Tag: adhd

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To Medicate or Not to Medicate – That is the Question

Andrea Frazer

ddd

Many of you readers know that I’ve struggled with the idea of medication for my kid. He definitely has focus issues. And he’s definitely eccentric.

Fantasy thinking: If I were homeschooling him, his lack of attention would not be an issue. I could adjust his lesson plans to his personality.

Reality thinking: He’s going to public school.

Fantasy thinking: My kid could be so much more “accepted” by the regular herd if his energy and eccentricity were taken down a notch.

Reality thinking: Why should I medicate my kid for anyone else? If HE needs it to survive socially and academically, I’ll do it. But if he is managing, it makes no sense.

It’s a tough call. He is struggling socially with the “in” folk, but he is wildly accepted by the “outside” funk kids. He knows who he is. (Bueller… Ducky… your buddy is available for a hangout at the card shop.)

I wrote something on my Facebook page a month or so back, and I stand by it:

In thinking about Prince’s death, I can’t help but look at it through the perspective of a middle school mother. Prince’s audacity, style and outrageousness is hailed as revolutionary by folk across cultures, lifestyles and ages. He, like Bowie, is considered iconic and to be admired – which he is. It’s truly a loss. But when non-typical kids in middle school dare to do the same, they are often shunned and discarded. It’s an interesting dichotomy…that to be cool… one first must have the courage to be uncool. I would have loved to known Bowie and Prince in Middle School. I have a feeling they would be at my house on Taco Tuesdays.

Here’s to your crazy ones – medicated or not. It’s a tough call, and I support you and your kids either way. We are in this together, Mamas!

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Until next time, may God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

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“This is Bruce.”

Andrea Frazer

It’s been one of those past two years months where it feels like slogging through molasses in lead boots carrying a bowling ball while nursing would be easier than securing a job I’m truly gifted at…

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Marketing a book…

taco truck quote chapter 1

Caring for children….

kids in pool
??????????????

And helping a spouse start a business… 

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Then again, after writing that last bit, the first part seems easier.

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Which leads me to the real point: how about I just stop?

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I don’t mean stop taking steps toward my goals. But how about I stop trying to manage and control everything? In the end, it’s truly not the result that matters, but the path to the process. I mean, what’s the point of getting that awesome gig or landing a T.E.D. talk if, at the end of the day, I’ve been a joyless, nagging, cranky, petulant and often worry filled hot mess? (Not that I’m ever one of those adjectives. Sheesh!)

It seems to me, crazy as this might sound, that taking life on life’s terms is the way to go.

Less judgement, not just of others, but of me.

Less working.

More playing.

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Less fretting.

More laughing.

Less me.

More God.

I once heard that “expectations” can be translated as “unborn resentments.” I was thinking about that while in line at Trader Joe’s. I had not expected to be, at 46, thinking about whether it’s truly a good plan to spend $24 instead of $20 on a bag full of mini tacos, cole slaw, gluten free bread and some cereal. I was supposed to be a working TV writer, don’t you know! (Or at least have a career writing jingles or Shel Silverstein poem books!)

But there I was with my re-usable shopping bag. On a budget, but determined to have joy anyway. Because, well, joy does not conform to budget. Joy looks at budget and says, “Ha, ha ha! I fart on you, silly money constraints! I will enjoy my day, go back for a second cup of sample coffee, and enjoy a gluten-filled gnocci taster since my sweet ticker is not here to watch me delight in the twitch inducing pasta morsels!”

I will chat with the cashier.

I will ask about her day.

And then I will explain to her that my shark backpack is not a shark after all but an Orca.

Named Bruce.

bruce

And when she laughs and says, “That’s awesome!” I will laugh, too. Because, in the end, if I really had to choose between a crud load of cash and a true connection with another human being in the grocery store line, I’d choose the second option every time.

Even if my purse threatens to swallow her whole. (Bruce… he’s a cheeky accessory to say the least.)

Until next time, may:

God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference.

Love,

Andrea

PS: I highly recommend getting a mammal shaped pocketbook. It can transform your day. Add in some Victoria floral designed fayx Doc Martins and a “I Love My Crazy Friends” tee shirt and your whole week will improve just by getting dressed!

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

book cover

 

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Is Your Kid Joyful or Feral? It’s a Fine Line!

Andrea Frazer

 

It’s Saturday. I slept until 10am – a rarity for this tired mama.

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I just lingered under the covers until I felt like shuffling toward the kitchen for a lovely cup of Starbucks in my favorite mug. It was, dare I say, peaceful? Which of course could only mean one thing:

There would be hell to pay.

