Dinner

Life with 3 children is high energy.  Life with 3 fringy kids is CRAZY high energy.  All of these children of mine experience life more intensely.  And, if I’m being honest, I have to admit that my husband and I do, too.  All this intensity can be a lot of fun.  When we do something fun or exciting, we do it BIG.  The Boormans don’t know itty bitty kinda-sorta fun.  We know FUN and jump up and down flapping your hands EXCITEMENT!!  Aside from the fact that these intense energies can also be overwhelming, and aside from the fact that these intensities can trigger meltdowns, there is another downside to this intensity.  Namely . . . dinner.

I don’t know about your house, but at my house, here’s how dinner generally goes:

Me:  OK – time to eat!

KBear:  random noises (touching everything on the way to the table)

Chimp:  (running from across the room and diving into his chair)  Yippee!  I LOVE dinner!  I love you mom!  Oh, gross, I don’t like (fill in the blank, basically anything and everything we make for dinner).  Can I go watch sumfink?

Cub:  (5 minutes later as he makes his way to the table with the speed of a sloth)  So, I was thinking about Pokemon.  And I. . . blah blah blah blahCharmander . . . . blah blah blah blah Darkrai . . .

Me:  OK – Cub.  Just pause the conversation for a second.  Who’s going to pray?

All 3:  I will!  No, I will! 

Me:  Chimp, go.

Chimp:  Rub dub dub thanks grub.

KBear:  (simultaneously while Chimp is praying) some sort of pterodactyl sound

Chimp:  KBear!  I was pwaying!

KBear:  pterodactyl sound

Chimp:  I’m not hungwy, can I get down? (as he’s climbing off his chair)

Me:  No, Chimp, it’s dinner time, you’re staying here.

Chimp:  melodramatic cry as he climbs halfway back up the chair, but then decides to hang over it backwards.

Meanwhile, Cub continues his conversation about Pokemon through it all.

KBear:  I no like!

Now at this point, you might be wondering just where in the world Jon is.  Either, it’s one of our many solo parenting nights, or, he’s mumbling to himself about how nobody appreciates his cooking, can’t we just get some bloody peace and quiet, and why does he even try.

Me:  KBear – you can’t touch the food on other people’s plates.  KBear please chew with your mouth closed.  Cub, ahh, so that’s what Wigglypuff’s powers do.  Chimp, you need to sit on your bum.

KBear:  (scream!) It’s MY turn to talk!

Chimp:  No – I wanna talk.

Cub & Jon:  (eye rolls and sighs)

Me:  OK – Kbear, go.

KBear:  Wanna know somefink?  At lunch today. . .

Chimp interrupts

KBear:  (Scream!)  Chimp!  It’s my turn!

Me:  Chimp, wait your turn.  KBear be kind, please.

KBear:  Wanna know somefink?  At lunch today . . .

Chimp interrupts

KBear:  (UGH!!)  CHIMP!!!!

Chimp:  What? (feigning innocence)

Jon:  Chimp . . . shush.

Me:  Go on KBear.

KBear:  Wanna know somefink?  At lunch . . .

Chimp interrupts

Cub, Jon, and I:  Chimp!  Hush!

KBear loses it and throws her fork at chimp.

Cub sees his opportunity and starts in on another 15 minute long diatribe about his favorite youtube channels.  I turn off my ears, hang my head and wish I was anywhere but the dinner table.

Yes, all family dinners can be high energy.  But, fringy family dinners can be crazy-making and tend to end (at least in my household) with someone storming off in tears or a rage or a meltdown.  Not only are all 3 kids vying for talking time, but all 3 kids are also impulsive, AND it’s the end of the day when 2 of the kids are simply over-done and tired.

Here is a tip that I’ve found extremely helpful.  Especially on the days when I don’t have the energy to play referee.

We play games at the dinner table.  Not board games, usually, because those also tend to result in storming tears or rages.  We will break out Headbanz or Yahtzee on occasion.  Or pass the pigs.  More often, we do talky type of games.  Some of our favorites include:

20 questions, I spy, cooperative storytelling (where one person says one sentence and then the next person continues the story with a second sentence and so on around the table), name that tune, name a song that has the word ____ in it, 1 minute speeches (everyone gives a 1 minute speech on the same topic – the topic can be anything – just look around and name the first thing you see!)

We’ve also recently had fun downloading party game apps onto my phone and playing those, like catchphrase, 3in5 (where you have to name 3 items that fit a category within 5 seconds – we make it easier for KBear and Chimp and just have KBear name 2 and Chimp name 1), Taboo, Trivia games.

And, we’ve also had fun with conversation starter question books that ask questions like “if you won a million dollars what would you do with it?” or 30 second mystery books.

Essentially, the more structure I add to the evening meal, the less craziness and anger that explodes (usually).  I’d love to simply sit down and have a great conversation with my fringy family, but I’m learning that those great conversations tend to be more successful and be prompted more often when they can be in the midst of some type of structure.  Sure, I’m still having to be referee on occasion or help KBear re-set, and I will ALWAYS have to remind Chimp to sit or stand in his spot, but, for the most part, our fringy intensities end up channeled in a similar direction instead of in the colliding mess of craziness that dinner can otherwise be.

Just What is a Peer?

We are inundated with messages from an extroverted world that emphasizes the need for peers.  And, as a therapist, yes, I do agree that relationships and peer relationships are important for a fulfilling life.  But, just what is a peer?

