It’s just a dream come true

 Today is the day Bella came home with us. 

With as many years to her name as Smalley, at 54cm in length and weighing in at a whopping 926g Bella is an old, fat bearded dragon. She is also a real character. In one afternoon she’s moved home, snuggled happily on the sofa, been prodded, stroked, weighed and measured and happily clambered around her enclosure. 

She’s also made a little boy’s dream come true. A little boy who has moved his bed so he can lie near her tonight. And who has settled down for the night muttering “I can’t believe I get to keep her. I can’t believe she’s really mine.” 

At 10 years old she’s pretty advanced for a beardie so it’s hard to know quite how this journey will go. But she’s here, she’s active, she’s fascinating and she’s cheered Smalley’s heart. 💚 

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have ADHD

Tonight’s been rough. 

So much of my conversations can focus on how tricky it can be parenting someone with neurodiversity. I get weekly emails from ADHD experts talking about reframing language and building resilience as parents. And, as is so often the way, we are the centres of our own universe and focus in on our experience. 

Tonight, seemingly out of nowhere Smalley said he sometimes wishes he doesn’t have ADHD. That he thinks he’s too different from other people. That it makes it hard for people to understand him. And that he feels his ADHD is getting worse and worse 

There were tears. Lots of them. Some held back, some he allowed to flood forward. 

As a little unit, Smalley, Dad and me, we talked about medications, friendship, achievement and development. We talked about effort, energy and identity. We held each other right, we thanked him for his courage and his honesty. 

Through his diagnosis last August, the move to meds in September, the check ups and discussions with teachers we’ve taken the approach of honesty and openness. But I do worry at times that can be too much for a young  brain. It’s no small thing to differentiate labels from identity and our differences from the differences everyone feels. 

We ended today’s talk comparing ADHD to the scar on Smalley’s arm. It’s part of him, but most people don’t even know it’s there. It shapes him, but doesn’t define him. Sometimes he’ll acknowledge it, but mostly it just lives alongside him. A tiny part of a much bigger more beautiful whole. 

Hedgehog encounter

Smalley was this days old when he met a hedgehog in the wild. 

We were out on the evening dog walk, boys with wizard staffs in hand, and almost home when Smalley spotted something scurry across the street. At first he thought it was a rat but was thrilled it turned out to be a hedgehog who kindly stayed still against the wall allowing Smalley to get so close he could touch it. 

We broke up some dog treats (organic and wholesome) and he put them down for the hedgehog then retreated back so as not to scare the little creature. Curiosity soon got the better of him. This led to a very gentle creeping forward following by huge jumps of joy, arms spinning, silently screaming with happiness as the hedgehog had grabbed the treats with its front paws and within two minutes had scoffed the lot. 

Overwhelmed with happiness at the whole encounter some tears of joy flowed when we made the final part home. Happiness comes by way of healthy, hungry hedgehogs. 

Childhood dreams

 Bean came home from art activity on Thursday with a telescope made from a repurposed kitchen roll and some wrapping paper. It was like he’d won the lottery. Or as he said it: “I can’t believe it. It’s always been a childhood dream of mine to have a telescope made from kitchen roll and now I have”. 

Clearly the toilet roll binoculars we made when he was 2 weren’t as memorable for him as they were to me! 😂

I feel like I’ve had a real upgrade

Yesterday we went to the independent children’s bookstore in town to spend Bean’s birthday vouchers. Inevitably we spent twice the amount we had vouchers for. Inevitably he chose

a book I thought wasn’t the wisest choice; it’s from a series I don’t know and is a chapter book which he is still far from reading. Or so we thought. 

We were out for dinner and the boy just sat at the table and started reading. He wanted to get to the end of the page and just cracked on. Beyond himself with pride when page one was done, he went onto page 2. And continued until the whole first chapter was done, breaking only to ask me words. 

This morning, he was reading again. Breaking only to look at a different book he’d bought. 

This is not normal behaviour but he is so impressed with himself and I love he feels rewarded with self-annointed happiness for his efforts. At the table just now he said: I think I’ve grown up. I feel Like I’ve had a real upgrade. If I were a computer game I’d be up two levels with this reading. 

Sneezing rainbows

 Bean’s school hosted a triathlon and colour run today. The former for the sports lovers, the latter for the Astro charity fundraiser. 

Bean had no interest in the triathlon as he hates competitive swimming. This was hugely relieving as taking part would have forced me to split across Salisbury. However, the colour run caused great excitement - more so than playing football.

We rocked up after Bug’s rugby, set up the sweet stand and spent half an hour negotiating with children over sweets and chocolate before our colour was called and we headed to the start line. 

Bean and I ran the course holding hands - minus the corners which we decided were best for skipping. As we ran (or more accurately jogged) around he made my heart swell with constant reference to how happy he was to be doing the colour run and how much he loved that we were doing it together. 

Bug was on colour throwing duty having knackered himself at rugby. He took this quite seriously when we passed, leaving his post to stand in front of us and chuck a cup of orange powder right at us. The Head of Sport attacked with equal vigour as did my friend Edd when we got to the end of the course. 

I was a sceptic going in and thought I could really have done without it, but we all had the best fun, in the September sunshine with our friends. I’m so pleased we stayed the course and took part! 

Let me tell you about this guy

This guy went to school on Monday looking pale with a tinge of grey and threatened to be sick about three times as we waited outside our friends house on the school run. He wasw quiet, kept closing his eyes and looked almost identical to the last time he had concussion. Had that been a possibility we’d have been at A&E. 

This guy let me drive him to school that morning and whilst he insisted he’d be fine going in I spent the whole morning staring at my phone waiting for the call from school saying he was really ill, he never should have been sent in and I was a terrible parent for not keeping him home. 

The call never came. At 5pm he messaged to say they were just leaving the cross country race he’d been at and half an hour later he comes out of school, happily chatting with his friend, a healthy glow across his face. 

How are you, how was the race I tentatively ask. “It was really hard” comes the reply. 

“I’m really sorry buddy, did you manage to complete?” 

“Oh yeah” he says with a shrug. “I came first. And our 7 runners all placed in the top 12.” 

That caused me to stop in my tracks, literally lost for words. How in the world do you go from grey in the morning to tired champ in the afternoon. 

Fast forward to this morning (and be prepared for some serious parent pride as my heart is bursting)  and the boy’s first time playing rugby for his new school. They’ve only had one games session so the teams were made up based on who put their hands up to play and whatever random order the coaches came to the list. 

The head of sport wandered between the games, another coach for the senior team took on the role of referee and the coaches on the sideline leading the team were three U7 kids. 

Bug loves his rugby but we knew secondary school would be a step up and that, just given the sheer number of children in his year group, it might take awhile for the teachers to see who is comfortable on the field and who needs extra support. Getting into the lead team for his year didn’t feel at all a given but, knowing the effort the boy puts into his games, we knew he’d be really disappointed in any other team. 

As it turns out, our fears weren’t warranted. Bean and I arrived late to the game having walked Alice. As we approached the side line I head the coach saying “this kid is unreal”. Every call from the sideline was praise for a break he made or a tackle he got. When the head of sport came over, it was Bug’s name the coaches shared with him.

I started talking to some of the other dad’s just as the boys broke for half time. They had no idea which child was mine, but started talking about the boy who was making every tackle and the difference he was having on the pitch. I got to humbly say “ah, that’s my boy, he loves his rugby.”

At the end of the game I found myself in a conversation with the referee and a teacher from the opposition who again praised Bug as the “stand out player” before they knew he had any association with me. When I conceded he was my son the referee said “well I told the other boys in the huddle; he’s the only one who knows how to get around the opposition. Follow him and do what he does.” As I said my heart is swelling for my boy who walked off the pitch with his coach shouting over “you’re definitely in the As”. 

The school is very clear - it’s a 7 year journey to the 1st team and your interest in sport and your body will change a lot over that time so this is one game, one morning. However, our fear was that his passion and commitment wouldn’t be seen amongst so much action and, so very happily, that fear got smashed! 

What a champ!