My son was found hunched over a video screen with his buddy, Tyler.

Me: “Stink, how long have you been on that thing? Be honest.”

Him: “About one hour.”

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Me: (Attempting to be calm.) “Really? Because isn’t one of your friends coming over at 1 to play with you?”

Him: “No.”

Me: Sigh of relief.

Him: “Two more are coming. Holden and Adrian.”

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Me: (Blood now rising like hot air balloon…. in Hades.) “If you only get two hours/day on the computer (picture Patience with Control Issues rising) and you’re now playing for one hour (insert the image of a harpie on steriods) then do you mean to tell me you’re only going to play for one hour when your buddies come over?”

Him: (Instantly shutting down the screen) “Sorry, Mom.”

Me: (Determined not to go into a full on lecture. Going into a full on lecture.) 2

“You are 13! Thirteen! I don’t want to micromanage you, dude, but apparently I’m going to have to because if I can’t trust you to be responsible with your gaming limits then clearly I can’t trust you in the future when you are driving and going to work… if you even qualify for anything besides playing Mario Cart… and really is this what I am going to have to do deal with first thing in the morning FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE?”

Him: (Calm as a cucumber) “No, Mom. Just for today.”

Me: (Taking a deep breath) “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry I over reacted.”

Him: (Hugging me) “It’s okay.” (Then) “To make it up to me, can I have a few more minutes?”

Con artist.

I could have gone loco. (Like just yesterday, when I had the grand idea that the way to stop an arguing ADHD teenager is to put my hands on his mouth and see if it would block the noise from coming through the pie hole. Um, note: That totally doesn’t work.)

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Instead, that’s when I took the high road. I put my arms around him, took a deep breath, told him how much I loved him, and invited him into a moment of prayer to bond and connect with our Lord, Jesus then reached my long arms down and pinched his butt.

He retaliated by grabbing a bag of gluten free bread and smacking me on the side of the noggin.

GAME. ON. (And this one didn’t require a plug.)

The moral of the story: Sometimes turning a potentially explosive moment into a joyful one can keep you from killing your offspring.

Underlying points of the moral of the story: I can be controlling sometimes. The kid is not a baby. I don’t need to be policing his every move.

The flip side of my controlling tendencies: If I don’t teach him consequences and boundaries, who will? And even more to the point (yes, I over think… like you don’t, readers?) if I don’t keep my anger in check, what’s the point of keeping him off the games in the first place if he’s only going to deal with a crazy mother who screams at him first thing in the morning with bad hair and no caffeine in her pre-menopause body GOD HELP US ALL!!!?

No, as Farmer Stacey always reminds me, relationship trumps being right.

This kid will be out of my house of my house (idealistically) in five years. While I want him to grow into a man of discipline and respect, I want him to remember being a boy who experienced silliness, laughter and love.

For me, this area is difficult, because I don’t always have the most boundaries with myself.

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I don’t care about time restraints and house tasks and being on time for important meetings (Dear God, please let me work on my time issues) as much as I value chatting up the random shopper at Trader Joes about her guinea pig business and the pros and cons of fresh tumeric vs. cholesterol meds. If only I could be paid for being a chatty Kathy human being instead of a warehouse worker!  Life would be perfect! (Oh yeah, I scored the perfect job for me! More to come!)

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How about you, mamas?

Where is your happy balance in this parenting deal? How do you find the balance between a kid who is joyful and a kid who is feral?

The line is shaky, is it not? (Especially when you have a kid like mine.)

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Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

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Got Hope? Live Outside the Box! (The Hope Box, That Is)

Andrea Frazer

 

the ocean

I woke up yesterday to more clothes in my living room than Trump has haters. The reason? My kids had the duty on Sunday of moving every stitch of them from my closet upstairs to the couch to make room for my daughter to move her clothes into her soon to be “new” bedroom. This would not be a problem except I was now faced with the task of putting 1000 pieces of crap into a vintage armoire that holds – at best – 100 pieces.

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I could, of course, do what most normal people would do and get rid of some items. But that would be a tragedy. First, there was my mother’s size 11 gold wedding shoes from 1969. They will never fit me, but I take such great joy knowing that she once wore these sparkly clod hoppers with a bright pink wedding dress. Oh, that dress? I have that, too.

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And then there’s my nana’s size 2 navy pumps. I’ll never fit in those either, but they make me smile. How did such a tall granddaughter come through her genetic line?

Add in the wool overcoats lined in bright plumages of pink and purple Victorian roses… the silk panda scarf… the “I Love My Crazy Friends” tee shirt…the XL puff skirt to wear under a dress I don’t have and the mis-matched China tea cups picked up from a thrift store for $1.99 each.

