It's 10PM. Do You Know Where Your Husband Is?

Mine is dragging himself to the barn. He failed to plan ahead.
Our school is at one end of a historic little town, opposite the one traffic light. It consists of the original building constructed of fieldstone in the 1700's, and a more modern building where the classes are held now. I was originally thrilled that we would be driving by it twice every day.
I didn't account for the siren song of the announcement sign out front. My husband cannot resist a PTA meeting. He especially cannot resist a PTA meeting where cool technology will be demonstrated to the attendees. When the demonstration turns out to be at the end of the meeting, he has stay for it.
My husband does not plan for PTA meetings. He invariably reads the PTA meeting announcements and forgets the dates until he sees the sign outside the school on his way home the night of the meeting. This time at least he called me so I knew he would be nearly two hours late getting home.
He dragged himself in the door with my son at about 8:30PM. I warmed up plates of dinner for them, got my son into bed, and told my husband that I was going to bed and no, I would not help him with the barn chores he was scheduled to complete.
He attended this meeting in spite of my announcement this morning that our family is short of sleep and tonight should be an early one. Reason cannot compete with shiny gadgets.
I love our little town with the fieldstone houses lining the street. I love our little school. I just wish it wasn't precisely on our route to work.

Overconfidence

Sometimes being the only person who knows where her car keys are goes to my head a bit. I become too proud of knowing just where the tape is, and being able to instantly produce the pliers because I put them where they belong when I used them last. This is such magic to my husband that I begin to think it's magic, too. And I think it can't fail me.
Several days ago I received a call from the owner of a local farm asking if the two chestnuts and two bays roaming the countryside were mine. After all the trauma of catching them and assessing them for injuries (horses are injured if you sneeze on them, especially Thoroughbreds), I stopped to think about how they escaped. For once I didn't think I could blame the unlatched gate on my husband or son. It rested squarely at my door. I had been putting wire on a gate, removing hay from the pen, and responding to my son's cries of "the puppy got away!", and I forgot that I needed to latch the gate. I even recall making a mental note of it.
It feels like such betrayal when my non-ADD brain behaves like my husband's brain. I'm shocked and furious and the world just seems upside down. I don't handle it well. My husband handles it much better when it happens to him. After all, he's used to the world being upside down. And like most people in denial I usually assume it's someone else's fault until the truth stares me in the face. I'm always certain that I cannot possibly have forgotten or misplaced something. People with ADD do that. I don't do that.
I wonder if spouses of ADD people expect more of themselves? Is my uncanny ability to summon a mental picture of anything my husband is looking for and reel off its location really normal? How much mental energy do I spend every day in the effort to be the opposite of my husband and son?
I'm tired. I'm going to bed now.

-P

The Myth of the Tortured Genius

After my son's diagnosis, many people told me I should appreciate the "gifts" that accompany ADD. Leaving aside the argument over whether people can be smart without having neurological disabilities, many seem to believe that all people with ADD are tortured geniuses. People with ADD must all have amazing high-powered brains that work in mysterious ways. Einstein's theories of time make perfect sense to them, but the time required to peel potatoes is incomprehensible.
I think there is another explanation.
ADD people aren't brilliant. They just spend more time inventing ways to get work done without doing it than anyone else.
My husband would rather spend five hours automating a boring task than half an hour completing it. I'm not sure whether he truly doesn't know the automation work will take five hours, or can't bring himself to admit it.
My husband hates household chores. Cleaning, picking up, and other sorts of "mundane" work send him running for the computer. I have engaged in a variety of efforts to induce him to share the household like a responsible adult. As a mother and experienced wife who regularly dominates animals ten times my size, I can bring a great deal of pressure to bear.
My husband responded with robots. He is now iRobot's biggest fan. He spends hours programming, putting up electronic walls, troubleshooting, calling technical support, ordering replacement parts, and cleaning filters. He and my son are absolutely fascinated by the dirty Scooba filters; they examine them and oooh and ahhh as though they found gemstones instead of leaf bits glued with dog drool. I think the worse it is, the more they feel they have accomplished without "working".
Simply applying the regular vacuum cleaner with the special filtering airbags would get the floors cleaner just as quickly and provide more relief for my husband's allergies.
But that would be boring.

How to Triage an Office Floor

Sometimes explaining things to my husband this way helps.

onError call spouse
sub TriagePaper(currentPaper)

While floor.containspaper = true

if currentPaper.category = trash

PlaceinPile(trash,currentPaper)

elseif currentPaper.category = urgent

PlaceinPile(urgent,currentPaper)

elseif currentPaper.category = money

dance()

else

PlaceinPile(tobesorted,currentPaper)

end if

end while

OK, blockquotes were not the right choice for indenting - suggestions, anyone?

On the Way Home...

My husband was distracted by a PTA meeting on the way home. He saw the cars in the school parking lot, stopped for the meeting, and stayed until he became bored. I was dealing with a new boarder horse and food and pecking order confusion, so I didn't notice he was more than an hour late getting home until I was done in the barn.
I can't believe my arthritic rescued racehorse is dominating the new boarder. From now on I have to put him in the stall before I put Chico's food out. My horse is always lowest on the totem pole - this was a surprise!

The Big Box of Doom

My husband can't stand his office anymore. He sent e-mail to a wonderful organizational consultant, but I pointed out that it would cost less (and avoid wasting her talent) if we completed the initial cleanup ourselves, then asked her to help him tweak his tendencies until he could keep it organized. I periodically triage his office and sort things into papers requiring immediate attention (like checks to be cashed that have been Under Something for 5 months), things that need attention at some point, things to be filed, and trash. I didn't have a chance to do that before he couldn't stand it anymore, so he tackled it. His first pass was a little different.
He put everything that was on the floor or on his desk in a box.
Absolutely everything.
The office looks much better, but there is a Big Box of Doom in it.
To make matters worse, the new insurance cards that we needed to go to the pediatric neurologist today were in it.
I am the Goddess of panicked ADD men. I found it without strewing the contents of the box all over the office again.
The Big Box of Doom is still waiting, though. I think I hear a malicious laugh every time I walk by it. One of my son's toys must have been mixed in with my husband's papers...
I absolutely must finish one of my projects before I tackle that box. The next was going to be clearing an exercise area in the basement, but the offer of free chickens just moved up the timetable on building a chicken run and coop. Our own eggs! It has been years since I have had hens around.