I am tired of yelling at my kids. I also see no other choice.

Being the frontal lobe for my two 2E+ sons.

I know what a lot of other parents might be thinking: “Then, maybe don’t yell?” I know this because I tell myself the exact same thing and feel that exact same eye-rolling way about my parenting choices every other day.

“Just don’t yell,” is an easy trap to fall into for me even though I know that it isn’t always an option. It’s appealing because the logic seems solid: if you yell they will learn to only respond to yelling, so …don’t yell. Just to add to the pressure, if you watch parenting video about disciplining ADHD kids they double down on that same recommendation.

The problem with this approach, like most of the standard and adhd-specific parenting tips, is that for my kids the logic the tips are based on dissolves as soon as it comes anywhere close to them.

Our family is a special sort of breed. Gifted, Autistic, and ADHD plus an accompaniment of anxiety, sensory processing difficulties, dyslexia, dyspraxia, panic, and obsessiveness. So, we are 2E, or “twice exceptional.” Except for us it is more like 2E plus an extra dollop of intermittent chaos. We’ll call it insan2E.

We have the insan2E.

So, what does that look like?

Here’s an example of how me trying exceedingly hard to “not yell” plays out in a house with four insan2E having humans:

I’ll call it: Putting on Shoes

“Hey, boys. It’s almost time to go. Please put your shoes on.”

My 9 year old, “Ok, got it!”

My 6 year old doesn’t respond.

I say, “6? It’s time for shoes. Please go put them on honey.”

No response.

I walk over to tap on 6’s shoulder to get his attention but I am stopped by 9.

“Hey, mom?”

“Yeah?”

“So. I had an awesome idea for a Minecraft mod I could code.”

I am now at 6 who is hyperfocusing on sorting their blueberries by size in their bowl .

“Cool bud, you can tell me after you put your shoes on.”

6 finally speaks, “What kind of mod?”

9 says, “Well, so I was thinking that you know how when we took apart — “

I interrupt, “9, bud, shoes, we can talk about this after.”

“Oh, right.”

9 then walks off toward his bedroom. Where his shoes are not.

I call after him, “Dude, they are by the front door.”

“No, I took them off in my room.”

I glance back at the door and immediately see shoes sitting by his backpack at the front door.

“No, bud they — “ but 9 is already in his room and has closed the door. I shift back to 6 who miraculously is now walking to the front door.

6 points, “His shoes are right here.”

“Yup, it’s ok. He’ll figure it out. Can you put your shoes on?”

6 flys into an instant rage. “I AM!”

I blink once, and then literally watch as he picks up his backpack and starts taking things out of it .

“Buddy, they aren’t in your bag, they are right there — “

6 growls at his backpack, “I NEED TO FIND MY PEN FIRST!”

“What? No, you need to get your shoes on dude. We can look for your pen after. Well, actually…”

I pick up a pen that is sitting next to his backpack and hold it up.

“…this pen?”

“Yay!! How did you find it?!”

“Really?”

9 then screams bloody murder from his bedroom.

I hand 6 the pen and his shoes — “Here, and please put them on.”

“Ok!”

9 then yells for me from his room, “MOM!!!!”

I take a few deep breaths as I check the clock and walk back to his room.

“Yeah?”

“I CANT FIND MY SHOES!!”

“ Well, yeah buddy. That’s because they are out by the front door.”

“NO THEY ARENT!!! I LOOKED THERE!”

“What? No you didn’t. And I was just there with 6. They are by the door where you left them last night after we went to your appointment.”

“Oh… right.”

I smile at his embarrassed grimace and give him a side hug: “It’s ok, I forget whenever I move things around all the time.”

“I didn’t forget.” He shrugs me off gently. “I just didn’t remember we went to the appointment.”

“Ah. Ok.”

We walk back to front door and find 6’s shoes in the middle of the entry space. 6, however, is not in them.

“6? Where’d you go?”

6 calls out from his room, “I’m changing my pants!”

“Why?”

“BECAUSE THEY ARE WRONG!”

9 stops putting his shoes on and looks up at me, “Should I change my pants, too?”

“No bud you’re fine.”

I walk back to 6’s room. He is not changing his pants. He is holding his pants in one hand and writing with his pen in the other — while standing in his underwear.

I try to sigh my frustration out, and then walk into the room.

“6, we don’t have time for this. Please, just finish changing your pants and go put your shoes on.”

“I will. I just need to write down my idea.”

I reach to take the pen, “Here, I can write it down while you put on your pants.”

6 grabs it away from my reach, “No! This won’t take long!”

I know better, but I am picking my battles. So I start helping him put on his pants.

6 starts chattering in excitement about his idea, “It’s about what I want to build today in the yard.”

I nod along, struggling to get his non-responsive 6 year old twiggy legs to put themselves in his pants without him falling over. All of his body awareness and coordination has been abandoned. He is in thinking time only mode.

