What Ifs and Maybe

Maybe I’m just run down from this unrelenting cold. Maybe that is why my heart broke a little bit this morning. Maybe that is why I feel so utterly helpless. Like a failure.

Joe’s still dealing with ADHD issues, second grade and frustration. He needs to be directed through transition times. He needs constant reminders to stay on track. He is so hyper-focused on reading books, that he’s slowing his table mates down. He is costing them the handsome reward that would come if they were the first table to be cleaned up and ready. His table mates are growing frustrated and resentful. Frustrated 7 and 8 year olds aren’t fun table mates and they don’t want to be friends.

He told me that his table mates aren’t very friendly to him. One ripped a book from his hands. Another took away the dice he was using.

He’s missing a bit of recess today because he got two warnings yesterday.

I dropped him off this morning. Standing on the sunny playground, I quietly spoke with his new teacher and I watched my beautiful boy.

He wandered the perimeter of the playground with his hands in his pockets. No running. No laughing. No playing. Just quiet, lonely wandering while he looked at the ground.

No eye contact.

As I left, I hugged him and told him a loved him. I encouraged him to be his best. I said goodbye but I didn’t really leave. Back in the car, I spied on him. I sat there and watched, hopeful that once I had left, he would join the other children. I told myself that he had merely been self-conscious because I was there, talking to the teacher. He might have thought he was in trouble.

He walked across the playground, seemingly invisible to any other children.

He didn’t speak anyone. He didn’t play. He didn’t even look at anyone longingly, as if wishing he could join in. When he sat on the sidewalk, I wanted to run to him and pick him up. I wanted to take him home and love him.

I want to fix him but I can’t.

He has cognitive therapy this afternoon. I’m afraid I might cry while we’re in that session and I don’t want him to see.

My gut is telling me that this might be more than ADHD.


  1. My gut stands next to yours; have made my own observations, from afar, on your beautiful son.

    Just remember, I’ve been there, still am, with these same issues with people in my life and the realization that there are other factors beyond what falls into the ADHD categorization.

    I sat, many days, outside the crummy Kent schools and watched my son in the playground; drove him to school because of the school bus daily torment. Sat with tears in my eyes as he looked at me, in silence, with an expression that begged me not to leave him in the midst of the school tormentors and faculty with little patience.

    I so understand, Kelli but address your suspicions and his therapy will be modified to deal with all you stated.

  2. Oh Kelli, my heart is breaking for you. That is one of the worst and most helpless feelings for a mom. I hope you are able to figure out what is going on and I hope you can find some peaceful, comfortable solution. Hugs to you my friend…you are a good mom, don’t ever forget that.

  3. My heart aches for him as well. Is there any opportunity to find some one-on-one time with some of the other classmates so that he can build a comfort level with them… sometimes there are clubs to attend – even lego clubs…

  4. Heather Nichols says:

    Kell, I am so sorry.I know how much it hurts.We deal with similar situations with both of my kiddos, as well as see some of it with the kids I work with.I am not sure exactly what you are suspecting, although the Mommy gut usually has a good idea.I am always here if you ever need to talk.Big hugs.

  5. I don’t try to compare our children but Brandon, my oldest, has been dealing with facial ticks during his childhood. So while growing up my fears became realized last year when they became pronounced enough for his classmates to notice. He told me once that he overheard two kids in his class talking about him. “Why is he doing that?” “I dunno. He’s just weird.”

    For me, I can’t help but feel at fault for all of his troubles. And if I could take them away and have them myself so that he doesn’t have to suffer I’d do it in a heartbeat. I feel for you Kelli but I am also praying for Him to give you strength. I know he’ll grow up strong because you’re there for him.

  6. Kelly~ You know I love your Joe. It breaks my heart as well that you and he are both hurting. I hope you know that you can call me to chat if you need to. Know that you are doing the best you can by even acknowledging the ADHD. Don’t give up…he will succeed with you and Dave in his corner. He is a beautiful intelligent boy who has lots to offer to the world on a daily basis. HUGS…xoxoxo

  7. Oh Kelli, my heart aches for both you and Joe. Having been on the teacher end, I commend you already, having acknowledged that there is something amiss. I don’t know what it could be, nor will I speculate, but if your gut tells you it’s more then ADHD, then go with it.
    Huge hugs to you and good luck.

  8. Kelli, I’m so so sorry that Joe is having to go through such a tough time. I hope his therapy went well this afternoon and that you have some answers soon. You’re a wonderful mother, and Joe is very lucky to have you on his side.

  9. I’m so sorry, that has to be heart breaking to watch your son go through. I hope they can figure something out soon!! Always trust your gut.

  10. I wouldn’t speculate on what you’re going through, but I know that ache of watching someone you love stand outside looking in (or maybe in your case, not looking at all). I know you’ll do what’s best for your beautiful boy. I will be thinking of you.

  11. I could cry for you, I too have watched my son from my car with a lump in my throat…..I hope things get better:)

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