My Friend Carol

It seems the past four years have been rife with funerals.  It takes both hands, and one foot to count them all.  I suppose this is something Shawn and I have to 'get used to' now that we are getting 'older.'  After yet another funeral this past weekend, Shawn and I remarked on them, saying it would be nice to go a while without one.

I guess God always has the last word though, doesn't He?

My friend Carol died today.  I just got the call a little while ago.

I met Carol through a Christian support group for those of us with chronic illnesses almost 10 years ago.  Being the youngest of the group, I was their 'project,' a role I never minded with them, while I would've resented it with others.  They had so much to teach me, and I had so much to learn.  I learned from these women, I learned from Carol, and I still love each and every one of them.  The lessons they taught me are lessons I still carry with me now.  I looked to them not just for illness-related advice, but maternal advice, parental advice, and day-to-day life advice.  These amazing women weren't just friends, they are family.

In some ways, Carol's death is almost a bittersweet relief.  She suffered, she was sick, she was becoming more and more disabled, and less and less independent.  Carol battled her fair share of crap, but she battled it with--beauty?  Panache?  Faith?  Goodwill? All of the above, and more.  That doesn't mean she didn't have bad days, and didn't complain, but she was always faithful to God through it all, grateful for what she did have.   She won a battle against addiction, only to have her body fail her, revolting against her with so many autoimmune diseases.  These past few years, as her body declined further, so did her mind.  Her son, a few years younger than me, moved in with her a few years ago and has been taking full-time care of her ever since.  She leaves behind adult children, and grandchildren, and so many friends.  Her oldest granddaughter, whom she loved dearly--her eyes truly sparkled when she spoke of her--was truly the apple of her eye.  These past few years, she was recognizing people less and less.  Even when I saw her in the store, on the street, anywhere in public, standing right there in front of her, I missed her.

One of the things we had in common was being fired from our teaching jobs because our bodies just couldn't do the work required.  She was a brilliant elementary school teacher who loved her students dearly.  Losing her job was a crushing blow; when I joined the support group, she was the one who talked me through my own crushing job loss.  Carol was more than a friend, she was a mentor to me, mentoring me about how to be sick, and even more importantly, how not to be sick.  "Don't let this beat you, Amy," she'd say.  I don't know if I ever thanked her for the role she played in my life, the role she played in my survival.  I remember how she laughed, such a hearty laugh--not laughing at me, but laughing with me, even though I wasn't able to laugh at myself at the time--after our group meeting was over one day, we were just talking, and me, still relatively new to motherhood, confessed, "I'm not the world's best mom.  I'm terrible.  I'm awful, I'm horrible.  I don't deserve to be Noah's mom."  I remember how she, and the rest of the group (all seasoned moms), erupted into hysterical laughter.  Not mean laughter, but oh-honey-we've-been-there laughter.  Carol covered my hand with her own and said, "Sweetie, and the rest of us are?!?!?!  The rest of us do deserve to be moms???"  Once the laughter subsided, each friend shared their own maternal horror stories with me, and I was able to relax.  I wasn't alone, in more ways than one. She was always so patient with me when I was being pouty and obstinate and angry, and so patient with Noah when I had to bring him along to our group meetings.  I will always remember the look on her face, and how we all rejoiced, when I was able to finally announce Avery's pregnancy.  I'm quite certain they knew before I did, and there wasn't a dry eye at our table.  I remember passing newborn Avery around our table, the way Carol looked at him with such love.  

Carol was beautiful.  Another thing I learned from her: no matter how bad the day, a little lipstick can fix almost anything.  Always dressed to the nines, Carol took care of herself, her hair always perfectly coifed, her make up perfectly in place, her smile a mile long, her laughter hearty, her hugs at the ready, even when they hurt.  From the outside, except for her cane, then her walker, and eventually her wheelchair pushed by her son, you wouldn't have known she was sick.  It never showed on her face, even on her worst days.  We joked that she made the rest of us look bad!

Dearest Carol, I'm going to miss you.  My life is richer, fuller, and better because of you.  I overcame so much with your advice, help and encouragement.  I'm still overcoming so much because of your wisdom I now carry with me.  I love you dearly, and I miss you, even as I imagine you running, skipping and jumping through heaven, perfectly healed, your legs and body no longer betraying you, the sun (Son) on your face, beauty surrounding you.  

