Saturday, April 26, 2014

Z? Really?

Z is giving me problems. Zebras? Zip ties? Zippers? Zzzzzzzzzz? 

Z is an end, the last letter of the alphabet. This is the last A to Z post for April. As much as it's an ending, it's a beginning for me. 

Is gotten pretty lazy about my blog, only posting when the mood struck or my muse spoke or I had a massive rant about something. Or, or, or...This exercise has forced me to be disciplined and write posts. And I've surprised myself by DOING it!  Go me!!

May is coming up. I'm not sure what I'll write about, but I will write. Now that I've gotten in the habit, I can't stop! I have a massive migraine right now and still, I write. 

Thank you for coming on the journey with me through through this challenge. I hope I've entertained you, touched your heart, made you think. I wonder where we're headed next? 

Happy reading! 


This post is about Great Grandmother. Yes ma'am, not Great Grandma or anything like that. She was Great Grandmother. She was full-blooded German and she, her mom, and sisters  came over to the United States just ahead of Hitler's regime. As I remember the story, her father didn't make it over here and no one knows what happened. All of the records were destroyed in Germany during the war and no trace of him was found in either country. 

She was a very proper lady. She wouldn't come put of her bedroom without being fully dressed and made up. She had her way of doing things. She was strict, very strict. And she could crochet like you wouldn't believe. She taught me how. 

She taught me basic stitches and then started me on an afghan. I was around 10-12 years old at the time. I worked on it for several weeks and took it back for her to see. I'd gotten about a fourth of the way through the afghan. She inspected my work, while I beamed with pride. Then she saw a skipped stitch. It was in the second or third row, way at the beginning. 

"Did you see this?" She asked. 

"Yes, Ma'am."


"When I was about two rows past it."

She very calmly ripped out every stitch until she came to the mistake. She looked me in the eye and ripped out a few more stitches. 

"Anything worth doing, is worth doing right.  We don't cover up mistakes. We don't make excuses. We don't make mistakes."

I never finished that afghan. And I still, to this day, get angry with myself for making mistakes. 

X Marks the Spot

When my dad was growing up, he saved a jar of pennies--in those days, that was a small fortune. He decided to bury them in the woods and carefully drew a map so he could find those pennies. 

My grandma had a painting of an old ship hanging in their house. My dad removed the backing just enough to hide the map behind the ship. When he tried to get the map out many years later, he found that time, age, and the elements had fused the backing to the painting and he was unable to remove that map. 

I have the painting with the map still hidden behind it. It's a treasure for me because of the story behind the painting. The jar of pennies is long gone, I'm sure, the map no longer useful since he has died and no one else knows what it says. But that treasure map leads to a much larger treasure for me. A look into my dad's childhood that was full of work around the home place, odd jobs to make ends meet, and tragedy when his dad died early in his life. That he could still be a little boy, with dreams of buried treasure and hidden maps was a a testament to the resilience of a child. 

And the painting? It's an old ship. Looks like one a pirate might have captained. That makes me smile. 

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Count to Ten

They say you should count to ten to calm down when you're angry. Ha! Doesn't work for me. I say the alphabet backwards.

Yep, say the alphabet backwards. I tried counting backwards, but that only made me feel like a rocket ready to blast off. 

Saying the alphabet backwards makes you focus on something other than your anger. Try it. I'll wait. (Humming annoying gameshow tunes.) No, really, go ahead, I can wait. Sigh. Done? No? Oh, okay. (Tapping foot and humming louder.)  How long does this take?! Angry? Me? Oh, no, really,  I'm not angry. I SAID I'm fine. 

Z, Y, X, W,...

Write What You Know

We've all heard repeatedly "write what you know".  If everyone out there literally writes what they know, then some people scare the hell out of me!  

Of course, most of my blog topics are about things that I do know something about. 

In fiction, write what you know means (to me) take a real situation and "what if" it until you have a story. Nobody wants to hear about little Suzy going to the corner store for ice cream. But if little Suzy goes to the store for ice cream and walks in on a crime or a giant cockroach convention --that might just catch our interest. Reality plus embellishment equals fiction.

Research on your topic equals knowing also. I wrote a piece where two children heard a noise and went to investigate a few hours later. They found the dead body of a man who'd terrorized them on the floor, with flies buzzing around. A reader pointed out that flies wouldn't have gathered that quickly indoors, with no open windows, etc. She had researched it. Write what you know. 


