When You Can't Fix the Tics, Fix Yourself
I’ll send you the PDF in exchange for an honest review left on Amazon here.
Send me an email at Andrea.Paventi@Gmail.com and I’ll send it your way.
Meanwhile, have a wonderful Thanksgiving and talk to you on Friday as I work my way through the “how to suppress tics” list one item at a time. (See previous post.)
God, grant me the serenity to accept the tics I cannot change, the courage to change the tics I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Andrea
As many of you know, I’m all about raising a kid whose spirit outweighs a few tics. But now that my baby is, gulp, a month shy of 13, it’s become apparent yet again to take a look at management. His tics are loud. I mean, so loud and startling at times that this morning I yelled, “Holy Tic Man, take it down a notch!”
I get that he can’t help ticking. And I’m beyond happy that he’s okay with his Tourettes. (I know that many of your babies are not as comfortable with them. We deal with other issues and believe me, I get the heartbreak. You have an ally in me!)
But here’s the deal: I suffer from anxiety. I do. It’s waaaaay better now than it’s ever been, but here’s why. I don’t get to sit around all day and tell my husband through tears, “Ohhhh, I can’t work and pay the mortgage. I’m having a pity party and you’re not invited.” No. I take responsibility for my tendency to feel more neurotic than Willy Allen on 3 cups of Expresso fearful at times. I:
The same has become true for Stink. The time has come for him to be a bit more pro-active with his vocal outbursts. If he can’t control them on his own (which apparently he can’t) we get to help him. We are the parents. We make the rules.
If you’re in that boat of wanting to suppress tics, here are some options for you.
BASICS (We’re on all of this except the dairy. That’s next.)
MORE ADVANCED (We have the doctor and we started the magnesium. Next is the Taurine)
9. Naturopath – find one in your area that will take an integrative approach to tics. Ask him or her about supplements.
10. Supplements – Ask your naturopath about Taurine, Magnesium, a good fish oil
SUPER INDEPTH (This is happening in January after Ticmas Christmas.)
11. Salvia Test: Complete a 23andme.com‘s genetic saliva test to see what his DNA has to show for itself. Once you know, your doctor can see what is working in his body and what is not and treat it more efficiently.
12. Finger Stick Food Allergy – Get a finger stick food allergy panel by Alletess Labs. Cost is $120. The test kit is sent to you, you can perform it in the convenience of your home and and then ship directly to the lab. Have results sent to your doctor. Once you know what your child is allergic to, you can start eliminating offending foods.
BONUS OPTIONS
13. GAPS: The GAPS diet is very intricate, but it has stunning results. In a nutshell, it heals the stomach lining so that food no longer slips through the holes, hits the blood stream and causes brain inflammation (which can cause tics.) Personally I would not resort to this diet without knowing if your child does indeed have a leaky gut. I would work with a naturopath on this.
14. Hemp Oil: There has been much research lately about the non-habit forming part of the pot leaf providing tremendous relief (or shall we say “re-leaf” for tics and twitches. Here is a link that someone in my Twitch and Bitch provided. Her son’s tics were so bad he had to miss school. They are 90% reduced now.
15. CBT: Known as Cognitive Behavior Therapy, this technique allows a child to transfer a loud or strong tic into one that is quieter and less obvious. It requires a certified therapist to work with your child.
16. Meditation: Just 30 minutes of meditation per day can rewire neurons and calm down the dopamine that causes tics. Learning to breathe and center oneself can keep give your child an opportunity to have more control.
17. Therapy: Having your child talk to a therapist can be huge in teaching them how to advocate for themselves. It’s crucial (in my humble opinion) to have them see their part in everything. While they can’t control tics, they can control how they advocate for themselves and how they behave toward others.
18. Treat the other Conditions: Most kids with tics have other issues. Often times when one treats the ADHD or the OCD (or whatever else is present) the child is calmer and the tics become fewer.
19. Hobbies: Insist on helping them find a hobby they love: Often times when a child finds something they are passionate about, the tics become less when they are focused on it.
