Inroverts versus Extroverts

Okay, I always chuckle when folks start trying to talk about introverts/extroverts. And I’m chuckling because I’m a Ms. Talky Pants whose brain curls into the fetal position when I spend too much time with other people. More unfortunate is that I can go from being totally stoked and jazzed up in a crowd, to brain shut-down in about 4.6 seconds.

But as both an introvert AND a woman with ADHD, I can totally relate to this post about the 10 myths about introverts. It sounds like the book he mentions needs to be on my christmas list.

Why? Because despite being talkative, loud, and totally comfortable with being the center of attention, I’m an absolute introvert. Am I capable of making small talk chit-chat with strangers and friends alike? Of navigating large crowds of people? Of being “out and about”. Well, sure. I’m capable. But my recharge time is much longer. And requires me to be alone.

Have you ever tried to be alone in a smaller house, with 3 other (male) people? And two dogs. I’m not a helicopter mom, but I do have helicopter kids.

What’s more interesting to me is the scientific connection this book suggests between introverts and dopamine. Lack of dopamine availability also being one of those things tossed around in the ADHD Land.. Which makes sense to me– dopamine problems cause information overload, and brains shut down. Dopamine is produced in the anterior frontal cortex of the brain, which also happens to be associated with focus and attention.

Now, what chafes my inner thighs, are those people (extroverts and non-ADHDers) that not only don’t get it– they don’t even try. If I hear, “well just do XYZ, it’s not that hard” one more time, I might flip. No one would look at a leukemia patient and say, “just make working bone marrow”. But take something that can’t be shown on a lab report and so start the nay-sayers who have no problem at all in suggesting that I should just stop being the way I am.

And, yeah, I take Dextroamphetamine so I can calm down– and function. Yes, I could drink 8 cups of coffee a day without suffering from any excess wakefulness, shakes or jitters (I don’t anymore– that’s why I have a prescription now). So this makes me strange? A little, I guess. Or maybe it’s the typically-brained that are the strange ones now– my people seem to be outnumbering yours, you know.

I’ve never looked at an extrovert and said, “hey, you’re broken because you can’t keep your own company for longer than an hour”. Personally, I think my ability to be alone without being lonely is a character trait, not flaw.

I’ve never looked at a non-ADHDer and asked them why they are only capable of having one idea at a time. I mean, I’ve certainly thought it, but to say it out loud would just be rude. I can’t even begin to quantify how many times folks said my issues are an excuse or that I’m somehow abnormal for the way my brain works. What’s worse, is that I sometimes have those doubts of myself, wondering why I can’t manage stuff that others around me do so seamlessly.

Then I think about all of the wonderfully strange ideas I have in a single day. And how I see the world in such a lovely off-beat way. It’s nice to realize that I like my introverted and distracted brain just fine.

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DIY Christmas Tree Memory Ornament

So, I’ve mentioned my obsession with pinterest, right? Any website that directs me to a place where I learn how to fold an origami box

for a ridiculously large pool noodle wreath AND how to do an overnight sock curl for my hair? This is my place.

Ha. Place. Like the internet is a tangible world. /Wait? It isn’t?/

So, I’ve had 16 clear glass ornaments for 3 years. I bought them on clearance during my E postpartum hormone binge. They then found their way onto that high closet shelf where my ideas go to wither and die. But these didn’t die– instead I would spuriously rediscover them every January. Until last January’s discovery, where a perfect storm of cleaning and ADHD medication prompted me to actually go put them with the other holiday decorations. It’s the little things that seem the most obvious (and simple) that kick my butt every time.

JB is out of town, which means I should be all sad about being on-tap for the solo parenting gig, especially during the crazy psychosis period that is Small People Leading up to Any Major Holiday. But instead I gleefully spread all my crafty stuff, covering every flat surface in the house. The kids might mention the cramped (nonexistent) sitting space– but then I turned on Mario Kart for an hour to buy their silence.

I am not ashamed.

Last night, I stumbled upon marblized glass ornaments.

Boo-ya. Easy-peasy. Okay, mine still need some loving (practice) but, dude. How simple is this? SO.Simple. Theoretically a 5 year old could do it– if they could handle watching paint dry. Which they can’t.

