Since Dylan first decided he wanted to drive, a lot has happened.
At first, he was determined and frustrated and wanted to drive NOW. He was barely 15 years old, and considered driving to be the most fun he’d ever had.
“I already know how to drive my go cart!” he wailed. “It’s practically the same thing!”
That resulted in us asking him to please slow down, and learn what he needed to learn.
So he took the Driver’s Ed course (required) and enjoyed sitting in the classroom, listening to retired police officers. Interestingly, he stopped asking to drive. In fact, I was afraid his required course would expire without him taking the (also required) three behind-the-wheel sessions.
Many months later, Dylan got his learner’s permit. Blog readers will remember that he slept through his first permit test, and had to set up a new appointment. Once he got there, though, he aced the test pretty quickly.
It took another several months for Dylan to set up appointments for his behind-the-wheel sessions. Finally, he completed those. By that time, he had driven with his parents and his grandparents about a hundred times. He learned how to drive around town, deal with rain and snow on the roads, and keep up his speed – as safely as possible – on the highway.
His only mishap happened during a college visit when we were looking for our hotel and found, instead, a giant hospital complex. While making a three-point turn in the pitch-black autumn night, Dylan hit a two-foot-tall stone wall that even I didn’t see in the rearview mirror. All things considered, this was a minor issue.
It’s been 22 months since Dylan took that classroom Driver’s Ed course. He’s gone from being determined and frustrated and begging to drive… to being respectful and careful and quite mature about the act of driving. He considers it a privilege – HE considers it a privilege – and takes the responsibility of driving very seriously.
On Thursday, at the age of 17 and a half, Dylan finally got his driver’s license. He passed the test on his first try, with only two points subtracted for not remembering what street signs he’d just passed. (ADHD…?)
Two days later, he drove the car to Starbucks. Three days later, he went to visit friends and then drove himself to his own church meeting.
We have talked with Dylan a lot about expectations, and that using the car carries a ton of responsibility to do what he says he’s going to do.
And so far, he’s doing exactly that – and being careful to ask about everything. In fact, he’s acting a lot like an adult.
It’s like a miracle.
Dylan’s pleas for independence have finally had a sort of temporary resolution. We’ve allowed him to move into the basement.
This doesn’t sound like a privilege, except that it is a 1,300-square-foot apartment with wall-to-wall carpeting, a huge bedroom, a full bath and an equipped kitchen with full-sized appliances. It’s warm and bright, unlike most basement apartments. In fact, it’s the kind of place someone could rightfully rent fresh out of college.
Dylan is getting a glimpse of what that’s going to be like. It’s supposed to give him a chance to do his work “for myself,” although I expect nothing to change.
On Day 1, he complained about his giant new home.
“We really have to do something about the air,” he said. “It’s just not right. I feel like I’m getting sick.”
“No one has ever complained about the air down there before,” I told him. “There’s brand new carpet down there, and even the paint is new! This is the cleanest air you’ve ever breathed!”
We gave him Cold-EEZE and orange juice, which he didn’t use.
On Day 2, he said he felt a little bit better. “I left the window open,” he said. “It really helped.”
Hm. I thought. Dylan also got sick at the top of Pikes Peak, and didn’t recover for two weeks.
I remembered, quite suddenly, that Dylan coughed for the first six years of his life from – apparently – nothing. By age 8, we’d learned – finally – that he had Reactive Airways Disease. He’s always been sensitive to some really strange things.
And then I asked my friend – who understands about sensitivities – about my suspicions.
“VOC’s,” she said, without having to think at all. “Volatile Organic Compounds.”
Sure enough, like most carpets installed in this country, our beautiful, brand new, wall-to-wall carpeting is emitting toxins. And Dylan, whose respiratory system is sensitive to a whole slew of things, is reacting very badly to it.
I looked up “new carpet allergy” on the internet, and found a bunch of things. The most helpful article I found was called “Carpeting Presents Complex Health Issues.”
There’s more to it, but that pretty much sums it up. The only suggestion they have is to allow cross-ventilation for as much of the day as possible. Unfortunately, that basement has one huge window and a door – and several teeny windows that don’t open. Cross-ventilation just can’t happen.
I won’t force Dylan to stay downstairs. I don’t want to take away his “privilege,” but I also don’t want him to suffer.
We’ll see what he wants to do.
Today is Dylan’s scheduled AP test for Language and Composition.