Yup, that’s a whole lot of “crap”. And yet, that crap fertilizes my heart and keeps it blooming. Running my fingers through the fabric reminds me that it’s okay to slow down just a bit and just enjoy.

When I was 11, I’d spend hours sitting on the floor of my bedroom,  sifting through my hope chest. In it I’d place all the trinkets I hoped to use in my future life of awesome sauce: handkerchiefs, tea sets, lavish picture frames or art books.

While I’m not 11 anymore, there’s still a girl inside the grownup who longs for the stillness of dreaming. And so, rather than just shove all of my items in an over sized bag and donate it to the local Good Will in impulsive “THIS HAS TO GO NOW” fashion, I took one section at a time. Hats in one bag and belts in another. Those would go at the bottom of the closet until hooks were purchased.

Winter stuff went in the garage. That would go in the attic until I could afford adequate outdoor storage to access it more easily.

Mom’s wedding dress, grandma’s sweater and all the shoes – they would be placed in a box in the attic until shelves were made in my new room to store them.

Underwear and bras – side table of the bed.

Tee shirts, pjs and pants – TV room! Cause where else but a 3-drawer plastic Target bin would my every day clothes go? I would not stress. I would find a better spot another day.

Everything else went in the armoire or in a bag to donate.

The result of this process was nothing other than good old fashioned intention – that intention being that while I want to honor my needs at this time, I’m passing the baton to another 11 year old who has hopes and dreams. (Out with my salmon, in with her pink!)

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This 11 year old loves music and singing and art. She loves tea cups and lace and books.

She dreams of a corner nook to sketch with her stuffed animals and a roll top desk to correspond with her Aunt MaryAnne (whose name she still writes as “Anut MaryAnne… who am I to argue?). No one understands dreams and goals this better than I, and so accommodations will be made. Yes, there will even be space for a bright pink carousel horse named “Pink DiMayo” because who doesn’t need such an animal in their Victorian Palace?

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I might not have a hope chest anymore, but when I look at my daughter’s face, I have more joy than can ever be housed in a cedar box.

And that, my friends, makes living in my new tiny box of a bedroom worth every single bit of lost space.

One more

(my little Pip, performing as Wendy in Peter Pan a few weeks back. She was radiant if I do say so myself!)

What about you?

What do you dream of? What makes your heart sing?

Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

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I Am. Enough.

Andrea Frazer

Enter Adele Song

Hello, blog…

It’s me.

I  have lost you in the pile of the

Trash and the laundreeeee

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But I’m finding…

My waaaaaay out…

Of the construction and the shipments so this post is all about….

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(Big bridge)

Hello from the other side

My freelancing career done died

No more Ebay… and clients

It was all way too much

So I’m now… going full time…

So I don’t go any more nuts…

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Anymore…..

Yes, hello from the other side… the side that is getting back to the me-that used to be. Like my kid who tried to rock the Robert Plant rocker look only to finally get a haircut yesterday, sometimes we have to cut off the old in order to grow something new.

after

I’m not sure if you’re like me, but sometimes things can feel overwhelming. It can feel absolutely impossible to get everything done in one day and do it well. And, well, that’s because it IS impossible. How does one mother, work, clean the house, shop, exercise and, God forbid, stoke the fires of her own soul?

I could overthink until I’m blue in the face (or pink like my kid’s pic above) but the real answer is: YOU CAN’T DO IT ALL.

Knowing this, and giving oneself the permission to not get it all done, are two different things. I’m making baby steps toward the second option and cutting myself some slack. But here’s the deal. I love to write. Some of my favorite times were when the kids were little and I wrote for a few big name blogs in addition to keeping my own personal blog. There was something connective about it. Something exhilarating about getting a comment. It felt like I made a difference. When other people wrote and I read their words, they often pierced into the very marrow of my bones as if to say, “I get it. I’ve been there. Keep going.”

I want that again. Full-time job or not, family obligations or not, I want to do the thing that makes me feel most alive. I want to do what God wired me to do.  I’m a story teller. And while for a season of my life it seems I’ll be adding commuter to my title, I’ll still need a place to share my stories. And that’s here.

Today on a walk with a friend, we were discussing the notion of balancing “want to’s” with “have to’s”. She, too, is a worker, a mama of two (one with some extra needs). She, too, knows the frustration of feeling like, in her words, a “piece of silly putty… pulled in a zillion directions.”