20. Love Them and Have Fun: That is the best tip of all. Your child might not always remember a tic free childhood, but they will hopefully remember one filled with the support of people who adored them no matter what.
Come back this week as I’ll break down this list over the course of the next six weeks, giving more detail on each tip.
Until then, may God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, change the tics you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference.
My book, Happily Ticked Off, is available on Pre-Order on Amazon. Get your copy today!
I’ve been practicing meditation lately. Not the kind of meditation where I sit for thirty minutes at a session, empty my brain of all things Andrea, and go blue with bliss like that scene in Eat Pray Love where Elizabeth Gilbert hits nirvana as the greeter at the Ashram or leaves all her problems at the top of the bell tower, walks down, and three chapters later is having wild sex with Felipe in a bed that resembles a floating parachute. (That happens to me every day, though, trust me.)
I’m talking the kind of meditation where you just allow yourself to be where you are at any given moment. There is no judgment of thought. No should’s. (I mean really, people, I’m so tired of shoulding on myself!) No. It’s about just letting whatever is be what it is. Life on life’s terms.
If this meditation practice of mine was compared to a baby’s journey toward development, you could seriously put me in the “Crawling on Her Belly” category, but even us crabs have to scuttle before we can swim.
Take yesterday’s event after Stink’s tennis practice. I didn’t hyperventilate.That was a form of meditation! Hooray! After all, panicking about the future wasn’t going to get my car keys back.
Today, with Stink’s new vocal tic resembling Bobby Brady’s scratchy voice during puberty, thinking about how he was teased about a similar sound a few years ago is simply not helpful. I went on a walk instead and allowed myself to speak truthfully to my spouse about something that had been bugging me. He handled it well, I took his suggestion, he decided to work on his part… boom! So much better than sitting in the den, listening for squeaks with the obsession of a hound dog hunting runaway prisoners.
I’m finding that for me, the real answer to peace is to somehow enjoy the moment exactly as the moment is. Sometimes, it simply means finding a prayer square.
What’s a Prayer Square?
A prayer square, for me, is an upgraded version of “standing on my square” that my friend Barbara used to tell me to do. When I’d ruminate and complain and spin more than a tilt-a-wheel on truck stop java, she’d tell me to get my head out of my arse, clean house, trust God and help others.
One day, after one of her “pep talks” she told me find a square in my kitchen and stand there. “Plant your feet, look at them, and let all your energy and anger and pain just go from the tip of your head down to your ankles and root yourself in the floor.”
At first, that sounded pretty stupid. Sure, I’d try, but inevitably I’d focus on my stained tennis shoes and the damn dog fur, not to mention that the grout in my tile was not a natural black because I am such a bad housekeeper and OUCH! Without fail I’d virtually fall off the prayer square, hit my head on the tile, and wind up with a massive headache from trying too hard.
But eventually, it got easier. Because, well, my best thinking got me nowhere. And as silly as it felt to stand on a square in the middle of my dirty kitchen, it felt better than lying on my couch in a heap of misery over what I couldn’t change.
But something was missing so, not one to stick with dogma just for the sake of dogma, I switched it up a bit. I threw in some prayer.
For me, it’s hard to have monkey mind when I’m thanking God for something in my life. “Thank you, God, for this moment. For this kitchen in all its imperfection. For my life, with all the beauty and all the warts. I feel your energy from the tip of my head to the ends of my toes. Thank you.”
It worked. It really did. Eventually I started being able to stand there longer and longer. But, well, since life happens with kids and dogs and renters and husbands, it became apparent that I would have to leave the house. Every day.
Since it wasn’t always feasible to run back to my kitchen when things got wonky (which for me were, um, a lot,) I found prayer squares in public. Take last night, for example. While hiking up the park lawn to the office, only to find the doors locked for Yom Kippor (Happy Shana Tova, my Jewish readers!) my eye landed on a beautiful pepper tree. Something about the night sky, combined with the warm air and its branches hovering over me like a warm embrace made me feel safe. For a few seconds, I wasn’t thinking about how I would get home without a set of keys. I was focused on the love of that tree.