Thank you, Carol,  for you, for being a part of my life, for what you taught me, for the example you were to me,  just for everything.  You were amazing, and I will never forget that.

A Simple Thank You

I learned a lesson today.

And really, I kind of struggled with this post, because part of it made me feel like an arrogant braggart, but here it is.  I think it's important for all of us to hear.

The words "thank you" carry so much weight.  Sometimes we don't realize just how much weight they carry, and contrary to the title here, they aren't always so simple. Sometimes, they make all the difference a person needs to keep on keeping on.

Noah shared something with us last night about a teacher he had over three years ago, how she took the time to work around his sensory issues so he could still complete a required task.  Once I got past the "Why am I just learning about this NOW?!?!?!" point, I realized--this teacher needs to know the difference she made.  Time does not matter, nor does it matter if she remembers Noah, or even remembers what she did.  She needed to be thanked, and she needed this reminder that for this one child, she made a difference.  I received a return email that left me weepy.

Noah woke up the other night when I went to check on him before I went to bed.  He usually sleeps through this ritual of mine, so he was surprised to see me in his room.  The next morning, he was giggling about it, asking why I came in to cover him up.  I explained I do it every night; I deliver his cat, make sure he's covered and snuggled in, and kiss him as I pray over him.  I told him it is something I will do even once he is married with a family of his own and visiting us.  He seemed shocked, then he hugged me and thanked me, telling me he loves me.  Coming from Noah, this was HUGE.  Simply huge.  It made such a difference in my day, and made me feel worthy.  I had to hang on to his hug a little bit longer than usual until my eyes dried.

See, we never know what others are struggling with.  We never know what's happened, what's going on, or what that person is feeling.  Passage of time should not matter, nor should the person's recollection of the event, or lack thereof.  What matters here is that we are grateful.  They still need to hear those two simple words, "Thank you."  And really, when you think about it, both parties benefit from saying and hearing those words.

We all need to hear it, from the bagger in the grocery store, to the CEO of the company you may work for, we all need to know we are making a difference.  Our husbands, our wives, our children, our neighbors, our children's teachers, and yes, even complete strangers.  We all need to that connection to others.

So, today I'm encouraging you--go out, make eye contact, and say, "Thank you, you've made a difference today."  Send that long overdue email, make that overdue phone call, mail that snail mail card.  Be the difference.

"To the world you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world."

Depression

I realize I talk a lot about my depression in many of my blogs.  I also realize for those who have never experienced it, or were easily helped by meds, counseling, etc, I leave myself open to criticism and judgment.

If you've never experienced depression, imagine a deep, dark hole.  An abyss.  And, there's no way out.  No ladder, no rope, no elevator, stairs, hands reaching down to pull you out.  Imagine the claustrophobia, the anxiety, the fear and utter despair it could cause.  Imagine the body pain and fatigue your suffer from trying to climb out of that hole using only your fingertips.  Imagine all the people ringed around the top of that hole, telling you how easy it is to climb out--if only you wanted to, if only you really tried, if only you would atone for some long forgotten sin for which God is surely punishing you.  They are telling you to just snap out of it, they were sad once and got over it.  They are telling you to just be happy, that life in that hole isn't so bad.  You should just exercise more, get out of bed earlier, go to bed earlier, sleep less, sleep more, eat this, stop eating that, have sex more often, smile more, wear make up and dress better.  Imagine the self doubt that creeps in when you begin to wonder if maybe they're right, maybe it really is that easy, and you're the one who is making it so difficult.  Imagine retreating further into that hole because of their ridicule, their judgement, wondering what is wrong with me, why can't I be more like them?

Imagine the things that are supposed to help you out of that hole, namely, the meds, and all of their own individual problems.  What's an extra 45 pounds from the side effects when you already can't stand how you look, when that contributes to your self esteem issues? The palsy that makes your handwriting illegible isn't so bad!  The increased, draining exhaustion just needs to be ignored!  They come with their own side effects, sometimes adding to the depression, sometimes increasing suicidal thoughts, and other behaviors. Imagine riding the roller coaster of different meds, different combinations, different dosages.  Your doctor claims to know better, telling you to give it another few weeks to work, then cutting out on your already too short appointment before you can say that while he thinks he knows better, you know your body better and it's just not working.  Imagine finding relief in a medication that is $100/more month, your friends and family telling you there is no price on your sanity.... And then you're right back at square one when that medicine also stops working.  Imagine realizing you have the run the gamut of every medication and combination, including anti-psychotics, on the market, only to realize none of them really do the trick.

