I don't want to be her! But then again...

So incredibly frustrated with myself lately.  I don't know exactly how it happened, but I used to be this fairly on top of it, pretty much organized person.  Really, I was!  I used to start addressing Christmas cards while passing out candy on Halloween.  On January 1st or maybe the 2nd, depending on how hungover I was, I would start to clean out the filing cabinet and remove all the old stuff.  It then went into a "purge box" where it would sit in a dated labeled folder for seven years at which point it would be put into a bank box and shredded on rainy day.

Really, that was me!  Don't get me wrong, I've always been a pile person.  There was usually a pile of stuff on my desk or some horizontal area that needed tending to.  However, it usually was given enough TLC that it didn't slide off the table onto the floor.

When did that person leave and who is this inside of my body?  I want the old me back.  Can't I return this one to Walmart or something?

I think it happened gradually.  Things were definitely under control before we got married.  I couldn't have done the whole wedding thing if I wasn't.  I was psycho organized about the wedding.  Of course a few things fell by the wayside, yes, and I made a couple mistakes that hopefully no one noticed so I'm not calling myself out here.  But, for goodness sake, when everyone arrived at the hotel, they were given a packet with the details of the weekend, local places to eat and a crossword puzzle full of clues related to Charlie and me and our relationship.  A CROSSWORD PUZZLE!!! What bride do you know that's got the time to think of 20 or so clues and make their answers all fit together on a grid?  I was a freak!

So maybe I don't want her back.

The newly married me was not bad.  I remember being completely overwhelmed when we moved for the first time.  It was hard to unpack all this stuff, half of which was not mine and figure put where it was supposed to go.  I  was never the Martha Stuart type and the places I had lived before being married were closets with not much space to decorate.  I remember being really pissed off when another wife suggested that I just "needed someone to tell me what to do."  In some ways she was right.  I did need a bit of direction in the decorating business, but I wasn't sitting on my butt all day.   I didn't understand wives who would knock on my door and just "hang out" with nothing to do all day, because I always had stuff to do.  I was working and volunteering and I had a life.

Maybe I want back the me that had two kids.  Sweet girls who were 14 months apart, but yet I still managed to play Bunco or go scrapbook on a regular basis.  I volunteered at the Thrift Shop and coached cheerleading,  I was a real person.  I was never very good with housekeeping and Charlie started to get annoyed with my inability to keep up with dishes,etc. but I still had a name, a personality!  I painted the kitchen with two kids under two in the house!  I was even pregnant at the time, which begs the question "Is that what happened to Lyra?"

But I was overwhelmed.  I remember freaking out before Charlie came home from a deployment b/c I knew he'd be furious that the house was a wreck.  Two of my most awesomest battle buddies, changed their plans for the evening (one was supposed to go on a date with her husband) to come over and help me get the house in order.  I will never forget that...ever!!!

Someone once told me that every time you have a baby, you lose half of your brain cells.  If you buy into that theory, anyone with more than two kids is in the red.  We moved and the clean strokes I used to swim,  became a doggie paddle.  I had three under 3 1/2 and Lyra spent 22 1/2 hours of every day screaming at the top of her lungs.

Discussion with the doctor:

"Why is she crying?"

"She has colic."

"What's colic?"

"Inconsolable crying."

I really don't like to think much about those days, so I'll keep moving forward.  There are so many feelings and emotions coming at me, I may need a break to rework this a bit.  It's not where I wanted to go with all this.  Because memories start getting very tough.

So let's fast forward 12 years.  I have had three more children.  All boys.  (One I lost at 22 weeks)  The second daughter has been diagnosed with anxiety and depression.  Obviously, that comes from me and I can only pray that by realizing it early and by me having truly "been there" I can help her cope with what will most likely be a life long struggle.  My 7 year old son has Autism. He is very high functioning which comes with it's own set of issues.  The doggie paddle has turned into more a "survival bob" where I come up for air once in awhile only to be sucked under again.

I have a husband who had been deployed or unaccompanied 6 times in the course of our 16 year marriage.  That does not account for all the TDY trips, Army schools, and other times we were separated due to timing.  (ie; I'll move with the kids, you stay and get the house packed and well meet at the next duty station in a month or two) Have no fear,  I realize our separations are a drop in the bucket compared to so many other military families.  We were lucky in our duty stations and timing, yet, I feel C has definitely done his part. 

And now, here I am.  Typing on my iPad at 12:07am because I am so aggravated with myself I feel like I need to confess it in a public blog.  I was not supposed to end up as this woman!  I don't want to be her!  I do not want to be the woman who runs around like a crazy person on Friday afternoon because it's May 2nd and she realized at 8pm on May 1st that the car registration expired on April 30!
I loathe the woman who cannot put her hands on her husbands orders even though she knows where she put them last.  The woman who, while having a severe panic attack is at the mercy of  several federal employees and about 300 yards of red tape before she can re-register her car because her husband is out of the country and she was not with it enough to take care of it on line when it came in the  mail.  She deserves no respect!

I want to smack the woman who has an appointment with her daughter in the morning to finally, after 9 years of schooling and begging for answers, finally get some dyslexia testing done and is looking at a stack about two feet tall of report cards, test results, medical info for all 5 kids that is completely disorganized and not in any semblance of order!  Is it really that hard to stay on top of this stuff?  It shouldn't be, yet....

