Hey, I just noticed that this is my 100th post! I wonder what will happen when I hit the publish button. Do balloons drop from the ceiling, or anything? Does Ed McMahon show up with one of those giant fake checks? Who sweeps up the confetti? This is really exciting. I'll let you know what I win.
I am the original A.D.D. girl. I've never been formally diagnosed with A.D.D., but in my case, no medical degree is required. It's pretty much a no-brainer. Anyone who knows me- No, anyone with eyes, ears, and a 1st grader's ability to reason could make the diagnosis (are you snickering right now, Lanie, thinking how true that is?). If you go back and read through some of my previous posts, you'll probably even see evidence of it. Anyway, what does this have to do with anything? Well, Tuesday is Michael's 16th birthday. Don't see the connection? Just hang on. We'll get there.
This year Michael said he wants nothing but money for his birthday. He's saving for some stupid, useless-but-ridiculously-expensive-gadget, that I will view as an irresponsible, ill-considered waste, and then it will wind up broken, probably due to his own negligence, which he will deny and then try to blame on someone else, just like the time he went sledding with his brand new ipod in his pocket and it never worked right again after that, but it somehow wasn't really his fault because it was probably defective all along, then we will argue and I will tell him just how foolish I thought it was that he wasted his money on it and why didn't he just listen to me in the first place, then this never would have happened, and... Oh, I digress. But, it's so hard not to with all these fond memories swirling around. Good times. Family fun.
Back to our story... Mike only wants money. No party, no nothing. Not even a T-shirt (which I already bought, BTW. Our family has a thing for funny T-shirts). Just cash. Whatever I would have spent on each balloon, streamer, and donkey tail, is to be deposited directly into his hot little hand. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn't it? A sentimental sap, that Mike is.
So, when we don't have a party or some big, expensive activity planned for a kid's birthday, I let them plan The Big Birthday Dinner, and I try to really fuss over them and make them feel special. Of course, I also let them choose the type of cake they want every year.
This year, Mike doesn't want cake. Fine. Whatever you want, Mike, it's Your Day. He wants apple pie. Fine. We'll have birthday pie. No, wait- he wants TWO apple pies. He thinks (quite accurately) that one pie will barely go around in this household, and he won't get any seconds. He doesn't want to arm wrestle his father for the last piece of pie, so... TWO apple pies. I can't say that I blame him, because I do make awesome apple pie. I realize, as a Christian, I shouldn't be a prideful person. I'm not supposed to boast. But a good Christian woman should be counted upon to always tell the truth, correct? So truthfully speaking, with no pride involved, I make awesome apple pie.
Mike also wants fried apples with his Big Birthday Dinner. Again, I must truthfully and humbly confess that my fried apples are pretty tasty. They're all buttery, and cinnamon-y. Yum! They go great with pork chops, which is what Mike has requested. I've never personally had the desire to follow fried apples with apple pie, but whatever... An evening of apples it is (and what is this kid's deal with apples, anyway? Isn't that just plain weird?).
Now, let's do a little math... There are 9 apples in each pie. That's 18 apples, if I'm not mistaken. I will probably have to use another 9 to make the batch of fried apples. We're up to TWENTY-SEVEN flipping apples, yes? And have we figured out yet WHY someone would want or need to eat apples both with the meal, then again as dessert after the meal, or are we still working on that one? I know I'm stumped. Can we all agree that something is not quite *right* with a person who craves such large and abnormal quantities of apples?
Now, do you see the problem?
WHO, exactly, has to sit there peeling and slicing the &%$# TWENTY-SEVEN apples? Is it the A.D.D. girl, who cannot stand any repetitive task? Hmm? Is it the one who is driven crazy by having to do the same thing for longer than five minutes? The one who is ready to jump up and flee from the worship service at church if a chorus is sung more than 3 times in a row? Huh? The one who is so easily distracted in a store, that the older children have to remind her it's a No-No to walk off from her little ones when she sees something shiny? Why, yes, Michelle. I believe it is.
It IS the A.D.D. girl who will be inhumanely and diabolically forced to sit on a kitchen stool, with eyes wet with tears and shoulders shaking with each sob, for hours (how many hours? 4? ...40?) peeling, peeling, peeling, slicing, slicing, slicing 27 apples. And how am I supposed to teach school during all this peeling and slicing? I am a one-task-at-a-time kind of girl. I won't be able to give my full attention to phonics beyond "A is for Apple." Math will be: If you have 10 apples, plus 17 more apples, how long does it take for Mommy to cry?
You know, all I did was have a baby. I played games, read stories, kissed boo-boos, suffered through Barney, and was- in every respect, if I do say so myself- a fabulous mother. Now, that baby grows up and wants to... what? What is he up to? Is this payback for not having any sympathy during the Ipod Incident of 06? What kind of sick, twisted torture is this?
My punishment is more than I can bear. How will I endure it? Straps and restraints of some kind will be involved, I'm sure. Medications will be required. It may even take armed guards to make me stay in that *#$% kitchen and finish the job.
I will need someone to show up at my house early Tues. morning to anoint me with oil and pray over me, that much is certain. Any volunteers? If you come, bring an apple peeler.