A.D.H.D

*DING*

The screen lit up as a new e-mail notification showed a preview of a subject line: “Sorry you’re having trouble signing in to your account…”

“Great,” I thought to myself. “Scammers trying to hack into something again. What is it this time?”

I opened up the e-mail so I can see which account it was that was almost compromised. No need to rush to change the password on a CVS account that I haven’t logged into since I created it, right? Alas, upon opening the e-mail, I was greeted with the logo from my bank.

I let out a heavy sigh as I mentally prepared myself to become not comfortable again. I was just starting to languish on the couch in a rare moment of rest. My husband looked over at me, “What’s wrong, babe?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Someone just tried to hack into our online bank account.”

“Seriously? Again?” He rolled his eyes. This would be attempt number 3 in the past year. “Does this mean we have to change our cards again?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Let me just log in and see really quick. I’ll be right back.”

I reluctantly got up from the couch. My two-year-old looked up from playing and asked me, “Where are you going, mommy?”

“Mommy has to do some work, baby. I’ll be right back, okay?” I said as I walked to my room. For whatever reason, in her ever-developing mind, when the adults said the word "work", she just never questioned it. I never questioned why she never questioned it, but I noted it in my mental bank to do so out of my own pure curiosity.

I sat at my desk, dreading what I would find. Another charge for some lingerie company in a foreign country? I remember talking to the bank teller who laughed when I quipped, “I mean, if you’re going to buy lingerie with my money, the least you can do is send me a box! I’m sure my husband would appreciate it, too!”

I typed in my password. A military father raised me to be slightly afraid of Big Brother, so I never auto-save my passwords. I put tape on my cameras. The usual stuff. Haven’t made it to full aluminum hats, yet, though. Thanks, dad.

A notification jumped out at me from the screen:

You have exceeded the maximum number of attempts. Login Disabled.

Immediately following, the automated e-mail:

Uh-Oh! I see you’re having trouble logging in! Let’s go ahead and reset your password. Click here!

*click*

New Password:

“My nemesis. We meet again. It’s been a long time.” I thought, staring at the cursor blinking in that blank box as if to taunt me. Like most Millennials, I have a rotation of about 3 passwords that I use for pretty much everything. It’s more efficient that way, considering I have a hard time remembering my own age most days.

I read the requirements - must be 8 characters long, have special characters, blah blah blah. They’re almost like terms and conditions or cookie invitations at this point, right? We just start typing and hope that at some point, whatever it is will be sufficient. I tried a variation of one of my regulars.

New password cannot be the same as the old password.

What? When did I use that? Or maybe I am thinking of another website?

As if on auto-pilot, I open my Facebook tab to check new notifications.

Nothing.

Zuckerberg, you smart son of a gun. You and your addictive algorithms have sucked me in, once more! But that photo of Switzerland is gorgeous… Man, I really need to travel more… COVID really put me in a chokehold. I used to travel all the time. Aw! Wow. I remember when her mom was pregnant with her, and now she’s in high school. I feel so old… Oh, yeah. The password.

I typed in another variation.

Password cannot have special characters.

Oh, mother…

My two-year-old bursts into the room. “Mommy, look at this!”

I stop to look. In her hands she has some sort of small machine that I am sure had a purpose at some point before she got her hands on it. She proudly puts it up to her face. “Look, mommy. It goes like this!”

Wow. She is growing up so fast. I have to start planning her birthday, too. Who would have ever thought I would be doing this again? What IS that thing that she has, anyway? My pore cleaner?? When did she ever see me use that? I’m sure mine are horrid right now, too. I used to take so much more care for myself. I really have to get back to that… Oh, yeah. The password.

“Oh, wow! That’s really cool. Mommy has to finish what she’s doing, though, so can you give me 2 minutes?" I hold up two fingers. I think it's a habit I picked up in my years working childcare. "I will be done, and we can play whatever you want.”

“I want to draw!” She smiles. Her hazel eyes lit up.

“Okay. We can draw as soon as I am done. I promise.” She bounds out of the room. I yell after her, “WALK, PLEASE!”

I typed yet another version, hoping the third time's the charm.

Passwords do not match.

Son of a… Okay. Just make something up. But then I have to write it down. Should I write it in my phone? What if someone steals your phone? Well, you have a password on it, so it should be fine. But what if someone guesses your password? Realistically, what are the chances of that, though? True. Focus.

I try to make up something.

Password not long enough.

One, two, three… oh. Yeah… I should have counted. How am I a mother of 3 and can’t count letters? How am I 35 years old and I can’t even change my password but society expects me to somehow raise 3 humans? Who approved this?! I can’t even explain what stocks are! Imaginary money. I don't know. HOW AM I A MOM?! Okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Mary and Joseph lost the son of God for like, two weeks, so you’re doing great in comparison, right? You don’t give yourself enough credit.

*DING*

A notification popped up on my phone. My mother wanted to know what the menu is going to be for our new traditional Sunday Dinner.

Ooh… Maybe I can make a roast? But then the sides. What are we going to eat for dinner? What’s thawed out? Chicken wings? No… Maybe I should let them just fend for themselves, today. Make whatever. It’d be easier on me, that’s for sure. No, I need to cook. What time is it? Could I throw something in the crock pot? Four, five, six… No. Not enough time. UGH! The password!

I typed in a random word with some sequence of numbers, and then copied it so I could paste it into my digital safe space. At some point, after enough use, I will have retained this new configuration into my memory and it will be put into the same proverbial pot as the others.

CONGRATULATIONS! You’ve successfully reset your password.

Fricking finally! Geez. Now, the roast.

I opened up Google to find a recipe to send my mother. Copy. Open Messages. Paste.

Oh, crap. Did I paste the password?!

I open up my Notes, and the disappointment washes over me. A long, dejected exhale escaped from me as I debated whether or not I had the energy to try and go through this process again.

Whatever. I give up.

“How about this?” I typed to my mother, as I got up from my desk.

“Insert cash, or select payment type… Where did that come from?? We were on the bank website, obviously. You know your brain doesn’t work like other people’s brains.

My husband’s booming voice greeted me in the living room, bringing me back into the moment, “You get everything sorted out, babe?”

“Yeah. For now, anyway.” I had almost made a full sit onto the couch, until my two-year old to reminded me of the promise I had made moments ago. I shot back up. “Yup! You’re right! I absolutely did tell you we could draw. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Use pin pad to complete transaction…”