"Children with ADHD also tend to be less skilled in the use of complex problem-solving strategies and the organizational skills needed for solving intellectual or social problems." (Taking Charge of ADHD, Russell A. Barkley, PhD).
My good friend and neighbor, who often ends up being the go-to mom in the neighborhood for the kids, wrangles all of the various trolls and ferries them home from the bus stop each day, (a God send to every last one of us) had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of a complaint about Liam. Because I am never at the bus stop in the afternoon - I have to work until 6 PM - the bus driver spoke to my neighbor about Liam "using inappropriate language" and asked my neighbor to speak to me about it.
The offensive language? Liam was telling another little boy about how he used to call [the vehicle] Hummer a "humper. "
I'll wait a minute while you pick yourself up off of the floor due to the shock that I would possibly allow my 11-year-old son to use such inappropriate, profane language.
For the record, Liam has no idea that a hummer is a euphemism for a blow job. I'm not entirely sure what a "humper" is, except that it has the word "hump" in it, and that's possibly why it was so inappropriate.
What bothers me is the complete overreaction of the bus driver. If she had paused for just a second and thought to ask if Liam even knew what the words meant, she would've discovered that he was telling a story about word slip-ups, much the same way that I tell stories about how cute I thought it was that both of my sons called bananas "blannas" and how, to this day, I still call them that. Instead, she freaked-the-fuck-out and made my kid feel like he was being persecuted FOR TELLING A CUTE STORY.
...Way to kill a kid's spirit, helicopter parenting!
So my friend, good soul that she is, calls me at work to tell me about the situation. I started to chuckle about it and explain what Liam was actually talking about. She would hear none of it. THAT just about floored me. She kept saying things like, "well, if he doesn't know what the word means, he shouldn't use it. He needs to set an example for the younger kids."
/insert "da fuck?!" look here
She then goes on to tell me that Liam wanted to walk home and she made him get in the car so she could talk to him. When she pulled into my driveway, Liam hopped right out of the car and tried to go into the house. She tried to stop him and he threw his backpack and hat at the wall.
... The tantrum was a little over the top but, not for nothing, the kid was giving off all of the "I'm losing my cool" and "leave me alone so I can process" cues and she completely ignored all of them. I might've thrown my backpack, too.
After regaling me with that part of the story, she proceeds to tell me that Liam needs to "learn better coping skills" because, if he doesn't, "he's going to be in a lot of trouble later." I tried to explain that the ADHD brain doesn't really facilitate learning things like, "how to cope" quickly or easily. She cut me off and said, "I know about learning disabilities! People can overcome them all the time." Yup. They can. ADHD isn't a learning disability.
And that's part of the frustration of finding out your kid has this disorder. Firstly, it's almost always diagnosed after the child experiences profound delays in achievement at school. Usually, the testing is initiated by the school district and is followed up, after formal diagnosis - which can be made by the school psychologist - with a 504 educational plan.
...But it's not a learning disability. It's a behavior disorder that impacts a child's ability to learn.
Those are different beasts, my friends; they're not synonyms.
ADHD is also not a behavior disorder in the same way that anxiety or depressive disorders are. Anxiety and depression are the result of fluctuations and imbalances of brain chemistry - specifically norepinephrine, serotonin and dopamine. You can take pills to adjust those things. ADHD is a disorder of the brain structure:
"In general, the studies in [abnormal brain development in children with ADHD] have found that the prefrontal region, especially on the right side, several structures in the basal ganglia...the midline anterior cingulate cortex...and the central area in the cerebellum, again, more on the right side, were significantly smaller and/or less active in children with ADHD than in normal children. These five brain regions are usually involved during tasks requiring inhibition, holding information in mind to guide behavior, and other executive functions. All of these results have led scientists to the conclusion that ADHD arises from delayed or impaired maturation of these regions...than is typical of normal or non-ADHD individuals." (Taking Charge of ADHD)
Fortunately, ADHD changes with development, but typically presents with one or more other behavior issues. In Liam's case, the comorbidity is ADHD and ODD (oppositional defiant disorder). The ODD, which is really, really mild, is manageable and can be dealt with. However, with difficulties that present with ADHD - impulse control issues, decreased executive functioning - make learning coping skills (as we "normal" folks would talk about them) downright fucking impossible.
