond with Jason and Jayden.  I see him puff up with pleasure and pride to be part of the "boys car" when we take two cars somewhere.  I remember, on one of our early fishing trips before we were married, when Jason and Jayden crossed some rocks, how much he wanted to be there too. And was torn, because he wanted to fish with me too. I see Jason also doing the careful dance I do and having the worries I do.  I know he doesn't want my kiddos feeling as if they are less than his, but then worries that he may overcompensate and make his own kids feel as if he does more with William and Lizzy. I am the same.  I don't want my kids to feel like I'm making a larger effort as some kind of attempt to ingratiate myself with Jayden and Laney, but I don't want Jayden and Laney to feel secondary to William and Lizzy.

And so we keep dancing.  The 6 of us now.  Trying new steps and learning not to step on one another's toes.  When my brother came along, I didn't feel any differently with Phil or about Phil.  I never felt lesser or like Dane was HIS and we weren't.  I just don't think I appreciated how Phil did it.  How he balanced this all so carefully.  I assume that thoughts or doubts raced through his head.  I assume that it wasn't as easy as he made it look.  Unless it was just instinctual for him.  But something tells me, as I walk this path now, that it wasn't easy.  That it took thought and choice and compromise.

Mom, Phil my Dad, my sister and Dane even vacationed together a couple times and had mutual Father's Days and other events and holidays.  It seemed natural to me.  Easy.  My three parents, I see now, MADE it easy for me... but it likely was not easy for them.  There was likely some discomfort or juggling or choice.  But as they sat there together on the sidelines of a drill team parade or shared a Father's Day table for a brunch or traveled to Hawaii with ALL of us together, they made it easy on me.  I did not then, see the dance they were dancing.  I was just a kid with 3 parents.

I can only pray that Jason, Mike, Kelly, Guy (Kelly's husband)  and I can make it easy on these four amazing humans we are blessed to call our children.  I can only we pray we do these dance steps as gracefully.  That we add to their lives and not make it feel like a tug-of-war or like any of us aren't involved and on the periphery.

And as a step-mom I can only keep trying to walk this tight rope and do this dance without harming too many toes.  I can only keep trying, when they are with me and Jason, to be a "bonus mom" who adds without taking away from something else.  Who makes our home feel like a "unit" and not his and hers, us and them.  I don't want any of them to feel like we're forcing square pegs in round holes, but that, in our house, the pieces fit together like a puzzle.

My mom and dad, throughout certain steps I've walked, have loomed large to me as I see what they had to do, fears they faced as a parent, stresses they faced as single parents.  All 3 of my parents have become heroes to me as I grow to understand the intricacies of marriage, divorce and raising children.

But Phil now looms large in a "bonus" way.  I'm beginning, only beginning, to understand he also had another role as a step-parent that is different, difficult, wonderful and complex.  I'm so thankful he did it so well.  So that I have something, some model, to help me.

Of Luck, Choice and Cruise Control

I'm sitting here at 9:45 a.m. in bed, not because I'm tired, not because I'm sick, but because my husband, who did not sleep well and would like to sleep a little longer, asked me if there was something I could do to keep me next to him. He knows my busy brain (because his is the same). He knows when I can't sleep, I want to get up and work out and start making lists and cleaning the house and folding the laundry and going grocery shopping and sew some "changes" the girls want to their school clothes... but he wants to feel me next to him. And so I write, because I too am loathe to let go of the feeling of him by me. But mostly because I'm choosing to slow down and make him my priority. I want him to know he's more important than a mopped floor or put-away towels or "me time".  And, because he so often, although it is hard for him when his busy brain takes off, slows down and MAKES time for us and makes it clear I come before "his time" or washed dishes or a watered lawn.

I look at the curve of him curled up, because he is too tall for this bed (or any bed, really), I look around at our as-yet unfinished bedroom even though it's been 10 months since we've moved in, I know the pieces of unfinished house and yard that lie beyond this unfinished room, and yet I marvel at how lucky I am. I know it will all be finished, together. And we are lucky for that. But is it really luck?  Or is it something else?