According to the online definitions I found, a peer is a person who belongs to the same social group based on age, grade, or status.  But, when I dug just a little deeper to consider the etymology of the word “peer”, I found that it wasn’t until 1944 that the word became associated with age.  For 600 years prior to that, peer was simply defined as a person equal in rank or status.  Why do I bring this up?  Because the concept that we should be relating and finding all of our social group among similarly aged people is REALLY new.  And this is something for us parents to keep in mind.

Having a relationship with a true peer, someone with whom our interests or development is relatively equal, is far more essential than forcing our children to connect with similarly aged people.  With gifted kids, this is especially true and especially freeing.  There is nothing wrong with our gifted kids having a friendship with a 32 year old who is equally fascinated by photography.  There is nothing wrong with our gifted kids having a friendship with a 67 year old who is equally passionate about the humane treatment of animals.  There is nothing wrong with our gifted kids having a friendship with a younger child who is equally dramatic.  Well, except for the days when those dramatic tendencies collide!

Here's my point – our gifted kids benefit from the original definition of peer.  Often our gifted kids find connections with people across the age spectrum easier than kids of the same age. 

But our modern society sends us extraverted, age-grouped messages and I, for one, have found that I’ve internalized many of these.  In my head I balk at the idea that friends need to be similarly aged.  As an introvert, my head knows that some people only need 1 or 2 close friends to feel contented.  But my gut keeps forgetting the things my head knows, and if I’m not careful, I find myself filled with this weird urgency to foster different “peer” friendships for my children. 

Especially as a homeschooling mom, I find myself getting caught up in the fear that my children are actually not receiving “socialization” simply because it looks different than the norm.  And as a mom to some gifted kids, I find myself getting caught up in the fear that they’ll turn into a socially awkward loner of an adult who’s living in a shack deep in the mountain woods, playing video games over their self-constructed satellite internet signal 24 hours a day.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I suppose.  Except I want my kids to launch confidently into this world and I want them to feel the fulfillment of quality peer relationships.

So now we come back to the original question:  What are quality peer relationships?  For our gifted kids, especially, it’s relationships in which they find commonality, camaraderie, and stimulation.  And sometimes that looks like 15 friends all the same age, and sometimes that looks like 1 friend, who is older or younger or anywhere in between, but who completely and fully understands my kid and cares about similar things.

Peers are important.  But, peers have nothing to do with age or grade.  And if I can let society’s messages that lots and lots of similarly aged friends is the only way to have real relationships slip right out of my gut & head, then I can actually allow my children to find their peers.  They tend to understand who their peers are better than I do if I simply provide the opportunities and stay out of their way. 

My oldest went to a one-room school house for a short time and at 8 years old his closest friends were in their teens. 

My youngest was bouncing from one small group to another at a homeschool park day.  And when he discovered that the kids his age were still engaging in parallel play instead of the rich imaginative and collaborative pretend play that he desired, he moved on to the older kids.  And when the older kids only saw him as the cute little kid who had the motor coordination of his 2 years of chronological age and didn’t really want to play with a baby, he moved on to play all by himself.  And he did so quite joyfully.  I was the only one who felt a pang of sorrow for him as he tried to find his peers.  He was fine with knowing that no one there quite fit the bill. 

I guess, in the end, it all comes down to what we choose to normalize.  Our society defines peers by age and claims that to be normal.  I will continuously strive to normalize the more traditional understanding of what a peer is, and in so doing, I hope my kids won’t have quite as many of those unhelpful, internalized messages questioning what they know to be true in their heads.

For more great articles about finding peers for gifted and 2e kids, check out the other blogs through the GHF BlogHop!  

I Thought I Knew What Love Was

I thought I knew what love was.  I thought I understood the unconditional sort of love that I was taught created healthy, intimate relationships.

I was skilled at forgiveness, at compassion, at total and complete acceptance.  I loved my parents and tried to honor them.  I loved my husband with the kind of unconditional commitment that stuck by his side despite disagreements, differences, betrayals.  I loved my first-born with the self-sacrificing attentiveness and nurturing that we hope for from mothers.  I understood love.  Or so I thought.

My daughter was born in 2008.  I’d had 3 years in the mommy hood by that point, and so I thought I knew how to love as a caring mother.  I continued on with my loving behaviors much as I had with her older brother before.  But, over the months and years it became abundantly clear that my feelings toward her were very different than they were toward her brother.  There was a distance somehow and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

As the years passed and we encountered the more challenging behaviors and were obtaining diagnoses and therapies and transforming our home and family and routines into a sensory friendly life, that distance became more poignant.  There was some sort of disconnect and it was a disconnect that got me wondering if I truly loved my daughter.

In one of my more vulnerable and real moments, I remember talking to my best friend through tears and saying, “I must love her, right?  I mean, I wouldn’t do all this stuff for her if I didn’t love her?”  But it seemed so much more in my head than in my heart.  I had days and weeks, when we were in our hardest moments and ALL of my interactions with her were filled with trials and sensory meltdowns and defiance and her screaming awful names at me while she physically attacked me with her feet, hands, teeth.  In those days and weeks I felt so stuck.  Part of me didn’t want to do this anymore.  Part of me fantasized about finding a different set of parents for her, or at least a different mom.  But, the other part of me knew that I couldn’t ever do that.  That part of me knew that I couldn’t imagine anyone else being with her or understanding her the way I do.  