As I got kids going to bed this evening, I decided that I would in fact, stay up and try to get through the mound of paperwork on the dining room table.  Remember the guy from Close Encounters and his mountain of whatever it was?  That is my dining room table right now.  So I was feeling really good about trying to tackle some of it while gathering some papers for the appt tomorrow.

It's uncanny, actually.  The moment, the exact moment, I threw away the paper towel from washing my hands after putting away what was left from dinner, I heard the dreaded word.

"Mom!"

The rest was garbled to the point I wasn't sure who was calling me.  It was Lyra that announced Josie had a bloody nose,  I'm not quite sure if she understood the garble or if she was able to see the offending nostrils from the bottom of the back staircase.

No big deal, right?  We have our share of bloody noses around here.  Lean forward, pinch, wait, move on.  Not tonight.  This was a bloody nose to rival a major botched surgery.  Imagine a child, who is already having a somewhat difficult day for completely unrelated reasons, and who is trying to prepare for yet another set of tests with a stranger tomorrow to deal with issues she only sees as a failure on her part.  And let's give her a healthy dose of anxiety. For dessert, we'll top it all off with a bloody nose that take a good half hour to get under control. Let's let her start coughing up the blood that's running down her throat and add a few big clots that make her think she's choking and a good size chunk coming out of her nose that is labor and delivery worthy.

I should have spent the last hour trying to go through and organize those papers, but after an ordeal like that, I was done. Fried. Finite! And maybe you wonder why I grabbed the iPad and started typing so uncontrollably instead of spending the last hour organizing those papers. The explanation will make perfect sense when you realize, that before I did any paper sorting I had to google a few things.

1. Best stuff to use for getting the adhesive from EKG stickers off a child's skin. (There was nothing specifically for a child with sensory issues who will not allow me to touch the spots unless he is asleep)  Alcohol did not work.  I will wait for his next deep sleep and try the Goo Gone.

2. How does one to about getting spray paint off of concrete so the Army does not fine one when one is ready to move? I had a list of things to try, but since I did not write them down I'll have to look it up again.

While looking up the previously listed items, I stewed about who I've become and how difficult it is to be this person.  This person I don't know.  This person who, despite the thoughts of her husband, does NOT enjoy living like this.  The person who, because she is so compulsive at times takes three times longer to organize something since she can not just "toss something in a folder."  The folder must be new and labeled correctly.  The papers must be in chronological order.  The bins must be labeled on the outside and all facing the same direction.  I could go on, but then I would be waiting for the knock on the door from the men in white coats!

Three Days Later:

I'm in a much better place at this moment then when I started to write this.  Perhaps I just needed a few days perspective.  A few events to happen that told me the woman I am is not so bad after all.

Event #1- Lyra came home from school Monday and told me in detail about an assembly on bullying that was not presented well.  That's a whole other post, but the important part was, guess what?  A ton of kids never even shared with their parents what had happened or the details of some very disturbing things that were said to an auditorium of 4th, 5th, and 6th graders.  That tells me that I am close to the kids and that they will tell me stuff that is important to know.

Event #2- I had a therapy appt today.  I mistakenly scheduled it at the same time as Josie and B Cha's orthodontist appt.  I was in a panic about what to do.  I ended up dropping them off, going to see my doctor and then picking them up.  This was no big deal, but not too long ago, I would've cancelled the therapy because a.) What kind of Mother would drop the kids off at the ortho and make them hang out there until she could come back? and b.) if anyone has to suffer, it should be me.  Someone who is so disorganized to schedule two conflicting appts should not be allowed to do her thing.  I will pay the $25 to cancel the therapy appt less then 24 hours out with my own bank acct so Charlie doesn't have to know what an idiot I am.

Event #3- The therapy went well.  I was in a rant about this woman who can't keep her house strait and doesn't cook for her kids and who I normally think is a hot useless mess.  But, I had to confess what was really going through my mind.  Lately, all this beating myself up has led me to a few conclusions and when I ran them by Dr. K, she was pretty much in agreement.  I love to be right!

So this is where I am today:

Guess what?  The house is trashed.  No seriously. Trashed!  The dishes are piled up, the laundry's walking around by itself, it looks like a Staples store exploded on every horizontal surface.  I kid you not and I could produce a few witnesses who, only with my permission, could corroborate my story.  Yet, if I do the dishes, the child who ignored them yesterday will feel free to ignore them again.  If the laundry is done perfectly everyday, the kids may continue to think there is a laundry fairy and that anytime they want something clean, the fairy will magically pluck it from under their bed, wash it, fold it, and place it neatly in their drawer.  We may have a ghost in this house, but we ain't got no laundry fairy!  And the papers, well, the papers, I'm working on them.  I have cleared out most of the file cabinet of very old decrepit receipts, warranties, and cable bills and am in the process of making new folders with new labels so everything will be more easily accessed.

Guess what again?  Rome wasn't built in a day.  I really have no idea how long it took, but I'm willing to bet it wasn't built in a week or two either.  In addition, I highly doubt that Rome itself had 5 kids to deal with while her husband was gone.  And if her husband was around, was he lifting heavy bricks while kissing boo boos?  I doubt it.  He may not have been so understanding of her taking what he considered a ridiculous amount of time to finish building herself.  So what!  If she's doing the best she can, she's doing the best she can.  Don't we tell our kids that all the time?  Someone should've told Rome that! 

