Friday, July 5, 2013

Roy's Wheat

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"Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows." - Galatians 6:7

Turns out that the side effects of too much sleep, inhaling too much smoke, and eating just plain too much on Fourth of July makes the Fifth of July National Cranky Mother’s Day.  So, I need a diversion, or a time out, or both, and maybe a nap.  I decided to write this instead. 

My stepdad, Roy, died when he was 36 years old of alcoholism.  More specifically: cirrhosis of the liver caused by chronic alcoholism.  I believe that’s exactly what the death certificate said.  Odd that I still remember that.  I can still picture the document.  He was, however, the best stepdad I could have asked for and he loved me.  A lot of my favorite childhood memories involve Roy and his family and all the stuff we used to do together. 

Lately, I’ve had several dreams about Roy.  Now I have weird dreams all the time, but not usually involving people I know.  When they are about actual people, I can really get upset over them because they seem so real.  Anyway, a few weeks back I dreamed I ran into Roy in a grocery store.  He was buying dog food and wearing his red baseball cleats.  I kept telling him how much I missed him and that I hadn’t seen him since he died.  He just kept acting like he had no idea what I was talking about.  And I woke up nearly in tears.  This November 20th will be 17 years since he died.

Now back to real life….

Roy’s family was full of farmers.  His dad raised pigs.  His sister raised cattle.  We had horses.  We picked pecans.  We fished.  We always lived in town, but Roy would plant wheat in our yard.  Usually out by the alley behind and around our redbud tree in a little patch.  It was always shocking green compared with the rest of our grass and I liked to pick the heads of wheat when they finally matured.  I remember hulling out the wheat seeds and sprinkling them around. 

Then one year his family raised a whole field full of wheat.  I remember playing in the back of an old farm truck full of wheat, running the seeds through my fingers.  I also remember we ground some of the wheat with a hand grinder.  I don’t remember what we did with the ground wheat, probably fed it to the pigs, but I remember my hands hurt. 

So, when I think of wheat, I think about Roy.

Three years ago, I had a couple of wheat plants come up by my back porch.  Must have been planted by the birds.  But I thought of Roy.  This was my first wheat crop:

 




I don’t know why I kept the seeds.  Nostalgia, I guess.  Maybe I thought I’d plant them and didn’t, but they’ve been in my laundry room ever since.  I ran across them every now and then.  And I thought about Roy. 

This year I am the same age that Roy was when he died.  I’m not a drinker.  Now that doesn’t mean I never tried a beer when I was younger, or that I didn’t send my husband to the liquor store for whiskey when I was sick of coughing last winter, but I’ve never acquired a taste for alcohol.  I even choose the grape juice at communion.  I have Roy to thank for that.  Living with an alcoholic for 10 years of my life pretty much snuffed out any alcoholic fantasies I might have harbored.  In fact, I find myself suspecting all people who drink of being alcoholics and wondering if it might kill them.  What would their children do without them?  How would they die?  In a car crash?  In their sleep?  Would they kill someone else?  Do their family members know how serious drinking is?  Do they?

I get through holidays, family gatherings, stressful times, relaxing times, and most generally every day of my life with nothing harder than lemonade.  Why can’t they?  Why couldn’t Roy?  And they drink in front of their children. 

I was one of those children.


He’d still be alive today if it weren’t for beer. 

Cases and cases of beer. 



 

This year I have 11 wheat plants that I’ve found in my yard.  I’ll probably collect their seed heads yet again.  This time, though, I think I’ll plant them in my garden area for next year.  Roy’s life was cut short by his habit, but the seeds he sowed into my life are evident every day.  I hope I’m as patient, kind, involved, and hard-working as he was, or at least I hope my kids see me that way, because that’s how I saw Roy.  I saw though that Roy had a character flaw that was a dark shadow on all things about him that were good, and I couldn’t fix that about him.  I hope my children see nothing but sunshine when they think of me! 

Am I in a better mood now?  Probably not.  But my focus is on “reap what you sow”, so I vow to be less cranky and maybe try some sunshine! 

Thanks for the therapy.  I hope I didn’t drive you to drinking!

Monday, April 15, 2013

My Garden

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My garden has things I did not plant.  Things I try to keep out of the garden. 

It is full of sunflowers, mint, and children.

Today I am planting hope. 

We dream of ripe tomatoes, cucumbers from the vine, and potatoes deep beneath the soil.