Now, understand that your imagination has nothing on the reality of it.

I am not just sad.  I am not lazy.  I am not making up illnesses for attention.  This is not simply a "rough patch."  There was not one single event that caused this, that I need to just get over.  And yes, while I do sin, this is not God's punishment for not repenting, or His punishment for anything else, for that matter.  There is no miraculous healing that I am unwilling to accept. I am not weak in my faith because I need to rely on meds; they do not mean I've given up on God. I have not done anything to 'deserve' this.  I do not like being stuck here, I do not get off on wallowing in my own proverbial filth and misery.  Having more material things will not make me happy; neither will moving, getting a job, having another baby, divorcing my family, or any other life altering event.  Finding a hobby, spending more time with others less fortunate than myself, or getting a job will not solve my depression.  In fact, in some cases, it could make things worse.

Depression is a beast.  It is Satan and every other evil thing rolled into one giant ogre.  Depression distorts life, distorts reality.  It does awful things, causes terrible thoughts, and even worse actions.  It can cause emotions, thoughts, feelings, actions, insomnia and other symptoms that make you question your sanity, if the term mental illness hasn't already.  It causes isolation, despair, hostility, paranoia, despondency, and emotional pain so deep it becomes physical.  It causes fear, guilt, self loathing, self doubt and feelings of such inadequacy that you are crippled by it.  I have been suicidal, prescription drug dependent, hospitalized, medicated, angry and rage-filled, despondent and absent from life.  I often ride a roller coaster of emotions, taking my family along for that ride, whether they want to join me or not.  My kids are war-weary, seeking refuge, never knowing what will set me off (truthfully, I don't either, half the time), waiting for the other shoe to drop on a good day. True depression is debilitating, often all-or-nothing.  It does not simply affect me, but all of those I come in contact with.  I cannot simply snap out of it, no matter how much I want to.  There are days that just showering and being able to take care of my family are almost too much, while other days I can fly through a gazillion errands while singlehandedly preparing three meals.  Some days I am too exhausted to smile, other days I know the seemingly simple effort just might have a chance at tricking my brain, i.e., fake it until you make it.

Depression prevents me from accepting compliments, and from believing my husband when he tells me I'm beautiful.  It prevents me from believing God finds me worthy, and causes me to question my faith and beliefs.  After all, the bible tells us to love others as we love ourselves...  Well, what happens when you don't love yourself?

This is part of who I am.  There is a chemical imbalance in my brain that causes this.  That is not an excuse, it is biology.  It becomes an excuse when I choose to do nothing about it, when I choose to use it as a reason to not participate in life, when I choose to wallow in self pity.  I cannot change the fact that I have depression, but I can choose what I do with it, and what I do about it. I did not ask for this, I would not wish this on anyone.  I often pray it will just go away.  I know there are events that can make it worse, so I do my best to either confront them head on and tell myself it will not send me spiraling, or yes, I even avoid them.  I know there are seasons to my depression, and I do what I can to prepare myself for them, knowing the roller coaster is on the downward spin.  It's about making sure I'm healthy enough to take care of my family.  It's about not letting my depression control me and take over my life.

This is acceptance.  I treat my depression and anxiety.  I have found hope, grace and acceptance in the love of my Father, even when I find myself feeling unworthy of it.  I am grateful for a husband who does his best to take it in stride, no matter how nasty I get.  I've learned the difference between what is really happening in life, compared to what my depression does to distort reality, and I've learned how to cope with that.  I've learned to step back and say to myself, "This is my depression talking." Depression has taught me that healing comes in many different forms.  Often, acceptance is the healing many of us seek.  This is, unfortunately, my reality.  I cannot simply wake up one morning and say "I'm going to be happy forever from this point on!"  No.  But what I can do, is strive for somewhat normal--my normal, not your normal.  This is my normal, and in that acceptance, this is my healing.  I can't choose to be eternally happy, but I can choose how I live with my depression.  There are times I have little control over it, but when I do, I need to choose to make it a good day.

Depression has made me brave.  It has given me the power to speak up and say, "Hey!  This is reality for millions of us.  Instead of judging us, help us!"  I've found relief and comfort among friends who have been brave enough to be as transparent and honest as I am.  I am no longer ashamed of depression and anxiety.  I am no longer as afraid of it as I used to be.  I am no longer embarrassed.  Somewhere in this mess, is a reason for it all.