Where it gets exciting for me was thinking to make ornaments for each Small Person and some of their yearly highlights/interests. I went ahead and did some for JB and I, too. New family tradition? Done. Advice? Use the plastic ornaments for this one– E broke his within 10 minutes of it hitting the tree.

Not all my crafty projects have been successes. I plain a “FAIL” post when I’m finally done. Now I either need to go to bed or attempt a Batman snowflake. Thanks, Cathi. Just thanks. :)

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Happy Holidays!

No, really. Happy Holidays. And maybe even Merry Christmas, but when I say it I really mean, Merry Time of Santa Claus, Good Cheer and Delicious Apple Cider.

I’ve seen this blog post circulated around facebook for a few weeks, but it keeps sticking in my head. And since it keeps coming back AND I was just at the mall last night…

The only one who can take your Christ out of your Christmas is you.
How do you take Christ out of Christmas? You take Christ out of Christmas every time you:
Don’t take the high road.
Are less than loving, and patient, and kind.
Gossip, complain about, and judge others.
Are slow to listen and quick to anger.

Yeah. That. Actually, a lot of what she says. Including:

There are actual problems in the world, and whether someone says “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” is not one of them.

Now, for me–and contrary to the author of the original–I do feel like the overall message of Jesus– kindness and goodwill to all mankind– is not fully represented in the celebration of his birth (not in December, BTW. The significance of Dec. 25th relates to the Roman celebration for the rebirth of the sun god, Saturn.) I mean, one of the most memorable times of JC loosing his cool is with the vendors selling schwag at his temple. Methinks he’d prefer his birthday to be a little less flashy… but I’m totally just guessing.

Even with all that, I’m not suggesting that gifts shouldn’t be purchased, or even that I don’t struggle with getting caught up in the holiday hoopla of extreme excess (people, retail stores theme the tempo of their music to make you buy more. Make a playlist and take some ear buds. Save yourself.) But the sheer mass consumption this time of year? Overlaid by the parallel conversations about the reason for the season? Yeah, the dissonance strikes me deep in my sarcastic heart. Right in the place where irony lives.

I try to stay out of walmart/target/toy-r-us for the same reason I avoid buffet-style restaurants– piss poor impulse control. Bright lights– preferably blinking in beat to the overhead musack; BOGO deals? The only medications that could suppress my ADHD in the face of that sort of visually stimulating retail porn is an Ambien. And I have to be the one who shops, because I’m the one who stores the color/character/tagless shirt preferences that are the MOST IMPORTANT THING EVER to a Small Person.

So if you see me out there in the world, with my ear buds rocking 90s hip-hop, and my mouth chomping on gum… don’t distract me by saying hello, m’kay?

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No, Don’t throw that away!

I am sort of a hoarder-light. There are so many things that I can look at and think, “NO, that’s not GARBAGE! It can be reused. Into what, I have no idea.”

My darling husband is more of a, once a shower curtain, always a shower curtain kind of guy. So when our dog decided to protest the Small People by eating most of the puzzle pieces JB would have tossed the leftovers.

But I saw future opportunity! Snatching up the square tiles and hiding them adding them to my craft collection, they sat patiently for 3 years.

Apparently I’m on an anti-Pottery Barn kick. Because as I flipped through their christmas decorations and saw these signs (and prices), I immediately thought about my lonely puzzle boards.

Pottery Barn Hanging Signs

In two nights of half-watching South Park and Robot Chicken with the husband, I made these. Not perfect, not totally done. More importantly? Definitely not $100 worth of once-a-year-signs. I’m going to guesstimate my cost at $10 bucks, because once upon a time I had to buy the puzzles, the paint and the brushes. But they were all in-house when I got inspired. Which is why I don’t throw anything away.

Scattermom version

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Craft Bonanza

This time of year is Merry Important! (New phrase, courtesy of Z.)

Love:
My version of holiday decorating–especially with the Small People. This kind of magic is important to them– they have no idea what all the social implications are behind a Made In China Snoopy ornament, or the amount of money and fossil fuels that are wasted in the name of Griswald. They don’t conceptualize the vomitous greed that is stabbing someone with an ornament. Or that the current Occupy movements across the country are fighting the corporate greed of the credit cards that are underwriting everyone’s holiday cheer (and January antidepressants).

Now, as the adult, I do know about all of that crap. And as the adult, I get to decide how much of that crap comes into my house. Knowing about it is how I ended up on this crafting ride to begin with, you know? Because while I can’t craft a Batman Geotrax train (no really), I can craft something to offset that purchase.

