The first day of school is always one for a bit of angst. Kids are growing, sometimes changing interests and friends, maybe moving on to the local middle or high school. Parents are watching their kids grow up, getting closer to leaving home. Some parents have a problem with this part. Me? Not so much.
Regardless, the first day of school for military kids is tougher than most kids could imagine. I won't go into it all, because there are 1000 blogs out there that will tell you what it means to be a Military Brat. They can explain to you how hard it is to register your child in a new school district who has different history courses different years, how requirements are different for taking honors classes, how it's hard to get into student council if you missed last springs elections, not to mention the difficulty of being the new kid AGAIN!
I am just here to tell you how my kids did today. Sadly, I was a basket case yesterday and much of today. It's not that I don't have faith in my kids, it's just that they have fragile hearts. (Some more fragile than others) and I just want them to be happy and to like themselves for who they are. It's a lesson I'm still working on at 46. I sure hope they manage to learn faster than me.
From the bottom up, here's how it went:
Sawyer, who is repeating second grade due to his early August birthday and the challenges he has with autism, had a decent day. His teacher and a member of the special ed team (I think) came out to tell me what a great day he had. He took a few breaks. Lunch went well, PE was a challenge, but all in all, pretty good. He did not say it was "bad" which has been his go-to answer for the question "How was school today?" the last three years running, so I figure that is fantastic! Also, he has not yet refused to go back tomorrow. "WINNING!"
Charlie, who is repeating fourth grade due to his late September birthday and the challenges he has with maturity, had a fun day. He met a friend, they ran together at PE class and listened to the directions which were to not stop running. The boys who ran really fast and stopped after one lap were out because they didn't do it right. Therefore, when one of them stated that they should not have been called out of the game, Charlie jumped right into say how wrong they were. Nothing like pissing off the kids who can run faster than you on the first day of school! Perhaps I should add "muzzle" to next years' school supply list. Geez, kid. I can tell him til I'm blue in the face not to get into it with people when it's not important, but he will never learn. The best part of his new class is that there is a boy in his class who just moved to the US from....wait for it.....keeping in mind one of his best friends last year....you guessed it.....AUSTRALIA!!! AND his name is Charlie! And he is from the town of....drumroll please.....CARLTON! Too funny!
Charlie's best quotes of the day:
Talking about his new friend Charlie, "Hey, wouldn't it be funny if he had to write the sentence, 'Charlie is from Carlton' and he forgot to write the words 'is' and 'from' so he would just write my name. I mean, that would just be so crazy!"
"I think the other Charlie's last name is Stuart. Hmmm, Stew....ahhrt (sounding it out ridiculously). Yep, sounds Australian! Must be it."
Also, this morning, he told me what 27 items he packed for lunch and then said, "Oh, and a mint! This is a good idea because it is sort of like a desert, but will make my breath smell minty after lunch!" Sigh.
Lyra had a day that would have been totally awesome if "totally awesome" was a phrase used by cool, unphased kids, who work hard to act like they don't care. She smiled her trademark 'I will not show my teeth in a smile until I get into and out of braces' smirk. "It was good!" She said. She talked about her science teacher (funny), art teacher (strict), lunch (stuck at a table with a bunch of boys, but with her cousin thank goodness). She talked more, but it have to admit that during that time I was trying to calculate exactly how long I could wait to see if the other girls got home before I had to leave to pick up the boys. But it was good. She came home happy and talked to me at length which is always a good sign for her. Sadly, I missed a lot of it, but I got the high points...there is a beach party next week and a lot of girls wore spaghetti straps today probably because they aren't really enforcing the dress code yet, so she will be wearing a sleeveless shirt tomorrow. (NOTE TO SELF: Throw an extra shirt in the car so when I get a call from school that Lyra is not dressed properly, I can drop that off after dropping off the boys and save an extra trip across town!)