Conveniently, if he passes this test with a decent score, it will mean he won’t have to take at least one writing-intensive class in college. Given the fact that Dylan has a lot of trouble with writing, this would be wonderful.
Since he can use it to get college credit, it is the most important test he will take all year, other then the SAT. It’s a huge deal, and we’ve been registered for it for six months. Dylan has been preparing in class for more than a month, writing practice essays and giving it all he’s got.
Unfortunately, Dylan won’t be taking the AP test today.
Why would Dylan miss the most important test of the year?
Well, yesterday, I got an email about all of the many outlawed items – food, backpacks, cell phones, computers – that should not be taken into the AP testing area.
Dylan has used a computer for writing since third grade, so I emailed the teacher in charge: “Will Dylan get a school computer, or should he bring his own laptop?” I asked.
“He will not be provided, nor may he bring a computer to the testing setting,” she emailed back. She pointed out that, while he had extended time, he was not allowed special access to a computer for his writing needs.
I almost vomited.
Dylan is an excellent writer – as long as he’s using a computer. His handwriting hasn’t improved since preschool, though, and he struggles dearly with writing things down. His brain moves way too fast for his hand, so he learned to type in second grade. It’s the only way he can keep up with his own thoughts.
But it never occurred to me that he wouldn’t be allowed to use a computer for his AP test. It wasn’t an issue in his prior AP test, because everything was multiple choice. (Dylan can certainly darken a circle.) But Language and Composition includes a LOT of writing.
This news hit my email inbox at 2:45 yesterday – less than 17 hours before the test. It usually takes a minimum of seven weeks to approve an accommodation.
I freaked out. I emailed everybody. I blathered on about blind people who needed braille being just like Dylan needing a computer. I called Dylan – and Bill – and screamed in their ears. (This was not helpful.) Then I jumped in the car, even though it was well past last period, and headed for the high school, picking up Dylan along the way.
School was closed. But because they are awesome, the staff bent over backwards to help.
Dylan found his case manager, who explained in “Dylan lingo” what had happened – and why she couldn’t fix it. (This helped him, because he had no idea what was going on.)
Meanwhile, the principal called me into a conference room and listened while I whined and squealed. The head of special education came in to meet with us. He was wonderfully calm, and shook my hand.
He talked; I listened.
Then the special education chair went to work – more than an hour after school had closed. He made phone calls, filled out forms, texted and called me, and asked Dylan what he wanted to do.
The gist: Dylan could take the test without the computer accommodation now, or he could wait a week and hope to have the computer accommodation then.
Dylan chose the lesser of two evils, and decided to wait. And the case manager deserves all the credit for our having any choice at all.
So now, we wait.
Shane’s play was this past weekend – three shows, double cast, all wonderful. They did a production called, Legally Blonde, The Musical.
Shane played Kyle, the UPS guy. He had a handful of lines, and a slew of bit parts that kept him on stage nearly the entire time. And Shane played his bit parts with true enthusiasm. He was constantly engaged in the situation. If he was in the background and supposed to be surprised, he was really surprised. His eyes got big and round and he stayed surprised until the scene was over.
His facial expressions were priceless. And he stayed in character – whatever character – for every scene.
And he played Kyle with style. He made a grand entrance, complete with music, and perfectly acted like the “cool, hot guy” he played.
Near the end of the play, Kyle takes a fall that – when done by Shane – was quite literally a leap into the air and flop to the ground, with an accompanying shriek. When we played the scene in slow motion later, Shane was three feet off the ground before gravity took over.
It was awesome.
But the highlight, for me, was during a party scene. The theme was “Jamaican Me Crazy,” as announced by another cast member, and Shane was a stereotypical Jamaican. He came out in long, black dreadlocks with a yellow, red and green hat, which was adorably funny.
He led a conga line of a dozen people – and Shane was singing.
He sang lead on an entire song, in character and with a new, deep voice that hit every note. When I figured out what was going on – since Shane had kept this performance a secret from me for five long months – tears of pride started rolling down my cheeks.
Not only was he singing, but he was dancing. In addition to having a beautiful singing voice, he has always had great dance moves. He led that Jamaican party like a superstar.
Shane did a wonderful job. (Sometimes a mom can’t be humble.)
To top it off, Dylan sang the National Anthem on Sunday at a local baseball game – making my weekend complete.
My Mother’s Day was perfect.
I took Shane to his ping pong league last week. It might have been my last time.