So this person I've become.  Is she what I envisioned?  Eh, not so much.  Is she what I strive for? Ummm, that would be a big "Nope!"  Is she "good enough" for right now, for this minute, for these kids, for this husband?  Although I would've answered differently a few days ago and probably will change my mind once I walk away from the solace of writing,  I'd have to say "Yes, why yes she is!"

It's funny how a day or two changed the outcome of this post.  How the realization that if I threw myself into housework and being someone I'm not, that I'd be missing things.  Missing Lyra's need to talk to me the other day, missing Tali face timing with her friends who always ask that I come up and wish them a good night before I go to bed, missing Josie so overwhelmed by a science lab that she melted down and needed me to talk her through it, missing Sawyer so excited about some Minecraft thing that he followed me around until I agreed to watch a video of other people playing Minecraft which, although akin to watching an Italian Opera, makes him giggle so much it's contagious, missed the fact that while I was inside the orthodontist paying the bill, B Cha was standing on the wall of the planter in the side walk dancing to a song he only heard in his head.  I knew it was the song "Happy" because I know that's what he sings to himself all day long. Even missing the chance to send my husband a four line email and get a shorter one back from him, but one that made me laugh all day.

I'm not trying to say I'm a great Mom, because I'm not.  I am very far from it, but I'm an okay Mom.  A "good enough" Mom.  A Mom who loves her kids and her husband and really does try to please everyone as best as she can. A Mom who continues to try to improve, even when it doesn't seem like it.  A Mom who feels like she'd rather be lip syncing to the Sound of Music in order to make her kids laugh, than to leave them to go bed alone while she cleans up.

I rest in the knowledge that there will be time to clean.  Plenty of time when (if I survive) all the kids have grown and are wrestling with who they are striving to be.

Just A Mom!

(And I'm trying to be okay with that)

Free Birth Control? I'll give you Free Birth Control.

If you don't have children yet or don't have children of talking age yet, here is a sneak peak of what you are in for!  The following is a conversation between my two boys yesterday as I was trying to sit down to write my poor husband an email.  I ended up just typing as they spoke so my husband (who is unaccompanied for the year) could see what I am forced to deal with on a daily basis.  I was looking for sympathy.  Sadly, it made him miss them more...

What follows is the actual email I sent to Charlie.

I just sat down to write to you and the boys came in and now I can't think!

Do you miss them? This is what's happening:

C: You play baseball like a girl!

S: You play baseball like a lady!  (Laaaaadddddyyyyy is long and drawn out and said in a very prissy tone)

C: You play baseball like a baby, BABY! (The second use of the word "baby" rolls off his tongue with such revulsion and disdain, even I shiver.)

S: Charlie, you are a BEEP! (Really, he said the word beep!)

C: Moooommmmm, he called me a beep!

M: Um, yeah, not really much I can do.

S: You play baseball like Yoda!

C: Thank you, Yoda plays baseball very well.

M: He has the Force!  (I laugh. No one else does.  Thank goodness I can appreciate how funny I am!)

S: He just attacked me. (There has been little to no movement in my peripheral vision)

C: No I didn't!

S: Excuse me, he is a liar!

C: You don't know how to spell liar.

S: YOU don't know how to liar.

C: L-I-A-R

S: Mom is that right?

M: Yes

S: Snort/Growl noise emits from his direction.

C: Hahahahaha

S: Well, you don't know how to spell "I."

C: There's two.  I and E-Y-E.

S: There another I. It's called, I called you a baby baby baby baby...

Should I go on?

Miss you!!!

Love you more~

M

Reading this 26 times in a row at 3am might just cause you to rethink that plan of having several children close together. If this has no effect, dump a pile of Lego's on the floor and then walk over them while rereading.  In fact, if you would rather, I'd be happy to record the kids having the same or a very similar conversation and you could download it. 

The most effective way to use this data is to blast it full volume while you try to do your taxes or while reading Shades of Gray.  It will certainly help you concentrate while trying to replug all wires correctly back into the computer after your system has crashed.  Ask two friends to mimic the conversation and simultaneously throw golf balls at you while you try to contort your body to fit behind and under your work station.

Another idea is to play it on your iPod while taking a nap. I would start with a very low volume and as you learn to sleep through it, increase it a bit each time.  A seasoned mother sleeps right through that crap and will even be able to supplement with an occasional "knock it off" without missing a second of REM.

Want to have a bit of fun?  Take the recording into the bathroom with you while you are having morning sickness.  Turned up loud enough, the echo from the fight will overpower the echo of your retching.  Have Friend 1 call your cell while Friend 2 is standing just outside the door (preferably banging and whining loud enough to be heard over the recording).  Hopefully they have the sense to change your ring tone to Black Sabbath or some other dreadfully Heavy Metal band.  Let the phone ring continuously at length and when finally answered.  Have Friend 2 yell into the phone and through the bathroom door: "My Mom is doing spit 'em ups right now.  Do you want to talk to her?"  Have Friend 2 hold the phone so the background fight is coming clearly through the phone.  Have Friend 2 tell you that it really isn't Friend 1, it's actually your Mother-In-Law, the older kids Principal, the President of the Junior League or any other figure that will make the insides of your stomach rush to the back of your throat.