Self-doubt is like venom pulsing through your body. It takes over the healthy psyche, much like venom breaks down healthy tissues.  Self-doubt can kill your desire to try and it can destroy who you are. 

My circle helps counteract venomous self-doubt. My circle consists of family, friends and followers. They are each supportive in their own way. They offer encouragement, praise, constructive criticism and experience. Thank you! 

My advice to you? Find a circle of people to learn from, to support and who are supportive--no matter what your drive, your passion, your calling. Counteract  venomous self-doubt because if not, it will eat away at your creativity. 

Ugly Truths

While out for a walk, my mind started wandering. This isn't unusual for me. (The mind wandering, not the walking.) I often people watch and wonder what goes on in their lives, the part that is for their eyes only. 

Most of us put on some kind of mask when we're in social situations. The ones who don't are usually the ones who stand out, and not necessarily in a good way. 

I wonder who lives in these houses. Do they have children? Are they happy? Is someone dying? Is someone angry? 

What are the truths hidden behind those walls? Are they pretty, ugly or a combination of the two?

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Quell Those Doubts

One of the most difficult things for me to do is stop negative self-talk. I doubt myself more often than not. That's a very difficult position for anyone who likes to create.

I've developed friendships with a few other writers. These friendships started at a local writing group. This is helpful on so many levels. Writing is a solitary activity. The interaction with people who understand this is invaluable. 

The writers I'm friends with offer critiques. And I do the same for them. We bounce ideas off each other, read our work in group, or critique hard copy for each other. I also have a network of followers and followees, if you will, that provide inspiration, information and experience. 

And as I move along in this creative journey, I find it easier to tell myself "you really don't suck at this", "you can do this", "you have a unique voice".

Quell the doubts and move on. 

You can find me on Facebook Linda Beeson Rosendale, Author or on twitter @writerlinda2008. 

Friday, April 18, 2014


I have a potty mouth. I know, I know, you're shocked. But really, I do. I try to refrain, but as I said in a previous post, I'm not perfect! 

My children, surprisingly enough, haven't picked up on as much as I thought they might. But when they decide to use those forbidden words, they make sure it's in full hearing range of...oh... clergy, teachers, other parents, you know, the people I really want them to be on their best behavior for. 

My youngest's favorite word happens to be 'shit'.  He thinks it's funny to see my face go purple, eyes bulging, steam from the ears.

I guess I have myself (and my husband) to blame. Shit! 

Ride 'em, Cowboy!

When my twins were around 2 or 3, they were playing quietly. If you have children, know anyone with children or have ever been a child, you know quiet = danger. I went to check to see what they were up to. I walked in their room and twin A was sitting on twin B's back, while twin B crawled around the room. 

"What on EARTH are you doing?!" 

Twin A replied, "He's a cow and I'm a cowboy."

SMH! Of course! Made perfect sense. As I struggled not to laugh, I thought about a popular series of books I read when I was young. Amelia Bedelia was one of my favorite characters. Everything she was told, she took literally. 

Children are like that. When I say, "You're going to give me a heart attack", they believe they're literally going to give me a heart attack. Of course, I have three boys so they probably will. 

Next time you hear "ride 'em cowboy!", I'll bet it makes you smile. 

Practically Imperfect In Every Way

Mary Poppins may be "practically perfect in every way", but I'm certainly not. I yell, lose things all the time (including my temper), usually have a ton of unfinished projects, have problems with punctuation, change topics in the middle of a conversation..need I go on?

I've decided perfect is highly overrated. Perfect is boring, predictable, and nonexistent. Sorry all of you perfectly perfects, you cannot be!  

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

OMG Moment

I received a note from a teacher regarding my 8 year old. I always hold my breath when he goes to school, send up a quick prayer that he'll not get into trouble  and remind him to be on his best behavior. 

This particular note said:
Yelled out, "SEX!" at the top of his lungs in the lunchroom.

Shit. I mean, oh my! Nah, I mean shit!  First, I wondered where he heard it and if he even realizes what it means. I asked what he got into trouble for and I got a string of tales. When this child lies, he does it with enthusiasm. (Don't you like how I reframed that?)

I finally stopped him, because I love him and hated to see him get in any deeper. After a discussion about telling the truth (one of many such conversations with this one), I told him he was in trouble. Not for saying sex, but for lying about what he said. Then (gulp) I asked what sex means. 