So much in the past few days has had me thinking... conversations with Jason about how our first few weeks together seem like another lifetime ago, moving a friend going through a tough time, a quote left floating on the FB page of another, the responsible famous father who pulled his son out of a big college football program because his son isn't making responsible choices and I realize... most of life isn't made of luck, it's made of choices. Making them, taking responsibility for them, owning when they are wrong, and changing them.  We don't cruise along on the wings of luck.  We flap our own by choice and fly or fall, accordingly.  No one else is to blame.  No one else gets the credit.

My friend, going through a hard time said, "Hard to train yourself on what's healthy and what's the right choice versus what's routine and temporarily feels good". My other friend posted a quote that said, "When it feels scary to jump, that is exactly when you should jump, otherwise you end up staying in the same place your whole life." And Keyshawn Johnson Sr., when asked what his son's opinion of leaving the Nebraska football program was, replied, “I never asked him,” Johnson Sr. said. “At the end of the day, I don’t think that decision was in his hands. He squandered that decision. He still wants to play football, and he still wants to play for Nebraska. But if you don’t do the things you’re supposed to do, under the guidelines of me, it’s not going to happen.”  So even in squandering choice, Keyshawn Jr. made a choice that meant he temporarily had choice taken away.  So he could learn how to own up.  And grow up.
Choices are hard, they will be judged by others, commented on, ridiculed or held up for praise.  But none of that can factor into YOUR choices.  That's what I'm learning, that's what I want to teach my kids.  That's what I hope to exemplify at work and at home.  Much of life is choice, and often the hardest choice, the most uncomfortable, the one that takes you out of routine, is the right one.

Choosing to come to Oregon was not easy for me.  I wanted to stay close to home... where I could retreat to my parent's house to ponder my next steps or cry or do laundry or rest if my dorm was less than peaceful.  But I left.  I wanted to be a journalist at the time and Oregon had a top-5 Journalism school.  And Oregon, something about the quiet and the green, had been calling me since my dad drove me through it at 15 years old.  But that choice, started the road to where I sit now, still next to my sleeping husband, happy and complete, despite my unfinished house.  So it wasn't luck that brought me here, it was choice. I could have let the outside voices that told me that I was choosing a second-tier school after also being accepted at UCLA and Berkeley was a mistake, sway me.  I could have let the voices about small towns and rain and the fear of leaving home change my mind, but routine and comfort don't = right.  So I left and ignored the voices.  I CHOSE.

Choosing to stay in Oregon was not easy for me.  I had graduated and planned on returning to California.  But my best friend and I decided to give love and marriage a shot.  It would have been easier to go home, move in with my sister, study teaching and become a teacher in my old environs.  But that's not what I needed to do.  So Mike and I found our first little low-paying jobs, married and struggled, found a groove and had kids.  The judges and outside voices came then too.  I was letting someone else change my path.  I was throwing away teaching for a minimum-wage job just to stay in Oregon.  Those voices were wrong.  I chose the path that was uncomfortable, because I needed to stay here.  I CHOSE.  And I would not be sitting here content, had I returned home.

Choosing to leave my marriage remains the hardest decision I've ever made.  Oh boy and THEN did the judgement and voices rain in.  I was leaving him for another man (try again, not correct). I was leaving because I was angry with Mike and he wasn't good to me (no, we did not fit, but he is a good man). An old friend who I admittedly grew too close to online while I was weighing my decision, but wisely let go of, tried to take the blame (nope, incorrect again, he is blame-free).  I was having a mid-life crisis (no sorry, this decision had been bandying about in my head for around 7-8 years).  I was choosing a selfish path and harming my kids.  But I had been facing for years, and didn't like it when the counselor had pointed it out, that I had actually stopped choosing and had settled into a harmful pattern that was easier than breaking it.  A HARMFUL pattern for us and our kids. Mike and I both had.  We never chose "us".  We had settled into that routine that many admittedly settle for - never getting up together, never going to bed together, dividing up everything into "his time" and "my time", "his job" and "my job" - but it didn't work for us.  I just didn't want to see it, and neither did he.  But as our kids grew mysteriously anxious, stressed, angry, in need of counseling despite our "solid home", the uncomfortable choice loomed in front of me.  I HAD to see what I didn't want to see. The moment when it's scary to jump.  So I jumped.  The judgements remain, but they will have to lay behind me with the road I've traveled, because I own my choice. It was the one that needed to be made.  For me, for my kids, and for Mike. So we could all have a chance to make choices that grew us, fulfilled us and didn't leave us blindly following a rut that we were too tired to leave.  So that mysterious stress that loomed over us all, could dissipate.  I chose.