I couldn’t keep parenting her and I couldn’t not parent her.  I was stuck.  And because I had these feelings and because my parenting of her felt different than my parenting of my boys and because I often felt like I was parenting her from my mind and not my heart, I wondered if I really, actually, deep down loved her.

There was a single night in the midst of this torrential storm that changed everything.  I was laying next to her in bed, watching a movie with her.  KBear turned around, reached her little arm up around my neck in an awkward half hug, looked me straight in the eye, and said with intense sincerity, “I love you, mom.”  I started to cry.  I started to cry at that moment when it happened and I’m starting to cry now as I type it.  It was the most bittersweet moment in my life as a parent so far.  My heart melted at her spontaneous act of affection.  And my heart broke, because for the first time I realized, in 7 years of her life, this was the only time she’d initiated a genuine hug.  It’s the first time she had feeling and connection and intimacy behind her words.  

My mind flashed back to the rest of our relationship.  As a baby her social smile came “late”.  I didn’t realize what that meant at the time, but I remember joking about the fact that we had the world’s only curmudgeon of a baby.  

When she was 2, I would get so angry because she would demand that I stay and “snuggle” her at bedtime, but when I tried to wrap my arms around her, she’d yell at me not to touch her.  At one point, in desperation, I remember saying, “I don’t know what you want.  To snuggle means we are touching.  You want me to just lie next to you.  That isn’t snuggling.”  

At 4, she’d bring me dandelion bouquets and would suffer through my grateful hug, but she wouldn’t reciprocate.  She’d sit on my lap, but wouldn’t wrap her legs or arms around me tight – I felt more like a chair to her than a warm and cuddly lap.  When I asked for a kiss, because she would never ask, she’d simply lean her forehead in or lean her body into mine.

In that beautiful first moment, when at age 7, my KBear initiated affection I realized why I had questioned whether I loved her.  It’s because my love for her had been truly, and completely, unconditional and self-less.  Over the years I had not received any of the warm fuzzy feelings or affections from her that I thought love was.

Sure, loving my sons has been more self-less than other types of love.  I’m their mom, so I’m giving them more of my time, service, heart and soul than they give me.  But, the key difference:  they do give back to me in warm and fuzzy ways.  From them I’ve received the pudgy arm hugs.  They spontaneously and genuinely tell me that they love me.  They push into my hugs instead of pulling away.  Just today Chimp said, “Mom – I love you.  You are important to me.  You are so special.”  I’ve always gotten something back from my boys.  They do things that trigger the lovey-dovey, ooey-gooey, heart-melting feelings that I thought was love.  I thought having those feelings meant I love someone.

Associating love only with tender feelings sets us up for trouble.  The ooey-gooey-ness of emotional love is temporary.  Being infatuatingly, googly-eyed “in love” with a spouse fades over time.  Kids and spouses and friends and family get crabby.  I get crabby.  And in those moments, I don’t feel very lovey-dovey, warm, tender, “in love”.  When my understanding of love is based on my feeling, well, at those moments I don’t feel like I love them.  I don’t feel like they love me.  I am more apt to try to fix them or shame them back into doing the sorts of things that feel loving, that feel worthy of being loved.  My love becomes conditional on the state of my relationship or on the mood of myself or my beloved.

And so, with that understanding of love, no wonder I questioned whether or not I loved KBear.  But, in reality, it has never been that I’ve lacked love for her.  The truth is I lacked true unconditional love for everyone.  It just took her and her autism to show me that.

I recently heard someone define the Greek term agape (love) as an intelligent, purposeful attitude of esteem and devotion.  In other words, love is mindfully choosing to regard someone favorably and to act with loyalty or enthusiasm for a person.  It is a choice.  It is a mind-thing.  It really has very little to do with the feeling.

I’m grateful that my daughter has been capable of being affectionate a bit more often over the past year.  But, mostly, I’m grateful that she has taught me what love really looks like.

My Mistake

The morning started much better than anticipated.  All 3 kiddos were awake, moving around, interacting with each other in friendly manners. 

Less than 2 minutes later, 1 child is crying, 1 child is anxiously trying to parent his siblings, and 1 child is yelling threats, throwing things, and screaming at the top of her lungs.  How did this happen, you may ask?  I made one grave mistake.  Are you ready for it?  My mistake . . .

I went to the bathroom.

You wouldn’t think this would have been a mistake.  You would think that NOT going to use the toilet would have been a bigger mistake.  But, I forget that even though all of my children are chronologically out of the toddler years, emotionally, one of my children still frequently needs the same level of high-intensity, eagle-eyed supervision as she did when she was 1 ½.

Like a toddler, my spectrum-y kiddo can fool you into complacency by being all nice and sweet, but then flip in seconds.

Like a toddler, my sensory kiddo can seem calm and put together one moment, but then scream from hunger, fatigue, overstimulation the next.

Like a toddler, my spectrum-y kiddo can play and share nicely, only to swipe the toy away from your hands and scream in your face that she never wants to play with you again because she’s been offended somehow (like maybe saying you wanted to call the baby doll Frank instead of Prince).