“Go lie down under it!” my gut told me. And believe me, I almost did. But given it was 8:30, some homeless bums were eyeing me from the office patio and I didn’t feel like being raped, harassed for food, or perhaps even asked for food while I was being raped, I decided it wasn’t a good idea. But I made a promise to it to go back. “Hello, sweet tree! I can’t wait to see you again. I will sit under you, and look up at your branches and just feel whatever I feel. And I thank you for not kicking me out. Because, well, with what I think about sometimes, I’d kick me out.”
Trees are like the best of friends. They listen and they don’t talk back. I hope to be a better friend like that some day, not because I ‘should’ but because that’s what being a friend is all about.
And if you, my friend, happen to be in my area, perhaps we’ll go sit under that tree together. And we’ll not worry about what we cannot change. We won’t fear the future or regret the past but just relish the absolute joy of the present moment with the earth at our feet and the sky over our heads. We’ll just revel in our prayer square and feel God’s love from the tips of our heads to the ends of our toes.
Sounds like a hoot, eh?
Until next time, remember to accept the tics you can’t change, change the tics you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference.
More of my writing can be found at AndreaFrazerWrites, on Facebook at Happily Ticked Off or on Twitter @AndreaFrazerWrites.
Tonight at my kid’s tennis lesson I had a long conversation with a dad who happens to have an auto-immune disorder. This dad has a kid at my kid’s school who inherited his disease. As fate would have it, another friend of mine’s kid, from the same school, just had her kid diagnosed with the same auto-immune disorder as this dad from tennis. (It was kind of a six degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon and wonky diagnoses moment. So fun! Grab the insulin shot and a slice of gluten free bread pronto!)
This just brought up a whole slew of conversation back and forth like, “Would we, if we had known about our wonky genetics, have gone into parenting so readily?”
For both of us, it was an astounding “Yes, of course!” Neither of us could imagine not having the children that we do. It’s not about auto immune disorders but the soul that matters. (Even if that soul happens to be my son who was getting me so darn mad moments before the tennis lesson that I’m surprised I didn’t lose my mind or at least my keys. Oh, wait! I did! But that comes later on in the story.)
Instead, let me tell you the next thing that happened. In between talking about medication and personality and genetic pre-disposition with cute dad, another mom sat down. I looked at her face. If Ellen Degeneres were Indian, this short-haired, brown-skinned soul would be her. I just loved her spirit. And, turns out, I knew her!
“PJ!” I said, shaking her hand in greeting.
“Andrea!” she said, shaking it back in unabashed delight.
The one-word greeting spoke volumes about our reunited connection. It seemed to triumphantly whisper, “Yay! We can talk for thirty minutes and have an adult conversation while our kids try not to bash each other’s brains in with tennis balls!”
Except this unspoken thought didn’t stay in our brains. It bled right out of our mouths all over the gum encrusted park bench. Within moments we both blurted out how happy we were to see each other again. Which, well, was a bit odd, given we had only met once before… two months ago… but we remembered each other for whatever reason. (Well, okay, the reason was that in a few minutes I completely analyzed her personality, her wife’s role in parenting, the disposition of her kids and why she likes her job. She thought I was a bleepin’ psychic. I was sad to report that I was just a wacky writer. But somehow I didn’t scare her off.)
Um…can you see men doing that on the football field? “Oh, Jerry, it’s so awesome to see you again. You know, the moment I heard you turn over that motor in your rotary engine, I knew we’d be fast friends. Let me read your palm and afterwards let’s make bmf bracelets!”
Well, silly or not, there it was…this bond between PJ and I that I can’t explain. And there was this bond between this dad and I that I am grateful for, too… two parents of two kids that require a bit more attention than “Suck down these Pop Tarts for dinner, we’re just done with cooking tonight.”
