Today was a day of surprises.
Boo's school put on on a giant Veteran's Day program today. They've been practicing for weeks, and Boo was quite upset that neither Oz nor I thought we would be able to come, especially since there were two performances - one at 10 in the morning, specifically geared toward veterans, with a free luncheon for veterans afterward; one at 1:45 in the afternoon for family members of the students. We told her we would love for her to sing the songs for us afterward, but of course that's never the same as being there when your girl wants you… and she definitely wanted us there.
On Wednesday, however, upon returning to the main office from the satellite location I'd covered on Monday and Tuesday, I discovered that all but one of the doctors was going to be out this afternoon. There were a grand total of eight patients slated between the hours of 11:30 and 5 p.m., and two of those were just coming in to pick up orthopedic hardware or have a cast change. The rest of the doctors were going to be out, in surgery, or were going to a continuing-ed seminar about workers' compensation.
On Thursday I learned that the remaining doctor had bailed and rescheduled his patients and also that one of my coworkers, one of the ones who comes in at 6:30 a.m., was going to be working the seminar for the day and so wouldn't be in.
Since I already had an hour of overtime for the week, that meant if I came in at 6:30… and didn't take a lunch… I could leave at 1:30… and still have my 40 hours for the week… and could surprise my girl.
I worked it out with the rest of my team, and that is exactly what I did.
To make it even better, Oz's afternoon was quiet, and so he was able to attend the program as well. When I walked into the gym, I spotted her facing away from me. She was standing on some risers waiting for the program to start. The look on her face when I tugged on her belt loop was priceless. If she hadn't been so conscious of her height and weight being enough to topple me, I think she would have jumped straight down into my arms. She performed beautifully during the program, and when we were walking back to her classroom afterward, I was very pleased to see that she is one of two students in her grade who has mastered multiplication and division and has moved on to fractions.
Good surprise(s).
-----
After the program, I checked Boo out from her classroom and brought her home. On the way, we discussed the fact that we would beat Doodlebug home, and I asked if she wanted to surprise/scare him since he wouldn't expect her to be there. She loved the idea. He scares her on a weekly basis, if not more often, and so I thought a taste of his own medicine might do the boy some good.
He came home and promptly scared the crap out of himself when he saw me parked on the couch. Highstrung already. He ran to the bathroom and took care of his school stuff and then decided he would try to negotiate for electronics by volunteering to do *HALF* of his chores. Bless his ever-loving soul, he tried, but this mama ain't no fool. I told him no cigar - entitled turd monkeys did not earn electronics by doing HALF their chores. I reminded him, half listening to his protests in the meantime, that the rule has always been and shall remain that all chores must be done before rewards are given.
He did not like this.
He stormed upstairs.
The girl was waiting.
And she scared him.
And because he cannot for one instant control himself… he decked her. Not once. Not twice.
Thrice.
And then told me *I* was being unfair when I told him he had to write his sister an apology and clean her half of the game room.
"BUT SHE SCARED ME!!!"
"And how many times have you scared her over the years??"
"LOTS, BUT…"
"No. How many times has she hit you after you scared her??"
"None. BUT…!!!!!!"
"No! No buts!!! You. Hit. Your. Sister. Not once, but three frikkin' times! You need to apologize to her, IN WRITING because you're currently not allowed to talk to her, and then you need to GET YOUR CHORES DONE."
*stomp stomp stomp*
"And don't even THINK about asking for electronics sometime in the foreseeable future!!!"
Bad surprise.
-----
Welcome to the weekend from the Land of Ups and Downs. Pass the tequila.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Friday, November 7, 2014
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Children. Ugh.
There's no talking to my children these days. Seriously, we can't have any sort of conversation without someone turning into an entitled little turd monkey.
Por ejemplo:
Today.
Doodlebug was upstairs. Boo was practicing her violin in her room, and Doodlebug was *supposed* to be cleaning his. In theory, of course. Instead, I heard the shriek of an indignant (and also constantly attitude-laden) girl. I called Doodlebug down and told him to stop messing with his sister. He said ok and promptly went back upstairs… to mess with his sister. I called him down a second time and told him to knock it off and enumerated a consequence if the behavior continued, specifically that he would be told to eat dinner and go to bed early. Because if he couldn't manage to control himself around people, it was a sign to me that he needed to go to bed so he couldn't be around anyone. Made sense to me, anyway. He said ok and promptly went back upstairs… to mess with his sister.
Argh.
So I called him down a THIRD time and told him the consequence was being enacted and to get dinner. He walked over to the fridge and stood there with the door hanging open. I told him to get food and get out, and in response he slammed the fridge door because heaven forbid we close a door with any sort of decency around here. I let it slide and told him to feed the animals while he thought about what food he wanted to eat, at which point in time he flopped himself on the floor like a 2-year-old. I told him to get moving.
So he grabbed the food bowls and hauled them to the laundry room, where he flung open the closet door and yanked out the cat food bag. I heard food fly and reminded him that he would need to clean up that food.
"It's FOUR pieces," he shot back. "Apparently I need to clean FOUR pieces."
"Yes, you do!"
"Mutter mutter mutter..." *cracks cat food can open and flops the lid on the dryer, where I know for a fact it's dripping wet cat food juice on the top*
"You'll need to clean up that mess, too, you know."
"THERE'S NO MESS. THAT'S FROM YESTERDAY."
"Well, if it's there from yesterday, clean it up!"
"I *WILL,* but I didn't make a mess!"
"As long as you clean it up! Just CLEAN IT UP."
"O-KAAAAY."
Silence.
I look over to see what he's doing and he's got a cat in his arms and is positioning it precisely two inches over the food bowl and holding it there. Cat torture. Awesome.
"DUDE!"
*jumps*
"I'm just getting him down!"
"Son, I've been watching you. You want me to do that to you??"
"No." *puts cat down*
"Then what on earth…???"
"He was trying to steal food and I was getting him down!"
"OK. Get the animals fed, and you can forget about having a proper dinner. You can have a banana or yogurt, take your shower, and GO TO BED. Since you can't quit messing with anything, apparently."
"But I didn't DO anything!!!"
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.
And after all that (and then some), there was, in fact, a mess from today's cat food can lid. Oz went in and saw it (because Doodlebug did not, in fact, clean up any of the FOUR pieces of cat food or yesterday's mess, despite his assurances that he would do so) and we had to call the boy back downstairs and get him to clean it, and then he started fighting with us again because we're just so mean for making him do something he'd said he'd do and we're just overreacting to his little white lie that there wasn't a mess today.
This scenario plays out, in various versions, half a dozen times every day, and while this particular version is about Doodlbug, Boo is not innocent. This morning she had a snark episode about French toast sticks for breakfast. Seriously. French toast sticks.
(For the record, the serving size is two sticks. There are six in a box. And two sticks is simply not enough breakfast and therefore, or so sayeth Boo, nobody will EAT the sticks because it's just not enough. My answer of just eating more sticks was apparently completely unexpected and unacceptable, and clearly I should never ever buy them again.)
I am ill-equipped to deal with these sorts of scenarios. I loathe attitude and disrespect in any way, shape or form. Oz is equally done with all of it.
Pretty sure our children won't see the other side of their teen years. Heck, they'll be lucky to see trick-or-treating tomorrow night.
Ugh.
Por ejemplo:
Today.
Doodlebug was upstairs. Boo was practicing her violin in her room, and Doodlebug was *supposed* to be cleaning his. In theory, of course. Instead, I heard the shriek of an indignant (and also constantly attitude-laden) girl. I called Doodlebug down and told him to stop messing with his sister. He said ok and promptly went back upstairs… to mess with his sister. I called him down a second time and told him to knock it off and enumerated a consequence if the behavior continued, specifically that he would be told to eat dinner and go to bed early. Because if he couldn't manage to control himself around people, it was a sign to me that he needed to go to bed so he couldn't be around anyone. Made sense to me, anyway. He said ok and promptly went back upstairs… to mess with his sister.
Argh.
So I called him down a THIRD time and told him the consequence was being enacted and to get dinner. He walked over to the fridge and stood there with the door hanging open. I told him to get food and get out, and in response he slammed the fridge door because heaven forbid we close a door with any sort of decency around here. I let it slide and told him to feed the animals while he thought about what food he wanted to eat, at which point in time he flopped himself on the floor like a 2-year-old. I told him to get moving.
So he grabbed the food bowls and hauled them to the laundry room, where he flung open the closet door and yanked out the cat food bag. I heard food fly and reminded him that he would need to clean up that food.
"It's FOUR pieces," he shot back. "Apparently I need to clean FOUR pieces."
"Yes, you do!"
"Mutter mutter mutter..." *cracks cat food can open and flops the lid on the dryer, where I know for a fact it's dripping wet cat food juice on the top*
"You'll need to clean up that mess, too, you know."
"THERE'S NO MESS. THAT'S FROM YESTERDAY."
"Well, if it's there from yesterday, clean it up!"
"I *WILL,* but I didn't make a mess!"
"As long as you clean it up! Just CLEAN IT UP."
"O-KAAAAY."
Silence.
I look over to see what he's doing and he's got a cat in his arms and is positioning it precisely two inches over the food bowl and holding it there. Cat torture. Awesome.
"DUDE!"
*jumps*
"I'm just getting him down!"
"Son, I've been watching you. You want me to do that to you??"
"No." *puts cat down*
"Then what on earth…???"
"He was trying to steal food and I was getting him down!"
"OK. Get the animals fed, and you can forget about having a proper dinner. You can have a banana or yogurt, take your shower, and GO TO BED. Since you can't quit messing with anything, apparently."
"But I didn't DO anything!!!"
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.
And after all that (and then some), there was, in fact, a mess from today's cat food can lid. Oz went in and saw it (because Doodlebug did not, in fact, clean up any of the FOUR pieces of cat food or yesterday's mess, despite his assurances that he would do so) and we had to call the boy back downstairs and get him to clean it, and then he started fighting with us again because we're just so mean for making him do something he'd said he'd do and we're just overreacting to his little white lie that there wasn't a mess today.
This scenario plays out, in various versions, half a dozen times every day, and while this particular version is about Doodlbug, Boo is not innocent. This morning she had a snark episode about French toast sticks for breakfast. Seriously. French toast sticks.
(For the record, the serving size is two sticks. There are six in a box. And two sticks is simply not enough breakfast and therefore, or so sayeth Boo, nobody will EAT the sticks because it's just not enough. My answer of just eating more sticks was apparently completely unexpected and unacceptable, and clearly I should never ever buy them again.)
I am ill-equipped to deal with these sorts of scenarios. I loathe attitude and disrespect in any way, shape or form. Oz is equally done with all of it.
Pretty sure our children won't see the other side of their teen years. Heck, they'll be lucky to see trick-or-treating tomorrow night.
Ugh.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
My Little OCD Heart Skipped a Beat Today
This week is, in fact, going much better than last. It did not start out that way - Doodlebug spent Monday and Tuesday driving us all to distraction, Oz primarily, because he felt the need to torment everyone, steal electronics at 3 a.m., not do the assignments that the school sent home for him to complete during his suspension, and otherwise generally being an ass.
He turns 12 in exactly one week. I can smell the adolescence.
No, really… if he forgets his deodorant, I can actually smell it.
In any case, he went back to school yesterday and has thus far managed to keep his nose clean. Next week he can start attending his Lego Club meetings, which will make us all happy.
Work has been good. I walked patients yesterday, which was actually a nice break (especially since all hell broke loose at the front desk around 2:45), but other than that I've been up front. I've made a couple of minor errors but nothing particularly glaring or horrid that I know of, and I think they would tell me if I had done something wrong. They seem pretty up front about these sorts of things, and one of the unspoken office rules is that you own up to things and fix them, which I like. Less drama in the end.
Today, though, I got trained on how to close out the daily accounts by doing some batch processing. I've never done anything like that before, and the guy who trained me was complaining the whole time about how much he hates doing it because of all the little details you have to catch - whether or not everything's been stamped and signed and dated and put in order and reconciled and re-reconciled and copied and printed… basically all of the stuff that makes me absolutely love doing it. Someone forgot to put an account number on a ticket? Write it in. Separate the receipts into various piles and put them in order? Start making stacks and get 'er done. I'm sure I'll forget a detail or two, but in the end it was a process I would, and WILL, happily do again. Because it made my little OCD heart giddy to watch for all the little details and put it all in order and in the right places.
I like the job. I like the people, and I like staying busy. I like that the kids like school (even Doodlebug, despite his issues, does like it), and I like that Oz is being amazing and doing all sorts of stuff around the house to make sure that things continue to go smoothly here. I don't care for the hours today and tomorrow, but that's temporary… and I have learned than an extra 30 minutes of sleep in the morning makes a huge difference by the middle of the day!
He turns 12 in exactly one week. I can smell the adolescence.
No, really… if he forgets his deodorant, I can actually smell it.
In any case, he went back to school yesterday and has thus far managed to keep his nose clean. Next week he can start attending his Lego Club meetings, which will make us all happy.
Work has been good. I walked patients yesterday, which was actually a nice break (especially since all hell broke loose at the front desk around 2:45), but other than that I've been up front. I've made a couple of minor errors but nothing particularly glaring or horrid that I know of, and I think they would tell me if I had done something wrong. They seem pretty up front about these sorts of things, and one of the unspoken office rules is that you own up to things and fix them, which I like. Less drama in the end.