It’s the crafting version of carbon credits.

And making new decorations after copying becoming inspired by more expensive options makes me happy. Case in point– this Christmas tree shaped advent calendar from Pottery Barn, for which they charged $69.

I started this last December… somewhere around December 6th, because that’s how a scattermom does things. I used felt because I have an abundance of green felt (situation NOT improved by a husband who thought briefly of being Gumby for Halloween this year).

As I tried to coax my aging, and damn cranky, sewing machine into cheerfully sewing 3 layers of felt last night, I realized that I didn’t care enough about the finish work on this particular project. You know– decorative zig-zag stitch around the pockets, quilted batting, etc. Ahem… numbering the days. (okay, I will add the numbers).

My husband– always my biggest supporter *sarcasm*– critically pointed out that mine wouldn’t ever look like the pottery barn one anyway, so why bother? I choose to take it as a compliment that he looked at my version against the picture of theirs and replied, “I stand corrected”.

Where the felt tree monstrosity secures its position in our tradition is what was left behind from last year. I had spent the evening up to this point sort of wailing and complaining about all of the penised-ones in this house. Sometimes I feel as if I’m the only one here that makes any sense. Just like I’m betting they feel like I’m the only one here that’s batshit crazy.

No matter.

As I had finally calmed down about the injustice of my force-the-constipated-three-year-old-to-graciously-accept-the-suppository kind of day, I noticed a piece of paper in one of the pockets.

And this is what I found:

*Love* my short-hand on the word complaining. Adds to the appeal? I have no recollection on when/where/why I wrote this down- but it’s my handwriting so I claim it.

A not-so-subtle reminder that *my* life is also a carnival, compared to many others. And even my day, fraught with sibling bickering and general domestic nonsense wasn’t that bad. After all, it was a suppository, not an enema.

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My Creative Mind

Long before I had my own children, I overheard a stranger lightly scold her child’s use of his “creative mind” at a grocery store. That child was 1) old enough to know better, and 2) opening all of the freezer doors to knock down the carefully arranged boxes of food.

What does that story have to do with this post? Um. Nothing. Except I can’t use the phrase, creative mind without also thinking troublemaker. And considering that my husband reacts to 85.3% of my creative project ideas with the same thought, it seemed apropos.

One of my biggest ADHD challenges isn’t focus. Watch me read a book from a favorite author. 600 pages in a day? No problem. They refer to that as hyperfocus, and while challenging and disruptive, I cope okay.

No, my catastrophic problems occur more in the time estimation/management arena. For example, I think I can do almost anything in an hour, and that it only ever takes 15 minutes to get from Point A to B. Nevermind that nothing can be done in an hour anymore (Small People!) and it takes me 15 minutes to transition activities. That my tried and true time management methodology includes crisis and looming deadlines is problematic. But when some “normie” (aka, a typically thinking, non-ADHD person known as husband) tries to help me plan effectively, my immediate reaction is, “WTF—I’m not an idiot! I use to be a project manager!” And while both of those statements are true, I still slid right up to every deadline, often making them only by the hair of my chiny-chin-chin. Just a teeny bit of an adrenaline junky.

It’s that complete lack of time management that took me from webmd (checking for early strep throat symptoms– just in case) to facebook, to pinterest, then to here. It’s not a lack of focus– I’m hyperfocusing on NOT putting away a Mt. Everest sized pile of laundry. I’m totally smitten with pinterest. The possibilities. The creativity. The ability to symbolically collect magazine clippings without having a bunch of magazine clippings.

It brings joy to my heart, people.

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My Favorite Sanity Savers

This past week are:

My good friend, Llama Llama shares his holiday drama. I just love Anna Dewdney.

And while I was showing JB all of my pinterest finds, only to notice the chorus of, “Well, I think your crazy” playing in the background. For Serious. I think we just identified our song!

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Wowzers

I’ve missed a month of blogging? How did that happen?
Oh. Right.
Halloween + Making Halloween Costumes

Being 5 and getting to help sew your costume on a machine with a GAS PEDAL?

Dark Knight Batman. Cost? Zero dollars

Angry Bird. Cost? $6

Muddling through kindergarten decisions, a new convoluted school assignment plan, and a lot of the NCLB crap that I had been clueless about. I’m no longer clueless, but I am angry. That anger is for another day.