Shane still enjoys ping pong, and he has every intention of playing in the league on a weekly basis. But I will likely not be invited back.
When I was there, Shane won his first two matches. He played well, and beat two people who, he says, usually play better than he does. But Shane was on a winning streak, and having a great time.
After the second match, he said, “Next I have to play Julian, and he’s way better than me.”
“No he’s not,” I said. He was already being dragged away to play against Julian.
“You have to believe you can beat him before you can beat him!” I called after him, trying to teach him a valuable lesson about sports psychology.
But I wasn’t quick enough. Shane was gone without knowing what I was talking about.
From my vantage point, the match was a lost cause from the beginning. Shane seemed as though he was just randomly hitting the ball into the net, or off the table, without much thought or strategy. He was moving very fast and his eyes showed a touch of fear.
Shane lost the third match.
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Shane said, sitting down.
“I know what you did wrong!” I said. “You went into that match believing he was better than you!” And then I gave Shane the five-minute lecture about sports psychology that I hadn’t finished before the match.
By the time I was done, Shane had tears in his eyes. He lost the next two matches, too.
I felt awful. I didn’t know what had happened. He had seemed so happy and then, suddenly, he was miserable. I didn’t see the connection between what I’d done and what happened to him – even though, looking back, it was so very obvious.
On the way home, I forced the issue – making it all worse – by asking what I’d said that was so devastating to him.
“Just because I say I don’t know what I did wrong,” Shane said, “it doesn’t mean you have to tell me.”
Ah.
The light bulb went on over my head. It was one of those moments when I realized, quite unexpectedly, that I needed to just shut up sometimes.
I spent the next few days begging for another chance, hoping that Shane would let me take him to ping pong another day.
But I’m not sure I deserve the opportunity.
Dylan has been practicing for his AP test in Language and Composition. As part of that practice, he’s been writing essays as part of his class grade.
He was absent one day, and was unable to do one of the practice essays. Twice we drove Dylan to school early, but – what a surprise! – his teacher (who had no idea he was coming) wasn’t able to meet with him before school. So Dylan was still missing that one practice essay – two weeks later.
Fortunately, he had this weekend – finally – to work on that missing essay. It was the only assignment still missing after two weeks of playing catch-up, so I was thrilled that he’d finally have the time to finish it.
But Dylan went to work at his summer job (working at a concert venue) on Friday, immediately after school. Then he did no work on Saturday afternoon, and he went to a concert on Saturday night.
And on Sunday, he had tickets for … another concert. But he wanted to squeeze in a movie on Sunday afternoon, too.
“You aren’t going anywhere until that essay is done,” I told him.
“I’ll get it done,” Dylan said.
“I want to see it before you go anywhere,” I said.
But while the rest of the family was at church doing various volunteer jobs, Dylan woke up, got dressed, wrote the essay and disappeared. By the time we came home, he was gone.
He texted me from afar: “I think the essay’s pretty good.”
So I pulled it up online and read it. Quite possibly, it was the worst thing he’d ever written. It looked like he’d vomited up all the words and just moved them around on the page. It was incoherent and incredibly vague. One of sentences said something like, “The author speaks in a formal tone which makes him very trustworthy and someone whose words you can be respectful of.”
I’ve seen Dylan’s writing. It is actually quite good when he’s focused. This was like someone else’s writing.
To be fair, I knew nothing about the assignment. In fact, I knew nothing about the assignment after reading the essay, which made it all the more disturbing. But Dylan was at the movie, and couldn’t be contacted – and he only had 40 minutes between the movie and the concert to be bothered with rewriting the college-level, AP-practice essay.
When he got home, I told Bill to discuss it with him. Bill yells less than I do, but by the end of the conversation, both Bill and Dylan were yelling. For once, I stayed out of it.
Dylan’s argument – which he stated very loudly – was that the kids who wrote the essay in class hadn’t had any help from their parents, so he shouldn’t get any help from his parents, either.
Dylan rewrote a few sentences without our “help” but, for the most part, he left the essay in “as is” condition.
And that’s how it will be graded – now, and on the AP test. It will all be done without any help from us.
Dylan has been getting Z’s again – missing assignments – and he’s getting lots of them.
Due to some creative negotiating on his part, he now wipes them out in 24 hours, instead of getting them done immediately after they appear online. Because he got so many C’s on his third quarter report card, he claimed that it was from ‘rushing’ to do his work, rather than taking his time.
