Telling the Kids

I have two fabulous boys.  One is not a boy anymore - he's 22, living on his own, has had a darling girlfriend for several years whom I love, and they are busy working out their future.  The other is 12, an 8th grade scholar/computer geek excelling in a rigorous IB program.

My older son is like me, poor kid.  ADD, dreamy, loving, tempermental, flighty, creative, funny, slightly rebellious of authority.   I'm worse than he is - at his age I had no plans beyond deepening my tan and then hitting cocktail hour - he is already steady, with a girlfriend and a life.  He has plans, and I never have.  I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and worse, I don't really much care.  I'm so proud that he's better than me.

My youngest is like his Dad.  Very smart, mathematically gifted, takes school seriously, has the amazing (to me) ability to plan and achieve.   He's the kid that gets all the awards, that never forgets to do homework, who always pulls As and Os, and who has a bright future in a field I could never understand in a million years.

I love them both dearly, more than life itself.

Weirdly, I couldn't wait to tell them.

See, that's what ADD does to you.  You never have the ability to keep things in the back of your brain - once it's manifested itself, out it comes.  I'm now 51 and learned a few coping tricks - so I didn't mention it despite my certainty with Dr. Google's confirmation.  I waited until I got a doctor's 80% confirmation.

My husband thought we should wait for the biopsy results and 100% certainty, but I know there was no way I could be that secretive for that long.   It would kill me, holding it in from the most important people in my life.

So, I told them both.  Easy, breezy mom.  "Hey kids.  Looks like I have breast cancer.  I  might get sick for a while depending on the treatment, but I'll be fine."

Both took it in stride, the way I expected boys to do.  Different as they are, the both had the same response:

"k"

That's why I love boys.