"Boy or girl. Their sex is which one they are."

Whew! Can hold off on THAT talk for a little while!

Monday, April 14, 2014


When we found out we were pregnant, we started working on a list of names. The biggest problem we faced was naming our children something unique to them--no juniors or thirds here.  And something that didn't make us fear for our lives when they grew up. (Like some family names, which I won't discuss.)

The initials couldn't spell anything rude or that could be made fun of by other children. It was an ordeal, this naming thing. Eventually we settled on a name we both liked. Families were happy, we were happy. 

Recently, our children started asking why we picked out the names we did. They don't like their names. Sigh. Of course, they don't. 

"Fine," I say, "when you have children, name them what you want to. For now, live with what you've got."

"I'm going to name my kid Godzilla, or Lightningbolt, or Ninja!"

Ah! I can't wait to meet little Godzilla, Ninja and Lightningbolt! I'll be sure to tell them what their names might have been. 


"There are no such thing as monsters," I lie to my children.

Life is full of monsters. Some are in your face, some come well disguised. They're hard to spot, not like the ones on television, in movies or in books. You can't always look at someone and see what they really are. You never know what people are until they remove those masks. 

The real monsters are the abusers, the bullies.  The real monsters live in your community, your neighborhood, maybe even in your home. Those are the monsters to worry about, not the ones under the bed. 


We're all familiar with LOL (laugh out loud). One of my church friends was writing an email to her son. After she was done, she signed it "LOL, Mom".  

He wrote her back and said, "Mom, LOL means laugh out loud." She thought it meant lots of love. :-)

That exchange made me wonder if, when we respond to emails, Facebook posts, and tweets, what would happen if you think of LOL as lots of love? I wonder how many people would still use it?

LOL! Have a blessed day!

Saturday, April 12, 2014

My Soul to Keep by V.J. Prucha

just finished My Soul to Keep for the second time. V.J. Is one of the best new authors I've had the good fortune to meet.

Carolina made some horrible choices that led to a prison term. She's on the run from her psychotic ex, and has been since her release from prison.

After her less than perfect track record with men, she finds herself in the middle of a nightmare with her ex, her neighbor, a strange minister from a nearby church, and a serial killer who's on the loose. 

V.J. weaves a tale of mystery and terror that scared me as much the second time I read it as it did the first.  I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves a good thriller. You won't be disappointed!

 V.J., I'm a huge fan! Can't wait to read the next one! This author is definitely one to watch.

Keep Doing What You Love

Keep doing what you love. Don't let anyone or anything take it away from you. I create with words and in my spare time, I do crafts.  Life takes control some days and I don't feel as productive.  That's alright. Life fuels creativity. 

I feel lost when I can't write or make something. I've learned that the days the muse doesn't speak, I work on other things. She hates being ignored, so she'll get my attention then. Of course, it's usually in the middle of the night, but that's okay. 

Keep pushing forward. You never know the outcome. Keep traveling through this wonderful journey called life. You never know where it will take you. 

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Jumping In Puddles

Is there anything more fun than jumping into puddles after a summer rainstorm?  We spent summers outside--no video games, no organized activities. Video games hadn't been invented and organized activities were for the well-off. 

Most of our time was spent at home, Mamaw's house, or at a friend's house. We loved summer rains. At Mamaw's house, we'd play on her screened-in porch until the rain ended, then we'd head outside to catch frogs, jump in puddles or make boats out of twigs and leaves. 

Simple times, happy memories. 

Inappropriate Behavior

I worked in the counseling field for a number of years.  Because of my training, degree and occupation, the phrases "inappropriate behavior", "responsibility for our actions", "appropriate response" and that sort of  "therapist speak" are pretty much the norm around my house.  I never thought much about it, until the first conference with the principal at my boys' elementary school.

The principal had called me in because of the inappropriate classroom behavior of one of my boys.  As we were discussing the incident, she remarked that she'd never heard a child use words like he was using.  As a parent of three very mischievous little boys who's father was a sailor, I was a little frightened to hear what she had to say next.

She said he knew his behavior was "inappropriate" and that he should have "made better choices" because his "response was not the best one for the situation".  I laughed and told her what my occupation was before I had children. 

Nice to know they're listening!

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Helping Others

H is the letter of the day.  Last summer, my boys and I were busy with our usual summer activities: swimming, baseball, fighting (the boys), refereeing (me).  And my children had a SEVERE case of the "gimmies". 