Let me now go on record that, as a Christian woman who has been married for 15 years, it might seem odd that a straight wife like me finds connection between an Indian lesbian and a happily married Italian father, but it is what it is.
Note to my Christian readers, Mom and Farmer Stacey: Do not be alarmed. I’m not starting an emotional affair with my Bollywood princess or blue-eyed auto immune cute dad friend. But I cannot lie. I find them both fabulous spirits and I’d be kidding you, and my very own self, if I didn’t admit that signing my kid up for tennis was the greatest lift to my spirits this month since Costco’s sale on dark Starbuck’s coffee ($15.95/bag – a deal!). When I start shaving my head or wearing a mini-skirt with a tight John Mackenro tee over my Double D’s, you can call out the Jesus squad.)
To add more cherries to the topping of this fun park bench banter (think of me as the peanut butter in between two slices of wonderful, talkative bread) we found out that PJ knows my sister through their kids’ middle school. Fun!
And then I lost my keys.
Boo.
But I didn’t freak out.
Yay!
Because what would be the point? The day up until that moment had been so crazy. (Wonky news from a writing client. No Ebay sales. Wondering if perhaps I should just throw in the towel and get a real job after all or run away with the circus and sell GMO infested popcorn to parents who have more money to entertain their kids than I do these days.)
But Stink made me sit on a parking slab and pray. Which I did. Which was no small feat for this six foot 1 mama.
“Jesus isn’t a magic genie,” I told him, adjusting my 2-foot wide butt to the diameter of the six inch cement chair.
“I know,” he said. “But He’s a miracle maker.”
Which, well, turns out He was. I did not find the keys right away. But I did stay calm which helped me retain my sanity. Each step I took I just remembered that I’m not in charge. I’d figure it out.
Since my own phone was dead, I used the tennis instructor’s phone. (Old old phone… crack in the glass… thank God… a fellow tribe member of the ‘We’re Doing the Best We Can Club’.)
I called every person on his roster. “Did you take my keys by accident?”
“No… good luck…” was all I got.
So I called my husband.
And he showed up….
…At the exact same time as cute dad who pulled up in his car, keys dangling from his finger. “I took them with mine by accident!” he said.
So then I came home and ate a beet salad that my sweet husband (and even cuter) had made. And we talked about my work options and his business. And how sometimes, even if things don’t go the way we want them to, they go where they need to go. And that’s the kind of peace that makes all the nuttiness worth it.
If that’s not a miracle, I don’t know what is.
Until next time, remember to accept the tics you can’t change, change the tics you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference.
More of my writing can be found at AndreaFrazerWrites, on Facebook at Happily Ticked Off or on Twitter @AndreaFrazerWrites.
So Stink started school last week. The four-month summer finally ended and he couldn’t be happier about it. Great classmates, great subjects, great elective. He’s learning music! Maybe I can finally stop whining about his hair and he can be in a band. God works out all for good for those who love him, right? And his own son had long hair, so I need to just shut my pie hole apparently. (Though, really, Jesus would not be allowed on a public school campus with those open toed shoes he was so fond of wearing. That crazy Christ. He was such a rebel.)
For those of you who have read my blog from the beginning, I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’m only neurotic as hell 25% of the time rather than 99% of the time. This is no small feat. If I can find peace, then you can, too. For me, eight years into this crazy journey called Tourette Syndrome, I’ve gotten to the point where the tics are what they are. I don’t love them (vocals still pretty consistent) and his focus is abysmal (I am sooooo sick of reminding him of a zillion things) but the boy is happy. If he’s happy, I have to be happy, too.
The truth is, even if I wasn’t loving life, I wouldn’t have time to complain about it. With a third book rewrite, a few new writing clients, some Ebay on the side to fill in the gap and parenting… I don’t have time to think about my problems. Which, well, aren’t problems. Issues with his tics are my perception, not the reality. The reality is that he continues to be happy with himself so gosh darnit I must be as well.
