That was the assignment for last night’s Mothers Who Write class — the workshop I’ve co-taught for years with my dear friend Deborah Sussman Susser. We wanted our students to write about health care, but frankly, we weren’t interested in 15 essays about health care reform.

So the ever-wise Deborah came up with “home remedy” — and it was just what the doctor ordered. We spent two hours workshopping amazing pieces on topics ranging from the remedy for jalapeno pepper in the eye (salt under the tongue!) to the remedy for a troubled marriage (shining the sink — long story) with incredible tales behind each.

Funny we chose that topic, since I’ve been struggling myself with the notion of home remedies. I haven’t applied any, but have been gathering suggestions. The malady: possible ADHD.

We had the much-awaited (by me, anyway) IEP team meeting this morning at Sophie’s school, and it actually went pretty well.

The mystery of the wandering kid was solved. She sometimes finds her way upstairs at the end of lunch — everyone is now aware of this and looking out for it, and Annabelle’s teacher will be asked to report immediately if it happens again. I got to give my speech about how my two priorities are that Sophie be safe and that she not disrupt others’ learning environment. Everyone looked appropriately uncomfortable, since the subtext is that Sophie deserves to be at this school as much as any other kid — at least, that’s what the law says. I didn’t raise my voice and afterward, no one asked me if I was raised in New York. Progress, I think.

Turning to academics, we rewrote some of Sophie’s goals to incorporate more inclusion in the classroom, talked about  concerns, shared successes –and across the board, every therapist and Sophie’s teacher commented that she has trouble paying attention.

I’ve heard that before. Several times. Including from two psychologists.

But here’s the thing. Even if she does, in fact, have ADHD, I’m not going the heavy-duty medication route with Sophie.

Not that I judge you if you do — far from it. I’m all in favor of better living through chemistry.

But Sophie has a serious heart condition. So no way, even if I could switch cardiologists til I found one who said okay to the meds (as a psychiatrist and psychologist have each suggested I do). No way.

There are home remedies, I’ve been learning. But to me (and maybe it’s just because I’m naive) some seem akin to one student’s tale last night of her mother’s home remedy for any injury: Wrap the afflicted limb in a whiskey-soaked shmatta (rag) and then Saran Wrap til the circulation is practically cut off.

I explained the ADHD medication conundrum to the group at school this morning, and the principal piped up. “Have you heard about Mountain Dew?” she asked.

As a matter of fact, Sophie’s physical therapist mentioned it just yesterday, I told her. 

Apparently I’m the last to know that many parents give their kids a can of Mountain Dew after school. It calms them down so they can do their homework — a sure sign the kid has ADHD (or ADD, I’m using them interchangably in my ignorance).

At this point, I’m not ready to buy a case of Mountain Dew — or Coke Zero, as another therapist suggested. What I really need — and what I keep asking people for — is a referral to a medical doctor who can give me some ideas for supplements. And if a doctor who understands Sophie’s heart condition, and understands Down syndrome — not just the super-popular ADHD thing — suggests Mountain Dew, I’ll be happy to try it.

I don’t know if the caffeine will hurt Sophie’s heart. Even some supplements like Omega 3 fatty acids are not good for a kid with a heart condition. I’m not taking any chances. I’d rather have my flighty kid good and alive.

Last night after class, I tossed the question out there: “Anyone know an expert in ADHD who’d work with a kid with Down syndrome and a heart condition?” One student suggested a doctor in Los Angeles who bases his ADHD diagnoses on brain scans. (“Are you okay with spending a lot?” she asked.) Another promised to ask her son-in-law, an alternative medicine expert in Sedona.

My dear friend Mrs. M. has given me a pile of reading material; I have a feeling the answer’s in there. But my favorite suggestion so far has come from one of Sophie’s more spirited therapists. I adore this woman, and laughed out loud at her very honest list of remedies some use:

“If all else fails, a good shot of a strong spirit or a glass of wine, or a cup of coffee (no sugar),” she wrote in an email this week.