And so, my household can turn from Little House on the Prairie to Lord of the Flies in 0.9 seconds flat.  This especially happens when I’ve stepped away from the room and felt falsely confident that the peace would continue, but it also can happen right before my very eyes.  Calm to chaos and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I’ve got no words of wisdom about this.  Just the quiet comfort of knowing that if this happens in your household, you’re not alone.  And, maybe buy a giant pack ‘n play for your fringy kid, so you can sequester them and go off to pee in peace.  Or, you can take Jon’s suggestion and buy a giant pack of Depends, so you never have to leave the room again.

The Day My 3 year old Apologized for Needing to go Potty

The 3 year old was apparently drinking plenty of fluids and staying hydrated, which I suppose I could have been thankful for.  But, we were camping.  The pit toilet was a decent walk away.  I’m currently experiencing foot issues, so my left foot is encumbered with a big, clunky, walking boot.  While my children think that’s awesome and have taken to calling me “pirate”, it makes for some uncomfortable walking.  All 3 Fringy kids were playing together nicely and making friends with other camping kiddos nearby.  Which meant I deluded myself into thinking that I might actually get to sit and simply read a book.

Enters the 3 year old.  Every 15-30 minutes the kid needed to pee.  I’d see Chimp walking up, pained expression on his face, hands grabbing onto his unmentionable parts, and whining, “I need to go potty!”

The first couple of times I’d simply say, “OK, let’s go!” and walk with him over to the toilet.  But, after the 4th or 5th time, my patience was wearing thin, I’d only gotten 2 pages read in the book, and I was getting tired of lugging my pirate leg over to the smelly, hole in the ground, which barely passed for a bathroom.  My body language and tone of voice were obviously not masking the frustration and impatience I was feeling.  Probably saying, “seriously, chimp?!  You just went ten minutes ago!” with an exasperated voice didn’t help matters either. 

And so, Chimp apologized.  He looked quite upset that he was disappointing and inconveniencing me as he said, “I’m so sorry mom.”

And it struck me.  My 3 year old was apologizing to me because he had to go to the bathroom.  His body had to expel toxins and fluids and I was inadvertently shaming him for this because I wanted to sit and read a book.  Yep – everyone else just take your names out of the running, I have officially won “mom of the year”.

Don’t read me wrong, I’m not beating myself up (maybe just a tiny bit at first, but I’m over it now).  Nope – I’m simply using this as a wake up call.  The truth is, the unending potty trips are not the only times my Chimp is greeted with an exasperated, frustrated response from me.  He is the kiddo that talks non-stop.  And I am not exaggerating about this.  Ironically, as I’m typing, he’s sitting next to me playing a game on my tablet and . . . talking.  Not to anyone or anything in particular.  He just talks.  And with his talking comes endless questions and requests and “mom!  Watch this!”’s and needs and more questions and storytellings and . . . and . . . and . . .  it is endless.

Most times I can be patient for the first 10 minutes.  But then, he inevitably hears, “Chimp!  What?!”  come impatiently from my mouth.  At which point, he usually responds, “Mom?  I love you.”  And snuggles in for a hug.

Chimp has the (mis)fortune of being my preschooler after I’ve been a baby/toddler/preschooler mom for over a decade.  I’m tired.  The incessant physical neediness of these early years of life are tiring as a parent.  But, he hasn’t been a preschooler for the past decade.  And he won’t be a preschooler for very much longer.  It really is kinda unfair for me to forget that he simply needs more of my physical assistance right now. 

He also has the (mis)fortune of being psychomotorly intense with a mom who is very introverted, as well as sensually and emotionally intense.  My introverted, intense self can only handle the incessant noise of his sweet voice for so long.  But, again, that’s not his fault.  Nor is it his fault that his older sister requires a lot of my energy and time.  I’m trying to hold it together for her so frequently that I simply don’t feel I have the energy to listen to his chatter, answer his questions, or wipe his bum one more time.  There are a lot of demands on me.  But, he’s just a little Chimp who needs his mom . . . and to go to the bathroom.

 So, I’m going to suck it up and intentionally give him joyful parenting on the terms that he requires.  And I’m going to do this in the following ways:

FIRST – I’m going to revitalize myself.  I’m going to actually prioritize my own self care.  I will wake up earlier in the mornings for quiet, peaceful time to recharge before the day even begins.  I will take mommy-time-outs so I can be all by myself for even five minute stretches to be filled with peaceful rest before my kids put me on mommy-time-out so I stop yelling.

SECOND – I’m going to be mindful.  I’m going to stay in the moment and be present.  Instead of following my brain’s random thoughts and to-do-lists that aren’t related to the task or person in front of me, I’m going to breathe and refocus on the here and now.  The other stuff will have their turn for my attention.

THIRD – I’m going to work and play in intervals.  Like interval training, where you can keep sprinting because you know it’s only for a short period of time, I am able to stay more mindful of the here and now when I know it is temporary and there are set times ready for me to address the other stuff on my brain’s eternal to-do list.

FOURTH – I’m going to purposefully choose a mindset of joy, curiosity, and childishness while I’m with my Chimp.  We do have the power to choose our frame of mind – we just have to choose it over and over and over again.

FIFTH – I’m going to do all these things until I don’t.  Which means, at some point this afternoon I won’t be doing them anymore.  And, when that happens, I will practice self-compassion.  Just as Chimp can’t yet go potty all by himself, I can’t yet (or ever) parent joyfully 100% of the time.  And there’s room for compassion in that.

OR – I’ll go buy some earplugs, make Cub take Chimp to the bathroom, and get back to my book.

