I’m a mom and full-time educator with ADHD. Here’s how I get through summer break with my kids.

Emilia, 37, is an educator living in Metro Detroit. She believes in the power of well-told stories, happy accidents, and ice cream. She’ll be late to your meeting, but she’ll bring your favorite snacks.

7:30 a.m. As an online teacher, working from home means my commute from bed to desk takes about 30 seconds. But with four kids home for summer break, I need more prep time for a successful day. I peel myself out of bed, take my stimulant, and start a load of laundry before making everyone a quick breakfast and logging in for the day.

8:00 a.m. Email check. A parent shares about her child’s struggle with ADHD. I jump into gathering links, strategies, and resources to help this student transition to college this fall. I pause while linking to a podcast. The parent didn’t ask for this information — am I oversharing? I save the draft for now and start on my to-do list. 

10:00 a.m. My husband heads in to work, so I take a break with the kids. The older three are content, but my youngest is lonely. We play a few board games until he decides to teach our dogs to dance to “Pink Pony Club” and make them famous. The kid is a visionary. 

11:40 a.m. After a decent morning, my focus is waning. I’ve checked off all the fun jobs on my list, and now I’m looking for any excuse to push the boring ones off to tomorrow. Luckily, I don’t have to look far. All four kids are now plotting to make the dogs go viral. They’re creating a playlist, choreography, and scripts. I may be witnessing the birth of a cultural phenomenon.

11:55 a.m. I realize I’m distractible because my meds wore off about 20 minutes ago. Time for lunch and a second dose. I remind the kids, “No technology at the table,” but they ask Alexa to play music. “She’s not at the table, Mom, she’s on the counter!” Can’t argue there. I forget to move the laundry to the dryer. 

1:30 p.m. The kids want to start a 24-hour movie marathon. I counter with a multi-day deal (more uninterrupted work time for me!) and pass around popcorn. I still forget to move the laundry.

3:00 p.m. I revisit my response draft email from this morning. I trim it down to helpful resources and a link to the podcast — only if they’re interested. I feel good about sending it off.

5:45 p.m. The kids are finishing up a few chores as my husband comes home with groceries and dinner. We try to tackle some laundry between dinner and bedtime. 

9:45 p.m. It’s late, and I haven’t even touched my part-time job as a university instructor. I have about two hours’ worth of grading plus a looming project deadline. I grade from the couch while my husband and I catch up on TV shows. We go to bed a little after midnight.

9:00 a.m. I just cannot get it together this morning. I feel restless. Nothing I do feels satisfying. I get up for a drink or a snack and forget to bring it back with me. I’ve misplaced my phone at least three times (once was in a laundry hamper). Everything on my to-do list feels equally unimportant and unappealing. No matter what I work on, it feels like the wrong thing, which means I abandon everything and choose nothing. My kids keep asking me easy questions, but I don’t have the brainpower to weigh in on anything. This sucks.

10:30 a.m. My 10-year-old apologizes for talking to me too much, and I feel awful. Change of plans: I get everyone to play board games with me for a while. If I’m going to be unproductive this morning, I might as well enjoy myself.

11:00 a.m. I get back to work. I’m still struggling. But I’m not as annoyed, and my kids are happy. To help end my decision paralysis, I close my eyes and point to a task on my list, promising myself to commit to whatever I land on. It’s painful, but I do it.

1:00 p.m. I need an easy win, and I’m not above tricking myself into victory. I start to award myself points for each task I cross off my checklist, promising myself treats and gifts for each point I earn. Soon, I loop the kids into my schemes, and we make a kids vs. mom game, racing to see who can do a job or chore faster. Eventually, they decide they’ve won and deserve popsicles. I concur.

4:00 p.m. With momentum on my side, I dive into my long-term university project. The last time I touched it, things felt scattered. But now I have a clear vision of how the moving parts will come together. The challenge is following that vision through to completion. I’m excited about how it’s shaping up in my mind. I put in earplugs so I’m not overstimulated by the kids’ play noises.

6:30 p.m. My husband brings dinner to my desk so I don’t have to stop working.

8:30 p.m.The kids come to my desk to say goodnight. It’s bedtime already? I move my laptop to the family room to work near my husband for the rest of the night.  

1:30 a.m. When my husband goes to bed, I say I’ll be up in a little while. He laughs and says he doesn’t count on it. At some point, I set a 10-minute timer for a little brain break.

4:30 a.m. My brain break turned into an hours-long nap on the couch. It’s too late to go to bed, and too early for my medication. ADHD time limbo. Should I try to fold laundry? I fall back asleep.

6:30 a.m. My daughter, awake because she’s had a bad dream, seizes the opportunity for bonding time without the boys. I wake up slowly while she shows me the art she’s created on her tablet. 

8:30 a.m. I have several meetings this morning, so I go over Zoom expectations with the kids. Boundaries are tricky when Mom’s office is in the living room! In between meetings, it’s hard to tackle my checklist. (I’ll either lose track of time and show up late for my next meeting, or I’ll be interrupted in the middle of a task and lose my progress.) So I use the time to gather classroom and curriculum improvement inspiration.

10:40 a.m. My 7-year-old interrupts Zoom meeting #2 to ask if I can make him a snack and look for worms in our garden. We’re going to have to review what constitutes an emergency. 

1:30 p.m. My meetings are done for the day. I move my laptop into the family room so I can do some training videos while the kids take turns showing me their video game progress. Something mentioned in a training video leads me down a research rabbit hole, and now I’m looking up browser extensions to support students with learning differences. It’s relevant, but it’s not what I need to be doing now. I throw the links into a running document I have for “future ideas” and refocus.

4:30 p.m. I get out my paper planner and write out all the things I need to do before we go on vacation, color-coding them by area of my life (job, family, chores). I’m not convinced I’ll get it all done before we leave. So I try to prioritize what must get done, what I can hand off to someone else, and what will be OK to do when we get back. 

9:30 p.m. I grade for an hour or so, then check my email. I’m relieved to see a positive response from the parent I emailed earlier this week, and that she shared the podcast with other parents. I watch television and scroll social media until about midnight, then head to bed. Vacation cannot come soon enough — assuming I can finish the laundry in time.

Hear more from Emilia on this episode of ADHD Aha! 

What do 72 hours in your ADHD life look like? We want to hear from you. Find out how to submit your own diary entry.