Josie, sweet Josie. I don't know which of us was more worried about her day. I was able to wait until I saw the bus up the street before I went to pick up the boys. I drove up the connecting street and stopped. I rolled down the window and Josie was like a moth to a flame. When asked how it was, she smiled her 'I don't want to admit that it was good, because maybe I'm remembering it wrong' smile and said, "Okay, I guess." I said, "Was it absolutely horrible?" "No." "Did you cry?" (Her goal for the day was to not cry) "No!" "Well, look at you girlfriend! You did it!" Then I got the 'I really want to believe you, but I can't quite get there, but I want to be happy' look. I asked if she wanted to ride with me to get the boys and she declined saying she needed to work on her cheers before practice. (Little did we know they had changed the time for practice and she was in the midst of missing the first hour). Talking with her later was a mix of "things went okay" and "they are expecting too much" and "I'll never be able to keep up" and "I had someone to sit with at lunch" (I said a silent prayer of thanks) and finally, "I just don't like high school, I'm not ready."
Meanwhile after stopping them on the street and asking if Josie wanted to ride with me, Tigger, I mean Tali bounced across the road and said, "I'll come!" I wasn't sure what to expect. The next 15 minutes were incredibly funny and exhausting and heart melting all at once. She opened her mouth and this is what came out: "Oh my gosh, it was SO fun, I mean I can't wait to go back, really, I'd go back right now, but that would be silly, but really it was that fun so I can't wait til tomorrow, but I know in a few months I won't feel this way, but really, all days of school should be the first day of school, so here's what happened first, we have assigned seats on the bus and they didn't have our names on the list and Josie was worried but I didn't care and Gabbys not on our bus but I sat with so and so and we went to homeroom and the teacher was all "don't bother me and he put his head on the desk, he may have gone to sleep..."
"Like Mr, Schneebly?" I asked.
"Oh my gosh that's so funny! EXACTLY like that and then I had to go to history and so I walked with Josie part way and I think that's when we saw Sarah and I have history with so and so and so and so and it's gonna be a great class and the teacher is cool and said we can bring coffee and breakfast to class and I totally wish there was a Starbucks near school..."
"Because you are in such desperate need of caffeine? I know, I'm worried that you may have low blood pressure."
"No LISTEN, I totally knew where I was and everyone liked my outfit and safety ed is a joke, I mean, I think I'm the only half motivated person in there and I'm gonna be really smart in Spanish but that may be just cuz I knew what she was saying because it was written on a poster in the back of the room and there is a special needs boy that sits next to me so I hope the other kids don't think they'll mess with him because I will totally be his protector, I didn't even have to ask anyone how to get anywhere and then I had to go back to the other building and I was in all my classes on time and was never late and I didn't even have to run and lunch is SO short, I mean how do they expect me to eat anything in like two minutes..."
"Um, was the lunch period 2 minutes or is that how long you were somehow able to stop talking in order to attempt to consume some nutrition?"
"Mooooommmmm, so then in chemistry, there was this boy....."
Apparently, Tali has already aced the "like yourself" lesson....eh, good for her! Maybe I taught one of them right!
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Sunday, August 17, 2014
My Two Cents
I don't know that I will always remember where I was physically when I heard that Robin Williams had died, but I will never forget where I was emotionally.
I know tons of people have written articles and blogged about depression, suicide, and Mr. Williams the last few days. I am not trying to jump on the bandwagon. My writing is cathartic for me and if you happen to enjoy it, then I am happy to let you read it. One thing I do not do is extensive research or fact checking. I write from the heart, about what I know and what it means to me. Your opinions may differ, my thoughts and feelings may not be the popular ones. My experience may not be the typical one, but this is what I am dealing with.
I have been in a very dark place for the last few weeks due to circumstances I do not wish to share. I didn't fall into an immediate depression. The demons lurked around the corner until I found myself having at least one drink a night. I got buzzed several times and completely drunk twice in a short period of time. For those of you who know me, this was very typical in college and for a few years after, but I had probably drank more in the last three weeks than I had in the last year combined.
After a very ugly Friday night, which turned into a very painful Saturday morning, I decided I had to step back. It was then I realized they had me surrounded. Those nasty, slimy, hateful demons that feed off of my lack of confidence, that gain strength from my self loathing and who revel in my humiliation. They were living the high life at my expense, at the expense of my kids.
They are always there in the shadows, but it had been quite a while since I could feel them sucking the breath out of me. Since I had my kids, I can honestly say that those horrid creatures have not been able to push me into suicidal ideation. I would be lying if I said it hasn't crossed my mind in the last 15 years, but never for more than a moment or two. I have struggled with the desire to hurt myself on a few rare occasions, but somehow have managed to not give in. (Again, this is in the last 15 years)
So as I tried to muddle my way through Saturday, my youngest sons 8th birthday, I hated myself for letting the monsters get so close. How could I not keep those mother f-ers away when I had 5 kids who needed me? Screw that noise, I could do this damn it! So Sunday I woke up and decided that it was the first day of the rest of my life. I was going to take care of me and get a handle on things.
