The Candy Caper

To Melatonin or Not to Melatonin

          So, recently there is controversy on the over the counter supplement, melatonin. Just as there seems to be with everything these days. Most everything man-made mind you. But I'm put in quite a predicament here. My 9 year old has to attend school. And in order to attend school he has to 'conform'. Being ADHD, this means being placed on some form or Ritalin to help him concentrate on his school work. I'd been iffy about placing him on medication for a long time before I finally broke down and did what I surely would have been eventually forced to do... or home school him. I've debated home schooling him too, truth be told. Anyways, ever since he was placed on these pills, I've noticed a significant change in his sleeping patterns. Basically, he wouldn't sleep. I usually wouldn't know it though. God love him he stays up in his room, tossing and turning, trying to find sleep amidst the tangle of blankets he forms each night.

Melatonin - No Magic Pill For Kids, CBC:

http://www.cbc.ca/player/Shows/ID/2395998824/

What to do?

I have went to his doctor. It has been prescribed. I had recently been wondering if he needs to take more. Was waiting for his next doctors visit to inquire about this.

He has a fairly early bedtime. I will be allowing an hour or so of quiet reading. See how that works out.

Our Life:

          So I went to bed just before midnight the other night. Led in bed. It was dark. I was just after watching another handful of shows during a 3 day marathon - those real life crime shows. The ones that make you question what kind of people are out there. People who break in and walk up your stairs to your bedroom as you lay alseep all unexpected like. Well, my stairs, they creak. And as I lay in bed this is what I hear. Clearly someone is coming up them. My body. It stiffens, as I strain my ears in hopes of hearing a completely different sound. One that ISN'T my creaky stairs. But another creaking sound confirms my notion that clearly someone was coming up them. Yes of course the kid jumps into my mind. But as I've mentioned, he stays up in his room god love him! I jump up, unsure but it must be him. right? I hadn't heard him go DOWN though. Edging my way to the top of the steps....Alas, it is him. I musta dozed off for a few minutes to not hear him descend the creaky ol' steps. Startled and half asleep, still half confused, I ask him. Aiden, what in gods name are you doing up at midnight? It's dark out. I'm in bed asleep. You must know that it's not time to be getting up yet!?

          "I was petting the cat" he says. Petting the cat. At midnight. In the dark. Downstairs. At 9 years old you wouldn't catch me in the dark of the house away from anyone else! Yes, every light would be blaring in my wake at 9 years old! But yesssss, midnight. Seems like a normal time to be at that stuff. Cat needed a good pet I'm sure.

A Controversial Approach to ADHD : The "Hunter Versus Farmer" Theory

Well, I've posted my first blog, and then another, and yet another, but as I wrote the first, discussing the subject of ADHD as an earlier attempted topic for a blog, I kept thinking back to this theory and I wanted to share my thoughts on it. It is very controversial, but makes a lot of sense in so many ways.
When this theory was first brought to my attention, I was quite skeptical of an article I read on the topic, but as I read further, as well as additional information, I could see the possibilities of this theory as there are strong links between the required traits of the ancestral hunter and traits that a person with ADHD are found to have. I have always felt that society and its institutional structures with their rules and standards everyone has to live up to, has created a rather uniform model that is expected of everyone. It is impossible for every individual to live up to such standards. To make it easier on all members of society and to gain this ideal model, individuals with ADHD are placed on medication. The hunter vs farmer theory focuses on evolution as a key factor in the existence of the condition called ADHD. Instead of the mainstream idea that refers to ADHD as being a disease of the brain, this theory celebrates individuals with ADHD as having traits that would have  placed them as the more successful beings among the human race in the times of hunters and gatherers.

A person with ADHD is often treated as if they have a disease, but I have often referred to these individuals as simply having a different personality. Everyone has different personalities. If we didn’t we wouldn’t have those who run for president. I can’t imagine the personality of my childhood librarian who was rather pleasant and mild, to be running for the presidents position. Thus, I feel that I was hitting the tip of the iceberg of this theory, with my thoughts regarding personality and the underlying idea that there isn’t a chemical imbalance in the brain, but rather it is innate in the individual; a person with ADHD isn’t bad, but rather has a different personality that stems from his or her ancestors.

