My truth about having ADD

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Nobody wants to be completely honest. Unless there’s wine involved 😉

I read so many ‘mommy blogs.’ I pander to them in my work as a blogger/social media marketer. I identify with them as a mom. Until I’ve read so fucking many of the same goddamn thing, I just wish bitches would shut the fuck up!

And then, late at night (or early in the morning — or whenever a quiet moment and inspiration align), I become one. I am shouting out into the ether, begging for someone to notice me. I want to know that I am not alone. I want to entertain or relieve or relate to someone else out there.

And I want to do about 56 billion other things because I have ADD. That means Attention Deficit Disorder, although it seems to be classified as “Inattentive” ADHD.

I am still struggling with recognizing this as an actual disorder. Everyday, I feel like, “If I was good enough….,” this wouldn’t be a problem. And I don’t know that that isn’t true. 😦

But I do know that since I began admitting that I was attention deficit, and taking medication for it, I have been able to complete more sentences. I have also burnt less food, and I have been able to remember why I was mad at any one of my numerous children, instead of just blaming my agitation on my generic failures as a mother.

Does any of this make sense? Or do I just sound like a bigger basket case for putting a label on it?

Depending on your answer, I could go on indefinitely about it…haha, that is the nature of the disorder!

If I showed you my night in IG posts

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**this is not a ‘booty call’ but my everyday life in our 2-parent household.

<<<screenshot of your “Restricted” caller ID on my phone screen>>>

<<<pic of me picking up your list of requests from the store (wine/beer@target)>>>

<<<pic of my bright idea to sneak into some sexy underthings beneath my uniform of yoga pants and comfy T’s>>>

<<<photo of my sly smile as you comment on how long it took me when i ran upstairs to fetch your glasses>>> *winking emoji**

<<<pic of me feeling compromised in the lingerie you bought me but didn’t know I was wearing under my clothes>>>>

<<<pic of your closed door (because we don’t even share a bedroom)>>>

<<<<pic of me grabbing my glass of wine>>>

<<pic of your abandoned drinks on the floor>>

<<pic of the baby monitor flashing, declaring #lastcall>>

<<pic of me alone in bed>>>

It’s a little too personal to show, but I wonder who else would understand/relate to the story?

I never wanted to have kids….until I did…and then I didn’t, and now I do.

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I just read a very touching post from Scary Mommy about what it’s like for woman who never wanted to have kids. The writer asked that more people like her shared their story, so here I am.

When I was 15, I KNEW I shouldn’t have kids. I was too selfish. All of that was true then, and I can’t really dispute it now.

When I was 17, I spent the summer babysitting my cousin’s newborn. I KNEW I NEEDED a baby! What could be more amazing than viewing the world through those brand new eyes? Every month became a gamble of whetther or not I took my birth control pills regularly and whether or not I was sexually active or in a relationship or happy or concerned when my period wasn’t there the moment I thought it should be.

When I was 19, I got pregnant. I still desperately wanted a baby, but I hadn’t exactly intended to make that dream a reality just yet. I had just recently gotten engaged, and the due date was inconveniently close to the wedding date we’d been eyeballing. We moved things up a few months and it was very exciting. Until 2 years later when I realized that was not the life I wanted and why in the hell are children allowed to make adult decisions?

But I already had a baby and that was a good thing because otherwise, I would have still been a child pretending to make adult decisions with no comprehension of their effects. That feeling persisted for a long time, and still happens from time to time even though I’m in my 30’s.

No matter what happened, my time with just one child was amazing. Of course there were tough moments, but it was amazing.

Then I found myself in a new relationship and it was pretty good and another baby seemed like the thing to seal the deal. So I “wanted” that one — our pregnancy was “intended” and while our relationship had rocky times, everything about baby #2 was great.

But then the rocky times turned into mountains and canyons and earthquakes and I had no idea what was going on. I wondered wtf was wrong with me/us for even having the kid(s) we had. And it was like a total shocker to me that I ended up pregnant with #3. He said he planned it; like it was a way to create order out of the chaos we were in. I vacillated between feeling like a complete idiot, like he had hammered another nail into the coffin that was our broken relationship, and like it was the best thing ever/a chance to do things right after everything had seemed so wrong.

Finally, a few months after being a mom of 3, I knew that no matter what, we were all in it together. So then it was just like, “Well three kids is nucking futz, four can’t be any crazier,” and just like that, we were expecting our fourth. He’s two now and I have never been more excited for the tubal ligation I have scheduled next month.

I still have no idea what I’m doing but I’m here. Every day is filled with moments when my heart is so full I think it will burst, and also with moments when I feel guilty for doing something I always knew I’d never be any good at. I don’t have anything wise or clever to say, but to anyone else who ever felt anything like this…or that…you’re not alone. And the world keeps spinning, so don’t let your worries stop you.

