Like it's a fucking drug... And I'm shaking over here, tweeking, thinking "GOTTA HAVE IT! GOTTA HAVE MY PRECIOUS!!!".
One would have thought I would have been addicted to percocet well before this point.
So anyway, friends... You know where to find me. I won't be on Facebook. I won't be on Meetup (Generally). I won't be on WoW. I will be answering emails once a day and text messages sporadically. I need to step away from the phone. The laptop.
I need to stop worrying about when shit I can't control is going to happen or trying to make shit I can't control happen with people I'm not sure want it to happen with me...
Internet. Making people crazy since the Mid 90's.
I'm OFF YOU BIOTCH! (At least for a bit. ROFL. We'll see how this thing holds out.).
Friday, July 20, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
Thirty Four: ForSrs?
My family has never been one that I could rely on in the long term for support outside the occasional, "Hey, we're having trouble paying this bill this month.". My relationship with my mother has been strained always, my father, formal at best. There's always been this feeling of "Why didn't you stop her from what she was doing to me? To us? We were just kids and shouldn't have been the target of bipolar rage.
So for the last 18ish months, we've been telling them that something is wrong with S. Or just not right. We don't know exactly because no one that we've seen knows for sure yet, but he has severe speech and fine motor delays, along with multi-sensory processing disorders. It is firmly believed he is Autistic or on the spectrum.
And for 18 fucking months all I've been hearing is, "Nichole, I don't notice anything wrong with him.". "He was with us for the weekend and he was fine, he just doesn't talk. Or eat.". And it makes me stabby. Beyond Stabby. No sane mother is going to go around telling people that there's things wrong with her child just for the fucking attention. No sane mother is going to put her child through what we've put S through to help him do things that a typical 18 month old does now that he's 2.
So my father was down over the 4th to take G and L on a trip. And he spent some time with S.We were talking about what his therapy will cost after the state stops paying for it because our insurance doesn't cover it, how much he's like my friend's 18 month old child, how his Dr is excited to get him to a developmental pediatrician... And apparently, the goddamn light bulb went off.
S isn't like my niece was at 2. S isn't like G and L were at 2. S isn't like any 2 year old he's known. Well no fucking shit. What was the first goddamn clue? He wouldn't eat solid food at 12 months on our family vacation?
And now, according to my brother, all this support and help is going to be offered.
No offense- But where was that support 18 months ago when we noticed something was wrong with our child? Where has that support been through these last 18 months when we've been dealing with therapy and Dr's and visits to Cinci by ourselves? Where has that support been because we're absolutely broke from Dr's visits and trips to Cinci and getting shit from my mother because we can't afford anything? Why have we been doing this alone until someone wants to play WebDr and research Autism on the internetz and freak out?
I'm stuck, though, between telling him to stay out of it because we've gotten this far just fine... Or letting him help in whatever way he's planning on... Maybe I should just be greatful that someone's sitting up and taking notice finally, but I can NOT let go of the bitterness when it comes to my family. I can't do it. There will never be a time when I can look at my parents and think, "What did I do to deserve that from you.".
But I fucking refuse to calm someone else down about my child when I've been trying to keep them informed and prepared for the last 18 months.
Now. I'm off to figure out how to pay for special needs daycare. I hear Dino Porn is a good business.
So for the last 18ish months, we've been telling them that something is wrong with S. Or just not right. We don't know exactly because no one that we've seen knows for sure yet, but he has severe speech and fine motor delays, along with multi-sensory processing disorders. It is firmly believed he is Autistic or on the spectrum.
And for 18 fucking months all I've been hearing is, "Nichole, I don't notice anything wrong with him.". "He was with us for the weekend and he was fine, he just doesn't talk. Or eat.". And it makes me stabby. Beyond Stabby. No sane mother is going to go around telling people that there's things wrong with her child just for the fucking attention. No sane mother is going to put her child through what we've put S through to help him do things that a typical 18 month old does now that he's 2.
So my father was down over the 4th to take G and L on a trip. And he spent some time with S.We were talking about what his therapy will cost after the state stops paying for it because our insurance doesn't cover it, how much he's like my friend's 18 month old child, how his Dr is excited to get him to a developmental pediatrician... And apparently, the goddamn light bulb went off.
S isn't like my niece was at 2. S isn't like G and L were at 2. S isn't like any 2 year old he's known. Well no fucking shit. What was the first goddamn clue? He wouldn't eat solid food at 12 months on our family vacation?
And now, according to my brother, all this support and help is going to be offered.
No offense- But where was that support 18 months ago when we noticed something was wrong with our child? Where has that support been through these last 18 months when we've been dealing with therapy and Dr's and visits to Cinci by ourselves? Where has that support been because we're absolutely broke from Dr's visits and trips to Cinci and getting shit from my mother because we can't afford anything? Why have we been doing this alone until someone wants to play WebDr and research Autism on the internetz and freak out?
I'm stuck, though, between telling him to stay out of it because we've gotten this far just fine... Or letting him help in whatever way he's planning on... Maybe I should just be greatful that someone's sitting up and taking notice finally, but I can NOT let go of the bitterness when it comes to my family. I can't do it. There will never be a time when I can look at my parents and think, "What did I do to deserve that from you.".
But I fucking refuse to calm someone else down about my child when I've been trying to keep them informed and prepared for the last 18 months.
Now. I'm off to figure out how to pay for special needs daycare. I hear Dino Porn is a good business.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Thirty Two:
As anyone ever had a friend- Ok, I guess that's a dumb question to ask, but it's the best way to start this. Have you ever had a friend?
Now, have you ever had a friend that has known you inside and out. Known why you were crying before you really had to get the words out. Knew exactly how to make you feel better... But, should they choose to wield the power, make you feel like a puddle of absolute nothing, craving that comfort of friendship again?
I'm not talking about your spouse. I, and Dave knows this, fully believe that he can't be everything to me. Dave is my husband, my love, my rock. I'm talking about that friend you can talk to at 3am when your rock has pissed you off and you two can plot how to hide said rock's body.
Doesn't have to be a specific sex. Just a friend.
I've had many friends in my lifetime. I have a friend from high school that no matter the time or distance, I can text her at 3 am and she'll answer me as soon as she wakes up. I have my Army wife friends who support each other irregardless of what is going on or where we are in the world. I have my local friends who are friends by proximity- Though, I'm finding that Jodi is turning out to be a distance friend, thank you, Tebow.
But I have had one friend like the above. One friend who got me through the rough part in my marriage. One friend who knew how to make me feel better when I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. One friend who was better than a therapist... And because of that, I found myself becoming co-dependent. One friend who knew how to tear my heart out. One friend who did tear my heart out a la Mayan sacrifice and seemed to find joy in devouring it. The pain of what happened, what came to light, and what came to pass was almost unbearable. It shattered me... And of all the times that my "self" has been shattered, it's left the biggest part of me behind. It was the biggest part of me that got left with someone.
This was 3 years ago. This was at the end of the bad period in our marriage. It was right in the early weeks of my pregnancy with S. I mourned the end of this friendship like a death. I was in denial. I was angry. I bargained. Then I realized I was pregnant and didn't look back- I couldn't. It wasn't healthy.
S just turned turned 2. And I found myself in a position to be in contact with the person again. And the realization hit me that no matter what had happened, I guess I never assumed they'd be gone from my life for good. Probably because I've always considered them to be my person.
So contact was made. Conversations were had. Apologies made... ... ...
Then I realized something tonight while talking to a friend who I will probably never meet in person but I consider family- I was starting to not recognize myself again. I was starting to feel like a 12 year old on Doritos and Freeze-Pops trapped in a cage. I was starting to not be the person who didn't look back and took control of her life and stopped being codependent on ANYONE... And starting to be this obnoxious, needy thing with an obvious missing piece. And only in situations when I was to be in contact with my above mentioned "person".
And it hit me like a ton of bricks. I had, again, managed to put myself back together after what happened. I had succeeded and made new local friends. Friends I love and would do anything for. Was losing myself worth the probable implosion of this friendship again- As from what I could see, they were repeating behaviors a week in? Was becoming this person I couldn't stand to be worth the attempt at the renewed friendship? Was losing myself for you worth losing my relationships here?
Would a successful friendship and being able to hold onto myself be worthwhile- I believe so. But 3 years wasn't long enough for me to hold onto me while letting you be you. You still can't be what I need or want you to be. Selfish, absofuckinglutely. But I've earned that.
Now, have you ever had a friend that has known you inside and out. Known why you were crying before you really had to get the words out. Knew exactly how to make you feel better... But, should they choose to wield the power, make you feel like a puddle of absolute nothing, craving that comfort of friendship again?
I'm not talking about your spouse. I, and Dave knows this, fully believe that he can't be everything to me. Dave is my husband, my love, my rock. I'm talking about that friend you can talk to at 3am when your rock has pissed you off and you two can plot how to hide said rock's body.
Doesn't have to be a specific sex. Just a friend.
I've had many friends in my lifetime. I have a friend from high school that no matter the time or distance, I can text her at 3 am and she'll answer me as soon as she wakes up. I have my Army wife friends who support each other irregardless of what is going on or where we are in the world. I have my local friends who are friends by proximity- Though, I'm finding that Jodi is turning out to be a distance friend, thank you, Tebow.
But I have had one friend like the above. One friend who got me through the rough part in my marriage. One friend who knew how to make me feel better when I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. One friend who was better than a therapist... And because of that, I found myself becoming co-dependent. One friend who knew how to tear my heart out. One friend who did tear my heart out a la Mayan sacrifice and seemed to find joy in devouring it. The pain of what happened, what came to light, and what came to pass was almost unbearable. It shattered me... And of all the times that my "self" has been shattered, it's left the biggest part of me behind. It was the biggest part of me that got left with someone.
This was 3 years ago. This was at the end of the bad period in our marriage. It was right in the early weeks of my pregnancy with S. I mourned the end of this friendship like a death. I was in denial. I was angry. I bargained. Then I realized I was pregnant and didn't look back- I couldn't. It wasn't healthy.
S just turned turned 2. And I found myself in a position to be in contact with the person again. And the realization hit me that no matter what had happened, I guess I never assumed they'd be gone from my life for good. Probably because I've always considered them to be my person.
So contact was made. Conversations were had. Apologies made... ... ...
Then I realized something tonight while talking to a friend who I will probably never meet in person but I consider family- I was starting to not recognize myself again. I was starting to feel like a 12 year old on Doritos and Freeze-Pops trapped in a cage. I was starting to not be the person who didn't look back and took control of her life and stopped being codependent on ANYONE... And starting to be this obnoxious, needy thing with an obvious missing piece. And only in situations when I was to be in contact with my above mentioned "person".
And it hit me like a ton of bricks. I had, again, managed to put myself back together after what happened. I had succeeded and made new local friends. Friends I love and would do anything for. Was losing myself worth the probable implosion of this friendship again- As from what I could see, they were repeating behaviors a week in? Was becoming this person I couldn't stand to be worth the attempt at the renewed friendship? Was losing myself for you worth losing my relationships here?
Would a successful friendship and being able to hold onto myself be worthwhile- I believe so. But 3 years wasn't long enough for me to hold onto me while letting you be you. You still can't be what I need or want you to be. Selfish, absofuckinglutely. But I've earned that.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Thirty One:
So, one of our (Dave and I) long time couple friends had their first baby a few days ago. To explain our relationship with these people would take entirely to long, but they are the people our children are going to if Dave and I die in a murder/suicide. Anyway, a beautiful little girl. Considering what her father looks like, I think that her mother did most of the genetic work. L says she's our baby too and says she's his half sister.
I had planned to stay away a bit longer, though.
I am, however, going to make this about me because it is my blog. Deal with it. Being that we've known them as long as we've had, I'd ask the compulsory questions about how she was feeling during the pregnancy, about names- Standard fare. It's not that I wasn't interested or didn't care. By this time, we'd had three children, and they are the same age as us... It's that... Well...
Babies are a touchy subject for me. I say this as my last one crawls into my lap for the few minutes a day of contact I get with him. When most women get pregnant, it's a moment of joy, wonder, and hope for the future. You read the books, you daydream about what your future spawn will be like, about how you want your birth to go *Cough*, and imagine how your life will change for the better with this little piece of sciencey miracle in your lives. You imagine their future without any pain, difficulty, or hardship- Knowing that you will do whatever you can to take any and all of it away from them and bear that burden yourself. Die, if need be, so your children have a chance.
The last time I was going through that was 2 years and 9 months ago, almost exactly. I knew what I knew from G and L's pregnancies and infancies. I knew what I expected. I knew what to do. I knew what my pregnancy was going to be like. I had an idea of what our child was going to be like- Another boy? EASY!
And he was born. And he wasn't exactly like how L was like G. He was S. He was different. He needed almost constant stimulation. He wouldn't eat well. He struggled with certain things from almost the beginning. He's struggled with certain things, easy things, most of his life. He will continue to struggle with easy things for most of his life.
And it's heart wrenching. It kills me when I can't kiss my child. It breaks my heart that I can't hold him on my lap for a story or a tv show. I want to take away his pain of struggling through OT or Speech Therapy. I want to take his medical tests for him. I want to fix him... Or at least take him out of his struggles and pain.
Day dreaming about what he was going to be like or what his personality was going to be- I never day dreamed this. And it's a kick to the teeth to see a fresh from the vag baby of some of the best friends we've had, knowing what I know now... That not everything turns out perfect. That things can turn out scary. Things can be difficult. Things can be painful.
So, those of you who are having babies soon, my advice to you is this- Snuggle those babies close. Dream. make plans. Know that life is beautiful, but it's also a dirty business. Don't be scared that danger is lurking behind every corner, but don't allow yourself to be blindsided like I was.
I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
I had planned to stay away a bit longer, though.
I am, however, going to make this about me because it is my blog. Deal with it. Being that we've known them as long as we've had, I'd ask the compulsory questions about how she was feeling during the pregnancy, about names- Standard fare. It's not that I wasn't interested or didn't care. By this time, we'd had three children, and they are the same age as us... It's that... Well...
Babies are a touchy subject for me. I say this as my last one crawls into my lap for the few minutes a day of contact I get with him. When most women get pregnant, it's a moment of joy, wonder, and hope for the future. You read the books, you daydream about what your future spawn will be like, about how you want your birth to go *Cough*, and imagine how your life will change for the better with this little piece of sciencey miracle in your lives. You imagine their future without any pain, difficulty, or hardship- Knowing that you will do whatever you can to take any and all of it away from them and bear that burden yourself. Die, if need be, so your children have a chance.
The last time I was going through that was 2 years and 9 months ago, almost exactly. I knew what I knew from G and L's pregnancies and infancies. I knew what I expected. I knew what to do. I knew what my pregnancy was going to be like. I had an idea of what our child was going to be like- Another boy? EASY!
And he was born. And he wasn't exactly like how L was like G. He was S. He was different. He needed almost constant stimulation. He wouldn't eat well. He struggled with certain things from almost the beginning. He's struggled with certain things, easy things, most of his life. He will continue to struggle with easy things for most of his life.
And it's heart wrenching. It kills me when I can't kiss my child. It breaks my heart that I can't hold him on my lap for a story or a tv show. I want to take away his pain of struggling through OT or Speech Therapy. I want to take his medical tests for him. I want to fix him... Or at least take him out of his struggles and pain.
Day dreaming about what he was going to be like or what his personality was going to be- I never day dreamed this. And it's a kick to the teeth to see a fresh from the vag baby of some of the best friends we've had, knowing what I know now... That not everything turns out perfect. That things can turn out scary. Things can be difficult. Things can be painful.
So, those of you who are having babies soon, my advice to you is this- Snuggle those babies close. Dream. make plans. Know that life is beautiful, but it's also a dirty business. Don't be scared that danger is lurking behind every corner, but don't allow yourself to be blindsided like I was.
I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Thirty: It's Anniversary time...
Every time this year, I get amazed and filled with romantic wanderlust. More so in the last couple of years than the past.
Dave and I celebrate 2 anniversaries within a month of each other, and then S's birthday is 6 days after our wedding anniversary. In two days, Dave and I will have been married for 11 years. April 30th was 12 years together.
