I wrote this last year, shortly after my oldest son was finally diagnosed with ADHD...

Every day I give my son drugs. Methamphetamine. Okay, not meth, but a derivative of it. Because his doctor says that he is ADHD. With anxiety issues. And we need to get a hold on it now before he sinks into depression.

He's barely seven.

I know that he might really need it but sometimes I sit there and watch him take the Concerta, and I almost cry. I'm giving my kid the same drugs (okay, almost) that he was exposed to when he was forming in his birth mother's womb. It's not my "fault" he's dealing with this - maybe it's no one's. And assigning fault isn't really the issue. I'm scared for him. (Heck, I'm scared for both of the boys... ) Maybe that's why I push them both so hard... I don't know. I don't want them to have limits because I don't want them to give up. I don't want them to see themselves as defective in some way and I'm afraid that I'm just playing right into that whole problem anyway. Ahhh... This is insane. I'm hoping the Concerta works for him. I really am. And at the same time I'm angry that he needs it. Not angry at him... maybe angry at God? At myself? I don't even know. Just angry.

Before he started the medication, he'd been out of control for a while - I think longer than anyone was really even aware or willing to admit. I realize just how much our parenting standards dropped while we were in the middle of the crisis with our foster daughter and some of the things we saw with the boys were the results from that. The bargaining, the arguing, the talking back, etc. etc... stuff that in the moment you just didn't give a rat's tootsie about but now you have to deal with it... I hate that.

I kind of feel like I failed somehow but then I look at it and realize I didn't fail because my kids are still functioning... okay, they're not functioning at 100% but maybe they weren't before all of this anyway. And I can't possibly beat myself up because my husband and I couldn't have gotten through what we have so far being perfect parents who are always perfectly consistent in maintaining the diligent eye on behavior and attitude, gently and appropriately addressing every trespass without fail, encouraging respectful and loving behavior and promoting a happy, healthy and secure environment with every word or deed. It's impossible to be a perfect parent... especially in crisis. :)

That's like trying to eat off crystal and fine china in the middle of a gunfire (I have visions of the bridge battle from Saving Private Ryan... my little family trying to eat dinner on fine linen and china and drinking from crystal goblets, unaware of the bullets whizzing by and the crumbling ruins we sit in (except for the occasional need to remove some piece of plaster from the tablecloth). Not noticing the men running around us, screaming and firing at each other. Yeah right. Duh. So I have to forgive myself here for not being the perfect parent in some really rough circumstances and give myself a break... Let it go, move on and redefine the boundaries, not let the criticism of others (but mostly my own self-criticism) drag me down or get me defensive and upset, and move forward resolutely. Sigh...