The ADHD Homestead

Building a good life with ADHD.

Tag: Vicki Hoefle

Firm and kind: A challenge for ADHD families.

I think I speak for most ADHD-affected households when I say, sometimes we don’t bring out the best in each other. In his book Healing ADD From the Inside Out, Dr. Daniel Amen makes a list of games people with ADHD love to play. One of them is, “I bet I can get you to hit me or yell at me.” Sound familiar?

Most of the time, this isn’t even conscious. People with poorly managed ADHD — or those whose medication has worn off for the day — have trouble regulating emotional responses. They also use conflict to balance out their brain chemistry. Yelling, fighting, or needling someone until they explode provides a boost of dopamine, a neurotransmitter in short supply for ADHD’ers.

Without proper treatment and education, these become lifelong behavior patterns.

firm-and-kind-and-adhd

My goal when responding to these behaviors — and I falter often — is to be both firm and kind. Too many people still believe stricter parenting (like we had in the “good old days”) is the answer for kids with ADHD. When we see unacceptable behavior, we read a lack of visible, tangible punishment as permissive parenting. To some, firm and kind feel mutually exclusive.

This attitude isn’t limited to children: I hear the same about spouses and other adult family members. We don’t like to see someone “get away” with bad behavior.

I’m firm, I’m kind, but I don’t consider myself permissive with my family. I’m certainly not a doormat. In fact, people often tell me I’m the only person so-and-so will listen to, or they ask why a certain family member behaves better around me. It goes to show: Firm and kind can be strong, too.

Respect for myself

I first discovered “firm and kind” in parenting expert Vicki Hoefle’s lovely books and this post on her blog. Her words have changed my life. I feel like I have permission to look out for myself while I care for my family. Returning to Dr. Amen’s game of “I bet I can get you to hit me or yell at me,” I wonder how much respect I can have for myself when I’m falling right into that trap. In parenting, as in all social interactions, if someone can goad me into a fight, they can control me. If my child can make me late every time we leave the house, he’s in control. An out-of-control person doesn’t command respect from herself, let alone others.

When I draw a boundary, I show everyone I mean it. It doesn’t matter whether the boundary is big or small. I’m firm about reducing the number of days our family spends traveling around Christmas. I’m also firm about leaving for school at 8:45 a.m., regardless of who’s still in bare feet.

Giving kindness and respect to my family

At the same time, I try to practice kindness without letting others step all over my boundaries. I don’t say, “fine, you spent so long playing around, see how you like freezing your toes on the way to the car!” I say, “okay, time to leave. I’ll bring your shoes to the car so you can put them on while we drive.”

Simple. Matter of fact. Kind.

Hoefle claims that all children modify behavior based on what earns a reaction. We can deduce that children with ADHD do this to the extreme. When we engage in power struggles, allow ourselves to be goaded into flying off the handle, or allow our child’s behavior to control a situation, we set ourselves — and our children — up for more of the same tomorrow. This feels more unkind than letting him get cold toes on the way to the car.

Modeling how I want to be treated

After reading Hoefle’s books, my ears became attuned to how parents all around me spoke to their children. Try this next time you’re in a public place: Imagine the children as adults. What would you think if you heard someone speaking to an adult that way?

“Firm but kind” reconciles my two minds when it comes to parenting. We can be firm. We can refuse to engage in a power struggle. We can also be kind without letting kids ‘get away’ with bad behavior.

In other words, we can be respectful without being permissive. We can be kind without becoming a doormat. I apply these principles to everyone in my family, from ages 3-85. I’ve discovered that the harder it is to get a rise out of me, the more respect and accommodation I get from others. Especially those with ADHD.

Have you struggled to maintain peace and respect in your family? What keeps you grounded?

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Family life with ADHD: Stash those labels.

Labels — we all use them sometimes, even though most of us know we shouldn’t. Parenting has taught me to use labels intentionally and sparingly. My favorite books caution against labels, both in the positive (“you’re such a good girl”) and the negative (“you’re a troublemaker”).

Labels tell us how we fit in.

The labels we give our children become the language they use to define themselves. Parenting expert Vicki Hoefle writes in Duct Tape Parenting, “your child is answering one question over and over again: ‘In my family I am the child who…'”

ADHD labelsFor those of us with ADHD, the end of that sentence was (or is) often negative. I can trace most of my childhood labels back to my undiagnosed ADHD: oversensitive. Inconsiderate. Selfish. Vain. Ingrate. Argumentative. Rude. Lazy.

