The ADHD of our lives

I found out just before we left that Triple C was diagnosed with ADHD. I have no idea what her parents are doing about it, but it actually helped me out because she sort of scared me a few times with behaviour that just didn't jive with normal eight-year-old strangeness.

We went to Carrowinds amusement park which is a combination water-and-roller coaster park. It ended up being at that point a record breaking hot day, with, like, 110% humidity, so naturally by the time we were ready to leave, all of us were heat sick and dehydrated, despite our best efforts at buying tiny bottles of water for three bucks a pop every hour or so. Triple C put up a fight when her dad told her to drink water and would only take a few sips grudgingly while the rest of us were sucking that stuff down like it was liquid gold. Since my mom and Little Bit stayed in the cabana the entire time, they were actually the only ones who didn't get dehydrated, though they were both pretty heat sick when we left.

Triple C and I would go on a few water rides, and then I would want to go back to our cabana for some rest. Tripple C would argue with me and get really belligerent. It started to seem like she was getting more energy with every step we took instead of it wearing her out like the other kids around us.

Finally, my brother decided we were ready to go home, so I showered off and changed, and then my sister-in-law decided that she would ride The Intimidator with my brother because I guess he was giving her grief about how his sister would ride it but she wouldn't. I believe the word "chicken" was used. Anyway, Triple C decided that she wanted me to take her on a roller coaster while her parents went on theirs, so my brother said that we could.

By that time, I was actually water-logged and needed something with salt in it and I am actually still retaining water right now, though it's getting better now that I'm doing Yoga regularly again. But this is my niece. She is seriously the love of my life and I would do anything for her, so I said yes and we went to this ride. For whatever reason, Triple C started telling me that her daddy said we could ride the roller coaster as many times as we wanted. This was news to me so I said, "No, he didn't." She seriously started arguing with me. By that point, I was trying to figure out where she got the energy from. I mean, we had been at the park for six hours at that point, surely she had to slow down at some point?

I finally told her that I didn't care what her daddy said, I was going on the ride once and once only, and then we were walking back to the front of the park where Grandma and Little Bit were waiting for us. End of story. I felt like I was being mean, but there's only so much abuse a body can take and I needed to get out of the park and suck on a lemon with some salt for a few minutes. I get heat sick regularly, so I know the signs and how to handle getting water logged. I mean, I was starting to get chills, which is a hugely bad sign, so I knew I was probably only good to get to the car before I passed out. Unfortunately, Triple C had other plans.

"Aunt Heidi, I'm so sick!" she suddenly wailed while we were walking under the blessed shade of a roller coaster track combined with trees. "I just want to sit down in air conditioning!"

What could I do? If I sat down, I knew I could not get back up. I stood her on a park bench and took her on my back, walking towards the entrance until I saw a store. I figured the store would be air conditioned because the heat was just so oppressive. I was so wrong. This place was not air conditioned at all. There was, however, a fan by the door that was blowing moderately cool air, so I took Triple C there and stood. The minute I put her back on the ground, she left the coolness of the fan and started looking at the stuffed toys. I...I sort of freaked out. I mean, why was she acting this way? How could she possibly want the toys when there was a fan there? What happened to the kid who had just broken down and started crying not five minutes ago?

I got myself nominally better (I still had chills, but I had started sweating again which was a relief since I had stopped at some point) and escorted Triple C to the front of the park where my sister-in-law was throwing up more from heat exhaustion than The Intimidator, though it was probably a close call. My brother asked me if I was going to throw up, and I said that I honestly didn't know, but I needed to sit down in the car with the AC blasting. He poured water over my head, and I felt better for as long as it took me to get to the car and get the AC blasting. Triple C on her part, was suddenly refreshed and new again and begging to go on another ride. We all just stared at her like she was crazy, and my sister-in-law finally took her hand and said she could go on a ride in the car.

We had taken separate cars, so I didn't find out until later that she got sick on the ride home and that all of us stopped for drinks on the way. I alternated drinking tea with lemon, and Dr. Pepper. I figured the Dr. Pepper had sugar that could help my body heal, and tea is a natural diuretic while lemon has electrolytes in it. The big thing right now is coconut water, because it has all of that in it, but so does Gatorade. We didn't think to bring either of those things with us.

