The other day, I noticed my husband sitting on the couch, watching me, as I zipped around the house doing things.
Finally, exasperated, I looked at him and said, "What??!"
"I’ve figured something out about you."
That I’m a superhero? That I really do look like I’m still 18? That my butt’s cute?
"I think you have Attention Deficit Disorder."
I rolled my eyes.
"No, really. I’m not kidding. I just watched as you went in the office to get your calendar. When you went to grab your calendar, you noticed your plant needed water. When you went into the bathroom to get water, you noticed the light bulb was out. When you noticed that, you went in the laundry room to get another light bulb. While in there, you noticed the dryer had finished, so you folded all those clothes. Then you took the clean dishtowels and brought them into the kitchen. When you were putting those away, you realized your spices were out of order, so you re-alphabetized your spices. When you redid your spices, you started to make a list of spices you need. When you started to write that list, you decided you needed to start your grocery list. When you started the grocery list, you realized you needed to plan our weekly dinners, so you went in the office and got your calendar so you could write the meals down. It's like that weird children's book.
"Really, aside from alphabetizing your spices, which indicates a different kind of disorder, you clearly have A.D.D."
I looked at him.
And I replied,
"It’s called being a MOTHER. We’re efficient in a disorganized way. I mean, look at the end result. Within fifteen minutes, my plant was watered, the light bulb was changed, the laundry was folded and put away, the spices were alphabetized, the grocery list was written and all our meals were planned for the week.
"In that same fifteen minutes, you sat on the couch and contemplated mental disorders."
Some day, women really will rule the world.
We’re already starting, one household at a time.