A birthday (E’s); my mother’s “emergency” appendectomy (not really, but I spent 2 days there anyway. How awesome am I?); a party (for 37 of our closest friends); followed by another birthday (Z’s). By the way, if anyone needs a mopey, pouty-like-a-13-year-old-girl whose personality is the exact opposite away from home, I’m considering rentals.

Yes, being the oldest, with a birthday 6 days after his younger brother sucks. For all of us. Intellectually, I understand (and empathize) all of the emotional upheaval of being a child. I remember how slowly time passes, the broken promises (where IS my trampoline and pet pig?). I understand a November birth means you wait 10 months for both your birthday AND Christmas. Emotionally, I’m having repeat fantasies of the biggest goodwill donation in history.

Crazy Woman with a Pinterest Problem was ramping up to severe party mania (or just a Thursday), but after a heavy dose of symbolic Prozac running out of time, she calmed down.

Me realizing beforehand that the time JB took off for mom’s surgery would mean that he couldn’t take vacation for Z’s birthday, as he had already done for E? Pure dumb luck. Yes, it caused a heavy dose of extra sibling stuff. Yes, I solved that by throwing cupcakes and Mario Kart at them. Never say food and video games can’t heal.

So maybe, I didn’t get to the Inspector Gadget hats, or cardboard box city, as planned. I did make foam Agent badges. I planned on making I Spy gift bags, but JB hid them from during the party, so I forgot. Dyed rice is really cool for sensory table stuff, though.

Rice + Food Dye + Vinegar.

Pinata. Cost? About 25 cents.

Nothing says "crafting" like beer and sharp rotary tools.

Yup. Badges.

I won’t ever do the Made in China party favor bags again (related, I will never take Small People into a Party City again, either). At the last minute, I made another birthday mix CD (detective-themed music, of course). Though my CD envelopes were Mater napkins.

Having friends that won’t judge you for these things? Priceless.

Crap, Thanksgiving is next week? Which means Christmas is… Oy, I’ll pull out those boxes and find all of the crafty home-decor-things I was going to finish from last year. And I didn’t even KNOW about pinterest last year.

But secretly? I’m glad I’m so cheap… er, frugal. I love the challenge of being creative, and I hate being bored. Or paying retail.

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How Did This Happen?

Once upon a time (or 9 years ago, yesterday) a girl married this boy. Within her own little micro-culture, she was well known as a commitment-phobic feminist who wanted nothing to do with marriage, having/raising kids, or station wagons. She would roll eyes when other girls included “having babies” as a life priority.

Imagine her surprise when she woke up one day with all of the above. Luckily, she (yes, it’s me–how did you know?) somehow managed to avoid all of the rest of the BS involved with…

Oh, who am I kidding? Just getting slightly excited about an internet find resulted in an hour spent slicing apples, kiwis and bagels so that 15 preschool-aged children could make the Easy Halloween Owl Treats.

And yes, though about half of the children both created and ate owls, my kid didn’t. And because Hoot took so much of my time, both before school, and during his special time at school, I count it as a fail. Well that, and the McDs drive-thru on the way home.

However, before crazy Martha-Stewart-Wannabe-Mom showed up, the boys and I spent an hour (a Quality Time win, for sure) studying a tiny little worm crawling across the train table. Never, ever–and I mean really don’t– google images of “tiny white worm”.

Though, now that I know what it is– an Indian Meal Moth larva, I feel better. Wait! NOTSOMUCH Seriously? I do NOT have time to deal with my pantry being invaded! Have I not met the lifetime quota for invasions? Between the starlings and squirrels that have been in the attic, the black widows, the voles?

That it’s possible that my re-purposing of the ever-growing acorn collection Halloween decorations might have been how he got in here? Just the icing on the big ol’ irony cake that is my life.

Instead of cleaning every square inch of my kitchen (as the entire left side of my face seizes in panic), I am supposed to:

  • Finish Halloween costumes. Yesterday E attempted to sew his Batman Dark Knight costume without me. He managed to get the shirt jammed under the presser foot and the machine turned on, but was thwarted by threading the needle. The One Who Tattles About All Things was engrossed in a Captain Underpants comic book 2 feet away and never noticed a thing. Note to Self: Must purchase more Captain Underpants books.