Life as an Imposter

In the interest of being REAL, we’re going to give you REAL in REAL-time.

In the space of this past week, the readership of the Fringy Bit blog jumped over 5000%.  Seriously.  I’m geeky enough that I did the math.  And that’s great.  I love that more Fringy Families are able to support each other.  I love that the words I spew out on the keyboard resonate with people.  I love that I’m not the only one living this type of Fringy life.

On the evening of the day when things really exploded, I returned home from working at the practice to find that my loving husband had already poured me a glass of wine.  Now, you’d think this would have been a congratulatory pouring of red, but nope.  My husband knows me better than that.  It was a glass of wine to help take the edge off just a little bit.  He assumed I’d be freaking out and he assumed correctly.

I’d called my best friend earlier in the day and said, “I need you!  I’m totally overwhelmed and can’t wrap my mind around this.  People from around the world are writing and asking for my opinion and engaging in debate . . . with me.  Do they realize I’m just a meager therapist, living life on the fringes, and usually spend my evenings watching Orange is the New Black with my hair up in a messy bun wearing sweatpants?  Do they realize that just yesterday I flipped out at my kids and really don’t do this any better than anyone else?!”

The thought that people, literally, around the world were reading my random start-up project of a blog made my teeth sweat from anxiety.  Correction.  The feeling that people around the world were reading my blog made my teeth sweat from anxiety.

The truth is, my mind knows that I’m competent.  My mind knows that I’ve had the training and experience to help support families.  My mind knows that I’ve spent countless hours reading and studying and attending conferences and trainings.  My mind knows that I know this stuff, both personally and professionally.

But my gut?  My gut feels like at some point, someone is going to call shenanigans and reveal that I’ve had it wrong all this time.  My gut feels like I’m still that shaky little girl trying to hide from the spotlight.  My gut feels like I’m an imposter.

There’s technically a term for this, I suppose.  Imposter syndrome.  Self-doubt.  Really it doesn’t matter what it’s called.  It feels kinda cruddy.  And I’m not writing about it to be self-important or presumptuous.  I'm writing about it because I know that nearly everyone has felt this way at some point in their life.  I know that the gifted kids I work with feel it all the time (“people tell me I’m smart, but I don’t think I am.  I feel pretty stupid”).  I know that many parents I work with can be paralyzed with self-doubt (“everyone tells me I’m a good parent, but I’m really just a fraud.  What would they think if they saw me when I yelled at my kid for not brushing his teeth?!”).  I know that fringy parents, especially, can feel like imposters (“people keep complimenting me on how much patience I have, but they don’t see what happens when we’re not in public!”)

So, what can we do about it?

We step out there even when we feel afraid.  The biggest difference I’ve noticed between people who have more of the life they want and people who don’t, is whether or not they’re willing to be uncomfortable and step into fear.

We surround ourselves with positive, uplifting, and encouraging people.  Jon knew exactly what I needed in that moment – a hug, an affirming word, and a glass of wine.  Rachel left me a voicemail which will never be deleted in which she said all the right words to quiet that doubting voice in my head.  And not only do we surround ourselves with these people – but we reach out and ask for support and help when we need it.

We acknowledge the anxiety, the fear, the doubt.  We mindfully notice it and then let it pass on its way.  We can’t control what pops into our minds, but we can control what we do with it.  And we can either dwell on it and believe it, or choose to notice it and let it slip away.  And, yes, sometimes we need to choose to notice it and let it slip away every 5 seconds before it actually slips away and stays away.

We choose not to judge ourselves for judging ourselves.  When we are filled with self-doubt, judging ourselves for feeling that way is certainly not going to help.  Be kind.  Be compassionate.  What would you tell your friend in a similar circumstance?

We remind ourselves that no matter what, we’re going to be ok.  The worst case scenario rarely happens, and even when it does, we usually come out ok (and even stronger) on the other side.

We remind ourselves that everything is temporary.  The pleasant will fade away and the unpleasant will also fade away.  The majority of the extra abundance of Fringy Bit readers will probably not be reading this post (though some of you for sure have stuck around, and to you, we say “welcome!  And we’re glad to have you!”).  There may be another trip around the world for another blogpost of ours, or there might not.  Everything is temporary and all will be well.

We take deep breathes and we just keep plugging away. 

And, perhaps most importantly, we remind ourselves that everyone has moments of self-doubt.  Everyone’s voice is important.  Everyone feels in over their heads at some point, or that cliché wouldn’t exist.  And when we can remind ourselves of that, we can be REAL.  And when we’re REAL with each other, well, that’s when true connection and freedom happens.

Why the Recent “Gifted Doesn’t Matter” Article Did Not Make Me Mad

If we haven’t met, let me introduce myself.  I am a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who specializes in providing mental health therapy and support to gifted kids, adults, and families.  I am a board member on the Wisconsin Association for Talented and Gifted, the statewide agency that advocates for awareness and support for gifted and talented (GT) individuals.  I present at healthcare, educator, counselor, and mental health conferences about the unique needs of GT individuals.  I write about GT needs on thefringybit.com.  I talk about GT needs on The Fringy Bit podcast.  I parent GT kids.  I was pulled out of mainstream classes for GT programming.  If anyone would have been offended or angered by the recent (2016) HuffPost (& now Scary Mommy & the countless other similar articles that pop up every so often) article entitled, “Maybe My Child is Gifted.  Maybe Not.  Maybe It Doesn’t Matter,” you’d think it’d be me.  But I’m not.  I’m not mad.