And Monday night, when I was feeling a bit upbeat about getting everyone everywhere they needed to go on a busy day....I opened FaceBook and saw that he had died. Although they alluded to it, it was not positively suicide, but somehow I knew. My heart shattered and my brain spun. I wanted to stand up and announce to the other Little League parents (who were complete strangers as we just moved here and it was the first practice ), "Robin Williams is dead!" I wanted to share my shock, my sadness and most importantly, my overwhelming fear.
I mean, if he could not escape the demons, who the heck was I to think I could? "First day of the rest of my life," oh my God, who was I kidding? I could hear them snickering in my ears, felt them breathing down my neck. I was deflated. Then a few things happened that gave me something to think about. Watching tv, being on the phone, reading FB posts, I realized that there were so many people out there who didn't get it. Were they mean spirited? Clueless? Ignorant? I wasn't sure. Some of these people were friends, people I respected on TV, even a relative said, "Wow, a guy like that. I mean he had so much, how could he not find a way out?" That hurt my feelings but I know it wasn't said maliciously.
Something clicked and I realized that there are so many people who are not stalked by these snakes, which is a good thing. They do, in fact, see the act of suicide as selfish, cowardly and weak. I was sad. Grateful in a way, that they did not understand, yet, helpless in the feeling of how can I explain it to them? Through a friends' long FB thread I read posts from people (some friends of mine) who had contemplated or attempted suicide. I realized a person who doesn't understand could certainly see the act as selfish if they are left behind. But as someone eloquently posted, "a person who succumbs has fell victim to the monsters and their evil whispers. In their pain, they have a skewed view of what's happening now and what would happen if they died. They truly believe the world would be a better place if they left it. They feel they would be doing everyone a favor by not taking up time and energy from their loved ones. They feel that they are a burden. In that respect, killing themselves becomes a self less act." I completely agree.
As I contributed to this FB thread and tried to describe to my friend what goes though the mind of someone who wants to die (again, I am going on my own experience, I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV), I felt that I had something worthy to contribute. That I could help this person and whoever else was following the discussion understand something that was completely foreign to them. They simply could not get past the action into the mind of the person driven to take their own life. Was I proud that I had personal experience in this matter? Um, no, but I was willing to share what I knew in the hope that I could help at least one person understand that Mr. Williams was not acting out of selfishness, that he was not weak. On the contrary, he was probably stronger than many of us.
I once heard someone say, "Everyone feels sorry for the person with depression. What about the people who have to live with them?" If their loved one ever had a doubt that taking ones' life would unburden those they loved, it could've been negated right there. I am so thankful that scenario did not end in tragedy.
I cringed as I heard Shep Smith use the word "coward." I knew that would get him in trouble, but I don't think his intent was malicious. It was a stupid irresponsible thing to say. As a news anchor you would think he'd have more of a clue. At the same time, have I ever misspoke about something I didn't understand? I would put money on it. I will admit I find it much easier to forgive someone who makes an ignorant statement if I respect them. Human nature I guess.
The same person who sought pity for loving someone with depression, also came down on their partner telling them, "You mope around here all day as if the world is coming to an end, yet someone stops by or calls and you are suddenly the picture of happiness." What I tried to explain to that person was that their spouse was exhausted from fighting the good fight. If they were going to be able to let down their guard anywhere, it should be in their own house with the people they love and trust most. People at the door or on the phone represent the "outside" and when they have the strength, people who are depressed will "put on the happy face" because that is what they are supposed to do. It's what society wants them to do. Think about this; how many times a day do you say some version of "Hi, how're you?" Let's be honest, if the answer is anything but "Good," "Fine," or "Great," the person asking does an invisible eye roll and curses themselves for asking in the first place. They don't really want to know. I know I am guilty of that. I'm not sure if that person above ever really understood what their partner was going through and I'm not sure if their marriage survived.