So we allowed him to have an extra 24 hours to get everything done – and he is doing it. He did lose his electronics last weekend, because one of his Z’s – a quiz he didn’t take in English – had been there for more than a week, and we’d even driven him to school early so that he could take it three days prior.
“The teacher wasn’t there,” he said. Surprise! He may want to ask in advance if he can take a pre-school quiz.
So the Z’s pop up, and then they go away. Just like always.
Unfortunately, Dylan has somehow missed the entire point. The point was not to make the Z’s go away so that he didn’t lose his electronics.
The point was to not have any Z’s in the first place.
But Dylan doesn’t see the point.
Dylan claims that “our rules” are interfering with his ability to “get it done” the way he wants to do it. I am not sure what way he wants to do it, or how our rules are stopping him from doing what he’s supposed to do.
He seems to think that by moving out of the house (when he goes to college), he will magically be able to figure out what’s due, and when, simply because he no longer has any choice in the matter. So I’ve tried backing off a bit, and seeing what happens.
And in fact, he is getting it done. Technically.
But the problem remains: Dylan doesn’t know what’s due, when it’s due, or – sometimes – what it is that’s due!
I don’t see how this is an ADHD thing. I see only that this is a teenager thing. He claims that everybody has missing assignments, even Leo! (Leo is very, very, very, very bright, and I’ve known him since the two boys were in the GT program together back in 4th grade.)
But I don’t care if Leo has missing assignments. I care only if Dylan has missing assignments.
And he does.
Still.
All. The. Time.
So for a long time, I’ve been taking L-Phenylalanine.
This is the amino acid in which I was deficient – so much so, in fact, that when I took one capsule (instead of the daily recommended dosage of 3-4 capsules), I was cured.
By “cured,” I mean “not mean anymore.”
By nature, I am not a mean person. In fact, most of my issues stem from trying to be nice but not being very good at it. I am also mostly nice to trees and animals, rather than people. But that’s another story.
Still, sometimes I scream. This frequently happens when I do not want to scream – like when I scream at my dearly beloved children. (I am still debating on whether or not I want to scream at my husband.)
But sometimes I become a raging lunatic. Most of the time that I gets to the “raging lunatic” phase, I am totally alone. These are not moments I wish to share with other people.
So when I first found L-Phenylalanine, I was thrilled. I could take one capsule and stop myself from screaming. It didn’t keep me from getting angry, but it did stop me from angering beyond the point of “normal.” In other words, something could happen like, say, a car could cut me off in traffic – and I would not scream at the other driver!
This was a miracle.
It was so much of a miracle that I started giving L-Phenylalanine to others. I gave it to my dad, since he and I are a lot alike. Unfortunately, my dad didn’t have the deficiency. When he took L-Phenylalanine, he actually became a raging lunatic! It had the complete opposite effect on him!
So two weeks ago, I was sitting at my computer, emailing a complete stranger. I was sobbing – tears were gushing from my eyes – and I was so angry, I was shaking. I could barely type, but I was able to create a two-page document in spite of the shaking and the crying.
I perceived an injustice from this stranger, and I wanted to explain my perception.
I emailed the complete stranger what I considered to be a very profound email about the human condition, fairness and justice, and faith in the human race. I expected this email to provide a pivotal point in her life, which she would read and then use to go forward on a higher plane in her human existence.
That didn’t happen.
What did happen is that my husband came near me and I acted like a rabid dog. When he mentioned pizza, the boys scurried to the car as fast as they could, just to get away from me. And when they came home, I left and went for a two-hour drive, angered beyond recognition, sobbing at the red lights.
A few days later, I was still a mess. I’d been doing a liver cleanse and eating healthily and my attitude was great up until this perceived injustice. But I couldn’t stop raging.
The family even had an intervention. “You’re always a little weird,” they said. “But lately, you’re just completely nuts!”
After some thought, and reconsideration of all of my vitamins, I “temporarily” stopped taking L-Phenylalanine.
And I have been 100% fine ever since.
I got a missed call and a text message from Shane one day while I was at work:
“Play practice was canceled. Please text or call me when you get the chance. I’m going over to Safeway.”
He’d already missed the bus, but I was working and couldn’t get him right away. In fact, I didn’t get his text until 15 minutes after he sent it. When I finally did get back to him, I told him I’d be there around 4:00 and asked if he could wait for me.