Choosing to date again was also hard.  Jason and I speak of it often.  Finding ourselves single, although we did not yet know one another, we already shared one thing - we were not "looking" and that made others uncomfortable and made us weird.  So many single people were out there having to "have someone", needing to date, not wanting to be alone.  When our friend told us we should meet, we both brushed it off initially and when we finally met, spent a ridiculous amount of conversation on "but I'm not looking for anyone, I don't want to date right now".  But something was there.  Undeniable.  Like the pull to Oregon.  Some strange pull.  Something not quite comfortable.  The big jump. So we began to CHOOSE each other.  Every day.  We choose the discomfort, the lack of routine, the sometimes roller-coaster ride that is blending two families.  We still choose it.  Because it's the right choice... the one that fulfills us and our kids.

I had envisioned a peaceful life of single motherhood where there is no compromise or blending, just routine.  I think he figured he'd be peacefully single too.  But we choose this road instead. We refuse to settle for "routine", we get scared if we find the road blending into the bland beige of perfunctory kisses, automatic "love you too's", seats at separate ends of the couch or "you take out the garbage and I'll cook"assignments.  Instead,  we choose every day to keep the priorities clear - time with the kids, time alone with each other, working TOGETHER, family vacations to a treasured lake house, sitting next to the other just to feel touch even if it means setting aside "what has to be done", still writing love notes or messaging each other like we did when we first met.  We keep jumping.  We keep choosing.  We keep trying to teach the kids to choose, own up, try, try again, take responsibility, face fears, say sorry, give, give again, contribute - keep jumping.  Life is not a passive event.  You don't get pass on blame or credit... both are yours.

Keyshawn Johnson Sr. said in that interview about his son squandering choice and not taking responsibility, that "there is no cruise control".  I love that.  No cruise control.

Is life luck or choice?  Admittedly a mix of both... but heavy on the choice.  So when you feel afraid, look closely at why.  In the uncomfortable choices and the big jumps are where LIVING lie.  And why just exist, when you can live.

Diagnosis and terrifying words

Lest my title dismay you, don't worry... there is some lightness in every bit of "dark" in life.

Any of you who know me, read my blogs, or know my Lizzy... you know it's been a journey.  From a very young age, she's been, well, different.

We finally have a diagnosis of sorts.  We FINALLY got a full analysis from OHSU (Oregon Health Sciences University) 's  CDRC (Child Development and Rehabilitation Center) through the University of Oregon.  This is where we've been through eating therapy and Occupational Therapy.  This is where I went in desperation when she vomited up everything, made a scene in gymnastics, couldn't use toilets, freaked out about hair dryers and hand dryers and auto-flush toilets and auto paper-towel dispensers.

It took hours, that analysis, and she was exhausted.  She was at the height of her self-stimulatory behavior.  They were dismayed by it and Mike and I were at a loss.

ADHD and SMD.  Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and  Sensory Modulation Disorder.

"She's not on the spectrum"... the first words the therapist uttered.  Mike said he knew it.  I was surprised.  I'd always thought she was.  But then they mentioned the Sensory Modulation Disorder and I learned about the symptom overlaps that made me wonder about her being on the spectrum.  Sensory Modulation Disorder is

 " is one specific type of Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). Sensory modulation refers specifically to the brain’s ability to respond appropriately to the sensory environment and to remain at the appropriate level of arousal or alertness".

It's separated into over-responsivity, under-responsivity and sensory seeking... she is the latter two.