Even positive labels, like “smart,” came with baggage. For a girl with ADHD, “smart” often means “you’re too smart for this.” This being missed homework, a bad grade, or a lower-level class. “Smart” also implies potential. It sets expectations for your life and career path.

As a kid, I sometimes took on these labels — “it’s true, only a selfish person would’ve done that” — and sometimes fought against them. I wanted to view myself as a caring, sensitive, quiet person. I never wanted to make people angry. And yet, I felt like the outside world saw me as selfish, aloof, and melodramatic. I didn’t like that person. I barely even recognized her. I longed to show everyone the “real me.”

ADHD inspires labels that belie our true intentions.

As a young, newly married adult, I still suffered with untreated ADHD. I felt desperate — and yet unable — to disprove the labels still haunting my life. In a long-ago conversation argument about household responsibilities, my husband uttered the phrase, “lazy is as lazy does.” I wrote it down, along with many other labels, in an attempt to sort through my feelings. Deep inside, I knew who I was, but I couldn’t show it.

I eventually sought help for my ADHD. (Side note: My husband, who was pre-diagnosis himself, would never say something like that today.)

And, just like that, we can evolve. It’s never too late to shed damaging labels and redefine ourselves. Change begins with a commitment to build each other up rather than tear each other down.

ADHD labels pull quote

Resisting labels while appreciating the little stuff.

These days, we shy away from labels in our home. In their parenting classic How to Talk So Kids Will Listen…and Listen So Kids Will Talk, Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish point out the dangers of even the best-sounding labels: “you can take away ‘good boy’ by calling him ‘bad boy’ the next day.” As a child — and later an adult — with ADHD, I learned to eye each personal victory with suspicion, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

That’s why I refuse to trade my negative labels for positive ones. I get no pleasure from hearing “you’re a hard worker,” “you’re so organized,” or “I can’t imagine you losing your temper.” On the bad days, positive labels only serve to hone my sense of loss and failure.

Instead, our family works day to day, praising and appreciating each other for the specific — the nitty-gritty. Somewhere around age two, our son went through a hitting phase. When he got angry and didn’t hit, I’d tell him, “you were so angry, I know you wanted to hit me, but you didn’t. You went upstairs to calm down instead.” When my husband — often at work very late — is home in the evening, I tell him, “I’m glad you’re here.”

This is especially critical for areas where we struggle. Specific praise and appreciation lets people know we see them. We see them doing their best, and we notice their small victories. When this is what defines us, rather than “unreliable,” “late,” or “hot-headed,” we access our power to do better.

What labels do you find yourself using in your family? What labels did your parents use with you? How do labels affect the way you view yourself and those around you?

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Of course behavior therapy helps kids with ADHD…for now.

When I see ADHD trending on social media, I perk up my ears. Today, it’s the release of new study results supporting behavior therapy as a first-line treatment for children with ADHD.

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This raises important questions. It also fans the flames of controversy among those opposed to medicating ADHD in children.

I see this study as an incomplete answer to a complex question: what’s the best course of treatment for childhood ADHD?

Interpreting results: why start with behavior therapy?

Starting with behavior-based interventions may emphasize the importance of teaching coping mechanisms. I’ve long said that neither medication nor behavior therapy can do it alone. Medication balances our brain chemistry, making coping mechanisms easier — or possible — to implement.

Starting meds with no therapy or parent training may set the wrong expectation: that meds can do all the work. Starting with behavior therapy, then adding medication, allows families to compare and contrast the difference.

Taking an example from my personal life, I talk a lot about David Allen’s Getting Things DoneI swear by it. Did you know I’ve only been able to maintain it while taking medication? Without it, I can’t keep up.

However, medication in no way alleviates my need for such a rigid system.

We should teach children this symbiosis from the beginning. Offering medication alone is like offering eyeglasses to a near-sighted child and expecting those glasses to teach him to read.

Why I’m skeptical about behavior therapy’s long-term benefits

I’m not jumping on the behavior modification bandwagon just yet. I think we need a longitudinal study to evaluate the effects well into adulthood, when we’re expected to create our own structure and motivation.