For the record, this therapist does not believe Sophie has ADHD, but has been helpful in offering advice on many things — she’s very smart and dedicated. I adore her. But Sophie doing tequila shots? Swilling lattes? I was leaving the therapist a voice mail the other day, and Annabelle overheard me.

“Mommy, why were you talking about Sophie drinking coffee?” she asked. “Is that part of her therapy?”

“Not right now, it isn’t!” I replied. “But sometimes coffee can help adults pay attention, and some people think Sophie doesn’t pay attention very well. Haven’t you noticed that, when we are all doing homework?”

Annabelle considered that. “Yes,” she said. “But I just always figured that ‘s because Sophie isn’t interested in what you want her to do.”

From the mouths of babes….

In any case, no iced mochas for my youngest baby — not til an M.D. hands me a prescription.

Stranded at the drive-in./Stranded a fool./What will they say — Monday at school?

And so I did (with apologies to John Travolta). The good thing is, the monsoon winds were blowing so loudly, no one could hear.

I had my doubts about the drive-in, even though my friend Kathy (she of cupcake baking fame) has been raving about it for years. It’s on the edge of town, technically on the Salt River/Pima Indian reservation (yes, we have bona fide Indian reservations, and that’s what they call them, here in metro Phoenix) and Kathy swears it’s a few degrees cooler.

Damn, she’s right. Maybe it’s the breeze blowing in from the waterpark across the street (that’s a joke, as is the waterpark itself, “Big Surf,” because yes, 40 years ago someone decided we needed to surf in the desert) or the fact it’s a bit removed from the concrete jungle. For whatever reason, though the temperature reached 110 yesterday, by nightfall at the Scottsdale Drive In, it was practically bearable.

Kathy whipped up a whole wheat pasta salad, set out lawn chairs, a small table and blankets, and made a bed for the girls in the back of her SUV. We had a whole posse, which included another large car, several more chairs, two moms and four more kids, a huge cooler and oatmeal cookies with dark chocolate M&Ms. It was a great time.

Ice Age III (what I saw of it, anyway) was not bad. The sound from the car radios was surprisingly good; the only drawback was that several batteries died by night’s end.

The best part: Sophie. This is the movie-going experience for my child! Like the princess with the pea, she tried every lawn chair, the back of each car, the blankets and every lap, before finally demanding she be strapped into her car seat, where she relaxed in luxury. The best part: She didn’t disturb a soul. (Not much, anyway.) I can’t remember the last time I took Sophie to the movies and she didn’t spend the entire time begging to go to the bathroom, then admitting she didn’t have to go once there. The most memorable experience was when we saw Mamma Mia last summer and Sophie ran down to the front of the theater and danced practically on top of the screen. (The staff were not amused.)

She’s got Down syndrome, that’s for sure, but as I filled out the multi-sheet questionaire from the latest psychologist yesterday, I wondered what the paper diagnosis would be, given my answers: Sophie’s got no attention span, she won’t sit still, she doesn’t always interact appropriately with others. Sounds like ADHD to me. Or even autism, and since this shrink is famous for giving that diagnosis to anyone who comes through the door, I better brace myself.

Not that I think Sophie’s autistic. Trust me, she’s not. But if you saw her at the movies — hands over ears, running down aisles, refusing to listen to reason….

As usual, I digress. The drive-in experience was wonderful, and left me sad that it’s a dying breed. Funny, because outdoor movie-going is all the rage, as long as it’s in a hotel pool or at a fancy park. Slate just did a piece on it this week. (To which I’ll say only, lady, you’re lucky if anyone ever invites you anywhere again, let alone a movie, after writing that.) I prefer the old school experience, for sure — a place still untouched by development (bless the Native Americans for moving slowly on such things), rickety and low budget ($6.50 for three of us for a double feature!) and, as Kathy puts it, “a dustbowl by day.”

“But see how it’s transformed into a wonderland at night?!” she asked, relaxing against her poofy comforter, diet cherry limeaid in hand, thrilled she’d finally dragged us all along.

She better watch out. We’ll be back, and we’re taking her with us.