Under responsive:

• may stuff too much food in mouth
• may not notice messy face, hands, twisted clothing
• often appears to be daydreaming or unfocused on what is going on
• asks “what” a lot even when hearing is fine
• may be overweight
• high pain tolerance or may not seem to notice cuts and bruises
• low muscle tone, may slump, slouch, and lean in chair or desk
• toe walking or awkward gait
• clumsiness
• poor fine motor skill development

Sensory Seeker

• always in constant motion, may “crash” into walls or floor on purpose
• may toe walk, or may run/jump/skip everywhere rather than walk
• difficulty staying still in seat
• touches everything, may bring everything to mouth
• plays rough
• poor attention span

So there we have it.  That's my girl.  The ADHD is a bit easier to tackle.  Kinda.  It's been a bit of a roller coaster trying meds, but we seem to have found something that works.  It's out of her system quickly, allowing her to start to "notice" the difference so that she can gain tools to self - manage... maybe even not need meds when she's older.  She's making great strides in school as far as finding tools/tricks to pay better attention, use lists and reminders to stay on task.  At home, I've created a dry-erase chart (colorful chart printed on paper and put in one of those plastic sleeves you use to cover a report) with her "getting ready" items like wake up, make bed, get dressed, brush hair, grab backpack and lunch, etc.  Then I don't have to nag her and she isn't frustrated.  I just ask her to check her items off the list.  I've created one for when she comes home too.  I know these lists.  They are a tool.  I still use these kinds of tools myself.  When I pack, when I get to work, etc.  Otherwise, I won't complete a single task.  i won't, I'll jump from task to task.

The SMD is more difficult.  This is new territory for me.  I will have to find out the therapy or exercises or tools or WHATEVER I can to help her sensory issues not impede her life.  She's already developing some on her own.  Perhaps it comes with age.  Or with HAVING to cope.  We had a weekend away with her Girl Scout Troop.  I was TERRIFIED.  But she cleared her place without being asked, she separated herself and just drew or read when she became overwhelmed. She said please and thank you and didn't play too rough with the others.  She was easy going about any changes in plans.  It was a heavenly weekend of "okay mom" or "whatever, mom, I'm good".  And at school she is becoming very cognizant of when she NEEDS to be alone.  She understanding that she has to develop coping skills for some of her issues.

Sometimes it makes her stand out.  It makes it hard for her to make and keep friends.  It makes her seem like a "weirdo".  She can often appear hyper, clumsy, careless.  She can play too rough.  She can anger too easily.  She can be a "bull in a china shop". She's becoming self conscious about being overweight.  I'm trying to help her with the food stuffing and clumsiness, but struggling not to feed the poor self image she has because of it.  I'm trying to focus on habit (put your fork down between bites, walk away and only come back if you're truly hungry and not just eating to sensory seek, slow down and breathe and watch your body so you don't bump into people) instead of the end result (eating too much or being clumsy).

She was discouraged when we first talked about that analysis and when she knew we had to meet with her teachers and counselors about it for a 504 Plan meeting at school.  But I told her, and I firmly believe, that her "burden" can be her strength.  I told her God gives us all a suitcase to start out life with and some get heavier ones.  She got a heavy one.  But the blessing in that is... she'll be stronger because of it.  She'll learn to handle more and juggle more and multi-task and analyze because of it.  It's the hyperactive "weirdos" who rule the world... not because they want to.  THEY HAVE TO.  To contain that energy, to sharpen that focus, to feed their senses.

She's made great strides since then.  And like I told her... there always something to be thankful for.  That heavy suitcase she carries?  It comes with some AWESOME qualities.  That's where I get to the lighthearted part of all this.  The Terrifying words.  My daughter has an AMAZING vocabulary, but it's not that.  It's how she expresses herself and how it makes me just LAUGH at my terror.  Here are some of the best:

"I may or may not have..."  These words are basically the lead in to Lizzy diming herself out without thinking she is.  As in "mom, I may or may not have just spilled paint all over the floor"  or "I may or may not have hit a girl back in line today when she shoved me".  Or, "mom, I may or may not have had an Oreo even though you said no dessert" It KILLS me.  I crack up every time I hear "so mom... I may or may not have...".  Please understand there is no may about it.  It means she has already done it and is hoping she's not in trouble.