Today, though, I got trained on how to close out the daily accounts by doing some batch processing. I've never done anything like that before, and the guy who trained me was complaining the whole time about how much he hates doing it because of all the little details you have to catch - whether or not everything's been stamped and signed and dated and put in order and reconciled and re-reconciled and copied and printed… basically all of the stuff that makes me absolutely love doing it. Someone forgot to put an account number on a ticket? Write it in. Separate the receipts into various piles and put them in order? Start making stacks and get 'er done. I'm sure I'll forget a detail or two, but in the end it was a process I would, and WILL, happily do again. Because it made my little OCD heart giddy to watch for all the little details and put it all in order and in the right places.
I like the job. I like the people, and I like staying busy. I like that the kids like school (even Doodlebug, despite his issues, does like it), and I like that Oz is being amazing and doing all sorts of stuff around the house to make sure that things continue to go smoothly here. I don't care for the hours today and tomorrow, but that's temporary… and I have learned than an extra 30 minutes of sleep in the morning makes a huge difference by the middle of the day!
Sunday, July 27, 2014
On Sleepwalking Sons
My son has gone sleepwalking since he was small. He experienced night terrors when he was younger, too, but those are far less amusing and far more alarming, especially because he's a strong child and can - and WILL - fight you tooth and nail when he's having a night terror. Thankfully those seem to have gone away with age; the last one he had that I can remember was when he was 9 and woke up screaming bloody murder at about 11:30 p.m. Oz and I both thought that someone must have broken into his bedroom and went racing down the hall to find a shrieking, sleeping child.
Aaaanyway.
Sleepwalking is far funnier. He's done everything from peed in the trash can to holding entire discombobulated conversations. But it had been a while since I'd seen anything particularly remarkable.
Until today.
He went over to his best friends' house yesterday. They're twins. The three of them sit up and play video games until their brains ooze out of their skulls, talking and laughing (and eating) ad nauseum. They're a good group of boys, but I fail to understand the fascination of a screen. And apparently Doodlebug felt the need to help provide snacks this time and helped himself to what was left of the loaf of cinnamon raisin bread I had in the pantry. I had no idea he'd swiped it until I showed up to retrieve him today and noticed a bread bag in his backpack… and then five minutes later saw one of the twins hauling an uneaten piece out from another bedroom and putting it in the trash. The twins' mom was like, "Was that moldy bread?!?" And I had to explain that no… no, those were raisins.
I digress again.
So Doodlebug came home from his friends' house in his usual fatigued state. They sleep during these 'sleepovers,' but only just enough to recharge their inner batteries long enough to play more games. I suspect Doodlebug probably got about 4-5 hours of sleep, which is actually more than par but way less than the child needs. He had some cleaning to do when he got home, but he knocked that out before he fell asleep. I didn't know this, however, and after about an hour I called him downstairs to ask about the status of his chores. I called once. No answer. I called again. No answer. I called a third time and got a, "Coming, Mom," after which he thumped slowly down the stairs.
This is where it got good. Instead of coming into the living room and talking to me, he walked behind me and into the laundry room. He opened the dryer. He paused. He felt around the top of the dryer - for what, I do not know. He paused again. He pulled out the lint trap and stared at it, then blinked and cleaned it. He tossed the lint into the trash can and returned the lint trap. At this point, I started giggling and Oz, who was still waiting on the boy to come talk to me, gave me an odd look.
"He's sleepwalking," I told him.
"He is? Is he going to feed the animals?"
Something registered in Doodlebug's mind when Oz said that, and he did in fact turn to open the closet where we keep the animals' food.
"No, Doodlebug," I called out gently. "It's not time to feed the animals yet."
The boy turned back to the dryer.
"Can you close the dryer, please?"
He obligingly closed it… and reached for the controls to turn it on.
"No, don't turn it on, please. There's nothing in it."
He lowered his hand. Then he walked to the light switch and flicked it off. And stood there. At this point, my goal was just to get him safely back upstairs and into his bed again. I wasn't even concerned about the status of the cleaning.
"Doodlebug, can you come here, please?"
He wandered out of the laundry room and back into the living room. Oz still wasn't convinced he was sleeping. "Hey, Doodlebug, what color is a pink elephant?"
Doodlebug stared at him for a minute, wrinkled his brow, and said, "I don't know."
I sighed and figured I'd prove things definitively. "Can you hold up eight fingers?"
And that request broke the child. He almost burst into tears. Don't worry - I felt bad and gave him a good cuddle before I sent him back upstairs. It's kind of fun fitting a 5'6" 110-pound child in your lap, but a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.
He's awake now, for real, and has no memory of any of this. And while it's kind of cute that he does chores while sleepwalking, it also concerns me how lucid he seems during these times. Because a normal person would never have realized that it was sleepwalking. I only know because I know.
Heaven help us all if he sleepwalks during school one day.
Aaaanyway.
Sleepwalking is far funnier. He's done everything from peed in the trash can to holding entire discombobulated conversations. But it had been a while since I'd seen anything particularly remarkable.
Until today.
He went over to his best friends' house yesterday. They're twins. The three of them sit up and play video games until their brains ooze out of their skulls, talking and laughing (and eating) ad nauseum. They're a good group of boys, but I fail to understand the fascination of a screen. And apparently Doodlebug felt the need to help provide snacks this time and helped himself to what was left of the loaf of cinnamon raisin bread I had in the pantry. I had no idea he'd swiped it until I showed up to retrieve him today and noticed a bread bag in his backpack… and then five minutes later saw one of the twins hauling an uneaten piece out from another bedroom and putting it in the trash. The twins' mom was like, "Was that moldy bread?!?" And I had to explain that no… no, those were raisins.
I digress again.
So Doodlebug came home from his friends' house in his usual fatigued state. They sleep during these 'sleepovers,' but only just enough to recharge their inner batteries long enough to play more games. I suspect Doodlebug probably got about 4-5 hours of sleep, which is actually more than par but way less than the child needs. He had some cleaning to do when he got home, but he knocked that out before he fell asleep. I didn't know this, however, and after about an hour I called him downstairs to ask about the status of his chores. I called once. No answer. I called again. No answer. I called a third time and got a, "Coming, Mom," after which he thumped slowly down the stairs.
This is where it got good. Instead of coming into the living room and talking to me, he walked behind me and into the laundry room. He opened the dryer. He paused. He felt around the top of the dryer - for what, I do not know. He paused again. He pulled out the lint trap and stared at it, then blinked and cleaned it. He tossed the lint into the trash can and returned the lint trap. At this point, I started giggling and Oz, who was still waiting on the boy to come talk to me, gave me an odd look.
"He's sleepwalking," I told him.
"He is? Is he going to feed the animals?"
Something registered in Doodlebug's mind when Oz said that, and he did in fact turn to open the closet where we keep the animals' food.
"No, Doodlebug," I called out gently. "It's not time to feed the animals yet."
The boy turned back to the dryer.
"Can you close the dryer, please?"
He obligingly closed it… and reached for the controls to turn it on.
"No, don't turn it on, please. There's nothing in it."
He lowered his hand. Then he walked to the light switch and flicked it off. And stood there. At this point, my goal was just to get him safely back upstairs and into his bed again. I wasn't even concerned about the status of the cleaning.
"Doodlebug, can you come here, please?"
He wandered out of the laundry room and back into the living room. Oz still wasn't convinced he was sleeping. "Hey, Doodlebug, what color is a pink elephant?"
Doodlebug stared at him for a minute, wrinkled his brow, and said, "I don't know."
I sighed and figured I'd prove things definitively. "Can you hold up eight fingers?"
And that request broke the child. He almost burst into tears. Don't worry - I felt bad and gave him a good cuddle before I sent him back upstairs. It's kind of fun fitting a 5'6" 110-pound child in your lap, but a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.
He's awake now, for real, and has no memory of any of this. And while it's kind of cute that he does chores while sleepwalking, it also concerns me how lucid he seems during these times. Because a normal person would never have realized that it was sleepwalking. I only know because I know.
Heaven help us all if he sleepwalks during school one day.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Silence is Weird
Doodlebug is at camp this week. Oz took him on Sunday. Our son performed his usual good-bye ceremony, in which he said, "Bye," and walked out the door. Oz had to remind him to come back in and give his poor long-suffering mother a hug. He repeated the ritual when he was dropped off in the cabin. As Oz was walking out, he heard another kid ask the counselor, "So, what video games do you play?" And he knew, as I would have known, that Doodlebug is at camp with his tribe. The pictures today have shown things like watching a tarantula spin a web and discussing the adaptations of fish. Not your usual camp stuff, but perfect for Doodlebug.
Anyway, then Boo went to a friend's house last night for a sleepover. We'd been trying to get this one planned since mid-May, so the girls were thrilled that it finally happened. That meant that Oz and I were completely child-free for an evening, and we weren't even paying a sitter. (OK, well, we paid for camp, but never mind that.)
So what did we do, you ask?
We went to the gym and watched at 15-year-old movie (since when was 1999 15 years ago?!?).
Adulthood is weird.
It was oddly quiet in the house this morning. I got up and had to feed all the animals by myself (Note to self: Let them all die natural deaths, because seriously, I'd forgotten how much work it is to feed and care for these things. Children do have uses.), and then I got dressed and ran to the store to pick up worms for the lizard before crashing at Oz's office to watch him have a photo shoot in a suit and go out to lunch.
There was silence in the car. When I left the house, I didn't have to yell at anyone. When I got back home a little after 3 (I went clothes shopping because I've lost my last 10 lbs. and am now down to the weight/size I never thought I'd be again and I'm THRILLED but it means everything's just a lil' too large), it was quiet in the house. I had to carry everything in by myself, and nobody was immediately fighting or clamoring for food or forgetting to flush the toilet.
By 4, I had two girls in the house - did I mention that the mom and I had decided to surprise the girls with a double sleepover? They've been begging for this forever, and I can only imagine the reactions when they were told. And so the noise level is back to normal, if someone subdued by a little bit of fatigue and the fact that the girls are friends, not siblings.
Things were too quiet there for a while. It was nice, but it was definitely strange. I like having my kids around. I'm going to miss them this fall.
Anyway, then Boo went to a friend's house last night for a sleepover. We'd been trying to get this one planned since mid-May, so the girls were thrilled that it finally happened. That meant that Oz and I were completely child-free for an evening, and we weren't even paying a sitter. (OK, well, we paid for camp, but never mind that.)
So what did we do, you ask?
We went to the gym and watched at 15-year-old movie (since when was 1999 15 years ago?!?).
Adulthood is weird.
It was oddly quiet in the house this morning. I got up and had to feed all the animals by myself (Note to self: Let them all die natural deaths, because seriously, I'd forgotten how much work it is to feed and care for these things. Children do have uses.), and then I got dressed and ran to the store to pick up worms for the lizard before crashing at Oz's office to watch him have a photo shoot in a suit and go out to lunch.
There was silence in the car. When I left the house, I didn't have to yell at anyone. When I got back home a little after 3 (I went clothes shopping because I've lost my last 10 lbs. and am now down to the weight/size I never thought I'd be again and I'm THRILLED but it means everything's just a lil' too large), it was quiet in the house. I had to carry everything in by myself, and nobody was immediately fighting or clamoring for food or forgetting to flush the toilet.
By 4, I had two girls in the house - did I mention that the mom and I had decided to surprise the girls with a double sleepover? They've been begging for this forever, and I can only imagine the reactions when they were told. And so the noise level is back to normal, if someone subdued by a little bit of fatigue and the fact that the girls are friends, not siblings.
Things were too quiet there for a while. It was nice, but it was definitely strange. I like having my kids around. I'm going to miss them this fall.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Let Me Tell You About Depression
I don't like to talk about depression. It's a selfish thing, because it calls attention to me when I'm trying to be invisible; it causes people to be curious when I wish they already knew and, at the same time, hope that they've never been through this themselves.
To those of you who have experienced depression, I'm sorry. To those of you who have recurrent depression, I'm really sorry. I hate when I find others who know this dark place. Not a 'funk.' Not a 'rough patch.' No. Depression. That special kind of hyperawareness of the normalcy of others that sends you into a black hole of self-loathing and self-doubt that's almost impossible to escape from. I was teetering on the event horizon for a while, and then I fell in.
I'm writing this today to prevent myself from doing one of the following:
1. Going back to bed and doing nothing at all until someone makes me.
2. Hurling this computer across the room and into the wall out of sheer frustration at all the futility and nothingness, this void of life that I'm stuck in.
3. Pulling the freshly-sharpened knife out of the block and carving lines and words into some random and usually-hidden body part.
4. Lying on the couch motionless for the remainder of the day, except for those times when I drag myself off of it to do laundry or go to the gym or make dinner, because I have to do those things for other people or they'll notice that I'm not okay.
----
It's interesting to me how depression works. I am constantly thinking of the line from the movie "Legally Blonde," where Elle says, "Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands; they just don't." I wish that was true. And sure, I have no intention of shooting anyone. BUT… if endorphins were all it took to combat depression, I wouldn't be depressed right now. I've been going to the gym 3-4 days a week, and I really do like it. My arms have more definition than they've ever had, and I've told myself that when I can use the assisted pull-up machine with only half my weight, I'll get my next tattoo. But endorphins alone are not enough. Neither is vitamin D. Or the smell of flowers. If I'm in a funk or just hitting a rough patch, some aromatherapy or going outside or vitamins or a good movie or a great date with my husband or a good book can be enough to keep me going and pull me out of it. This is not that. And those normal fixes aren't enough.