So let's take that to a higher level. Robin Williams was a man of extraordinary talent. His abilities included being an amazing dramatic actor, but he was most recognized for his comedy routines and movie roles. I dated a comedian once, briefly (shut it MSM alumni!), and he told me that making a living as a comedian was difficult in that no one wanted you to be serious, everyone expected you to be funny all the time. If I feel compelled as a simple Army wife and mom of 5 kids to staple the smile on my face (which I am not always successful at doing, mind you) can you imagine the pressure felt by Mr. Williams to be not only happy, but funny?!? The thought is daunting to me. On my worst days I wouldn't be able to pretend for the Queen of England, but I would try, it's what I do. I don't claim to know exactly what Mr. Williams was feeling or how long he had dealt with depression, but I'm willing to wager, he put on a happy face more times than we could ever imagine. The realization of that breaks my heart.
In the FB thread the other night, someone posted this quote: "The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they do." - Anonymous (and I actually looked that up!)
Some people will never understand what goes through the mind of someone who commits suicide. And I'm sure it's never exactly the same thoughts. A quote in an article I read when I was 16 summed it up for me then, and has always been exactly how I've felt each time I didn't feel I had the strength to go on. "She didn't want to die. She just wanted to stop the pain of living." I would never wish such desperation on my worst enemy. My demons are staying close but I am fighting back. I have been reaching out to family and friends, I continue to take my meds and am looking for a new therapist since I have moved. I'm doing the best I can and that's really all I can do. (But of course, they tell me otherwise)
I guess my thoughts boil down to this: Mr. Williams gave us many gifts, the gift of laughter, the gift of amazement at the human mind, the gift of appreciating the talent of an actor who could make you not only want to know him, but want to know the characters he was able to bring to life for us. We were blessed to have him in our lives. Is it sad that he left us too soon? Of course, but I thank God he stayed with us as long as he did. He gave us the gift of himself. Knowing now how difficult it must have been at times, makes it all the more special. For that we should be grateful and humbled. I know I am.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Mother's Day 2014
Several years ago, when the oldest of the kids were much younger than the youngest ones are now, I decided to celebrate Mother's Day by preparing a list of suggestions for them. If only they could have read at that point, perhaps I'd be a bit less gray today. I wrote an updated list a few years ago and feel it's time once again to "gently guide" my lovely children into becoming better human beings and less of a PITA!
When I thought about starting this list last night, not much came to mind. What a difference a difficult day makes.....enjoy!
1. If you are interested in spending more quality time with me, try removing your socks by the toe. I have a feeling that when I get to the pearly gates and am chatting with St. Peter about things I could've done differently, he's gonna chuckle before sending me on my way and say, "The amount of time you wasted on turning socks right side out.....dude!"
2. When I ask you to call your siblings for dinner and you stand next to me and blow out my ear drum and I say "I could've done that!" The right response is pretty much anything but "Well, why didn't you?" Flashing a "I know that was a completely smart alack thing to say" smile will only get you so far. The fact that I do not have a desire to spend the rest of my life behind bars has saved you more than you know!
3. Yelling "Mom!" for 10 minutes while you walk in a three foot radius will not make me appear. At least explore another room while you are yelling to give the pretense that you are actually looking for me. I will typically come to a main section of the house or to the top or bottom of the stairs. Meet me 1/2 way for Pete's sake. And for your own. Few things make me want to go Linda Blair on you more than you screaming and me running to you, only to find out you want me to bring you something. That is true death-wish material there.
4. I don't mind if you ask me where something is. It becomes more obvious as all of you get older that you have never once tried to open anything square or rectangular with a handle unless there is the promise of food behind it. So ask me where it is and 99 times out of 100 I will tell you the right location. So, GO LOOK THERE! A small piece of advise, if you come back and tell me it is not there, you better be 173% sure it is not there. At the very least 173%. Should I have to stop what I'm doing, go to the exact place I told you to look and hand the object to you, just plan on me not talking to you for a few hours and consider yourself lucky you didn't just stand in front of said object and scream "Mom!"
5. There is so much to say about church. I may need to do another list based solely on mass. You frequently sit comatose in front of the TV or computer for so many hours that I start doing pulse checks just to make sure you are breathing, but sitting still at church for one hour a week is apparently way too much to ask. So for now, I will just say, we all know that the guy (a Mother would've seen the problem with this a mile away) who decided it was a good idea for families to hold hands during the Our Father most certainly did not have more children than hands. That said, mass is a place to recharge your be-a-good-person battery, not the place to be condemned to a life in Hell.