This is me.  This is who I am.

Motherhood Schmotherhood

Every few months, typically when my depression worsens during the winter, I go through partial mid-life crises.  These past 5 years have been the worst, I think.  Last year I was actually looking at apartments and nearly left my family.  This year, I knew it was coming (only took me 5 years to figure out the pattern....) and was a little better prepared for it.  Maybe prepared isn't the right word--but at least more aware of it.   There are days I just can't cope.  I look at my children, having separated them already 50 times and it's only 7:30, and wonder, "WHERE IS YOUR MOTHER???"  Oh, wait.... What???

These are the days I start panicking.  I'm almost 40, and I haven't done anything with my life.  I literally can't think straight, and can't talk sense to myself.  I have no purpose!  My life revolves around my kids, my husband--and, and--wait, there's nothing else!  Sure, I've done a lot of things; I'm raising two kids, I bake and cook, keep house, I volunteer, I used to teach--but what do I DO?  At this point in my life, what would my epithet say?  "Boy, she sure could bake a great loaf of bread!"

Time and time again, I feel as though life is just passing me by.  I have trained for disaster response, I have trained for missions trips, I am educated as a teacher and an advocate, I've had some training in grief response, I have the heart to do it all.  Let me feed Your poor and starving, Lord!  Let me hold Your orphans' hands, hug Your mothers and fathers, play with Your children, clean up messes, build wells and homes!

And God says.... No.  Not yet.  It's not time.

And I stomp my feet and yell at the unfairness.  BUT I WANT TO, LORD!

And God says....  It's not time.  Your place is HERE.

When will it be my time???

Ugh.  Sigh.

And yes, I know I'm not the only mom who goes through this.  But there are times it feels like it.  This is one of the reasons social media is so bad for me--I see #ilovebeingamommy, #beingamommyisthebestjobintheworld, #mykidsaresowellbehavedandawesomeandbeautiful...  Blah blah blah.  And yes, I also know most of those mothers are lying through their teeth.  I want to vomit when I read that kind of stuff.  I allow their perfectionism to make me feel like even less of a mother than I already do, and that just continues my downward spiral.  Oh, look who's doing snow day crafts with their kids again!  Seriously?  When my kids have been fighting since 6 am, and the neighbor's rooster has been crowing (we live in a neighborhood, by the way) since 4:30 am, I can barely keep my eyes open by 8 am, much less, perform the thought processes necessary to keep mine from fighting while trying to even attempt a craft project.  I figure as long as we're all still alive at the end of the day, we're doing pretty well.

Here's the thing.  I'm a pessimist, and a realistic, and cynical, and sarcastic.  Makes for an odd combination, but there you have it. Sarcasm and cynicism are my defense mechanisms.  I never have, and never will, poop rainbows.  I smile at strangers, and gripe at my family. I've never been easily satisfied, and a life of optimistic, grateful satisfaction has never felt real to me.  It feels more like I'm faking it and putting on airs.  It's not who I am.  But, it's who I need to be.

I know God has things planned for me--once the kids are grown.  Right now, they are where I'm needed.  I'd love to have an "outside life" but I can't imagine having to give my kids up to a daycare to raise.  I see my single mom friends who don't have nearly enough time with their kids, who want that time, and I know I'm blessed.  We don't have much, but I'm grateful for what we do have, and I'm grateful we don't need much so I can stay home.  I have to remind myself that I asked for these children, prayed for these children, and wanted this life/lifestyle... And the fighting, and endless drudge work, and chores and errands are all part of it.  Life is not passing me by, but it will if I continue to forget that.  It will pass me by if I continue to focus on the fighting, and forget to focus on the good moments.

God reminds me, thank goodness for His cool head when I go off the deep end, that my time is better spent here with my kids.  Even in the bleary eyed, not-enough-coffee-in-the-world mornings, my kids are my current missions work, they are my ministry, they are where I'm needed.  This is how I'm building my knowledge and love to do what God has prepared for me next.  I may not always like where I am, I may feel that pull when disaster happens or the next missions trip is announced, but I know I need serve my family with a grateful heart, here and now.  This is where I am, this is where I need to find my gratitude and satisfaction.  My time is now, and I need to live it, rather than take it for granted. Yes, my life revolves around my kids... Because I'm a MOM.