She told me about a sign she has on her computer screen at work that reads, “I am enough.” Yes, she is. So am  I. And so are you. How do I know this? Because I have a God who, in translation, literally means “I am.” Add a period to her sign and you’d get, “I Am. Enough.” I can’t help but believe this is the very God I choose to worship, telling me to cool my jets. “Slow down, Andrea. I am here. Stop with the spinning. Enough.”

And so, just for today, I will breathe.

I will get that transcript ordered from my college to turn into my potential full-time gig.

I will go back to the grocery store and pick up the items I had to leave yesterday when my checking account disagreed with the amount of food I was attempting to purchase.

I will take my son to Bible Study with his best buddy, Ty, because it’s Tournament Series and nothing says Jesus like a bunch of stinky tweens with painted faces and wrestling capes screaming “Lucha Libre!”

lucha libre

I will take the $100 a neighbor so kindly gave me out of the blue (“for always helping my son out”) and bring my daughter to the mall for a dress for her first middle school dance. (Visa bill, you can suck it for one more month. My kid needs some ruffles.)

I will send a reformatted galley copy of my book to my publisher so that I can get my #s up on Amazon from 200 sold to 201. (Nothing says hitting the big time like a $90 residual check.)

I will grit my teeth when I feel like screaming and tell my husband that he is “smart” and “courageous” and that I “have his back” with his business, even though what I really want to do is fall face first into my raised garden bed and cry about having to work full-time because I DON’T WANNA I DON’T WANNA I DON’T WANNA!)

The truth is, despite what can seem like a pretty daunting to-do list, all of it is do-able thanks to my God. This God helps me do big things. I don’t need to be scared. I have a teammate. I am no longer alone.

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How can I let go of fear of the future? I can live in the present. In His presence. Because there, in His embrace instead of my own anxious mind, I am secure.

I am brave.

I can do this.

(And so can you.)

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Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

 

book cover

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ADHD – Another Day Having Discussions

Andrea Frazer

 

I used to read that the “co-morbid” conditions of T.S. were far more frustrating than the tics themselves.

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As defined, co-morbid means the annoying other conditions that make you want to poke your eyes out with ice picks the simultaneous presence of two chronic diseases or conditions in a patient. For kids with Tourettes, this could be ADHD, OCD, Autism, ADD and insane awesomeness.

Stink deals with the last two on the list, and let me tell you, it’s been a crazy year. If I was able to guide him through the chaos, drama and joy that accompanies kinder through sixth grade, let’s just say that seventh grade has proven to be the final leak in a boat that was destined to sink without a major overhaul in the floorboard.

Having a kid with T.S. and ADD, while being a working parent with a little bit of ADHD herself (I know… biiiig shock) is kind of like fixing a boat’s floor while still on the water. It can be done, but the progress is slow. (Not to mention tiring. How many buckets of water can you scoop and throw over the side while steering the ship and feeding the crew?)

The best bet to fixing that leak is to get that boat out of the ocean all together. Take a break from the swells and breathe while your vessel chills out on dry docks. Get a professional boat repair man (or woman – no prejudice here!). Invest in his advice, buy the supplies to keep it fresh and clean once it’s back on the water, and absolutely join a hole-in-the-boat support group. After all, there’s a decent chance that at some point that gash in the floorboard will come back. You’ll want another mama to cruise by in her motorboat when this happens.  You’ll want that lifeline and the invitation to a cup of coffee in her well stocked cabin to catch your breath until your own boat works again.

Since life is not apparently perfect, I’m kind of stuck in the middle between shore and open water. I’ve been organizing my own life, to help organize Stink’s, and we’ve made progress. I am avoiding a lot of frustration by accepting life on life’s terms. I am not focusing on what he’s behind on in school. (Um, everything.) Instead, I’m focusing on helping him get caught up with the goal that he’ll be doing this himself at some point.

This means coming home each day after school and doing his work in the same spot. It means having him diligently utilize his planner so that he’s not relying on his own brain to remember every little detail of his “overwhelming” (his words) seventh grade schedule.

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The challenge with using a planner is that you have to remember to take your planner home. And then, here’s the real rub: you have to find it in the first place. And when that task seems too monumental, you just throw yourself on the floor and scream like a Carolina fan reach out to an educator who knows you’re doing your best to help your kid.

Here’s an email exchange I had yesterday with one of his educators, minus the teacher’s name because, you know, these teachers have nothing better to do than stalk their ADD student’s mom’s blog.

Hi Teacher Fabulous-

The last piece of my kid’s organization puzzle is his missing planner. He is out sick today so when he’s back tomorrow I will have him check his locker. If it’s not there, is there an extra he can have? If not, I will buy one and he will be held accountable.
If there is any homework you need him to do today, please feel free to let me know. 
Thanks!

