Where the Wild Things Are

Doesn't she look innocent?

The subject line of the email read: Cialis_Viagra_Ritalin__Percocet__Adderall!!! It’s as if they wanted to get my attention one way or the other.

Attention. Two of my children take medication for ADHD. I was thinking back to the days before they did, back when the kids were tiny. Bedtimes were an absolute horror show, because by then I was exhausted, and the ones with ADHD just got more active when they were tired.

I relied heavily on ritual. At one point I had three children really close together (an infant, a two year old and a six year old. OK, you probably had more and closer, but this stretched me.)

I would put the baby to sleep, put the two and 6 year old into their bunk beds after they were clean, and tell them a story. Sometimes it would be a book, but they liked the stories about themselves the best. They LOVED the stories about when they had been caught  doing some criminal action or another- they could listen to those night after night. “Do you remember when you were brushing your teeth by yourself and you stuffed every single toothbrush down the the sink drain? Do you remember when you were playing the piano and decided to color every single key a different color with your new box of crayons?”

If I was too tired to regale them with stories of their misadventures, we read something like “Goodnight, Moon” or “Where the Wild Things Are” or “I’ll Love You Forever”- the latter when they were older. After the story we had the nightly joke. “Knock knock.” “Who’s there?” “Banana.” “Banana who?”

“Knock knock.” “Who’s there?” “Banana.” “Banana who?”

“Knock knock.” “Who’s there?” “Banana.” “Banana who?” [continue until point of pain]

“Knock knock.” “Who’s there?’ “Orange.” “Orange who?” “Orange you glad I didn’t say ‘Banana’?”

Now they are older. Little ones bring this constant veil of exhaustion, or at least they did for me. I look at pictures of myself from that time and feel like taking the baby for a couple of hours so that I could take a nap. But once they are older they bring a whole different skill set into play.

My twenty year old lost her license because she was driving with her friends past the state-mandated curfew and the occupants of her automobile mouthed off to the officer who stopped them. No drugs, no alcohol- just bad attitudes, a towed car and a suspended license. To get the license back she would have to take an anger management class and write a letter of apology. She refused to write the letter, and still can’t drive.

And other things similar to this happen. It’s like a switch flips when they turn 16 and they feel this burning urge to create more of those criminally-oriented bedtime stories. Where the Wild Things Are? They were living in my house until my son turned 18, and then they sailed away- probably until the 11 year old invites them back.

If I had to share any tip to getting through those years it would be this: the 20 year old daughter, when she was about 16, crawled under my bed and hid. I brought some laundry up and had put it on my bed in preparation of folding it, and she snaked both hands out and grabbed me by the ankles.

When they were little, that would have sent me through the roof, screaming along the way. My daughter was disappointed because I didn’t even flinch- not on purpose. It just wasn’t in me any more to be frightened of what hypothetically lived under the bed, when every time the car went on the road with a teenager behind the wheel my nerves began the countdown until he or she arrived home in one piece.

That’s the tip: when you get that call- and chances are you will- with a crying teenager at the other end, take a deep breath. Put the hysteria to sleep until the morning and take care of business. And realize that someday they will have children just like themselves.

Orange you glad I didn’t say “Banana”?

This child doesn't have a disrespectful bone in her body

Becca and Jenny

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