6. I enjoy a good vine or you tube clip on occasion, but just because your generation has nothing better to do than spend their lives watching other people live, doesn't mean mine doesn't either. I love that you want to share things with me, and many times they are enjoyable. Just look away from the iPad and ponder this: (All 5 of you are smart enough to do the third grade math here) 5 kids x 3 videos each x an average of 7 minutes per video = A LARGE CHUNK OF MY DAY. So while I love Stampylongfoot as much as the next guy, I am not such a Minecraft junkie that I want to watch him play a computer game for 20 minutes!
7. I am not as lazy as you think I am. Sometimes when you leave something out or lying around: i.e. the jelly, nail polish, candy wrappers, I am just watching to see who, if anyone, will put it away. Sadly, you all get a big FAIL on this. If you ever wonder why the milk in the back of the fridge is open when you have just finished the carton from the front of the fridge, it's because I refuse to drink out of the carton that one of you left on the table for two hours. I just take one from the back and let you goons drink the science experiments. I ain't no dummy!
8. If I ask you to stop singing, or playing the flute or the drums, it is not because I think you stink. Really, I think you are very talented. The problem is, that in this house, any vibration of my eardrums is communicated to my brain as noise. Just. Noise. I could have Pacabel himself here tickling the ivories and mark my words, I would still on occasion say, "Pox, honey, could ya plug in the piano headphones?" I don't take it personally when you ask me not to dance, you shouldn't take it personally when I ask you not to sing or play...or laugh or breathe loudly on some days.
9. Learn how to ask for a ride!!! Apparently, my kids were sick the day they taught this life skill. I've said it 427 times, I have NO PROBLEM driving you or picking you up whenever I can. Even when I can't, I can usually make something work. May I suggest just a tiny thought process? (We aren't even doing the higher math of #6 here) Just ask your brain to flip though the other people who are going where you are going. There should be an epi-pen type devise that Moms can fill with tequila and use when they are sitting outside of a school dance at 10 PM in line with three other Mom's who live in a two block radius of our house. You go to track practice everyday, it never occurred to you that there are seven kids on your bus route that are also in track? I don't care if you are not best friends, give just a little thought to your mother's time and energy. I get that you don't want to be the kid that is always hounding everyone for a ride, but here's the thing. Daddy is gone, I am trying to get 5 kids, to 5 different places all within a 15 minute time frame. I never ever have a problem giving one of your friends a ride. 99% of military parents and 89% of civilian parents would completely understand that I cannot be two places at once. Those that don't should probably not be operating large machinery anyway.
10. When I said all I wanted for Mother's Day was a hug and a kiss, I was serious! You can't screw that up too much and I like to keep my expectations low. Daddy is not home, so I really can't have the day off anyway. (Not that I do when he's home either- No Mom is ever completely off the clock) so don't get caught up in the hype. Just be kind to each other, help me pick up the disaster that is this house, do your chores without me telling you 91 times, and try to keep the expulsion of bodily gases to a minimum. If you can do that, we will all have a wonderful, semi-good smelling day!
When I thought about starting this list last night, not much came to mind. What a difference a difficult day makes.....enjoy!
1. If you are interested in spending more quality time with me, try removing your socks by the toe. I have a feeling that when I get to the pearly gates and am chatting with St. Peter about things I could've done differently, he's gonna chuckle before sending me on my way and say, "The amount of time you wasted on turning socks right side out.....dude!"
2. When I ask you to call your siblings for dinner and you stand next to me and blow out my ear drum and I say "I could've done that!" The right response is pretty much anything but "Well, why didn't you?" Flashing a "I know that was a completely smart alack thing to say" smile will only get you so far. The fact that I do not have a desire to spend the rest of my life behind bars has saved you more than you know!
3. Yelling "Mom!" for 10 minutes while you walk in a three foot radius will not make me appear. At least explore another room while you are yelling to give the pretense that you are actually looking for me. I will typically come to a main section of the house or to the top or bottom of the stairs. Meet me 1/2 way for Pete's sake. And for your own. Few things make me want to go Linda Blair on you more than you screaming and me running to you, only to find out you want me to bring you something. That is true death-wish material there.