But here again is the problem of explaining ADHD to a world that thinks it's all shiny squirrels and college kids hooked on Ritalin: the world thinks you can just "willpower" this shit away. The kid seems like he can act normal most of the time. He behaves himself here or there. He's good with other kids. Sure... all of those things are very, very true. But those are also less emotionally charged situations.
In most cases, they're novel situations - a break from the routine that is the bane of an ADHDer's existence - and the ADHDer can certainly navigate those waters. But present an ADHDer - whose frontal lobes are smaller or less active - with a difficult emotional situation, such as being wrongfully accused of being inappropriate, and he can't physically process the flood of feeling hitting his brain because his brain is short on space. "Dealing with it" is not part of an ADHDer's emotional vocabulary.
But the kid doesn't look brain damaged. Well, he's not. His brain is just developing more slowly than a "normal" kid's brain. However, in order to get across the gravity of what we're dealing with here, the only way I know how to express it is to say, "Liam's brain doesn't work correctly." The wiring is there; it's just hooked up oddly.
Truthfully, Liam's brain actually does work correctly. It just operates on a plane that isn't considered "normal" in certain situations. Because of that, Liam will be expected to modify his behavior - rewire his brain, so to speak - to accommodate a world that thinks there's nothing wrong with him... simply because he doesn't have a big neon "I have a disability" sign flashing on his forehead.
The thing that most "normals" don't get about ADHD, either, is that it's not black and white. ADHD is all shades of grey. I can teach Liam how to cope tomorrow. The day after that is a different story. The best analogy I can think of is to say, "I have an old computer. Today, I'm only processing word documents one at a time and my computer can totally handle it. Tomorrow, I'm going to visit a web site with a lot of Flash, while I listen to music and write four papers simultaneously. My computer is going to move super slow and probably crash."
The really messed up thing with that analogy is that we'd get frustrated with the computer, but understand that it didn't have enough RAM to process everything. We'd adjust our behavior to accommodate the computer's limitations. Yet we don't hesitate to make the ADHD kid adjust his behavior instead of shifting our own expectations of his capabilities and letting him thrive in his abilities. We make the ADHD kid a victim of his disability. We're more humane to our hardware than we are to our children.
Liam does indeed need to learn to navigate the world at large because, as much as *I* think he's a mastermind of spoon bending capabilities, able to contort the world at his whim, the world doesn't agree with me. What his village - those of us that have made a commitment to help this child grow into adulthood - needs to do is adjust our teaching methods. Things like, "teaching him better coping skills" and "telling him he needs to make different choices" need to be stricken from our collective vocabularies. WE need to figure out how to help him learn to use what processing abilities he has in his immediate control - which means that we need to rewire our own brains.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
I went to #SXSW and all I got was this lousy beard.
I've actually been back from SXSW for about a week now. It's taken that long to actually process my peripheral experience there.
I should mention two things before I begin:
1) I went to scout the show for work - specifically, the vendor room.
2) I only had a film badge, so didn't get to take advantage of the full buffet that is SXSW.
Here's what I took away from what limited time I had there:
Hipsters! OH HOLY MOTHER! The hipsters were everywhere. Hipsters action packed full of being meaningful and making meaningful stuff and being so occupied with being the next big alternative thing (but just big enough not to lose their street cred) that they completely forgot about basic niceties and manners.
...Really? Saying "excuse me" is so difficult?
The hipster faction actually made me feel incredibly old. I felt like Grandpa screaming at kids to get off my lawn. I felt like I should've been walking with a cane and sipping from Metamucil tinged water, because I was certainly reminiscing a great deal about the good ole days.
I miss the days when Robert Mapplethorpe was considered shocking.
I miss the days when you could still see bands like Radiohead and Nirvana in small dingy clubs.
I miss when wearing a Grateful Dead shirt wasn't ironic.
I miss the days when beard wearing was reserved for hermits and hippies - un-ironically.
I miss when irony was pure and not part of some advertising campaign.
I miss the innocence of microbrew beers. I miss when MTV was full of music videos. I miss the purity of social movements. I miss when charities didn't get their start on Kickstarter.
Because I am old enough to remember some of the last great movements.
I'm old enough to have seen the Grateful Dead and Pink Floyd.
I'm old enough to have inhaled nitrous balloons and to pass up free hits of acid.
I'm old enough to remember that crack is whack.
I don't know what this says about SXSW. But I know that the fact that Mapplethorpe is no longer shocking speaks volumes about the society we live in.