Andrea

 **
  
Hi Andrea,
I don’t have any extra planners.  I gave my last one away a few weeks ago.
We are practicing percents in a new packet today.  Do you want to pick it up later?  Let me know.
Thanks,
Teacher Fabulous
** 
 
Hi again –  
 

Yes, I will pick it up today after school if that works for you? If not, you can leave it in the office. Whatever is best. 

Can I just pick up a planner at an educational store?
THIS KID. He better get with the program or I’m returning him. I have books to write.
Andrea
**
Andrea – 

I have to supervise out front after school.  I’ll do my best to remember to bring it out there with me so you can get it then.  

I would make your own life easy and just go to Target or Walmart for a planner.  
There’s a thirty day return policy…..sorry, you can’t return him!  🙂
Teacher Fabulous
*** 
 
Oh for fucks sake. 
Andrea
***

 

Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

book cover

 

 

 

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Mothers Tell Stories…

Andrea Frazer

 

here comes the dom

And so here’s mine. It seems as if the moment my kid hit 13 the teens hit full force. The defiance, the arguing, the overall surliness.

And, well, if I’m being honest, I thought it was going to be one of those deals where my kid, while still totally socially appropriate, would still find me amazing and cool and, despite being busy with friends and outings and Boy Scouts, would want to jump in the car the moment I say, “Hey, who wants to the grocery store and crash the free sample table!”

Every single little dream there? Lost. We’re not talking by a little. We’re talking epic defeat. For one thing, my kid is far from winning any social awards at school. Oh, he has a bunch of friends, but they’re kind of like him… a bit on the wacky side… a little bit clueless on the when girls like them side. (Yes, Stink, if she remembered to call you on your birthday, buy you a gift, buy you a Christmas gift and ask you to teen night, there just might be some interest.) Boy Scouts He doesn’t do uniforms.

Stink and his friends are like oversized male children with skinny legs, crazy fros and a scent that can only be described as a cross between testosterone and Axe.

The difference between him and his other friends, however, is that I can’t make out their duck quacks from across a crowded parking lot. When they roll their eyes, I know it’s because they are being sassy and not because Mr. Flappy Lid has made his appearance again. When his buddies nod, it’s to mean “yes” or “no”, and not the head jerk prodigal son making his triumphant return. (No, I’m not having a banquet for these returning relatives. But if I did, you could bet it would be gluten and dairy free.)

Stink’s tics – the loud ones – are back. And this time, they are stronger than before. (Gosh darnit, Taurine, you let me down again. You’re like that bad boyfriend. Just when I think I can trust you, you leave my sorry butt in a heap of despair!)

Here’s the thing, though: my kid, like his eyes, just roll. He doesn’t see them as a problem. They don’t make him different or geeky or less than. It’s simply something he does, not who he is.

In my brain, this should be enough. But in my heart, I still die a little bit. As a mother of a kid with this wonky disability, I fight so many demons:

  • Do I not love him enough for who he is – including his noises?
  • Do I not love him enough because I’m not making him take meds?
  • If I am not choosing to not put him on medication, then am I ruining his life with my occasional “Keep it down, kid. PLEASE!” (Oh yeah, Saturday’s “G-DAMNIT, STINK, QUIET DOWN FOR ONE SECOND!” was epic. He literally curled into the door frame of the car and didn’t talk to me for ten minutes. He also didn’t tic. And that made it worse. I won! For being a butt wipe! Hooray for me! Send the Mommy Shaming Award my way, FedEx!)
  • And what about his sister? I have spent soooo much extra time with her the past few years – I’ve wanted to… it’s not a challenge – but it’s a balancing act to say the least.

I had a good cry last night. I mean, a good one.

Me: Stink, I’m so sorry. I just suck sometimes. I feel so bad for yelling at you about that noise.

Stink: Mom, it’s okay. (Quack quack) I forgave you already! I don’t keep resentments!

Me: I know, but I feel awful. I just love you so much. I don’t want to ruin you.

Stink: Impossible!

Me: Well, thank you. And hey – I promise – I am not going to ask you to stop ticking again.

Stink: Also impossible! (He’s right. Now I’m really sobbing.) It’s okay to cry, Mom. You got to let it out. (He farts.) Ahhh… it just feels better to release, you know?

I swear, the noises from that kid never stops. But his biggest ticker is his heart. I’m grateful.

And so, once again, I am saying it here: I am determined to not get so wound up on tics. But I can’t do it on my own. I just can’t.