----
A couple of weeks ago I spent a day almost entirely in bed. I got up once to use the restroom and ask the kids to do a couple of things, but I didn't even bother to brush my hair or put on deodorant or change into real clothes. It was all too much effort. Oz and I had a long talk that evening, and he's been wonderful, but when I'm up and dressed and going about my daily business, I know he thinks that it's all over and done and that I'm back to my normal self. And I am not. One bad day - and it may or may not have a trigger - and I'm back down the rabbit hole, except this hole doesn't end in Wonderland, it ends somewhere much, much darker (which is saying something when you're comparing it to a world populated with the likes of the Mad Hatter and the Cheshire Cat), and sometimes it's only six feet deep.
----
I know the 'cause' of this particular bout of depression is twofold. One of the causes is being addressed and things are on their way to being okay. The other cause is deeper, more existential. I can't just 'fix' that one easily. It's going to take a long time. I wish I knew where the end was. That might make it easier. But I'm not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel today.
----
I hate the way I parent when I'm depressed. I'm grumpy because I can't parent the way I should… and can, when I'm mentally stable. I can't take an interest in anything, even the kids. They're being left to fend for themselves more often than they probably should, and when I do notice something, it's usually something I should have addressed earlier and now have to nip in the bud, except I don't have the energy to approach the problem properly, so I just yell and cry and then ignore the problem altogether because it's just easier. It's the lazy way out, and I feel lazy, which doesn't help the depression, because I feel like I should just be able to snap out of it and kick this whole laziness complex and DO ALL THE THINGS. Except I can't.
----
I'm not allowing comments on this post. I've never done that before. But I don't want pity or sympathy or empathy. I don't want to know who has read this and who hasn't and who has been here and who hasn't. I just really wanted to get it all out, and for all I know, I'll have poster's remorse in about an hour or so and come and delete this whole thing altogether, because it's selfish and awful to rant about being depressed and then not let anyone 'help,' except while I love you all, it isn't really helpful to read about others who have been there or dealt with that, and it'll just make me sad to know how common depression is. And if you can sympathize or empathize, I'm so sorry. I really am.
Nobody should know this darkness.
So I'll just leave you with this:
To those of you who have experienced depression, I'm sorry. To those of you who have recurrent depression, I'm really sorry. I hate when I find others who know this dark place. Not a 'funk.' Not a 'rough patch.' No. Depression. That special kind of hyperawareness of the normalcy of others that sends you into a black hole of self-loathing and self-doubt that's almost impossible to escape from. I was teetering on the event horizon for a while, and then I fell in.
I'm writing this today to prevent myself from doing one of the following:
1. Going back to bed and doing nothing at all until someone makes me.
2. Hurling this computer across the room and into the wall out of sheer frustration at all the futility and nothingness, this void of life that I'm stuck in.
3. Pulling the freshly-sharpened knife out of the block and carving lines and words into some random and usually-hidden body part.
4. Lying on the couch motionless for the remainder of the day, except for those times when I drag myself off of it to do laundry or go to the gym or make dinner, because I have to do those things for other people or they'll notice that I'm not okay.
----
It's interesting to me how depression works. I am constantly thinking of the line from the movie "Legally Blonde," where Elle says, "Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands; they just don't." I wish that was true. And sure, I have no intention of shooting anyone. BUT… if endorphins were all it took to combat depression, I wouldn't be depressed right now. I've been going to the gym 3-4 days a week, and I really do like it. My arms have more definition than they've ever had, and I've told myself that when I can use the assisted pull-up machine with only half my weight, I'll get my next tattoo. But endorphins alone are not enough. Neither is vitamin D. Or the smell of flowers. If I'm in a funk or just hitting a rough patch, some aromatherapy or going outside or vitamins or a good movie or a great date with my husband or a good book can be enough to keep me going and pull me out of it. This is not that. And those normal fixes aren't enough.
----
A couple of weeks ago I spent a day almost entirely in bed. I got up once to use the restroom and ask the kids to do a couple of things, but I didn't even bother to brush my hair or put on deodorant or change into real clothes. It was all too much effort. Oz and I had a long talk that evening, and he's been wonderful, but when I'm up and dressed and going about my daily business, I know he thinks that it's all over and done and that I'm back to my normal self. And I am not. One bad day - and it may or may not have a trigger - and I'm back down the rabbit hole, except this hole doesn't end in Wonderland, it ends somewhere much, much darker (which is saying something when you're comparing it to a world populated with the likes of the Mad Hatter and the Cheshire Cat), and sometimes it's only six feet deep.
----
I know the 'cause' of this particular bout of depression is twofold. One of the causes is being addressed and things are on their way to being okay. The other cause is deeper, more existential. I can't just 'fix' that one easily. It's going to take a long time. I wish I knew where the end was. That might make it easier. But I'm not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel today.
----
I hate the way I parent when I'm depressed. I'm grumpy because I can't parent the way I should… and can, when I'm mentally stable. I can't take an interest in anything, even the kids. They're being left to fend for themselves more often than they probably should, and when I do notice something, it's usually something I should have addressed earlier and now have to nip in the bud, except I don't have the energy to approach the problem properly, so I just yell and cry and then ignore the problem altogether because it's just easier. It's the lazy way out, and I feel lazy, which doesn't help the depression, because I feel like I should just be able to snap out of it and kick this whole laziness complex and DO ALL THE THINGS. Except I can't.
----
I'm not allowing comments on this post. I've never done that before. But I don't want pity or sympathy or empathy. I don't want to know who has read this and who hasn't and who has been here and who hasn't. I just really wanted to get it all out, and for all I know, I'll have poster's remorse in about an hour or so and come and delete this whole thing altogether, because it's selfish and awful to rant about being depressed and then not let anyone 'help,' except while I love you all, it isn't really helpful to read about others who have been there or dealt with that, and it'll just make me sad to know how common depression is. And if you can sympathize or empathize, I'm so sorry. I really am.
Nobody should know this darkness.
So I'll just leave you with this:
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Summer Break
So we've been on summer break for what… a week and a half now? It seems longer.
The first day off, the kids were bored to tears by 2 p.m. There were actual tears. Doodlebug in particular was crying because I'd kicked him off the Wii and told him to find something to do other than stare at a screen, because I wasn't going to have him turn into a vegetable just because it was summer break.
By 6 p.m. that day, they'd been grounded from the Wii for sneaking back onto it.
By 6 p.m. the next day, they'd had the power strip removed and all electronics banned for two weeks.
This means that since last Tuesday, my children have had no electronic stimulation whatsoever.
When I doled out that punishment, I knew - I just knew - that the person who was going to be punished most by this was myself.
My children, however, have surprised me.
Doodlebug has gotten out his whittling knife. He made a couple of wooden items before running out of usable wood, and then I let him carve my last block of Fels-Naptha. Over the weekend, Doodlebug and Oz went to the local woodworking store and bought a bunch of wood so he can use the real stuff again. He said soap was too easy. Yesterday Doodlebug got himself grounded after being in his sister's room for the fourth time in 24 hours (he's not allowed into her room at all EVER, but he has a hard time respecting privacy - he invades my room, Oz's office, and Boo's room whenever he wants, to say nothing of the pantry, and I've had it, so I lowered the boom), so he pulled out his K'Nex and Legos and started making robots. By dinnertime he had two built. He got up early this morning and, instead of going into his sister's room and waking her like he normally does, which results in a grumpy sister and an even grumpier mom to start the day, he built another two robots and a Ferris wheel.
Boo has been less obviously productive but equally busy. She's read several books - kid versions of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Oliver Twist, and Gulliver's Travels - and created a 'house' in the greenbelt across the creek.
They've both been in the kitchen at least once, and they both intend to do more cooking throughout summer. Yesterday Doodlebug made tuna salad, cucumbers & onions (omit the paprika… that's weird… really you don't need any of the parsley or dill, either, if you don't want them), and sweet potato fries. There was leftover tuna salad, so today the kids made a picnic lunch and walked down to Boo's house to eat.
They left for their picnic at noon. At 2:15, they came back up and informed me they'd been having a philosophical discussion about a tree falling in the woods and whether or not it makes a sound (Boo insists that logic states that it does; Doodlebug is having a blast playing Devil's advocate, though I suspect he rather agrees with her assessment) and by the way, Mom, can we spend the night outside?
I was on the phone at the time, so I nodded absently at them before processing the full scope of their rambling. By the time it all sank in, I heard the attic door close. Which means they'd gotten out the tent.
So far they're still up in the game room. I'm curious to see if they expect me or Oz to help them with their camping preparations.
Either way, they're amusing themselves.
And this makes me happy. Maybe I just… won't tell them when they can have electronics back. This is much nicer.
The first day off, the kids were bored to tears by 2 p.m. There were actual tears. Doodlebug in particular was crying because I'd kicked him off the Wii and told him to find something to do other than stare at a screen, because I wasn't going to have him turn into a vegetable just because it was summer break.
By 6 p.m. that day, they'd been grounded from the Wii for sneaking back onto it.
By 6 p.m. the next day, they'd had the power strip removed and all electronics banned for two weeks.
This means that since last Tuesday, my children have had no electronic stimulation whatsoever.
When I doled out that punishment, I knew - I just knew - that the person who was going to be punished most by this was myself.
My children, however, have surprised me.
Doodlebug has gotten out his whittling knife. He made a couple of wooden items before running out of usable wood, and then I let him carve my last block of Fels-Naptha. Over the weekend, Doodlebug and Oz went to the local woodworking store and bought a bunch of wood so he can use the real stuff again. He said soap was too easy. Yesterday Doodlebug got himself grounded after being in his sister's room for the fourth time in 24 hours (he's not allowed into her room at all EVER, but he has a hard time respecting privacy - he invades my room, Oz's office, and Boo's room whenever he wants, to say nothing of the pantry, and I've had it, so I lowered the boom), so he pulled out his K'Nex and Legos and started making robots. By dinnertime he had two built. He got up early this morning and, instead of going into his sister's room and waking her like he normally does, which results in a grumpy sister and an even grumpier mom to start the day, he built another two robots and a Ferris wheel.
Boo has been less obviously productive but equally busy. She's read several books - kid versions of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Oliver Twist, and Gulliver's Travels - and created a 'house' in the greenbelt across the creek.
They've both been in the kitchen at least once, and they both intend to do more cooking throughout summer. Yesterday Doodlebug made tuna salad, cucumbers & onions (omit the paprika… that's weird… really you don't need any of the parsley or dill, either, if you don't want them), and sweet potato fries. There was leftover tuna salad, so today the kids made a picnic lunch and walked down to Boo's house to eat.
They left for their picnic at noon. At 2:15, they came back up and informed me they'd been having a philosophical discussion about a tree falling in the woods and whether or not it makes a sound (Boo insists that logic states that it does; Doodlebug is having a blast playing Devil's advocate, though I suspect he rather agrees with her assessment) and by the way, Mom, can we spend the night outside?
I was on the phone at the time, so I nodded absently at them before processing the full scope of their rambling. By the time it all sank in, I heard the attic door close. Which means they'd gotten out the tent.
So far they're still up in the game room. I'm curious to see if they expect me or Oz to help them with their camping preparations.
Either way, they're amusing themselves.
And this makes me happy. Maybe I just… won't tell them when they can have electronics back. This is much nicer.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Ugh, Monday
[WARNING: PROFANITY AHEAD.]
Doodlebug is in his room right now. Theoretically he's working on his writing, but I'm pretty sure he's taking a nap because I'm pretty sure he's been up in the middle of the night on electronics or eating or doing something he knows he's not supposed to do. One day I swear I'm going to install a motion-sensing camera outside his room with an app that links to my phone so it'll ding and wake me up whenever he starts his nocturnal wanderings.Or not. I like sleep a lot more now than I used to.
Anyway, he's in his room theoretically working because he decided this morning was a good time to conduct an experiment with mom.
-----
Title: FINE
Materials:
-- One PMSing mother
-- Monday
-- Tweenage attitude
-- Grammar
Objective: To see how far one can push one's mother before she threatens actual bodily harm.
Hypothesis: I suspect it will take less than 30 seconds, if experiment is conducted properly, before Mom totally loses her shit.
Procedure:
1. Half-ass your way through a grammar assignment. Make sure to ask Mom to help you complete the work before you've actually read the lesson to see if she's as big a sucker as you think she is.
2. Turn in said half-assed grammar assignment. Start throwing a giant tantrum when you get approximately 20% of the questions wrong (mostly because you didn't read the lesson).
3. Ignore Mom when she tries to get your attention to calm you down.
4. Start yelling, "FINE," repeatedly at the top of your lungs every time your mother opens her mouth.
Results: I was allowed to select between Option A: GET IN YOUR ROOM and Option B: BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF MY SIGHT NOW, I'M GOING TO PUT YOU THERE MYSELF. AND DO NOT COME OUT UNTIL YOUR WORK IS DONE AND YOU CAN STOP INTERRUPTING PEOPLE WHO ARE TRYING TO HELP YOU!!!
Observations: My hypothesis was correct. While I did not have a stopwatch during the experiment, I would estimate that from the time I initiated Step #4 to the time that I received results was approximately 25 seconds.
Conclusion: Mom is nuts.
-----
Clearly all this is my fault. And yeah, I lost my temper at the dude. But for heaven's sake, it's ridiculous, isn't it? You try to be nice, you try to help them, and all they want to do is pick a fight. And I'm really, really not good at backing down when someone wants to throw their hat in the ring. I'm better than I used to be, but if you act like a turd, things will not go well for you. I'm just sayin'.
So he's in his room until he can get his crap done.
Boo is fine. She's finished school and practiced her violin and is currently researching meteorology just for the fun of it.
-----
Got a call this morning from the ophthalmology office as well. Doodlebug has an appointment with the retinal specialist on Friday morning at an hour so ungodly that I'm pretty sure the doctor is coming in early just to fit us in. I'm grateful, but I am not going to be human; I'm usually not even out of bed at the time of that appointment. I'm just hopeful that I can figure out how to program the coffee pot so that I can at least stumble out of the house with a life-giving beverage in my hand. I need the ability to ask coherent, intelligent-sounding questions.
-----
Hello, Monday.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
You Mean the Weekend is Over Already?!?
Boo and I were sitting side-by-side while I drove to the grocery store today (and for all you car-seat-lovin', kid-in-the-front-seat-hatin' folks out there, she's 4'10" and 85 lbs.) when we passed by a church that had obviously just finished its service, and cars were streaming out of the parking lot.
"I guess it is that time," I remarked to Boo, and she gazed at the church for a moment. Then she asked, "It's Sunday?"
Yes, my dear, I told her. It's Sunday. This is why we didn't have school yesterday and why we slept till 10 a.m. and then went to a picnic to meet my brother-in-law's girlfriend (very nice) and then came home and oozed until I left to visit another friend for the sake of hanging out and chatting. It's why I made sure the grocery shopping was done and the lesson plans and worksheets are printed and the house is at least partially presentable, with the exception of the formal dining room where the refrigerator leaked under the wall and under the carpet and we've basically taken the room apart to dry things out and are just thankful that there doesn't seem to be any real damage. So yes… it's Sunday. Time is flying.
That said, I cannot wait until summer vacation gets here. We only have six more weeks of school left, and after that, they'll get the longest summer vacation they'll ever have in their lives. We'll be done May 16. Ordinarily we would go back in early July, thus giving the kids about two solid months of break. But since Boo (and probably Doodlebug) will be attending public school in the fall, they won't go back until the middle of August. They will actually have an entire three months of vacation.
I'm going to need all the heavenly help I can get, because the preadolescent masses are going to get bored.
Part of me wants to get these last few weeks over as quickly as possible. We'll wrap up Math-U-See Zeta and give Doodlebug a brief start on pre-algebra, make sure Boo has her division facts down, do a writing project or two (I'm going to see if the kids are interested in writing a play), finish studying the human body, do a study of ancient Rome, and polish off their grammar books… and that's about it.
The other part of me never wants this school year to end. Boo is still very excited about the idea of going to school next fall, even if she experiences occasional bouts of nerves about meeting new people and going to a new school with new routines and new teachers, but I think she'll be fine and really, if she's honest, so does she. I suspect she'll run into some girl drama sooner or later, but it's inevitable. She would run into that even if she hadn't been homeschooled. Doodlebug is still not particularly keen on the idea, but he's coming around. The other day he asked if he made some new friends if I'd let him play Minecraft with them, and of course I said yes. Just not on the computer and possibly not HERE. Not until he can demonstrate long-term responsibility. But he's working on it. I think his problems, if there are any, will be immediately obvious and he'll settle in better the longer he's there. It could just be wishful thinking on my part, of course. We'll see.
The point is, time is flying. Doodlebug is half-asleep on the couch because I suspect he's about to experience another growth spurt; Boo has changed her earrings four times this week (which is more than she's changed them in the last four years combined, I think) and painted her fingernails all by herself the other day. They weren't perfect, but they weren't bad, either. They're growing up, whether I like it or not, and I've had more discussions with more moms about bras and periods and crushes and funky boy-smell in the last month than I've ever had.
And so it isn't just that the weekend is over already. It's that this phase of life is almost over. It's just all going too quickly. I want to live in the present, seize each moment, but I'm not very good at that. Still, I'm going to do my best between now and May, and then between May and August, to seize what I can.
What do you do when you feel like an entire segment of your life is coming to an end? Do you mourn? Get nostalgic? Worry? Get excited? What do you do?
"I guess it is that time," I remarked to Boo, and she gazed at the church for a moment. Then she asked, "It's Sunday?"
Yes, my dear, I told her. It's Sunday. This is why we didn't have school yesterday and why we slept till 10 a.m. and then went to a picnic to meet my brother-in-law's girlfriend (very nice) and then came home and oozed until I left to visit another friend for the sake of hanging out and chatting. It's why I made sure the grocery shopping was done and the lesson plans and worksheets are printed and the house is at least partially presentable, with the exception of the formal dining room where the refrigerator leaked under the wall and under the carpet and we've basically taken the room apart to dry things out and are just thankful that there doesn't seem to be any real damage. So yes… it's Sunday. Time is flying.
That said, I cannot wait until summer vacation gets here. We only have six more weeks of school left, and after that, they'll get the longest summer vacation they'll ever have in their lives. We'll be done May 16. Ordinarily we would go back in early July, thus giving the kids about two solid months of break. But since Boo (and probably Doodlebug) will be attending public school in the fall, they won't go back until the middle of August. They will actually have an entire three months of vacation.
I'm going to need all the heavenly help I can get, because the preadolescent masses are going to get bored.
Part of me wants to get these last few weeks over as quickly as possible. We'll wrap up Math-U-See Zeta and give Doodlebug a brief start on pre-algebra, make sure Boo has her division facts down, do a writing project or two (I'm going to see if the kids are interested in writing a play), finish studying the human body, do a study of ancient Rome, and polish off their grammar books… and that's about it.
The other part of me never wants this school year to end. Boo is still very excited about the idea of going to school next fall, even if she experiences occasional bouts of nerves about meeting new people and going to a new school with new routines and new teachers, but I think she'll be fine and really, if she's honest, so does she. I suspect she'll run into some girl drama sooner or later, but it's inevitable. She would run into that even if she hadn't been homeschooled. Doodlebug is still not particularly keen on the idea, but he's coming around. The other day he asked if he made some new friends if I'd let him play Minecraft with them, and of course I said yes. Just not on the computer and possibly not HERE. Not until he can demonstrate long-term responsibility. But he's working on it. I think his problems, if there are any, will be immediately obvious and he'll settle in better the longer he's there. It could just be wishful thinking on my part, of course. We'll see.
The point is, time is flying. Doodlebug is half-asleep on the couch because I suspect he's about to experience another growth spurt; Boo has changed her earrings four times this week (which is more than she's changed them in the last four years combined, I think) and painted her fingernails all by herself the other day. They weren't perfect, but they weren't bad, either. They're growing up, whether I like it or not, and I've had more discussions with more moms about bras and periods and crushes and funky boy-smell in the last month than I've ever had.
And so it isn't just that the weekend is over already. It's that this phase of life is almost over. It's just all going too quickly. I want to live in the present, seize each moment, but I'm not very good at that. Still, I'm going to do my best between now and May, and then between May and August, to seize what I can.
What do you do when you feel like an entire segment of your life is coming to an end? Do you mourn? Get nostalgic? Worry? Get excited? What do you do?
Friday, April 4, 2014
'Responsibility' is a 4-Letter Word
I went to bed last night optimistic about today. I really did. The plan was to get up, start a couple loads of laundry, do school (what little school we have on Fridays), run a couple of errands, attend our homeschool group meeting, come home, fix dinner, and relax. Oz was going to run one of my errands for me so I wouldn't have to drive clear across town (he'll be 2 miles from that particular errand, which is far closer than I would be with my planned schedule today), and I couldn't really foresee anything happening that would screw up my plans.
I forgot, however, the most important detail: I have children. Chaos machines. Engineers of things not going the way they should.
My first clue that the day was going to be shot to shit came when I looked out the front window at the curb and the trash can wasn't sitting there. Trash is supposedly Oz's job. Not that we have gender-specific job roles or anything, but he is the one who leaves the house each morning, and so taking the trash to the curb has been his job, more or less, for years. I used to be more understanding when he would forget, because at our old house, everyone was responsible for their own trash service. Some of our neighbors burned their trash; others used companies that didn't have pick-up on the same day we did; and all our neighbors were fairly spread out. It was easy to forget. Now there's no excuse. EVERYONE puts out their trash on Friday, and we live in a cul-de-sac. EVERYONE's trash cans are visible. Our neighbor's trash can actually goes right next to ours beside our basketball goal.
So I had to take out the trash. While I was having the kids empty the upstairs cans, I asked Doodlebug if he'd taken his medicine. "No," he said, "but I will. Oh, and Tom's out of worms."
I have asked the boy repeatedly to tell me when we're 2-3 days out from needing worms - or anything else, for that matter. And to be fair, he did tell me yesterday that he was almost out of worms, and that was one of the errands I had on my mental list to run today. I did, however, expect that I wouldn't HAVE to run that errand today if push came to shove and he lollygagged his way through school like he's done most of this week. Now I have no choice.
Then he went to take his medicine. He pulled out the container of Vyvanse, which we're giving him a low dose of right now because the Intuniv alone wasn't cutting the mustard, and no, I do not want to hear that diet changes will fix my kid because they won't, I've tried, and I don't need judgment from random trolls, anyway, and I noticed there wasn't much of a rattle.
"Doodlebug, how many of those do you have left?"
"Hm? Oh. Um. Two."
%&#*.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad he's been taking it. He's retaining his math, and he's far less aggressive and far more focused when he's on it. And I'm glad I caught the problem before we went into the weekend and came out med-less on Monday. But... BUT! Vyvanse is a Schedule II drug, which means I have to go into the doctor's office and physically pick up the prescription each month. And his pediatrician's office is on the other side of town, miles away from any other errand I potentially had to run today.
On any other day, I would just toss going to homeschool group to the wind, run all the errands, and possibly take the kids to the park to run for a while, maybe let Doodlebug take his roller skates or something. However, I agreed to give a friend a ride home from group today, so I don't feel like I can bail.
I hate days like this. I hate when I think I have things planned out neatly and life interferes and gets things all messy. I realize this is a personal problem. But it's still irritating.
-----
In other news, I called the pediatric ophthalmologist with an update on Doodlebug's eye today. It is both better and not better, and I'm not sure what will happen when the doctor gets into the office (he's in surgery this morning) and gets the report. The black line (Doodlebug's final description of the line was black with white edges) has faded to a medium-gray that is somewhat translucent, but he's getting occasional flashes around it now. He says the flashes aren't there all the time, and they're usually white but sometimes orange- or yellow-tinted. I don't even know what to make of all that. So I dumped on the poor ophthalmologist tech, and he said the doctor will probably give me a call later today. Lovely.
I forgot, however, the most important detail: I have children. Chaos machines. Engineers of things not going the way they should.
My first clue that the day was going to be shot to shit came when I looked out the front window at the curb and the trash can wasn't sitting there. Trash is supposedly Oz's job. Not that we have gender-specific job roles or anything, but he is the one who leaves the house each morning, and so taking the trash to the curb has been his job, more or less, for years. I used to be more understanding when he would forget, because at our old house, everyone was responsible for their own trash service. Some of our neighbors burned their trash; others used companies that didn't have pick-up on the same day we did; and all our neighbors were fairly spread out. It was easy to forget. Now there's no excuse. EVERYONE puts out their trash on Friday, and we live in a cul-de-sac. EVERYONE's trash cans are visible. Our neighbor's trash can actually goes right next to ours beside our basketball goal.
So I had to take out the trash. While I was having the kids empty the upstairs cans, I asked Doodlebug if he'd taken his medicine. "No," he said, "but I will. Oh, and Tom's out of worms."
I have asked the boy repeatedly to tell me when we're 2-3 days out from needing worms - or anything else, for that matter. And to be fair, he did tell me yesterday that he was almost out of worms, and that was one of the errands I had on my mental list to run today. I did, however, expect that I wouldn't HAVE to run that errand today if push came to shove and he lollygagged his way through school like he's done most of this week. Now I have no choice.
Then he went to take his medicine. He pulled out the container of Vyvanse, which we're giving him a low dose of right now because the Intuniv alone wasn't cutting the mustard, and no, I do not want to hear that diet changes will fix my kid because they won't, I've tried, and I don't need judgment from random trolls, anyway, and I noticed there wasn't much of a rattle.
"Doodlebug, how many of those do you have left?"
"Hm? Oh. Um. Two."
%&#*.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad he's been taking it. He's retaining his math, and he's far less aggressive and far more focused when he's on it. And I'm glad I caught the problem before we went into the weekend and came out med-less on Monday. But... BUT! Vyvanse is a Schedule II drug, which means I have to go into the doctor's office and physically pick up the prescription each month. And his pediatrician's office is on the other side of town, miles away from any other errand I potentially had to run today.
On any other day, I would just toss going to homeschool group to the wind, run all the errands, and possibly take the kids to the park to run for a while, maybe let Doodlebug take his roller skates or something. However, I agreed to give a friend a ride home from group today, so I don't feel like I can bail.
I hate days like this. I hate when I think I have things planned out neatly and life interferes and gets things all messy. I realize this is a personal problem. But it's still irritating.
-----
In other news, I called the pediatric ophthalmologist with an update on Doodlebug's eye today. It is both better and not better, and I'm not sure what will happen when the doctor gets into the office (he's in surgery this morning) and gets the report. The black line (Doodlebug's final description of the line was black with white edges) has faded to a medium-gray that is somewhat translucent, but he's getting occasional flashes around it now. He says the flashes aren't there all the time, and they're usually white but sometimes orange- or yellow-tinted. I don't even know what to make of all that. So I dumped on the poor ophthalmologist tech, and he said the doctor will probably give me a call later today. Lovely.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Being a Hero
Thank you all so very much for the thoughts and support with regards to yesterday's post. I have had a nice, fairly quiet day at home in which I have gotten a lot of little stuff knocked out that needed to be taken care of (documents are now scanned and e-mailed, replacements orders have been placed for stuff that was falling apart, the laundry is done, etc.), and I am in a better place mentally and physically. The line is still there in Doodlebug's vision, but he claims it's somewhat fainter. I'm not sure if this is true or if it's simply wishful thinking on his part - the placebo effect is strong in this one - but it's not getting worse, and that's something.
Anyway, none of that is the point of this post.
A few days ago, Boo was bouncing around the school room and announced flatly, "You're my hero, Mom."
As simple as that. "You're my hero."
And with those three little words, my daughter blew my mind.
I never had a hero growing up. The notion that you were supposed to have a hero was one that simply sounded ludicrous to me. In sixth or seventh grade, we were supposed to write an essay on our hero - who that person was, why we chose that person, etc. I have a confession to make to my English teacher at the time:
Dear Mrs. Grant,
My essay was pure, unadulterated bullshit.
Sincerely,
Sarah
I'm sure I made up something about a grandmother or a famous person I'd read about at the time or something, but it would all have been lies. Lies, I tell you! I had no role model, nobody who I felt was worth being other than me, myself, and I. And I have always rather liked that about myself.
And so now, when my daughter announces that she has a hero and that hero is ME… well, you can see where I would struggle.
I am exquisitely sure that one day I will very much NOT be her hero and she'll want to be NOTHING like that crazy old bat she has to call Mom (or Mombledore, or Mumsie, or whatever else I get called around here), but for right now, this vibrant, bouncy daughter of mine has it in her head that I'm a good person and that she should be like me when she grows up.
It's both thrilling and petrifying. I hope I can live up to at least a few of her expectations. Because heaven knows I haven't lived up to all of mine!
Anyway, none of that is the point of this post.
A few days ago, Boo was bouncing around the school room and announced flatly, "You're my hero, Mom."
As simple as that. "You're my hero."
And with those three little words, my daughter blew my mind.
I never had a hero growing up. The notion that you were supposed to have a hero was one that simply sounded ludicrous to me. In sixth or seventh grade, we were supposed to write an essay on our hero - who that person was, why we chose that person, etc. I have a confession to make to my English teacher at the time:
Dear Mrs. Grant,
My essay was pure, unadulterated bullshit.
Sincerely,
Sarah
I'm sure I made up something about a grandmother or a famous person I'd read about at the time or something, but it would all have been lies. Lies, I tell you! I had no role model, nobody who I felt was worth being other than me, myself, and I. And I have always rather liked that about myself.
And so now, when my daughter announces that she has a hero and that hero is ME… well, you can see where I would struggle.
I am exquisitely sure that one day I will very much NOT be her hero and she'll want to be NOTHING like that crazy old bat she has to call Mom (or Mombledore, or Mumsie, or whatever else I get called around here), but for right now, this vibrant, bouncy daughter of mine has it in her head that I'm a good person and that she should be like me when she grows up.
It's both thrilling and petrifying. I hope I can live up to at least a few of her expectations. Because heaven knows I haven't lived up to all of mine!
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Heartwarming Moments
That moment when…
… your 11-year-old son parks himself on the couch next to you and says, "Mom, I am going to snuggle you. You have 30 seconds to prepare for snuggling. 29… 28… 27… "
… your just-turned-9-year-old daughter gets to sit between two of her closest friends at lunch, and when the meal is over and you're walking out of the restaurant, she says to the friend next to her, "Let's walk out arm in arm like they do in books." And they do.
… your husband comes home from working all day, sees that you're still on the couch at 5:45 p.m. and decides to take care of dinner. Steak, baked potatoes, grilled zucchini, and a lovely bottle of Cabernet sauvignon.
… you're exhausted and want nothing more than to climb into bed right after dinner, but you're the mom - so the children hunt you down and climb up on the bed, and the cats wander in and hop up on the bed, too, and the husband sits on the nearby armchair, so you have your bed and your family, and what can really be better than that?
… you find this on Pinterest and can only sit there and think, "YES" to every single one (click and zoom to enlarge or visit my Pinterest page):
… your 11-year-old son parks himself on the couch next to you and says, "Mom, I am going to snuggle you. You have 30 seconds to prepare for snuggling. 29… 28… 27… "
… your just-turned-9-year-old daughter gets to sit between two of her closest friends at lunch, and when the meal is over and you're walking out of the restaurant, she says to the friend next to her, "Let's walk out arm in arm like they do in books." And they do.
… your husband comes home from working all day, sees that you're still on the couch at 5:45 p.m. and decides to take care of dinner. Steak, baked potatoes, grilled zucchini, and a lovely bottle of Cabernet sauvignon.
… you're exhausted and want nothing more than to climb into bed right after dinner, but you're the mom - so the children hunt you down and climb up on the bed, and the cats wander in and hop up on the bed, too, and the husband sits on the nearby armchair, so you have your bed and your family, and what can really be better than that?
… you find this on Pinterest and can only sit there and think, "YES" to every single one (click and zoom to enlarge or visit my Pinterest page):
… you come back from Spring Break after three weeks and everyone's done with school by 1:30, even the boy who was grouchy when he first woke up, but he snapped out of it and did what needed to be done like a mature human being.
… you strew your daughter's birthday gifts around the house throughout the day because you were too tired to wrap them the night before, and every time she finds something she shrieks with happiness and gives you a giant hug. Way better than one big anticlimactic, "Thanks, Mom & Dad!"
… your son comes home from an all-night gaming session (formerly known as a sleepover) and says he's played a geography game. "And, Mom, I see what you mean when you say that world geography isn't taught very well. We had to place flags on the countries or states. And we all knew the US states, but then it moved to Europe, and all they knew was Italy and France! They didn't even know England!" (And yes, I'm painfully aware that my kids know this at the expense of knowing American history… but I'm working on that. Really I am.)
… you call your sister and tell her that you're about to do something that is seriously going to piss off someone you both know, and she tells you that you're doing the right thing, anyway, and for the same exact reasons you had already said to yourself but didn't entirely believe.
So many good things each day. I just have to remember to write them down sometimes! What good thing happened to you lately?
Thursday, February 27, 2014
On a More Positive Note
Thanks for letting me rant yesterday. I know I whine about the boy, and it's true that he is not an easy child to raise, and it's hard not to compare him to Boo, who is his complete opposite in so many, many ways, but just when I'm down in my darkest depths and feel like I'm bashing my head against a brick wall trying to get him to understand things like altruism and empathy, he surprises me.
Yesterday we had to run errands. And by errands, I mean errands. By the time we got home, we had made 8 stops. Granted, at three of those (the gas station, the recycling drop-off, and Sonic) the kids didn't have to get out of the car, but it still made for an interminably long afternoon and a good chunk of it was spent in department stores shopping for clothes, and a good chunk of the clothes were not for the boy. I always hold my breath when we go on marathon shopping sprees like these because I know what a child's attention span is and I remember all the shenanigans that my sister and I would get up to when my mom insisted that we needed to make the hour-long drive to Joplin and spend a day shopping there. I have a scar on my forehead from the time we were wrestling on the floor and I rolled into the corner of the jewelry counter. Shenanigans. And Doodlebug is not known for his patience when the shopping involves anyone else.
But the kids were fabulous. They were patient with me and with each other while we all agonized over varying clothes decisions (not least of which was a swimsuit for me, which I did not wind up purchasing because swimsuit makers still do not understand that 'tummy control' for moms means built-in Spanx... guess where I'm looking next?). At one point, I was browsing the clearance racks and found a shirt I wanted to try but only saw it in a small, a size which I am decidedly not. Doodlebug hunted around for me and found it in a medium. It was still too small, but he and his sister were so proud of working together that they actually high-fived each other in the middle of the store.
Doodlebug had also brought along a Sonic gift card that he'd received for Christmas. When I told the kids that I would buy them drinks as a thank-you treat for being so well-behaved, Doodlebug said, "Mom, I want to use my card and buy myself a Blast instead. And I want to buy my sister one, too."
I melted.
They followed me around the grocery store like well-trained puppies after that, chatting (mostly) nicely and eating their ice cream. Best. Grocery trip. Ever.
Of course, we got home and he promptly dissolved into a pile of grumpiness and got sent to his room to detox and relax, but that I understand - after holding it together in stores for several hours, we all needed a break.
And today has finally been better all around. I think we're finally over the Sunday Minecraft 'hump.' Seriously have to ban it. Hate doing it, but three days of grief for two hours' worth of play isn't worth it for anyone.
Hope your Thursday is as nice as mine looks like it'll be!
Yesterday we had to run errands. And by errands, I mean errands. By the time we got home, we had made 8 stops. Granted, at three of those (the gas station, the recycling drop-off, and Sonic) the kids didn't have to get out of the car, but it still made for an interminably long afternoon and a good chunk of it was spent in department stores shopping for clothes, and a good chunk of the clothes were not for the boy. I always hold my breath when we go on marathon shopping sprees like these because I know what a child's attention span is and I remember all the shenanigans that my sister and I would get up to when my mom insisted that we needed to make the hour-long drive to Joplin and spend a day shopping there. I have a scar on my forehead from the time we were wrestling on the floor and I rolled into the corner of the jewelry counter. Shenanigans. And Doodlebug is not known for his patience when the shopping involves anyone else.
But the kids were fabulous. They were patient with me and with each other while we all agonized over varying clothes decisions (not least of which was a swimsuit for me, which I did not wind up purchasing because swimsuit makers still do not understand that 'tummy control' for moms means built-in Spanx... guess where I'm looking next?). At one point, I was browsing the clearance racks and found a shirt I wanted to try but only saw it in a small, a size which I am decidedly not. Doodlebug hunted around for me and found it in a medium. It was still too small, but he and his sister were so proud of working together that they actually high-fived each other in the middle of the store.
Doodlebug had also brought along a Sonic gift card that he'd received for Christmas. When I told the kids that I would buy them drinks as a thank-you treat for being so well-behaved, Doodlebug said, "Mom, I want to use my card and buy myself a Blast instead. And I want to buy my sister one, too."
I melted.
They followed me around the grocery store like well-trained puppies after that, chatting (mostly) nicely and eating their ice cream. Best. Grocery trip. Ever.
Of course, we got home and he promptly dissolved into a pile of grumpiness and got sent to his room to detox and relax, but that I understand - after holding it together in stores for several hours, we all needed a break.
And today has finally been better all around. I think we're finally over the Sunday Minecraft 'hump.' Seriously have to ban it. Hate doing it, but three days of grief for two hours' worth of play isn't worth it for anyone.
Hope your Thursday is as nice as mine looks like it'll be!
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Because This is My Venting Place
Feel free to not read this blog post. I'm okay with that. I simply need somewhere to get all this out, and my friends have heard it all a million times, and so has my husband (and so have you, really, but in my experience it's easier to not read something than it is to not hear it), and so I just need to get it all out of my head before I go insane.
WARNING: Profanity ahead.
Doodlebug is having another bad week. He won't try. Will. Not. Try.
On Sunday I let him go over to a friend's house for a couple of hours because I was freaking exhausted and my friend asked to borrow the boy so he could see his friends. Usually when they're together, they play Minecraft. I'm okay with that as long as it isn't in my house. But of course he came home, and that night he stole his sister's iPod (again) and hacked into it (again) so he could watch Minecraft videos (again). And then on Monday when he got caught (again), he cried and said he'd try 'next time' (again) and otherwise fed us all giant shovelfuls of bullshit (again).
Because he'd been up half the night Sunday night using his sister's technology, that meant that his school work on Monday was completed in a half-assed fashion.
Yesterday, Tuesday, was no better. He claimed to have slept, and he got some of his work done properly, but then came writing. At 10:45 a.m., he read through his lesson, handed me the book and said, "I read it. I'm done. That's all there was." I looked down and the first thing I saw was, "Underline the...." So I called his bluff and handed the book back. Five minutes later, he announced, "I need to use the computer, Mom. It says I have to type up this paragraph." So you did have work to do. Congratulations on finally reading the lesson. I let him type it up. He printed off a copy, and it was clear to me that he hadn't understood the lesson. Fine. So we went over what was wrong, I pointed out that the mistakes shouldn't have happened because there were very explicit samples in the book, and sent him back upstairs to type. In the meantime, I had to go get Boo from her sewing class (she's doing great, by the way... yesterday they finished making a patchwork drawstring bag, and it looks very professional!) and so I thought I could trust him to behave on the computer for the time I would be gone.
WRONG.
The work was done sloppily, and he felt the need to use the time to watch yet more Minecraft videos. And delete the Internet history, of course, which was the Ultimate Tip-off because I know what sort of browsing I do each morning while they're working.
So at this point, he won't be seeing his friends till the end of April (it would be March, but we'll be gone for most of it). If one afternoon of Minecraft results in a week of work for me, it isn't worth it. He's not happy about it, of course, but at this point I don't give a shit. He's banned from Minecraft from now to eternity, here and anywhere else. I don't even know why I get optimistic any more.
This morning, you'd think we'd be better, but no... he was up 45 minutes before anyone else and the first words I heard from either of my children this morning was, "Doodlebug, I'm telling Mom." "I'm sorry." "For what - putting your hands on me and not letting me go... AGAIN???"
Eff this. Anyone want to trade me for an easier model? I have gotten this one half-grown... I won't say half-raised, because clearly that hasn't happened and I'm not sure it's a possibility... so it's not like you'd be starting with a new specimen. This one's clearly a challenge for the ages.
I get to go shopping with him later today. I may 'accidentally' leave him behind. It's very tempting...
WARNING: Profanity ahead.
Doodlebug is having another bad week. He won't try. Will. Not. Try.
On Sunday I let him go over to a friend's house for a couple of hours because I was freaking exhausted and my friend asked to borrow the boy so he could see his friends. Usually when they're together, they play Minecraft. I'm okay with that as long as it isn't in my house. But of course he came home, and that night he stole his sister's iPod (again) and hacked into it (again) so he could watch Minecraft videos (again). And then on Monday when he got caught (again), he cried and said he'd try 'next time' (again) and otherwise fed us all giant shovelfuls of bullshit (again).
Because he'd been up half the night Sunday night using his sister's technology, that meant that his school work on Monday was completed in a half-assed fashion.
Yesterday, Tuesday, was no better. He claimed to have slept, and he got some of his work done properly, but then came writing. At 10:45 a.m., he read through his lesson, handed me the book and said, "I read it. I'm done. That's all there was." I looked down and the first thing I saw was, "Underline the...." So I called his bluff and handed the book back. Five minutes later, he announced, "I need to use the computer, Mom. It says I have to type up this paragraph." So you did have work to do. Congratulations on finally reading the lesson. I let him type it up. He printed off a copy, and it was clear to me that he hadn't understood the lesson. Fine. So we went over what was wrong, I pointed out that the mistakes shouldn't have happened because there were very explicit samples in the book, and sent him back upstairs to type. In the meantime, I had to go get Boo from her sewing class (she's doing great, by the way... yesterday they finished making a patchwork drawstring bag, and it looks very professional!) and so I thought I could trust him to behave on the computer for the time I would be gone.
WRONG.
The work was done sloppily, and he felt the need to use the time to watch yet more Minecraft videos. And delete the Internet history, of course, which was the Ultimate Tip-off because I know what sort of browsing I do each morning while they're working.
So at this point, he won't be seeing his friends till the end of April (it would be March, but we'll be gone for most of it). If one afternoon of Minecraft results in a week of work for me, it isn't worth it. He's not happy about it, of course, but at this point I don't give a shit. He's banned from Minecraft from now to eternity, here and anywhere else. I don't even know why I get optimistic any more.
This morning, you'd think we'd be better, but no... he was up 45 minutes before anyone else and the first words I heard from either of my children this morning was, "Doodlebug, I'm telling Mom." "I'm sorry." "For what - putting your hands on me and not letting me go... AGAIN???"
Eff this. Anyone want to trade me for an easier model? I have gotten this one half-grown... I won't say half-raised, because clearly that hasn't happened and I'm not sure it's a possibility... so it's not like you'd be starting with a new specimen. This one's clearly a challenge for the ages.
I get to go shopping with him later today. I may 'accidentally' leave him behind. It's very tempting...
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
It Seems Like Magic
And just like that, this week is better. Compared to last week, it's phenomenal. I know it's only Tuesday evening, but Doodlebug has completed his work each day (before 2 p.m. yesterday and before 12:30 today!) and hasn't been fighting me. He told me over the weekend that he was going to try to follow his therapist's advice and "achieve neutrality toward school." He then told me that those weren't his therapist's exact words - those were "to try to be neutral about school" - but that he liked "achieve neutrality" better.
Bless his little nerd heart. :)
The fact that his math lesson this week is pre-algebraic in origin probably plays no small part in his positive feelings - I've suspected for ages that algebra would be right up his mathematical alley, and it seems I may have been right - but regardless, it's not just about math. Everything is getting done and done correctly.
This week is going so well that tomorrow I even have plans other than teaching school and getting the bare minimum done - I'm going to make some phone calls/appointments, bake banana bread, and wash my comforter. On Thursday the kids and I may even crash a friend's house for coffee. It's a thrilling life, I tell you, but it's nice to have the energy to do these things. When I'm fighting with someone 24/7, I have nothing left for anything else!
I've no idea if there's anything behind this switch other than a new week and a few potentially helpful phrases from his therapist. Could be hormones, could be nothing. Who knows. Doesn't matter. I'm just so relieved that last week is in the past, over and done with. Here's to another solid couple of days so the week can end positively.
Thanks for bearing with me and for all the sympathetic ears and messages. It's nice to know there are so many lovely, supportive folks out there.
Bless his little nerd heart. :)
The fact that his math lesson this week is pre-algebraic in origin probably plays no small part in his positive feelings - I've suspected for ages that algebra would be right up his mathematical alley, and it seems I may have been right - but regardless, it's not just about math. Everything is getting done and done correctly.
This week is going so well that tomorrow I even have plans other than teaching school and getting the bare minimum done - I'm going to make some phone calls/appointments, bake banana bread, and wash my comforter. On Thursday the kids and I may even crash a friend's house for coffee. It's a thrilling life, I tell you, but it's nice to have the energy to do these things. When I'm fighting with someone 24/7, I have nothing left for anything else!
I've no idea if there's anything behind this switch other than a new week and a few potentially helpful phrases from his therapist. Could be hormones, could be nothing. Who knows. Doesn't matter. I'm just so relieved that last week is in the past, over and done with. Here's to another solid couple of days so the week can end positively.
Thanks for bearing with me and for all the sympathetic ears and messages. It's nice to know there are so many lovely, supportive folks out there.
Friday, January 17, 2014
And Then Friday Happened
I am still, as one commenter suggested the other day, keeping my eyes on the prize of going out tomorrow night. I found some laughter at a friend's house yesterday afternoon. I was so grateful for that. I didn't feel like I'd smiled all week, and I know I've cried multiple times. I do not often cry, but this week has just about done me in. I had to leave Doodlebug at home while Boo and I went, and he was heartbroken because he didn't get to see his friend, but he still hadn't completed his school work, and so the natural consequence was that he had to stay home and try to get it done.
Today, since Fridays are light days in school, I had been really, really hoping would be better. It was not. Boo spent an hour today arguing with me that 8th notes are called 18th notes, that 16th notes don't exist, and that it takes four '18th notes' to make a quarter note. She's also spent a good part of the day attempting to communicate with me via text from her bedroom. I'm not responding. I'm tired of her thinking that she's too privileged to walk the 50 feet from her room to the living room to talk to me face-to-face.
Oz and I had planned to let Boo have a sleepover Sunday night, since the public schools are out on Monday. I was going to see if she and her friend and possibly Doodlebug (and maybe some other friends) wanted to go see a Harry Potter science exhibit that's showing right now. All she had to do was make sure her room was clean (i.e. no big piles of stuff, clothes put away, and I asked her to mop her floor since it was covered in footprints and animal fur). I had also asked her to pick up the books we currently keep in the game room. She assured me the books were picked up. She assured me her room was clean.
And then I found out she'd lied to me. I glanced in the game room and saw books strewn everywhere. I walked into her room and felt grit under my feet. I walked around to the far side of her bed and saw piles of clothing jutting out from underneath it. I almost burst into tears - yet again - at the sight.
Her sleepover is cancelled.
I'm so tired of being lied to.
I'm so tired of the kids thinking they can just ignore me whenever it's convenient.
I'm so tired of yelling and repeating myself over and over and over.
I'm just tired.
I threatened to turn in my parenting card to a select few friends on Facebook the other day. They sympathized, and I did (do) appreciate their thoughts, but I still wonder what sort of karmic hell I'm in and what I did in a past life to deserve this.
Doodlebug is no better. We cleaned his room out, together, in early December, but it's already a complete shambles (again), so yesterday I pulled everything out (again) so we could put things where they go (again). He told me he wanted to take care of it. I asked him if he was sure. He said he was. I asked him if he wanted help. He said he wanted to do everything on his own to prove that he could. I told him that I wanted his clothes - just the clothes, nothing else - put away by this evening at dinnertime and reminded him that his lizard cage had to be cleaned since there was poop in the food dish and shed skin everywhere. At 12:30, he was in his room and told me he was working. At 4 he told me he'd gotten half his clothes folded and yelled at me and his sister because we were 'distracting' him and 'keeping him from working.' Never mind that he'd spent half the afternoon hooting and barking at his sister and ignoring my repeated attempts to get him to focus. At 6, which is dinnertime, he'd finished... nothing. At 6:30, he put the container of diluted bleach water on his bed, where he's been repeatedly asked NOT to set it, and then sat down next to it. His weighted blanket, bedspread, pants, shirt, and underwear promptly got soaked. His weighted blanket is in the washer, but I made him throw the outfit out. He was mad because it was his good pair of Polo jeans, but what else do you do with jeans that are now sporting a bleached butt?
It's 7:30 now. Oz and I ate bratwurst, spaetzle, and roasted butternut squash for dinner. The kids are having flax cereal and bananas. Boo has eaten and is getting ready for bed. She has to get up early for a group violin lesson in the morning.
This is assuming I have the motivation to get out of bed. It may not happen.
Today, since Fridays are light days in school, I had been really, really hoping would be better. It was not. Boo spent an hour today arguing with me that 8th notes are called 18th notes, that 16th notes don't exist, and that it takes four '18th notes' to make a quarter note. She's also spent a good part of the day attempting to communicate with me via text from her bedroom. I'm not responding. I'm tired of her thinking that she's too privileged to walk the 50 feet from her room to the living room to talk to me face-to-face.
Oz and I had planned to let Boo have a sleepover Sunday night, since the public schools are out on Monday. I was going to see if she and her friend and possibly Doodlebug (and maybe some other friends) wanted to go see a Harry Potter science exhibit that's showing right now. All she had to do was make sure her room was clean (i.e. no big piles of stuff, clothes put away, and I asked her to mop her floor since it was covered in footprints and animal fur). I had also asked her to pick up the books we currently keep in the game room. She assured me the books were picked up. She assured me her room was clean.
And then I found out she'd lied to me. I glanced in the game room and saw books strewn everywhere. I walked into her room and felt grit under my feet. I walked around to the far side of her bed and saw piles of clothing jutting out from underneath it. I almost burst into tears - yet again - at the sight.
Her sleepover is cancelled.
I'm so tired of being lied to.
I'm so tired of the kids thinking they can just ignore me whenever it's convenient.
I'm so tired of yelling and repeating myself over and over and over.
I'm just tired.
I threatened to turn in my parenting card to a select few friends on Facebook the other day. They sympathized, and I did (do) appreciate their thoughts, but I still wonder what sort of karmic hell I'm in and what I did in a past life to deserve this.
Doodlebug is no better. We cleaned his room out, together, in early December, but it's already a complete shambles (again), so yesterday I pulled everything out (again) so we could put things where they go (again). He told me he wanted to take care of it. I asked him if he was sure. He said he was. I asked him if he wanted help. He said he wanted to do everything on his own to prove that he could. I told him that I wanted his clothes - just the clothes, nothing else - put away by this evening at dinnertime and reminded him that his lizard cage had to be cleaned since there was poop in the food dish and shed skin everywhere. At 12:30, he was in his room and told me he was working. At 4 he told me he'd gotten half his clothes folded and yelled at me and his sister because we were 'distracting' him and 'keeping him from working.' Never mind that he'd spent half the afternoon hooting and barking at his sister and ignoring my repeated attempts to get him to focus. At 6, which is dinnertime, he'd finished... nothing. At 6:30, he put the container of diluted bleach water on his bed, where he's been repeatedly asked NOT to set it, and then sat down next to it. His weighted blanket, bedspread, pants, shirt, and underwear promptly got soaked. His weighted blanket is in the washer, but I made him throw the outfit out. He was mad because it was his good pair of Polo jeans, but what else do you do with jeans that are now sporting a bleached butt?
It's 7:30 now. Oz and I ate bratwurst, spaetzle, and roasted butternut squash for dinner. The kids are having flax cereal and bananas. Boo has eaten and is getting ready for bed. She has to get up early for a group violin lesson in the morning.
This is assuming I have the motivation to get out of bed. It may not happen.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Keep Calm? You've GOT to be Kidding.
I'm trying to focus on the positive today. Find my inner Qi/Zen/peace.
Breathe in, breathe out.