We're no longer genuine. We're no longer novel. We're not even controversial. All the great themes have been used up and turned into, not necessarily theme parks, but tongue-in-cheek ads for Oreos and Google.
We need genuine controversy. We need genuine movement.
I want to start the anti-movement movement.
Kill your television.
Put down your phone.
Tune in. Drop out.
Be genuine.
I should mention two things before I begin:
1) I went to scout the show for work - specifically, the vendor room.
2) I only had a film badge, so didn't get to take advantage of the full buffet that is SXSW.
Here's what I took away from what limited time I had there:
Hipsters! OH HOLY MOTHER! The hipsters were everywhere. Hipsters action packed full of being meaningful and making meaningful stuff and being so occupied with being the next big alternative thing (but just big enough not to lose their street cred) that they completely forgot about basic niceties and manners.
...Really? Saying "excuse me" is so difficult?
The hipster faction actually made me feel incredibly old. I felt like Grandpa screaming at kids to get off my lawn. I felt like I should've been walking with a cane and sipping from Metamucil tinged water, because I was certainly reminiscing a great deal about the good ole days.
I miss the days when Robert Mapplethorpe was considered shocking.
I miss the days when you could still see bands like Radiohead and Nirvana in small dingy clubs.
I miss when wearing a Grateful Dead shirt wasn't ironic.
I miss the days when beard wearing was reserved for hermits and hippies - un-ironically.
I miss when irony was pure and not part of some advertising campaign.
I miss the innocence of microbrew beers. I miss when MTV was full of music videos. I miss the purity of social movements. I miss when charities didn't get their start on Kickstarter.
Because I am old enough to remember some of the last great movements.
I'm old enough to have seen the Grateful Dead and Pink Floyd.
I'm old enough to have inhaled nitrous balloons and to pass up free hits of acid.
I'm old enough to remember that crack is whack.
I don't know what this says about SXSW. But I know that the fact that Mapplethorpe is no longer shocking speaks volumes about the society we live in.
We're no longer genuine. We're no longer novel. We're not even controversial. All the great themes have been used up and turned into, not necessarily theme parks, but tongue-in-cheek ads for Oreos and Google.
We need genuine controversy. We need genuine movement.
I want to start the anti-movement movement.
Kill your television.
Put down your phone.
Tune in. Drop out.
Be genuine.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Treading Water - Thoughts on redefining normal
When you find out you're pregnant for the first time - and you're actually going to keep the child - you read every book that was ever written by anyone who has any kind of experience with children. You're nervous. You fret about everything you ingest. You absorb all the horror stories. You try all the advice. You know... typical new parent stuff. Then you realize that babies are, for all intents and purposes, pretty unbreakable. They're these beautiful clean slates; moldable and malleable. Sure, you have to contend with genetics and all that, but nurture has to have some effect, right?
As I may have mentioned, Liam (The Nugget) was recently diagnosed with ADHD. In my quest to understand everything I can about what's going on in his head, so I can help him navigate the waters of life, I'm reading everything I can get my hands on. The more I read, though, the more guilty I feel. It turns out, despite my best intentions, my boy had the chips stacked against him from the outset.
First, let's talk genetics. The Ex is ADHD, too. He never really outgrew it, as a goodly percentage of children with the disorder won't, but he seemed to have learned how to cope in life. Aside from a severe Peter Pan complex he seemed fairly normal. Or maybe I was just young and stupid, and didn't know any better.
Now let's discuss womb environment. So, Liam already had a potent cocktail of genetics working against him. I'm not proud of this, but I smoked during all three of my pregnancies. I cut way back, but I still smoked. While pregnant with Liam, I was down to no more than four cigarettes a day... until The Ex decided to leave me while I was 7 1/2 months pregnant with Liam. I immediately went back up to a pack a day.
Did I mention that, early in the pregnancy, I contracted bacterial meningitis? Theoretically, the placenta filtered the bad stuff out, but nobody really knows for sure that he wasn't affected.
Now let's get back to the stress and depression I felt during the latter part of my pregnancy. I couldn't eat. I could barely consume liquids (depression does that to you). I ended up losing weight. Combine that with a nasty smoking habit and Liam's womb environment was less than ideal.
When he was born, his APGAR scores were damn near perfect. There was no oxygen deprivation (he was as pink as the shrimp I was so fond of while pregnant with him). The delivery, via c-section, went without a hitch. He was smack dab in the middle of the weight and height ranges. Nothing indicated that he wouldn't be perfectly normal.
