Just Another Day In Paradise...

I think I have ADHD. In fact, I'm convinced of it. If it had been in vogue when I was in grade school, I would have gotten a formal diagnosis and a prescription for-well, whatever they were prescribing for ADHD back then, which probably wasn't much, come to think of it. But at least I would have gotten the diagnosis, so when, in tenth grade when I forgot to do my homework for approximately two months, I could have just said "Sorry, I have ADHD" and maybe I wouldn't have had to repeat chemistry. I thought of that chemistry class recently, as I came across a twenty-something year old sweatshirt with stains on it from whatever chemicals were involved in that bunson burner incident.

I don't have the hyperactive type of ADHD, though. I have the sluggish variety. It causes me to wander around my laundry room in the morning, picking up random socks and wondering why no one has matched them. AGAIN. Great, so now I have to do it. Or, at least I have to find another sock that kind of, vaguely, sort of resembles this one, as I do a mental check of which of my children might have to remove their shoes today for gym, or for dance class, or for some weird foot painting thing in preschool (they got me with that one once--they won't get me with it again).

 I manage to find six socks. They are clean. I think some of them match--at least they did when I carried them upstairs. I can't guarantee they matched once they were actually on someone's feet. Eventually, after waffles (frozen), and milk (organic), and teeth brushing (by them) and hair brushing (by me) we all somehow get in the car. N was going to take the bus, which stops in front of our house, but somehow, with all the sock searching, I couldn't get her there on time. To the bus stop. In front of our house. So since I have to drive B to pre-school anyway, I decide to drive her, too.

N makes it to school on time. She is, however, obsessing over the fact that she couldn't find her math homework in her binder last night. She looked. J looked. I looked. She cried. J shook his head. I blamed myself, because if I wasn't working last night, I could have been home all evening and would have had hours to spend searching for the math homework that somehow got lost somewhere between school and home, though the binder was never opened until it was on the dining room table last night. Instead, because I was working, I came home to my daughter in a full blown frenzy, and I wavered between allowing her to obsess, since after all, second graders need to learn to keep track of their own homework, and calling the principal at home to open the school so we could go look for her homework in her desk (oh I'm kidding. Like she'd give me her phone number). Eventually, I settled for emailing her teacher at ten o'clock last night to let her know that N couldn't locate her homework, so that at least N wouldn't hide under desk today, rather than tell her herself.

I dropped B off at pre-school, came home and paid bills, chased O, did dishes, put O in time out for saying the word "stupid", finally had coffee, chased O,  had more coffee, put O in time out for saying the word "stupid", and realized it was time to go get B. I was running late. As we got in the car, O decided to flip himself over into the very back of our way too big SUV, behind where he actually sits, and I am now chasing him around the interior of the car before I can even attempt to strap him in, which has become a game in itself. I'm now even later. As we walk into the preschool, I realize that I never changed out of the clothes I hastily threw on after my shower this morning. The gray shirt. The camel colored cords. The blue tennis shoes. Really? What is wrong with me? I remind myself that I have ADHD. I wonder if my socks even match. Then I wonder if I even have socks on.

 We're only five minutes late, but B is the last one in the classroom. He is standing there, wearing his Elmo costume for their belated Halloween celebration, and he gives me a look that in four year old body language clearly says "You suck. And your clothes don't match".

His teacher smiles and says good-bye, and then adds "Please make sure you practice the alphabet with B" and suddenly, I feel like I am back in preschool and have just been told to go stand in the corner. I have never heard her tell anyone else to make sure they practice the alphabet. No one ever told me to make sure to practice the alphabet with N when she was his age. In fact, they said things like "Wow, you must really work with her. You must read to her a lot. You must spend a lot of time with her". And I smugly thought, Well of course I work with her. And read to her, and spend time with her. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?

Only now, as I am walking out of the classroom after B's teacher told me to make sure I practice the alphabet with him, I think that I don't read to him nearly enough. And when I try, he really doesn't have the attention span for it. And then I think that I'm too busy breaking up fights, and teaching people not to say stupid, and finding socks that match, to read to them as much as I'd like, plus to tell you the truth, by bed time, I am just really, really tired and can only get through one book. And by the way, I have ADHD, and I was the last mom here to pick up my child, and my clothes don't match, and I suck.

And then I think, Oh, we should probably take O home with us, too. So I ask B to go back to his classroom and get him.

I am obsessing over all of this on the way home--this is why N is so good at it--when it dawns on me. What are they even talking about? "B?" I ask. "Why does your teacher think you don't know the alphabet?" Because he does know his alphabet. I've heard him. And he knows most of the letters by sight and sound. I've heard him do that, too.

But I've also heard him refuse to acknowledge that he knows a single one. Because he's just sweet that way.

He doesn't answer me, and when we get home and I ask him to show me the letters in his name, he pretends he doesn't know them. Until I tell him I'm getting rid of all the Halloween candy, and he suddenly knows every one of those letters. (What he doesn't know is that I've already gotten rid of most of the Halloween candy. Namely, by eating it. I think I'm self medicating for my ADHD).

I think of sending B's teacher an email, telling her that while I do have ADHD, and I was late today for pick up, and my clothes didn't match, and I did almost leave my two year old there, I don't suck as much as she might think I do, because B really does know his alphabet.

But I decide against it.

I do get an email response from N's teacher, letting me know that her homework was in her binder the whole time, but it looked different than it usually does, so it was easy to miss and it was totally fine and not a big deal at all.

Which I'm pretty sure is code for "I heard your clothes didn't match today, and you probably didn't even have socks on, and you were late to pick up your four year old (who you don't read to nearly enough), and you almost left your two year old at his brothers preschool, but you don't really suck. You probably just have ADHD. Now go treat yourself to some more Halloween candy."

Wow.

How sweet is she?