ADHDEFG

(Preface: In March of 2010 my brilliant and charming, twitchy, ticky, sweetly scattered mess of a boy was diagnosed with ADHD.  During his two week long evalation which involved a psychologist, a pediatrician, both his teachers, both his parents, and a battery of testing and questionnaires, The Wicked Turkey and I came to the conclusion that we, too, may suffer from LOOK.  A BUTTERFLY.  HAVE YOU SEEN MY KEYS?)

Well, we got it. 

That paradigm, that holy grail of parenthood.  It is wondrous and sacred and we call it Minivan.  It is AWESOME, and, as I have discovered, even MORE sexy when you blast Ke$ha from the speakers with the windows rolled down.   It has a DVD player, power doors, and working brakes--but it seems to be missing...something.  GPS?  XM radio?  (Well, yes.)  But what it really lacks are STICKERS.  Suburban Mom Stickers.  Personalized stickers for each member of the family.  Have you seen these?  Businessman Dad,  Preggers Mom, Soccer Player Son, Ballerina Daughter, Two Random Dogs? 

We looked for some for our family.  Dad in La-Z-Boy with One Hand on Beer, One Hand Down Pants; Crying Mommy with Bad Hair and Prescription Bottle; Hockey Player Son Being Choked Out By Willful Four Year Old Daughter With Anger Management Issues; Large Dog Ass-Humping Smaller Dog.  WELL THEY DON'T MAKE THOSE.  (Graphic artist readers: please design some for me STAT.) 

Stickers for each and every one of our hobbies.  Stickers that convey with sass and wit my positions on abortion, climate change, the president, and various constitutional rights.  (Habeus Corpus doesn't relieve people from unlawful detention.   PEOPLE relieve people from unlawful detention!)  Stickers for the kids' school.  Stickers informing you that my pregnant, meth-addicted teenage daughter can beat up your honor student.  And most importantly, the (Fill In the Blank) Awareness Ribbon decal. 

Apparently, the (Fill In the Blank) Awareness Ribbon decal is JUST as necessary to the proper functioning of the minivan as engine oil and a steering wheel.   Without one, transmissions jump, engines stall, batteries die, and the tailgating denizens of greater suburbia honk away at their horns with neither focus nor awareness as they have no idea what disorder the DVD-watching child seated within the minivan in front of them might suffer from.

Fact: (Fill In the Blank) Awareness Ribbon decals come in a wide array of colors.  Pick a cause, any cause.  You can even color coordinate your cause with the paint color of your minivan.  A blue awareness ribbon, for instance, looks especially nice against a silver paint job (especially if you're a Cowboys fan) and will signal to the driver behind you  that you intend to aware the SHIT out of Tuberous Sclerosis, sex trafficking, prostate cancer, Teletubbies, visible pantilines, and Rodents of Unusual Size.

 

Can't choose a cause?  I understand.  Choosing a (Fill In the Blank) Awareness Ribbon can be almost as nerve wracking as choosing a tattoo.  But you, my friend, can switch out your (Fill In the Blank) Awareness Ribbons as often as you change your oil.  Ever hear of the Awareness Ribbon of the Month Club?  Me neither.  But you can imagine getting a BRAND NEW (Fill In the Blank) Awareness Ribbon *twelve!* DID YOU HEAR ME TWELVE! times a year?  You can collect ALL THE FLAVORS.   Cancer!  Incest!  Death by Road Rage!  Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation!  IF YOU CAN THINK IT YOU CAN HAVE IT ON A RIBBON SHAPED MOTHERFUCKING CAR STICKER! 

Which leads me to my own quandary.  (OK I have egads of quandaries.  This is just one.)  With which (Fill In the Blank) Awareness Ribbon do I christen my minivan?  I believe there must be some qualifications:

A) Is the color representing the proposed cause objectionable or unflattering?  Purple is totally gay and red washes me out, so...sorry, Aids babies and Alzheimer's WHAT.  WHO ARE YOU?  WHERE AM I?

B) Is anyone going to key my car in righteous indignance over the cause represented by said ribbon?  Agoraphobia makes some people REALLY angry.  No teal ribbon for me. 