“It’s just a phase,” and other lies we tell ourselves…

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I am constantly falling behind.

I am always forgetting something.

I’ve sought an ADD diagnosis and taken meds — things got better, but stuff still slips through the cracks.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I can do two things well at any given time, but I always have at least three things that need to be done. The most pressing issues are taking care of my family, taking care of my job, and taking care of my home. I shuffle those three around, always trying to prioritize family. Once in a while, I let myself take precedence, but when a ball drops (which it inevitably does), I scold myself and try to put out the fires.


The “baby” turned two in March. Just in the last six weeks, he has entered “The Terrible Two’s.” I used to be able to bring him everywhere with me and as long as he was able to cuddle with Mom, he was fine. But now he is a stubborn S.O.B. and taking him anywhere means endless compromise; moving at a snail’s pace, and absurd arguments and conversations voiced very loudly because he doesn’t understand ‘inside voices’ yet.

I tell myself, “It will get better,” because I’m an optimist. But in cynical moments like this, I feel like I’ve always been saying that, and it is just another excuse for failure.

When we were geographically separated from my family, I said it would would better once we were all nearby one another again. When I was pregnant with Baby No. 4, I said it would be easier when I wasn’t pregnant. When I was breastfeeding the baby, I said it would be easier once he was weaned. Once he was weaned, I talked about how he would start to sleep on his own be less dependent on me…but I haven’t quit co-sleeping and he is such a great snuggle-buddy, I don’t know when I will! LOL =/


I am currently pinning my hopes and dreams on next fall when 3 out of 4 kids will be in school (albeit the 4 year old will only go half days — God bless FL for offering free VPK!), it feels like a huge victory to have the majority of children out of the house for free for any number of hours. At that time, the “baby” will be about 2.5, and God-willing (who am I kidding? I don’t put any faith in “God,” but hope I will find the balls to make him sleep by himself), will be in his own room – or sharing with his big bro (the 4 y/o).

Meanwhile, every time something falls through the cracks, whether it’s a missed deadline for work, or a forgotten familial obligation, or just seeing a fucking bug in the house because I haven’t mopped in three weeks, I keep telling myself, “It’s just a phase!”

Am I delusional? (If the answer is “Yes,” I don’t wanna know…)

Remembering why I started this….

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I like writing.

When I took the ASVAB test in 7th grade (just had to Google that to see if it was still a thing, my self-restraint is working overtime to keep me on track with this post instead of seeing if I can retake it online right now for free. This is why I never get things done!) it said I should be a writer. I thought that was cool since I liked to write but never really imagined it panning out.

When a company I was working for asked me to write for their blog, I was stoked. And now I like to say with a little bravado, “I’m a writer.” But then I quickly downplay that because blogging doesn’t feel like what 7th grade me thought the ASVAB results meant (and since blogging wasn’t even a thing back then, it clearly wasn’t!).

But anyway, I started (and haphazardly maintain) this blog because I like writing. And also because I wanted to write down some of the good things about life, the happy moments that are too quickly forgotten in the onslaught of undone chores and never-ending negotiations. I kind of veered off of that noble track because I like to think of myself as kind of clever and witty, maybe even funny, so I’ve been trying to share more of my humor here. But I was just rereading older posts (is that narcissistic?) and got all sentimental about this one.

BGSo to hop back on that track for a moment, I wanted to preserve this piece of art (before it becomes a piece of trash) that my Kindergartner made for my 2 year old. He is currently OBSESSED with “Bubble Guppies” so she wrote “bg” on the picture. I’m not sure if there are any more connections to the show and the picture than that, the blue could be water, but it could be sky — it looks like there is a sun in the upper right…? The lower portion has some yellow circles, your guess is as good as mine….

But it sure was sweet and thoughtful, wasn’t it?!?!?

5 Reasons Motherhood is a Lot Like Prison.

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*Advanced apologies to any actual prison inmates, employees, etc… This is just the ranting of a SAHM.

I feel like a prisoner.

Maybe its because I’ve been binge watching Prison Break on Netflix but my 14 month old son is that asshole guard Bellick.  Really, my 14 month old is not an asshole.  He is sweet and adorable and smiles and laughs at me all day and I wouldn’t smile nearly as much if I didn’t have all of his joy to reflect.  (I just had to take him away from digging in the trash – seriously his favorite thing to do.)  But the mofo is stuck on me like glue…maybe Bellick is the wrong comparison but it is because of this guy that I cannot do a damn thing in peace or privacy, so it kind of feels like prison.

The other 3 kids could be inmates, guards, wardens, corrupt members of the legal system….it doesn’t really matter who you analogize them to be, it feels like they are all ruining my life.  No.  I don’t mean that.  The guilt I feel for thinking, saying or typing that is immeasurable – only I truly can’t even shit alone, so it kind of feels like I’m in prison (without all the impending doom I imagine).