I’m sad.

I’m sad because the misconception of giftedness is so rampant.  I’m sad because giftedness continues to be thought of only in terms of education and intellect, when in truth, it has very little to do with education.  It has to do with living and experiencing life more intensely.  It has to do with being wired differently.  Which, trust me, has some great benefits and some great disadvantages. 

I’m sad because studies have shown that gifted individuals, when their needs are being met, are no more or less susceptible to mental health issues (with the exception of existential depression).  And yet, when practicing as a therapist at general community health facilities, I estimate that, even though gifted individuals make up 2% of the population, at least 30% of the individuals I worked with would be classified as gifted. 

I’m sad because I have personally seen the transformation out of depression and debilitating anxiety, simply when I normalize a gifted person’s experiences.  Multiple clients have told me that truly understanding what giftedness means was the cornerstone out of the depths of despair and toward healing wellness.

I’m sad because the misconception of giftedness affects our whole society, not just the kids who enter my office and tell me they’re certain they are an alien from another planet because they are just so very different from everyone else.  Some of our most creative, thoughtful, innovative, bright thinkers are getting lost to the misunderstandings.  They are being invalidated.  They are being bullied.  They are being made to feel like their differences are bad.  They are being silenced.  Imagine what our world could be like if we provided a nurturing and strong scaffold for these minds to grow and build upon!

I’m sad because the misconception of giftedness is dangerous.  It is dangerous for the lives of these individuals, but even bigger than that, it is dangerous for our society.  We are creating a world in which bright, creative minds are being devalued.  We are creating a world in which sensitive, intensely imaginative and empathetic kids are being chastised and put down simply for being who they are wired to be.  This creates despair and it creates rage.  A disproportionate percentage of school shooters from Columbine to the early 2000's have been identified as gifted (see also Misdiagnosis and Dual Diagnosis of Gifted Children and Adults, p 65).  Does that mean that most GT students are violent?  Absolutely not.  It means that when needs aren’t being met, people can get desperate and can take extreme measures.  And when desperate people also have efficient and creative brainpower, the desperation can turn devastating.

I’m sad because I’ve had parents cry from relief when I’ve validated that parenting these gifted kids is really hard.  These kids are intense, which makes parenting them intense.  But parents aren’t informed of this and so they internalize and believe they are failing as parents, because everyone else makes it look so much easier. 

I’m sad because I live in a world where we can freely discuss and promote the giftedness of an athlete, even find it inspiring, but the giftedness of a mind is put down, shunned, and mocked.

I’m sad because thousands of gifted kids and adults are being misdiagnosed and incorrectly medicated, directly because giftedness is misunderstood.

I’m sad because the term giftedness continues to be falsely linked with a presumption of success.  Ask any parent of a gifted kid, and I bet they’d tell you that at some point (or maybe many points) they’ve kinda wished their child wasn’t gifted.  It would make success more attainable.  It would make their child’s life less of a struggle.  It would alleviate the intensity of their child’s pain and heartache.

So, no.  Despite being a staunch advocate for gifted children, youth, and adults, I’m not mad.  I’m sad.

7 Things I’ve Learned About Playtime between my Gifted & 2E Kids

1 – There will be screaming.  Sometimes that screaming is out of sheer fun and enjoyment.  Sometimes that screaming is out of pain.  Sometimes that screaming is out of anger or hurt feelings.  Whether they are getting along or they are not getting along, there will be screaming.

2 – More time will be spent deciding what they are going to play than will be spent actually playing.  It never fails.  I’ll shoo my 3 children off and tell them to go play together while I make dinner.  I’ll warn them that they have about 45 minutes.  I’ll hear them negotiating, brainstorming, creating rules, arguing about rules, bossing each other about, creating.  Then I’ll hear them start to play only to discover that the 11 year old still found a loophole in the 507 rules they’d decided upon.  Which, results in the screaming (see #1), and then a repeat of the negotiating, brainstorming, etc.  By the time I call them up for dinner, they will have spent more time deciding what they were going to play than they did actually playing it.

3 – Most of the time I’ll have to coerce one or the other of them to actually play.  Don’t get me wrong, my kiddos truly love each other and generally enjoy each other’s company.  But, one of them is extremely introverted, one of them is extremely extroverted, and the other is a magical mix of being extroverted with some socially autistic traits.  To find a time when they all are capable and desiring to be with each other is like finding a needle in the proverbial haystack.  And most of the time I simply let them figure it out.  But, sometimes, I need to model and demonstrate and coerce them into knowing what being in relationship with another human being means and looks like.  So, the combination of differently wired kids, with different temperaments, and the desire to create connections and family, means that most of the time I’m coercing one or the other of them to actually play.

4 – It’s best if I stay out of the way.  Referring back to #1, in my more foolish and helicopter-y days, anytime I heard a scream which wasn’t clearly joy-filled, I’d come running.  Given the loud nature of my daughter, that meant I was intervening all the time.  Or, referring back to #2, in my more foolish and control-freakish days, I’d feel like I needed to sort the rules out for them, so I was intervening all the time.  My intervening rarely helps.  In fact, it actually teaches them that I don’t trust them to figure it out themselves.  My intervening steals away their creativity and autonomy.  And so, now I wait until I hear Cub shout, “Chimp, go get mom!  Tell her KBear’s in the red!”  Unless I hear those words, “go get mom,” I’ve learned it’s best to just stay out of the way.