Now, I've already talked about my love/hate relationship with Dave. More often than not, I love him, and love him deeply. Some days, he's lucky I've not put his head through a wall. I'm probably lucky of the same, honestly. I know I am not the easiest person to know, much less be tied to legally and genetically for life. I'm a strait up pain in the ass that refuses to fold laundry most of the time.
G is almost 10. L is almost 8. S turns 2 in less than 2 weeks. I am 29 years old and I got married before I would have graduated high school. Short of the time spent pissing off my mother, I never had that experience of figuring out who I really am. Those 4-8 years where you make mistakes, learn from them, learn what you stand for and what you'll fall on. I went from being a strong teen to a strong teen Army Wife to a strong teen mom to a single teen mom (While Dave was deployed) in less than 2 years. L came along, and I thought my life was over. And when he was born, my life really was almost over...
But I've carried on. I've never made a serious decision that didn't involve figuring out the ramifications and impact on everyone in my family. I can safely say that I have never made a decision purely out selfish abandon. They are all heavily weighted against the benefits and risks to my children and what Dave's reaction is going to be... And the 1 time that I did say to Dave, "I don't care if you want to go do this, I do, it's important to me and we're going"... We ended up not going because we got into a earth shattering fight about his behavior when I went to wake him.
I'm starting to realize that as I approach thirty, start college for the 2nd time with a goal that TERRIFIES me, I'm regretting more and more that I didn't have that time in my life to make stupid mistakes and have them blamed on the fact that I was a kid... Because during those formative years of my life- I didn't get to figure out anything, short of knowing that I love this man and want to spend the rest of my forever with him.
So, at the cusp of starting my life over, or again, depending how you look at it, I'm beginning to realize that the pieces of me that I am sure of don't fit with the pieces of me that I've been clinging to desperately.
My therapist thinks that I need to figure out the rest of me so I can deal with everything else more effectively. So I know what I stand for, and how far I'm willing to take that stand. What matters and what doesn't. How much I really can take instead of pretending that everything is going to be ok. It's with the goal that I won't miss those years as much as I have and currently do.
But what scares me more than anything... Is that even thought I know I love Dave. We've been through hell and back to stay together- What if I finally piece myself back together from where ever they are scattered across the universe- And it doesn't work for him anymore?
Can you ever be a whole person without having all the pieces of yourself? Will the person you depend on for everything still love you after you put yourself back together again? Is it worth the risk? Is my personal happiness of self exploration, fulfillment, and satisfaction worth even the lightest risk that my odds defying marriage might wither and die because he doesn't like the person that I've grown into?
Because it's almost died once previously... And it nearly killed both of us.
Clearly, on the eve of our 11 year anniversary, this is a love letter to my husband.
I love you. I have always loved you. I hope, with my whole heart, that you still love the person that I eventually piece together.
Dave and I celebrate 2 anniversaries within a month of each other, and then S's birthday is 6 days after our wedding anniversary. In two days, Dave and I will have been married for 11 years. April 30th was 12 years together.
Now, I've already talked about my love/hate relationship with Dave. More often than not, I love him, and love him deeply. Some days, he's lucky I've not put his head through a wall. I'm probably lucky of the same, honestly. I know I am not the easiest person to know, much less be tied to legally and genetically for life. I'm a strait up pain in the ass that refuses to fold laundry most of the time.
G is almost 10. L is almost 8. S turns 2 in less than 2 weeks. I am 29 years old and I got married before I would have graduated high school. Short of the time spent pissing off my mother, I never had that experience of figuring out who I really am. Those 4-8 years where you make mistakes, learn from them, learn what you stand for and what you'll fall on. I went from being a strong teen to a strong teen Army Wife to a strong teen mom to a single teen mom (While Dave was deployed) in less than 2 years. L came along, and I thought my life was over. And when he was born, my life really was almost over...
But I've carried on. I've never made a serious decision that didn't involve figuring out the ramifications and impact on everyone in my family. I can safely say that I have never made a decision purely out selfish abandon. They are all heavily weighted against the benefits and risks to my children and what Dave's reaction is going to be... And the 1 time that I did say to Dave, "I don't care if you want to go do this, I do, it's important to me and we're going"... We ended up not going because we got into a earth shattering fight about his behavior when I went to wake him.
I'm starting to realize that as I approach thirty, start college for the 2nd time with a goal that TERRIFIES me, I'm regretting more and more that I didn't have that time in my life to make stupid mistakes and have them blamed on the fact that I was a kid... Because during those formative years of my life- I didn't get to figure out anything, short of knowing that I love this man and want to spend the rest of my forever with him.
So, at the cusp of starting my life over, or again, depending how you look at it, I'm beginning to realize that the pieces of me that I am sure of don't fit with the pieces of me that I've been clinging to desperately.
My therapist thinks that I need to figure out the rest of me so I can deal with everything else more effectively. So I know what I stand for, and how far I'm willing to take that stand. What matters and what doesn't. How much I really can take instead of pretending that everything is going to be ok. It's with the goal that I won't miss those years as much as I have and currently do.
But what scares me more than anything... Is that even thought I know I love Dave. We've been through hell and back to stay together- What if I finally piece myself back together from where ever they are scattered across the universe- And it doesn't work for him anymore?
Can you ever be a whole person without having all the pieces of yourself? Will the person you depend on for everything still love you after you put yourself back together again? Is it worth the risk? Is my personal happiness of self exploration, fulfillment, and satisfaction worth even the lightest risk that my odds defying marriage might wither and die because he doesn't like the person that I've grown into?
Because it's almost died once previously... And it nearly killed both of us.
Clearly, on the eve of our 11 year anniversary, this is a love letter to my husband.
I love you. I have always loved you. I hope, with my whole heart, that you still love the person that I eventually piece together.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Twenty Eight:
Today, folks, we're going to deal with childhoods.
Was yours awesome? Nothing to complain about? A bit depressing? Abusive? Or somewhere in between one of those? Or maybe something else all together entirely?
Well, through my many years of therapy, mine has been described as abusive. Less so physically, but more mentally and emotionally. I tend to look at it like this, "Well, at least she wasn't beating the shit out of me every night.".
And yes, I said she. My mother... How so I begin to describe what my mother is without describing who she was? None of us have that kind of time. I'm also not really interested in reliving the emotional drama that came along with having her as a mother. I've moved past it. I'm mostly over it. I bear little grudge and/or chip on my shoulder.
I will touch on a few points, because friends, it all leads into a greater point. I believe she is undiagnosed Bipolar 1. When she would get angry she would do everything from break things to slap me. I would never know what mood she was going to wake up in. You get used to living in a constant game of "Watch What Happens Next". I spent a majority of my childhood grounded for extensive periods of time for infractions such as talking back. Which caused me to lie about things. Which caused me to get caught lying. Which caused more grounding, physical and emotional punishment. My mother would get in fights with my father about who's turn it was to buy groceries and weeks would go buy without anyone buying food- Which resulted in snacks of toast and ranch dressing. (For some reason, there was always plenty of both.) There would be stand offs about everything from who's going to mop the floor in the kitchen after someone spilled a pitcher of Koolaid (Eventually one of the kids did it after a week) to who was going to do the dishes after mom decided the best place to do the dishes was in the bathtub, had a manic crash and we took showers with plates, silverware, peas and scraps of steak for at least one evening.
About 16, I stopped giving a shit and just did what I wanted. I met Dave. He saved me from myself. He gave me something to care about instead of finding the next guy to sleep with or more ways to piss my mother off.
Now, from what I can gather after I was kicked/moved out at 18, my mom has been calmer, a bit more thought out, and had more proportional responses to perceived injustices by my father. (Again, a dynamic that would take to much time to cover fully. Let's just say, he makes more money than she does at Pizza Hut. He's a saver, she's a spender, and when he doesn't give her everything she wants, that makes Hulk Angry.) They will go months without speaking to each other, and then she'll calm down and they will be fine until something new happens that he doesn't take her side, he doesn't give her money or she gets 15k in liens against the home, and they stop speaking again. (Public Record, friends.)
Now, in total, she has 4 grand kids. G, L, my niece P, and S. P and S are almost a year apart.
I have gotten one apology out of my mother for the way she treated me when we were younger. It was right after S was born. Completely out of the blue and never to be repeated. "If I had known then what I know now, I would have taken my medication like I should have. I'm sorry.".
What do you say to that? Find a therapist and a new set of medications, because clearly, you're still bat shit nuts? Stop taking your Prozac until it starts working and then stop because you think you're better and don't need it anymore? SHIT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT!!!
So now that all the pieces of this puzzle are in place, we had an event this weekend. My mother and my sister got into a fight. My mother was bad mouthing my father to her again because he didn't give her money. My sister told her to grow up and stop bad mouthing our father. My sister left. My mother broke dishware in and outside the house... And possibly her toe.
My father calls me? to ask me about S's birthday gift and then begins to tell me about the scene he came home to- "Nichole, it looked like someone had a snowball fight with coffee cups in the driveway and in the diningroom.". My father isn't one for hyperbole. He's also not one to call and tell me about my mother's latest fiasco. He's also not one to sit on the phone with me for 45 minutes, learning of things about my childhood that he never knew.
About how, when I was 9 and my mom was mad at my dad, my mother came into my bedroom and told me that the only reason that they got married was because she got pregnant with me and I was the reason her life was ruined. Or how she got mad at me because I wasn't cleaning my room fast enough and she cleared off my desk with one arm, then stepped on my glasses and refused to replace them- Making me absolutely blind for 5th grade. Or no, Dad, she really did throw my things out the window into the trashcan in the driveway and scream at me that I didn't live there anymore and to get out because when she asked me who I was talking to on my cell phone and I told her it was Dave. The cell phone I bought and paid for with my 2 full time jobs that I had to work because she refused to buy me things like... Shampoo and tampons.
Now, I know that my mother is stressed about her "kids leaving her" and my brother's custody battle to the death with his ex cunt... But when do you draw the line and say, "Enough is enough. I have to protect my kids from what you did to me when I was a child?". Because, as smart, funny, and lovable as those boys are- They aren't me when it comes to emotional strength. They aren't their daddy. They've been taught that their feelings are ok, irregardless of what they are. They aren't forced to hide them until it almost eats them alive.
When does it become ok to tell your mother, your kids "loved" grandmother that she isn't going to see her grand kids again until she gets a mental health evaluation and is stable? Is it ok to tell her that you're afraid for your special needs toddler, simply because you have no idea how she's going to respond to him at any given day? Is it ok to outright tell your mother that you don't trust her with your children at the present moment?
I say loved, because at 7 and 9, L and G are very aware that Grandma isn't all there. That they are unsure of how to deal with her when they are there by themselves because they don't know what mood she is going to be in. About how she "mega yells" at them for things they didn't know they weren't supposed to do while Grandpa is gone, but is always very quick to apologize.
Is it ok now? Is it ok to unfurl this fireball of hell towards my father and siblings, simply because I live the farthest and can ignore it? Is it ok to do everything in my power to make sure that the fucked up dynamic that I survived, but just barely sometimes, doesn't affect my kids any more than it already has? That my children don't ever have to worry that Grandma is having a bad day and they need to hide out in the basement because mommy made the mistake of letting them spend the week at Grandma and Grandpa's house? Is it ok that even though I want them to be real, functioning people with common sense and a bit worldly, I don't want them to get it the same way I was forced to get it?
Or is it, like it's going to seem to the irrational mind, that I'm just holding her grand kids over head until she does what I want her to do?... Not that I want her to get help for ALL her 4 children and 4 grandchildren?
G said it best. "Mom. Why is it that I have to go to a therapist for my anger issues, but she doesn't? Why do you and Dad choose to go for your crazy problems, but your parents won't?".
Why is my desire to fix her so strong? After everything she's put me through, even now, why do I still desire some sort of functional relationship with her? I'm almost 30. I've had a functioning mom for less than half those years- I should be used to NOT having one...
But why is her denial of her mental health issues going to be the thing that shatters me... When I am so much stronger, smarter, and clearheaded than she'll ever be?
Why am I, as an adult, letting someone's medication use become my downfall?
Was yours awesome? Nothing to complain about? A bit depressing? Abusive? Or somewhere in between one of those? Or maybe something else all together entirely?
Well, through my many years of therapy, mine has been described as abusive. Less so physically, but more mentally and emotionally. I tend to look at it like this, "Well, at least she wasn't beating the shit out of me every night.".
And yes, I said she. My mother... How so I begin to describe what my mother is without describing who she was? None of us have that kind of time. I'm also not really interested in reliving the emotional drama that came along with having her as a mother. I've moved past it. I'm mostly over it. I bear little grudge and/or chip on my shoulder.
I will touch on a few points, because friends, it all leads into a greater point. I believe she is undiagnosed Bipolar 1. When she would get angry she would do everything from break things to slap me. I would never know what mood she was going to wake up in. You get used to living in a constant game of "Watch What Happens Next". I spent a majority of my childhood grounded for extensive periods of time for infractions such as talking back. Which caused me to lie about things. Which caused me to get caught lying. Which caused more grounding, physical and emotional punishment. My mother would get in fights with my father about who's turn it was to buy groceries and weeks would go buy without anyone buying food- Which resulted in snacks of toast and ranch dressing. (For some reason, there was always plenty of both.) There would be stand offs about everything from who's going to mop the floor in the kitchen after someone spilled a pitcher of Koolaid (Eventually one of the kids did it after a week) to who was going to do the dishes after mom decided the best place to do the dishes was in the bathtub, had a manic crash and we took showers with plates, silverware, peas and scraps of steak for at least one evening.
About 16, I stopped giving a shit and just did what I wanted. I met Dave. He saved me from myself. He gave me something to care about instead of finding the next guy to sleep with or more ways to piss my mother off.
Now, from what I can gather after I was kicked/moved out at 18, my mom has been calmer, a bit more thought out, and had more proportional responses to perceived injustices by my father. (Again, a dynamic that would take to much time to cover fully. Let's just say, he makes more money than she does at Pizza Hut. He's a saver, she's a spender, and when he doesn't give her everything she wants, that makes Hulk Angry.) They will go months without speaking to each other, and then she'll calm down and they will be fine until something new happens that he doesn't take her side, he doesn't give her money or she gets 15k in liens against the home, and they stop speaking again. (Public Record, friends.)
Now, in total, she has 4 grand kids. G, L, my niece P, and S. P and S are almost a year apart.
I have gotten one apology out of my mother for the way she treated me when we were younger. It was right after S was born. Completely out of the blue and never to be repeated. "If I had known then what I know now, I would have taken my medication like I should have. I'm sorry.".
What do you say to that? Find a therapist and a new set of medications, because clearly, you're still bat shit nuts? Stop taking your Prozac until it starts working and then stop because you think you're better and don't need it anymore? SHIT DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT!!!
So now that all the pieces of this puzzle are in place, we had an event this weekend. My mother and my sister got into a fight. My mother was bad mouthing my father to her again because he didn't give her money. My sister told her to grow up and stop bad mouthing our father. My sister left. My mother broke dishware in and outside the house... And possibly her toe.
My father calls me? to ask me about S's birthday gift and then begins to tell me about the scene he came home to- "Nichole, it looked like someone had a snowball fight with coffee cups in the driveway and in the diningroom.". My father isn't one for hyperbole. He's also not one to call and tell me about my mother's latest fiasco. He's also not one to sit on the phone with me for 45 minutes, learning of things about my childhood that he never knew.
About how, when I was 9 and my mom was mad at my dad, my mother came into my bedroom and told me that the only reason that they got married was because she got pregnant with me and I was the reason her life was ruined. Or how she got mad at me because I wasn't cleaning my room fast enough and she cleared off my desk with one arm, then stepped on my glasses and refused to replace them- Making me absolutely blind for 5th grade. Or no, Dad, she really did throw my things out the window into the trashcan in the driveway and scream at me that I didn't live there anymore and to get out because when she asked me who I was talking to on my cell phone and I told her it was Dave. The cell phone I bought and paid for with my 2 full time jobs that I had to work because she refused to buy me things like... Shampoo and tampons.