  1. I don’t get to set my own schedule. Wake up time is when the youngest wakes up. His demands of, “Up! I wanna walk!” (which sounds like “ehhh!!!! onna awlk!!!!”) incite me into action before he’ll alert the other inmates (children) or warden (husband) with his insubordination.
  2. The food sucks! Some might say that at least I get to pick what I eat, but the reality is:  I can spend time making something I like (whilst tripping over a toddler and fending off a hundred other unwanted advances), only for the kids to refuse to eat it and demand 87 other things. By the time I get any leftovers, they are cold, unappealing and I’m too damn tired to eat anyway. Or they actually like the food and clear their plates, requesting seconds before I have a chance to sit down, and when I finally find the time to make myself a plate, the pan is empty. My calories mostly come from the leftovers I scrape from the high chair tray and wine (where there is no doubt, my life is full of a beautiful freedom of choice between dry reds, fruity whites, bubbly mixes, and everything in between!).
  3. Yard time is mandatory. Like it or not, we are going outside. Just listen to the toddler yell “Ow-ide!!!” (“outside”) as he deftly flips the deadbolt and sprints across the yard (barefoot and wearing nothing but a diaper nonetheless!). Unfortunately, these outings don’t follow a routine schedule (see #1) and frequently occur when I am on the phone, the toilet, or otherwise indisposed.
  4. I’m subject to unannounced searches. The things I ‘hide’ in my nightstand drawer do not remain hidden. If i take the time to brush my teeth, a minor will take the time to rifle through my drawers and that is an awkward conversation! Likewise, that candy bar I stealthily purchased at the grocery store and swiftly stowed away inside my purse was promptly discovered when I was desperately trying to distract my screaming child in the doctor’s waiting room.
  5. Don’t drop the soap! This might not be as painful in my life as it is in prison, but it is probably equally unpleasant. While bending over to retrieve dropped soap in prison can lead to a violation, dropping the soap with a toddler in tow will lead to said toddler man-handling said soap. Anyone who has ever Googled home remedies for constipation knows soap = defecation. This is a lose-lose situation either way!

I’m only 10 years into a life sentence, and I gotta say, solitary confinement doesn’t sound so bad!

Motherhood is Tearing Me Apart

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Today started like any other day.

I tried to sneak out of bed quietly and limit the number of chit’lins I was up against – failed miserably.
Picked up the baby, went to the girls’ room and told them to get dressed and come downstairs. Pretended the 3 year old was still asleep and went downstairs myself (baby in tow, of course – myself is actually a synonym now meaning me+baby).

I prepared an awesome home lunch for the kindergartner (I included a Ziploc of blueberries to round out the Lunchable) and thought we would make it out the door in plenty of time, but was thwarted by a 10 year old who insisted it was okay to wear flip flops to school, despite having been specifically instructed otherwise just yesterday morning. The girls disembarked from the minivan 2 minutes AFTER the last bell – for the 2nd time this week (and it’s only Wed.)

Needing stress relief, I came home and indulged in 2 bowls of cocoa puffs which I keep hidden on the top shelf behind some bags of dried soup in the pantry. I felt a twinge of guilt as I left my 3 year old watching cartoons on Netflix while I went upstairs to put the baby down for a nap, but did it anyway. Tried to make up for it by snuggling with him on the couch when I got back downstairs, but was torn by the feeling I should be using that time to handle a few of the to-do’s I never get around to when the baby is up. The rest of the day went on like that – feeling torn between the things I wanted to do, the things I needed to do, and the things they wanted.

I’ve come to realize I can really only do TWO things adequately at any given time. I can 1) take care of my family, and 2) maintain my home, or I can 1) take care of my family, and 2) do my job*. Like any mother, I am usually worrying about whether or not the way I ‘take care of my family’ is good enough; shouldn’t the kids be in extracurricular activities for enrichment? Shouldn’t they be given more freedom and independence and time outside? Shouldn’t they be more closely supervised? Shouldn’t they be doing more around the house? Shouldn’t they be on an organic diet/getting more exercise/reading more/having less screen time, etc…? And where is my husband in all of this? Shouldn’t he be getting some play (literally and figuratively!)? And in addition to my three major responsibilities (family, home, work), there are eleventy billion other demands chiming in (why the hell am I wearing yoga pants if I haven’t ever done yoga?).

Where does that leave us (see, I speak in plural sometimes because I am never alone – and I hope, I beg, and I pray that you can relate so the “us” is even more applicable)? Being a mother has given meaning to my life, but it is coming at a very serious cost.

Have you figured out how to budget your time?

*my “job” is a beautifully flexible part-time arrangement of working from home as a writer/social media marketer