If ADD Were a Poem...

 I've reached a self-discovery phase of my life.

The humorous things that I do and that happen to and around me just don't seem quite as humorous as they once did. Don't get me wrong. They are funny, but something inside of  me has turned a corner.

I will continue to write, but, if you'll bear with me, I'm on a new journey to discover myself. I want to answer the important questions... Who am I really? What's important to me? What are my strengths and weaknesses? And why am I not my top priority?

There are a lot (a lot alot!) more questions, but that doesn't make for fun reading.

When I was diagnosed with ADD (it was all ADD 31 years ago) I didn't know what that really meant. I assumed it meant I was broken, flawed, different, and would never fit in or be like anybody else.

I saw a post on a social media platform that asked, "What is ADHD to you? How would you express it? What do you want people to know about how it makes you feel?" That post sparked me to write the following poem. This is my mental definition of ADD. I hope you like it.

The voiceless screamer
   so shrill and so loud
   unheard
   unheeded
And relatively unknown
   as it vies to break out
   to rise above
the mundane mediocrity
of everyone else's egregious
   emergencies
which rain down,
   dripping and drenching
   the unheard
   the unheeded
   and unknown
below

A Tearful Goodbye

 A dear friend, practically a family member, passed today.

I said a lengthy prayer as I delicately placed him into the trash can. The tears welled up, threatening to spill down my cheeks as I reminisced about the good times we shared together.

He was there for the intimate date nights when my wife and I married. He served us well when we added to our family a sweet baby boy. He performed phenomenally for family functions throughout the years, as well as welcoming wonders for neighbors, old and new.

His loyalty never wavered as he created crescendos of wavy, wondrous noodles, enveloped in cheese, sauce, spices and sometimes beef.

Sadly, he met his demise today in the kitchen sink. His life literally came to a crashing end due to my slippery, sardonic hands. I dropped him. 

And now, the only lasagne pan I have ever known, slipped from my life and will be forever missed.

Goodbye old friend!

Wherefore Art Thou, Cold Stone Creamery?

Some years back, a ray of hope came into my life in the form of a Cold Stone Creamery in my town. I saw the words of this amazing institution emblazoned upon the side of the building, glistening for all to see and drool.

Oh how I dreamed of those fluffy, ice creamy concoctions! The masterful way they flop ice cream upon the mixing table and blend it with their selection of healthy add-ins such as chocolate, Butterfinger bars, Oreo cookies, peanut butter, butterscotch, and so on. They also had 'healthier' options such as fruits, nuts, berries, and granola, but I digress.

A problem occurred soon after the sign went up. The problem, known officially as the COVID-19 pandemic, caused any construction or production of CSC, as I sometimes call it, to cease.

The pandemic broke my heart. I was determined, however, to be patient and told my wife that CSC would come through for me. Just wait and see.

The spring following that rough pandemic ushered in cardboard over the insides of the windows. 
"It's coming," I excitedly told my wife. "They put cardboard up to spare us the torture of seeing it slowly put together piece by piece!"
"Don't get your hopes up," she said, a bit too late. "That's not a good sign"

Her prediction proved accurate.

That cruel cardboard stayed firmly put throughout that summer and following fall and winter. Another spring, summer, fall, and winter came and went, leaving bitter disappointment in my mouth instead of a cold, sweet, heavenly treat.

And then the cardboard came down. I believe it was this past spring.

"Honey," I yelled. "It's coming! It's coming! CSC is finally coming!"
"Really," she asked. "How do you know?"
"Because the cardboard finally came down! That means someone MUST be in there doing something to save us from a life devoid of CSC!"
"Ehhhh... That's the problem with tape. It doesn't stick but for so long."
"How can you be so cold and heartless?! The Great Pumpkin... I mean CSC will appear! You just have to believe! Really!"

As of today, Tuesday, July 25, 2023, I'm petitioning the city council to eradicate the offending name off the front of that empty building on North Main Street.

Big Butt? Or Bad Jeans?

A first grade teacher suffered a wardrobe malfunction of epic proportions in a second grade classroom earlier today in a North Carolina school. Mr. Haworth, the first grade teacher, split his britches.

A keen eyed second grade teacher, Mrs. Haworth, was victimized when she spotted the offending posterior approximately seven feet in the air at the back wall of her classroom. Apparently, Mr. Haworth had been tasked with the job of hanging several dozen pictures upon the wall.

As of this writing, Mrs. Haworth is recovering from the shock by resting comfortably in a cool, dark room. Though visibly shaken, she seems to have suffered no long term damage and is not responding to further questions.

Mr. Haworth, however, seems to be suffering from a mental breakdown of sorts from the denim failure fiasco.

"I don't know how long they've been like that," Mr. Haworth told Fuzzy, Black Dogs (FBD). "I thought Mrs. Haworth was getting frisky talking about my back side. Then she upped and just walked out of the room.

"Once I discovered the hole, I said to myself, 'it just doesn't get any worse than this'. It got worse... There was a SECOND hole nearly as big as the first! To make a bad situation worse, Mr. Sir Mix-A-Lot started singing in my head...

Note the royal blue spots
which are NOT part
of the jeans!

"Oh, my, God, Becky. Look at his butt.
It's just so out there. I mean, really.
It's fallen out of his pants! Gross!
I mean it's scary looking! Aaacckk!

