Worth bending over backward

Near the end of yoga class a couple Saturdays ago, our instructor told us we would do back bends. As the members of the class made their way into bridge or wheel pose, Janet encouraged us to picture someone who was worth bending over backward for. Grammar problems of that sentence aside, I knew instantly who that person was for me.

I love yoga for many reasons. The hour or two I spend practicing each week is the closest I come to quieting my noisy mind. Oftentimes, the experience is quite emotional for me, and once in a while I feel as if I'm about to cry. As I pushed up into my wheel, I felt weepy as I pictured Gus.

Two days before, Mark and I had sat down with Gus's teacher for his fall conference. "How do you think things are going?" his teacher asked.

Oh, God, this is a trap, I thought. Mrs. S. had been in touch about one negative incident, but in the three and a half weeks school had been in session, I hadn't heard much else. I knew things probably weren't fantastic, but I had been optimistic that they were going reasonably well.

"Pretty good, actually," I chirped hopefully, in the manner of one who is trying in vain to delude oneself. "Better than last year, anyway."

It turns out I couldn't have been more wrong. Despite my fervent wishful thinking, Gus had not magically matured into a model pupil.

Mrs. S., kind soul that she is, told us gently about the difficulties Gus faces on a daily basis. Acts of impulsivity mar most days. On any given day he may be found turning cartwheels in the middle of the room or invading the personal space of a classmate with some wrestling or a tickle fight. The kids think Gus is hilarious. Most of them know when to stop; Gus does not.

Gus is ahead of the curve academically. He's got letter recognition and sounds down cold. He can easily identify numbers into the hundreds, a task with which many first-graders still struggle.

On the downside, though, Gus has a lot of trouble functioning in a classroom. Small groups and one-on-one work are fine for him, but center time, a part of the day when children participate in self-directed learning stations, is a disaster. He can't handle the lack of structure. He's often disruptive to other kids and distracting for the teacher. Transition times, like walking in the halls, also don't go well. Gus may fail to pay attention and carelessly bump into someone, or he may simply choose to goof off.

I believe Gus's teacher when she says she loves him and enjoys him so much, and I see her concern for him is genuine. That is life with Gus. Mrs. S. told us of one incident in which she caught Gus rubbing soap on the walls in the bathroom. She knows Gus and his challenges but expressed worry that other adults may not and that he may get in genuine trouble down the road with some of the choices he makes.

I felt wrung out and depressed after the conversation. I spent a lot of time worrying and shed my share of tears of frustration and helplessness.

The truth is, though, I'm not helpless. I can allow myself to dwell for a bit in my self pity, but I can't set up permanent residence there. It won't help me, and it certainly won't help Gus.

We've talked to Gus's doctor and to a counselor who specializes in ADHD. Mark and I likely will have to make some treatment decisions we wish were avoidable but clearly are not. I've spent much of the last three years dealing in wishful thinking. It gets me nowhere. These choices are difficult, but it also feels empowering to know that we're taking steps toward helping Gus attain lasting happiness and success.

I remember my gymnastics days from when I was a kid. I always was good at back bends. Age may be robbing me of some of my flexibility, but I like to think I've still got it. That's a good thing because my sweet, smart, struggling boy is, without a doubt, worth bending over backward for.