So what was different? My pregnancy. The Monkey had the same genetic cocktail to work with and yet he is, at least as far as I can tell, unaffected by ADHD. Hell, I didn't even cut back as much on the smoking while pregnant with The Monkey (which accounts for his birth weight being on the lower end of normal), and I definitely drank a ton of coffee with him. But I hadn't contracted meningitis and I wasn't suffering from a broken heart.
There's nothing I can do about any of this now, short of building a time machine. And I'm all out of plutonium at the moment. What I can do is try to help my boy navigate the waters of life in the context of our new definition of normal.
But the spectrum of normal has shifted a great deal for me. I freeze when I need to address a discipline issue because I don't know what the right move is. I am wracked with guilt and this guilt tinges almost all of my interactions with Liam. My thought processes are frozen in a constant loop of "you did this to him. you did this to him. you did this to him." I want to help him, but I don't know what helping him means anymore.
Intellectually, I know this is bordering on insanity on my part, and probably the result of internalizing far too much of what I'm reading right now. But emotionally, I can't help but feel like I'm treading water.
When you get a diagnosis like this for your child, it doesn't come along with a bunch of handouts about what to expect with your ADHD kid. No. Instead they send you off with the test results and a 504 plan with calm reassurances about reevaluating him again in a year. They don't explain how to intercede when outbursts at the supper table just won't stop happening. They don't explain how you're supposed to be able to tell how much of the behavior is "...an imperfection in the brain that causes the... poor impulse control..." or how much of it is your kid, who is abnormally perceptive anyway, trying to use his ADHD as an excuse to be an asshole. They don't explain to you how to explain to your kid that it's not OK to hug strangers, no matter how much you want to, because other kids will make fun of you. Because, guess what? ADHD kids have a really fucking hard time processing future consequences. In fact, future consequences don't exist in the ADHD world. They don't tell you that part, either.
No map. No directions. You're a foreigner in a new land and you don't speak the language.
So how do you parent that? How do you guide your child through the rapids when your child sees the rapids as just any other body of water. Oh and your kid can't swim, either.
Where's the fucking manual for that?
As I may have mentioned, Liam (The Nugget) was recently diagnosed with ADHD. In my quest to understand everything I can about what's going on in his head, so I can help him navigate the waters of life, I'm reading everything I can get my hands on. The more I read, though, the more guilty I feel. It turns out, despite my best intentions, my boy had the chips stacked against him from the outset.
First, let's talk genetics. The Ex is ADHD, too. He never really outgrew it, as a goodly percentage of children with the disorder won't, but he seemed to have learned how to cope in life. Aside from a severe Peter Pan complex he seemed fairly normal. Or maybe I was just young and stupid, and didn't know any better.
Now let's discuss womb environment. So, Liam already had a potent cocktail of genetics working against him. I'm not proud of this, but I smoked during all three of my pregnancies. I cut way back, but I still smoked. While pregnant with Liam, I was down to no more than four cigarettes a day... until The Ex decided to leave me while I was 7 1/2 months pregnant with Liam. I immediately went back up to a pack a day.
Did I mention that, early in the pregnancy, I contracted bacterial meningitis? Theoretically, the placenta filtered the bad stuff out, but nobody really knows for sure that he wasn't affected.
Now let's get back to the stress and depression I felt during the latter part of my pregnancy. I couldn't eat. I could barely consume liquids (depression does that to you). I ended up losing weight. Combine that with a nasty smoking habit and Liam's womb environment was less than ideal.
When he was born, his APGAR scores were damn near perfect. There was no oxygen deprivation (he was as pink as the shrimp I was so fond of while pregnant with him). The delivery, via c-section, went without a hitch. He was smack dab in the middle of the weight and height ranges. Nothing indicated that he wouldn't be perfectly normal.
So what was different? My pregnancy. The Monkey had the same genetic cocktail to work with and yet he is, at least as far as I can tell, unaffected by ADHD. Hell, I didn't even cut back as much on the smoking while pregnant with The Monkey (which accounts for his birth weight being on the lower end of normal), and I definitely drank a ton of coffee with him. But I hadn't contracted meningitis and I wasn't suffering from a broken heart.
There's nothing I can do about any of this now, short of building a time machine. And I'm all out of plutonium at the moment. What I can do is try to help my boy navigate the waters of life in the context of our new definition of normal.