"I don't like that butt and I cannot lie!
I think your butt's scarred my eyes...

"There was more. That was a bit too much for me."

Our research team at FBD was unable to determine the time the infraction occurred. Between the luncheon restaurant, the small bit of staff at the school, and those at the grocery, approximately 35-40 people have potentially been exposed to this moving visual violation.

"Everybody today has been really super nice to me," Mr. Haworth said. "Until I discovered the holes, I had a really good day."

Here at FBD, we've been told the offending jeans have been properly disposed and replaced, and things have returned to normal.

First Grade Gems of Wisdom

Yet another school year has come and gone. Another batch of first graders. Another year of surprises and life lessons. Here are a few new gems of wisdom I've gleamed from the past school year...

Anything can be licked. The usual suspects of fingers, hands, and arms apply, but we've added more this year. Add to that list desks, iPads, chairs, pencils, erasers, and windows. First graders, as a whole, clearly don't have discriminating taste.

I discovered that you can prevent pencil chewing by hand sanitizing the pencils. Trust me, I know.

First graders, as a whole, are very quick to pick up on... things, in general. 
FG: Mr. Haworth! Wanna see a spider I just found?
Me: I'm... busy. But feel free to kill it if you'd like.

First graders are also an observant bunch.

FG: You have a butthole, Mr. Haworth!

Me: Why, yes, Ethel Gray. I certainly do.

FG: I can see it, Mr. Haworth!

Me: Wait... What?!

Cubbies cause pow wows. I'm thinking that next year, I may get rid of the cubbies and just install wall hooks for backpacks and coats. But if I do, I won't be able to eavesdrop on some stellar first grade gossip.

If you give one kid a piece of gum, they all want gum. That's a given. However, this year, if you punish one student, other students want to be punished too.
FG: You sent DeeDee to her desk! Why didn't you send me to my desk?!

Me: What? Um... Sure, Edward. Go to your desk. Now.

There is a direct correlation between the Bermuda Triangle and first grade classroom cubbies.
Me: Where is your lunchbox? I asked you to get it.
FG: It was in my cubby, but I can't find it.
Me: Go look again. Anne! Where is your lunch card?
FG: I set it in my cubby, Mr. Haworth.
Me: So get it, please.
FG: Um... It's not there Mr. Haworth. It's missing. Really!

Looks like the cubbies are out of here! How do I sell this idea to my principal?

The Three Week Pile Diet

Summer is quickly approaching and I just finished trying on all my shorts. Sadly, some of them did not make the cut due to winter storage shrinkage.

I stacked all the offending shorts together, placed them in an obvious place where I'll see them, and, in the process, inspired myself to come up with a brand new diet, aptly named The Three Week Diet.

Winter storage shrinkage...
It's real!

The simplicity of the plan is astonishing! In fact, it's so simple, it's sure to work.

Not only have I stacked them in an obvious place, but I've taken a picture of the pile, too. That way, I can make duplicates and place them by the cupboard, refrigerator, and other key places where food is kept. But not the secret chocolate stash. It's currently empty.

The premise behind the diet is that each time I go to get food, I have to ask myself "Will this help me get into those amazing shrinking shorts in three weeks time?"

As I think the plan out, I realize that I may need the picture taped to the dashboard of my car as well. That should be a reminder to NOT purchase the cream horns at the grocery store. Maybe a mobile picture, too. It would be placed on the grocery cart handle. A full pack of four cream horns only has a little less than 1,300 calories.

The mobile picture (and dashboard picture) will help as I go through fast food drive-throughs, the Hawia'an Ice Stand, the gas station candy section, the checkout section at the tackle store, the doughnut store around the corner from me, my favorite milkshake location... Well, you get the idea.

An update will be posted in three weeks time. It will include my progress, any tips or addendums to the diet plan, and any helpful observations I have made along the way.

Project Christmas: Phase 1

In my household, the holiday season is fraught with memories. They run the gamut from magical to  disastrous, satisfying to downright frightening. We may touch on some of these different memories as I fill you in on the different phases of Christmas in my household.

Approximately 19 years ago, when my son was about five year old, we had a decidedly unhappy Christmas and I, for one, was ready to put it behind me. I started taking down the words "Happy Holidays" when my son put in his two cents worth.

"Why do we have to be happy just for the holidays," he asked. "Can't we be happy all year long? Please leave the happy up. I think we need it." As per my son's unrelenting logic, my wife and I decided that "Happy" would remain in place year long. "Holidays" comes out to join its counterpart only during the Christmas season.

As for the fluffing of the Christmas tree, this year I'm treating it like a job. I haven't told my wife, but I expect to be paid for my acquiescence, or rather lack of whining, complaining, and excuses I come up with as to why I can't, or shouldn't, haul the tree from the deep recesses of the basement to its spot in the house.

Right now, the "Happy" and "Holidays" have joined in holy matrimony. Through no small effort of my own, the tree is in place, fluffed and ready for the lights to be strung.

So far, my wife has given me no attention, no advice, no constructive criticism, no hard glares, no bribes, and no words of encouragement. This year may turn out to be one of the best Christmas seasons yet!

As of this writing, I'm moving on to Phase 2 - the Lighting of the Tree.