I'm only almost 40.  I've done, and I'm doing, a lot with my life.  I'm raising young gentlemen, Christ followers, boys who will be good men, husbands and fathers.  I'm providing for them in my own ways.  Life is not passing me by, it's happening right here and now.

There will be plenty of time to find Amy, to start a new chapter, when this chapter is written.

Valentine's Day

Hate is a strong word, but, I hate Valentine's Day.  There, I said it.

For the record though, it is not my husband's fault.  He's a good man.  We've been together for almost 20 years, married for 14 of those, and even in our poorer-than-church-mice years, he's always tried to do right by me, even when I've asked him not to.

And no, it's not because some mean boy broke my heart, either.

It's me.  No, really, it is.  It's all me.  This post is going to make me sound like a bitter old hag....  But here goes.  I do have a point in here somewhere.  And no, I don't hate love.  Love is great!  It's the holiday I can't stand.

Growing up as a young naive girl, I listened to my mother rant about this pointless holiday: It's merely a market for card companies to rack up their earnings.  It's expensive, a waste of money, flowers die, candy melts (if it doesn't add 10 pounds first), cards get thrown away, jewelry sparkles for only a little while.  I can even vividly remember an instance when my father tried to surprise her with flowers and she exclaimed they were such a waste of money.  Maybe if my father had done the holiday (and every other day) 'right,' her attitude would've been different, but I can't know that for sure.  Wanting to be a hopeless romantic, I silently berated her for being so bitter, so cynical, so jaded.  So WRONG!

Anyway, as that young naive girl, I believed that once I had a boyfriend, I would be complete.  Then I could celebrate Valentine's Day properly!  And a husband--oh, surely that would complete me, complete my life.  After all, God made me to love and be loved!  He molded me to be a Psalms 31 wife (ok, so that molding there might be just a little cracked....)!

And I realized--Valentine's Day is a yearly prom.  All that build up, and one single day can ruin it if it's not done 'right.'  Did you know that suicide rates and divorce filings skyrocket more on Valentine's Day than any other in the entire year?  More than Christmas or any other holiday?  Yup.

For much of society, this holiday is not even about showing our love.  It's about proving to the world that we do, in fact, have someone to celebrate with...  And the rest of you don't.  Nanny nanny boo boo.  It's about one-upping each other, bragging, singling people out.  It's a holiday that tells young girls they are incomplete without a boyfriend, spouse, life partner.  You are destined for crazy cat-ladyhood without a special someone.  It's a holiday that tells 'old marrieds' that if he didn't do the holiday for you the way your friend's husband did for her, well, your marriage is doomed and he know longer loves you.

When expectations aren't met, arguments ensue.  Boyfriends and husbands alike end up in the doghouse, if they don't put themselves in deep debt first.   Young girls without beaus watch other girls with envy, wishing they could crawl into their lockers and die.  Parents who fail to properly shower their children with commercialized love on this one particular day are resented.  Christian women and girls (usually the ones with significant others) proclaim that "Jesus will be your husband!"

So, here's my thing with the holiday--it's a serious cop out for the other 364 days of the year.  Human beings across the planet wrongly assume that they can make up for the rest of the year with this one day.  We can be bitter, we can fight, we can take for granted, we can be anything we want to be, as long as we buy balloons, dinner, candy, flowers and jewelry on this one single day to prove our love.  The truth is, I don't want all of that on this one single day if I'm not receiving confirmation of love on the other days.  Sure, flowers are nice--but I kind of like receiving them during other months too.  And ladies, let's be honest--a back or foot rub, a day without the kids, grocery shopping done for us (while sticking to the list....), having a clean house without having to lift a finger--well, those things often go much further than the obligatory flowers, candy and jewelry any day of the week.

Someone pointed out yesterday that we love because God first loved us.  YES!  But, what would happen if God said to us, "Okay, I'm going to set this one day here aside, and this is the only day I'm going to show my love and prove it to you"?  Just let that settle in for a minute.

If you are already carrying out your love every day, if every day is already Valentine's Day, I applaud you.  If, however, you think you only have to celebrate your love that one day every year, you might have some thinking to do.

Just sayin'.

The Rantings of a Mad Mommy

I debated for a bit what to call this one--Stop the Mommy Wars, Stop the Hate, Don't Judge--then I decided, oh heck, let's just call it like it is.

