When I was in the 5th grade, I showed up to school in green shorts, green tights underneath them, a sturdy green t-shirt, and my face painted green. Plump green balloons were attached to me with tape, all over my clothes.
Luckily, it was Halloween and I had come to school as a bunch of grapes.
It was my mom’s idea. She worked all that morning to make it happen. So she was especially happy to find out I had won the contest for best costume in the school.
Tell truth, I was sort of mortified that whenever I sat down, I popped a balloon. It startled me, and the rest of the class, every time. By the end of the day, I had withered remnants of once-balloons hanging off every part of me. I was glad to get home to take it all off.
But, I was happy I had won too, because the prize was a handheld water game. Press on a button and a ring would float up, slowly, toward the top of the water. You could move it a bit with the other button and try to nudge that ring toward a post. Get all the rings on the posts and you’d “win.”
I spent hours with that toy, focused fully on the buoyancy of the water and the way, if I trusted my instincts and waited for the right moment, I could move all the rings onto posts. Hours, I tell you. Hours.
This activity came back to me the other day, when I read Meg Conley’s incredible piece about what it’s like to be a woman with ADHD. She found a way to describe the way she processes the world that deeply resonated with me.
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