Perhaps then, you may begin to feel just a touch of the pain you will be subjecting yourself to for the next 18+ years.

That is all.

++Dedicated to my sweet niece who is due with twin boys in August. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha++

It's Raining, It's Pouring

We made it to mass on time last Saturday.  Really. It was amazing.  I got to give B Cha a kiss on the head before he carried one of the large candles down the aisle and I got to hear Tali and the choir sing the opening song.  A rare event indeed. 

I would like to blame our recurring lateness on Sawyer dragging his feet, but it's pretty much my chronic tardiness that causes it.  Perhaps because I don't allow enough time to get a begrudging Sawyer ready.

But Saturday, this past Saturday, we were golden.  Sawyer's therapist, who comes with us to mass most weeks, had bought him a new activity book to work on.  He was sitting in the pew so content, so quiet, that I really thought it was going to be a good night.

Shortly after the opening prayer, the priest announced that he would be doing something different than the Penitential Act which is usually one of the first prayers.  "I confess to Almighty God..."

Although my father had no idea when I was relaying this story to him, Wikipedia actually knew what I was talking about:

"On Sundays, especially in the Season of Easter, in place of the customary Penitential Act, from time to time the Blessing and Sprinkling of Water to recall Baptism may take place."^[4]

This may have had something to do with the fact that I was telling him the Priest was going to do a different "penitentiary act" which would perhaps make sense since we live at Ft. Leavenworth.

Regardless, what the Priest was going to do was sprinkle the congregation with Holy Water.  This may not seem like it is worth mentioning, no big deal, except it is a big deal when you have a child with Autism.  A VERY big deal!  The last time the Holy Water was brought out was around Christmas perhaps...honestly I don't remember, but I remember the panic that rose in my chest when the Priest (who is new) and the Deacon (who knows us well) reached the end of the main aisle and turned to walk around the back and up the side aisles. 

+++Authors Note: We sit on the left side of the aisle (which in itself is still odd to me because growing up my family always, ALWAYS sat on the right and it wasn't until a particularly difficult Mass which left me in tears during Charlie's first deployment from here about 5 years ago, that I abandoned my long standing rule and moved left to sit behind my good friend for support.) Now we sit on the far left side of the left side of the church, near the back.   This makes for easy escapes with Sawyer and minimal distractions to anyone behind us as there is certainly plenty of room in front of us if they would rather not watch my children spiral into a fist fight during the Kiss of Peace.+++

Back to the story at hand: The last Holy Water event, had Deacon on our side of the church.  So when he rounded the back corner and started up the side aisle, all I had to do was look at him with fear in my eyes and give a slight shake of my head.  He immediately "got it" and adjusted his flick of the
aspergillum (yes, I looked it up) so that Sawyer did not get wet at all.  I realize this is not the intended result of the ceremony, but believe me when I say, it was best for everyone involved.

Our current Priest has only been her a few months and while he knows that Sawyer has Autism, I'm not sure he knows Sawyer well enough to be able to anticipate his reactions.  So when he was the only one sprinkling the water I foolishly assumed that he certainly wouldn't take the time to go ALL THE WAY around the church.  (We only have an hour)  I was mistaken.  As he turned the back corner and started our way, I knew that bulging my eyes out would not convey to him the message, "Please, I beg of you, don't get Sawyer wet, it could take the rest of mass to recover from that.  Plus, he's got a brand new book and if you get that wet he is liable to throw it at you, or me, and never touch it again and I know his therapist just spent a significant amount of money on it."  Unfortunately, the universal sign of STOP, a swift swipe of my hand across my throat did not seem appropriate for the environment.

The water flew in slow motion.  I swear I could see the droplets in the air as the headed for and landed on Sawyer, his head, his neck, his brand new book open to a crisp white page which now smudged the circle he just made.  My heart stopped.  I braced myself for the scream...which didn't come.  (Thank you God, You are so good to me.)

But the Priest had not moved on, he was smiling at the back of Sawyer's head, he could not see the look I was getting with eyes full of Satan himself.  I saw his hand go back into the aspersorium (I looked that one up too) and he showered us a second time!  A SECOND TIME!  Father had a big smile on his face obviously oblivious to the possible outcomes of such a scenario.  This apparently struck the people behind us, who were visiting, as funny too.  "Well, he's reading a book.  Father is just trying to make him pay attention."

Deep breath.  And again.  Sawyer was annoyed.  A bit angry even. (Completely understandable in my opinion) But thankfully, not furious. We had dodged a pretty large bullet...actually, many many tiny ones, but we were good.  Everyone survived, Sawyer's book was still usable in his eyes, and all was relatively well with the world.

I spent the next 10 minutes of mass trying to deal with my conflicting feelings of how do you celebrate Mass and be a good person when you are angry with the Priest saying Mass?  I could get over the initial sprinkling, but I felt that the second round was mearly for his amusement which is really not fair. 

The discussion I was having with God in my head was so intense at one point that it took me a moment to realize that while Tali and the choir were singing the responsorial psalm, the sound system went haywire and there was a horrible screeching noise coming through the speakers.  Mother of the year did not even think immediately of Sawyer's ears.  I was thinking more about how loud it was for Tali on the alter and how quickly it was giving me a headache.  As the Priest bend down and unplugged something that stopped the unbelievable noise, I suddenly thought of Sawyer.  He had his head down, was covering his ears, and his face was contorted to a level of pain rarely seen on someone who isn't bleeding profusely.

