“Oh I get it now, those funny things on the helmets are to protect the skiers…”
“What? What are you talking about?”
My husband, son and I just left the rec center where we were playing bingo. I’m driving, it’s freezing and my body is wracked with shivers as we make our way towards home.
And although I am not surprised that my husband just started talking about something in the middle of the sentence that was clearly playing out in his brain the whole time, I am no less annoyed.
“Husband, really? What are you talking about? – Forget it. I don’t care”
“No, you know, those Olympic skiers, they are wearing these new funny helmets with this thing that comes down and rest on their chest. Maybe it’s to keep them from snapping their neck or breaking their collar bones.”
Being married to real life ADD is amusing from the outside. But frustrating from the inside.
I can’t tell you how many times I hear how awesome and nice and funny my husband is. Mr ADD is always the life of the party, Smiling Jack, everyone’s friend. Of course you would be everyone’s friend too if you had endless time to have a conversation because you had no concept of time and your brain was a blank slate as far as future obligations went.
If I had a dime for every time my husband lost his phone, wallet, battery charger for his phone, headset, notepad, tennis racket I would be a millionaire, and he would be cured. Because then we could afford the very expensive meds we already know help.
Instead I remind myself that living with a person/man/child with severe ADD is living with a person with mental illness, and when you live with a person with mental illness you should have compassion. And dreaming of lightning striking him while he is playing tennis in the middle of a rainstorm when he was supposed to be home 3 hours before and I have been calling every five minutes is not being compassionate. But there is that chance that if he got struck by lightning he might get cured, so I might even go so far as to call it supportive!
I have yet to figure out the precise equation of added minutes and screeching harpy voice to ensure that my husband makes it out the door on time.
And I have yet to be vindicated by a family member or friend saying “You have every right to be pissed at him all the time for falling asleep before your son when he was supposed to be watching him.”
or “I totally understand why you want to kill him when you come home after grocery shopping all day to find that he never fed your child lunch”
But then he laughs, and everyone says he’s so funny and so nice and so cute, and “Your husband is sooooo handsome”
And who looks like the evil dragon lady with the anger issues?