Every Wednesday, Ames’ elementary schools dismiss early, at 2:05 pm, so the teachers have time for professional development. Instead of an early dismissal, the middle school has a late start on Wednesday mornings, for the same reason.
On Wednesday morning, I drove Natalie to school, and then returned home to wake Aaron, and send him off to meet his bus on time.
As I drove home, I realized: I don’t know what time Aaron likes to get up on Wednesdays. I don’t know what time his bus comes. I don’t know what time his school day starts.
This child is 12.
Aaron is independent and responsible well beyond his years. He’s had to be. His younger sister, Natalie, has ADHD. She sucks up 99% of our parenting time and energy, and Aaron is left with the dregs.
I’m proud of him—he’s smart, loving, responsible, and caring. But this isn’t the life I want for him. I want him to have a mother.
Remember when I whined about not getting enough mothering, because my mother died from breast cancer when I was 13?
I’m alive, but I’m little more than a ghost of a mother to my non-ADHD son.
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