Thankfully, his therapist snatched him up and got him out of there.  I listened for the screams, but heard none.  Apparently, the whole chain of events was such that he could muster was whimpering and shaking.  He spent the rest of the Mass in the narthex (That one I knew on my own!). 

I have to trust that God knows that I do my best to get him there, and to keep him there.  And some days are just better than others.

End note:  It was later in the Mass that I had looked into the narthex and saw that Sawyer was calmed down for the most part.  I walked back to the pew to see B Cha lifting the large book off the alter for the Priest to read from.  As he stood, holding the book in front of him, the Priest looked a bit confused.  It was then that the Deacon walked over and turned the book rightside up. 

And there was God's answer:  We all make mistakes! 

Throw Back Thursday

So, here's the conversation:

Me:  Sawyer, did you throw your milk at the lunch lady today? (It had been written in his journal)

Sawyer: NOOOOO!!!!! (Very emphatically)

Me:  Hmmmmmm.

Sawyer:  I DIDN'T!

Me: Okay, did your milk happen to slip out of your hand today?

S: Yes (begrudgingly)

Me:  did it slip in the direction of the lunch lady?

S: Yes (begrudgingly)

M: (quick silent prayer) Was it open? (Please say no, please say no, please say no...)

S: Noooooooooo (he may as well have added "duh!")

M: (Oh thank you God!).  Can you tell me why the milk slipped out of your hand in her direction?

S:  I am SO tired of strawberry yogurt!

M: (of course, that makes perfect sense....NOT) Sawyer, I don't understand.

S: I wanted vanilla!

M: Sawyer, you can't throw your milk at the lunch lady because she is out of vanilla! What happened next?

S:  I don't remember.

M:  Well, you either went to Miss Bs room, the principals office or ate in the cafeteria.

S: Just stop asking me questions now.

M: I'll stop if you don't throw milk at the lunch lady again

S:  mmmmmmmmmm

M: Okay Mom.

S:  MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

M: Okay Mom.

S: OKAY MOM!!!!! (so completely not meaning it)

Miscellanious thoughts about The Gym

~ There is no shame in wearing a winter coat to the gym.  In full disclosure there has been shame, big shame, until today at which time I walked out of the house and my exposed calves felt as if I had stepped into a bucket of acid.  They weren't cold, they were flash frozen in .4 seconds.  I was afraid that if I tripped they would crack then shatter like Tom when Jerry freezes him in an ice block.

~ If it is 8:55 and there is a class starting at 9, it would behoove those working at the front desk to act like they care.  Okay, maybe that's asking too much, perhaps standing up and reaching for my ID card instead of holding your hand out with your elbow at the back of the room.  Just meet me half way...even a quarter of the way.  (Actually, it's not that bad, I'm just in a pissy mood)  However, a bit of preparation to smooth out a traffic jam of people buying tickets to class and/or just checking in, topped with a shot of Red Bull might help move things along.

~ There are days where it takes all I have not to rearrange the weight rack into the proper order.  Small weights on the top, big weights on the bottom.  I prefer that the solid weights are separated from those that look like a steering wheel.  Also, my mood is considerably brightened when there is an even number or weights on each rod.  Just sayin'.

~ Do we really need a class on how to stack steps?  Rightside up, upside down, repeat!  C'mon people, not that difficult.

~ Feel free to step on my yoga mat and I will feel free to drop a 10lb weight on your stomach.  It's not that big, and we are not at the Jersey Shore.  There is room to walk around.

~ I enjoy angry music when I'm working out.  Very angry music.  Eminem's rap in that song w/ Rhianna about the burning bed for example.  Ice T - New Jack Hustler "You don't like my lifestyle F*#$ You!"  type anger.  Feel free to message me suggestions.

~ Please wear clothes.  It is absolutely possible for people to realize you are in wonderful shape even when there is fabric covering your body.  This applies to both men and women.  IF you are that amazing (which you probably aren't), I can admire you without watching the sweat run down your back.  Wear something to soak some of that $hit up.  Seriously.

~ If you are too tired or lazy to flush the toilet at the gym.  Go home.  We don't like you.

~ In light of the above, there is definitely something weird about the toilets in Gruber.  If you drop the toilet paper too far forward in the bowl, it will not get swept down with the flush.  You're a big girl, figure it out.  Do not leave the stall until you have.

~ Literary genius Adam Carolla once wrote something to the effect of: "There wasn't piss on the toilet handle until you stepped on it with your damn Reebok."  Perhaps so Adam, but I'm still using my foot!

~ Be kind and friendly to the janitors.  They deal with the nastiest of stuff long after you've gone home, showered and settled into bonbons and soaps.

~ There will be hair on the floor, it's a given.  What is not a given is that you should brush out your ponytail, grab all the loose hairs and drop them onto the floor.  Also, clean your brush out at home, no one wants to look at your hairball hanging on the side of the garbage can.

~ To the wonderful ladies who weigh 106 lbs.  Good for you!  While we all share in your pride and joy, it would be helpful to return the scale to 0 after you weigh yourself.  The scale will stay more regulated and will appear to be much more welcoming if everyone gets to start fresh.

