Disorderly conduct

Rushing out the door today I had to leave the kids in the car in the driveway and run back into the house twice (once, for my cell phone, which turned out to be in my pocket, and again, for G's DS) and then drove away muttering about forgetting my hat and coat.  "Mom," said 8-year-old G, the calm back seat observer. "You are so disordered."

Disordered?  Did she mean disorganized?  That would be true. Disorderly?  That is also sometimes true.  But in our world, of special needs classes, doctors, therapists, schools and camps, it's entirely possible she simply meant what she said. 

All we knew, for years, was her struggle.  That inside our child there was more energy, more chaos, more sadness and joy than could be contained in her little body.  And that society had labels for it: out-of-control,   undisciplined, difficult.  It wasn't until last year that more accurate labels were found:  Tourette Syndrome, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Anxiety - each one bringing equal parts relief, "I'm not the only one!" and despair "Why do I have to have this?"

But naming the demons was the first step to taming the demons.  For G, who desires order in her universe, a disorder is a description, not something inherently bad, good, scary, or cool.  It helps her make sense of others' difficulties and quirks, what makes her, and others special.  And she's not shy to share her psychological insights.

"Mom, you told me you would bring me a snack, and then you got distracted again.  You have got to get your ADD under control."

"Daddy would be a whole lot happier if he could learn to go with the flow."

"Hey, are you sure that kid doesn't have ADHD?  It sure seems like it to me."

"Hold on a sec, I'm trying to put myself in that person's shoes."

Some kids once asked a group of parents why there was a class of students with 1-1 aides at school, and the adults were silent.  G, stating the obvious:  "Because they have autism.  They need more help."

As a teacher of yoga for children with special needs, I often meet parents in the process of having their children evaluated.  It can be such an emotional process, of wanting answers, wanting help, yet dreading a diagnosis, wishing it would all just get better on its own.  We dove in hoping to learn how to help G, show others how to work with her, appreciate her, bring out the best in her.  But along the way, the process became most empowering for G herself, teaching her about herself and the world around her.

So when G says her mother is "so disordered," I think she knows what she's talking about.  I'm going to embrace that diagnosis, and go take my Omega 3s and get more rest.  She says that's good for improving memory, and that's good enough for me!