5 – It’s best to leave them wanting more.  KBear can only handle so much stimulation.  And often she holds things together really effectively, until she just can’t anymore.  So, on the outside, it looks like she goes from 0 to 60, happy to hulk, in about 5.2 seconds.  I used to fall for this façade.  Before they started to play I’d have a time limit in my head (usually 30-60 minutes).  And I’d be ready to call them out of their play when I’d hear how well they were cooperating.  Naively, I’d think that meant they could play happily for longer.  Inevitably, 2 minutes after my initial time limit, KBear would meltdown.  And I’d internally chastise myself.  Now I know, it’s best to cut their time off, even if they’re having fun.  I’d rather have them united in their common enemy of the unfairness of mom, than fighting with each other or melting down.  The whines of “But, mo-om, we just got started” are music to my heart.  It’s best to leave them wanting more.

6 – It’s OK if some of their collaborative playtime is in front of a screen.  Parenting in this age is tricky, because we’re generally the first generation that has to figure out what to do with the balance of electronic play and hands-on play.  We’re inundated with messages that kids shouldn’t be in front of screens.  And there’s truth to that.  They need to actually play with their bodies and minds.  But, they’ve also known how to use a tablet since they were a toddler.  And there’s a lot of connecting and socializing that occurs through technology.  Guilt and shame are rarely helpful.  Yes, my kids are expected to play off-screen.  But, it isn’t helpful for me to feel mommy-guilt when they’re playing on-screen, either.  Especially when they are joyfully collaborating while in front of the screen.  It’s OK if some of their playtime is in front of a screen. And some days, it’s even OK if all of their playtime is in front of a screen.

7 – It’s fun to join them and it’s fun not to join them, too.  Some days I’m ready to play along and follow their lead.  Some days I need mom-time.  Both are ok and whatever I want to do, is ok.  After all, playtime is supposed to be fun, first and foremost, right?  And sometimes fun looks like giggling and rough-housing with them, and sometimes fun looks like a cup of coffee and sitting quietly on the porch, far away from the screaming. 

Teaching a Sensitive, Pre-Teen Know-it-All

Witness an actual conversation that occurred between the 11 year old and myself:

Picture me, excited because I think I’ve found a co-op class that my drama-loving, ever-talking, debate-engaging, pre-teen son will enjoy.

Me:  Cub, there’s a homeschool speech and leadership class offered through the library.  What do ya think?!

Cub:  Oh, yeah.  (with all the liveliness of a block of wood)

Me:  (amping up the enthusiasm in the hopes it would be contagious) Yeah!  I thought you’d really enjoy it . . . you’ll learn ways to project your voice and use body language and get to tell stories . . .

Cub:  (eye roll)  Mom . . . I already know how to do all that.  I’m an actor.  I’ve been in plays.  I don’t need to learn more.  

And Cub exits stage left.  Which was probably a good thing, because that kind of mindset makes me want to strangle him just a little bit.

He’s always been a precocious little kid.  And while the official definition of precocious has something to do with developing abilities at an earlier age than usual, I’m using it as a synonym for smart aleck, wiseguy, smarty pants, know-it-all, etc.  Sometimes this attitude of his can be an asset, like when he’s in a group of kids and steadfastly sticks to his convictions.  But, when I’m trying to teach him something, either in his academics or just passing on mom-wisdom, it is incredibly infuriating and gets in the way of actual learning.

He’ll staunchly talk over my explanations on how to do a math problem, because he knows what he’s doing even though he’s doing it completely wrong.  He’ll refuse classes, or grudgingly participate, because he doesn’t think he has anything more to learn on the topic.  He’ll spout off about a topic that he actually knows little about, but maintain that he saw it somewhere on youtube, so he knows more about it than anyone else.  This unabashed certitude is a hallmark of giftedness and of being a pre-teen, and when those have combined over the past couple of years . . . well . . . there really are no words.  I mean, seriously.  Holy hell.

And for me, personally, narcissism is one of my biggest pet peeves.  And when I see my lovely little boy overflowing with it, part of me becomes very adolescent and I want to show him just how wrong he is.  I want to tie him down, duct-tape his mouth and “make” him listen to me.  I want to make him eat his all-knowing words.  And while I’ve never actually duct-taped his mouth shut, I have uncontrollably jumped into a power struggle with the boy and tried to lecture him into wisdom.  Which, you know, worked really well.

To complicate things, Cub is also one of the most emotionally intense and empathetically sensitive souls I’ve ever met.  Oh, and lets not forget the perfectionism that many gifted children are simply born with.  To provide correction and guidance to this child requires a very fine balancing act.  He already beats himself up enough if he thinks he’s made a mistake, his mom certainly doesn’t need to add fuel to his fire.  He picks up on tone and feels other people’s emotions, so even the hint of frustration or disappointment can have him feeling bad for hours or days.

As a parent and teacher, this balancing act can be so difficult to walk.  Our children require correction.  Developing a growth mindset and the humility to know that there’s always more to be learned is essential for success.  But, our children also need us to be their soft place to land.  They need us to be their champions and cheerleaders.  

Here are a few things I’ve learned about how to navigate this contradictory place of sensitive narcissism.