"Don't come in here"... My daughter is not subtle or sneaky.  She lacks the ability.  Mostly because she's so damn blunt.  So "don't come in here" means there's something she's done that she doesn't want me to see.  Due to her under-responsivity and sensory seeking nature... Lizzy is a mess maker.  Fairy potions (aka horrible mixes of make up and dirt and shaved crayons and paint and...) nail painting, wall coloring, etc. are her constant messes. And because of this I have a rule: before any fluids or tiny, messy things like glitter are played with, she must ask permission.  My answer is usually yes, because I believe messes are healthy.  I just want to prepare for them.  Lay out plastic  Get a tarp.  Buy a Hazmat suit.  You get the idea.  So when I knock on her door and it immediately is jerked open just enough to reveal her determined little face saying "don't come in here"  I know that means she has forgotten about my rule. 

"I don't want to talk about it right now".  This means she's hoping I'll forget about something she's done that has some negative consequences.  It's incredibly hard not to laugh and to keep to my discipline when her little face darkens and she says "I don't want to talk about it right now".  For example, I got a note from the teacher that Lizzy threatened a little boy who is constantly tormenting her and she is constantly returning the favor.  So I wanted to explain to her that while he has NO right to harass her and he definitely has some issues too, she wouldn't have been in trouble had she said "get away from me, I don't want to be around you".  It was the choice of words "I hope you die" that got her sent to the principal's office. So I tried to calmly talk to her about word choices and threats and it was met with "I don't want to talk about it right now".  I pointed out that that meant we still need to talk about it later, at which point she said "NO!  I don't want to talk about it EVER".  And then I had to pull out the baby-playing-hide-and-go-seek analogy of, just like a baby thinks if they cover their eyes and can't see you, they think you can't see them, you think if we don't talk about it, it will go away.  She was utterly stunned that I had figured out her clever plans so easily.  We talked about it.  She wasn't happy, but sometimes, life is hard, you know?

"okay mom...what? okay, sorry, I'll need you to repeat that".  If you read the part about under-responsivity, you will see they often say "what" even though their hearing is fine.  This is Lizzy.  She gets lost in... I don't know... Lizzy-land?  I don't know where she goes.  I understand getting lost in a book.  I do that.  But she gets lost in books, TV, music and just... her own head.  So she is constantly saying "okay...mom" as if she has heard me, only to have to come clean and say "what? okay sorry, I'll need you to repeat that".  This is something I've trained her to say because I GET LOST TOO.  I know this.  In class, at work, mid-conversation... I disappear.  And then I snap back and am so embarrassed, I pretend I was listening. So I taught Lizzy it was more polite to say "I'm sorry, I need you to repeat that" than to pretend she has heard someone and is just choosing to ignore their request.  It goes like this: me- lizzy pick that plate up and then go grab your towel and take a shower.  lizzy -okay mom.  5 minutes later, no movement.  me- lizzy did you hear me?  lizzy- okay mom.  me - okay mom, what?  what did I ask? lizzy - what? okay ,sorry, I'll need you to repeat that.       mmm hmm!  I thought so.  I KNOW when she spaces out.  I do it too.  I just need her to admit it so she can get better at developing good tools.  In the meantime, she cracks me up with this.

I'm learning not to despair folks.  I'm learning to laugh with the bumps in this road.  She may have a heavier suitcase to carry.  She may have a LOT of work ahead with her sensory issues so as to "cope" or appear "normal" or to "fit in".  I may have a lot to learn about how one approaches a little girl who absentmindedly stuffs her mouth because the sensation of biting down is satisfying, who touches literally EVERYTHING around her in a store, who I constantly have to remind that one does not put coins, pencils, earrings or toys in your mouth.  But I also have a little sunshine, mermaid, fairy of a best friend in this little bundle of misfiring senses.

And I may or may not be thankful for the funny, magical, messy, creative, amazing fairy that is produced when you cross ADHD and SMD.  Okay, I am. :)