Now, I know that my mother is stressed about her "kids leaving her" and my brother's custody battle to the death with his ex cunt... But when do you draw the line and say, "Enough is enough. I have to protect my kids from what you did to me when I was a child?". Because, as smart, funny, and lovable as those boys are- They aren't me when it comes to emotional strength. They aren't their daddy. They've been taught that their feelings are ok, irregardless of what they are. They aren't forced to hide them until it almost eats them alive.
When does it become ok to tell your mother, your kids "loved" grandmother that she isn't going to see her grand kids again until she gets a mental health evaluation and is stable? Is it ok to tell her that you're afraid for your special needs toddler, simply because you have no idea how she's going to respond to him at any given day? Is it ok to outright tell your mother that you don't trust her with your children at the present moment?
I say loved, because at 7 and 9, L and G are very aware that Grandma isn't all there. That they are unsure of how to deal with her when they are there by themselves because they don't know what mood she is going to be in. About how she "mega yells" at them for things they didn't know they weren't supposed to do while Grandpa is gone, but is always very quick to apologize.
Is it ok now? Is it ok to unfurl this fireball of hell towards my father and siblings, simply because I live the farthest and can ignore it? Is it ok to do everything in my power to make sure that the fucked up dynamic that I survived, but just barely sometimes, doesn't affect my kids any more than it already has? That my children don't ever have to worry that Grandma is having a bad day and they need to hide out in the basement because mommy made the mistake of letting them spend the week at Grandma and Grandpa's house? Is it ok that even though I want them to be real, functioning people with common sense and a bit worldly, I don't want them to get it the same way I was forced to get it?
Or is it, like it's going to seem to the irrational mind, that I'm just holding her grand kids over head until she does what I want her to do?... Not that I want her to get help for ALL her 4 children and 4 grandchildren?
G said it best. "Mom. Why is it that I have to go to a therapist for my anger issues, but she doesn't? Why do you and Dad choose to go for your crazy problems, but your parents won't?".
Why is my desire to fix her so strong? After everything she's put me through, even now, why do I still desire some sort of functional relationship with her? I'm almost 30. I've had a functioning mom for less than half those years- I should be used to NOT having one...
But why is her denial of her mental health issues going to be the thing that shatters me... When I am so much stronger, smarter, and clearheaded than she'll ever be?
Why am I, as an adult, letting someone's medication use become my downfall?
Friday, May 18, 2012
Twenty Seven:
I've been in a reflective mood the past few days. It may be my bipolar 2 acting up. It may be that I almost died a few months ago. It may be that I am making some serious life changes in the next few months. It may be the stress over S. It may be financial pressure. Or any of the above combination.
I generally tend to believe that you can't live life full of regrets. That shit will tear you apart. I've done some serious and seriously painful things I should regret. In the very long run, in my deepest self, I don't. They were choices I made consciously, as an adult, with total regard for circumstance, setting, emotion and situation. They were things I tried miserably to fix that were much like that children's rhyme.
"All Cholie's effort and all Cholie's tears couldn't put Humpty together again.".
But I don't look upon any of it as something that I shouldn't have done. I don't even look upon any of it as something that I wouldn't do again, if given the same set of circumstances... Even if, at times, I left little pieces of myself in places that I will never be able to retrieve them. In places or situations or with people in which I will never have closure, even if I reapproached those things in search of them.
So, I find myself wondering, having left little pieces of myself scattered in various corners of other people- How do you ever become a whole person again?
I enrolled in the local community college yesterday, full time, after having been out of school for 12 years. LARGE step. Massive. Habitual procrastinator. (Most of the time, it takes me 20 minutes to get up after I realize I have to pee, because I figure if I wait longer, I will have more time before I have to do it again and get more time on my couch. No judgement, peanuts.)
My best friend and I were having the conversation of what the goal in it was- Because she had enough college credit at various universities in another state to have an Bachelors in Bullshit. (AKA Independent Studies) She said to me, "Because after all that, I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.". I laughed, filled with irony. There we sat, two grown women, closer to thirty than 29, both with husbands that we've had in our lives for double digit years who have successful careers, and multiple children (G's much older than her oldest, though.)... And we both had the exact same thought.
When I'm a grown up...
But, can you be a grown up without being a whole person? Will I ever become a whole person again without those pieces of myself that I've left scattered across various parts of the universe? Or does a mental/therapy band-aid count as filling? Will I forever feel like that carnival ride that you KNOW is held together by rubber cement and adhesive strips? Enjoying the ups of life, hating the stomach turning downs, not regretting the things that required the rubber cement and adhesive strips, not wanting to get off, but wondering if I'll ever be enough to feel satisfied with myself?
Because the only thing I want to be right now is a grown up. A whole grown up.
I generally tend to believe that you can't live life full of regrets. That shit will tear you apart. I've done some serious and seriously painful things I should regret. In the very long run, in my deepest self, I don't. They were choices I made consciously, as an adult, with total regard for circumstance, setting, emotion and situation. They were things I tried miserably to fix that were much like that children's rhyme.
"All Cholie's effort and all Cholie's tears couldn't put Humpty together again.".
But I don't look upon any of it as something that I shouldn't have done. I don't even look upon any of it as something that I wouldn't do again, if given the same set of circumstances... Even if, at times, I left little pieces of myself in places that I will never be able to retrieve them. In places or situations or with people in which I will never have closure, even if I reapproached those things in search of them.
So, I find myself wondering, having left little pieces of myself scattered in various corners of other people- How do you ever become a whole person again?
I enrolled in the local community college yesterday, full time, after having been out of school for 12 years. LARGE step. Massive. Habitual procrastinator. (Most of the time, it takes me 20 minutes to get up after I realize I have to pee, because I figure if I wait longer, I will have more time before I have to do it again and get more time on my couch. No judgement, peanuts.)
My best friend and I were having the conversation of what the goal in it was- Because she had enough college credit at various universities in another state to have an Bachelors in Bullshit. (AKA Independent Studies) She said to me, "Because after all that, I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.". I laughed, filled with irony. There we sat, two grown women, closer to thirty than 29, both with husbands that we've had in our lives for double digit years who have successful careers, and multiple children (G's much older than her oldest, though.)... And we both had the exact same thought.
When I'm a grown up...
But, can you be a grown up without being a whole person? Will I ever become a whole person again without those pieces of myself that I've left scattered across various parts of the universe? Or does a mental/therapy band-aid count as filling? Will I forever feel like that carnival ride that you KNOW is held together by rubber cement and adhesive strips? Enjoying the ups of life, hating the stomach turning downs, not regretting the things that required the rubber cement and adhesive strips, not wanting to get off, but wondering if I'll ever be enough to feel satisfied with myself?
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Twenty Six:
I was talking to a long time friend today about his ability to sit on L and S this weekend when he said, "I read all your blog entries. You should do that shit more often.".
Needless to say, I was a little shocked. I tend to write for myself. I'm smart enough to know that when it's good, it's good. When I'm uninspired, it's terrible. Horrific. Bad enough to make you spork your eyes out. Or make you wonder what you see in me.
So, I went back over some of my first blog entries. This shit with Shane has hit me like a fucking baseball bat.It's been a slow build up, with emotionally breaking consequences. Fortunately, we have a few close friends for support- Even above said friend who will sit in a car with me for 3 hours to take the kids to "Grandma with the Stinkin' Dog's" house.
My family is serially unreliable because they have a grandchild close to them, no fault to P. They also fall under the category of "Head in the fucking sand". I can't even presume to know about Dave's family, because... It always seems that what I'm doing with my kids isn't the correct thing.
Honestly, since that manual didn't shoot out of my vagina after any of their births, especially after Shane's, I'm doing the best I can with what we've been dealt.
But reading over those earlier blogs, I realize how much in denial I was about what was going on with him... And how hopeful I was about him. Being happy about the fact that he wasn't crawling. His early speech, only to stop, his lack of interest in feeding himself... And the direct correlations to his late crawling, poor gross motor skills, late walking, swallowing and speech issues, and fragmented issues with fine motor control. My uncanny ability for hindsight is kicking me in the teeth right now.
It fucking hurts. The pain is raw and fresh again... And someone is squeezing lemons into it, laughing at me about fucking lemonade.
I love my children. (The rest of your children- Probably not so much.) I love them exactly the way they are... G's headstrong, silent way, his old soul. L's ability to have me on the floor laughing and wanting to knock the crap out of him at the same time for something he's done. And S... I love S because he doesn't even know what he's overcome thus far or what he's got to overcome in the near and distant future and he's still the happiest kid I have ever met. (A lot of you have told me the same thing about him.)...
But part of me wonders how much of that is his issues and how much of that is his personality? And, crowd forgive me for asking, but if he wasn't developmentally challenged, what would our lives be like? What would he be like? What would the "Happiest baby that I've ever seen" but won't let me touch him, kiss him, hug him, cuddle him, or love him most of the time be like in my alternate universe?
And if I knew the answer to that question and had the ability to change the realities, would I? Would I change my beautiful, challenged boy into something else so he fit into my hindsight picture?
Would you?
Needless to say, I was a little shocked. I tend to write for myself. I'm smart enough to know that when it's good, it's good. When I'm uninspired, it's terrible. Horrific. Bad enough to make you spork your eyes out. Or make you wonder what you see in me.
So, I went back over some of my first blog entries. This shit with Shane has hit me like a fucking baseball bat.It's been a slow build up, with emotionally breaking consequences. Fortunately, we have a few close friends for support- Even above said friend who will sit in a car with me for 3 hours to take the kids to "Grandma with the Stinkin' Dog's" house.
My family is serially unreliable because they have a grandchild close to them, no fault to P. They also fall under the category of "Head in the fucking sand". I can't even presume to know about Dave's family, because... It always seems that what I'm doing with my kids isn't the correct thing.
Honestly, since that manual didn't shoot out of my vagina after any of their births, especially after Shane's, I'm doing the best I can with what we've been dealt.
But reading over those earlier blogs, I realize how much in denial I was about what was going on with him... And how hopeful I was about him. Being happy about the fact that he wasn't crawling. His early speech, only to stop, his lack of interest in feeding himself... And the direct correlations to his late crawling, poor gross motor skills, late walking, swallowing and speech issues, and fragmented issues with fine motor control. My uncanny ability for hindsight is kicking me in the teeth right now.
It fucking hurts. The pain is raw and fresh again... And someone is squeezing lemons into it, laughing at me about fucking lemonade.
I love my children. (The rest of your children- Probably not so much.) I love them exactly the way they are... G's headstrong, silent way, his old soul. L's ability to have me on the floor laughing and wanting to knock the crap out of him at the same time for something he's done. And S... I love S because he doesn't even know what he's overcome thus far or what he's got to overcome in the near and distant future and he's still the happiest kid I have ever met. (A lot of you have told me the same thing about him.)...
But part of me wonders how much of that is his issues and how much of that is his personality? And, crowd forgive me for asking, but if he wasn't developmentally challenged, what would our lives be like? What would he be like? What would the "Happiest baby that I've ever seen" but won't let me touch him, kiss him, hug him, cuddle him, or love him most of the time be like in my alternate universe?
And if I knew the answer to that question and had the ability to change the realities, would I? Would I change my beautiful, challenged boy into something else so he fit into my hindsight picture?
Would you?
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Twenty Five:
I realize I go through ups and downs with my need to write. Currently, I'm sitting in bed, in the dark at 3 am, listening to Andrea Bocelli, trying to figure out what I need to get out.
It's funny, that catharsis you feel when you finally let go of what's been bothering you for months and just put it out there in the world. It's also funny the feeling of "Oh. Fuck. What did I just do?" that comes over you the minute you hit publish... Then let people know you hit publish.
I guess I should back up- I'm a member of a very large and generally supportive playgroup here in Lexington. My older boys have had some great times playing with kids of all ages at events, and S gets to socialize with kids his own age that have developed normally. I've gotten some great advice on S's issues but people generally think I'm a bitch because I'm very straight forward. It can be clique-y, you find different parenting styles that you may or may not agree with, friendships are made that you will be excluded from due to common interests, gossip spread, and you're not going to like everyone or everything everyone says, but you have the opportunity to make some amazing and supportive friends... But when you have 100+ families involved, these things comes as part of being a grown up. Learning how to be in the same space who doesn't share your value on Red Dye #40 is something that you should have learned in your formative years. You just don't talk about it.
I had some wonderful ladies over for lunch today from the playgroup. One is someone I consider my best friend- But for me, that title is really location based. I'm horrible about long distance friendships. The only ones that I have kept in touch with irregardless of the distance are my Army Wife friends. Anyway, J lives 2 minutes away. Convenience is something I look for in a friendship. ROFL. K is a new friend, but someone I like a lot and someone I can see drinking heavily with. And L... L's really hard to describe, but I like her. I'm really glad she made it over today. G and L had a good time with her son, too.
Anyway, back to lunch and catharsis. When you have people over that you feel that aren't going to judge you when you talk about how much stress you're feeling from the toddler, how much duct tape it would take to attach a 7 year old to a ceiling fan, would the fan be worth replacing, how you could survive on an island if 6 palates of Duct Tape washed up on shore with you, the Shades of Grey trilogy, how you might kill your husband while he's on disability from spinal surgery if he acts like a whiny bitch and everything in between- And when there is REAL reciprocity in that conversation, be if from your best friend or someone that you're just getting to know, it's an amazing feeling... Because no matter how alone or out there by yourself you're feeling, there's someone to take your mind off everything for a bit.
And I thought for the longest time that I didn't need that in life. I'd been burnt by to many "bitches be crazy, yo" situations in life. But when you have more going on than you can handle, it's great to be able to send someone, ANYONE that genuinely gives a damn about you a text that basically says, "Help. I'm drowning today. Tell me something hysterical."
Most everyone needs that in life. Most everyone deserves that in life. No matter how weird or socially awkward you feel, as long as you can control your deepest crazy (Either medication or otherwise. LOL), there is going to be someone out there for you to spill your guts to when you need to... Someone to help you hide a body, no questions asked.
So, my goal for the rest of the year, while I go through my health challenges, the changes those bring, the strong possibility of Dave having spinal fusion, and dealing with S's issues- I am going to try to be a better friend to people that are like minded or people I like, assuming that there's reciprocity in the relationship.
Selfish sounding, maybe. But I don't think it's selfish to want to try to surround yourself and avail yourself of people with whom you enjoy spending time.
And if you really know me, you know how hard of a goal this is for me- Because personal relationships are the last things that I nurture... The last things that I worry about.
So, here's to being a better friend. Wish me luck!
It's funny, that catharsis you feel when you finally let go of what's been bothering you for months and just put it out there in the world. It's also funny the feeling of "Oh. Fuck. What did I just do?" that comes over you the minute you hit publish... Then let people know you hit publish.
I guess I should back up- I'm a member of a very large and generally supportive playgroup here in Lexington. My older boys have had some great times playing with kids of all ages at events, and S gets to socialize with kids his own age that have developed normally. I've gotten some great advice on S's issues but people generally think I'm a bitch because I'm very straight forward. It can be clique-y, you find different parenting styles that you may or may not agree with, friendships are made that you will be excluded from due to common interests, gossip spread, and you're not going to like everyone or everything everyone says, but you have the opportunity to make some amazing and supportive friends... But when you have 100+ families involved, these things comes as part of being a grown up. Learning how to be in the same space who doesn't share your value on Red Dye #40 is something that you should have learned in your formative years. You just don't talk about it.
I had some wonderful ladies over for lunch today from the playgroup. One is someone I consider my best friend- But for me, that title is really location based. I'm horrible about long distance friendships. The only ones that I have kept in touch with irregardless of the distance are my Army Wife friends. Anyway, J lives 2 minutes away. Convenience is something I look for in a friendship. ROFL. K is a new friend, but someone I like a lot and someone I can see drinking heavily with. And L... L's really hard to describe, but I like her. I'm really glad she made it over today. G and L had a good time with her son, too.