“Sure,” he texted back. “What time will you be done?”
I didn’t get that text right away – so I never answered it.
Meanwhile, I also had a missed call and text from Dylan, who was staying after school as well.
Before leaving work, I texted Dylan and Shane together. I asked Dylan to find Shane, and said that I would meet them at 4:00. The conversation was about eight texts long, and Shane didn’t respond to either of us.
I thought nothing of it.
“On my way!” I said cheerily. “Let me know where to meet you!” Then I drove to meet them.
When I arrived, I checked my phone for an answer from the boys. I had only one text, and it was from Dylan:
“I don’t know where Shane is.”
My stomach lurched. I looked at the clock. It had been an hour since Shane’s last text.
I scanned back through the texts. The last thing I’d heard was that Shane was at the Safeway. It had been nearly an hour since he’d texted me or Dylan.
Driving through the shopping center, I thought I saw him. I drove over to yell – but it wasn’t him. I looked around. He wasn’t in any of his normal meeting places.
I drove around the parking lot again, starting to panic. I called Shane’s cell phone, but he didn’t answer. It rang four times, and went to voice mail. Three times.
Shane’s voice mailbox was recorded years ago, and his voice was young and high. “Shane’s not with his phone right now….”
This is the last time I’ll hear his voice, I thought, and it’s not even his voice anymore!
I was on my second go-round in the parking lot, now nearly hysterical. I was frantically scouring the world around me, looking for … something: evidence of a kidnapping, a body lying in the parking lot, a familiar face….
I called Shane’s phone for the fourth time.
“Hello?” Shane said.
“You’re okay!” I shrieked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Dylan couldn’t find you and you didn’t answer your phone and I thought you were at Safeway!” I wailed, all in one quick breath. “Where are you?”
“I’m back at Safeway,” Shane said calmly. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking at my phone. I was doing homework.”
Then, finally, I breathed.
I looked at the clock. Shane had been “missing” for a total of four minutes.
Thanks to a non-working thyroid, autoimmune condition and weight gain that’s causing my joints to fail, I am following a “liver cleanse” and “adrenal gland refresh” protocol this week.
After years of trying to figure out what to do, someone has finally written a book that outlines an actual, physical way to take care of my problem in a concrete way. So I am doing my best to follow those guidelines.
Besides eating ridiculous amounts of green, leafy vegetables and giving up dairy, gluten and sugar, there is one significant thing that must be avoided at all costs for these two weeks: STRESS.
So I announced to the kids on Sunday night that I am going to take a break from stress. For me, this meant that I would be backing off on acting like I “care,” even though I still do care. I would just not be able to remind them about things, and taking care of the routine things was going to suffer.
I told them that, like the book suggested, I would be going to bed at 9:00 p.m. The book wants me to stay in bed for 12 hours a day, but that’s just not possible.
Still, I don’t have to get up and make breakfasts and lunches for the kids. They are way old enough to do that themselves. So I planned to sleep until Shane woke me up in the morning to drive him to direct the morning show – which, for me, is an average of four extra hours in bed.
“I’m just taking a break,” I told them.
“What are you taking a break from, exactly?” Dylan asked. I think he expected me to say “parenting,” which is also not possible.
Dylan said, without flinching, “Good! A lot of people don’t know they should do that.”
Shane just said, “Okay. What do you need me to do?”
So this week, they’ve been making their own breakfasts and lunches. Bill has been in charge of dinners, although he wasn’t home two nights and that meant the kids were in charge of their own dinners, too. One night I had carrots and hummus for dinner. Yum.
The hardest thing, though, has been staying out of their business. I still have to check Dylan’s online grades every day, but he stepped right up. He got all of his missing work done for one class as soon as it popped up online. He got his homework done for two days in another class, and showed it to his teacher. She emailed me and said, “This has never happened before!”
Shane, too, has taken on his own things. I emailed his science teacher because Shane couldn’t find the homework assignment online, but that was hardly stressful.
In fact, the whole week has gone amazingly well. The only day that felt stressful was when I realized that the boys were planning to make macaroni and cheese again, and that they hadn’t eaten the leftovers from the prior two times they’d had mac-n-cheese in the past week. Rather than eat the leftovers, they decided not to eat mac-n-cheese at all. (They had frozen pizza and cereal instead.)
All in all, though, living stress-free has been pretty nice. Now, if only I could get the other drivers on the highway to cooperate.