~  If someone is hanging back to weigh themselves it is not because they want to see what you weigh. On the contrary, they are not nosey, but private.  Perhaps they have suffered from eating disorders and have a lengthy and bizarre ritual they must do when on the scale.  Like putting it to 150, then moving the small weight to 50, then moving the large weight back to 100 to ensure they are not over 150lbs.  Then they may s-l-o-w-l-y move the small weight down.  First by 10s, then 5s, then by 1/2 lb increments until they get close and then it's by 1/8ths.  Trust me, they know they are a freak.  Just be happy that you didn't share the locker room with them when they went from 150 down by 1/2 lb nudges.  Nah, I'm kidding, they are just nosey and can't wait to tell everyone what you weigh.

~ Once you have gone to the gym, you are absolved from doing anything else the rest of the day.  Your work here is done.  Accomplishments after the gym are just icing on the cake.

Move over Mom whose son wanted to be Daphne for Halloween…I’ve got a serious problem!

A few years ago there was a huge controversy about a little boy who wanted to wear a Daphne costume for Halloween.  Daphne, as in Scooby-Doo, Daphne. 

It was an interesting concept. While I thought the Mom handled it well and I felt she was right in letting him wear it, a friend of a friend was so insulted by the notion I had to just cut her off.  Honestly, I don't think I talked to her again after that FB explosion.  (For the record, I have not been involved in a full blown posting war since Obama announced he single handedly killed Osama Bin Laden while blindfolded and having one hand behind his back....at least not one that I remember....)

I could see both sides. I hate to throw my kids to the wolves if it’s not necessary.  I love my kids and would never want to put them in a situation where I know they could be abused.  For example, several years ago Tali was at a birthday party and made matching Tshirts with her best friend.  They decided to wear them the following Monday.  I don't even recall noticing the shirt, but it turned out that it had a rainbow and a triangle, maybe the triangle was up-side-down, I really don't know.  I got a call from the counselor shortly after 8am that Tali was in her office crying and could I please bring her another shirt.  Apparently, members of her class felt the need to tell her that she was wearing a "Gay Pride" shirt and since it had "Tali" and the name of her friend on it...you get the idea.

Charlie and I discussed it later.  Even when we looked at the shirt, at her age, it certainly didn't seem to represent any position on homosexuality to us.  Maybe, maybe, if I had really examined it before she walked out the door I might have said something.   But what would I say, "People may tease you?"  Just the indication of a problem would've led her to not wear it, and really?,  she shouldn't have worn a shirt she made with no agenda besides having a BFF? I don't even think Tali really knew what "gay" was when she was that age.  And not that it matters either way.  I have friends who are gay.

The point being, with a typical child, I think if I deemed the importance of the lesson they may learn would be more than the pain of the wolves, I hope I would just say a prayer and give them lots of love on the other side.  I'm trying to think of an example....aaannnndddd I got nothin!  I'm certain that there have been instances of the above somewhere, sometime.  I'll have to get back to you on that.

Sawyer is not a typical child.  He has Autism.  To be clear, I did NOT say he was not a normal child, just not typical…as in not neuro-typical.  And this is where our story starts:

The other night after a long day of playing soldier he wanted to see what the Revolutionary War soldiers wore.  His odd, but reasonable requests are an often frustration for me.  I’ll be in the middle of doing something, like pricing 3852 things for the yard sale and he wants me to drop everything to see what some Brit wore during the Revolution.  And in autism fashion, he will NOT LET UP until I stop what I’m doing to find his answer.  When typing it in, I understandably came across some Halloween websites.  You may think my reaction was one of relief that it was so easy, and joy that he found what he wanted in a short amount of time.  Ha ha ha, you fool!

Although he is 7 years old, I am still learning how his brain works.  I should’ve anticipated spending the next forty-five minutes looking at “uniform costumes” with him. I had planned on twenty.  When he saw the “Red Coat” outfit, he was smitten. 

“That’s what I want Mom.  I want to be a British Soldier for Halloween.”

“Okay Sauce, we can ord-“

“WAIT!  Is that one from the Civil War?”

“Yes, it’s a Union Soldier.”

“I want to do the Civil War.”

“Okay, let’s look at some.”

We started scrolling through 742 links to costume websites when a friend happened to call and ask what I was doing.  She suggested he be a Canadian Mountie considering his obsession with all things Canada.  What an awesome idea!  That would be THE perfect costume for him.  If you know anything about Sawyer, you know that he will someday defect north, renounce his US citizenship and officially become Canadian. 

Okay, Canadian Mountie, it is.  Then again, maybe not.  Surprisingly, I could not find a Mountie costume for a child.  How strange is that?  Little Canadian children don't want to grow up and wear big brimmed hats and funny pants?  What the heck is wrong with you punks, eh?  Those pants could hold a lot of stuff in the thighs...a LOT.  Off the top of my head, I have no doubt you could fit a two liter bottle of soda in each side or one of those tiny helium balloon tanks.  It'd be a party in your pants!  Okay, okay.  I meant that in the most innocent way, this here's a family show.  I stand corrected. Fair enough, PG13.

Upon the realization that Great White North could not provide a Halloween Costume for my son, I attempted to put it off.  I sent a small prayer to heaven before asking Sawyer if we could look again tomorrow.  NOW who's the fool?

This was not going to go away and it was gonna be dealt with here and now.   Back to the Civil War costumes.

