When he was good he was very, very good. . . . . .

Remember that old nursery rhyme?:  There was a little girl, Who had a little curl, Right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good, She was very, very good. But when she was bad, She was horrid.

I thought of that a lot this past week or two.  It applies in both directions at my house.  My spouse is so tightly wrapped up in his denial - he really believes he has a handle on his negative ADHD symptoms.  The proof is in the pudding.  Try to touch one in a conversation, and he blows sky high.  He can't seem to laugh it off as something he still needs to work on; it is also complicated by the fact he can't seem to even acknowledge it is an issue.

Mother's Day was one of those very, very good days.  I came downstairs to find an Egg McMuffin (one my favorites), McDonald's Coffee, a card, and a vase of flowers he picked from our yard, right on my laptop on the kitchen table.  There was another huge bouquet on the counter by the kitchen window.  He did the dishes, and it was an all around wonderful day.  I did tell him how thankful I was.  How much I appreciated all he did that day.

Yesterday evening, the other shoe dropped.  He came into the house in a huff saying "I need your support on this."   He more or less demanded it in a close to angry tone.  He was upset at  our 24 year old son because of where he had parked in the yard.  Our son had brought his girlfriend here for a bit, and they were not staying very long.  

We have 10 acres of property.  A wide open yard, and lots of room to drive in and around anything. To set the scene, you need to know last November, my spouse had erected a temporary tent in front of the barn so they could overhaul the business service van.   It is a huge in-ground swimming pool cover, draped over our 10 x 20 picnic canopy frame.  It now blocks our son's ability to access his side of the barn.  It is lined with shelves and my spouse filled those shelves with items - parts, pieces, buckets, tools, old motors, etc., etc., etc.. My spouse had promised it would all be cleared up by May 4th. . . . . I will point out a glimmer of progress, he did tell me around May 1st, that it would not be gone by May 4th.   We have the RV - 33 foot long - in front of the barn, my husband has our daughter's car in  front of the canopy.  The snow plow is still in the driveway.  All the branches my spouse pruned out of a tree are blocking part of the yard.  He also had left the riding mower, with a trailer attached in the driveway - oh yes, AND a golf cart he borrowed from a friend.  NOW, amidst all his stuff, he only sees that our son's car is in his way.  "Why can't he LISTEN to me?"  "I told him not to park there."  "I need your support in this."  "You know how many times I have told him not to park there."  

I was trying to discern exactly what I should say.  I said something along the lines of understanding how frustrated he was.  I also tried to remind him we need to look at the big picture, and while I can understand he was upset, there was too big of a mountain of other things that surrounded the whole issue.  I also said, " There are so many other circumstances that added up to why he had no where else to park.  I can understand you are angry.  But I do not agree it is justified to be directed at our son's poor choice of a temporary parking spot.  I cannot support your anger - AT HIM - about where he parked. ?"   So THAT was not the correct thing to say. ? My attempt to smooth out the rough edges of the issue only managed to ntensify it.  

Our son was outside moving his vehicle, his girlfriend was waiting at the door, and I am trying hard to keep a major explosion from happening inside my head.

Yes indeed.  How sweet it could have been to be able to have a 3 way conversation, come to an agreement about parking, and go on our merry way.  But it is not that way.  We are perched up top of a pile of explosive issues, bundled into a huge rats nest, and the stress of trying to race around to put out the little fires that could cause the whole thing to blow sky high in weighing heavily on my back . . . . . . . .

And I am trying to understand exactly whose responsibility belongs where in the journey to finding peace for us.  

I am just overwhelmed.  Poop, poop, poop, poop, poop.