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Motherhood-Induced ADD
Diagnosis of ADHD with one of our kids a few years ago explained a lot. Since the kid had little if no physical manifestations of meandering thoughts, it never dawned on us until dysgraphia entered the picture that the kid struggled to keep it together. Needless to say, once diagnosed, we’ve had many moments of “no wonder….”
I’ve decided he got it from me.
He must have.
For me, Attention Deficit Disorder all started about the time I became a mom. Well maybe not at first, but once number 2, then 3, for sure 4, and definitely 5 (Ed: 5!!! Kay you are my hero.) came along I far passed any semblance of “normal” (but that’s another story), and I find myself full-fledged disordered. In fact, it’s amazing I get anything done.
For instance, last Friday I set out to find my phone (…it’s a shame that thing isn’t connected 
Sorry to have been MIA last week. We had quite the moving experience. (More on that later.) As we sit at the cusp of our nation’s greatest privilege – exercising the right to vote – might we take a moment to consider our foundational rights. And while we do, let’s pause for another moment to recognize the often unspoken rights of motherhood:
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all mothers are created special; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, the pursuit of Happiness,… and then some.
The Right to “Eat the First One”
Upon opening a bag of food, or passing sacks from the driver’s seat to the rear of the car, a mother has the right to say and subsequently do the following: “I’m just going to eat one…” This 
“Are you still mad at me?” I ask my tween girl. Due to multiple carpool pick-ups and a brother that met with his teacher after school dominoe-ing tardiness for my other drop-offs and pick-ups, she was late to her Bible study. I explained to her, as she huffed out of my car 10 minutes late, that I thought it “interesting” that she was going to a “Bible study” mad because her mother was late due to putting others interests ahead of her own. …
She didn’t see it that way.
“I’m not mad at you, but I’m still mad that I was late.” she chirped. But the happy chirping quickly changed to sour. Maybe it had something to do with my inability to stop the ribbing response from coming out of my mouth. Followed by my bugging statements.
“You look like you’re mad.” 
Rarely do I get a minute to myself. Especially in the summer. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a mother that lives for the summer and carefree schedules. I could never homeschool. My kids would be incredibly dull and light-years behind their peers academically because I just can’t stop myself from taking the better offer to the park, or the movie, or … well anything. Oh yeah, and though recovering, I’m still working on my procrastination and organizationally impairment. So when summer finally arrives, I sink into it – every unscheduled moment of it.
But along with the footloose and fancy free attributes, summer also ushers in close quarters of sorts. We’ve got lots of bodies and limited space (… still farm dreaming over here.) So why does it surprise me when my personal time and space is