I'm Driving Her Crazy

I really shouldn't be writing right now.

The very fact that I am writing right now, when I have a bajillion different things I should be doing, is the perfect illustration for what I've got to say.

Which is this:

Sometimes, an ADHD Mama can drive a RAD kid crazy.

I know, I know, I know.  Usually it's the RAD kids that spend their time driving their mothers crazy.  They feel this desperate need to control everything that goes on around them, and totally flip out/melt down/cease to function/become confrontational/annoy the pants off you/etc. when they can't.  Fact is, they need to learn that they can't control everything.  They need to learn that they can trust you to make the best decisions and to take care of everything they need.

And Miss M is learning. 
S l o w l y.  But definitely learning. 

Today, though, I feel just a bit sorry for the poor girl.

We're getting ready to leave for our trip to see Mr. J, and my method for trip preparation is making my control-seeking daughter insane.  To be fair, I really have no solidified method, which (I suppose) could drive any number of organized and schedule-keeping people crazy.  Do you know any of those super-focused and un-spontaneous people that never learned to just fly by the seat of their pants?  Maybe you even are one?  Would this drive you crazy, too?

Here's my ADHD-influenced method of packing for seven people:

1. I wake up at the regular time on the morning of the day I think we might leave.
2. I plan a departure time of "later tonight" or "sometime in the middle of the night" or "possibly tomorrow morning".
3. I begin doing all the laundry in the house.
4. As the laundry comes out of the dryer, I figure I'll put whatever we need into duffel bags.
5. I forget to change the laundry.
6. I spend an hour choosing DVDs for the car ride.
7. I gather things (completely randomly and one-at-a-time) as they come to mind.
8. When packing books, I get distracted and begin reading a book.
9. I forget to change the laundry.
10. I make a delicious fresh veggie tray.
11. I realize I still have to pack all our clothes and toiletries.
12. I write a blog post.
13. I forget to change the laundry.

   
"Mom, when are we leaving?  In the morning?  After nap time?"

"I don't know. When we're done packing."

"When will we be done packing?"

"I don't know. When I can't think of anything else to bring."

"Are we almost done?  Are we staying in a hotel tonight?  Are we driving all night?  Are we sleeping here?  Why can't you just tell me what time we're leaving?!" 

"I don't know what time we're leaving! Quit bugging me! We'll go just as soon as the mood strikes me!"


It's *almost* funny how much ADHD and RAD clash on a day like today.

Poor, poor kid. 

Guess I better go change the laundry.

This Summer

Wow, has it been a busy summer!  In some ways, we're having the first-summer-in-our-farmhouse-summer that we thought we would have last year, before our lives spiraled totally out of control.  We are, of course, minus one child and plus one baby from this time a year ago, but besides the obvious family upheaval both those facts create, we're just kind of taking it easy. 

Baby K - Our Little Farmer

Daddy is home all the time in the summer, which is beyond cool (I really like that guy), and we've started a handful of household and yard projects that should hopefully be finished by this fall....or maybe next fall....or at least some fall (fingers crossed).  We've also planted a garden, learned that gardens should be fertilized and weeded and that you shouldn't procrastinate when planting a garden, done a little school, taken several day trips to zoos and whatnot, and spent lots of time outside.  Baby A is a joy and is growing like the weeds in our garden, and Baby K (who is two-and-a-half and insists that he is still Mama's "big baby") is wreaking general adorable havoc on our lives as the first baby in our family to have read the book on terrible twos. 

Happy Baby!!!

I would say we've adjusted to our new normal...or at least as normal as this family gets. 

And me?  I have good days and bad.  Days when I would like to skip the step of pulling out my hair and jump right to shaving my head bald, and days when I know that I'm the most blessed girl there ever has been.  I've had tons of fun this summer, and days full of sadness.  Life is kinda like that for me.  Black and white.  Beautiful or ugly.  Headed in the right direction or falling apart.  God's working on me with that, reminding me that my happiness lies in Him and not in life's circumstances.  But hey, I'm a work in progress.  Thank goodness, too.  I would never be content to be this me for the rest of my life. 

This me is super busy, super tired (and periodically ornery), and has spent the entire summer losing the same five pounds over and over again.  At least I've kept up-to-date on my blog, though.  Wait.  That's not true.  What I meant to say was, at least I haven't wasted my writing time each day playing Candy Crush.

Wait.  Maybe I have.

See?  Work in progress, baby.  Work in progress.





Please pray for us this month!  We are headed out fairly soon to see Mr. J, this time as a family.  He has continued to make progress at his school, and sounds really excited to see us!  Pray that God does miraculous things during this visit in the way of healing, and that He ties our heartstrings together as only He can do.  God has been amazing and ever-present in this whole situation, and we know He will continue to do great things!  Thanks for praying with us!

Motherhood

This exact moment, begging to be frozen in time.

Sitting here, fragrance of toddler poo spread like a blanket on the inside of my nose and throat; dry heaves wondering if a green smoothie looks any different on the way back up.

Sitting here, heart beating an angry rhythm, watching a poop-covered tub-occupant clumsily wash himself with a bar of Daddy's soap; little chunks of number two bobbing in the wake.

Deep breaths, Mama, deep breaths.

Blood pressure slowly descending now. 
Initial fury at discovery of finger-painted masterpiece subsiding.

Canvas: crib
Medium: crap
Frequency: third time in as many months

Calming down now.
Calming down tubside while sitting on the throne, of all places. 
I love me some irony.

Nursing a baby, working through frustration with one available hand pecking words tumbling out, directing little puppeteers from room adjoining, and bathing a toddler covered hands, legs and cheeks (both sets) in greenish poo all while sitting on (sitting on, not using, mind you) an ugly 1970s greenish-gold toilet.

My life is less than glamorous.

And now I'm looking at my toddler, soap slipping between wrinkled fingers, getting away from little hands.  Fingers grasping, soap jumping.  Grasping and slipping and jumping.  And laughing.  Eyes smiling, squeals of delight, chubby cheeks all pushed up in million-dollar grins carved out of caked-on poo.

Frustration is lost.

How I love those poo-covered cheeks, and that poo-covered little boy who just yesterday was the nursing baby in my arms, and now uses manners and builds with "yegos" and is washing up all by himself with Daddy's green bar of soap.

And I look away for a moment, more words pecked out, and suddenly he's screaming, bubbly hands rubbing eyes all over.  Soap in eyes, stinging, hurting.  And guilt.  My poor baby, why on earth did I give you Daddy's soap?  Tear-free was far from my mind when I plopped you in that tub.

Rinsing and screaming and rinsing and screaming and shaky breaths drawn from still-sobbing lungs.  Mama makes it better, but Mama is so sorry she gave you that soap in the first place, little man.



I couldn't resist taking a picture. 
Call it payback if you will, but I have the feeling
this photo will pop up in the future.

Hour lost in scrubbing and playing and hair-washing screams that can never be avoided, and singing "scrub your toddler" songs.  And then drying and cuddling, wrapped in arms and a towel, I love on my sweet-scented barely-bigger-than-a-baby.  This wonderful, frustrating two-year-old, who knows his own mind and yet makes no sense at all; with the joy of discovering life dancing alive in his beautiful long-lashed blue eyes. 

And I know I'd scrub poo off him for a thousand years if he needed me to.

This is motherhood.  At its best, and at its worst.  This is my life, replayed over and over inside the core of each day coming end on end.  Anger, laughter, pride, fury, frustration, joy, guilt, and endless work, smiles, cuddles, love and wonder.  Always the wonder.

My heart overflows.