This week has not improved with age.
The boy-o finished up yesterday's work at noon and still, at 4:25 p.m., has three more subjects of today's work to complete. This is actually an improvement over yesterday, when he didn't get Monday's work finished until noon-ish and we were home all morning. At least today he has the excuse that we were at the therapist's office for an hour.
(Note to self: This is not how you walk away from the negative. Breathe in, breathe out...)
Boo is doing well! She's done with today's work and has practiced her violin in her newly-rearranged room (the girl has her grandmother's room-rearranging tendencies and isn't happy unless everything is moved and redecorated regularly) with a checklist that her teacher has started giving out each week.
Doodlebug's therapist is still working out beautifully. We stumbled on an excellent one, and I couldn't be happier. He pulled me in first today, and we chatted about plans. We're still trying to manage Doodlebug's anger and energy into more productive, positive channels - not burying the anger, just handling it in a healthy fashion. Yesterday I couldn't open my mouth without ugliness coming out of his, and that's not helping anyone.
I mentioned today that we'll put him into public school this fall, and he wants to get Doodlebug's assessment/diagnoses updated, either through the school or through private channels, since the only one we have is from when he was 5 and which was done through an office that has since dissolved. Then he wants to see if we can get the IEP ball rolling before summer even gets here so that there's a firm plan in place before Doodlebug walks through the door in August.
I like this idea. A lot.
He also recognized, even before I said anything, that there's only a 50/50 shot of public school working out for Doodlebug. It made me happy that we were on the same page and recognized the same stumbling blocks and had the same thoughts about solutions for them. When a parent and a doctor are on the same page, good things happen.
I called Doodlebug's pediatrician yesterday and made an appointment to discuss adding a low-dose stimulant to his current Intuniv. Anything that can help him focus is, at this point, a positive step.
I'm making progress on my reading, my cross-stitch, and a couple other projects I wanted to tackle this month. Now if I can only get my car in for its detailing...
Several of my friends are having birthdays this week, and we're going out this weekend to celebrate. We're all very ready to escape, I think. I've promised to drive, since my birthday is NOT this month, so that the birthday girls can have a little extra fun. They need it, too (one of them had her house flood this week, for example, and while that should be covered under her home warranty, they're trying to say it isn't). So obviously I'm excited about getting together, but in the meantime, my life is a little more like this:
Hang in there, y'all. I know I'm not the only one having a rough week.
Breathe in, breathe out.
This week has not improved with age.
The boy-o finished up yesterday's work at noon and still, at 4:25 p.m., has three more subjects of today's work to complete. This is actually an improvement over yesterday, when he didn't get Monday's work finished until noon-ish and we were home all morning. At least today he has the excuse that we were at the therapist's office for an hour.
(Note to self: This is not how you walk away from the negative. Breathe in, breathe out...)
Boo is doing well! She's done with today's work and has practiced her violin in her newly-rearranged room (the girl has her grandmother's room-rearranging tendencies and isn't happy unless everything is moved and redecorated regularly) with a checklist that her teacher has started giving out each week.
Doodlebug's therapist is still working out beautifully. We stumbled on an excellent one, and I couldn't be happier. He pulled me in first today, and we chatted about plans. We're still trying to manage Doodlebug's anger and energy into more productive, positive channels - not burying the anger, just handling it in a healthy fashion. Yesterday I couldn't open my mouth without ugliness coming out of his, and that's not helping anyone.
I mentioned today that we'll put him into public school this fall, and he wants to get Doodlebug's assessment/diagnoses updated, either through the school or through private channels, since the only one we have is from when he was 5 and which was done through an office that has since dissolved. Then he wants to see if we can get the IEP ball rolling before summer even gets here so that there's a firm plan in place before Doodlebug walks through the door in August.
I like this idea. A lot.
He also recognized, even before I said anything, that there's only a 50/50 shot of public school working out for Doodlebug. It made me happy that we were on the same page and recognized the same stumbling blocks and had the same thoughts about solutions for them. When a parent and a doctor are on the same page, good things happen.
I called Doodlebug's pediatrician yesterday and made an appointment to discuss adding a low-dose stimulant to his current Intuniv. Anything that can help him focus is, at this point, a positive step.
I'm making progress on my reading, my cross-stitch, and a couple other projects I wanted to tackle this month. Now if I can only get my car in for its detailing...
Several of my friends are having birthdays this week, and we're going out this weekend to celebrate. We're all very ready to escape, I think. I've promised to drive, since my birthday is NOT this month, so that the birthday girls can have a little extra fun. They need it, too (one of them had her house flood this week, for example, and while that should be covered under her home warranty, they're trying to say it isn't). So obviously I'm excited about getting together, but in the meantime, my life is a little more like this:
than like this:
Monday, January 13, 2014
And We're Back to That Already
Long before Christmas, Doodlebug and I had gone 'round and 'round about his schoolwork, and I'd finally settled - reluctantly, but because I had little other choice - into the routine of giving him due dates and letting him complete/turn in his work when he wanted. Which means I'm on call 24/7 and he's spending more and more time not completing work when it needs to be done and more and more time doing it on the 5th of Never.
I had been hopeful that after several weeks off - one at Thanksgiving, two at Christmas - we would be able to get back into a more productive routine and he'd actually start giving a flying flip about his school work.
I couldn't have been more wrong if I tried. Any doubts about sending him to public school this fall are gone. G. O. N. E. Because if I keep him here, I'll kill him.
Not actually.
But I'll want to do the Homer Simpson neck-squeezing thing a lot. ("WHY, YOU LITTLE....!!!")
It's 11:10 a.m. He woke up late, because he refuses to set an alarm. He refuses to set an alarm because he assumes that it's someone else's job to wake him and/or he'll hear Boo getting ready and be able to wake up and get his chores done before school 'starts' at 8:30. Anyway, he woke up late. He threw a giant fit when I told him that chores needed to be done before breakfast because this fall he'll be able to get on the bus holding a piece of toast, but he can't feed the cats while riding to school. Plus, it does take him that long to accept a new routine. He stomped around, hollering at me because clearly this is all my fault. He fed the cats while stomping. He fed his lizard while stomping. And just about the time I was going to threaten to get the hacksaw and dare him to stomp around on bloody stumps, he quit stomping so he could clean out the litter boxes (which, by the way, is a chore he chose so he would no longer have to help hand-wash dishes. The logic of this choice escapes me, since I know which I'd rather do, but never mind, he chose it and there it is).
Meanwhile, Boo and I went upstairs to start school.
The boy came up a few minutes later. "I need to refill the litter boxes, and we're out of litter."
Now, I knew - knew - that when I'd been in the garage, I'd seen plenty of containers of litter sitting where they always sit, right beside the deep freeze. So I thought I'd call his bluff.
"There's more in the garage. Do you need help bringing it in?"
"No, those are empty. I've been putting the empty ones back out there."
Silence. Cue sound of head hitting desk.
"So you're telling me we have five cats, three litter boxes, and no litter."
A nod was all I got.
The rule in this house is that Mama (or Dad) needs three days' notice to get anything like this, so we don't have to make emergency store runs for things like cat food, lizard food, milk, etc. Usually I get 24-48 hours' notice, which is good enough most of the time. But this was 8:45 a.m. (15 minutes late for school already), Sam's Club doesn't open till 10, and I've got stuff to get done today that can't be put off. And I hate, hate, HATE the smell of cat pee. Right up there with roaches on the list of things I don't want in my house.
I told him to figure out how to get at least two functioning litter boxes and sent him back downstairs.
Scream stomp stomp stomp muttermutter hoot squawk stomp.
He found a solution and made it to 'school' half an hour late. Whatever. Then it took him 1.5 hours to complete his first assignment, one that I've seen him finish in 20 minutes when the mood takes him. He's been working on his second assignment for 45 minutes. Again, this is one that could be done in 20. I know, because his sister did it in 25.
I'm going to go to lunch with a friend now. I know that nothing will be completed in my absence. I've tailored this curriculum till it can't be tailored any more, and he claims to like it all, but he just. doesn't. care.
Have I mentioned I can't wait for August to get here? I love my son, but I can't love him as well when I feel like I'm fighting with him 24/7.
Hello, Monday!
I had been hopeful that after several weeks off - one at Thanksgiving, two at Christmas - we would be able to get back into a more productive routine and he'd actually start giving a flying flip about his school work.
I couldn't have been more wrong if I tried. Any doubts about sending him to public school this fall are gone. G. O. N. E. Because if I keep him here, I'll kill him.
Not actually.
But I'll want to do the Homer Simpson neck-squeezing thing a lot. ("WHY, YOU LITTLE....!!!")
It's 11:10 a.m. He woke up late, because he refuses to set an alarm. He refuses to set an alarm because he assumes that it's someone else's job to wake him and/or he'll hear Boo getting ready and be able to wake up and get his chores done before school 'starts' at 8:30. Anyway, he woke up late. He threw a giant fit when I told him that chores needed to be done before breakfast because this fall he'll be able to get on the bus holding a piece of toast, but he can't feed the cats while riding to school. Plus, it does take him that long to accept a new routine. He stomped around, hollering at me because clearly this is all my fault. He fed the cats while stomping. He fed his lizard while stomping. And just about the time I was going to threaten to get the hacksaw and dare him to stomp around on bloody stumps, he quit stomping so he could clean out the litter boxes (which, by the way, is a chore he chose so he would no longer have to help hand-wash dishes. The logic of this choice escapes me, since I know which I'd rather do, but never mind, he chose it and there it is).
Meanwhile, Boo and I went upstairs to start school.
The boy came up a few minutes later. "I need to refill the litter boxes, and we're out of litter."
Now, I knew - knew - that when I'd been in the garage, I'd seen plenty of containers of litter sitting where they always sit, right beside the deep freeze. So I thought I'd call his bluff.
"There's more in the garage. Do you need help bringing it in?"
"No, those are empty. I've been putting the empty ones back out there."
Silence. Cue sound of head hitting desk.
"So you're telling me we have five cats, three litter boxes, and no litter."
A nod was all I got.
The rule in this house is that Mama (or Dad) needs three days' notice to get anything like this, so we don't have to make emergency store runs for things like cat food, lizard food, milk, etc. Usually I get 24-48 hours' notice, which is good enough most of the time. But this was 8:45 a.m. (15 minutes late for school already), Sam's Club doesn't open till 10, and I've got stuff to get done today that can't be put off. And I hate, hate, HATE the smell of cat pee. Right up there with roaches on the list of things I don't want in my house.
I told him to figure out how to get at least two functioning litter boxes and sent him back downstairs.
Scream stomp stomp stomp muttermutter hoot squawk stomp.
He found a solution and made it to 'school' half an hour late. Whatever. Then it took him 1.5 hours to complete his first assignment, one that I've seen him finish in 20 minutes when the mood takes him. He's been working on his second assignment for 45 minutes. Again, this is one that could be done in 20. I know, because his sister did it in 25.
I'm going to go to lunch with a friend now. I know that nothing will be completed in my absence. I've tailored this curriculum till it can't be tailored any more, and he claims to like it all, but he just. doesn't. care.
Have I mentioned I can't wait for August to get here? I love my son, but I can't love him as well when I feel like I'm fighting with him 24/7.
Hello, Monday!
Thursday, January 9, 2014
When the Little Sibling… Isn't
This week has been… ugh. I'm hoping it's just some sort of allergic reaction to being back in school on a daily basis.
Doodlebug has been/caused 90% of the problems… I hate to say it, but I will - AS USUAL. I don't get him in trouble for every little thing, but I still have to deal with all the shenanigans, big or little.
I have to do things like reminding him that he cannot unplug the headphones his sister is using because her talking while using Rosetta Stone is 'annoying.'
Things like making him 'stop, empathize, and apologize' when he dumps his sister out of a chair so he can use it.
And telling him to flush the #%&@!# toilet for the umpteenth time this week.
And making him pick up the toenail clippings that he'd saved and placed on his sister's desk.
And asking him not to scream at me when I'm trying to help him.
And begging him to stop placing his pufferfish skeleton in random places to scare his sister.
And bloody asking him to bloody well do what I bloody well asked him to do half a dozen bloody times already.
Y'know. Things like that.
----
Yesterday about 3:30, I reached my wits' end. The children had been screaming and crying and carrying on for hours (seriously, hours), and so I sat down and very calmly wrote out a meal plan and grocery list for the next 10 days.
And then I went to the grocery store.
Alone.
Before I left, I wrote the kids some very specific instructions about what remained to be done during the duration of the evening. I've done this before, and I'm perfectly aware that the minute I leave the house, all progress halts. Normally I just tell them to become electronics zombies while I'm gone, but yesterday stuff actually needed to be completed. I figured I'd come back to maybe 50% of the work done… maybe.
What actually happened was that nothing got done. Unless you count Boo pulling a giant metal staple out of a box to use as a paper hanger for her drawings as progress. And, of course, they lied to me about their lack of work because they realized in a sheer panic that they'd done nothing. Meh. Fine. After the day I'd already been having, it was a little thing. I didn't like it, but it was a little thing.
So I came home and unpacked the groceries and they worked on their lists and eventually we made it to the end of the day and they went to bed. Doodlebug went straight to sleep, as he always does. Boo, on the other hand, was in bed for an hour or so and then came downstairs. She wanted to talk. We cuddled in my bedroom chair for a minute and chatted about how awful the day had been before she got to the point - she's exhausted with Doodlebug's unpredictability.