Anyway, back to lunch and catharsis. When you have people over that you feel that aren't going to judge you when you talk about how much stress you're feeling from the toddler, how much duct tape it would take to attach a 7 year old to a ceiling fan, would the fan be worth replacing, how you could survive on an island if 6 palates of Duct Tape washed up on shore with you, the Shades of Grey trilogy, how you might kill your husband while he's on disability from spinal surgery if he acts like a whiny bitch and everything in between- And when there is REAL reciprocity in that conversation, be if from your best friend or someone that you're just getting to know, it's an amazing feeling... Because no matter how alone or out there by yourself you're feeling, there's someone to take your mind off everything for a bit.
And I thought for the longest time that I didn't need that in life. I'd been burnt by to many "bitches be crazy, yo" situations in life. But when you have more going on than you can handle, it's great to be able to send someone, ANYONE that genuinely gives a damn about you a text that basically says, "Help. I'm drowning today. Tell me something hysterical."
Most everyone needs that in life. Most everyone deserves that in life. No matter how weird or socially awkward you feel, as long as you can control your deepest crazy (Either medication or otherwise. LOL), there is going to be someone out there for you to spill your guts to when you need to... Someone to help you hide a body, no questions asked.
So, my goal for the rest of the year, while I go through my health challenges, the changes those bring, the strong possibility of Dave having spinal fusion, and dealing with S's issues- I am going to try to be a better friend to people that are like minded or people I like, assuming that there's reciprocity in the relationship.
Selfish sounding, maybe. But I don't think it's selfish to want to try to surround yourself and avail yourself of people with whom you enjoy spending time.
And if you really know me, you know how hard of a goal this is for me- Because personal relationships are the last things that I nurture... The last things that I worry about.
So, here's to being a better friend. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Twenty Four:
S's second birthday is bearing down on us like one of the freight trains that pass our house so frequently. I find myself staring at him sometimes, in absolute disbelief, that he's going to be 2 in two weeks. See, I originally started writing this post in October of 2011 and I couldn't force myself to finish it. It was right before we moved and the subject matter was tearing my heart out. You know that something isn't right with your child. It doesn't matter how many times his original pediatrician told me to wait and eventually he'd crawl or walk, I knew something was wrong. I still know something is wrong.
My 23 month old son, my beautiful baby has/had a huge gross motor developmental delay. When he was tested at 14 months, he was testing in the 6 to 9 month skill range. He never crawled. He hopped around the house on one hand and one leg, like those kids you see on "Feed the Children" commercials who have no legs. He didn't walk until almost 19 months.
When he finally started, there was no stopping him. His favorite thing to do now is to yell "JUMPING! JUMPING!" and jump on my legs. Or down the hallway. Or on the couch. Or anywhere he can. You should see my legs. It looks like Dave and I are into some kinky shit. lol
He started running shortly after and his PT discharged him... But he was given an OT and a speech therapist. His fine motor skills are fragmented between 6 months and 3 years. (You should see this kid hold a crayon. Coloring with it is an entirely different story.) He also has two speeds- Excessively high and sleeping. There's no middle ground. He also is either seeking sensory input or avoiding it at all costs. Again, no middle ground. The kid will bang his head against our metal front door for 20 minutes, but Tebow help us if we try to get him to go down a slide. Sensory processing disorders, I think, is where we are at. He stopped eating in December, lost over a pound, and is now being treated by the feeding team at Cincinnati Children's. They aren't really sure what to do with him either, because he knows how to eat. He just doesn't like to do it. He still gets bottles at night. In fact, he's bitching for one right now. He was doing strictly mocking and repetitive speech until about 2 weeks ago. Dave and I both came to the same realization on the same day- That he was finally starting to sound like a normal kid. A normal 14 month old.
His pediatrician is recommending that he be sent to a developmental pediatrician after his 2 year well baby. What the hell is a developmental pediatrician? I realize, at this point, that we're staring down the A word or at least a spectrum disorder... And I don't like the idea of labeling a toddler.
Which leads to two main issues... Our insurance doesn't cover anything that has to do with Autism. Not that it's covering any of his therapy now. (Thank you state of Kentucky for believing in early intervention.)
The 2nd issue- and I've been struggling with this one for a while... I doubt my abilities to parent this child properly. I am so used to children that hit developmental milestones early. Kids who answer the question, "How many words do you think he knows?" with "All of them." at 22 months.
Shane is completely different. He's hysterical and full of surprises every day. He started calling me Mommy the other day, and it melts my heart (But doesn't always make me open my bedroom door when I've locked myself in there to escape)... But he won't let me hug him unless it's on his terms. I can't kiss him with out getting yelled at 90% of the time. I can't comfort him when he's upset because that involves touching him. He pinches, bites, slaps, kicks, jumps on people, and head butts and thinks all of it is hysterical. He thinks it's hysterical when you do it back to him. The word no doesn't begin to register most of the time with him. He just does what he's going to do. He does what feels good to an extreme.
So my question is this, friends... How do I find the balance between my parenting style and meeting S's needs when we don't even know what they are yet? How do I stop pouring so much energy into my toddler that I feel like a horrible parent to my other two boys? How do I find time to eat dinner before 9pm? How do I handle the comments from my family members who continue to tell me that he looks perfectly normal when he's with them (Because they are constantly on the move, giving him the sensory input he craves), and ignore me when I try to explain to them WHY he's fine when he's with them... Or get over the knife in my chest feeling when my father hears S in one of his sensory melt downs and asks me why I'm not doing anything to stop it and that if that's how he behaved at their house, he would be less welcome to come visit without Mom and Dad. Because I can't stop it, Dad. I'm helpless to stop it. I can only distract him or put him in his crib to decompress. My toddler won't let me help him. But thanks for being so supportive.
So friends... How do I stop feeling like this is my fault since he was induced early for my health? How do I stop feeling terrible when he wears me out and I lock myself in my bathroom for 15 minutes while he's watching Gabba? How do I get over my feelings of total failure?
(Final four photos courtesy of HUEit Productions. www.hueitproductions.com)
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Twenty Three:
My husband is a contractor- Namely on helicopters.
So I get a phone call today, and due to the grace of one of the branches of the military, the production line is through 2021. It was supposed to end here in the next two years or something with the Army helicopters they were doing.
"YAY! for job security.", she exclaims sarcastically, while she wishes she had something to mix with the vodka in the freezer.
Now, I do realize that in the current economic climate, I probably shouldn't be complaining that he's got a job for the next 10 years, unless he kills someone. Right? I know I've said that I imagined staying in Ohio... But being a military wife changed my fabric. It made me crave the nomadic life style we had. Now, shut up those of you who know that we never really left Clarksville, because when he left, I came and went as I pleased- Because up until he actually came home in September, I never really thought he was getting out. I thought he was going to be a lifer. I thought that we'd move every few years and I'd see a bit of the world. I thought he'd get out after his 20, at 39, and we'd then settle someplace that I may or may not hate and get G and L (Because that's all we had at the time), into college.
Instead, we settled someplace that I fucking hate. A place I don't understand. A place that, in all honesty, is to close to my parents. A place that my children are picking up a southern accent. A place that seems to have sucked me in and gives me such cabin fever every Spring and Fall that my skin feels like it is going to crawl off my body. A place that has such HUGE problems and absolute refuses to address them...
And the thought of spending the next 10 years of my life in this city makes me want to vomit.
Can/Should a city make you physically ill?
So I get a phone call today, and due to the grace of one of the branches of the military, the production line is through 2021. It was supposed to end here in the next two years or something with the Army helicopters they were doing.
"YAY! for job security.", she exclaims sarcastically, while she wishes she had something to mix with the vodka in the freezer.
Now, I do realize that in the current economic climate, I probably shouldn't be complaining that he's got a job for the next 10 years, unless he kills someone. Right? I know I've said that I imagined staying in Ohio... But being a military wife changed my fabric. It made me crave the nomadic life style we had. Now, shut up those of you who know that we never really left Clarksville, because when he left, I came and went as I pleased- Because up until he actually came home in September, I never really thought he was getting out. I thought he was going to be a lifer. I thought that we'd move every few years and I'd see a bit of the world. I thought he'd get out after his 20, at 39, and we'd then settle someplace that I may or may not hate and get G and L (Because that's all we had at the time), into college.
Instead, we settled someplace that I fucking hate. A place I don't understand. A place that, in all honesty, is to close to my parents. A place that my children are picking up a southern accent. A place that seems to have sucked me in and gives me such cabin fever every Spring and Fall that my skin feels like it is going to crawl off my body. A place that has such HUGE problems and absolute refuses to address them...
And the thought of spending the next 10 years of my life in this city makes me want to vomit.
Can/Should a city make you physically ill?
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Twenty Two:
Sometimes I wonder why the hell I ever had another kid. Two wasn't enough? I needed another screaming asshole to complete my life? Someone to throw orange slices at me, screaming, "That's MY NA-NA (His pacifier)", while using me as his own personalTreadClimber- That is until he reaches the top and can't figure out how to get down. That's when I get a fist/foot/knee in the eye. BUTTTTT, make the mistake of taking him down and we will repeat the cycle again and again and again until I need a shot of Vodka.
Having two that were already potty trained, could make their own lunch, could read wasn't enough... No, I had to have another snuggly bundle of hell that refuses to sleep through the night at 14 months. Allah forbid we with hold that bottle at 2am- Cause if S ain't happy, no one is fucking sleeping.
There are days I wish there was a store that babies actually came from, so I could return him. Mainly, these are the days that start off cute- With him waking me up by screaming, "HEY!!!!" from his crib, and end with mommy in tears, S laughing, G and L locked in their bedroom because they had no idea that this little terror could wreak so much havoc on their lives... And somewhere in the middle of that day there are events like poop in my hair, 30 minutes of playing "Goddamn it, quit hitting print screen! No one needs to see that!", "It's great that you finally learned to pull up, but could you not pull the baby gate down on your head again", "Yummies? You want yummies?" and then Yummies end up everywhere but his mouth, "That's my phone. Not your ball. Let me give you a ball. S, stop pocket dialing Jessica. Seriously child.".
And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way at least once a week. I know I'm not the only one who has days like this with your children... Especially if you have more than one. Once you've gotten one past the milestones that drove you fucking nuts, there comes the next ankle biter to annoy the crap out of you with shit his sibling has never done. It's amazing that we're all not a bunch of bitter alcoholics, honestly.
Recently, I attended a funeral back in Dayton for my Great Aunt. There was some family there that I'd not seen in probably 15 years. Not exactly sure how they are related to me, but close in age and related close enough that it would NOT be socially acceptable to sleep with them unless we were in an Arab country. Everyone was interested in S and my niece P, as well as G and L (But they are older and not as cute)... And we got around to talking about how generally well behaved my kids are.
Now as a mother to a childless couple, there seems to be some need to try to convince them to procreate- Because it's the greatest thing you'll ever do with your life or trying to validate your choices through other people. Look at me. I don't work. I'm a stay home mom. My boys should be the end all be all of my life. Here's the real secret. My life does not revolve around my children. I take care of them. I indulge them. I teach them the things they need to know to be compassionate accepting adults in today's society. I make sure they know they are loved and I would do anything for them, up to and including maim/murder someone for them. But they are not my reason for being. Often I wonder how things for me/me and Dave would have turned out differently if I'd not had G at 19 and L at 21... (Not that I'd give them up for anything, except that little one. I'd like to furlough him at the baby store from time to time.)
But I still found it VERY hard to keep my fucking Collective Mom Mouth (Forever known as the CMM) from saying, "Oh, having kids is the greatest thing I've ever done. It's so fulfilling." What the fuck is wrong with me???
Dude, after the two weeks I've had, tonight's episode of So You Think You Can Dance was the most fulfilling thing in my life.
Having two that were already potty trained, could make their own lunch, could read wasn't enough... No, I had to have another snuggly bundle of hell that refuses to sleep through the night at 14 months. Allah forbid we with hold that bottle at 2am- Cause if S ain't happy, no one is fucking sleeping.
There are days I wish there was a store that babies actually came from, so I could return him. Mainly, these are the days that start off cute- With him waking me up by screaming, "HEY!!!!" from his crib, and end with mommy in tears, S laughing, G and L locked in their bedroom because they had no idea that this little terror could wreak so much havoc on their lives... And somewhere in the middle of that day there are events like poop in my hair, 30 minutes of playing "Goddamn it, quit hitting print screen! No one needs to see that!", "It's great that you finally learned to pull up, but could you not pull the baby gate down on your head again", "Yummies? You want yummies?" and then Yummies end up everywhere but his mouth, "That's my phone. Not your ball. Let me give you a ball. S, stop pocket dialing Jessica. Seriously child.".
And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way at least once a week. I know I'm not the only one who has days like this with your children... Especially if you have more than one. Once you've gotten one past the milestones that drove you fucking nuts, there comes the next ankle biter to annoy the crap out of you with shit his sibling has never done. It's amazing that we're all not a bunch of bitter alcoholics, honestly.
Recently, I attended a funeral back in Dayton for my Great Aunt. There was some family there that I'd not seen in probably 15 years. Not exactly sure how they are related to me, but close in age and related close enough that it would NOT be socially acceptable to sleep with them unless we were in an Arab country. Everyone was interested in S and my niece P, as well as G and L (But they are older and not as cute)... And we got around to talking about how generally well behaved my kids are.
Now as a mother to a childless couple, there seems to be some need to try to convince them to procreate- Because it's the greatest thing you'll ever do with your life or trying to validate your choices through other people. Look at me. I don't work. I'm a stay home mom. My boys should be the end all be all of my life. Here's the real secret. My life does not revolve around my children. I take care of them. I indulge them. I teach them the things they need to know to be compassionate accepting adults in today's society. I make sure they know they are loved and I would do anything for them, up to and including maim/murder someone for them. But they are not my reason for being. Often I wonder how things for me/me and Dave would have turned out differently if I'd not had G at 19 and L at 21... (Not that I'd give them up for anything, except that little one. I'd like to furlough him at the baby store from time to time.)
But I still found it VERY hard to keep my fucking Collective Mom Mouth (Forever known as the CMM) from saying, "Oh, having kids is the greatest thing I've ever done. It's so fulfilling." What the fuck is wrong with me???
Dude, after the two weeks I've had, tonight's episode of So You Think You Can Dance was the most fulfilling thing in my life.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Twenty One:
It's summer... And you all know what that means for Nichole...
A couple of things actually. 1) The extreme NEED to get the hell out of Kentucky and move to someplace with a beach. 2) The goal of NOT killing my children on a daily basis. 3) Avoiding sunburn at all costs.
It's not that I don't like Kentucky. It's that I hate Kentucky. I really do. I hate it more than I hate peas and creamed corn combined. I hate it more than I hate the word moist. I hate it more than hearing S grind his little chompers together. I hate it.
Would I hate it anywhere? I really don't know. I've lived in a few cities in my life- Dayton, Toledo, the Ft. Campbell, Ky area, and then here in Lexington. I've spent excessive amounts of time in southern Arizona. I would never move back to Dayton- As we covered in the last post, it's to close to my family. Toledo was just a bump in the road, Clarksville TN was a military town, but a place we might end up again because of Dave's career... And after living here, I don't think I'd mind it so much... Or as much as I did.
There's something about Lexington that just makes me want to vomit on a daily basis. It might be the constant smell of horse ass. It might be UK's need to let EVERYONE know how great they are when really it's just Shut The Fuck Up, No You Don't Need A New Arena To Keep Up With Louisville, World Leader In Cancer Researcher My Ass. It might be the entitlement that almost everyone around here seems to have because this place is Oh. So. Great. It might be the fact that no matter how hard I try, I keep ending up with bat shit crazy "Friends" and I want to be a recluse. (I love you guys! LOL)
Or it might just be that when I was growing up, at 28, I never imagined myself living in Lexington fucking Kentucky.
And that might be the basis of it all... I have no issues with being 28, married for 10 years with 3 kids, some college, 9/10ths of a high school diploma, no career, few marketable skills other than teaching a 6 year old "That's what she said" jokes or finding awesome ass deals on diapers. (2 weeks ago- 4 packs of Huggies for 3 bucks each after rewards and coupons. WHAT.) It might just be the broken dream of not living where I imagined living. Thinking back, I probably imagined that I'd be living in the same town I went to school, near my parents and maybe my parents would have changed once I had kids- Which I've just now realized that it's never going to happen.