We search for the perfect plants at greenhouses near and far.  We choose them by how healthy they look.   

But the ground is not good. 

So the plants wither. 

We add compost, manure, leaves.  We till and hoe until we think there is not one weed left. 

But we always miss one.  And from one come many.

And the plants die. 

We water, water, water, but it is never enough.  We pray for rain.

Then the rain comes and the potatoes rot. 

The cucumbers yellow. 

The tomatoes die. 

Let’s plant something else say the children.

So we plant flowers.  It is too late in the season to expect that any vegetable will grow before it gets too hot.

Then we water, water, water, but it is never enough. 

Then it becomes a water fight. 

Then it becomes a slip and slide.

Then we are muddy. 

Then we all have sunburn. 

And the flowers die.
 
But the sunflowers, mint, and children grow.

Friday, April 5, 2013

It Happens!

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“What goes in must come out.” – motherhood proverb

 




Today we’re going to talk about poop.  (Sorry if the lovely photo distracted you into thinking this would be a lovely post, but I thought a picture of the subject would be totally tacky.)  So if you don’t like talking about poop or reading about poop, read no further. 

Sorry you had to read poop three times already. 

Wait, that makes four….

Anyway, I consider myself the undocumented Poop Queen.  With a husband, two children, four cats, one dog, twelve chickens, three ducks, a horse, a pony, two hamsters, two fish, two geese, and a regularly irritable bowel, I’m surrounded by it every day. 

No, really...

My yard is full of it!! 

And there are things you learn about it over the years.  Like “Don’t lick your lips while mowing the pasture.”  Things like that. 

I actually think I could write a whole book containing nothing but poop stories.  Any publishers willing to take me up on that out there?  Let me know.  I’ll start writing it in the bathroom.  It would probably be a blowout!! 

Sorry… 

So, last night we had a funny poop story involving a complete stranger.  Well, he’s not now, as we have sufficiently bonded over poop, but I’m still laughing about the whole incident today.  So here it is:

We were at the YMCA and a new guy was working the desk.  I’d seen him once before but hadn’t talked to him yet, but he seemed like a jovial kind of guy.  One that borders on hilarity.  My soccer team was finished swimming and after getting dressed in the men’s locker room, my son comes out and tells us that someone has pooped on the floor!  He proceeds to describe the evidence in terms of length and girth.  I tell him to just go and tell the new guy at the front desk and he’ll take care of it.  I add that describing the evidence was NOT necessary! 

So I watch as my son goes to the new guy and tells him what’s wrong, complete with hand gestures like he’s measuring off his latest catch at the lake.  I’m mortified that my kid is describing the turd, but I notice a slight look of panic on the new guy’s face.  And it makes me laugh.

After all the kids are carted off by their parents, I go up to the new guy and say, “Hey, good luck with that turd,” and give him a wink and a smile.  Yeah, that’s the kind of person I am.  In case you didn’t know by now.

The new guy launches into an ADHD frenzy about how he’s new and the other guy is new and they have no idea how to handle the situation.  They don’t know where the cleaning products are, they don’t know what to do……

So I say, “Here’s what you do:  Just go tell the lifeguards there is a turd in the men’s locker room.  They’re used to it.  They fish those things out of the pool all the time!”  I told him it was called Turd Alert.

A look of relief came over new guy’s face.  It was obvious he was NOT a parent.  He would have never been so terrified of such a bodily product if he were.

Things I’m laughing about today:  What is the new guy’s name?  I figure we are now poop buddies or something.  Did the lifeguards have to clean it up for him, or did the cleaning crew walk in to find a “present”?  Have I started an official title for such an incident at the Y?  And, what kind of person just poops on the floor and doesn’t tell anyone? 

Oh wait, that’s another story…...

One day, many moons ago, we were all outside having a grand old time doing something.  One of our kids disappeared into the house for an inordinately long period of time.  I thought I should go check on him. 

I hear a yell from the bathroom the minute I enter the house:  “Be careful!!!!  Don’t step on it!!” 

“What??!!??” I say as I walk closer to the bathroom. 

And then I see it.  There on the kitchen floor. 

“I prayed that Jesus would come and take away my mess!!” he said.  “But Jesus didn’t come!!”

I don’t think I’ve ever been so disgusted or on the verge of busting out laughing so bad before or since.

I told him Jesus wanted me to know he was having trouble with that and that’s why Jesus didn’t clean up his mess. 