But, if I’m being honest, it still hurts sometimes. This evening, for example, a neighbor’s kid mentioned to me that a student in his class has the same case as Stink. “Oh, you mean he has T.S.?” I asked him. “Yes,” he responded. “And he is also in his own world a lot… just like Stink.”
Ka-plunk.
Ouch.
What does that even mean? That my son is alone a lot at school? That he forgets a lot? That he is day dreaming and considered weird and strange and odd and eccentric and okay going too far, Andrea, STOP.
The old Andrea would have had a panic attack right there on the porch, called ten friends, sobbed to my mom, screamed at my husband for not supporting me on a diet that would absolutely eradicate tics thereby catapulting him to the top of the seventh grade social structure and then passed out on a bottle of Two Buck Chuck and a bucket of Trader Joe ho ho’s. .
This new Andrea. This sober thinking Andrea? I just let it go. Deep breath. Quick prayer. “God, take it.” As my sponsor is so fond of telling me, “Drop the rock, Andrea. It doesn’t matter. What matters is life on life’s terms.”
So, friends, with the goal to live life on life’s terms, here’s where I’m at.
I don’t know a lot. But I do know that I am so in love with my children. They are growing so fast. In six years Stink will be out of high school. I DO want to minimize his tics as much as possible through diet or medication, but I don’t want this to be my sole purpose anymore. My sole purpose is to love the hell out of him. He is what matters.
It is time to drop the rock.
But sometimes, when that rock lands on your foot, it hurts.
And, well, that’s where I am at tonight.
Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow I wear steel toed boots and start over.
And you can, too.
Love you and miss you all.
Okay, readers, all five of you that read here, hear this: I am NOT going to be doing my whole Deceptively Delicious approach to Taurine. Why? Because I’m not Jessica Seinfeld, Taurine is not veggies, and BECAUSE THAT’S INSANE.
Let’s get real: My kid is going to have enough to deal with in Junior High without his mother sneaking around him like the Pink Panther sprinkling amino acids in his hash browns.
Him: What’s this white stuff, Mama?
Me: Fairy, dust, kid. Gluten free fuck-it-all pixie fluff. Wait ’til you see how I hide it in your syrup!
I came to the above conclusion today, while standing in line with my husband at Costco. It was our big lunch out where we get to spend $1.82 each on a hot dog and soda. Only it had been such a horrible day of guilt for me, combined with some bad news from work and some friend drama, that I decided to ditch the dog for both the pizza combo slice AND the vanilla chocolate swirl. (I know, I’m a rebel.)
Standing in line, I had this awful sense of impending doom. Not guilt so much as ominous storm cloud harbingers of doom. What’s that stinky feeling called again? Oh yeah, a CONSCIENCE. And it goes something like this: “You can’t drug your child behind his back, dork.” My husband agreed. He loves our son as much as I do. We show it differently and I happen to show it better but in the end, we arrive at the same conclusion. We want the best for him always.
I mean, what if my little scheme worked? What if the tics went away, but he took off for college, and suddenly they came back and he had no idea why. That would be awkward.
Me: “Oh, sweetie, those duck quacks are just cause you miss me. Come on home. I’ll serve you up some nice hash browns.”
What if there was a terrible reaction and he ended up in E.R. and I had to come clean with my husband. “Oh, that third testicle? It’s just from giving him Taurine. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be the voice of reason on my mad dash toward nutty thinking.”
No, the CRAZY making had to stop.
I don’t know about you, but I find that my most wonky thinking happens when my self-will is in direct opposition with God’s will. I want what I want, rather than accept what is. I don’t know why God allows tics, or why I can’t seem to drink one glass of red wine without wanting to down three glasses and pretend I’m sexier than a Cosmo model at Caesar’s palace when I’m really just alone on my couch, reading Outlander, wanting to have an affair with a fictional character.
But the fact is, it’s not a good plan for me to drink – at least not now in my life. And, if I’m going to be honest about what I shouldn’t be ingesting, it’s likely not really a great idea about being dishonest about what my kid is ingesting.