But why, when I see commercials for 'The Glades' or reruns of 'The Golden Girls' does it make me want to jump out of my skin? Why did leaving Clearwater Beach after only 2 days feel like I was leaving a child behind? Why do I get like this every summer- Until October rolls around and I realize I might miss that changing season and the snow?
Is it possible that only one aspect of your "childhood dreams" of what your life would be like when you became an adult can make you have physical symptoms- Even when, pressed to admit it, you're still waiting to feel like the adult in a situation?
Oh the things I ponder at 11 at night. I think it's time for a Valium. lol
A couple of things actually. 1) The extreme NEED to get the hell out of Kentucky and move to someplace with a beach. 2) The goal of NOT killing my children on a daily basis. 3) Avoiding sunburn at all costs.
It's not that I don't like Kentucky. It's that I hate Kentucky. I really do. I hate it more than I hate peas and creamed corn combined. I hate it more than I hate the word moist. I hate it more than hearing S grind his little chompers together. I hate it.
Would I hate it anywhere? I really don't know. I've lived in a few cities in my life- Dayton, Toledo, the Ft. Campbell, Ky area, and then here in Lexington. I've spent excessive amounts of time in southern Arizona. I would never move back to Dayton- As we covered in the last post, it's to close to my family. Toledo was just a bump in the road, Clarksville TN was a military town, but a place we might end up again because of Dave's career... And after living here, I don't think I'd mind it so much... Or as much as I did.
There's something about Lexington that just makes me want to vomit on a daily basis. It might be the constant smell of horse ass. It might be UK's need to let EVERYONE know how great they are when really it's just Shut The Fuck Up, No You Don't Need A New Arena To Keep Up With Louisville, World Leader In Cancer Researcher My Ass. It might be the entitlement that almost everyone around here seems to have because this place is Oh. So. Great. It might be the fact that no matter how hard I try, I keep ending up with bat shit crazy "Friends" and I want to be a recluse. (I love you guys! LOL)
Or it might just be that when I was growing up, at 28, I never imagined myself living in Lexington fucking Kentucky.
And that might be the basis of it all... I have no issues with being 28, married for 10 years with 3 kids, some college, 9/10ths of a high school diploma, no career, few marketable skills other than teaching a 6 year old "That's what she said" jokes or finding awesome ass deals on diapers. (2 weeks ago- 4 packs of Huggies for 3 bucks each after rewards and coupons. WHAT.) It might just be the broken dream of not living where I imagined living. Thinking back, I probably imagined that I'd be living in the same town I went to school, near my parents and maybe my parents would have changed once I had kids- Which I've just now realized that it's never going to happen.
But why, when I see commercials for 'The Glades' or reruns of 'The Golden Girls' does it make me want to jump out of my skin? Why did leaving Clearwater Beach after only 2 days feel like I was leaving a child behind? Why do I get like this every summer- Until October rolls around and I realize I might miss that changing season and the snow?
Is it possible that only one aspect of your "childhood dreams" of what your life would be like when you became an adult can make you have physical symptoms- Even when, pressed to admit it, you're still waiting to feel like the adult in a situation?
Oh the things I ponder at 11 at night. I think it's time for a Valium. lol
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Twenty:
Explain something to me... And I'm sorry if none of this makes sense. I hope someday it will.
Well, first, let me explain something to you- Dave hates my parents. Not with an all consuming seething passion- We just spent 10 days with them in Florida... But he hates them with this under-bubbling wrath that makes him lash out internally or at me when they surface those feelings he has towards them. He's tired of my father's advice- "Why should I take your advice when you couldn't stop your wife from abusing your daughter"... And he's strait up tired of my mother's bullshit, emotional roller coaster drama she tries to put me on.
I didn't have it great growing up. I was the oldest of 4, with an undiagnosed bipolar mother, a disconnected father, and I took the brunt of my mother because I was the one who was there- Emotionally and physically. I was kicked out at 18, didn't graduate high school because of it, and that's how my life with Dave began. The entire time that I was dating Dave under her roof, my mother swore that Dave would never make anything of himself, never be able to support a family a family, tried to get him arrested, in trouble with the military and fired from a job. (Yeah. I know.) But, honestly, if you met my mother on the street, or at say one of my kid's birthday parties, you'd like her. She's not socially inappropriate in an obvious way.
So- We're in Florida, a trip that Dave and I didn't want to go on due to all the drama with my family leading up to it. (Call me about 100 bucks I borrowed two years ago while you're in the process of buying a house for one of my brothers? Seriously?) But the kids wouldn't go without us, and they really wanted to go-
And while we're down there, the advice from my father starts, and the didacticness of my mother's personality comes out- And she's constantly swinging from my brother's girlfriend to me with who's her new BFF that day... As my mother doesn't see me as a daughter or a family member anymore, and hasn't for 10 years. She sees me as someone that she has to have in her life because my spawn are her grandkids, and I swear to DEITY that sometimes she forgets WHY my spawn are her grandkids. But I digress.
And the comments about how we're overspending our money begin and how they (She) isn't paying for anything extra for us and we're on our own if we run out of money (Mainly because she felt we were eating out to much because we didn't want to eat out of a cooler in the Universal Studios parking lot with them)... And the financial planning advice starts from my father- Again, the man who just bought one of my brothers a home because he couldn't afford his rent. And then the "We'll meet you at X in Y minutes", and 2 hours later no one has shown up- Or the "You have to be out of the hotel room at 11, sorry, we know you wanted to go swimming with the kids again" but what I'm not going to walk down the hotel room hallway to tell you is that I paid 30 bucks for a late check out for one room that you could have taken a shower in and played with them on the beach for a bit longer.
Dave's seething at various points of the vacation. And, with all my issues with my family and my brother's whore, I felt that I handled most things very well- There wasn't much that was going to interfere with my children's enjoyment of Shamu or their 10th time riding Spiderman... Or their first time on a real beach and S just being S.
But after all the hell that we went through- Most of it I can't remember now that I've run it down with my therapist, all the fighting Dave and I did over my parents, and the agreement that we came to about the next when it comes to my family, after my 84 year old Grandparents leave in July... We decided we're done with my family. We're done with the judgement about how we live our lives. We're done with the assumption that because Dave makes above the 50k mark (Barely) that we should be better off financially than we are. (Have you ever been a gov't contractor, Dad? No? Shut the fuck up, then.) We're tired of the comments that we're to hard on our kids because we expect certain behaviors out of them and don't tolerate others, vacation or not. (At least I don't back hand mine every time one of them says something that I don't like, Mom.) I'm tired of S being thrown into the Olympics against his cousin that is 10 months older than him... Well, assholes, let's put her in the Olympics (If you don't know, then ask another mom. Fuck.) against my kids when they were about to turn 2. I can't help it if you don't remember how smart G and L were at that age- But do not give me shit that she was walking at 10 months and S refuses to crawl at a year.
I'm just tired of, still, after Dave and I being married for 10 years, after getting kicked out of the house and the family 10 years ago and trying to get back in various times over the years, that none of what I've done with my kids or that Dave is good enough for them yet. I'm not good enough for them. The way I choose to live my life... Where we choose to live... None of it is good enough...
So, explain it to me, please- Because that's my next row in my head. How do go go about writing out your family?
Well, first, let me explain something to you- Dave hates my parents. Not with an all consuming seething passion- We just spent 10 days with them in Florida... But he hates them with this under-bubbling wrath that makes him lash out internally or at me when they surface those feelings he has towards them. He's tired of my father's advice- "Why should I take your advice when you couldn't stop your wife from abusing your daughter"... And he's strait up tired of my mother's bullshit, emotional roller coaster drama she tries to put me on.
I didn't have it great growing up. I was the oldest of 4, with an undiagnosed bipolar mother, a disconnected father, and I took the brunt of my mother because I was the one who was there- Emotionally and physically. I was kicked out at 18, didn't graduate high school because of it, and that's how my life with Dave began. The entire time that I was dating Dave under her roof, my mother swore that Dave would never make anything of himself, never be able to support a family a family, tried to get him arrested, in trouble with the military and fired from a job. (Yeah. I know.) But, honestly, if you met my mother on the street, or at say one of my kid's birthday parties, you'd like her. She's not socially inappropriate in an obvious way.
So- We're in Florida, a trip that Dave and I didn't want to go on due to all the drama with my family leading up to it. (Call me about 100 bucks I borrowed two years ago while you're in the process of buying a house for one of my brothers? Seriously?) But the kids wouldn't go without us, and they really wanted to go-
And while we're down there, the advice from my father starts, and the didacticness of my mother's personality comes out- And she's constantly swinging from my brother's girlfriend to me with who's her new BFF that day... As my mother doesn't see me as a daughter or a family member anymore, and hasn't for 10 years. She sees me as someone that she has to have in her life because my spawn are her grandkids, and I swear to DEITY that sometimes she forgets WHY my spawn are her grandkids. But I digress.
And the comments about how we're overspending our money begin and how they (She) isn't paying for anything extra for us and we're on our own if we run out of money (Mainly because she felt we were eating out to much because we didn't want to eat out of a cooler in the Universal Studios parking lot with them)... And the financial planning advice starts from my father- Again, the man who just bought one of my brothers a home because he couldn't afford his rent. And then the "We'll meet you at X in Y minutes", and 2 hours later no one has shown up- Or the "You have to be out of the hotel room at 11, sorry, we know you wanted to go swimming with the kids again" but what I'm not going to walk down the hotel room hallway to tell you is that I paid 30 bucks for a late check out for one room that you could have taken a shower in and played with them on the beach for a bit longer.
Dave's seething at various points of the vacation. And, with all my issues with my family and my brother's whore, I felt that I handled most things very well- There wasn't much that was going to interfere with my children's enjoyment of Shamu or their 10th time riding Spiderman... Or their first time on a real beach and S just being S.
But after all the hell that we went through- Most of it I can't remember now that I've run it down with my therapist, all the fighting Dave and I did over my parents, and the agreement that we came to about the next when it comes to my family, after my 84 year old Grandparents leave in July... We decided we're done with my family. We're done with the judgement about how we live our lives. We're done with the assumption that because Dave makes above the 50k mark (Barely) that we should be better off financially than we are. (Have you ever been a gov't contractor, Dad? No? Shut the fuck up, then.) We're tired of the comments that we're to hard on our kids because we expect certain behaviors out of them and don't tolerate others, vacation or not. (At least I don't back hand mine every time one of them says something that I don't like, Mom.) I'm tired of S being thrown into the Olympics against his cousin that is 10 months older than him... Well, assholes, let's put her in the Olympics (If you don't know, then ask another mom. Fuck.) against my kids when they were about to turn 2. I can't help it if you don't remember how smart G and L were at that age- But do not give me shit that she was walking at 10 months and S refuses to crawl at a year.
I'm just tired of, still, after Dave and I being married for 10 years, after getting kicked out of the house and the family 10 years ago and trying to get back in various times over the years, that none of what I've done with my kids or that Dave is good enough for them yet. I'm not good enough for them. The way I choose to live my life... Where we choose to live... None of it is good enough...
So, explain it to me, please- Because that's my next row in my head. How do go go about writing out your family?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Nineteen:
I know, I know. Shoot me.
It's what I do. When the shit hits the wall, I retreat. Away from everyone that might be able or willing to help or listen. I retreat into Dave. I retreat into the kids. I call my therapist in a mad panic of "GET ME IN NOW BEFORE MY BRAIN EXPLODES!!!". I retreat because I know that if I pull one more thing onto my bipolar 2 plate, I will downward into a funk that will require a very large amount of medication to pull me out of. Or liquor. Or both.
It's like this, friends... I can only juggle so many plates at once. The plates I choose to constantly juggle are my kids and that man child I married. They are the ones I never put down. My next choice to juggle are the ones that directly pertain to them- In the past two weeks, it's been another car accident, an epic battle with our health insurance over $700, L switching schools to be with G but then not being able to continue on to 2nd grade because of the interim principle's "philosophical objections" against little boys skipping grades and not wanting to start a precedent at her school and that we'd broken the law by skipping him a grade (Well, he skipped a grade at another school, lady.)... Among the regular day to day annoyances of raising three boys and a man child.
Then, I choose to take on secondary plates- My family, Dave's family, and friends. I can only handle so much bullshit that extends from either of those three areas before I want to fucking snap, and they all fill up the same bullshit jar. My family fills it up relatively fast with intruding and nonsense questions like, "How are you going to come up with the money to fix your car?" or "How much money do you have right now?". Well, being that you just bought one of my siblings a house and you are not, nor have you been actively financing my life in over 10 years, you don't get to ask me those questions. AND, we're all going to Florida together as one huge happy family in about a week. Shoot me in the fucking head now- Hence where all the money questions are coming from. (Lyndsey, I'm probably going to be calling.) Then if I get one more email about some old lady I've never met's sternum, I'm going to scream. Thank's Dave's mom.
And then there's the "friends". And I use that term loosely. I have a few. I've recently met a few nice, non bat shit crazy women. I've started taking part in a playgroup. And then I posted about my issues with the interim principle. (Not the full story about how I grabbed my balls and called the Kentucky Department of Education on her ass, but hey. Let the triffling tattle tale think that I'm just a ranting pissed off mom. I'm ok with that.) And some some pissy bitch decided to send my vent, which wasn't anything that I'd not said to her, her boss, the principle and admin. dean of L's current school, and the head of primary education for Kentucky to the principle in question. It got brought up in a fucking AMBUSH of a meeting, because they thought I'd still be bringing my 2nd child to their school. And then she thought that she'd go ahead and lecture me on internet safety because nothing on the internet is secure.
Let me start off by saying that I was mortified. Not that she read what I wrote. I stand behind everything that I put out in public. I was mortified that someone that I'd never met felt the need to interject themselves into my life in such a way that could have such dire and horrible consequences for L. Secondly, I was pissed for everyone else who posts personal things on the playgroup message's boards. Thirdly, I don't need a fucking lecture on internet safety. I'm not a fucking 12 year old girl. Don't fucking ambush me in front of the soon to be principle because I ran your ass up the flag pole to your boss, your bosses boss, and the State of fucking Kentucky. But again, the trifling bitch who was doing the interim principle a SERVICE by letting her know what I said didn't know the entire story... Or that I'd actually done something about it besides sit on the internet and whine.
Anyway, so long post short... Back to the plates. My arms are short. And if you know me, I make sure that the plates closest to me are the ones that stay up. It's nothing personal. If I don't answer your phone call at 10:30pm, it's because that my insomniac ass is finally trying to sleep. If I don't answer every one of your text messages immediately, it's because I've got so much on every one of those closest to me plates that they come first. They have to. They are my priority and always will come first...
Besides... They are really cute.
It's what I do. When the shit hits the wall, I retreat. Away from everyone that might be able or willing to help or listen. I retreat into Dave. I retreat into the kids. I call my therapist in a mad panic of "GET ME IN NOW BEFORE MY BRAIN EXPLODES!!!". I retreat because I know that if I pull one more thing onto my bipolar 2 plate, I will downward into a funk that will require a very large amount of medication to pull me out of. Or liquor. Or both.
It's like this, friends... I can only juggle so many plates at once. The plates I choose to constantly juggle are my kids and that man child I married. They are the ones I never put down. My next choice to juggle are the ones that directly pertain to them- In the past two weeks, it's been another car accident, an epic battle with our health insurance over $700, L switching schools to be with G but then not being able to continue on to 2nd grade because of the interim principle's "philosophical objections" against little boys skipping grades and not wanting to start a precedent at her school and that we'd broken the law by skipping him a grade (Well, he skipped a grade at another school, lady.)... Among the regular day to day annoyances of raising three boys and a man child.
