"Can Your Boy Dress Himself?"

That's a reference from the King of the Hill where Bobby takes ADHD meds. Because I have to say that most of my boys can dress themselves. Really. Mostly.

Okay, sometimes.

Anyway, Oldest Redheaded Boy started taking ADD meds yesterday. And aw hell, I hate that he does. I'm sad that he does. And daggit, I know better. Back in the day, I worked with ADD/ADHD kids. Truly, I have walked with the medded and the un-medded and the should-be-medded and the forgot-their-medded and the always exciting it's-my-rx-but-my-parents-are-now-medded and I know how it works and that it works, but now he's the medded. And he's mine. So you see how it is.

Yesterday we noted the therapeutic benefit during homework time. Later that evening, he prepared and delivered a lengthy presentation on the sinking of the Andrea Doria to his 4 year old brothers. He closed the presentation with a field trip to the bathroom for a tub-based demonstration of the tragedy. (did I mention that he's a very intense, if unfocused fellow?) He did not spend the evening working on his train/plane/boat/car crash noises. He did not do much in the way of twirling (I don't even want to get into that, but please understand that it was nice not to have it for a change) As a result, I did not spend my evening screaming myself silly, knowing full well that I cannot be heard over the medley of train/plane/boat/car crash noises. So I have to ask: who benefits? Who needs him to be medded? (whispering) Is it me? Is it my problem (read: fault)? Shoddy, shoddy parenting. (normal writing voice) Yes, I know the grown-up answer--we were referred to special people who use special tests and stuff to figure out those answers, and any other kid, any other kid and I would be all about this stuff, but like I said, he's mine. He's a crazy, maddening, obsessive, quirky, bossy, loud, spazzy kid, and I hate how this it's-been-a-long-day-for-the-last year-or-so situation wears on me, but I have to tell you that I still feel really crappy about dosing the kid up on schedule IIs like this. And having to fight with the insurance company about it. That is totally bonus. Oh Please let me give my eight-year-old kid the addictive psycho-stimulants? Oh Please? I know you nixed all that speech therapy and other stuff we asked for when he was younger, and I also know you're completely screwing us on That Little Redheaded Fellow as well, but pretty please?

*sigh*

I know. This is not as huge as I'm feeling right now. Maybe not. And yes, I do have professionals with whom I share all this obsessive mommy guilt. I know.

And you know what else? Right this very freaking minute he is in the living room twirling around and working those awful (if impressively realistic) crash noises that make me want to rip my ears off. So I don't know. I just don't know.