Anyway, the end here is that when I found out that Triple C is ADHD, it all made sense. The boundless energy, the distraction, the belligerance, the crashing the minute we had no stimulation around us. I know there are people who think ADHD doesn't exist, or that it's code for "My kid is a brat and I don't want to discipline him," but it's real. I saw it. I was scared by it. Triple C's mind is betraying her, and it can make her sick. I know how that feels, and I'm so glad that my brother and his wife will do everything they can for her.

A post about nothing

I know I should be posting more about Fifty Shades because I want to get it over with, but I have to re-read it at this point and make notes. I was making notes while I was reading at first, but then I had to give up because it was really breaking my concentration, so now I'm making posthumous notes on a second read. I'm not sure if my future posts will be as good because I'll have more information now, and it won't be as "real" as my previous posts, but I think I can get it funnier.

I interviewed a cat sitter last night. Chekhov consented to let the lady pet his ears and his cheeks, but watch the chin, woman. We aren't that closely acquainted yet. My bird loved her, though. Mostly because she spent her first ten minutes admiring him and saying how cute his face is. My bird is a sucker. I also predict that Chekhov will absolutely love this woman by the third day, if not before.

I read a really interesting article a week ago about children who present with psychopathic tendencies and the psychiatrists who are trying to intervene before these kids grow up to ruin people's lives. It was very thought-provoking, and it followed one family in particular who had three sons, and the eldest was the one with the presumed psychopathy. The reporter's observations were really chilling, like, the boy would get upset with his younger brother (who idolized him) about something, maybe a taken toy or taking the elder's game off of pause and affecting his score, etc., and the cold, calculating manner that the eldest would use in order to exact his revenge.

You think of kids as being more impulsive and less patient when it comes to retaliation, but this young seven-year-old boy bid his time and exacted his punishments in such a way as to try and deflect everyone from thinking he was taking revenge from the earlier infraction. When he realized that the reporter wasn't buying his act, he simply said, "As you see, I don't like my brother very much."

The worst part of the article, though, was in the comments section, when people actually started judging the parents for having more children after this one. I didn't get that. And people were liking their comments! As if it's any of their business! But it made me feel bad, because I thought that once about a family. They had six biological children, and all six had some sort of disability, including four with autism which is a statistical anomaly (Read: bullshit). My first thought was, "Munchhausen by Proxy" (probably correct) and my second thought was, "After the second, they really should have stopped. That's just wrong." Was my thought right? It feels right. It still does. That doesn't MAKE it right, but it still feels right. But I can't think that about the other parents. They have a child who will more than likely bring them heartache later in life, unless this early prevention works of course, and they deserve two kids who might actually make them happy. But what about the kids? They have to deal with an abusive older brother. How much can he hurt them? How much will their lives change because of this kid? And yet, at the end of the day, it's the parent's decision to have more.

Speaking of narcissists, my dad drunk dialed me the other day and then proceeded to tell me everything my brother has been doing since about October of last year, and no matter how much I tried to explain to him that I've actually seen and talked to my brother regularly since that time and know exactly what he's been up to, my dad just kept talking at me and telling me what was going on which was ridiculous. I mean, he called me while I was vising my brother at Christmas, and he kept getting upset that the baby was "talking" while he was trying to talk to me, so he had to know that I'd be aware of what my brother is doing! Sometimes, I get really mad at my mom for having children with him, and sometimes I get mad at God for allowing it to happen.

Anyway, that brings me to my trip that I'm about to take in a month (!!!!!!!). I have booked the plane and the rooms, now I just need to find us a car. It's my niece's first birthday! I can't wait.

More tales from the OCD cat front

I haven't been posting because I haven't felt well, and that tends to lead to a lot of navel-gazing and complaining. And seriously, who wants to hear about that? Not me.


So, the past several days, I have finished reading the second book of The Green Rider Series, and another YA novel that was very heavy on the Y and not so heavy on the A, but I will be reviewing it soon.