"What is Maryland?"

"Hmmm?"

"What is Maryland?  In the Civil war was it North or South?"

"Well, lemme think. This is why your father should never leave this house.  At the very least he should have a phone-a-friend line that I could call any hour of the day.  Um, Maryland, Maryland, the Mason-Dixon line, hmmmm, South, yes, definitely South."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!  Look at your Momma answering a history question.  Oh yeah!"

He was not impressed.

"Are they the grey ones?"

"Yes"

"That is what I want."

"Whaaa?"

"I will be a Grey.   What are they called?"

"The guys in the grey uniforms were the Confederate Soldiers."

"They were the bad guys right?"

"Well, yes, they believed in slavery and the North knew it was wrong.  But they were all Americans and so they weren't really all bad.  Once the North won the war, everybody was friends again."

I field a lot of 'who are the bad guys' and 'can they get to us' with Sawyer.  I was tip-toeing on shaky ground and was understandably worried about a face plant!

INSERT DADDY HERE WITH RESPONSES TO THE NEXT HUNDRED QUESTIONS THAT I WILL NOT KNOW THE ANSWER TO.  Why does he have to be on the other side of the world right now?

I'm trying to think fast,  "Wouldn't you like to be a 'good guy' soldier?"

"I was born in Maryland."

"Well, that's okay, you could pick the North."

"I was born in Maryland."

"I bet some people in Maryland fought for the North."

"I was born in Maryland."  His exasperation with my apathy about the "rules" of who was on who's side of the war growing by the second. "If I was born in Maryland and it was the wartime and I went to war, I would go and be on the bad guys side because I was born in Maryland and that is what the people born in Maryland did Mom."

I lost the battle ten minutes ago, why am I prolonging my surrender?

"Fine.  I'll order the costume now."  And I did.

Thanks to Amazon Prime, it only took three days of Sawyer checking the front porch for packages every hour on the hour for it to arrive.  Making Sawyer happy is not an easy thing to do, so to see the joy of his face when I showed him the package after school one day made any heat I may get completely worth it.

The uniform consisted of grey pants w/ a thin gold stripe down the leg and an over-the-head jacket that looks military-ish.  I noticed that although the cardboard picture in the bag had a huge confederate flag on it, there was no confederate flag on the uniform.

BINGO!  Huge sigh of relief!  I mean, I understand why Sawyer feels he needs to wear the Confederate Uniform and I know that very few people would think any less of the little kid wearing a confederate uniform, but they certainly might think less of the MOTHER of the little kid wearing a confederate uniform. 

Trust me, we don't have any rebel flag window stickers on the back of our pickup truck.  Shoot, we don't even have a pick up truck....or a gun rack for that matter.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  I have friends with pick up trucks and gun racks.

Sawyer was happy with the outfit alone for a few days until we went to the Ft. Leavenworth Heritage Museum for a family night.  In the gift store were little Civil War hats for little Yankees and little Rebels alike.  He needed one.  I of course had no money and had to go back a week or two later.

Thanks to the US Gov't, the first time I went back the museum was closed because the gift shop was closed.  But that is another post altogether.

I was able to eventually purchase the hat...which has a large confederate flag on the front.  Only flashing lights and a siren would make it more conspicuous. Maybe I should've looked into "pimping" his hat.  I mean, if he's gonna wear a Confederate costume, he may as well flaunt it right?  Uh, yeah, I don't think so.

Is it horrible to let him wear this costume?  It is an ugly part of this country's history, but it is part of our history.  Where do I stop letting Sawyer be Sawyer in order to be politically correct?  How do I explain to him that some people may get the wrong idea and think we are a family who believes in racial inequality when he can't even grasp that concept?  Will that even cross the minds of the adults answering the door tonight?  Why can't I have normal stressful situations?  Why do mine have to border on the freakishly bizarre?

 

What I really would like to do is print out business cards that say the following:

"My name is Sawyer.  I am dressed in a Confederate Soldiers' outfit, because I like learning about the Civil War, not because I (or my Mother) am a racist.  I do not believe in slavery and although my Mother did not vote for Obama, it had nothing to do with the color of his skin.  She has black friends.  Really!  Also, the sword I am holding is made of styrofoam unlike the pencil I was wielding dagger-like while yelling at my teacher the other day.  I come in peace.  So does my Mother. (Who is a really nice person by the way)"

Wish you were here!

Dear Charlie~

I was going to write you a note and post it on FB, but by the time all the following events occurred, my monologue had run so long in my head, I knew I needed more room. 

What I wanted to tell you initially, was that I mailed the flasks that you asked me to mail.  (Actually, that is now a lie, but you'll understand as you continue to read this)  There were two on the desk, so I hope that is all you are counting on.

Thank you for warning me to check for liquids before mailing them.  I would certainly not want to mail anything that is "liquid, fragile, perishable, or hazardous." One flask was almost full of whiskey!  I started to feel drunk as soon as I opened it when the smell burst forth and up my nose.  Because money is tight and only going to get tighter (I'll explain below) I drank the whiskey instead of pouring it down the drain.  Thank you for that as well!

After rinsing out both containers I found a perfect box to mail them in.  It is a Schwann's "Lasagna Roll Ups" box.  That was the next thing I wanted to tell you.  When you see this box, please know ahead of time that it does NOT contain frozen food from the truck you are so fond of.  You may even see it as a tease, but I didn't mean for it to be, it was a dimension thing.  Rest assured, the Schwann's man misses you too and is very excited for your possible future employment with the company.