Behavior modification therapies, as explained in Stephen P. Hinshaw and Katherine Ellison’s book ADHD: What Everyone Needs to Know, require “clear expectations and explicit, frequent rewards, as well as occasional, nonemotional discipline.” Think sticker charts to help kids earn a reward for improving target behaviors.

My own parents promised me a TV in my bedroom if I could produce a few second-grade report cards with no failing grades in the ‘behavior’ column. My burning desire for that television supported the herculean effort required to stay out of trouble. I got the TV.

Looking at this one academic year, anyone could conclude that behavior-based interventions improved my most problematic symptoms. However, as Hinshaw and Ellison point out in their book, “the difficulty for children is to maintain their progress once they’re out of the tightly managed environment.”

My third-grade reports reflect missed homework, inconsistent effort, and frequent run-ins with other students.

Should we expect parents to maintain a highly structured environment indefinitely? What happens when children grow too old for sticker charts? What happens when parents aren’t there to light a fire under a kid’s butt?

I’ll tell you what happened to me: my life spiraled out of control. My desk at work was covered 8-12 inches deep all around with papers, and I frequently lost important documents. I fought with my husband all the time. I suffered wild mood swings. Bills went unpaid. It took so long for me to take checks to the bank, they often expired before I could deposit them. My house was a mess. The list goes on.

Does behavior therapy prepare kids with ADHD for the future?

I’m not surprised to see a study confirming the effectiveness of behavior therapies — that is, rigid systems of externalized rewards and consequences — in the short term. We’re talking months, or even a few years.

I worry that we’re failing to teach kids true independence and long-term coping mechanisms. As Vicki Hoefle explains so effectively in her lovely book Duct Tape Parenting, parents should measure success not by how kids behave right now, but whether they’re ready to fledge at age 18. Childhood gives kids an opportunity to learn crucial skills in a safe, supportive environment.

Creating a system of made-up consequences robs them — and us — of that opportunity. Sure, I was able to control my outbursts to earn that TV. What did I learn about myself during that time? What tools did I put in my mental toolbox, to be carried into adulthood?

Yes, this study addresses an important issue. I hope it reinforces the symbiotic relationship between medication and other interventions. I hope fewer parents, teachers, and doctors see medication as a way to make ADHD an open-and-shut case.

Parents need to ask: what’s our goal here? Do we want the best of both worlds? To refuse medication for our kids while putting a stop to failing grades and uncomfortable parent-teacher conferences?

Or do we want to deepen our relationship with our kids while teaching them how to succeed as adults?

For that, we need to examine the effectiveness of behavior therapy once the subjects reach age 25, 30, and 35.

What do you think we’d find? I’m curious about others’ reactions. Did you read about this study? Have you had any first-hand experience with behavior modification? Please chime in with a comment below!

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The secret to peaceful ADHD parenting: just shut up

The toughest, most persistent challenge in my parenting life might surprise you: it’s shutting my mouth.

If you don’t get what I’m saying, you may have found your own biggest challenge, too.

As parents, the most important thing you can do for your kids is spend more time with your mouth shut.

If you don’t believe me, give it a try. Spend a week trying not to intervene unless there’s real danger to life, limb, psyche (theirs), or property. Here are just a few reasons why.

Dear mom - ssshh

Let them seize the opportunity

Okay, ADHD parents, let’s be real. It’s tough to watch kids figure stuff out. Watching my toddler try, over and over, to fit a lid onto a container or balance one toy on top of another drives me crazy.

My impatient, irritable ADHD brain is screaming, just grab it and do it for him!

The problem is, kids learn best from making mistakes and figuring things out on their own. When we jump in, we rob them of a learning opportunity. Do it too often and they learn to turn outward, not inward, when they need to solve a problem.

Constant butting in may even sabotage your relationship with your kiddos. “When people are placed in dependent positions,” write Elaine Mazlish and Adele Faber in How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk, “along with a small amount of gratitude they usually do experience feelings of helplessness, worthlessness, resentment, frustration, and anger.”

Sit on your hands if you have to, or use them to cover your mouth. Let your kids make mistakes, work at a snail’s pace, and (heaven forbid) do things differently than you might have done.

Foster emotional resilience

ADHD kids and families often struggle with emotions. Consider practicing what parenting expert Janet Lansbury calls “braving the silence.”