Before Costco today I was at Trader Joe’s… avoiding writing… scarfing samples… when the above egg container caught my attention. I had never noticed it before, so why it caught my eye today with my brain spinning more than the stories I tell Stink about amino acids, it just felt safe. “Place Broken Eggs Here” it read. There was no lying. No manipulation. Notice it didn’t read, “Nothing wrong here! Go on with your untarnished egg self!”
No, not only was it admitting to the world that sometimes stuff get cracked, it was offering a safe spot for them to land.
I find that safe place to be here at Happily Ticked Off. I find it with my book (that is truly almost done – third rewrite, folks.) I find it with my girlfriends and meetings and church and my kids and lately, with my spouse. We are really communicating beautifully and it’s lovely.
I know that I’m not always a perfect egg, but I’m loved even with my flaws. And that’s how I want my kids to feel. I want them to know that they have a safe container in their mama to rest. No perfection required.
Thanks for being here for me, people. I know this tics thing isn’t always easy, but I challenge every one of you, like I challenge myself, to remember the intention behind why we do what we do. Are we managing situations for our kids or for us? Sometimes we just don’t know. In my case today I knew it was management for me, because when I decided to put an end to The Sneaky Supplement Tour, 2015 I felt peace.
Plus I spoke to my sponsor. I believe her exact words when I told her about my grand plans were, “That’s crazy.”
Until next time,
May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, change the tics you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference.
As you know from my last post, my kid refuses to take supplements for his tics, those specific supplements for now being Magnesium Citrate and Taurine.
Four days ago I was fine with that. He’s confidant! God loves him! Hooray! Guess what? Mama loves him too and she’s not happy about it at all.
It’s not just the sounds that are of concern to me. With them come a hyper-activity that is going to cause more harm than good when his father and I decide to kick him out of the house. It’s OVER THE TOP.
Who’s the Parent Here?
There is a fine line between letting a kid be confidant and taking control as a parent. And that fine line, my friends, is coming into play with diet.
Mom the Sneaky Chef
I am putting some supplements in his food. This morning, he had rice, meat, veggies and a topping of salsa Taurine! It was “delicious” according to my ticking preacher. I am grateful that he was none the wiser and I feel better that in a few days we’ll hopefully (God willing) have a reduction in tics.
Mama Guilt Sneaks in the Back End
I feel a wee bit bad about this, honestly. It feels a little con-artisty. That’s because it is. And maybe that’s okay.
When our kids were toddlers, did we ask them if it was okay with them that we mash bananas into their cup? Did Jessica Seinfeld ask permission from her kids to blend veggies into their pasta sauce? No. (And she made a crap load of cash off it, also! I really should ditch my spouse for a movie star. Having an affair with Hugh Jackman would not only cure Tourettes but it could quite possibly get me a cookbook! Duh!!!!!!!)
Making a Decision Based on a Bunch of Factors
Sometimes in life we have to look at what we’re dealing with. In my case, it’s a few things.
1. Confidant Kid: My kid likes himself. I don’t want to be the one person who makes him feel bad about his tics by constantly forcing supplements down his throat. (Believe me, I could go there. “No video games if you don’t take these, sucker.”)
2. Brain Unbalanced: While I am relieved that Stink is happy with himself, I see the tics as a sign that his brain is a bit unbalanced. While some things I cannot change (Translation: I am not going to fix Tourette Syndrome) some things I can fix (Translation: A few supplements, prescribed by a doctor, can even out his symptoms and help him to concentrate more in school, reduce tics and keep the energy level here down to a reasonable amount.)
My God Story
While for my son the tics might just be a part of “God’s story” for him, I’m a child of God, too. As one person in my “Twitch and Bitch” private support group pointed out, I get to direct some of my son’s plot, just like God directs mine. This means calming down the symptoms a bit. He thinks he’s not taking pills (a win for him) and I see a reduction in symptoms (a win for me).
What’s My Intent?