I had the flasks in the box and was trying to tape it up only to find the mailing tape was MIA.  I know I used it right before we left for FL to pack up your birthday gifts which arrived a week late.  (I've been meaning to tell you, I think the Kazak calendar may just be a week or two ahead of the rest of the world.  It could happen!) I went looking for the tape.

It is always on the shelf going to the basement and I couldn't imagine where else it would be; this house being the definition of organization and all.  I searched high and low for a good 20 minutes, even going to the third floor.  This required a conversation with Tali who is home sick from school.  I have diagnosed her upset stomach as a side effect of raging hormones and teenage angst.  "Why would I know where the tape is? I don't use tape."  Oh, right.  Of course you don't.  Sorry for disturbing you Ms. Blair!

This would be a good spot to stop and tell you that I have already been to a dentist appt w/ Lyra this morning who announced on the way, "I didn't do all my homework last night, so after the appt we need to go home so I can finish it."  To which I replied, "Certainly dear, I really had nothing planned in that 45 minutes between your appt and your brother and sister's appt." 

After I finished Lyra's homework, we drove back to Ike to pick up B. Charlie for his orthodontist consult.  On the way I got a text from Tali saying, "Come get me, I'm gonna throw up."  I resisted the urge to write back, "No, I'd rather have you in the car AFTER you puke." 

Lyra went to class, I dropped off two six packs of Ensure with the nurse.  Sawyer's consumption of liquid gold has only increased as his weight and food intake has decreased.  Mo money, mo money, mo money! 

Charlie got in the car and babbled about several things I'm sure.  I just couldn't tell you what they are because I wasn't listening.  I went to pick up Tali and told the secretary to check the nurses' office.  "I just got a text saying she felt sick."  There was no intention of throwing her under the bus, but the secretary squawked, "Please remind your daughter she is not allowed to text in class."  I resisted the urge to say, "Please remind your attitude not to be such a bitch!"  (I'm getting good at the resisting thing)

At the orthodontist, Tali was reprimanded for not wearing her rubber bands.  I wanted to whisper "Don't poke the monster," but I doubt they would've listened anyway.  The best part of the visit was when the Dr. told me that it is imperative to begin "Phase I" of B.Charlie's orthodontic plan as soon as possible.  Considering just implementing the plan consists of four separate appointments and the phase itself will take about one year, I was afraid to ask how many "Phases" there will be.  Suffice to say that "The Gerard Jaw" is quite the swimmer in our gene pool.  There will be a palate widener along with a facial mask and other equipment that will have B. Cha resembling the girl in "16 Candles" who couldn't get a drink from the fountain.  Mo money, mo money, mo money!

I think the least the Orthodontist could do is "gift us" the frequent flier miles he earns after we pay for his trip around the world.  Maybe I'll suggest that to him.

Meanwhile, back to the tape, I finally decided to give up and use duct tape on the box and scotch tape on the label.  For me, this is akin to biting strait into a full Kit-Kat bar without breaking one rectangle off and nibbling the chocolate from the sides.  I don't usually "do" non-mailing tape on a parcel, but I was trying to get to the Post Office before they took their 1-3:30 siesta!  What a crock!  What place of business in the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA closes from 1-3:30?  We ain't THAT close to Mexico! Errrr, don't get me started.

After making sure Tali was tucked in and not planning the demise of me or her siblings, I went back downstairs to find the tape on the dining room table.  Both rolls together, mocking me as they lay on their flat sides.  I loudly exclaimed, "Father Fred, I realize it's close to Halloween, but today is not mischief night or even mischief day and I'm in no mood for reindeer games or ghost games or whatever you call them!"

I looked at the kitchen clock, 12:55.  It's a few minutes fast so I had a decent chance of making it.  I probably should've walked considering the amount of whiskey I'd consumed but I was in a hurry.  Besides, the only kids out and about in the middle of a weekday are home schoolers. (Before anyone freaks out---I'M KIDDING....sort of) I was getting in the car when a maintenance man comes out of our street long carport/shelter/sad excuse for a community garage.  The whole awning like thing in the front is sagging and looking like it's gonna collapse at any moment.   The floor of our spot is covered in water.  (Did I mention it's been raining for 12 hours?) 

"Ma'am, do you get water in your garage all the time?"  I resisted the urge to say, "Well, considering there's NO DOOR, yes." (Really good!)  I told him the truth, I had no idea if we always get water along the side and back wall during a heavy rain.  That was the other thing I wanted to ask; Do we get water along the side and back wall during a heavy rain?  Maintenance wants to know.

There was a discussion of a neighbor moving their car out of the structure because the worker needed to rope it off with Caution Tape.  I resisted the urge to ask for a piece to put across Tali's doorway. (Really, REALLY good)  As I drove down the back alley they were constructing a barrier.  Can't wait for Sawyer to come home to find out his new scooter has been quarantined.  He's such happy-go-lucky guy, he'll certainly be understanding of the situation.

I pulled up to the Post office at 1:02 and could hear the snoring from the parking lot.  So the LAST thing I want to tell you is that I will mail your package after 3:30 this afternoon.

I love you and miss you~

Me