  • Figure out which schools I want them to attend from kindergarten until college and fill out applications. Now. Like it’s college, only it’s kindergarten.
  • Two Birthday parties to plan and execute.
  • A fence/gate to replace the one I had JB take down, after years of watching it lean finally popped a blood vessel. Shhh, really quietly—> Somewhere the crazy part of my brain actually thinks we can get the house painted in the next month. I mean, it’s mostly brick… But since it took 5 hours to clean the storm windows, re-glaze and touch up caulk on just 3 windows… Crazy Brain is going to be disappointed and confused. Again.
  • 6 children to whom we owe birthday presents and visits. Preferably before sending same children invitations to my children’s birthday party. Because in my mind that somehow qualifies as more tacky than being 6 months behind on a gift.
  • Training for another running race, since my pulled ass muscle slowed down my training enough that I missed my Half Marathon.
  • Starting karate lessons for Zach. Then, because I have an over-developed sense of fairness, enrolling Elliot in something. So let’s add driving to these places to my expanding list.

Then it will be:

  • ACC Basketball (not only do I enjoy the basketball, I lose my husband for a few months.)
  • Thanksgiving
  • Christmas

Oh. And spend time with our kids, our extended family, and our friends. With each other.

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Stuttering, this is new.

See, just as soon as I decide there is nothing to worry about growth wise with Elliot, he develops a stutter. And I don’t mean a simple st-st-stutter. Nope, it’s more of a s-s-s-s-st-st-st-st-st-stutter.

He’ll be 3 in November and his language abilities were already advanced, so that his stuttering may be the result of a forthcoming language explosion (a common reason for stuttering in the 2-5 year age range) is a little terrifying. What kind of advancement is he going to make? A self-taught foreign language? Haiku? Olde English? I’m not doing the mom-thing either, the kid exceeds cognitive milestones with the same rate as he misses the growth ones.

Assuming it’s not any of the more scary reasons (of course there are some) for stuttering– I’m categorizing this as a mild SOS (get it, Sudden Onset Stuttering). Elliot’s SOS is a simple one: I also have thoughts– so could y’all shut up for a second and give me a chance to, 1) start, and then 2) finish a sentence?

In a world a thousand light-years from this one, I attended a classic college dorm room party: 20 underage bodies crammed into one 10ftx10ft room, drinking warm, cheap malt liquor. I came with someone who knew someone, but I was meeting the room’s occupant (and on-duty RA) for the first time that evening.

Here I am, slightly less than sober, having to listen to this drunk guy struggle through a word I identified as “because”.

“Be-be-be-be-be”, he stammered.

“Because”, I shouted, frenetically waving my arm in a circle as if turbine wind speed would hurry him the hell up.

When a 6+ foot drunk Uruguayan, who, as I was to find out shortly, also happens to be an extremely talented poet/author and, quite often, eloquent storyteller, lambastes your presumption with a perfectly timed, ad hoc limerick? Those are the wince-worthy life lessons that become part of your own mentally-held Permanent Record.

I never again, not for the decade we were friends (how could I not befriend him– the kid had talent) rushed his , or any other stutter’s, words.

Which leaves me with poor Mr E., who’s popping neck veins like Ah-nold in Conan (officially this is called a block), just to start a sentence. Which leads me to rearrange my typically impatient face to one of smiling attentiveness, even as my twitchy meter starts to inch into the red-zone. One, because it’s just heartbreaking to listen to your child struggle to communicate. Two, it already takes 15 minutes for them to walk 5 feet from the front door to the car. Not rushing a child who is most-definitely trying to say something and stuttering makes punctuality damn near impossible. Three, I am–by clinical definition, personality and habit– an extraordinarily impatient person. For me to stop what I’m doing and genuinely deliver both undivided attention and patience is as difficult for me as getting the word out is for him. My longterm success with doing this for Elliot, while dealing with Zach’s jealousy over his younger brother getting any extra attention will likely necessitate some sort of martial arts training.

Oh,and the other day when I heard Zach mocking his younger brother? I might have threatened the entirety of Zach’s toy collection if I ever heard it repeated. Which perhaps may seem a but harsh. But sometimes it’s the harshest of lessons that make the longest impression.

Posted in Just Life, Life Lessons, On being ADHD, Raising these kids, Things that Make Me Twitchy, Those Difficult Moments | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment