It wasn’t always like this. It was worse. Before I was diagnosed with ADHD

I stand in my kitchen, mixer on the granite countertop, neon orange measuring spoon in hand, frowning as my teenage daughter chatters away, and I try to work out if I’ve put salt into my challah dough.

“Mommy, are you listening?” my daughter demands. “You’re doing that thing where you nod your head and say hmm, but I don’t think you have a clue what I’m saying.”

The salt container is open. But the flour is white and powdery and so is salt, so I can’t make out if there is any salt in the mixing bowl. And salt doesn’t dirty the spoon.

How can I work this out? Lick the spoon and see if tastes salty? Gross.

What’s worse for the dough? To not put salt in at all or to double the amount? Should I throw out the whole thing and start over? But that would be a waste. I used a bag of pre-checked spelt. It was expensive.

“Mommy,” my teenager says again.

I go with lick the spoon. It’s salty. Relief.

“Moooommmmmy.”