But really, maybe he should have called for a lifeguard!

May all your bodily functions make someone else’s day today!


PS - this is my second blog post under nearly the same name.  Sorry, but I can't think of a better one for it.  I'm open to suggestions.  Here's the other 'It Happens!   
  

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

CSI: The Holey Shower Curtain

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"No one who practices deceit shall dwell in my house; no one who utters lies shall continue before my eyes."  Psalm 101:7
 
Occasionally we have an unsolved mystery here at the house.  Real whodunits since no one ever fesses up to committing the crime.  I told you of how I’d become the Toothpaste Detective a while back and now I’ve had to broaden my scope.  I’m now Captain Bathroom!

You see, most of our crimes occur in the bathroom.  From mystery pee spots on the wall, to walking in hours after someone has been in the bathroom to the water in the sink still running, to the child in the bathtub who has no towel to use when he gets out because someone stole it, we have a litany of bathroom offenses.  Most punishment for noticeable offenses falls back to the known repeated offender, who admittedly may not be the offender at the time, but I think it sends a message.  Plus it evens out the workload in case they might be in cahoots.  And they clean the toilets for me. 

Our most recent bathroom crime: The Case of the Holey Shower Curtain. 

I have one child that showers and one child that bathes, so when I stepped into the shower one morning and found the plastic curtain had finger shaped protrusions all over it, it wasn’t hard to discern a culprit.  Said culprit was brought to the crime scene, asked to confess, and told to never do that again or suffer the wrath of Captain Bathroom.  Said culprit was agreeable to all terms of his verdict and we’ve lived with protrusions on the shower curtain for weeks without further incidents. 

Yes, I could have replaced said shower curtain, but I thought leaving it for a while might be a visual reminder to his conscience in case boredom strikes in the shower again.  Wash yourself and GET OUT!!  How many times do I have to say it?

So last week, after a late night at soccer practice and a messy bathtub from bathing baby ducks, I commanded my usual bather to shower after his brother.  All was fine and dandy and it was business as usual until I stepped in the shower the next morning. 

Here’s what I found:

 

Now where the simple protrusion had once been there was a distinct hole.  I called the two primary suspects to the crime scene.  Both entered a plea of not guilty.  But since I have one showerer and one bather, and one honest-to-a-fault and one liar, I could pretty much tell you who did it without even asking them.

The incriminating evidence was as follows:  

  • The showerer had already been read the riot act on poking the shower curtain and swore he’d change his ways. 
  • We’d not had any repeat occurrence of a maimed shower curtain until the appearance of the bather.
  • And bather just happens to have a history of innocence when all fingers point to him.

I sent them to their room to decide between the two of them who had poked the hole in the shower curtain.  After much deliberation, the prime suspect comes in with the verdict.

“Since your finger fits in the hole, YOU must have done it!” 

I had flashbacks of the OJ Simpson trial:  If the glove doesn't fit, you must acquit! 
 
And so the mystery of The Holey Shower Curtain remains just that, and Captain Bathroom is still on the case.  From the looks of things, my investigations may never cease!

Monday, February 18, 2013

Cat Attack

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“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”  Romans 12:15

 

Remember the orange cat?  He’s grown up nicely into a very sweet loving kitty cat that I love despite his color and has provided us loads of entertainment with his sweet gestures of flopping down in front of where ever we may walk wanting us to rub his belly.  He’s also started a little game with us called “Sneak into the House”. 

It all started about a month ago when we had a little cold snap.  The kids wanted to bring him in. 

Okay, it was me.  I thought his little kitty paws might be cold. 

Anyway, I let him wander around the house and he found a wonderful spot called “Under the Bed”.  He could hide just behind the dust ruffle and then when he noticed I sat down on the floor right on the other side of the dust ruffle to play with him, he could sink his claws right into my bottom causing me to holler and my son to almost wet his pants from laughter.  It was quite the little game we had going.  Ha ha, hee hee. 

Then he found that if he moved to the exact center of Under the Bed, no human arm could reach him.  Well, it had been so long since we’d had a cat in the house, I’d forgotten about flushing them out from Under the Bed with the broom handle, so we just let him be, thinking he’d come out when he was ready. 

We thought he’d come to us.  But he decided to go out the other way and see what adventures he could find in the rest of the house.  What he found was the Hamster Cage!! 