"Mo-om, I want (fill in the blank with the latest cool toy/gizmo/gadget on the market)."

I'd sincerely had enough.  We went to a local dollar store and bought brown paper bags, small packets of crackers, tuna, cookies, dried fruit and nuts.  We came home and I asked the boys to draw pictures on the bags.  They did.  Then we proceeded to put a bottle of water, a couple of food items, and a piece of hard candy in each bag.  After we were done, we drove around town and handed them out to the homeless.  I talked with the boys while we were doing this about the homeless, the less fortunate people we see every day.  They were very quiet. I wasn't sure if it was sinking in.

We came back home after an afternoon of handing out the bags and the boys went into their rooms.  I let them go play, with little thought of what they were doing.  A little later, all three came out with small toys--probably collected from various kid's meals--and asked if we could take those somewhere for children who didn't have toys.  I noticed more than a few Hotwheels and cherished treasures among the toys. I have to tell you, my eyes filled with tears as I looked at those little faces. 

We loaded up those toys and took them down to a local shelter.  I was, and still am, so very proud of them. That's the kind of men I want to send out into this world. 


Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Grammar Glitches-- A Sarcastic Rant

This is a post about the misuse of words and misinformation. The children are our future but what kind of future will they have if they're (not there or their) misinformed? Will their (not there or they're) minds wander (not wonder) to other things, if what (not watt) they learn from incompetent instructors leads them to fail later? And we're told these "little glitches" in the education process are really not (not knot) a big deal. They're (again, not there or their) such minor problems with which (not witch) we (not wee) really shouldn't concern ourselves. So, when your (not you're) children learn the following, please don't be alarmed! We (not wee) really want our (not hour) future to look like this:

"Wee the people believe in the write to bare arms. Wee believe their are know boundaries too what wee can do with this quality education. Wee believe anywon whose fortunate enough two git a grate education in hour school system is indeed very lucky. Where else do ewe find out that wondering the class is a problem!?! Eye wander watt the answer is? Quality education is the key! Eye no its very hard two get thru school, sew we're lucky that sum teachers don't git held to a higher standard! And hoo cares if the Bill of Writes was wrote inn 1776 or 1976, ore whatever. It really ain't that important. Eye get flusterated with remembering awl those dates anyhow. Sew ewe sea, we're doing find with awl these things we're learning. Ewe got know worries over these miner glitches."

This is a slight exaggeration of the nonsense I've seen recently. I'm not perfect.  And I'm sure grammar gurus could look over my work and have a field day.  But people, I am not a teacher.  I'm aware of my deficits.  But when you don't know the difference in homonyms (to, two, too; their, there and they're; etc.), and you're teaching children, THERE IS A BIG PROBLEM!!  When you teach children incorrect methods of solving math problems, THERE IS A BIG PROBLEM!! When you teach incorrect dates in history, THERE IS A BIG PROBLEM!!  And no amount of excuses make up for it.  NO EXCUSES!!

For you teachers who do your job and do it well, thank you. For those who don't, I have no patience.

Monday, April 7, 2014

The F-word--Not the One You Think I Mean

Today's letter is F. I know what you're thinking--Linda and the F-word. Well, hold on a minute! I'm not going to use THAT F-word once. Really.

I've been trying to come up with a post I like about an F-word. Friends, family, fear, faith and a dozen other F-words have been going through my mind. But the one that keeps jumping out is fear. Fear can be the greatest barrier or the greatest motivator.  If I'm honest, fear has paralyzed me and pushed me my whole life. If you're honest, it probably influenced you also. 

I fear I'm not good enough at being a mom, a wife, a friend, a writer. I fear I'll fail or that I'll succeed. I fear I'll fall or that I'll have to keep climbing. When I do well, I fear my achievements won't be recognized...or that they will. Pretty screwed up, huh?

I think the craziest thing about it all is that I keep putting myself out there--writing, making jewelry, creating (I hope) beautiful things. Things that make you laugh, cry, think. The fear is always there, but I'm learning to use it. And I find I'm not alone.

Embrace the fear and grow from it. I am.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

A Review of All Bottled Up by Angela Rose

I'm not normally a fan of romance novels, but I read All Bottled Up by Angela Rose recently.  It was a witty, fun read and this author is going on my list of favorites.

