Confession

I have a truly ugly confession.

I don't like my child.

Rocky came to us at two, and he is like the black hole of kid-dom, sucking every ounce of energy I have.

He has attention deficit disorder. I swear, if I hear, "Oh, I forgot" ONE MORE TIME, I will lose my mind and run screaming through WalMart's parking lot. Most likely having forgotten my clothes. A small vacation with basketry might be just what I need.

He "forgets" to untie and tie his shoes. He forgets to wring out his washcloth and then forgets to hang it up. When I remind him, he hangs it directly over the toilet paper where it drips, of course. He forgets that laundry baskets are not permitted in his room and has five in there at any given time. He forgets and dons the same Ohio State hoodie three days in a row, each morning having it pried off his body by his mom; he forgets to put it in the dirty laundry and forgets that for two days prior he and I have had an unpleasant discussion about same hoodie. He forgets that the spoon moves when one eats, bobbing his head up and down like some manic chicken. He forgets that he had sugar cereal, albeit organic, for two days already and will forget that he had it today and forget that he needs to eat plain cereal every other day. He forgets his homework, his planner, his lunchbag, his coat, his books, his permission slips. He forgets to latch the dog crate, and Nash gets out and runs rampant through the house, trying to rid it of the pesky cat invasion we appear to have this year. He forgets Nash does that.

He forgets that it is winter and puts on a tank top when getting dressed for school. He forgets to put the seat up in the bathroom and forgets to clean up after himself. He forgets to flush. He forgets to wash in the shower, or he forgets to use soap. He forgets that hole-filled shirts shouldn't be worn for school. He forgets which is his play jacket and which is his church jacket. He forgets a belt. He sees me pull in the driveway and jumps off his scooter, leaving it in the middle of my my path but saving himself.

He forgets to sweep both halves of the room, and then he forgets to sweep up the dirt and throw it away. He forgets to scrape and rinse the dishes and then forgets that he had the pork chop that evening so he denies that is his food in the bottom of the machine, and he forgets to wipe the table after eating. He forgets to put his clean clothes away and then forgets which are clean, so he shoves everything under the bed and forgets he has them. He forgets to return things he borrows at school and forgets to give me the note asking to have them returned. He forgets to put the cereal away, and * when he rescues it back from the dog, he forgets what the problem was and puts it right back where the dog got it in the first place. He repeats from * until one or both parents shriek at him, and then he grabs the box so strongly that raisin bran flies all around the room.

When he does his homework, he reads the question, then looks at the cat or the dog or out the window for a deer sighting or at the wall, and then he forgets what he read. He will guess what the question was, write part of the answer, look around, stare into space, and then guess what the rest of his answer was. So, for the question, "What is special about Europe's physical environment?" he will write, "Europe is a country are things which are use for producting other things like food."

However, he remembers what is important to him. His hair is a priority, so he will remember to lotion and pick it each morning, but forget to put on deodorant or brush his teeth or change his underwear. He remembers when his favorite TV show is on, but he will forget to listen during church. He remembers the exact longitude and latitude of every piece of chocolate hidden in this house, but he can't remember where he left his clarinet. He remembers what page he is reading in his latest fiction book, but he can't remember what was covered in social studies class that afternoon.

It all sounds small, but given the fact that it is a relentless day-long thing, and I have two other kids with attentional issues, I get Fed Up. And if one more person says to me, "Oh, that's just being a kid" or "Well, God doesn't give you more than you can handle", I am going to view that as in invitation for Rocky to visit them for a week. They can take over the attempt to jump start the thought processes, the reminding, the tooth grinding, and the tight stomach.

And maybe, just maybe, I will forget to pick him up for an extra day or so.