We found him with front paws wrapped completely around the hamster cage, and his kitty nose pressed in desperation up against the thin bars that separated him from his prey, and a look of unfathomable luck upon his face.  We had to practically pry his claws off of the cage and sent him back outside. 

And then he had to live with the fact that we keep tasty cat treats in a cage in a nice warm house. 

And it was just too much for him to live with. 

So, for the past several weeks we’ve occasionally found Sunny hiding under the bed waiting for the right moment in which to unleash his Master Plan.  Lying in wait, I believe it is called.

He’d only made it into the room with the hamsters a couple of times, but was quickly discovered and ushered back to his natural outdoor habitat.  Sunny practiced his murderous skills several times in the past few weeks, picking off several birds that have visited my bird feeders.  He’s left their lifeless bodies on my front porch as a sign of things to come. 

Or maybe affection.  Depends on who you ask.

And so it was tonight that Sunny decided to finally unleash his Master Plan for either liberating the hamsters or having a tasty treat. 

I had left with the children to return two friends to their home, and the hub sat at the kitchen table working a Sudoku puzzle and reading the newspaper.  Sunny apparently sneaked in the laundry room door when one of the four children was exiting the house to get into the car.  In my mind, he probably went straight for the center of Under the Bed to wait for the perfect moment. 

So while the hub was enjoying an otherwise uneventful quiet moment to himself, Sunny pounced.  He jumped on the top of the hamster cage, ripping it from its perch on a stand by the window, knocking a hamster bedroom insert completely away from the cage itself, and exposing a large gaping hole through which he would retrieve his snack.  Unfortunately his plan did not include the hub grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, spanking his bottom, and depositing him back outdoors so quickly. 

Pine pellets and hamster bedding slung all over the floor, it wasn’t surprising that the hamsters had escaped.  The elder of the hamsters has been out at least on one other occasion since we’ve had her and she tends to run in a circle around the cage until the humans show up, but the other hamster is young and new and really doesn’t care for humans that much in the first place, so she decided to make a run for it. 

The hub said he could see her hiding behind the cabinet peeking at him, but as soon as she noticed he saw her, she would run to another spot.  The hamsters are robo dwarf hamsters, which the lady at PetSmart said meant “fast”.  The hub confirmed this definition after having several misses in catching the baby hamster before snagging her back into her cage. 

I returned after depositing the excess children at their home and found the hub at the table reading the newspaper and working a Sudoku puzzle.  He told me of all his action while I was out and I thought I would die laughing.  He didn’t find the experience as funny as I did. 

Probably a classic case of:  “Guess you (didn’t have) to be there!” 

The pine pellets and hamster bedding still remain on the floor.


He’ll probably laugh tomorrow when I have to clean them up! 

Monday, January 21, 2013

The ADD Apple Tree - Part 2

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“Every valley shall be filled in, every mountain and hill made low. The crooked roads shall become straight, the rough ways smooth.”  Luke 3:5
 
*Continued from The ADD Apple Tree - Part 1


And so it was that in November we started chiropractic treatment for toe walking, postural issues, asymmetry in the chest area, and skeptically, ADD.  At our first appointment, the nurse took several x-rays to assess my son’s spinal alignment from head to pelvis.  Here is what we found.

First, his head was on crooked.  His neck jutted to one side and his head had compensated for it in order to keep the eyes level. 
 

Second, his spine looked more like a meandering path than the straight column it was meant to be.  I’m no radiologist and even I could see something wasn’t right! 

And third, one leg was almost an inch longer than the other due to his hips being out of alignment as well. 
 
He was a chiropractic cash cow!  I say that, but our chiropractor uses a sliding scale based on the age of the child and for my son it was $12 per visit. 

First he wanted to see him three times a week, but I told him that wouldn’t fit with our schedule.  We only had two free evenings as it was.  So we went twice a week for a few weeks.  Then down to once a week for a few more weeks and we are currently sitting at once every two weeks.  It all depended on how well his adjustment “holds”, i.e., how much bone cracking he had to do the next time we came in. 

On the first day, we noticed that his chest looked more symmetrical.  After the first couple of weeks, I noticed he seemed more relaxed when walking and his toe walking had improved.  And after about 10 treatments, my son said, “I think this chiropractor is affecting my brain.  I think it is making me smarter.”  The chiropractor said proper spinal alignment would cut down on the amount of “static” in his brain, therefore making it easier for him to function.