Dear God, get in the car and hang with me. Don’t drive like that Jesus Take the Wheel Song. That would creepy to see a long haired dude in a tunic driving my stinky SUV. But be with me. I need the support. Andrea. PS: I hope you can handle Cheeto crumbs and Country Music. 

Yup, when I give it to God, there’s just so much more perspective.

This morning, after a little praying, it dawned on me that I might not ever accept this disorder. I can, however, accept that it’s sometimes just hard. The reality of what is, not what I want it to be, was not always my first choice toward serenity, but it sure as hell makes for a more a more peaceful reality. I can do something with reality. I can fill bad days with joy. I can walk away from yelling at my kid and stroll in the sunshine instead. I can write. I can pray. I can help another mom who is suffering. (Write me, moms! HappilyTickedOff@Gmail.com).

When God’s at the center of my problem, not my misery, I can relax. I can remember that it’s not my job to make my son disability-free. It’s my job to love him. And boy, do I.

Final Thoughts

Tonight I took a break. It had been a long day of working and cooking and kid pick-upping and homeworking. Instead of sitting at home counting tics doing more Ebay listings, I went with my daughter to a YMCA banquet. She was one of 3 asked to perform for a fund raising event.

Playing Wendy in an upcoming Peter Pan show, she put on her yellow Mary Janes with white ankle socks. She stood straight, hair in bun, and spoke in a sweet British accent, “She’s the person who kisses you goodnight…” and then she sang… “your mother and mine… your mother and mine.”

She went on to sing, “Mothers tell stories… they often do… what you can’t do… mothers can do.”

Raising my kid with Tourettes isn’t unlike my daughter getting up on stage, singing in front of hundreds. I get to hide my fear with my poker face. I get to get dressed every morning (the bun is optional) and I get to sing my heart out because the lights shining on me. And maybe, at the end of the day, my son will remember his mother who loved him enough to write a book, to pen a blog, and hopefully help a few others out there not feel so alone.

“Mothers tell stories, they often do, what you can’t do, mothers can do.”

Moms, you can do it. You can. And worse case, if your day is hard, consider climbing into bed with your family – tics and all. You’ve got one childhood to tell a good story. (Pssst: You are an amazing hero in this story. Give it a good ending!)

my family

 

This post dedicated to Denise, who always seems to show up when I need it most. I am grateful. 

Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

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Joy. Every Day. Just Cuz.

Andrea Frazer

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My daughter knows how to have joy. Whether it’s baking, or playing the piano, or singing or just playing with the timer on her new camera (see above!) she commits to beauty and contentment.

She is strong. She does not cater to popular opinion. Bring on the Justice sparkles and the “Peace Love and Monkey” tee shirts. NO THANK YOU. She’ll sit there quietly, back straight, with crisp black Mary Janes at the ends of her perfectly crossed ballet legs. She is kind and respectful, but she accommodates no one.

This mama has been has been watching her and taking notes. She’s onto something. Why NOT commit to joy, even with my to-do list bursting? Even with demands pressing at me wherever I turn?

I’ve had this realization that while I Ebay, write my articles, consider full time work and attempt to take care of my children (at times I feel like I’m lagging on that last part) I might as well enjoy every second of it. And while you’ll never catch me baking or taking artsy pictures, I sure as hell enjoy a Costco trip. Grocery shopping and budgets be damn, I can squeeze enough laughs out of a one hour run to last me for the day.

Take yesterday.

After downing more samples than a drug addict at a cocaine-for-all buffet, I was making my way from the Rotisserie Chicken section to canned beans when I  had to stop. A burly man and his wife were blocking my cart as they eyeballed the Vitamixers.

Wife: (startled) Oh, are we blocking you?

Me: Yes, you are. But it’s fine. I’m not in a hurry. (Which was true.)

Wife: (thrilled) Oh, thank you! How kind!

It was a little thing, but I could totally feel her light up from the inside over the fact that I didn’t call her a lazy ass slow poke for halting my progress.

Later on, while in line to pay, I saw the same couple next to me. The wife had just finished asking an elderly lady if she needed help lifting the 2000 pound bag of Pedigree. I suppose the wife could have been one of those predators that take advantage of needy octogenarians, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I could sniff her faith out a mile away, too, and just had to ask.

Me: I know this might sound odd, but are you a church goer?

Wife: Yes I am! How could you tell?

Me: I guess you just had a whole lot of God coming out of you. It’s nice.

Wife: You, too! Praise Jesus!

What could I say to that?

Me: Sounds good to me!