I'm mad, I'm feeling defensive, and I'm tired of being judged as a mom.  I'm tired of my decisions regarding my family being judged by complete strangers who have never walked an hour in our shoes, and wouldn't last five minutes.  I resent feeling so defensive as a parent, I resent feeling so attacked.  So here I am, once again, ranting and explaining my decisions to you.

I'm sensitive, I take things personally, even blanket statements made by strangers who are unaware of me being in the room as they spout off intolerantly, unaware of my walk in life, unaware of my child's walk in life.  I am unable to let criticism roll off my back.  Instead, I bang my head against it for several days, allowing it to build up.  Ironically, I am also unable to confront it head on--but I'm convinced this is most likely God's way of saving lives....

I know I've harped on this point before--but please, think before you speak.  Especially in public.  Especially when others are present, especially when you don't know their life journey, especially when you have no freakin' clue what you're talking about.  

I had a run in the other day with another ignoramus.  This woman was spouting off to the cashier about "those lazy parents who medicate their poor kids when all those kids really need is extra love and attention, but the parents are just too self centered to understand that."  I REALLY had trouble stepping back, not sticking my finger in her face, and not giving her a piece of my mind (again, saving lives....).  Seriously?

I was tempted to introduce myself to this woman and tell her about a day in the life of us.  I wanted to ask her if she feels parents of children with diabetes, epilepsy and cancer are also lazy because their children require medication.  Would she have me withhold Avery's asthma and allergy medication from him during a severe attack, instead telling him that my extra love and attention will save him?  I wanted to ask her what her experience with kids like mine is: Is it limited to the grocery store line where she glares at the parent with the out of control child, wondering why the parent is so lazy and doesn't do more to control her kid?  I wanted to invited her to spend a day in my shoes, knowing she wouldn't last an hour.

Okay, here's the thing.  Medicating Noah does not make me lazy--it makes me a smart parent.  It may not seem life saving to you, but to us, it is.  His antidepressant keeps my child from wanting to harm himself.  It has allowed counseling to be helpful so we can 'retrain' his thinking, self esteem and life.  It has allowed him to choose a healthier path in life.  Noah's ADHD medications keep him from walking into traffic, from failing in school, they help him concentrate better on tasks at home, and help him pay attention better so he, and others around him, are safer.  So yes, Noah's meds are life saving.

I am not a lazy parent.  I am on top of Noah.  We have various charts, notes and reminders on just about every single wall of our house.  I did not medicate Noah and throw him to the wolves.  We are active parents.  We also do not use medication as Noah's only means of support.  Noah currently receives counseling and equine therapy (which is so much more than merely riding a horse, thank you very much), and he is an active member of Boy Scouts.  He's been through social skills groups, we homeschooled for a year, he's been in OT, received speech therapy, and physical therapy.  My husband and I keep current on journal articles and the latest studies.  We make sure he gets the supplements and extra protein he needs, we use alternative therapies when we can.

Administering medication to my child was not a decision I made lightly. You don't understand the turmoil in my heart, and in my head. I used to be one of those ignoramuses who spouted off unintelligently about lazy parents! The self criticism I put myself through, and how the decision almost caused the end of my marriage.  Once I came out of my own denial and realized Noah needed this extra support, I almost had to choose between my child and my husband.  We put off the medication decision as long as we possibly could.  We were unnecessarily hard on Noah, telling him he could do what he really can't, expecting the unfair and impossible from him.  I felt as though I was giving up on Noah when I gave him that first dose.  I felt like such a failure as his mom when I dropped that first prescription off at the pharmacy.  I prayed over each and every single bottle of pills.    When teachers had to have the "your child is a danger to himself and others because he's so clueless" discussion with us numerous times, we realized he needed more help than we were giving him.  To some, it may sound like an excuse when I tell you Noah literally cannot control some of his impulses, but to me---this is our life.  This is our daily life.  He really, honestly cannot help it.  My hope, my prayer, is the meds give him the boost he needs as he matures to learn these things.  Until then, I will continue to choose what is best for my child, and that includes medication.  It has taken me a long time to realize I did not fail him, I am not a failure, and I did not give up on him.  I am giving him the tools he needs to be a functional, successful member of society.

Are there parents out there who medicate because it's just the easier thing to do?  Are there doctors out there willing to provide prescriptions to those parents?  Yes, and sadly, yes.  But for the record--our family, and Noah's doctors do not fall in that category.

Now please, shut your mouth.  Keep it shut.  Keep your judgment and ignorance to yourself.  Take your opinions, and just walk away.