Many ADHD’ers seem to fear silence. We stop listening because we’re too eager for our turn to talk. We’re compelled to fill dead air with chatter.

Silence is critical to teaching your kids how to accept and manage their emotions. “Acknowledging our children’s feelings and desires is one of the most powerful ways to validate and bond with them,” Lansbury writes, “Yet all too often, we find it difficult to provide our kids with the crucial next step — the quiet moment they need for our acknowledgements to sink in, to really feel we accept their point of view.”

Think about this as you observe not just yourself, but other parents. How often do you see parents filling the silence, diminishing a child’s feelings, creating a distraction, offering magic advice?

The last thing any ADHD’er needs is more fuel for the fire. It may feel impossible, but practice being quiet. Let your child know you understand and accept their feelings, then back off. You might be amazed at what comes next.

Exit stage left

A few months ago, I noticed my role in a three-act potty drama my son was putting on several times per day. It went like this:

  1. R. clearly needs to use the potty.
  2. I tell him it’s up to him whether he pees or not, but it’s not okay to make everyone around him uncomfortable. He chooses not to use the potty. I escort him to his room (loud protestations ensue).
  3. R. uses the potty (in his room) and cheerfully calls for me. “I used the potty, Mommy!”

I assumed he’d learn that adhering to this simple social convention = participation in the group. When this scene began playing on repeat every day, it was time to reassess.

I decided to leave R. alone about the potty. To be clear, I knew he had the skills because he’d been using the potty successfully for several months. This was a power struggle, a way he could gain absolute control over my behavior and the sequence of events listed above.

The result? Tension around potty time dissipated and accidents never increased. Surprised? Consider these words from Vicki Hoefle’s Duct Tape Parenting:

The job of every parent is to adequately represent to their children what they can expect from the outside world if they behave in certain ways. Offering a full-time audience is not an adequate response to nonsense, cheap drama, or other such behaviors…We’re trying so hard to stop the chaos that we, in fact, set a stage for the behavior to continue!

Hoefle’s calls us to ask ourselves, “what would the world do?”

What would the world do? I like that. Usually, the answer is: not very much.

How do you feel about your level of engagement with your kids? Do you struggle to keep quiet, or do you feel you need to intervene more often than most?

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(One reason) why I’m a worse parent when you’re watching

Social Skills 101

Photo credit: Lynde Pratt

Earlier this year, we read Vicki Hoefle’s Duct Tape Parenting as a family. Hoefle’s non-interventionist style, with an emphasis on nurturing both executive function and family connectedness, is a perfect fit for us. I suspect many other families (ADHD and not) will find the same.

And yet.

And yet, just the other day, I broke the rules — bigtime. There I stood, with my hand gripping R.’s tiny little wrist, telling him firmly, don’t grab that from her.

It was a typical spring afternoon in our neighborhood: sunny, warm, several families congregated outside for post-nap playtime.

R. stared at me and whined, but thankfully (for me) didn’t fight me when I suggested he choose another toy.

Later, I asked myself, what example am I setting here?

Am I showing my son that even though we have a system of expectations, communication, and respect that works for our family, I’m unwilling to defend it in public? That what Other People think is more important than my relationship with him?

You bet, and I’m not proud of it.

At the same time, I don’t want to be That Parent — in this case, That Parent who allows my kid to walk up and grab a toy from my neighbor’s sweet, adorable, smaller child.

For ADHD adults, a lifetime of social struggles

I suspect many ADHD adults teeter along this line. Our families are often a little different, and that’s okay. We’re used to being different.

But as parents, we don’t always want our kids to be different. Reconciling our differences with friends’ parenting norms can feel impossible for ADHD adults already lacking social confidence.

I’ve struggled with social skills since kindergarten. Elementary and middle school were tough, but by high school I’d joined what one of my teachers referred to as the “Fringe of Weirdness.” Thanks to the FoW, not fitting in became a way of fitting in.

As an adult, and especially as a parent, I feel older, more tired — mostly more tired of myself. To the chagrin of my 13-year-old self, who listened to the Sex Pistols and dyed her hair with Kool Aid, I wish I could be more like everyone else.

In a group of parents, even parents I know well, I struggle to read social cues and figure out where and how I fit in. Before play dates, I remind myself to make eye contact, ask questions, and pay attention to how long I’ve been speaking without a break. I try to observe others’ behavior to make sure I’m not too far off.