C) Does anyone in my immediate family suffer from a lack of awareness about their own peculiar condition?  In that case, I'll need a ribbons for Thin Eyelash Awareness, Survivors of East Texan Asphalt Childhood Foot Trauma, and Germaphobe Protection from Microbes in General and Toilet Flush Handles Particularly.  Because SERIOUSLY.  Dude.  Everyone knows about breast cancer.  Few people, however, are aware of how freaking hot asphalt can get in the summer in Texas.  (It melts.  You can't even play basketball on it--your ball will not bounce but WILL STICK TO the pavement and quite possibly become a part of it.  AND.  Your shoes!  Sneakers, jellies, flip-flops, WHATEVER.  Upon contact with the searing asphalt they can and will melt immediately into said asphalt, fast securing your feet to the parking lot, fixing you permanently and instantly turning your entire body into an asphalt statue.  Parking lots in Texas are positively LITTERED with little kid pavement statues.  It's horrifying.)

The aforementioned terms considered, debated internally, and decided upon leave me but one choice. 

Yes.  The Boy has it.  Orange favors my olive complexion.  Probably no one hates 99% of kids enough to key my car in objection to my support of 99% of kids.  (WHAT.  ADHD IS REAL.)  And...surely, not enough people in this country are aware that 99% of kids can't sit still or pay attenion. 

An Awareness Ribbon is clearly called for.

I Google up to order one pronto.  But LOOK AT THAT SUSPICIOUS MOLE ON MY KNEE!  WebMD beckons!  But first I need a Coke!  They're in the fridge in the garage.  Wow does it EVER need cleaning!  But the cleaning products are in the kitchen!  Which reminds me, I need to figure out tonight's dinner and my, that window has finger prints all over it and  OH MY GOSH LOOK AT THAT BUTTERFLY.

Decaffeinated

So I'm at the beach house with the in-laws and today--day three--I hit a wall.  Not in anger or frustration,  although that would be understandable because the in-laws are narcoleptic, alzheimer-ridden control-freaks with an aversion to hearing aids.  WHAT.  No.  I hit a wall because apparently, SOMEONE (read: mother-in-law) has been making decaf coffee unbenownst to anyone else here and passing it off as actual coffee.  I guess that would explain the narcolepsy.   And the headaches.  And my ill mood.  This morning at the beach this interchange actually took place:

Redneck Dude in homemade boat with tattered travesty of an American flag fluttering listlessly from one of the downriggers beaches his boat. 

Me:  DUDE.  Are you American?  I've seen Jihadists treat the flag with more respect than that. 

Redneck Dude's white trash drunken girl friend falls off the boat, proceeds to squat and without her ass even being entirely covered by the water proceeds to pee in about 18 inches of tide. 

This infuriates me beyond the pale.  I try to sick my dog on them, but he is a pathetic Retriever and only manages to get ass-humped by the Chocolate Lab twenty feet up the beach.  He comes back with a mouth full of seaweed and drops it at my feet.  I tell him he should be ashamed of himself, as no self-respecting dog should allow that kind of behavior until at least the third date.

I have no idea why I'm so irritable.  I'm at a gorgeous beach; it's a beautiful day.  I have my kids and my husband and my dog and a good book.

I tell JP that if the woman sitting in the beach chair next to me had spent as much money on a nutritionist for her obese child as she had for her fake breasts she could have prevented  a certain lifetime of bullying, diabetes, and high cholesterol.  Oh well.  Single moms with fat kids have to compensate somehow.

I am an evil person.

Back at the beach house, I go for more coffee.  The pot is empty.  I go to make more but can't find coffee beans anywhere.  Just this dirt-like substance in a green can.  I think they call it decaf.  I corner the mother-in-law. 

Me:  Is this what you've been making the whole time?
Her:  Well, we were out of regular.

I stare at her wordlessly for about twenty seconds. 

I get in the minivan.  Someone on this island has to have real coffee. 

There are three convenience stores on Harker's Island.  One is closed for Easter.  The other two have no coffee.  DO YOU HEAR WHAT I'M TELLING YOU?  Gas stations with no coffee.  The best thing I can find is Frappucino in a bottle.  I buy it with a Coke chaser. 

It is terrible.  I drink the Coke instead on the drive home, which is only four minutes long.  Back at the kitchen, I consider microwaving the vile frappucino in an attempt to make it taste more like real coffee.  JP tells me this is a bad idea.  Luckily, by now the caffeine in the Coke is kicking in and I'm beginning to see reason.

I drink the Frappucino. 

JP will not take me back to the beach, despite my assurances of adequate caffeination and better behavior. 

Also, the Retreiver seems a little traumatized.