Then, I choose to take on secondary plates- My family, Dave's family, and friends. I can only handle so much bullshit that extends from either of those three areas before I want to fucking snap, and they all fill up the same bullshit jar. My family fills it up relatively fast with intruding and nonsense questions like, "How are you going to come up with the money to fix your car?" or "How much money do you have right now?". Well, being that you just bought one of my siblings a house and you are not, nor have you been actively financing my life in over 10 years, you don't get to ask me those questions. AND, we're all going to Florida together as one huge happy family in about a week. Shoot me in the fucking head now- Hence where all the money questions are coming from. (Lyndsey, I'm probably going to be calling.) Then if I get one more email about some old lady I've never met's sternum, I'm going to scream. Thank's Dave's mom.
And then there's the "friends". And I use that term loosely. I have a few. I've recently met a few nice, non bat shit crazy women. I've started taking part in a playgroup. And then I posted about my issues with the interim principle. (Not the full story about how I grabbed my balls and called the Kentucky Department of Education on her ass, but hey. Let the triffling tattle tale think that I'm just a ranting pissed off mom. I'm ok with that.) And some some pissy bitch decided to send my vent, which wasn't anything that I'd not said to her, her boss, the principle and admin. dean of L's current school, and the head of primary education for Kentucky to the principle in question. It got brought up in a fucking AMBUSH of a meeting, because they thought I'd still be bringing my 2nd child to their school. And then she thought that she'd go ahead and lecture me on internet safety because nothing on the internet is secure.
Let me start off by saying that I was mortified. Not that she read what I wrote. I stand behind everything that I put out in public. I was mortified that someone that I'd never met felt the need to interject themselves into my life in such a way that could have such dire and horrible consequences for L. Secondly, I was pissed for everyone else who posts personal things on the playgroup message's boards. Thirdly, I don't need a fucking lecture on internet safety. I'm not a fucking 12 year old girl. Don't fucking ambush me in front of the soon to be principle because I ran your ass up the flag pole to your boss, your bosses boss, and the State of fucking Kentucky. But again, the trifling bitch who was doing the interim principle a SERVICE by letting her know what I said didn't know the entire story... Or that I'd actually done something about it besides sit on the internet and whine.
Anyway, so long post short... Back to the plates. My arms are short. And if you know me, I make sure that the plates closest to me are the ones that stay up. It's nothing personal. If I don't answer your phone call at 10:30pm, it's because that my insomniac ass is finally trying to sleep. If I don't answer every one of your text messages immediately, it's because I've got so much on every one of those closest to me plates that they come first. They have to. They are my priority and always will come first...
Besides... They are really cute.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Seventeen: Our Eleven Year Anniversary...
Dave and I officially became a couple on April 30th, 2000. I was 17. He was 19. 6 months, to the day later, he left me for basic training. 7 months after that, on May 26th, 2001 we got married. I was 18 and he was 20. 18 months after that, G was born- this perfect little non alien-headed baby. 2 years, almost to the day- and a deployment later, L was born. (My first question when he finally shot out was "What color is his hair?" "Oh it's beautiful, it's red" "GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!!" I screamed.). And then 5 years and 8 months later, S was born. Little, sweet, chicken legged S.
This isn't going to be a long post- Just one long enough to say this in my own way.
I haven't always been in love with him. There have been quite a few times where I've downright hated him. There have been times where I've done the life insurance calculation in my head. (If you're reading this and you don't know what the Life Insurance Calculation is, you're in the wrong place.) There have been times where I've intentionally ignored his calls. There have been times where I've wanted to leave him. There have been two times where I've actually left... And then realized that there wasn't enough money in the bank account for me to stay gone for long. We've thrown things, we've screamed, we've locked each other out of the house, I've pushed him out of a moving vehicle (It was only going 5 miles an hour. Shut it.), he left me in the post-partum unit after G was born to go home and get some sleep because he was tired...
Right?
But I love my husband. And like the ebb and flow of a marriage and any relationship that's lasted as long as ours has as young as ours started, I am in love with him. No matter what stupid shit he's done on whatever day that's got me looking at him like he's a new level of dumbass I've never seen, (Seriously, today, he put the basket for the ice maker back in the freezer after it's been sitting in the cabinet for two years, without washing it, and then put a bag of ice in it.) he usually does something to redeem himself.
How could I not love him. The man went to war for us because it was the only job he could find. He went to Korea when his children were 2 and a half and 6 months for 18 months because it was the better of the two options- Go for 18 and get out for good or Go for a year, come home for 6 months and go back to Iraq. He worked his ass off in a job he hated for 6 years for a Government he didn't support just to make sure that G, L and I had what we needed- To prove my family wrong about him. After he got out, he worked 4 years in a backbreaking job he tolerated striving for something better for all of us that he finally got- And you know what he said when I congratulated him? "It's no big deal- I do it for you guys.".
And right now, after jumping down his shit for annoying me most of the day, I got hungry, at midnight. You know what he's doing? Out getting the hamburger I couldn't live without.
He's put up with my bat shit crazy ass for 11 years. He gets me. He still laughs at me when I tell him something looks like a penis, even if it doesn't even remotely resemble a dick. He tells me that I'm dumb when I tell him a horrible joke. He acts interested when I tell him that some dumb cunt wore an IUD on her head to the Royal Wedding. He takes the spiders outside.
He's far from perfect. He looks like a cross between the lost member of ZZTop and the missing cast member of a Pirates of the Caribbean Movie... He's caused me to have TWO redheaded children and THREE boys...
But I love him. I do. I love the fucking moron.
This isn't going to be a long post- Just one long enough to say this in my own way.
I haven't always been in love with him. There have been quite a few times where I've downright hated him. There have been times where I've done the life insurance calculation in my head. (If you're reading this and you don't know what the Life Insurance Calculation is, you're in the wrong place.) There have been times where I've intentionally ignored his calls. There have been times where I've wanted to leave him. There have been two times where I've actually left... And then realized that there wasn't enough money in the bank account for me to stay gone for long. We've thrown things, we've screamed, we've locked each other out of the house, I've pushed him out of a moving vehicle (It was only going 5 miles an hour. Shut it.), he left me in the post-partum unit after G was born to go home and get some sleep because he was tired...
Right?
But I love my husband. And like the ebb and flow of a marriage and any relationship that's lasted as long as ours has as young as ours started, I am in love with him. No matter what stupid shit he's done on whatever day that's got me looking at him like he's a new level of dumbass I've never seen, (Seriously, today, he put the basket for the ice maker back in the freezer after it's been sitting in the cabinet for two years, without washing it, and then put a bag of ice in it.) he usually does something to redeem himself.
How could I not love him. The man went to war for us because it was the only job he could find. He went to Korea when his children were 2 and a half and 6 months for 18 months because it was the better of the two options- Go for 18 and get out for good or Go for a year, come home for 6 months and go back to Iraq. He worked his ass off in a job he hated for 6 years for a Government he didn't support just to make sure that G, L and I had what we needed- To prove my family wrong about him. After he got out, he worked 4 years in a backbreaking job he tolerated striving for something better for all of us that he finally got- And you know what he said when I congratulated him? "It's no big deal- I do it for you guys.".
And right now, after jumping down his shit for annoying me most of the day, I got hungry, at midnight. You know what he's doing? Out getting the hamburger I couldn't live without.
He's put up with my bat shit crazy ass for 11 years. He gets me. He still laughs at me when I tell him something looks like a penis, even if it doesn't even remotely resemble a dick. He tells me that I'm dumb when I tell him a horrible joke. He acts interested when I tell him that some dumb cunt wore an IUD on her head to the Royal Wedding. He takes the spiders outside.
He's far from perfect. He looks like a cross between the lost member of ZZTop and the missing cast member of a Pirates of the Caribbean Movie... He's caused me to have TWO redheaded children and THREE boys...
But I love him. I do. I love the fucking moron.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Fifteen and 16, all wrapped into one, because I'm doing it at the same time.
Holy Hell.
That's really all I can say.
(As I'm typing this, I'm also watching DVR'd Royal Wedding coverage, so excuse the interjections. She's got a cracked rib? But she refuses to miss the wedding? What a fucking trooper.)
I finally got tired of hearing Dave bitch. He had 5 fillings done about 6 months ago. He told that god damn piece of shit dentist that the tooth was bothering him, but they told him it was fine. And it kept bothering him. (Awwww, her mom isn't a cunt and trying to upstage her daughter! I'm impressed!) I made him go to Urgent Care. They gave him anti-biotics. He got better. Started bothering him again. He bitched and moaned for about 3 weeks.
Now. I can NOT stand it when a grown fucking assed man who spent a year in a war zone and then 18 months in Korea and somehow managed to make it through surgery on his own can't pick up the phone and handle something as easy as making a dentist appointment. I can't comprehend how it doesn't cross his mind. I don't understand how everyone of those aircraft he has a part of inspecting doesn't fucking crash- Because if he is anything at work like he's at home... Well you see where I'm going with this.
Finally, I broke down and called another dentist who bailed me out of a jam earlier this year. They got him that afternoon. Great. (God, the British don't age well. Is it me, or do they tend to start looking like frogs after the age of 60? Maybe it's because they start losing their teeth. Shitty dental care there, too) The tooth that had been bothering him was almost completely abscessed. Root Canal/Crown or pull it. Now, we have GREAT dental insurance, but it still cost us 200 bucks. Obviously, he opts for the Root Canal/Crown option. Otherwise, we'd be heading for divorce court. I refuse to be married to a man who doesn't have all this teeth- Real or otherwise. I might live in Kentucky- But I refuse to look like we live in Kentucky. LOL
Anyway, now I shouldn't be bitching about 200 bucks out of pocket for 1300 of work, but I'm pissed that we have to spend it when it should have been a simple filling 6 months ago. So, he goes back the next day. (Really, Camilla... Should you REALLY be there? T-A-C-K-Y. I don't care if you're married to his father or not. The British are so much politer than I am. HOLY SHIT SARAH FERGESON'S CHILDREN. WE COULD PLAY SKEE-BALL THROUGH YOUR HEAD PIECES. One of them looks like an ornate toilet seat. Not to mention that you look like a common 5 dollar whores- The kind you pay 5 dollars to go away. FUCK.)
3 hours in the chair. They can't finish it. Has to go back Thursday. Thank god he spent Wednesday night home, because I came down with a combination of Ebola/Aids/The Plague/Pregnancy/Death. I was up all night puking up my toenails. (All white/ivory wedding party? Bold choice... And for 85 years old, she is rocking that yellow like a 20 year old.- I'm not all bitter and angry. LOL) And the entire time that I'm up on Wednesday night puking up my toenails, he's whining like a little bitch about how bad it hurts
Well you stupid asshole, had you called the dentist before now, maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Yeah. It makes me a bad wife. I don't have sympathy when you continously do stupid things with the same result, expecting the result to change the next time you procrastinate. Not that he wasn't helpful to me on Wed, but still. It's a never ending cycle
So he's back at the Dentist on Thursday, another 3.5 hours in the chair. Comes home at 7pm. "OWWWWWWWW, It hurtssssssssss...." Really? Great. (Ok, I've seen the dress on CNN before this, and it's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful... And how she managed to keep it a secret until now? Amazing.) "I'm hungryyyyyy." Really, buddy?
And then I start puking again. And then he realizes that it's not all about him, because he can stand up without falling over or throwing up. And he mans up and takes care of everything else for the night, while I laid on the couch. (Needs bigger flowers. Not bigger than your head, but smaller than your fist? Come on.) He took the kids to school for me today, too. Big improvement over what would have usually happened.
So the question I pose is this: How do you make a 30 year old man FINALLY realize it's not all about him? Mothers know that sometimes we have to work through the pain and just do what we need to do, where as men come down this a freaking sniffle and it's like they are going to die on the rack while being boiled in hot oil? (Longest. Isle. Ever.) I do realize that it's a little late in the marriage to try to sleep train the man now, but shit. I'm tired of feeling like the only adult in the house most of the time. (Oh, no wonder the chairs were turned that way. They can't see the actual ceremony anyway. LAME. Could you imagine being one of those people stuck in the corner? I'd be watching it live on my iPhone Via my BBC App just so I could see what I was hearing!)
And just now, after watching him take his pain meds, and asking him if he needed to take them to work with him, getting told no, I get a text that said, "Did I leave my meds at home?" "Yes. I asked you if you needed them, and you said no." "I thought I put them in my lunchbox." "Reread my last text. That makes NO sense.".
No, dummy. I asked you that as you had them in your hand. How could they be in your lunchbox if they were also in your hand? Did they have sex and have little lortab and amoxicillian babies? I swear to god, if I weren't around...
Except I know that he can do it. He has done it. So either he reverts to childhood, or just gets lazy. And I'm not sure what pisses me off more.
So the rest of this will be about the Royal Wedding
Aw... He told her that she looked so beautiful. Stop whispering, you too! It's almost to cute, making me want to vomit again. Giggle. So much hope. Wait until he needs a fucking root canal and won't call the dentist himself.
I always want someone to stand up and scream "NO KATE, YOU CAN'T MARRY HIM!!! YOU'RE CARRYING MY BABY" or "NO WILLIAM!!! YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED THAT COW LIKE NOTHING YOU'D EVER SEEN BEFORE!!!"... But it never happens that way. Just someone coughing at at the most inopportune time, getting my heart all aflutter.
I think Kate's dad forgot his line, "Her mother and I".
I can totally understand him not wearing a ring. He can't wear it at work. It's annoying, they get lost. We've lost to many to count. Not worth it. And honestly... Does it matter? It's not like anyone in the free world isn't going to know 2 things. 1) He's Prince Fucking William Something Something Luis. B) He just got married in a 34 million dollar wedding ceremony. 3) He's probably going to Leap Frog over his father for the British Crown. While it might seem like a wingman all in itself, I'm going with it's probably the greatest birthright, cockblock ever. When 2 billion people watch your wedding, your cheating days are a bit numbered.
The way this priest is holding his hands up is making me think he's going to crack their skulls together.
So, they are married now. Are they going to watch the remainder of their ceremony as spectators? Church of England weddings are confusing. I'm waiting for them to bring out slaves and lions. Wait. Then this bitch is yawning. You're personally invited to the social event of the century and it's boring you. Send your invite to me so I can comment from the actual Abbey and not couch quarterback it while Shane's screaming at me about not being able to pull all the laundry out of the basket.
That nun with the white hair is sleeping. I'm having a hard time staying awake through this guy's reading, too.
Shane likes Boys Chamber Choir music... I think he's faking me out to make me think he likes the music so he can turn the Xbox on and off.
Oh wait, they are standing up again. But that Nun is still sleeping. ^5 to her, I suppose. I guess when you've lived that long, you are allowed to sleep through whatever the hell you want to, right?
I guess when you are the Queen, you don't have to sing "God Save the Queen.".
Ok, is it just me, but does William occasionally look like a Chester?
Honestly, they look happy... Really happy in comparison to Charles and Di... I'm not a romantic-y, dream of being a princessy girl, but ya gotta hope that they can make it under all the public pressure... Or hope that he's better at hiding his 40 year affair.
That's really all I can say.
(As I'm typing this, I'm also watching DVR'd Royal Wedding coverage, so excuse the interjections. She's got a cracked rib? But she refuses to miss the wedding? What a fucking trooper.)
I finally got tired of hearing Dave bitch. He had 5 fillings done about 6 months ago. He told that god damn piece of shit dentist that the tooth was bothering him, but they told him it was fine. And it kept bothering him. (Awwww, her mom isn't a cunt and trying to upstage her daughter! I'm impressed!) I made him go to Urgent Care. They gave him anti-biotics. He got better. Started bothering him again. He bitched and moaned for about 3 weeks.
Now. I can NOT stand it when a grown fucking assed man who spent a year in a war zone and then 18 months in Korea and somehow managed to make it through surgery on his own can't pick up the phone and handle something as easy as making a dentist appointment. I can't comprehend how it doesn't cross his mind. I don't understand how everyone of those aircraft he has a part of inspecting doesn't fucking crash- Because if he is anything at work like he's at home... Well you see where I'm going with this.
