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A Missive on My Misfiring Brain

Nothing can ever prepare you for it—that moment when you realize you’ve become your mother or father, or both. I had one of those moments a few weeks ago, driving with my husband and daughter. I commented on another car I saw (technically I called out a “slug bug”…yes, we still do that). Then not more than a couple of minutes later, I made the same comment…with absolutely no recollection of having already made it.

“You just said that,” they said to me, to which I responded, “No, I didn’t.” It took some convincing, and even after I cajoled myself into believing them, I still didn’t remember those words coming out of my mouth.

Then the ribbing started: “It’s bad enough you don’t listen to us when we talk to you. Now you’re not even listening to yourself.”

As I began to apologize (for the millionth time for this very transgression), I had a flashback to conversations I had with my mom when she was about my age.

They usually went something like this:

Her: “When do you work this week?”

Me: [telling her the days and times.]

Her [just minutes later]: “When do you work this week?”

Me: “You already asked me that. God, Mom, don’t you ever listen to me? It’s like you don’t care about what I have to say…”

I’ve experienced a version of that amnesiac round-robin with my husband and daughter more times than I can remember (literally). It was during the one in the car that my brain made what could be one of the most sanity-saving connections of my life.

When my mom was about the same age as I am now (mid-forties), she was diagnosed with ADHD. I still remember the day she got the news: She cried with relief because, as she told me, “My whole life I thought I was stupid. Now I know what it really was.”

And I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the same with me.

Keep reading for more awesomeness…

5 Lessons From A Puppy Mill Mom

A few years ago, my family rescued a wire fox terrier. Maisy had been a puppy mill mom for the first seven years of her life and came to our family after finding refuge in an amazing organization in northern Iowa.

Life in a puppy mill—it can’t get much worse for a dog.

You talking about me?

You talking about me?

We often say Maisy is broken: she doesn’t play with toys or balls; she flinches when touched; she sleeps most of the day instead of bouncing off the walls with typical terrier energy (maybe that’s not a bad thing?).

But even with all her broken bits, she’s taught me a lot about being human as I’ve watched her blossom in a normal environment…well, as normal as our home can be. Keep reading for more awesomeness…