And in this time period, his schoolwork has included learning all the states and their capitals of the Northeast, Southeast, and now the Midwest, along with landforms and other state facts.  He has started long division and is doing 3x3 multiplication, all without extra effort or struggles. 

He still forgets things at school, like his lunchbox, or maybe a homework page once or twice a week, but he usually remembers them the next day.  More importantly, he knows what he forgot the moment I pick him up off the bus, instead of getting home and relying on me to figure it out for him. 

I check on him with his teacher through email and she agrees that he’s come a long way this year.  She said he’s doing a good job staying on task, doing what needs to be done, and keeping track of his papers.  I’m ecstatic that I don’t constantly have to remind him anymore to get his stuff together or do better or stop playing with his pencil in class, and I haven’t had him bring home any papers that he has bombed just because he wasn’t listening when the lesson was covered. 

All in all, if you know anyone who is struggling with the decision to medicate their child due to poor school performance or ADD, I would recommend at least giving the chiropractor a try.  It is certainly worth $12 or $24 a week.  Who knew my kid was so crooked?  He HAS to be feeling better! 

Plus, I probably never would have gotten him married off if we’d have left him with that crooked spine.  :) 
 
We see Dr. Warren.  Here is their website - http://standridgechiropractic.com.
 
*This ain't no paid advertisement. 
 


Friday, January 18, 2013

The ADD Apple Tree - Part 1

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"There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off."  Proverbs 23:18
 
Let’s talk about ADD.  Attention Deficit Disorder.  Lack of attention.  Inability to focus.  Executive order problems.  Forgetful.  Being scatterbrained.  Social ineptitude.  Impulsive.

These words, among others, have been used to describe my child.  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess.  I won’t say which child, but really that’s only because the other one hasn’t gone through the official “diagnosis” process and probably never will.  You see, my children are borderline ADD. 

As am I – admitting it is the first step, right?  I take all these labels personally, as if it is MY fault, although my husband admits he was a bit of a daydreamer as a child too.  We’re fighting genetics!

Anyway, my kids have been plagued since beginning school with not conforming to the rigors, expectations, and distractions of the public classroom.  Teachers complain, principals call, and recesses are taken away.  They are square pegs trying to be shoved into round holes.    

I have been told for YEARS that something is WRONG with my kids.  And I began to believe it. 

I began to nitpick every time they forgot their lunchbox at school.  I freaked every time they forgot a homework page.  I began questioning whether or not they had a learning disability when they failed to retain information.  Weekly, I would make a mental tally of all the times I’d had to remind them twice about something and it began to add up. 

Maybe there WAS something wrong with my kids!   

So, even though the teacher would start telling me about all the problems she’d had with HER son every time we talked about MY son, I decided to take her advice and consult with my pediatrician.  (It should be noted that my husband was not in agreement, but he did fill out his “parent” survey paper on behaviors and social interactions.)  The teacher submitted her papers as well and the pediatrician said, “I’m seeing some tendencies of mild ADD.”  Then she turned into the teacher from the Charlie Brown cartoons and pretty much said, “Mwah, mwah, wah, wah, mwah, mwah.”  What I did take from the conversation was “…9YO on a controlled dangerous substance that you’ll have to register with the Bureau of Narcotics to be able to pick up at the pharmacy….. appetite suppressant, so you may want to LOAD UP at the Chinese buffet on the weekends.” 

I asked what we had to gain my medicating him.  She said he would have more learning opportunities and would be able to be more successful in the classroom. 

I told her, “Keep in mind that he is a straight A student and is already in Gifted and Talented.”

She then had a puzzled look on her face and said, “Well then, in your case, not a lot.  I typically see patients who are in peril of being held back in school.  Here’s the prescription.  If you don’t want to medicate him, don’t medicate him.”

At this and other doctor appointments throughout his nine years, I’d mentioned to the doctor that he was stiff, asymmetrical, and walked on his toes a lot.  We actually took him to the doctor because his left ribcage was protruding farther than his right in his abdomen area and the doctor laughed at us and said it was totally normal and sent us home without a charge.  This will be important later. 

Anyway, in shock from our controlled dangerous substance discussion, I began to research alternative methods for treating ADD.  I say “research”.  Google was my laboratory.  My friend, who has a slightly autistic son whom she homeschools, had told me she’d started giving him a cup of coffee in the morning before starting his school work and that it really helped him to focus.  So caffeine was where I started. 