Often, I forget all of these strategies and agonize over my behavior hours later. During the preschool years, my people skills will define my child’s social life.

It’s not hard to see how, after a lifetime of social illiteracy, I feel disempowered to assert my parenting philosophies in a group.

better parent

Leading our children away from the Fringe of Weirdness

In an ecosystem where intervention and hands-on teaching — saying “you need to share,” negotiating turn-taking, mediating conflicts — are almost synonymous with good parenting, expressing dissent feels risky. Failing to follow social norms might make me appear inconsiderate, inattentive, or like I won’t teach positive social behavior (none of which are true).

I love to say “I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” but when it comes to letting others think I’m selfish, inconsiderate, irresponsible, or a poor parent, that’s a big lie.

Not to mention, similarity in parenting styles makes friends — and not just for me. R.’s and my lives are both made richer by our lovely social group and support system. I live in near-constant fear of jeopardizing that for us, especially given my lackluster friend-making skills.

The irony of wanting to look like a good parent

Many, many ADHD adults struggle to maintain close social relationships. It’s understandable not to want to rock the boat now that I’m in such a good place.

However, in trying to make a good impression as a responsible parent, I’m not being the best parent I can be for my kid. It won’t escape him. Once R. gets a little older, he’ll no doubt call me out on it. I want to teach him the confidence and conviction to do so.

Hoefle recommends in her book that we tell others, “I’m raising thinking kids.” But how are parents who already struggle with verbal communication supposed to say that without implying that other parents aren’t? Especially parents we like and respect?

In my long track record of social faux pas, I’ve offended people in conversations with far lower stakes. Our convictions as parents are so strong, our identities as “good parents” so easily challenged, it’s going to take more than “it’s okay, I’m raising a thinking kid.”

But what it will take, I have no idea. Most days, I’m not sure where to begin.

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The only early childhood activity worth my money

“Whose child is this?”

Talk about mortifying parenting moments. This one happened at a sing-a-long story hour at our local library branch. All the other children were sitting placidly on their caregivers’ laps while R, who was probably around a year old at the time, had walked straight up to the front of the room.

music together graphic

He wasn’t misbehaving — at least, I hadn’t thought so — just hanging out a few feet away from the woman leading the program.

All the same, the woman brought the songs and stories to a grinding halt and told me, “you need to come get him.”

Later that day, my friends commiserated with me, then invited us to a different program at a different library.

After a few months of trying to corral my kid at that story  hour, I gave up.

Even now, R is only two. I have no idea whether to blame upbringing, temperament, or faulty neurochemistry. Or a kids’ program with developmentally inappropriate expectations.

What I do know: thinking (or saying) “all the other kids his age can handle it” helps no one.

We did eventually find an activity that works for us. If you have a kid between zero and five, it may work for you, too.

It’s called Music Together, and it’s the only kids’ activity that’s been worth my money.

Many of my parent friends say things like, “[the library sing-a-long story time] is just like Music Together, except it’s free.” It’s not. Mother Goose on the Loose style programs bear some similarities to Music Together, but perhaps the most important difference is this:

Music Together is research-based, kid-focused, and there are no expectations of the children.

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Not that they sit down, not that they dance at the appropriate time, not that they even stay in the circle with the other parents and kids.

The only expectations and rules are for the parents.

We sit in a circle, sing, and participate in the activities. We refrain from using our speaking voices and communicate only with music and singing. We model for our children and have faith that they are absorbing what’s going on and will join us when and how they’re ready.

The crazy thing is, they do. Just like author and parenting expert Vicki Hoefle promises us in Duct Tape Parenting, the fewer overt attempts we make to control our kids’ behavior, the more they’ll impress us.

Music Together is the only structured activity I’ve encountered that promotes a non-interventionist policy with the kids. Unless they’re being unsafe or unreasonably disruptive (e.g. screaming or running), parents are supposed to just let them do their thing.

For a while, I thought Music Together would fail us, too — or we’d fail it. R spent most of the class climbing under a side table or sitting on a long bench in the back of the room. Our teacher told me to give him time.

Then, one day, he came over and sat in my lap. He walked up and engaged with the teacher, smiling and dancing. He started singing the songs at home.

My hard work and patience had paid off.