In closing, I have to really look at my intention with the supplement seeking. If I’m doing it just to make me feel better, that’s not good enough. If I’m doing it for his health, that’s another. If I’m sneaking around because I’m afraid to stand up to my own kid, that’s a problem. (No, there are MANY places I hold my ground.) If I’m working around it to allow him the grace to feel good in his own skin without constantly bringing up tics, that’s another.
What’s Your Intent?
Does anyone else out there struggle with this? I have found that situations like this are the most difficult part of my journey. I want my kid to advocate for himself, but at the same time, I don’t want to constantly throw “tics” and “tourettes” in his face. I want him to be a kid who is confidant, happy and joyful who happens to tic, not the other way around.
What is the story you want to write for your child?
Well, the very scary, four-month, nervous breakdown inducing exciting summer with my kids has begun! If I had to compare it to swim lessons, I’d put myself in the water wing category. Tomorrow, I move up to the kiddie pool. By Friday, I’ll hit the steps of the big pool. By the weekend, I’ll be in the deep end. By Monday, well, I better be on a raft with a margarita in my hand. Since I don’t drink, however, I’ll settle for a decent routine where we can all get some work and play in.
Like last night! I took Stink to his first Dodger game. At first he was totally bored, but soon got into it. Who doesn’t love fries, popcorn, peanuts, Dippin’ Dots, and, of course, the foam finger? (And no, to answer some of your questions, I didn’t worry that he ate a lot of crap. We don’t eat like that every day, and for us, a little joy is worth it. I know some people are a bit more strict, but for now, the only thing I’m really a stickler on is gluten – as in NONE. Though last night, for the first time in two years, he had some very minor bits of Oreo in his Dippin’ Dots. He survived! Whoo hoo! Not making it a habit, though.)
Side note: I’m pretty sure Stink was the only kid in the stadium that wore Heelies combined with mesh shorts and a Children’s Place camouflage suit jacket, but the Dodgers won, and they all matched in their shiny crisp uniforms, so it worked out. Besides, my kid could care less. “I’m wearing Cookie Monster Dodger blue!” he said of his tee-shirt choice. Really, in the scheme of things, his fashion choices are just fine with me.
Tic update
Some of his vocals are back again – sort of a minor throat quack deal. I don’t think it’s due to the lack of Taurine. I think it’s because his NAC also ran out.
NAC
As I mentioned in a previous post, NAC stands for N-acetylcysteine. It is a natural supplement that acts as an antioxidant and glutamate modulating agent. The only side-effect commonly seen with NAC is nausea. Stink has never had this, thank God!
According to this webinar, featuring Dr. Mark Mintz, “They (a study) found the N-acetyl cysteine decreased symptoms of trichotillomania (hair pulling) compared to placebo. It makes theoretical sense as NAC can modulate dopamine. So, there are reports that NAC can improve mood disorders as well (such as obsessive compulsive disorder). There needs to be more research and reports to have a better handle on the effects of NAC in Tourette, but it appears to show some promise.”
Tomorrow I will get some more NAC and I’ll update you next week.
More on Magnesium
One of the best posts I’ve seen on Magnesium is this one by Birth Faith. I’ll let you click on over and see for yourself what she has to say. She has studies to back up her findings on how this supplement works on tics. She doesn’t talk about using Magnesium as a supplement. Instead she says:
“So far the only remedy we’ve tried that has shown significant and immediate results is magnesium. Surprise, surprise. 🙂
For a little over a week, I have been doing an experiment. When I notice my daughters tics getting more noticeable and obvious, I put magnesium to work for her in one of three ways:
Afterward, I watch her carefully to see if her body responds. Of those three treatments, I would say the tics subside most following the magnesoothe cream back rubs and full-body magnesium crystal baths, but all three have brought about improvements. This, of course, makes us very happy. With daily magnesium-boosting, her magnesium levels should be restored in a month or two, and perhaps her tics will disappear entirely? That’s our hope!”
I hope this helps you all! Until next time,
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.
Andrea
Connect with me on Facebook, Twitter and at Armonia on Mondays. (Email works, too! Warning: I’ll likely email back.)