The idea that Individuals with ADHD are often referred to as ‘bad’ people is wrong. Yes they do things ‘out of place’, but this is simply just them acting in a way that isn’t the 'norm' of society. It is simply that they have too much energy. Many people with ADHD need to be constantly doing something. They constantly move, talk, think. This idea of an ‘imbalance in the brain’ that society feels needs to be restrained could very well be the source of the famous jokes of your favourite comedian who wouldn’t be as successful as he is at making your sides hurt with laughter if it weren’t for his ADHD ‘condition’.

Individuals diagnosed with ADHD are inclined to be free and to move about. Their unique ways indicate traits that can be linked to the hunters of former hunter/gatherer societies of the past. The constant thinking of a person with ADHD for one, is a trait that would have been a critical need for the ancestral hunter. To further analyze the successful hunter, one would see them as needing to carry the following characteristics:

·                They’ll face danger that “normal” individuals would avoid

·                They love the hunt, but are easily bored by mundane tasks

·                They think visually

·                They can throw an incredible burst of energy into the hunt

·                They’re flexible, capable of changing strategy on a moment’s notice

·                They can totally throw themselves into the hunt

·                They constantly monitor their environment

These very characteristics, some if not all, can be strongly evident in a person with ADHD. For me, this gives a great amount of support for the hunter vs farmer theory.

Rather than being seen as burdensome, such traits can be viewed as gifts. The need for the ancestral hunter has passed, but these individuals could both benefit from and benefit society with their overzealous personalities and capabilities.

Engage these individuals in the right way when they are young, and they would learn just as any other individual does and they too, would have just as great a chance to find their place in society, becoming a productive member, in their own way, never needing medication to help them ‘refrain’ from ‘bad’ behavior, and helping them to embrace their uniqueness instead of feeling as if they are the odd one out - my child once asked me what was wrong with his brain, and requested another. It is society that makes these individuals feel this way.
It comes down to the fact that we punish these individuals when they are young, when we should be celebrating them instead. There are so many people out there with the energy and go-get attitude that are part of why we are able to live the lives we do, and so many of these individuals have ADD. There is nothing wrong with these individuals. Instead we should be embracing their unique abilities and  honing in on how to teach them in a way that is more beneficial to them. Every child learns differently as it is. For children with ADHD, we should be helping them to channel their energy in positive ways, teaching them things that engage them on their own level. Imagine what could result! Greatness.

Find out more from the individual who created the previous point form list at:

 http://staceyturis.com/2011/06/01/103/

                                                                 

Ripple Effect - Intro

Well, here is the intro to one of the longer pieces I have been working on. I hope to continue further with developing this, as well as getting back into writing some more children's stories. I really enjoy mythology and would like to come up with something or some things on this for children, I'm just unsure of what angle to go about for that yet. Anyways, any input would be appreciated, either here, or on facebook, a message, or text if you are one of the lucky enough ones to be able to contact me in any of those ways. By god, in person would be even more awesome! I've not many close friends that are into writing but any input whatsoever would be helpful. Honest! :) Hope you enjoy.

                                                      Ripple Effect

He was a lawyer. He had witnessed many injustices. Hell, he’d even helped slide some under the rug so to say. But after her death, everything was different. He was different. No more injustices. He strived to only take cases he truly believed in; only those who truly needed his help. Many times he did it for much less than he would have ever imagined. Nowadays, he worked to survive; worked to keep his downtown bachelor apartment heated and a scattered meal in the fridge. Yes he told himself, he would help this latest woman with her case. He had been unsure about her whole situation and if he would even be capable of helping her but she was a nun for god sakes! A nun! He laughed to himself, rushing to his jeep, keys dangling in hand, briefcase ready to explode with the mass of unorganized papers within. Swinging the driver’s door open, he slid swiftly inside and thought of the nun with her fair skin and orange lock of hair. She reminded him so much of his daughter. At seventeen Meghan had been murdered. This occurred only two years ago and he was still not over it. It was still fresh in his mind. He still craved for some sort of justice. The nun was very polite and caring, fragile but strong. Just like Meghan. Looks can be deceiving. To most, Meghan was just a tiny fragile girl, but he knew her more than anyone. She had told him everything. Or so he chose to believe. When she told him of the older guy she was seeing he did the best he could to end it, but she put up a fight. She had something smart to say in her defense to everything sensible he had to say about it. Strong-willed that girl, just like her mother was, right up until the day that the cancer took her. Her mother would have been able to talk some sense into her. His eyes quickly welled up as he once again told himself he was a failure. Sometimes he would think about them while driving and he would be at his destination before he even knew he had made a right, a left, or even took his exit off of the highway. It was sort of mechanical now. He drove this route from his apartment to his tiny office in the suburbs often. His business ran well out that way, with the new clients he was catering to since he left his old corporate job. They came from all over, but his price was more than fair now, and he was in it for all of the right reasons. Once he got on the long stretch of road before the highway, he glanced at his watch, letting out an exasperated breath as he pressed harder on the gas pedal. He rolled down his window and breathed in the fresh air before leaning over to grab the nuns file which he had placed underneath his briefcase. He’d better give it another glance before their meeting, he thought to himself. Just as he had placed his hand on it, he hit a bump and the briefcase flew open. Paper starting blowing wildly around the car. Within seconds, his gaze returned to the road only to see the headlights of an oncoming vehicle in his lane! Or was he in their lane? He couldn't tell. There was no time to register such things…..