Finally, I broke down and called another dentist who bailed me out of a jam earlier this year. They got him that afternoon. Great. (God, the British don't age well. Is it me, or do they tend to start looking like frogs after the age of 60? Maybe it's because they start losing their teeth. Shitty dental care there, too) The tooth that had been bothering him was almost completely abscessed. Root Canal/Crown or pull it. Now, we have GREAT dental insurance, but it still cost us 200 bucks. Obviously, he opts for the Root Canal/Crown option. Otherwise, we'd be heading for divorce court. I refuse to be married to a man who doesn't have all this teeth- Real or otherwise. I might live in Kentucky- But I refuse to look like we live in Kentucky. LOL
Anyway, now I shouldn't be bitching about 200 bucks out of pocket for 1300 of work, but I'm pissed that we have to spend it when it should have been a simple filling 6 months ago. So, he goes back the next day. (Really, Camilla... Should you REALLY be there? T-A-C-K-Y. I don't care if you're married to his father or not. The British are so much politer than I am. HOLY SHIT SARAH FERGESON'S CHILDREN. WE COULD PLAY SKEE-BALL THROUGH YOUR HEAD PIECES. One of them looks like an ornate toilet seat. Not to mention that you look like a common 5 dollar whores- The kind you pay 5 dollars to go away. FUCK.)
3 hours in the chair. They can't finish it. Has to go back Thursday. Thank god he spent Wednesday night home, because I came down with a combination of Ebola/Aids/The Plague/Pregnancy/Death. I was up all night puking up my toenails. (All white/ivory wedding party? Bold choice... And for 85 years old, she is rocking that yellow like a 20 year old.- I'm not all bitter and angry. LOL) And the entire time that I'm up on Wednesday night puking up my toenails, he's whining like a little bitch about how bad it hurts
Well you stupid asshole, had you called the dentist before now, maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Yeah. It makes me a bad wife. I don't have sympathy when you continously do stupid things with the same result, expecting the result to change the next time you procrastinate. Not that he wasn't helpful to me on Wed, but still. It's a never ending cycle
So he's back at the Dentist on Thursday, another 3.5 hours in the chair. Comes home at 7pm. "OWWWWWWWW, It hurtssssssssss...." Really? Great. (Ok, I've seen the dress on CNN before this, and it's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful... And how she managed to keep it a secret until now? Amazing.) "I'm hungryyyyyy." Really, buddy?
And then I start puking again. And then he realizes that it's not all about him, because he can stand up without falling over or throwing up. And he mans up and takes care of everything else for the night, while I laid on the couch. (Needs bigger flowers. Not bigger than your head, but smaller than your fist? Come on.) He took the kids to school for me today, too. Big improvement over what would have usually happened.
So the question I pose is this: How do you make a 30 year old man FINALLY realize it's not all about him? Mothers know that sometimes we have to work through the pain and just do what we need to do, where as men come down this a freaking sniffle and it's like they are going to die on the rack while being boiled in hot oil? (Longest. Isle. Ever.) I do realize that it's a little late in the marriage to try to sleep train the man now, but shit. I'm tired of feeling like the only adult in the house most of the time. (Oh, no wonder the chairs were turned that way. They can't see the actual ceremony anyway. LAME. Could you imagine being one of those people stuck in the corner? I'd be watching it live on my iPhone Via my BBC App just so I could see what I was hearing!)
And just now, after watching him take his pain meds, and asking him if he needed to take them to work with him, getting told no, I get a text that said, "Did I leave my meds at home?" "Yes. I asked you if you needed them, and you said no." "I thought I put them in my lunchbox." "Reread my last text. That makes NO sense.".
No, dummy. I asked you that as you had them in your hand. How could they be in your lunchbox if they were also in your hand? Did they have sex and have little lortab and amoxicillian babies? I swear to god, if I weren't around...
Except I know that he can do it. He has done it. So either he reverts to childhood, or just gets lazy. And I'm not sure what pisses me off more.
So the rest of this will be about the Royal Wedding
Aw... He told her that she looked so beautiful. Stop whispering, you too! It's almost to cute, making me want to vomit again. Giggle. So much hope. Wait until he needs a fucking root canal and won't call the dentist himself.
I always want someone to stand up and scream "NO KATE, YOU CAN'T MARRY HIM!!! YOU'RE CARRYING MY BABY" or "NO WILLIAM!!! YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED THAT COW LIKE NOTHING YOU'D EVER SEEN BEFORE!!!"... But it never happens that way. Just someone coughing at at the most inopportune time, getting my heart all aflutter.
I think Kate's dad forgot his line, "Her mother and I".
I can totally understand him not wearing a ring. He can't wear it at work. It's annoying, they get lost. We've lost to many to count. Not worth it. And honestly... Does it matter? It's not like anyone in the free world isn't going to know 2 things. 1) He's Prince Fucking William Something Something Luis. B) He just got married in a 34 million dollar wedding ceremony. 3) He's probably going to Leap Frog over his father for the British Crown. While it might seem like a wingman all in itself, I'm going with it's probably the greatest birthright, cockblock ever. When 2 billion people watch your wedding, your cheating days are a bit numbered.
The way this priest is holding his hands up is making me think he's going to crack their skulls together.
So, they are married now. Are they going to watch the remainder of their ceremony as spectators? Church of England weddings are confusing. I'm waiting for them to bring out slaves and lions. Wait. Then this bitch is yawning. You're personally invited to the social event of the century and it's boring you. Send your invite to me so I can comment from the actual Abbey and not couch quarterback it while Shane's screaming at me about not being able to pull all the laundry out of the basket.
That nun with the white hair is sleeping. I'm having a hard time staying awake through this guy's reading, too.
Shane likes Boys Chamber Choir music... I think he's faking me out to make me think he likes the music so he can turn the Xbox on and off.
Oh wait, they are standing up again. But that Nun is still sleeping. ^5 to her, I suppose. I guess when you've lived that long, you are allowed to sleep through whatever the hell you want to, right?
I guess when you are the Queen, you don't have to sing "God Save the Queen.".
Ok, is it just me, but does William occasionally look like a Chester?
Honestly, they look happy... Really happy in comparison to Charles and Di... I'm not a romantic-y, dream of being a princessy girl, but ya gotta hope that they can make it under all the public pressure... Or hope that he's better at hiding his 40 year affair.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Fourteen
Now, we had been without cell phones for almost 4 years. The last phone I owned was a Samsung Blackjack. I notoriously had gotten phones from AT&T that wouldn't work properly or would be afflicted with every known issue, or just wouldn't work after they sent it to me. Once, people would call me and the calls would be routed to some woman's house in Cincinnati, Ohio. They couldn't reproduce the problem, but her home number was the same as my voice mail land line number. (It's not free to call your voice mail. Your voice call goes to a land line number. It's the voice mail platform number. You've been educated.) So I had to change my phone number.
Anyway, way back in 2007 or some shit, I started having issues with that phone and got a few replacements. I sent all the phones back like I always had. One day, I opened up my bill, and it was for 1600bucks or some shit. WTF, indeed. Well, they never received any of the equipment and couldn't track it by any of the tracking numbers THEY had given me which means it never got scanned by the warehouse which means I never mailed it which means I had to pay for it. Full price. 3 of them at 500 a pop.
Um. No.
I still owe My Nemesis like 1600 bucks. Says them. Every time I get a bill, I dispute it. I will dispute it until the day I die.
Credit. Who needs it?
Fast forward. Dave starts working for Lockheed. Discounts of epic proportions- With whom, you ask? Of course, it would be my old nemesis, AT&T. But he almost needs a phone for work now and I've turned into this playgrouping, birthday partying, playdating, soccer mom version of myself that I don't understand but frankly, I get tired of getting lost in this god forsaken fuck hole. Yes. It's a circle. I know. Find a spoke and get on it. They will take you to New Circle or downtown. But if you're not familiar with the roads to the spokes or downtown... God forbid I try to venture OUTSIDE of Lexington like I did for a birthday party the other weekend.
Tragic.
Anyway, so we start this process by trying to see how much all this would be costing us monthly by setting up a plan online. Entering our information, trying to see if we have a deposit. BOOM- We've got a refurbished phone ordered. Ok. Now, I don't know about you, but yes. I accidentally ordered a cellphone from my nemesis. So great. We decide to go down to the store and get the account set up properly with two phones... Because some how we went from one free phone that would get passed back and forth to 2 iPhones and data plans and text messaging and OMGMYHEADISGOINGTOEXPLODE.
We go to the store. Get the phones. Get cases. Get the account set up the way we think it's supposed to be set up until we get the accidental phone (God, it sounds like a pregnancy that you don't know what to do with at this point, doesn't it?) And things are great. We download apps and ring tones and Angry Birds and blah blah blah. We get the accidental phone, take it back to the store, get the line canceled... And think and are reassured that everything is fine, once Dave's discount is applied everything will be great, the first bill will be like a hundred bucks. (Massive discount.)
But then the bill comes. And it's like $400 bucks. And I'm having PTSD flashbacks of wanting to strangle My Nemesis' customer service representatives that require deep breathing exersizes to keep from murdering someone or committing Hari Kari with a plastic spoon. I call them.
"I see you're one of our valued iPhone customers, we'd like to thank you for being with Your Nemesis." (Bitch, you're going to wish you, me or both of us wasn't with My Nemesis in about 2 seconds.)
"So, we canceled this line yesterday, but I got my bill and on the automated service it's still telling me that the amount due is the same. Someone's messed something up, again, and it needs to be fixed before we're not your valued iPhone customers anymore.".
"Well let me look into that for you... Oh I see, you canceled a line outside your 30 day Buyer Remorse Period. You're liable for all the charges used on the phone plus the activation fee."
"We didn't use the phone. We didn't activate the phone. We didn't open the box the phone came in."
"Well, I can wave those charges for you, but you're still going to have to pay the activation fee."
"For what?"
"Activating the phone."
"We didn't activate the phone."
"But you would have had to have returned the phone in 3 days to not have paid the activation fee."
"So who's job is it to tell us that. The interwebz? The mailer in the box we didn't open because our intent was to return the phone unused or Customer Service's after we called Customer Service and couldn't cancel the phone? The guy at the store?."
(Now, folks. I worked for 2 years in Sprint Call Centers. The thing I hate MOST is people not wanting to do their jobs. You are there to do one thing and do one thing well. Satisfy the customers you come into contact if you can, if they have a verifiable and just issue with their account. This woman did NOT want to do her job. She wanted to keep her average call time down. Don't give me shit for giving her shit for making her do her job.)
"Ok, well ma'am, I'll go ahead and wave that fee for you as a one time courtesy, but please know that next time you need to return the phone with in 3 days to avoid paying an activation fee."
"You know what, don't even bother. With our corporate discount, we don't pay activation fees anyway. No skin off anyone's teeth."
So she goes in and waves all the fees associated with the Pregnancy Line. Then she finds another problem.
GREAT.
"Well ma'am, I just noticed that when the store canceled your line, they didn't cancel it as a Buyer's Remorse, so you're going to be charged a 350 ETF."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously. My Nemesis is the reason we went without cellphones for 4 years and give me time to port my number back out, and I'll go without one again, so help me."
"Well, let me call the store to verify you returned the phone..."
"WHY IN THE WORLD, LOGICALLY, WOULD I KEEP A REFURBISHED PHONE THAT I PAID NOTHING FOR KNOWING THAT I WOULD COST ME 350.00 WHEN IT RETAILS FOR 250.00?!?!?!?!?"
"Well, can you hold while I call the store..."
45 MORE minutes of my life wasted on the phone with My Nemesis. Thank you Whatever is out there that I can talk and text at the same time... Dave got some relatively amusing texts about firebombing My Nemesis.
But anyway, send me your number. We'll text. I have UNLIMITED TEXTING!!!!! Until I get pissed off enough to cancel this fucking thing. Or throw it through a wall. Or at Dave... Which I'm pretty close, because the GPS on it got us into a car accident.
Right?
But the 50% off accessories KINDA makes up for it. KINDLE CASE here I come!!!!!
Anyway, way back in 2007 or some shit, I started having issues with that phone and got a few replacements. I sent all the phones back like I always had. One day, I opened up my bill, and it was for 1600bucks or some shit. WTF, indeed. Well, they never received any of the equipment and couldn't track it by any of the tracking numbers THEY had given me which means it never got scanned by the warehouse which means I never mailed it which means I had to pay for it. Full price. 3 of them at 500 a pop.
Um. No.
I still owe My Nemesis like 1600 bucks. Says them. Every time I get a bill, I dispute it. I will dispute it until the day I die.
Credit. Who needs it?
Fast forward. Dave starts working for Lockheed. Discounts of epic proportions- With whom, you ask? Of course, it would be my old nemesis, AT&T. But he almost needs a phone for work now and I've turned into this playgrouping, birthday partying, playdating, soccer mom version of myself that I don't understand but frankly, I get tired of getting lost in this god forsaken fuck hole. Yes. It's a circle. I know. Find a spoke and get on it. They will take you to New Circle or downtown. But if you're not familiar with the roads to the spokes or downtown... God forbid I try to venture OUTSIDE of Lexington like I did for a birthday party the other weekend.
Tragic.
Anyway, so we start this process by trying to see how much all this would be costing us monthly by setting up a plan online. Entering our information, trying to see if we have a deposit. BOOM- We've got a refurbished phone ordered. Ok. Now, I don't know about you, but yes. I accidentally ordered a cellphone from my nemesis. So great. We decide to go down to the store and get the account set up properly with two phones... Because some how we went from one free phone that would get passed back and forth to 2 iPhones and data plans and text messaging and OMGMYHEADISGOINGTOEXPLODE.
We go to the store. Get the phones. Get cases. Get the account set up the way we think it's supposed to be set up until we get the accidental phone (God, it sounds like a pregnancy that you don't know what to do with at this point, doesn't it?) And things are great. We download apps and ring tones and Angry Birds and blah blah blah. We get the accidental phone, take it back to the store, get the line canceled... And think and are reassured that everything is fine, once Dave's discount is applied everything will be great, the first bill will be like a hundred bucks. (Massive discount.)
But then the bill comes. And it's like $400 bucks. And I'm having PTSD flashbacks of wanting to strangle My Nemesis' customer service representatives that require deep breathing exersizes to keep from murdering someone or committing Hari Kari with a plastic spoon. I call them.
"I see you're one of our valued iPhone customers, we'd like to thank you for being with Your Nemesis." (Bitch, you're going to wish you, me or both of us wasn't with My Nemesis in about 2 seconds.)
"So, we canceled this line yesterday, but I got my bill and on the automated service it's still telling me that the amount due is the same. Someone's messed something up, again, and it needs to be fixed before we're not your valued iPhone customers anymore.".
"Well let me look into that for you... Oh I see, you canceled a line outside your 30 day Buyer Remorse Period. You're liable for all the charges used on the phone plus the activation fee."
"We didn't use the phone. We didn't activate the phone. We didn't open the box the phone came in."
"Well, I can wave those charges for you, but you're still going to have to pay the activation fee."
"For what?"
"Activating the phone."
"We didn't activate the phone."
"But you would have had to have returned the phone in 3 days to not have paid the activation fee."
"So who's job is it to tell us that. The interwebz? The mailer in the box we didn't open because our intent was to return the phone unused or Customer Service's after we called Customer Service and couldn't cancel the phone? The guy at the store?."
(Now, folks. I worked for 2 years in Sprint Call Centers. The thing I hate MOST is people not wanting to do their jobs. You are there to do one thing and do one thing well. Satisfy the customers you come into contact if you can, if they have a verifiable and just issue with their account. This woman did NOT want to do her job. She wanted to keep her average call time down. Don't give me shit for giving her shit for making her do her job.)
"Ok, well ma'am, I'll go ahead and wave that fee for you as a one time courtesy, but please know that next time you need to return the phone with in 3 days to avoid paying an activation fee."
"You know what, don't even bother. With our corporate discount, we don't pay activation fees anyway. No skin off anyone's teeth."
So she goes in and waves all the fees associated with the Pregnancy Line. Then she finds another problem.
GREAT.
"Well ma'am, I just noticed that when the store canceled your line, they didn't cancel it as a Buyer's Remorse, so you're going to be charged a 350 ETF."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously. My Nemesis is the reason we went without cellphones for 4 years and give me time to port my number back out, and I'll go without one again, so help me."