…because Stink is on a trip. Yes, my big sixth grader got on a plane yesterday with his class to hike the Grand Canyon and go on an archaeological dig. Not a bad scenario for a public school, eh? The most exploring I ever did in sixth grade was to go from one window of paned glass to the next for Stations of the Cross in our Catholic church. I’m thinking Stink is going to have a lot more fun and not even have to deal with incense. (Lucky bastard.)
Update on Tics
In case any of you are irritated at my false proclamation in the title, I will give you some hope that his tics have been dramatically reduced regardless of the Taurine being eliminated. I believe that the magnesium citrate and the NAC are our miracle workers. Frankly, I think it’s mostly the magnesium and not the NAC but I’m not willing to take that chance right now. I’ll do a supplement post next, but for now, I just want to talk about my 12-year-old. Why? Because he’s 12. And it is going by so fast. As I said in my post for my publishing company, Armonia, I only have 5 Christmases left with this kid.
Five.
That’s astounding. How many times have complained to him, “Put away your Wii system when you’re done with it!”
“Really? Do I have to remind you again that the table is for eating, not for your gaming obsessions?”
“Um, the chargers and the homework and the key chains and the Disney pins…can you please put them away?””
And yet, now that he is gone, and I have a perfectly clean dining room, my heart is heavy. How I miss his banter! I am longing to wrap him in my arms again and run my fingers through his muppet mop beautiful curls only to have him scold me, “Mooooom, don’t touch the hair!”
Somehow, this kid has gone from this…
To this…
And while I’m lucky enough that he’ll still cuddle with me there will be a time when he’d rather be with his girlfriend. (His type, by the way? Asian girls.)
Me: “Why Asian?
Him: “I like their long, straight hair. And they are so tiny.”
Me: “Yes, and you are estimated to be 6 foot NINE. That’s quite a height difference between you and future girlfriend.”
Him: “It’ll be fun. I can carry her around.”
Me: “Like a doll?”
Him: “Sure, Mom. Like a doll.”
I can’t say that anything out of his mouth these days surprises me. He is unique and opinionated. He knows who he is. That’s more than I can say about myself when I was 12, and I didn’t tic.
Moms, this is your daily reminder that our kids’ souls and spirits far outweigh their tics. Hug that little ticker today, because one day they will be trading in their Thomas the Train suitcase for a carry-on and flying to another state without you.
And, like me, I’m thinking you’ll miss them like crazy.
May your attitude today be like my refrigerator: messy with joy and gratitude for the blessings you have in your life.
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.
Andrea
Connect with me on Facebook, Twitter and at Armonia on Mondays. (Email works, too! Warning: I’ll likely email back.)
After speaking to a nutritionist today, I have decided to take Stink off the Taurine. Despite how well he is doing tic wise (see previous post) I was advised it can be very bad for kids. It acts as a stimulate and can greatly damage the heart. That scared me.
What is Taurine?
Taurine is an amino acid sold in supplements and available in energy drinks. Taurine also occurs naturally in the body and plays a key role in many biological processes, such as detoxification and regulation of nerve-cell activity. Although low levels of taurine have been linked to several conditions (including eye diseases and cardiovascular problems), research on the health benefits of taurine supplements is limited.
Taking Stinkoff Taurine Slowly
Rather than quit cold turkey, I’m going to take him down to one pill/day for a week, then every other day for a week, then one, then none.
Always Check with a Professional Before Using Supplements
Normally I don’t willy nilly medicate my kids, but I had read on many mom forums that Taurine was this miracle supplement and went for it. I won’t be doing that again.
For those who are praying type, I am asking for prayers that his tics continue to stay minimal and that the NAC and Magnesium Citrate were what was helping him and not the Taurine.
Here’s one supporting article on the dangers of Taurine for kids.
Until next time…
May God grant you the serenity to accept the tics you cannot change, change the tics you can, and have the wisdom to know the difference.
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Happily Ticked Off 