I know there’s an argument that kids need to learn certain skills: how to sit still, how to stand in line, how to listen attentively. I’m committed to helping my child do all those things. What I won’t do is force him to practice those skills for their own sake, in an environment that feels unnecessarily restrictive. I’ve stopped looking at the other kids and started looking at the environment and expectations — from my toddler’s perspective.

If you have a kid between birth and age five and you’re sick of reminding him what to do during activities that are supposed to be fun, look up Music Together. Don’t be shy if your child has special needs. The program welcomes and includes them, and even lists tips for a successful class experience with your child. If there’s a class in your area, ask about dropping in for a free trial. Many programs will let you observe a session before you commit.

Parents with young children: what has been your experience with activities and educational programs? What has worked for you? What hasn’t?

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Book Review: Duct Tape Parenting

Cover image: Duct Tape Parenting by Vicki Hoefle Do you yearn for less chaos, more connectedness, and a more fulfilling life with your children?

Duct Tape Parenting: A Less Is More Approach to Raising Respectful, Responsible, and Resilient Kids might turn your current parenting philosophy on its head. Or it could reaffirm what you’ve always believed but never translated to reality.

Reading a parenting book may feel like a chore, but it can be a game-changer for ADHD families. Agreeing on a consistent strategy with buy-in from both parents will generate immediate rewards. You’ll also gain a common language to discuss those inevitable parenting challenges. As a bonus, parent educator Vicki Hoefle‘s suggestions for family meetings, road maps, and sharing appreciations will benefit everyone — not just kids.

Duct Tape Parenting‘s central conceit is that kids need autonomy and responsibility. Also, attention of any kind — negative or positive — reinforces their behavior. Our job is not to nag and con children into doing the right thing, it’s to guide them toward self-actualization.

Hoefle’s hands-off approach requires a paradigm shift and a willingness to endure messes and imperfection. It also helps kids develop resiliency and executive function that will set them up for a lifetime of success. Perhaps most important, it takes the pressure off of us to keep the whole family organized.

Duct Tape Parenting will be difficult for ADHD adults. That duct tape in the title? It’s for you. In other words, success with Hoefle’s method relies on impulse control at just the moment when restraint feels most difficult.

Don’t give up, though — it’s worth the effort. Parents with ADHD will love the end result: a family where everyone contributes according to their ability and takes responsibility for their own needs.

Once you step back and let your kids show you what they can do, you’ll be amazed at how capable even young toddlers can be. Divvying up responsibilities and letting your kids take ownership of daily activities saves you a lot of grief trying to keep track of everything on your own.

Teaching kids to be resourceful and independent will also give them a boost in executive functioning skills — a gift that will benefit ADHD kids for the rest of their lives. A parent who coaches, nags, reminds, and bails out an ADHD child robs him of a safe, supportive environment to learn coping and organizing skills. He’ll need to succeed without you eventually — now is the time to let him practice, make mistakes, and build his confidence.

While Hoefle lays out a solid, sensible, high-impact plan for family effectiveness, I found a few key points missing. For one, Hoefle doesn’t thoroughly address behavior management in a  social group. Children are often part of a regular social group with its own expectations and norms. What if my two-year-old spars with a friend’s toddler over a toy and we have differing ideas on how (and when) to intervene?

My weekly playgroup might be open to discussing these issues. One-time events like trips to the playground or birthday parties present a different challenge. At some point I’m willing to let my child lose a friend over poor behavior, but preschool seems too young. I would’ve appreciated advice on how to guide my child’s behavior in a group setting without being overly directorial.

Speaking of age, too many of Hoefle’s anecdotes omit the child’s age. How to implement Hoefle’s ideas at each stage of childhood is largely left up to the reader.

Overall, Duct Tape Parenting is worth a read for exhausted ADHD parents everywhere. Fair warning: Hoefle’s tone can be off-putting. She begins the book by pointing out far more problems than solutions and has a habit of quoting herself at the beginning of chapters. Parents already feeling downtrodden may find themselves feeling more so, and attachment parenting devotees may not make it past Chapter One.

I hope these issues of tone and structure won’t discourage too many parents from finishing the book. It will change the way you view your job as a parent and lead you to a more fulfilling life with your family.

Any other duct tape ADHD parents out there? Please share your experiences in the comments!

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