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Something warm and sticky tickled the corner of his eye. On instinct, he attempted to raise his hand to wipe it away but his arm wouldn't cooperate, as if the force of gravity was pinning it where it lay. Shocked, he turned his head towards the arm only to realize that his eyes would not open. Straining to open them, he finally managed to open the left which immediately attempted to focus in the dimness of its surroundings. Gazing through a watery and hazy view, upon an arm that was twisted in such a way that it was hard to tell if it was even a limb at all, he realized that he couldn't even feel any sensation in this arm, and so it took him a few seconds to realize that it was indeed his. As if responding to this realization, a slight buzzing sounded from deep within his head and grew in such momentum that it was hard to concentrate on anything. Abruptly his whole body stiffened as a wave of pain seemingly coursed through every nerve ending within his body, overwhelming him to the point where he couldn't tell which part ached more, as there wasn't a part that felt left unscathed with at least some sort of scratch or contusion.

Craning his neck, he strained to get a better look at what lay directly in front of him. Looking beyond the broken edges of glass that outlined what used to be the windshield of his beloved jeep, in the far distance he could make out the thick wall of green trees lining the horizon. Straining to focus his sight, he could barely make out the body of a thin pale woman sitting slumped over the steering wheel of a severely rusted brown Cavalier, which was so badly crumpled that its hood seemed to no longer exist. It was at that moment that he heard the long drawn out wail of a young child. Unable to tell if it came from a young boy or girl, it penetrated his thoughts until it was all he could hear. “Mommmmmy” the child cried over and over, through bursts of emotional sobs which were immediately followed by long drawn out silences that only seemed to echo the childs cries within his head. Before the echoes would dissipate, another sob would break through the echoing silence and penetrate his mind once more with its shrillness. He began to feel a great anxiety, for the need to comfort whomever this sorrowful wailing erupted from.

Attempting to free himself from the twisted metal that bore into his left leg, and after failing several attempts to do so, He called for someone to help the child. No answer came, and as he looked to the far right of the cavalier, he could barely make out the figure of a slender woman on her knees, bent over the ground, a tangle of long orange hair splaying about the dirt and rubble. The figure then scrambled to a standing position and raised her hands high above her head, grasping them together high in the air. After blinking, he could make out that the woman had a rosary wound about her hands. It dripped of ruby red droplets. “Grace?” He questioned aloud. He couldn’t seem to focus enough to confirm his thoughts. The child’s shrill wail sounded again and once the silence returned, he called out again; directing his voice towards the woman, and it was at this point that she seemed to hear him; for he saw her head turn and glance his way, and then turn in the direction of the wail that penetrated the air with its torturous agony. The woman abruptly threw down her arms and scrambled towards the young child. Her black habit was strewn with rips and reddened at the white about her neck. She swung open the door to the Chevrolet and disappeared into the stained brownness of its interior until finally she emerged with the figure of a tiny blonde-haired boy huddled into her body, sobbing uncontrollably in her slender arms. The boy appeared to be unharmed. He saw as the woman pulled the boy’s face from her chest and looked directly into his eyes. She wildly brushed her hands through his hair and kissed his forehead repeatedly until she once more held him to her chest and he could see her rocking him back and forth while her lips stayed pursed at his ear. Closing his eye, he relaxed as best he could.

