Laziness and loathing

I'm the laziest blogger ever. I have things in my head about which I could write - Harry Potter, med school, ear-infection-prone twins, knitting, language delays, organic food, disastrous housekeeping. But my interest flickers from thing to thing faster than I can pull up Blogger, and I'm beset by some parenting malaise that prevents coherency (clearly). Because next to and under and around and through the laziness is the loathing, the annoyance, the deep-itch-irritation with my big boy.

I am a good parent in my head. I have reserves of self-confidence that I begin to suspect are not warranted, a faith in my love for my kids and the belief that I've sacrificed too much for them for it not to matter - they have to turn out well, I've paid for a good result with my time and sleep and heart and soul and body and money and whatever other currency I had at the beginning of this foolishness. And yet. My big boy tries my patience every day. Every 5 minutes, really. And it seems like my patience is never quite big enough for the task.

We're having him evaluated, for ADHD and a mood disorder, and I don't know what I'm more afraid of - that he does have some kind of problem that will affect him throughout his life, or that there's nothing wrong except my own terribly short fuse and imperfect affection. In the meantime, the summer days that were looking so promising are getting slower and longer, with all of us restless and at odds with each other.