My Worst ADHD Motherhood Mistake

Since Mother’s Day is safely in the rearview mirror, my own motherhood report card is top of mind for me. I still get nice enough cards from my only fertilized egg (Jack), so I feel this is a good sign. However, my husband Dave still gets the hand-drawn cards. I get the store-bought cards that Dave picks out and Jack signs without reading, five seconds before rushing to Mother’s Day dinner.

I’ve dodged the parent alienation bullet . . . for now. I wouldn’t be a true ADHD mom if I didn’t revisit EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. of my unforced parenting failures as I lay in bed at night staring up at the ceiling. We ADHDers do that. We dwell on our unforced errors. I have 19 years of material to review, re-review, re-re-review. . . you get the idea. “Obsess over” is the better way to describe it.

If you have ADHD and you’re about to become a parent, even if it’s to a fur baby, (maybe a gerbil?), there’s one issue we ADHDers struggle with: PARENTING RULES CONSISTENCY.

One day, Jack got reprimanded for not bringing in the mail. I didn’t ask much of him (Exhibit A being the appalling appearance of his bedroom). Taking out the garbage and getting the mail seemed like simple enough requests. The next day, he said, “But MOM, what if there’s a brown recluse spider in the mailbox?” He made me laugh, so therefore, I excused his dereliction of duty. He learned early on the way to get out of anything I asked of him was to make me laugh, which delayed it. Then I would forget about it. It sucks having the ADHD-induced short-term memory issues. The inconsistency in my rule-making and rule-breaking became Jack’s normal way of life. This was no bueno for raising a child. I wish I could shove that genie back in the bottle.

It didn’t help that my husband Dave took Jack’s side on issues that mattered to me. When they deemed my ideas as silly, it justified them bypassing my already squishy rules and boundaries. I started buying pink Himalayan salt because I’d read about its health benefits. To this day it’s normal to hear “Pass the ‘Crazy Lady Salt’” at our dinner table because they dismiss most of my beliefs about health and wellness.

When Apple’s Air Pods came out, I’d read many scientific articles about the unsafe radiation levels they emitted. I insisted that Jack continue using the wired ear buds (which I still use to this day, for this very reason. Whenever my friends call, they know to wait for me to “plug my buds in.”) Dave and Jack colluded, and the next thing I knew, voila! Jack had Air Pods. Jack and I were driving somewhere when he broke down and admitted that Dave had bought them for him. While I appreciated Jack’s honesty, I’m still pissed about it to this day.

Shortly thereafter, Dave and I had dinner with friend from England who shared that he went back to the UK for his physicals — as he was still a citizen there — and his doctor found a small, internal tumor near his ear . . . the ear he held his mobile phone against for calls. His doctor recommended he start putting his calls on speaker mode because he believed the radiation from our friend’s phone had caused that tumor.

But . . . my beliefs about iPhone radiation remain discounted.

I got an early hint one Mother’s Day that Jack had firmly planted himself on my husband’s side in our household’s triangulated battle for control. I was mortified that he drew the below Mother’s Day card in school. I worried about the impression his teacher must’ve garnered from this artwork. Even Dave would agree that this card was a misrepresentation because I . . .

(a) NEVER asked Dave to vacuum (I actually hate the sound of the vacuum, because my mom used to bust into my bedroom early on Saturday mornings to awaken me with her vacuuming)

(b) we didn’t own an upright vacuum that looked remotely like this, and

(c) I have NEVER caused Dave to weep with any of my household requests. We had a landscaper to mow our lawn and a weekly house cleaner. Before my mom’s dementia/Alzheimer’s got too bad, Mom insisted on doing the laundry and dinner dishes to feel useful. In short, our household chore requirements were at a bare minimum. (The way I prefer it, because I often forget to do them.)

Two years ago, after surviving the tumultuous teen rebellion years — kicked off by that lovely Covid lockdown — Jack softened. He did me a solid one Mother’s Day. (It almost made up for years of store-bought cards!) He gifted me with the table he made in shop class and had started drawing on. He knew how much I loved it. The drawing is incomplete, but I’m hopeful it will get done one day when the mood strikes Jack to finish it. (My ADHD side empathizes with getting bored of hobbies and art projects left incomplete; like many ADHDers, I have many.)

But circling back to my parenting advice — because I do have some — before you bring that child or pet into your home, have an earnest conversation with your partner (assuming you have one), about your parenting rules. What’s acceptable. What isn’t. How to punish. Chores. Belief systems. Boundaries.

Because the parenting decisions you make today will have the power to impact generations to follow. That is, unless you’re raising a gerbil. Then just forget everything I said. It’s okay. I do, too.