But the spectrum of normal has shifted a great deal for me. I freeze when I need to address a discipline issue because I don't know what the right move is. I am wracked with guilt and this guilt tinges almost all of my interactions with Liam. My thought processes are frozen in a constant loop of "you did this to him. you did this to him. you did this to him." I want to help him, but I don't know what helping him means anymore.
Intellectually, I know this is bordering on insanity on my part, and probably the result of internalizing far too much of what I'm reading right now. But emotionally, I can't help but feel like I'm treading water.
When you get a diagnosis like this for your child, it doesn't come along with a bunch of handouts about what to expect with your ADHD kid. No. Instead they send you off with the test results and a 504 plan with calm reassurances about reevaluating him again in a year. They don't explain how to intercede when outbursts at the supper table just won't stop happening. They don't explain how you're supposed to be able to tell how much of the behavior is "...an imperfection in the brain that causes the... poor impulse control..." or how much of it is your kid, who is abnormally perceptive anyway, trying to use his ADHD as an excuse to be an asshole. They don't explain to you how to explain to your kid that it's not OK to hug strangers, no matter how much you want to, because other kids will make fun of you. Because, guess what? ADHD kids have a really fucking hard time processing future consequences. In fact, future consequences don't exist in the ADHD world. They don't tell you that part, either.
No map. No directions. You're a foreigner in a new land and you don't speak the language.
So how do you parent that? How do you guide your child through the rapids when your child sees the rapids as just any other body of water. Oh and your kid can't swim, either.
Where's the fucking manual for that?
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
What Resolutions? (A blog about finding out your kid is different)
I feel compelled to blog, though I don't know where to begin. Should I be witty? Should I be candid? Should I just stream of consciousness this post? There's so much and nothing at all in my head right now. But where to start?
The quest to actually follow through on my New Years resolutions has fallen way, way short. Mostly this is because life has demanded my attention be focused elsewhere, and all at once. The people in white lab coats say that the human brain is not capable of actually, literally multitasking. I don't think they did those scans on full time moms with full time jobs. Or maybe my brain is just really good at switching between tasks.
...Which, come to think of it, is not necessarily true. Because I forget a LOT of stuff most of the time. I drop balls like a novice juggler. Hell, I'm not even making decent analogies right now.
Speaking of brains, The Nugget was recently diagnosed with ADHD (inattentive type) and ODD (for those of you who don't know, that's oppositional defiant disorder. The first step on the path to conduct disorder. For those of you who don't know what conduct disorder is, introduce yourself to most of the habitual offenders in our prison system today). I won't even begin to wax knowledgable about either of these disorders, because I'm still learning all I can about these disorders. But looking back on my poor sweet boy's life, in perspective and through the lenses of these labels, so, so much makes sense now.
There's a certain level of comfort in finally having a label for the thing that has made parenting The Nugget for these last 11 years so difficult. He couldn't remember to do basic tasks, like shutting the front door or to change his socks. He was almost four before he was fully potty trained. He was almost nine before he learned to tie his shoes without help.
Then there were the issues at daycare and at school. Every new school year, I braced myself for the onslaught of notes and conferences that seemed to always accompany The Nugget through school. Every week - sometimes every day - there was a new note. Really, though, it wasn't a new note so much the same note on a different day tinged with a growing frustration that The Nugget just couldn't seem to get his shit together.
Before that, it was at least once a week that he was being sent home from daycare because his behavior was just so abysmal the teachers couldn't control him.
And nothing seemed to work to change the behavior. No amount of punishment or reward; begging or bribing would make The Nugget behave. I remember one time, when The Nugget was about four or so, when, sobbing with frustration about being reprimanded again, he wailed, "but Mama! I'm being haved!" For him, he really was trying. He was being his version of "haved". I didn't know then what I know now. And now that I know, the story isn't as cute anymore.
I chalked it up to The Nugget being a boy. The Monkey outgrew all of this behavior, surely The Nugget would, too! Then I chalked it up to the teacher being an asshole, but then The Nugget had some really fantastic teachers and I couldn't use that as an excuse anymore. I clung desperately to the idea that maybe he was just Huck Finn and why on earth would I want to change that? I was in serious denial that there was something actually wrong with him.
