Monday: “Your child has an appointment with our psychologist at 12 noon today. Please reply Y or N. Cancellation fees apply.” WTF? When they rescheduled because of the storm, I agreed from the car without checking the time. Midday definitely doesn’t suit, but I can’t afford to cancel.

I tell Miss 17 I’ll pick her up at 11.30, thinking we can grab a coffee first.

Nope. It takes 28 minutes to find a park anywhere near Kite Street.

The psychologist is lovely, and I sit in on today’s session. Less than a minute in she turns to Miss 17 and says, “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll give Mum a toy to play with,” and hands me the sensory basket. I choose a squishy ball, assuming I’m modelling appropriate sensory behaviour. I squeeze away, feeling like an important part of her treatment journey.

Thirty minutes later I realise she never offered Miss 17 a fidget toy. I’ve been 'stimming' the whole session, and there’s a good chance she’s casually treating my undiagnosed ADHD. Afterwards we head into town for frappes and sushi and laugh about how one of us got their neurodiversity treated at the child psychologist today, and it wasn’t her.

Tuesday: “Mum, at school today we looked at local news sources, so I read 'Orange City Life'. What do you mean you took Toothless back to Big W? You said I could ask Santa for that before I changed my mind and asked for K-Pop Demon Hunters,” says my suspicious 11-year-old, who is dangerously close to figuring things out.

Faaaaaaaaar out. I curse the school for teaching them about newsworthy sources.

“Do you want to get your ears pierced for Christmas?” I ask, desperate.

Wednesday: Two weeks ago I bought ingredients for Christmas cooking and an article for 'Orange City Life'. But that was two-weeks-ago-me, who had energy. Today, while googling “Do I have ADHD,” I decide it's the perfect moment to bake. I make Christmas crack. Salted crackers, caramel, chocolate, and — as I package it into gifts — I realise this might be the most ADHD thing I’ve ever done.

At pick up time, Miss 17 gets in the car and casually informs me she needs to be back at school by 6pm.

“Why?”

“For band rehearsal.”

“Why?”

She reminds me presentation night is tonight. I attempt a supportive facial expression.

I love my kids and am wildly proud of them, but at 7pm on a Wednesday, two and a half hours of awards is… a lot. Hubby has it worse: he walks in cheerfully announcing at least it’ll be over by 7pm and it’s not too late. I explain he’s misread the email: that’s when it starts, then i promptly leave the room.

We roll in home at 9.30pm. Most of us are exhausted, but Miss 11 (who found my emergency lollies) is wired for sound. After toast for dinner (because I’m “the worst” for not going to Maccas on the way home) we head for bed. Except Miss 11, who I find in the kitchen with her iPad, the vinegar, and three bowls.

“I’ve got a great idea for an experiment, Mum.”

Thursday: As I scroll through beauty salons trying to find an ear-piercing appointment for next week, I get an email saying Hubby has made an appointment today with a family law office. We’ve been talking about redoing our will, but I still call to check he’s not divorcing me. “Is this because I put apricot chicken on the meal plan?” I ask.

The appointment is great, and for once I feel like a real adult. Parking, however, takes 34 minutes. This is impressive considering we live a 12-minute walk from the CBD.

Back home we call time early, crack open a beer, and finish the Christmas wrapping together.

Before I knock off for the year, I want to say thank you to you, the reader. Thank you for sharing my family’s chaos, for laughing with us, and for reminding me that the hard bits are normal, the funny bits are hilarious, and the small bits matter most.

I hope you and your family have a beautiful Christmas, and that you’ll join me again next year. I’ll probably have an update on Miss 11’s experiment for you…