"Well, let me call the store to verify you returned the phone..."
"WHY IN THE WORLD, LOGICALLY, WOULD I KEEP A REFURBISHED PHONE THAT I PAID NOTHING FOR KNOWING THAT I WOULD COST ME 350.00 WHEN IT RETAILS FOR 250.00?!?!?!?!?"
"Well, can you hold while I call the store..."
45 MORE minutes of my life wasted on the phone with My Nemesis. Thank you Whatever is out there that I can talk and text at the same time... Dave got some relatively amusing texts about firebombing My Nemesis.
But anyway, send me your number. We'll text. I have UNLIMITED TEXTING!!!!! Until I get pissed off enough to cancel this fucking thing. Or throw it through a wall. Or at Dave... Which I'm pretty close, because the GPS on it got us into a car accident.
Right?
But the 50% off accessories KINDA makes up for it. KINDLE CASE here I come!!!!!
Thirteen
Well...
Ever have one of those weekends that make you wish you could just fall off the face of the planet? One of those weekends that absolutely everything went wrong and you forgot to bring your benzos to get through the moment when you wanted to choke a cop? One of those weekends that you just have to (Sorta) laugh when it's over and hope that your kids remember that you laughed at it- In turn, giving them coping skills?
On Friday, I had been out most of the day. On my way from picking up Garret, I sent Dave a text. "Make sure Liam's dressed. I'm taking them out after we drop you off at work.". "All he has to do is put his shoes back on." "He needs socks, too.".
Get EVERYONE in the car, get Dave to work, have a few more errands to run before we go to Kids Place... But I happen to ask Liam, "Do you have socks on?" "No." Of course he doesn't. Why doesn't he? Because his father is absolutely useless when it comes to anything but a Blackhawk 97% of the time. (The ONLY reason I keep him around- He does laundry.) After I get done buying socks for the kids, it's entirely to late to drive across town in rush hour traffic to go to Kid's Place and then make it back on time to pick up Dave. Disappointed kids. Bribe them with Chick-Fil-A and massive cupcakes. We all know I'm not above bribery.
Pick Dave up. Go to Buy Buy Baby to look at a new umbrella stroller... I shouldn't say umbrella stroller, because these things are the size of mini strollers, but have the price tags of full size strollers. 189 for an umbrella stroller? Bring it on, bitch. Although, I'm a firm believer in "You get what you pay for". I'm also tall. I don't want to buy a 10 dollar stroller from Wal-Hell and spend the next two days before it breaks using it hunched over like Quasimodo with tits and better hair.
Now, I don't know what happened to the husband I married who deferred all baby making purchases to me, but he wasn't there Friday. We spent over an hour in Buy Buy Baby arguing over the pros and cons of three strollers. OVER AN HOUR. If he had just gone with the one I wanted, we could have been out of there in 10 minutes. But no, we had to do that bullshit compromise thing. And the stroller we settled on is great. If you don't have to take it off pavement or relatively level grass. But it's an umbrella stroller. You can only expect so much out of a 150 stroller. Right? Or maybe I'm just nuts.
Saturday. Oh Saturday, how I want to kick you in the teeth. Wake everyone up... It's SCIENCE CENTER DAY!!!! Apparently it's also "Thunder Over Louisville Day", but I had no idea about all that noise. So we get up, get going down there, start following the GPS on the phone... And all of a sudden there's blocked streets and traffic. WTF. Then we start seeing signs for parking. Some dude was renting his driveway for 30 bucks a car. So we're all like... Hmmmmm Following the GPS, and it tells us to turn right. We turn right. We get hit in the ass end of our car. By a city employee. A city employee who went strait through a right turn only lane.
Fuck me. Well, because every cop this side of the Ohio River is at Thunder Over Louisville, it took 2, yes 2... TWO, hours to get a cop out there. We stood outside and sat in the car for 2 hours with the boys in the car while everyone and their cousin drove by us, almost hitting us multiple times trying to cut each other off. We had a one stop and ask "Is there a reason that this car is parked here?", to which I responded, "This is where we've decided to watch the Air Show... After we had an accident." That was the 2nd stupidest statement/question I've ever heard from a cop. The first was when we dialed 911 for a car fire, they sent a cop. (Why not an firetruck, Who the fuck knows. They did the same thing to a friend who was giving birth on her porch. Fucking Clarksville, Tn.) He looked at our car and said, I shit you not, "Yup, you got a fire under thur..." and radioed for a fire truck.
So when he did finally show up, he stood by some sheriffs and talked to them for 40 minutes before coming over and taking our "Statement". 3 hours after this dumbshit hit us, the cop comes back to us and says, "It's probably not such a good idea to go to the Science Center today.".
NAH, you FUCKING THINK SO BUDDY!?
Ever have one of those weekends that make you wish you could just fall off the face of the planet? One of those weekends that absolutely everything went wrong and you forgot to bring your benzos to get through the moment when you wanted to choke a cop? One of those weekends that you just have to (Sorta) laugh when it's over and hope that your kids remember that you laughed at it- In turn, giving them coping skills?
On Friday, I had been out most of the day. On my way from picking up Garret, I sent Dave a text. "Make sure Liam's dressed. I'm taking them out after we drop you off at work.". "All he has to do is put his shoes back on." "He needs socks, too.".
Get EVERYONE in the car, get Dave to work, have a few more errands to run before we go to Kids Place... But I happen to ask Liam, "Do you have socks on?" "No." Of course he doesn't. Why doesn't he? Because his father is absolutely useless when it comes to anything but a Blackhawk 97% of the time. (The ONLY reason I keep him around- He does laundry.) After I get done buying socks for the kids, it's entirely to late to drive across town in rush hour traffic to go to Kid's Place and then make it back on time to pick up Dave. Disappointed kids. Bribe them with Chick-Fil-A and massive cupcakes. We all know I'm not above bribery.
Pick Dave up. Go to Buy Buy Baby to look at a new umbrella stroller... I shouldn't say umbrella stroller, because these things are the size of mini strollers, but have the price tags of full size strollers. 189 for an umbrella stroller? Bring it on, bitch. Although, I'm a firm believer in "You get what you pay for". I'm also tall. I don't want to buy a 10 dollar stroller from Wal-Hell and spend the next two days before it breaks using it hunched over like Quasimodo with tits and better hair.
Now, I don't know what happened to the husband I married who deferred all baby making purchases to me, but he wasn't there Friday. We spent over an hour in Buy Buy Baby arguing over the pros and cons of three strollers. OVER AN HOUR. If he had just gone with the one I wanted, we could have been out of there in 10 minutes. But no, we had to do that bullshit compromise thing. And the stroller we settled on is great. If you don't have to take it off pavement or relatively level grass. But it's an umbrella stroller. You can only expect so much out of a 150 stroller. Right? Or maybe I'm just nuts.
Saturday. Oh Saturday, how I want to kick you in the teeth. Wake everyone up... It's SCIENCE CENTER DAY!!!! Apparently it's also "Thunder Over Louisville Day", but I had no idea about all that noise. So we get up, get going down there, start following the GPS on the phone... And all of a sudden there's blocked streets and traffic. WTF. Then we start seeing signs for parking. Some dude was renting his driveway for 30 bucks a car. So we're all like... Hmmmmm Following the GPS, and it tells us to turn right. We turn right. We get hit in the ass end of our car. By a city employee. A city employee who went strait through a right turn only lane.
Fuck me. Well, because every cop this side of the Ohio River is at Thunder Over Louisville, it took 2, yes 2... TWO, hours to get a cop out there. We stood outside and sat in the car for 2 hours with the boys in the car while everyone and their cousin drove by us, almost hitting us multiple times trying to cut each other off. We had a one stop and ask "Is there a reason that this car is parked here?", to which I responded, "This is where we've decided to watch the Air Show... After we had an accident." That was the 2nd stupidest statement/question I've ever heard from a cop. The first was when we dialed 911 for a car fire, they sent a cop. (Why not an firetruck, Who the fuck knows. They did the same thing to a friend who was giving birth on her porch. Fucking Clarksville, Tn.) He looked at our car and said, I shit you not, "Yup, you got a fire under thur..." and radioed for a fire truck.
So when he did finally show up, he stood by some sheriffs and talked to them for 40 minutes before coming over and taking our "Statement". 3 hours after this dumbshit hit us, the cop comes back to us and says, "It's probably not such a good idea to go to the Science Center today.".
NAH, you FUCKING THINK SO BUDDY!?
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Twelve
We've had a week. We really have. Not the good kind of week but not the bad kind of week- Just the kind of week that makes you wonder why you had kids at all.
Dave and I finally bought cellphones, after 4 years of not having them. Probably wasn't the best decision, because all G and L want to do is play Angry Birds. If I get woken and asked if they can play Angry Birds at 6am one more time, I might end up in jail for killing one of them.
G has finally gotten his act together at the new school and he's doing wonderfully. He loves his new class, wants to do school work again, and is just overall happy... And it's a great thing to see from the kid who was eating furniture earlier in the year to relieve stress. I really don't have much to say about G since his issues have mostly been worked through. I do need to haul his little happy ass back to the kid head shrinker, though...
S is still refusing to crawl. 10 months, 10 days, and the little fatty is happy scooting his ass across the floor while sitting upright. It's comical. He's trying to pull up, but... Well, I'm fine with him not crawling. I'm lazy. I don't want to have to childproof this bitch. Parts of my house look like they belong in an episode of Hoarders.
This is what my computer desk looks like AFTER I spent 20 minutes cleaning it off earlier today.
How baby inappropriate is that? As we all know, I realize my inadquecies in life- Keeping my computer desk clean is one of them. Anyway, the longer he doesn't walk or pull up on shit, the longer I don't have to worry about Natural Selection taking out my baby. I do figure if he's not smart enough not to pull the coffee cup with candy canes down on his head, he's probably not smart enough to get by in 2028 (When he turns 18). Also, I type this as he's actively trying to to a bottle of Febreeze air freshner that's on the coffee table. He'll only do it once, right?
Nah, he's one of my kids. Probably at least 4 times.
And L... L is going to be the death of me. Mark my words. Put me on deathwatch.com. Take bets. I'll leave whomever wins my computer desk, everything included. Now, he's skipped Kindergarten this year. He wants to skip 2nd grade next year. Honestly, if he really tried, he could do it. He's S M A R T, smart. (Not really bragging... It's just the truth.) But because he's so freaking smart, he knows exactly how to entertain himself while he's supposed to be doing homework for 4 hours. Sharpen pencil. Make trapezoids out of extra pencils. When mom walks by the kitchen, pretend I'm writing something. Poke holes in my eraser. Stare at the ceiling and pretend that it's constellations. Sharpen pencil again. Smack myself in the head with my pencil a few times. Stand up. Sit down. Stand up. Sit down. Color pencil topper with most annoying pencil ever. Sharpen pencil again. The kid lives in his own world and he's the ruler, regardless of what mom says.
Homework is usually a chore. Not because it's hard for him, but because it's easy peasy and he already knows how to spell most of the words given. So, for 4 hours yesterday and then a while today, the above was repeated until the twisted all the graphite out of his pencil. Why did this make me so angry, you ask?
1) I'm fucking nuts. 2) It was a specially ordered $.89 pencil for left handed people from www.lefthandstore.com with hard graphite. Wouldn't smear but damn, it was a bitch to erase. I buy PACKS of pencils for a dollar.
Then, I noticed he'd not done a THING on his homework again. Now, we've told him MULTIPLE times that he either gets his head in the game or we're holding him back. That's his worst nightmare. That's even worse than the nightmare where bees were pulling off his arms and legs. Worse than the one where Daddy was eating him. On the top ten things he doesn't want to do in his lifetime, repeating 1st grade is number 1.
So, in one of my finer moments of parenting, I grabbed his homework, tore it up and threw it away, as he was shrieking his little 6 year old head off. No homework means no lunch bunch (Where they get to eat in the classroom on Friday/Monday) or recess on Friday. No homework means failed spelling test. Failed spelling test means home consequences. There's a lot of reasons for this, but the main one boils down to this: I refuse to let my children be stupid, regardless of the state of the US Education System.
After talking to Dave, I talked to Liam. He's going to write his teacher a note that says why he's not got homework and why his mom tore it up. I told him that he's got the rest of the year to prove to me that he belongs in 2nd grade and not in 1st again, because going to 1st grade again would be very boring for him, more boring than it is now. (As he said.)
Then he told me I was ruining his life. I told him that he doesn't know what a ruined life is until he has a child like himself. He laughed at me because he understood what I was saying.
He laughed because he's ruining my life.
And my world spins madly on.
Dave and I finally bought cellphones, after 4 years of not having them. Probably wasn't the best decision, because all G and L want to do is play Angry Birds. If I get woken and asked if they can play Angry Birds at 6am one more time, I might end up in jail for killing one of them.
G has finally gotten his act together at the new school and he's doing wonderfully. He loves his new class, wants to do school work again, and is just overall happy... And it's a great thing to see from the kid who was eating furniture earlier in the year to relieve stress. I really don't have much to say about G since his issues have mostly been worked through. I do need to haul his little happy ass back to the kid head shrinker, though...
S is still refusing to crawl. 10 months, 10 days, and the little fatty is happy scooting his ass across the floor while sitting upright. It's comical. He's trying to pull up, but... Well, I'm fine with him not crawling. I'm lazy. I don't want to have to childproof this bitch. Parts of my house look like they belong in an episode of Hoarders.
This is what my computer desk looks like AFTER I spent 20 minutes cleaning it off earlier today.
Nah, he's one of my kids. Probably at least 4 times.
And L... L is going to be the death of me. Mark my words. Put me on deathwatch.com. Take bets. I'll leave whomever wins my computer desk, everything included. Now, he's skipped Kindergarten this year. He wants to skip 2nd grade next year. Honestly, if he really tried, he could do it. He's S M A R T, smart. (Not really bragging... It's just the truth.) But because he's so freaking smart, he knows exactly how to entertain himself while he's supposed to be doing homework for 4 hours. Sharpen pencil. Make trapezoids out of extra pencils. When mom walks by the kitchen, pretend I'm writing something. Poke holes in my eraser. Stare at the ceiling and pretend that it's constellations. Sharpen pencil again. Smack myself in the head with my pencil a few times. Stand up. Sit down. Stand up. Sit down. Color pencil topper with most annoying pencil ever. Sharpen pencil again. The kid lives in his own world and he's the ruler, regardless of what mom says.
Homework is usually a chore. Not because it's hard for him, but because it's easy peasy and he already knows how to spell most of the words given. So, for 4 hours yesterday and then a while today, the above was repeated until the twisted all the graphite out of his pencil. Why did this make me so angry, you ask?
1) I'm fucking nuts. 2) It was a specially ordered $.89 pencil for left handed people from www.lefthandstore.com with hard graphite. Wouldn't smear but damn, it was a bitch to erase. I buy PACKS of pencils for a dollar.
Then, I noticed he'd not done a THING on his homework again. Now, we've told him MULTIPLE times that he either gets his head in the game or we're holding him back. That's his worst nightmare. That's even worse than the nightmare where bees were pulling off his arms and legs. Worse than the one where Daddy was eating him. On the top ten things he doesn't want to do in his lifetime, repeating 1st grade is number 1.
So, in one of my finer moments of parenting, I grabbed his homework, tore it up and threw it away, as he was shrieking his little 6 year old head off. No homework means no lunch bunch (Where they get to eat in the classroom on Friday/Monday) or recess on Friday. No homework means failed spelling test. Failed spelling test means home consequences. There's a lot of reasons for this, but the main one boils down to this: I refuse to let my children be stupid, regardless of the state of the US Education System.
After talking to Dave, I talked to Liam. He's going to write his teacher a note that says why he's not got homework and why his mom tore it up. I told him that he's got the rest of the year to prove to me that he belongs in 2nd grade and not in 1st again, because going to 1st grade again would be very boring for him, more boring than it is now. (As he said.)
Then he told me I was ruining his life. I told him that he doesn't know what a ruined life is until he has a child like himself. He laughed at me because he understood what I was saying.
He laughed because he's ruining my life.
And my world spins madly on.
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