Robin, the main character, learns to accept herself for who she is and is fortunate enough to find someone who cherishes her. The journey there was quite entertaining. I don't want to give away any details, but I was pleasantly surprised to read about a woman who decides she IS enough, just as she is--curves and all. It may have taken her a little while to come to that realization, but she did!

Great job, Ms. Rose!  Can't wait to read the next one.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Attack of the Elvi!!

Many years ago, two dear friends and I went on a road trip. We drove to Tupelo, Mississippi.  Tupelo is where Elvis Presley was born.  Now, I'm a born and bred Southern girl, with a love of a lot of things Mississippi.  Elvis is NOT one of those things.  I know, I know, I'm going to hear from haters on this one.  But after years, no not years, decades of hearing Elvis' Blue Christmas blasted over department store sound systems all winter, and radio stations that played all Elvis all the freaking time on or near his birthday, I sincerely cannot stand him.  (I will say I liked him and his movies when I was much younger, but time changes many things.)

One of my friends was from Tupelo and thought it would be a treat for us to see his childhood home and other various homages to all things Elvis.  There was lots of wine, so I was happy enough.  We stopped at his childhood home, toured some other Elvis-related places, then headed to the casinos in Tunica, Mississippi.  We walked in the first casino and saw Elvis posters and statues.  Elvis was blaring over the stereo system.  Heaven help me!  But there was wine. 

After a day and evening of casinos, Elvis and wine, we slept a few hours and headed to Memphis, Tennessee.  I was dying to hit Beale Street.  Bars, wine, music...I forgot about one thing-- Graceland.  The friend who'd arranged this trip had paid for admission for all three of us to Graceland.  But still, there was wine.  Lots of wine.  Have I mentioned I had a fondness for wine?

We headed into Graceland for the tour.  Deep breath.  We walked through a sea of Elvi.  There were short ones, skinny ones, tall ones, chubby ones, blond ones, just about any ones.  I needed to drink more wine.  Actually, that isn't true, I'd had more than enough wine.

When I drink alcohol, I get chatty.  And loud.  And I find myself to be very amusing.  I can't help it if others don't appreciate my humor.  As we walked through the grounds, touring his plane, his home, his memorial site, I began to comment on various things. 

"Attack of the ELVI!!" I screamed, as we traveled through the throng of Elvis impersonators.

"Shhh!" said my friend. "You're going to get us hurt!"

I kept up commentaries throughout the tour.  And when a guide yelled at me for using a flash camera, I held up my hands and said, "Nope! Empty hands here!  I'm not a fan!"  Shortly after that, we left.  I think it had something to do with threatening looks, words, or something from the fans.

It was a fun trip with good friends, good wine and good memories.  Okay, the crowd of Elvi chasing us away was a little freaky, but...

Friday, April 4, 2014

Just Dance!

Dancing is always something I've liked to do. I'm not good at dances that require remembering steps in a particular order. For some reason, the sequences cause me major grief. I trip over my feet, and everyone else's. It's really pretty sad to watch. But I truly love moving to music.

I love dancing around the house with my boys. They, of course, think Mom is the best at most everything. (Grinning like a fool here.) My husband doesn't dance, but he will slow dance if we're out. (Which happens about once a year, if that. Hey, with three kids it's a little tough to find the time and money to go out!) 

My parents danced a lot when I was growing up. Maybe that's where I got the love of dancing. They would invite friends over, listen to records and dance. I remember dancing and singing along while the grown ups danced. Funny how those times stick with you. And standing on Daddy's feet as a little girl, while he slow danced around with me, I felt like a princess. 

Today, I build memories with my boys. Dancing and twirling around the room.  Laughing. That's really what life's all about, making memories. 

Dance, live, laugh, be silly, love and make happy memories. Blessings!

Thursday, April 3, 2014

A Review of The Perfect Day by Gunnar Angel Lawrence

The Perfect Day by Gunnar Angel Lawrence was a thrill-packed ride! The characters were believable and the plot frighteningly plausible. 

From the first terrorist attack to the last, I was hooked.   I found myself literally holding my breath in fear!  To read a novel that's unrealistic is one thing, but to read one so filled with scenarios that have occurred or you could imagine occurring is terrifying. 

Lawrence is a talented storyteller and I cannot wait to read another creation. My only criticism? I had a difficult time putting it down, so my work load suffered.  
Congratulations on a job well-done!