Before long, the sound of wailing sirens alerted his senses. He could feel himself going in and out of consciousness, but before he went into complete nothingness, he glimpsed a young girl wearing an overly short skirt and brightly colored low cut top, walking directly across the front of his vehicle, stepping lightly over bits of broken glass and pieces of crumpled metal. Her glossy aquamarine eyes had the look of pure shock in them, but there also seemed to be a hint of terror mixed within the confused look. Her long slender legs started to wobble as she suddenly began to stagger through the debris. Just as it seemed as if she would fall, a man walked up to her and grasped her by the elbow with his hand and led her away. As his gaze followed them they contorted and merged with all of the colors and shades of their immediate surroundings. Blinking his eye a few times just before everything went completely black, he honed in on the face of the man looking anxiously back over his shoulder. He could see the man’s face clearly now. All of its features, right down to the chiseled, dimpled chin. His nostrils flared as hatred welled up within him. Feeling flush, he closed his eyes and tried to slow down his breaths. He could hear the fast-paced pulse of the blood rushing through his body mix in with the distant sounding voices, cries, screams, and sirens, until everything slowly faded, growing quieter and quieter until they trailed off into complete silence. 

                                                       

Random Inspirations

     So, I've wanted to begin a blog for a long time now. I never seem to have enough free time, or at least that is the excuse I use. Sure, there are points in time in my life that this is 100% true, but for the last couple of months, it is definitely NOT true. Then there is inspiration... I have so many interests and so little inspiration, but when inspiration does hit, in whatever form, it is incredible! 
     I like trying out new recipes, tweaking them as I see fit, writing stories, and discovering neat and unique items, things, articles, etc. Well, they are to me anyways. I would like to have somewhere to place these interests of mine. Sooooo, a blog seemed the best place to have it all in one place, and maybe even pique the interest of any passerby's who happen to indulge in similar interests to that of my own. 
     The idea for an actual topic for my own blog was one of my pitfalls in the beginning - months ago. I was toying with different ideas, but nothing fit perfectly for my broad categories of ideas, and I even debated a blog on the daily life of raising a child with adhd - for all those people who wanted to share stories or to just listen/read about my own experiences and thus know that they are not alone. These children are hard at times, but are also very bright. A huge thing for me is the fact that their 'label' is unjust in so many ways, with so many misconceptions. So, maybe I will throw in a topic on this from time to time. I am random, so expect it. 
     Yes, let me introduce myself, I am a 31 year old single mom of two wonderful boys, aged 6 years apart, now 3 1/2 and 9 1/2. I live on the eastern side of the island of Newfoundland, but was born and raised on its west coast. I love to write, paint, camp - among many other things. I love sour candy - especially sour bones, which I can now ONLY find at one store in the downtown of St. John's here in Newfoundland, called the Freak Lunchbox - awesome store with many old time candy and new as well, some of which cannot be found elsewhere apparently - that I know of anyways. Maybe some other candy shops that i haven't visited. Meh. Yes, as I said - I am random. It is me. Random inspirations will be my driving force for this blog, and I hope it will motivate me to, above all else, get back into writing. I shall start with a revised story I wrote roughly two years ago. Even that is a big step for me. I usually write children's stories but I wrote this very much adult story - whenever I say that people picture 'XXX' - None of that in here though. It's just my attempt at a distinction from my typical children's writing and content. This is one of the first non-children's stories that was meant to get me out of my 'comfort zone', which is typically children's fiction. Fantasy to be more precise Picture The chronicles of Narnia, or Harry Potter. This short story, is something completely different. Hope you enjoy. My mind can get much more in depth. Gotta <3 imagination!

Greedy Eyes

Caitlyn stared up at the bleakness of the four white walls surrounding her. She sat on her bed with her legs curled up and her arms wrapped tightly around them. Staring off towards the tiny window in the door, her eyes began to glaze over as she thought back to how a jail cell felt, and she smiled at the irony of the fact that she now wished she were there instead. Thinking back to the last time that she had been in one, she recalled waking to the sound of her fathers’ voice, and how he had looked down at her shaking his head while talking to the uniformed man beside him.

              The metal rungs of the door had slid noisily to the side and Caitlyn was led out to him. Looking up cautiously at her fathers’ face, her eyes met his and she wouldn't look away until he gave a meek smile. Wrapping her hands around his waist, he reciprocated the gesture, and gave her a gentle nudge before leading her outside into the early morning’s sunlight.