And now I have a label; I have a reason for it all. But that label and the reason don't make things any easier. In fact, I have a tremendous amount of guilt in letting it go on for as long as I did before I really truly insisted on getting him tested. Though, letting it go on and letting his record get supremely thick helped us skip right through all the bureaucratic bullshit red tape. We passed go. We collected our diagnoses. He has an education plan which will help get him through elementary school, at least.
Depending on what you're reading, the root causes for ADHD and ODD aren't entirely clear, but they do know that it happens in the brain - whether it's a structural cause or a chemical imbalance is still a matter of debate. They don't know exactly what contributes to these defects - everything from maternal consumption of caffeine and nicotine while pregnant to genetic factors have been cited - but everyone seems to now agree that it's not just teachers and parents looking to medicate kids to the point of zombie-hood.
The Nugget's... actually, let me pause. He deserves to be spoken of as something more than an anecdote. The Nugget's name is Liam... the version of ADHD that Liam has is the inattentive type. We're luckier than some folks there because he really doesn't need medication. He's capable of sitting still. He's capable of focusing some of the time (and only if there are absolutely no distractions). He has some mild tics and socialization issues, but nothing that is considered clinical (just borderline) in that arena. Liam also has a very difficult time processing his emotions in a "normal" way, and suffers a fair amount of anxiety most of the time.
But what makes a disorder like this more difficult for families like ours is there's no outward appearance of abnormality. There's nothing that screams "my child has special needs! Back the fuck off and show him some respect!" because he looks normal. People expect him to be able to operate on the same level as most folks. He just can't. He can fake it. He can find ways to cope in the world. But he will. Never. Be. Normal. And folks will just keep on wondering why the weird kid is weird.
That's a hard pill to swallow as a mama. Especially at this stage of the game. My child has special needs. My child will never be normal. My child will always struggle in the world. My child will always have to work extra hard. My child will often be at a loss to explain why he did something and why it was wrong (or why it was right) and will get in trouble for it. Because he looks normal.
------
I don't know how to sum this post up. It's open-ended, I suppose, because there's still so much left to learn. I'm still grieving for my boy and am still processing all of this information in a space of grief. No, he's not dying - and I am lucky for that! And he doesn't have a terminal illness. But his life is, and always was, inexorably changed.
The quest to actually follow through on my New Years resolutions has fallen way, way short. Mostly this is because life has demanded my attention be focused elsewhere, and all at once. The people in white lab coats say that the human brain is not capable of actually, literally multitasking. I don't think they did those scans on full time moms with full time jobs. Or maybe my brain is just really good at switching between tasks.
...Which, come to think of it, is not necessarily true. Because I forget a LOT of stuff most of the time. I drop balls like a novice juggler. Hell, I'm not even making decent analogies right now.
Speaking of brains, The Nugget was recently diagnosed with ADHD (inattentive type) and ODD (for those of you who don't know, that's oppositional defiant disorder. The first step on the path to conduct disorder. For those of you who don't know what conduct disorder is, introduce yourself to most of the habitual offenders in our prison system today). I won't even begin to wax knowledgable about either of these disorders, because I'm still learning all I can about these disorders. But looking back on my poor sweet boy's life, in perspective and through the lenses of these labels, so, so much makes sense now.
There's a certain level of comfort in finally having a label for the thing that has made parenting The Nugget for these last 11 years so difficult. He couldn't remember to do basic tasks, like shutting the front door or to change his socks. He was almost four before he was fully potty trained. He was almost nine before he learned to tie his shoes without help.
Then there were the issues at daycare and at school. Every new school year, I braced myself for the onslaught of notes and conferences that seemed to always accompany The Nugget through school. Every week - sometimes every day - there was a new note. Really, though, it wasn't a new note so much the same note on a different day tinged with a growing frustration that The Nugget just couldn't seem to get his shit together.
Before that, it was at least once a week that he was being sent home from daycare because his behavior was just so abysmal the teachers couldn't control him.
And nothing seemed to work to change the behavior. No amount of punishment or reward; begging or bribing would make The Nugget behave. I remember one time, when The Nugget was about four or so, when, sobbing with frustration about being reprimanded again, he wailed, "but Mama! I'm being haved!" For him, he really was trying. He was being his version of "haved". I didn't know then what I know now. And now that I know, the story isn't as cute anymore.
I chalked it up to The Nugget being a boy. The Monkey outgrew all of this behavior, surely The Nugget would, too! Then I chalked it up to the teacher being an asshole, but then The Nugget had some really fantastic teachers and I couldn't use that as an excuse anymore. I clung desperately to the idea that maybe he was just Huck Finn and why on earth would I want to change that? I was in serious denial that there was something actually wrong with him.