Based on internet calculations, I determined that my child could safely consume up to a half a caffeine pill as an alternate to the prescription drug.  I called my pediatrician, jubilant that I’d found something common that I wanted to try before trying medication.  She quickly shot me down, telling me she did not recommend caffeine for children his age. 

Wait a minute….  You would prefer a controlled dangerous substance over caffeine? 

I got a second opinion from my pharmacist who said she would ABSOLUTELY try the caffeine pills over the prescription drug.  And that was good enough for me!

I told the teacher that I was not willing to medicate him and that I would be giving him caffeine pill every morning before school.  And that was the end of that.  She never commented on his lack of focus for the rest of the school year, and he ended up with high Bs and As as his final grades. 

During this time too, we took him to a pediatric neurologist for the toe walking who didn’t see any immediate concerns, but wanted to do a sleep-deprived MRI, just in case, and had him evaluated for physical therapy due to stiffness with his gross motor skills.  Naturally, the physical therapy office wanted to sign us up for six months worth of appointments for which I would receive an immediate 15% discount if I pre-paid. 

None of these appointments gave me the warm fuzzies! 

I quickly cancelled all future appointments, relying on my gut instinct.  Then I gave it one more try and took him to the orthopedist we’d used twice with his brother’s broken arms because I felt like he would shoot me straight.  He assured me that nothing was physically awry in his feet or legs, but it would be up to my son to fix the way he walks and carries himself.  He said we could do all the physical therapy in the world, but that if it wasn’t a problem for my son and he continued to walk on his toes, he would undo every bit of progress we would make.  He looked right at my son and said, “It’s up to you, buddy.  Mom wants to help you, but Mom can only do so much.”  He said regular exercise, stretching, and sports activities would help with his stiffness.  We continued to play soccer and swam during the summer.

And then summer was over, and he was back to his old tricks, but with a new teacher in a new grade.  She is quick to communicate with me her concerns, which I appreciate.  Better than going along thinking everything is hunky dory and then one day having a bombshell dropped on you that your kid has been having a problem for six months and this is the first you’ve heard of it.  Not that I’m bitter… 

Anyway, she had some serious concerns about his ability to handle this grade’s school work and his ability to focus in the classroom.  She said it was causing him unnecessary and undue stress in the classroom and at home. 

And so, I contacted the Special Education Services office at my school system.  I told them I wanted him tested for a 504 plan under other health issues.  I told them I wanted him evaluated for modifications in the classroom.  I was told they would have a meeting and then decide if he needed to be evaluated. 

This was during the week of Fall Parent/Teacher Conferences.  We’d started playing Fall Soccer and had met a nice family on the sidelines in which the dad was a chiropractor.  His office was in Tulsa and his wife talked to me about chiropracting on numerous occasions. 

Now, let’s get my opinions of chiropractors out of the way.  I was not a fan of chiropractors.  I’d had spinal manipulations all my life, but I always went to a D.O. instead of a chiropractor.  I don’t know why.  My family just saw D.O.s.  I began to think that chiropracting was a racket when I worked for the government and had a co-worker who would get out of work assignments on a regular basis because “she had to go to the chiropractor.”  (Say that in a whiney voice.)  So I wouldn’t say that I thought they were a bunch of quacks, but that wouldn’t be far off. 

So we’d met this chiropractor, and I’d talked to his wife on the soccer field.  Then, one of the ladies whom I do exercise classes at the Y, out of the blue, says to me one day, “Hey, is your son still having trouble paying attention in school?  Because we’ve been taking my grandson to the chiropractor and now he’s off his medication and everything.”  Weird.  Two chiropractor coincidences. 

Then we had our Parent/Teacher Conference.  We went all through the meeting with the teacher telling us what behaviors our son needed to work on and what he does typically in the classroom instead of his school work.  Yet his grades remained high.  My husband and I were feeling beat down and destitute and without a clue as to what to do next.  So I asked the teacher, “If he was your kid, what would you do?”

She said, “Off the record?”  (I agreed, but I guess it’s on the record now….)

She said, “Now this is going to sound weird, but I’d take him to a chiropractor.”

The hub and I looked at each other like “whoa, that was weird,” and we left with the distinct feeling that someone was trying to tell us something.   I made our son a chiropractic appointment the next day, the day before his 10th birthday, and the same day the school decided he wasn’t bad enough to be evaluated for a 504 plan.   

 

*To be continued………………….