4. I don't mind if you ask me where something is. It becomes more obvious as all of you get older that you have never once tried to open anything square or rectangular with a handle unless there is the promise of food behind it. So ask me where it is and 99 times out of 100 I will tell you the right location. So, GO LOOK THERE! A small piece of advise, if you come back and tell me it is not there, you better be 173% sure it is not there. At the very least 173%. Should I have to stop what I'm doing, go to the exact place I told you to look and hand the object to you, just plan on me not talking to you for a few hours and consider yourself lucky you didn't just stand in front of said object and scream "Mom!"
5. There is so much to say about church. I may need to do another list based solely on mass. You frequently sit comatose in front of the TV or computer for so many hours that I start doing pulse checks just to make sure you are breathing, but sitting still at church for one hour a week is apparently way too much to ask. So for now, I will just say, we all know that the guy (a Mother would've seen the problem with this a mile away) who decided it was a good idea for families to hold hands during the Our Father most certainly did not have more children than hands. That said, mass is a place to recharge your be-a-good-person battery, not the place to be condemned to a life in Hell.
6. I enjoy a good vine or you tube clip on occasion, but just because your generation has nothing better to do than spend their lives watching other people live, doesn't mean mine doesn't either. I love that you want to share things with me, and many times they are enjoyable. Just look away from the iPad and ponder this: (All 5 of you are smart enough to do the third grade math here) 5 kids x 3 videos each x an average of 7 minutes per video = A LARGE CHUNK OF MY DAY. So while I love Stampylongfoot as much as the next guy, I am not such a Minecraft junkie that I want to watch him play a computer game for 20 minutes!
7. I am not as lazy as you think I am. Sometimes when you leave something out or lying around: i.e. the jelly, nail polish, candy wrappers, I am just watching to see who, if anyone, will put it away. Sadly, you all get a big FAIL on this. If you ever wonder why the milk in the back of the fridge is open when you have just finished the carton from the front of the fridge, it's because I refuse to drink out of the carton that one of you left on the table for two hours. I just take one from the back and let you goons drink the science experiments. I ain't no dummy!
8. If I ask you to stop singing, or playing the flute or the drums, it is not because I think you stink. Really, I think you are very talented. The problem is, that in this house, any vibration of my eardrums is communicated to my brain as noise. Just. Noise. I could have Pacabel himself here tickling the ivories and mark my words, I would still on occasion say, "Pox, honey, could ya plug in the piano headphones?" I don't take it personally when you ask me not to dance, you shouldn't take it personally when I ask you not to sing or play...or laugh or breathe loudly on some days.
9. Learn how to ask for a ride!!! Apparently, my kids were sick the day they taught this life skill. I've said it 427 times, I have NO PROBLEM driving you or picking you up whenever I can. Even when I can't, I can usually make something work. May I suggest just a tiny thought process? (We aren't even doing the higher math of #6 here) Just ask your brain to flip though the other people who are going where you are going. There should be an epi-pen type devise that Moms can fill with tequila and use when they are sitting outside of a school dance at 10 PM in line with three other Mom's who live in a two block radius of our house. You go to track practice everyday, it never occurred to you that there are seven kids on your bus route that are also in track? I don't care if you are not best friends, give just a little thought to your mother's time and energy. I get that you don't want to be the kid that is always hounding everyone for a ride, but here's the thing. Daddy is gone, I am trying to get 5 kids, to 5 different places all within a 15 minute time frame. I never ever have a problem giving one of your friends a ride. 99% of military parents and 89% of civilian parents would completely understand that I cannot be two places at once. Those that don't should probably not be operating large machinery anyway.
10. When I said all I wanted for Mother's Day was a hug and a kiss, I was serious! You can't screw that up too much and I like to keep my expectations low. Daddy is not home, so I really can't have the day off anyway. (Not that I do when he's home either- No Mom is ever completely off the clock) so don't get caught up in the hype. Just be kind to each other, help me pick up the disaster that is this house, do your chores without me telling you 91 times, and try to keep the expulsion of bodily gases to a minimum. If you can do that, we will all have a wonderful, semi-good smelling day!
Thursday, May 8, 2014
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)
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)
Thursday, March 27, 2014
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.
S: Snort/Growl noise emits from his direction.
C: Hahahahaha
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.
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++
++Dedicated to my sweet niece who is due with twin boys in August. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha++
Monday, March 24, 2014
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!
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!
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
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)
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)
Friday, January 17, 2014
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.
~ 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.
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