This weekend, one of my cousins came up to visit. She had to drive to LAX to pick up a friend, so she parked on our sofa Sunday night. I'm about an hour and a half (or more, depending on traffic) from LAX, but she's in San Diego, which is like, three and a half hours away, so it was best for her to camp out with me and just go from there.


Now, I've mentioned that my cat is OCD to a certain level. His breed, Russian Blue, does not like change at all. Like, claws buried in the wall, not gonna move, hate change, period. But...I wasn't expecting his reaction to Anna staying over. He kept coming up to me and meowing at me, and then pacing and walking back and forth.


Monday morning, we all got up and left, Anna went her way, I went mine, Chekhov stayed at home. I got home that afternoon, not feeling well, and saw that the sofa was still made up and thought that it seemed like a good idea to just lay down and take a nap. Chekhov usually loves it if I do this and joins me, but he didn't on Monday. My mom got home that evening, also not feeling well (you have no idea how difficult it is to accomodate the flu when there is only one bathroom in the house...) and noticed Chek acting weird. She said, "I think he's upset about the sofa still being made up," and I agreed, so I took off the sheets and put them in the laundry hamper, and suddenly I had a new cat on my hands who couldn't wait to spend the evening with us.

You know; people think pets are stupid, and I'm not saying they aren't. Really I'm not. In fact, I think this whole situation shows up just how very stupid my cat is.

And yet...and yet...

The bloody finger

I've been trying to purge some no-longer-necessary file folders from my work this last week and a half. I find it cathartic, and I seem to be the only one who wants to do it, so I've been diving in at will. I have totally messed up the middle finger of my left hand, though. It started with a ripped cuticle, and then it has gone to the point where I actually had gushing blood on Monday. I've put a bandaid on it, and so far I've been better. Unfortunately, the bandaid seems to be taking the brunt of the attack, so I have to change it a few times a day. These file folders are brutal, really.

It reminds me of a story about my grandma, who died almost three years ago.

About ten years ago, the year my cousin realized she was pregnant with the first great-grandchild of the family, we all decided to try and start a tradition that really quickly fizzled out by renting a cabin in Big Bear for Christmas. I sort of wish it had caught on, but it didn't. It was a fun year, though.

My grandma had hurt her finger in a similar fashion, and just like me now, she kept re-injuring herself. One of my cousins said she needed to go into the town to pick up some things from the pharmacy, and since there was really nothing else to do, there was soon a sizable party waiting to head "into town" and get a feel for the place. Grams asked Cuz to pick up some finger cots for her, and Cuz was like, "What is that? What if they don't have them?" Grams was pretty insistant that they would have them, and lo and behold, they did. My cousin came out of the pharmacy laughing and blushing and just having a good time. I didn't know why. I didn't know what a finger cot was.

Back at the cabin, Cuz walked up to Grams and said, "Boy, the pharmacist sure wanted to know what I needed these for!" and then laughed.

My grandma, god bless her, was just confused. "Why?" she asked, full of innocence. "He should have known what they were for."

Then I got a look at them.

Ribbed for your pleasure. Protection. Whatever.

My uncle chuckled, my cousins and I made jokes. My mom and her sister rolled their eyes but laughed when they thought we weren't looking. Things were said about Pregnant Cousin not needing them for a while. In all, the finger cots gave us a lot of enjoyment one night in Big Bear.

About three months before Grams died, my mom, her brother and sister and sister-in-law and I all got together and were moving Grams from one place to another. She never made it to the other place; she was sent to the hospital and never made it out, so it was good that we started cleaning her out so soon. I was in the kitchen, emptying out box after box of hoarded saltine packets and jelly pods while the others were taking care of the rest of the flat. My aunt-in-law was in the bathroom finding similarly hoarded stashes of hospital-sized toothpastes, deoderants, and hotel-sized tubes of soap when suddenly she let out a laugh and walked into the living room. "Mike," she said to my uncle. "Can you please explain why your mother has a box of condoms in the bathroom?" My mom and aunt came out to take a look and I let out a laugh as I rolled one onto my finger. "At least she was safe," my uncle said with a laugh.

We all remembered that Christmas and Cuz being forced to buy them.