Getting diagnosed with ADHD at 41 explains a lot — the impulsive motorcycle, chaotic TV career, and why her nickname is Hammy. Cece takes us through her late-diagnosis journey with humor, honesty, and a reminder that you’re not broken — you’re just wired differently.

Freshman year with ADHD isn’t just a new chapter—it’s a survival sport. From mastering the locker combo (without getting “axed”) to finding your people before day one, here’s how we’re tackling high school with humor, strategy, and maybe a drumstick in our pocket.

According to Kei, I say “no” more than I say “hello.” But here’s the thing—boundaries aren’t just rules. For ADHD kids, they’re lifesavers in disguise. And yes, sometimes they look like silent standoffs, double-whisky survival strategies, and one well-timed Death Stare.

Puzzles were never Kei’s thing. He couldn’t match shapes, didn’t care, and I may have mildly traumatized him with my neurotypical puzzle snobbery. But years later, something clicked—literally. Now he builds the border, makes the rules, and taps each piece into place like a king claiming his throne. I do the work. He gets the glory. It’s fine. I’m fine.

Mornings start with a naked game of “Catch the Capsule,” evenings end with toothpaste interrogations, and somewhere in between, I’m just trying not to lose my mind. ADHD parenting isn’t for the faint of heart — but with humor, meds, and a little something called Strike Force, we survive one meltdown at a time.

When your ADHD kid comes home sobbing, “Nobody wants to play with me,” and you’re two seconds from crying into your third cup of coffee—this one’s for you. From failed football experiments to drumsticks through drywall, here’s how we ditched forced friendships and found the chaos crew that actually gets him. Bonus: real tools, zero sugarcoating, and one rogue sock in a snack-covered shed.

Clothes that itch, squeeze, or betray you mid-wear? Hard pass. Dive into the ND wardrobe rules — tagless, stim-safe, and worn ‘til it walks away.