----
Most families I know who have one ASD child have all their children somewhere on the spectrum. In some ways, this makes it easier because while all ASD kids have their own quirks and foibles just like every other kid, you can at least expect some consistency in some areas. None of them socialize well. They're all slow to mature emotionally. There are usually some motor skills issues at play. Things like that.
Doodlebug and Boo aren't like that. He's ASD; she isn't. She very much isn't. She delights in being around people, reacts well to them, is emotionally very mature, and is as coordinated as any 8-year-old (except when she's walking up and down stairs… I've only ever known one other person who will consistently fall while going up stairs. I need to get her and Boo back together, partly for that reason and partly because I think that woman's older brother is on the spectrum as well and it might be good for Boo to have someone to relate to). And, of course, since Boo and Doodlebug are together for the majority of each day, they have to deal with each other.
So Boo is exhausted. It's hard for her when Doodlebug acts like a 6- or 7-year-old, because 10 minutes later he'll turn around and act like the 11-year-old he is. And then five minutes after that, he's acting like a 6-year-old again. For example, he might decide that he wants to make pancakes for the family breakfast. That's an 11-year-old thought. He'll get out the recipe and all the ingredients. Again, that's 11. His sister will want to help, and he'll say okay. And then he'll decide to throw flour at her or steal candy or ban her from touching some cooking utensil or other… and that's 6.
Apparently while I was gone yesterday, he decided that rather than let his sister take care of her responsibilities - which she probably would have done if she'd been on her own, and in a year or two he can come with me while I go places and she can do that but right now she's 8 and it's not happening - he was going to pretend he was a dog and she was supposed to take care of him. And when she tried to walk away, he followed her around. Well, of course that gets tiring, and eventually it's just easier to give in to him than to fight with him or do chores. I get that. What I don't know is how to help her deal with these social and emotional see-saws that seem to blindside her every single time.
Anyone have any ideas?
Doodlebug has been/caused 90% of the problems… I hate to say it, but I will - AS USUAL. I don't get him in trouble for every little thing, but I still have to deal with all the shenanigans, big or little.
I have to do things like reminding him that he cannot unplug the headphones his sister is using because her talking while using Rosetta Stone is 'annoying.'
Things like making him 'stop, empathize, and apologize' when he dumps his sister out of a chair so he can use it.
And telling him to flush the #%&@!# toilet for the umpteenth time this week.
And making him pick up the toenail clippings that he'd saved and placed on his sister's desk.
And asking him not to scream at me when I'm trying to help him.
And begging him to stop placing his pufferfish skeleton in random places to scare his sister.
And bloody asking him to bloody well do what I bloody well asked him to do half a dozen bloody times already.
Y'know. Things like that.
----
Yesterday about 3:30, I reached my wits' end. The children had been screaming and crying and carrying on for hours (seriously, hours), and so I sat down and very calmly wrote out a meal plan and grocery list for the next 10 days.
And then I went to the grocery store.
Alone.
Before I left, I wrote the kids some very specific instructions about what remained to be done during the duration of the evening. I've done this before, and I'm perfectly aware that the minute I leave the house, all progress halts. Normally I just tell them to become electronics zombies while I'm gone, but yesterday stuff actually needed to be completed. I figured I'd come back to maybe 50% of the work done… maybe.
What actually happened was that nothing got done. Unless you count Boo pulling a giant metal staple out of a box to use as a paper hanger for her drawings as progress. And, of course, they lied to me about their lack of work because they realized in a sheer panic that they'd done nothing. Meh. Fine. After the day I'd already been having, it was a little thing. I didn't like it, but it was a little thing.
So I came home and unpacked the groceries and they worked on their lists and eventually we made it to the end of the day and they went to bed. Doodlebug went straight to sleep, as he always does. Boo, on the other hand, was in bed for an hour or so and then came downstairs. She wanted to talk. We cuddled in my bedroom chair for a minute and chatted about how awful the day had been before she got to the point - she's exhausted with Doodlebug's unpredictability.
----
Most families I know who have one ASD child have all their children somewhere on the spectrum. In some ways, this makes it easier because while all ASD kids have their own quirks and foibles just like every other kid, you can at least expect some consistency in some areas. None of them socialize well. They're all slow to mature emotionally. There are usually some motor skills issues at play. Things like that.
Doodlebug and Boo aren't like that. He's ASD; she isn't. She very much isn't. She delights in being around people, reacts well to them, is emotionally very mature, and is as coordinated as any 8-year-old (except when she's walking up and down stairs… I've only ever known one other person who will consistently fall while going up stairs. I need to get her and Boo back together, partly for that reason and partly because I think that woman's older brother is on the spectrum as well and it might be good for Boo to have someone to relate to). And, of course, since Boo and Doodlebug are together for the majority of each day, they have to deal with each other.
So Boo is exhausted. It's hard for her when Doodlebug acts like a 6- or 7-year-old, because 10 minutes later he'll turn around and act like the 11-year-old he is. And then five minutes after that, he's acting like a 6-year-old again. For example, he might decide that he wants to make pancakes for the family breakfast. That's an 11-year-old thought. He'll get out the recipe and all the ingredients. Again, that's 11. His sister will want to help, and he'll say okay. And then he'll decide to throw flour at her or steal candy or ban her from touching some cooking utensil or other… and that's 6.
Apparently while I was gone yesterday, he decided that rather than let his sister take care of her responsibilities - which she probably would have done if she'd been on her own, and in a year or two he can come with me while I go places and she can do that but right now she's 8 and it's not happening - he was going to pretend he was a dog and she was supposed to take care of him. And when she tried to walk away, he followed her around. Well, of course that gets tiring, and eventually it's just easier to give in to him than to fight with him or do chores. I get that. What I don't know is how to help her deal with these social and emotional see-saws that seem to blindside her every single time.
Anyone have any ideas?
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Dear Children,
Dear Children,
This is your mother speaking. You know, that insane person who runs around thinking she gets to tell you what to do because she pushed you out of her nether region? And yes, I just said Nether Region. I could have said Lady Garden. Or worse.
Quit covering your face, Doodlebug. It's not that bad.
Anyway, this letter is from that woman.
You are 11 going on Hellspawn and 8 going on Obnoxious. I can see the signs written in your blank stares and shrieks of agony when I speak to you, and I know that within the next year or two, everything I say is going to go in one ear and out the… excuse me. EXCUSE ME. HEY!! I'm talking to you!!
Dammit, let's start again.
----
ATTENTION, CHILDREN, THIS IS YOUR FOOD-GIVER SPEAKING.
Ahh, yes, that did the trick. Now, eyes on me and at least pretend to listen for the next 45 seconds, and then you can return to whatever electronic device you were staring at. Otherwise there will be no snack/FaceTime later, whichever consequence annoys you the most.
Got it?
Good.
OK. In the next few years, and this will probably start in the next few months, you will no longer wish to acknowledge my presence in public. In fact, you probably won't want to acknowledge my presence at home, either, but you certainly will never, ever want to go out in public with me, and you won't want anyone to know who it is in the SUV that's dropping you off at or picking you up from school, and quite frankly you'll probably prefer that I just drop you off at a friend's house each morning so you can pretend I don't exist at all.
Sadly, that is not how this is going to go down.
Here is what will happen as you get older:
I will expect things of you. This might - gasp! - include you doing chores. Do them, or there will be consequences. Everyone in this house does chores, including you. You are not special enough to escape the gravitational pull of chores. You are also NOT the only person in this world who has to do chores. Drama Girl, I'm looking at you.
If you eat it and finish it, throw away the empty container and add it to the grocery list. If you eat someone else's food that they bought for themselves or were given, they get to be mad at you. Hobbit Boy, this time I'm looking at you.
If you finish a toilet paper roll, replace it. Kleenex is not an acceptable substitute. Not wiping is not an acceptable substitute. Yes, you must flush the toilet. It is not a brain-eating monster. Believe me, at some point in your college years, it will probably be your best friend for an evening or two. However, if you flush something down the toilet - or sink - that shouldn't ever, ever be flushed or drained and clog my septic, you will explain to me, Daddy, and the plumbing company what it was and why you flushed it or you will pay the bill. Take your pick. This time you're both getting The Eye.
If you want to have friends over, I need to be able to see the floor in your room and the white in the toilet. I'm not asking for pristine; I'm asking for my house not to reek of sweat/hairspray/nail polish remover/pee/things I don't want to think about.
If you want to have friends over, take a shower. Otherwise you won't have any friends to invite. And by 'shower,' I don't mean squat over the drain like you live in a third-world country... Doodlebug. I mean stand up and actually wash yourself. With soap.
If these above things don't seem to be happening, I will be there. I will remind you. Things will disappear if they invade my space, and if you don't see them again, it's because they're in the nearby Goodwill store or landfill. Take your pick.
Just because you don't acknowledge me doesn't mean I don't exist.
Just because you don't acknowledge me doesn't mean I don't love you.
Because I do.
Love you.
And exist.
I will be a HORRIBLE, MEAN MOM. I will be the Gatekeeper of the Pantry. I will be the person you loathe with every cell in your being (and I'm pretty sure the air around you will vibrate with the intensity of your hate). I will be the person you rant about to your friends. Fine. We are a passionate family, and it may be a rocky road, but I'll be there with you. And even when you scream at me, yet again, that I'm a HORRIBLE, MEAN MOM but follow that up with, "Can I have a hug?" I will be there to say yes.
Because no matter what, you're my babies.
That came out of my nether regions.
*smile*
Love,
MOM
This is your mother speaking. You know, that insane person who runs around thinking she gets to tell you what to do because she pushed you out of her nether region? And yes, I just said Nether Region. I could have said Lady Garden. Or worse.
Quit covering your face, Doodlebug. It's not that bad.
Anyway, this letter is from that woman.
You are 11 going on Hellspawn and 8 going on Obnoxious. I can see the signs written in your blank stares and shrieks of agony when I speak to you, and I know that within the next year or two, everything I say is going to go in one ear and out the… excuse me. EXCUSE ME. HEY!! I'm talking to you!!
Dammit, let's start again.
----
ATTENTION, CHILDREN, THIS IS YOUR FOOD-GIVER SPEAKING.
Ahh, yes, that did the trick. Now, eyes on me and at least pretend to listen for the next 45 seconds, and then you can return to whatever electronic device you were staring at. Otherwise there will be no snack/FaceTime later, whichever consequence annoys you the most.
Got it?
Good.
OK. In the next few years, and this will probably start in the next few months, you will no longer wish to acknowledge my presence in public. In fact, you probably won't want to acknowledge my presence at home, either, but you certainly will never, ever want to go out in public with me, and you won't want anyone to know who it is in the SUV that's dropping you off at or picking you up from school, and quite frankly you'll probably prefer that I just drop you off at a friend's house each morning so you can pretend I don't exist at all.
Sadly, that is not how this is going to go down.
Here is what will happen as you get older:
I will expect things of you. This might - gasp! - include you doing chores. Do them, or there will be consequences. Everyone in this house does chores, including you. You are not special enough to escape the gravitational pull of chores. You are also NOT the only person in this world who has to do chores. Drama Girl, I'm looking at you.
If you eat it and finish it, throw away the empty container and add it to the grocery list. If you eat someone else's food that they bought for themselves or were given, they get to be mad at you. Hobbit Boy, this time I'm looking at you.
If you finish a toilet paper roll, replace it. Kleenex is not an acceptable substitute. Not wiping is not an acceptable substitute. Yes, you must flush the toilet. It is not a brain-eating monster. Believe me, at some point in your college years, it will probably be your best friend for an evening or two. However, if you flush something down the toilet - or sink - that shouldn't ever, ever be flushed or drained and clog my septic, you will explain to me, Daddy, and the plumbing company what it was and why you flushed it or you will pay the bill. Take your pick. This time you're both getting The Eye.
If you want to have friends over, I need to be able to see the floor in your room and the white in the toilet. I'm not asking for pristine; I'm asking for my house not to reek of sweat/hairspray/nail polish remover/pee/things I don't want to think about.
If you want to have friends over, take a shower. Otherwise you won't have any friends to invite. And by 'shower,' I don't mean squat over the drain like you live in a third-world country... Doodlebug. I mean stand up and actually wash yourself. With soap.
If these above things don't seem to be happening, I will be there. I will remind you. Things will disappear if they invade my space, and if you don't see them again, it's because they're in the nearby Goodwill store or landfill. Take your pick.
Just because you don't acknowledge me doesn't mean I don't exist.
Just because you don't acknowledge me doesn't mean I don't love you.
Because I do.
Love you.
And exist.
I will be a HORRIBLE, MEAN MOM. I will be the Gatekeeper of the Pantry. I will be the person you loathe with every cell in your being (and I'm pretty sure the air around you will vibrate with the intensity of your hate). I will be the person you rant about to your friends. Fine. We are a passionate family, and it may be a rocky road, but I'll be there with you. And even when you scream at me, yet again, that I'm a HORRIBLE, MEAN MOM but follow that up with, "Can I have a hug?" I will be there to say yes.
Because no matter what, you're my babies.
That came out of my nether regions.
*smile*
Love,
MOM
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