I interrupt him, “All of that is awesome, but.” I take a deep breath . “I need your leg. No not that one. Your other leg. No, this one. The one I am tapping on. Please lift your leg.”

“How do you spell concrete barrier?”

I inhale sharply and sit back from him. “Bud? Can this wait?”

“No, how do you spell concrete barrier?”

“We are not building a concrete barrier in the backyard. We are putting on pants and going to school.”

“But we need to if we are going to make the bouldering wall.”

“We are not making a bouldering wall in the backyard.”

“But I need one to get to the zip-line!”

I stop wrestling with his unstable noodle legs, close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I try to concentrate on coming up with an answer that will end this train of thought before it spirals into a debate, “We cant make a zip-line unless we can get clearance and a building permit from the city. We can’t do that tonight because you are in school and I have to work. We can absolutely draw out your cool plans later and figure out what parts of it could work. But that has to be after school. But only if you get your pants on and go put your shoes on right. now.”

“Ok!” He then quickly and easily pulls his pants on in less than 10 seconds and then sprints to the front door.

When I arrive, I find 9 staring out at the empty air with one shoe half on. 6 is already grabbing his shoes and starting to undo them.

9 speaks to the air, “Do you think Dad’s computer could handle hosting another server?”

I chuckle to myself a little. “What? No. And dude, come on. SHOES!”

9 looks at me as if I’ve taken away some prized possession, “But I’d need a second server for the mod I want to make! How much would a better processor cost for him?”

6 year old frowns, “No 9. We aren’t buying a new processor for Dad. We are buying a permit for the city.”

9’s interest outweighs his disappointment, “For what?”

6 smiles big, “For the ninja warrior course I’m building you for your birthday.”

9 beams, “You are!?”

I groan under my breath and check the clock again. Not enough time. Have to fast track.

Grumbling to myself, I try to get 6 to put finish putting his shoes that he is still holding in his hands. I take them, undo the straps, and hand them to him. He ignores me while continuing to explain his plan for our backyard remodel .

“Yup. And it’ll have a bouldering wall to a zipline.”

9 is all in on this idea, and enters devil’s advocate mode, “But we don’t have flat enough yard for that.”

6 is ready for this, “That’s ok, because I have a plan.”

I hand 9 his other shoe. “Shoes!”

I then take shoe back from 6 and put it half on for him. “Shoes! Both of you! We can talk about all of this in the car and we can’t make a ninja course in the backyard for 9’s birthday. It’s a nice idea but we aren’t allowed to do that.”

6 demands, “Why not!?”

9 is indignant, “But Dad said we could!!”

Both are thankfully unconsciously putting their final shoe on. So I answer.

“No, dad and I said we could build a ninja play structure. Not a bouldering wall and a zipline. And we aren’t flattening the back yard by putting in a concrete barrier, 6. That DIY video was ridiculously overkill.”

9 stands up and immediately steps on his heels to take shoes off as he stares off into space processing what I’ve said.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Is the first official yell from me.

9 jumps at my yell, looks down at feet and laughs “What? Why did I do that?”

6 starts to laugh, “You took them off!”

“I know! I was like…” 9 then mimes what he did .

“haha! I know you were like…” 6 jumps up and starts to take shoes off.

“NO! 6 stop!” I asked in a raised voice, but at least not another yell.

6 laughs more, “What? It was funny?”

9, ever the class clown, starts pretending he can’t keep his shoes on his feet.

This is my breaking point. I start to raise my voice.

“OH MY GOSH. We are going to be late! Please, just. put. your. shoes on!”

9 panics. “Late? No! I can’t be late! 6 hurry!”

6 laughs and tries to take shoes off again, I stop him. 6 gives me a mischievous grin. Tries to do it again.

9 practically screams, “STOP IT 6! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

“I’M NOT!”

“YOU ARE!”

I enter the yelling match:

“OH MY GOD. BOTH OF YOU. JUST STOP. Please put your shoes on and grab your bags.” I am barely audible over their bickering.

9 looks abashed, “You don’t have to yell at me Mom.”

6 is covering his ears dramatically, “Yeah it hurts our ears. You are supposed to take calming breaths.”

End scene.

That my friends, is a MILD version of just ONE morning task.

Yes. We have a routine. We have organization and boundaries and responsibilities and reminders. We have all the things and tricks and lessons and CBT and OT and skills practice and mindfulness practice and supplements and diet adjustments etc etc etc. Even with all that, I still have to act as their frontal lobe. And I expect I will have to be for a long time until theirs comes fully on line or whenever they have supports that will make up the difference — and that don’t rely on me being one for them.

For the time being, I am the frontal lobe of the family. And sometimes, to be heard over the rest of the brain, the frontal lobe has to yell.

But it doesn’t make it any less tiring. Particularly when my own frontal lobe has its own insan2E to contend with.

Luckily for me, there is this handy thing called the internet into which I can scream my endless insan2E across the endless void.