              “Honey, leave it to those organizations…like the Greenpeace. If anything is to be done, they’ll make it happen.”

              “But dad, that’s the problem! If everyone expects someone else to do something about it, then there wouldn't even be a Greenpeace in the first place!”

              A high-pitched wail snapped her out of her memory for a second as Caitlyn sat reminiscing about how easy those overnight stays in that jail cell were, compared to the long dragged out days here. Gritting her teeth, her mind raced back to the last day that she had been free of this place. She had been at the edge of that field, she thought bitterly as her mind pictured it's vastness of tall, tangled grass and weeds. She remembered being there, remembered how she had endlessly called out to the unseen voices. She even remembered her mini breakdown in which she had frantically shook her head in an attempt to be rid of them.

              “Caitlyn…Caitlyn…what’s wrong?” She had heard her mothers startled voice, sounding so distant and low over the sound of the overbearing, pitiful cries that resounded within her head.

              “So many, where are they coming from?” Caitlyn had cried out, as she scrambled to her feet, avoided the ‘no trespassing’ sign, and ran out into the field, batting away the tall blades of grass as she had veered wildly from left to right.    

              “Who Caitlyn?” her mothers shrill voice came from the fields’ edge.

              “Don’t you hear them?” Caitlyn yelled to her mother, confused and frustrated.

              “I don’t hear anything, Caitlyn, who?” her mothers’ agitated scream barely reached Caitlyn’s consciousness.

              “I don’t know! But I need to help them,” Caitlyn had sobbed as she buckled over, falling to her knees, as she clasped her hands to her eyes,  and her shoulders shuddered uncontrollably.

              “You’re starting to scare me dear.”

              Through her hazy reminiscences of that day, Caitlyn recalled those words as the last thing that her mother had said to her, and as Caitlyn now sat staring at the starkness of her surroundings, she again questioned how her mother could have ever put her in here.

              For four years she had stared at these empty white walls, exposed to the random echoes of one scream or another. At first she had cringed at the sound of each hysterical laugh, and had felt sorry for each prolonged pitiful sob. But now, none of these things could even elicit a blink from her.

              Each night Caitlyn woke to the same dream. It took place in the same grassy field. Caitlyn knew the area well, for it was the same field that she had heard those poor children crying out in vain years ago. She recalled playing there as a child herself, remembered the strange man that lived at the far side of the field, cringing as she recalled how his greedy eyes were frequently upon her as she had played with her friends. Now this man was in her dreams. Caitlyn would see him; see those greedy eyes as they peeked out from some kind of darkness underneath the ground, hardly visible through the stalks of thick grass around them.

              Caitlyn started accepting the medications that she was offered, and started to participate in group sessions. She stopped telling people of her recurring dream. She even told them that they had finally stopped. To please them, she even nodded in agreement as the doctors told her that the voices that she heard in her head so long ago had never really been there.

              Caitlyn skimmed her fingertips along the rough surface of the brick opposite of those treacherous white walls. Her father stood smiling at her from the open gate entrance. When she reached him, he embraced her tightly before they started off on the walk home. They talked excitedly and smiled constantly, until they neared the field. Caitlyn grew silent and her smile faded “Si-lence,” she choked out as a sob tore from her chest.

              Caitlyn’s father reached out for her, but before he could grasp her arm, she had turned and was running to the place where she kept seeing those horrible eyes from her dream. Once there, Caitlyn abruptly dropped to her knees and tore wildly at the grass around her.

              “Caitlyn!” Her father cried out as he started off towards her, momentarily stopping as he saw her raise a mound of grass and dirt from the earth, revealing what he could tell was a wooden latch underneath. He then began to run towards her, faster than before, as she descended down into the darkness of the hole that she had created within the ground. Once there, he craned his neck questionably, peering down into the darkness. The faint light of Caitlyn's cell phone grew dimmer and he called down to her, “Caitlyn, honey, this is private property, we have no right…

              He was interrupted as she came barreling up the rickety wooden steps and pushed him out of the way before uncontrollably vomiting upon the ground in which he had just stood. All he could understand through her choked sobs was something to do with a small teddy bear with one eye missing and a pile of small bones in a corner. 

        It took the police a full hour to even show up, but once they did, it didn’t take them long to seal off the area, or for the media to overwhelm Caitlyn with questions.