My mother has never been diagnosed with A.D.D. or with A.D.H.D. and who am I to be throwing around labels? But during the latter part of this week I had the somewhat rare opportunity to spend much, much quality time in the company of the woman who gave birth to me. I felt both kinship and also objective fascination to watch Mom in action.
Let me see if I can't paint a little picture for you: We went to meet my dad for lunch one day. She got up to refill her drink and he and I sat and talked. Something caught my attention and I looked up. A woman in pink pants was walking toward us. Wandering, perhaps, would be a better description. She walked a little bit then something caught her attention. She slowed, looking at the new attraction. Then she resumed her saunter in our direction. Something else caught her attention. She slowed again. Eventually Mom returned and we finished our meal with much laughter.
Later that night I was falling asleep. It was really, really late. Mom was working on something and she far outlasted me. "Gotta' just get one more thing done," seemed to be the mantra of the evening. Just one more thing must have morphed into seven or twelve.
Gotta' love a kindred spirit!