First and foremost, I need to prioritize my own emotional regulation.  When he refuses to listen to my teaching, I need to take a few breathes and not take it personally.  I need to quiet my own know-it-all tendency that wants to prove just how right I am and remember that the irritating wise-ass sitting in front of me is actually just my little cub who’s trying to find his way.  I need to stay calm.

I need to provide space and time.  Not all lessons can be learned in one sitting.  We’re in it for the long haul and when I can keep my eyes on the long-term prize, I can see this one moment as simply a building block.

I need to allow my own discomfort and watch him struggle and fail.  If he thinks he knows how to do the math problem and won’t listen to instruction, let him do it his way and see where he gets.  Let him find his own errors.  Let him come to me and ask for help when he does finally see for himself that he doesn’t understand.  That’s far more effective than when I’ve tried to make him see that he needs help.

I need to model my own growth mindset.  Fully acknowledge when I don’t know something.  Ask for help.  Show my kids that I’m continually learning.  Be willing to show humility when I’ve thought I’ve known something to be true and learned that I was mistaken.

And I need to provide all correction nestled gently between words of love and full-on acceptance.  Even when his eyes are rolling and his words are sarcastic, he continues to be a gentle soul who simply needs, like all of us, to know that he’s loved and worthwhile simply for being who he is.

After some time and space away from each other, I was able to calmly explain why I thought the speech and leadership class would be helpful and he was able to listen to my words.  And victory for mom!  He’s signed up for the class.  Though now that I’m thinking about it, maybe giving him more tools to eloquently argue with me was not my wisest move.

On Being Intentionally Active

I remember the moment distinctly.  We were sitting at the cub scouts end of the year picnic, watching Cub and the other 6 year old boys playing t-ball.  I watched as Cub tried really hard to behave like the other 6 year old boys and he just didn’t know how to do it.  It was pretty painfully cringy to watch.  He just simply didn’t know how to “act his age.”  Typically he was pretty serious, engaged in thoughtful conversations, and enjoyed magically creative dramatic play.  In his attempts to fit in with the other boys, he became that overly silly, in-your-face kind of boy.  And, with his psychomotor intensity, he was physically buzzing around everyone and talking non-stop.  But, psychomotor intensity doesn’t necessarily equate to advanced psychomotor ability.  So, not only was he buzzing around, but he was doing so clumsily and simply seemed as though he didn’t know how to move his body.  My husband and I looked at each other and said, “Oh my gosh.  Our kid’s the annoying kid.”  My mind could flash forward a few years and the picture it painted of Cub’s social life wasn’t pretty.

Later in the week, I finally acquiesced to my husband’s fairly regular requests to enroll Cub in a martial art.  It was one of the best activity choices we’ve ever made.  And, in reflection, here’s why.

The physical discipline he has learned has helped him to grow more grounded in his movements.  He understands how to move his body with intention, which helps him modulate his psychomotor intensity.  The form of martial art, Aikido, is a defensive discipline, so it has also curbed his previous tendency to get into people’s faces, knowing he doesn’t need to go on the attack, but can quietly wait.  He has had the opportunity to learn from other people, older and younger, and to develop his own leadership skills.  In addition to the physical skills, there is an intellectual element of Aikido as he learns strategy, Japanese culture and language, and an understanding of the philosophy of Aikido.

His successes with Aikido have taught me a few things with regard to choosing the appropriate extracurricular activities for our gifted kids.

First, I now try to very intentionally choose activities that allow an outlet for their various intensities (overexcitabilities).  The more we feed the intensities, the less dysfunctional they become.  Aikido for psychomotor intensity.  Drama or Destination Imagination for imaginational intensity.  Art classes or philanthropic service projects to feed the sensual or emotional intensity.  Strategic gaming clubs for opportunities for intellectual intensity.

Second, I try to not only choose activities that feed the intensities, but also that help my kids learn how to modulate them.  There are a lot of downsides to intensities and us gifted people need to know how to regulate those downsides.  But, there are a lot of upsides, as well, and we need to teach our kids how to build the strengths and regulate the weaknesses of their particular intensities.  Aikido has been fabulous for this as Cub’s learned how to be generally more grounded in his body.

Third, we seek out multi-age activities.  Our kids develop asynchronistically, which means they rarely fit in with chronological peers.  They tend to do better with older or younger kids.  And, when multi-age groups for particular activities don’t exist, sometimes we create our own.  I managed a Destination Imagination team geared to homeschoolers so we could have a range of kids’ ages on the team.  Worked far better than sticking Cub in the public school’s team with all the same grade kids.

Fourth, we are very intentional about talking together to determine what and how many activities to participate in.  Gifted kids tend to be more introverted, so the fast-paced, be busy 24 hours a day, sign up for lots of activities world that we live in is often even more detrimental to these kiddos.  Sometimes we choose activities that are one-on-one, or solitary, or just at home.  And Cub generally has an understanding of what his limits are.

There are so many fantastic opportunities for our kids these days.  It becomes difficult to say no or to find the right match.  But, I’ve found that when I can be intentional in the ways I’ve described, my kids can flourish.  They learn how to build upon the strengths and modulate the weaknesses of their intense personalities.  And, thankfully, with Aikido’s help, Cub is no longer the annoying kid.

For More tips, tricks, and stories about the intersection of extracurricular activities and intensities, check out the Blog Hop at Gifted Homeschooler's Forum!