Lest any of you non-Christian readers think I’m about to get into a “Your kid’s tics will be healed if you drink the Jesus juice” rant, rest assured I’m not the Bible Thumper type. But I do love to connect with people, which is why seconds later I found myself at the coffee grinder, talking 20 minutes to man whose name turned out to be Bob. Come to find out he was also a member of the same 12 step association I belonged to. He later introduced me as a new friend to his wife, which of course I turned to and said, “Um, mam, I hate to break his anonymity, but did you know that your husband is an ALCOHOLIC?”

On the way out the door, I spoke to the transgendered item checker who, despite looking more manly than the week before, still goes by the name Krystal. She agreed that it is indeed cold outside but it’s no excuse for people to drive like mother cluckers.

On the way out the parking lot I looked the other way at the teenagers joy racing in the electric disabled carts. Why? Because I was young once, too, and their smile made me smile and that meant joy.

Later that night, I heard thump thump thump coming from upstairs. I could have gotten annoyed, but I didn’t. That was the sound of the two people I love most, having some joy with my daughter’s new camera. Apparently the timer feature is awesome for flying shots. Who can argue with that?

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A few hours later, while painting my nails with my daughter, I heard more squeak squeak squeaks coming from my son’s room. I sighed deeply.

Pip: Mom, you wrote a book for other people to deal with the tics. Why don’t you read it again for yourself?

Me: You have a point, kid. I’m working on it. But I’m not perfect yet. I’m trying.

After that, despite flogging myself like I normally do for just not being over sounds that my kid can’t control, I went on painting my nails. I joked around with my daughter (who of course scolded me for the inappropriate ones. How did I give birth to Jane Eyre?) And I internally gave a quick “Thank you, God” that my kids are still here in my home, safe and sound, despite  a few noises.

And joyful.

Thank you God, for the joyful.

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Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

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Tip # 3 to Reduce Tics: Limit Artificial Flavors

Andrea Frazer

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Greetings from TicVille:

Yes, despite my big hopes that Taurine was the magic elixir that was going to eliminate all tics, twitches and noise, they are back. Turns out… crazy as this is going to sound…. that MY KID HAS TOURETTE SYNDROME. Apparently there is not a one-size-fits-all cure.

That said, the tics are not as bad as they have been in the past, leading me to believe that the Taurine and Magnesium protocol is helping. As soon as money permits we’ll go back to our favorite  nutritionist to get the rest of the testing done.

  • Does he he need to go on GAPS due to a leaky gut?
  • Does he need to eliminate dairy?
  • Does he need detox from some heavy metals left over from his vaccinations years ago?

Perhaps all of it. The old Andrea would want to do that now! Now! Now! The new Andrea… the one who is trying to pause before freaking out… is going to take it one day at a time. That seems to make life more tolerable – not just for me, but for everyone in my family.

Here’s the deal, folk. My kid is already 13. I can spend the rest of his remaining childhood freaking out over this crazy syndrome – about everything I could or could not be doing – or I can attempt to do the best I can and just love the hell out of him. I’m choosing the second.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to keep him as healthy as possible which leads to Tip #3 on my tic reduction list: Limiting Food Dye.

Below are a few excerpts from this post that talks talks about why it’s been banned in Europe.

“In 2008, a ruling was passed banning the use of the specific food colors in the UK [7]. This followed allegations that the artificial food colors used have promoted health problems in children [8]. Consequently, the UK Food Standards Agency has called for the ban on the use of six foods coloring in the preparation of ingestible products such as foods and drinks since they have been associated with promoting hyperactivity in children .”

And then there’s this:

“In the United States, there have been legal battles over the use of synthetic banned food dyes by Kraft Foods Group Inc. by two mothers. The two women wanted Kraft to adopt safer natural food coloring in the making of food products as practiced in many other countries such as the UK but declined to adopt the use of the natural food dyes.”

Does it Really Make a Difference?

This post talks about how the verdict is still out on food dye. It says that some kids aren’t affected by it at all, while others are highly allergic. My kid is probably somewhere in between. My goal is to keep him eating as clean as possible and then just hope for the best.

2016 – Making Good Choices for Mama!

 

I don’t 100% know if food dye makes a difference, but I know what does: taking care of me. That’s the goal this year. Why? Because if I don’t, who will?

As I head into 2016, I’m once again looking at my different work options. My husband is in Year 3 of his own business, and while it’s doing okay, we need the income. Ideally I’d do something that really uses my skills, like writing musicals about Tourettes and going on tour as the spokesperson for Yuban! But until that ideal job comes along, I have my freelance writing clients and my Ebay biz. I will take a steady approach to applying and not get crazy… like this morning… when after ONE HOUR of applying for an online job I was booted off the system. Oh, yeah, that was fun. I’m  not 100% sure what “taking it easy” with this job hunt will mean, but I do know this: God has a plan.

