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It’s rare for us to label a child here at Motherlode. They’re children first, with the modifiers after — a child with Attention Deficient Hyperactivity Disorder; a child who uses a wheelchair. Language matters.

But that label (and the behavior that led to it) is exactly what’s defining one reader’s child. He’s the A.D.H.D. kid that no one wants in the class, and because he’s young — only 3, not old enough for public school — no one has to take him on, and three day care centers so far have sent him home with the instruction that he not come back.



But his two working parents need to find child care that’s willing to work with them, and their son needs to find a place outside the house where he can succeed. Here’s their quandary, in his mother’s words:

The first time our son’s teacher asked us to consider seeking a child psychologist, I just looked back at her blankly. Why does she need a mental health professional to take care of my 25-pound 2-year old? Now that he is 3, and has been kicked out of three day cares and one gymnastics studio, I am much more concerned. Both my husband and I work full-time, and a nanny is a financial impossibility. Are we the first parents of a preschooler with A.D.H.D. to have trouble finding child care?

After reviewing questionnaires filled out by two different sets of teachers and us, the psychologist quickly identified that our son was extremely high on the inattentive and hyperactive scales our her diagnostic tool. Hearing our stories and meeting him (or rather watching him zoom around her office) confirmed her initial impression that Ian has A.D.H.D.



He has always had a lot of energy. He was an easy, happy baby 90 percent of the time, but the second he was uncomfortable or hungry, he would scream uncontrollably and work himself up into a panic. Instead of a first step, he took a first run. Since the age of 12 months, I have become accustomed to a child running full-speed circles around the house most of the time. He has never been able to sit for longer than three-four minutes whether we are at a meal, a ballgame, church or a store. We thought that an activity like gymnastics would be good for him. But as much as he adores the equipment and the fun, he was unable to focus for long enough to participate in the planned stations (instead making a dash for the large trampoline any time an adult looked away). My mother cannot take him to a store because she is concerned that he will run away and she will be unable to catch him. Baby sitters, Sunday school workers and swim coaches shake their heads and tell me, “He sure is a handful.”

The day cares do not usually explicitly tell us that they cannot handle him. Their concerns always revolved around circle time and safety.

“He never sits still for circle time; we are concerned that he is just not learning.”

“He just does not participate in the stations like the other children. … We are concerned that he is too much of a distraction.”

“When he runs around the classroom he could knock down a child or hurt someone. It is really a safety issue.”

They do not care that my son volunteered new songs from circle time as he jumped in the yard after day care. They are not persuaded when I tell them that he now knows his ABCs, and that he learned them at school. In fact, I am not sure that they care what I say as they tell me what a distraction he is in the classroom. As inappropriate as it was for one director to tell me that she thought my child needed medication, at least she was honest as she told me that her day care was not set up to meet the needs of children with A.D.H.D.

At 3 years old, we have most certainly not considered medication. My husband is a pediatrician, and while we understand the value of medication in older children, he feels as if it is almost never medically indicated or appropriate in preschoolers.

We told the last two day cares that our son “was not successful” at his last school and offered for them to work with his psychologist. They both assured us that they were ready to work through behavioral issues. But, as always, the phone calls started two weeks into his start. Over his lifetime, he has already earned more than 450 incident reports, and most of these involve Ian colliding with another child or responding poorly when a teacher tries to put him in the corner for timeout.

He is not apathetic about his situation. He proudly tells me that he “listened to my teachers” or “was kind to my friends” on the same days that he gets two incident reports. The truth is that the energy he puts into being “good” 90 percent of the time is usually overshadowed by 20-40 minutes of hyperactive or impulsive behavior.

Are their any child care situations that can help my son get ready for kindergarten? What will I do when his elementary schoolteachers give me the concerned lectures about circle time and stations? How do I advocate for my child when teachers are already set against letting him participate in their classrooms? Most important, after numerous failed placements (which he tends to take personally), how do I find situations outside of our home in which he can be successful?