Catching Flies

My momma always told us, "You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Now, I don't know about you, but I don't care for flies.  And why in the name of goodness would I want to catch them?!  I know what it means: you can get farther/obtain more by being nice than not.  I'm not saying Momma is wrong, but I'm not so sure she's right either.

I've been nice--that bend-over-backwards, sweet-Southern-belle, sugary-sweet, gagging nice.  (Don't laugh!  I really have!)  And frankly, all it got me was being a doormat.  I've gone the other direction--in-your-face, shut-the-hell-up, kiss-my-grits bitch. (You can disagree here...I'm waiting...still waiting...oh, never mind!) All that got me was trouble. 

Here's where we hit the happy medium, walking that line somewhere between sweet little angel and total bitch.  I like to think I do okay at it, but it's a struggle.  It goes against my nature to be argumentative and blunt.  STOP LAUGHING!  I really am uncomfortable in that role.  I SAID STOP!  But there have been times, many times that I've been forced to be that woman.  And then, I feel that Southern belle guilt.  It's like no other.  I promise you, if you've never experienced it, it's worse than the guilt that makes you want to buy your kid a pony because you made him cry.

I'm not sure if we are born with that guilt or if it just seeps into our pores after a while.  Nature or nurture?  Anyway, I digress.  I just know it's there.  Some keep it buried WAY down deep.  Some let it out more than we like.  And then there are the ones like me, who become sarcastic.  REALLY sarcastic.  (I know, I've shocked you again!...Have you recovered?...Are you okay?)  In fact, you could say the struggle between "catching flies" and full-on bitch mode, leads to sarcasm.  (Don't you like how I justified that?) 

The moral of the story?  Don't try to catch flies with honey unless you want to join the Sarcastic Society.  Just kidding, I don't believe there's a society named that yet... But when there is, I'll be president!

Happy reading!  Keep smiling!

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Big Dreams

"Mom, I'm going to build the biggest, tallest building in the world one day," says my youngest son.

"If you want to do it, you can and you will," I reply.

I have no doubt he will do anything he sets out to do.  My youngest child is very creative and artsy.  He loves to build, design and draw.  He's a big dreamer.  That's a connection I have with him.  He is always thinking of what he can do next.  And truth is, this child can follow instructions like nothing I've ever seen before.  I gave him a rubber band bracelet kit--he asked for it--and said, "I have no clue what to do with these things."  Within minutes, he was turning out one bracelet after another.  (Tha t ability to follow directions, he didn't get from me.)

My oldest son can't follow instructions because he's always in overdrive.  He's very scattered and disorganized.  But he has debating skills like you wouldn't believe. He's only 9 and he can debate any topic he reads about and make you believe he's right.  He catches me off-guard quite often with his debating skills.  There is no limit to what he can do.

My middle son is more musically inclined than the other two and loves to sing, dance and wants to play the guitar.  I had to do some digging to get this out of him.  He's relatively shy about performing in front of large groups, but loves being videoed singing and dancing.  Maybe you'll see him on one of those talent shows on television one day. 

For Christmas last year, Santa--who must have been drunk--brought a guitar, a drum set, a CD player, and about a bazillion Legos and Kinex blocks.  Whatever we can do to encourage those big dreams, we'll do.  And heaven help anyone who tries to discourage them!

Dream big!  Thanks for reading!

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Attention Deficit Disorder with Hyperactivity

Attention Deficit Disorder with Hyperactivity (ADHD) is not a choice.  Children and adults with ADHD do not choose to be loud, inattentive, disruptive or impulsive.  ADHD is a chemical imbalance.  You cannot punish the ADHD out of a child.  You cannot reward the ADHD out of a child.  You can help change some of the behaviors, but the struggle will always remain. 

Can a person with ADHD use that to his/her advantage?  Of course!  I have friends who are diagnosed with ADHD and are some of the most productive people I know.  Is it difficult for them?  It can be.  Relationships can be a little challenging, because people with ADHD are usually involved in a number of things simultaneously.  And those who manage it, manage it well.  But it can drive the rest of us a little crazy. 

Is every person with ADHD just alike?  Nope, no way, not at all.  I have two children with ADHD and they are totally different.  One is unorganized and unfocused, the other is organized but has difficulty regulating his emotions.  No one treatment works for every person.  And it's more difficult to diagnose than people think.

The excessive energy means they can get more done.  The wild tales are active imaginations.  The constant chatter means they have a lot of information to learn and to share.  They are not brats, undisciplined or disrespectful.  They are unique.  They are a gift.