Being a Ball of Nerves Doesn’t Work – Who Knew?

It seems to me that when I get into self-will I get myself into a load of trouble. I’ve decided this year that rather than go nuts trying to make something happen come hell or high water (which involves lots of arguing, stress and occasionally screaming at my kids that “Your room looks like a Salvation Army with a bad case of the runs!” which… well… does not a peaceful bedtime make) I’ll just do a little bit each day.

And then I’ll rest.

Like today, when I stopped for an hour to have a cup of coffee with Marta, the 67 year old neighbor, who put in her teeth for the occasion and told me all about her son in Mexico who runs his own I.T. business and is sending his ma-mah on a $3000 tour of her home country in the Spring.

Do I want the tics to go away? Yes. But more important than that, I want to be sure I don’t miss out on the joy of my son’s beautiful laugh.

Do I want to make more money so my kids don’t have teeth resembling Tom Sawyer’s garden gate? Absolutely. But until that happens, there’s a Costco run in a few weeks with my adopted Jewish Bubba, Ginnie.

Do I want my kids to clean their room? Yes. But until they get their own space (which they’ll have in a few weeks thanks to a big rearrange) I’m just going to let the room go. Why? Because in the big scheme of life, it’s not important. But other things are.

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There’s cake to be baked with my daughter.

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There’s a warm fire to be had this evening where my son, tics and all, will read a chapter to me of The Hunger Games. (I’ll take it before he realizes just how uncool his mother really is.) There will, of course, be food! (Everything is better with Mexican food. Thank you, Fred – the kid’s janitor at public school – who makes a tamale like nobody’s business. )

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And there’s this blog to write.

In the hustle and bustle of making a buck, I’ve missed my personal writing. It’s what makes my soul happy. If you’ll check in, I’ll write.

Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, the courage to change the tics you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

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Tip #2 to Limit Tics: Exercise

Andrea Frazer

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I won’t lie. My kid like to exercise as much as the Kardashian girls like to wear clothing. But never the less, it’s needed. I have no grand illusion that exercise is going to rid my kid of any particular vocal or physical tic, but it absolutely makes a difference in his mental energy.

And mine.

For the past nine months he’s taken a tennis class at the local park. It’s once a week only but there’s nothing more hilarious than watching a bunch of tween nerdy boys running around the court banging balls at each others’heads. I mean… it’s excellent exercise and great at controlling Dopamine production!

Every day but Fridays we walk to school. It’s as much about talking as it is about the walking. Given he’s now 13 (oy, can’t believe it) I’ll take all the bonding time I can get.

A few weeks ago, after our local city holiday parade, my daughter stayed with my husband to do some cleanup for the Kiwanis club. My son and I walked the whole three miles home. Despite some pretty steady vocal tics on his part, it was hard for me to worry about it or be frustrated. The sights of the floats, the sounds of Christmas music blaring through the radios of the viewers, the many dogs and babies waddling through the crowd… it made me happy to be alive.

Him: “Mom, I really want a new Nintendo DS for Christmas.”

Me: “Why? You already have a computer and a tablet.”

Him: “You already have a bunch of coffee cups, but it doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy another one, right?”

Me: “Yes, but my hobby is a lot less expensive than yours.”

Him: “True, dat. But come on, Mom, don’t you ever want something just because it’s awesome and fun and you can’t wait to get your hands around it?”

Me: I wanted to shout, “Yes, it’s called you! Stop growing so fast!” Instead I went with, “Yeah. Yeah I have.”

And then he slipped his hand in mine. For the next mile we walked side by side, our fingers entwined. With his head at my shoulder, I can already tell he’ll surpass me by summer. I took it in… every step… and thanked God for him. For the walks. For everything.

And right there I made a commitment to have joy and gratitude in 2016 no matter what. So far, I haven’t missed a day of good old fashioned positive thinking. That’s exercise I could get used to.

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PS: And as life would have it – the moment I decided to stop living in my comfort zone (fear and worry) the tics went away. The reason? Jesus appeared in my morning Yuban and blessed me with the Holy Spirit of Tourette Syndrome TAURINE. More later. (Tics down from even last post!)

Until next time, May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you can’t change, change the tics you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference.

My book is available on Amazon. Follow me on Twitter@AndreaFrazerWrites or on FB. 

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