And now I have a label; I have a reason for it all. But that label and the reason don't make things any easier. In fact, I have a tremendous amount of guilt in letting it go on for as long as I did before I really truly insisted on getting him tested. Though, letting it go on and letting his record get supremely thick helped us skip right through all the bureaucratic bullshit red tape. We passed go. We collected our diagnoses. He has an education plan which will help get him through elementary school, at least.
Depending on what you're reading, the root causes for ADHD and ODD aren't entirely clear, but they do know that it happens in the brain - whether it's a structural cause or a chemical imbalance is still a matter of debate. They don't know exactly what contributes to these defects - everything from maternal consumption of caffeine and nicotine while pregnant to genetic factors have been cited - but everyone seems to now agree that it's not just teachers and parents looking to medicate kids to the point of zombie-hood.
The Nugget's... actually, let me pause. He deserves to be spoken of as something more than an anecdote. The Nugget's name is Liam... the version of ADHD that Liam has is the inattentive type. We're luckier than some folks there because he really doesn't need medication. He's capable of sitting still. He's capable of focusing some of the time (and only if there are absolutely no distractions). He has some mild tics and socialization issues, but nothing that is considered clinical (just borderline) in that arena. Liam also has a very difficult time processing his emotions in a "normal" way, and suffers a fair amount of anxiety most of the time.
But what makes a disorder like this more difficult for families like ours is there's no outward appearance of abnormality. There's nothing that screams "my child has special needs! Back the fuck off and show him some respect!" because he looks normal. People expect him to be able to operate on the same level as most folks. He just can't. He can fake it. He can find ways to cope in the world. But he will. Never. Be. Normal. And folks will just keep on wondering why the weird kid is weird.
That's a hard pill to swallow as a mama. Especially at this stage of the game. My child has special needs. My child will never be normal. My child will always struggle in the world. My child will always have to work extra hard. My child will often be at a loss to explain why he did something and why it was wrong (or why it was right) and will get in trouble for it. Because he looks normal.
------
I don't know how to sum this post up. It's open-ended, I suppose, because there's still so much left to learn. I'm still grieving for my boy and am still processing all of this information in a space of grief. No, he's not dying - and I am lucky for that! And he doesn't have a terminal illness. But his life is, and always was, inexorably changed.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
A new year and new resolutions -- 12 Things Edition
Ah yes. It's a fresh year. It feels good, this clean slate. For several months now, I've been processing changes. For me, it takes a great deal of time to process any kind of change because, for so many years, I simply didn't like change and would avoid it at any cost. Now, I kind of dig change, but I'm a stubborn so and so, and won't readily admit when habits of mine need to go away.
Usually the pattern goes like this (it's almost always in conversation form)
Me: Yeah, it's really rather selfish of me to keep buying so many books. I haven't finished the last 20 I bought.
Brain: But you work hard and take care of your family. You deserve a treat.
Me: Do I need a treat every single week?! Amazon hasn't charged me my annual prime fee, I spend so much on there!
Brain: See! You're saving money!
Me: No I'm not!
Brain: No, really. You are. Jeff Bezos might send you a Christmas card.
Me: Really? You think so?
Brain: You're one of his best customers. I'm sure he will.
Me: That would be SO COOL. (clicks "add to cart")
Brain: (look of smug satisfaction)
Lather, rinse, repeat until I start leaving my debit card at home and change my Paypal password to something I can't remember. Ever.
So, for all of cyberspace, I am putting my resolutions out there. I expect you to hold me accountable, Interwebs -- all five of you who might read my blog.
1) Cliched as it is: to lose weight. I have set a goal of four pounds a month for a year. That's 48 pounds that I want to lose by this time next year. 12 pounds off what I really need to lose in order to be at my weight when I got pregnant with the monkey. Which was still a good 20 pounds off from what I need to weigh and be at the appropriate weight for my height.
And those numbers might be off, truth be told. I haven't gotten on a scale in two months because eating holidays and all that. But I'm going to start with 48 pounds.
2) In consideration of goal number 1, to cut out all the excess sugar in my diet. I will make exceptions for coffee and tea, but this means no soda, redbull (ACK! Kill me now!), candy, or other sweets.
3) In consideration of goals number 1 and 2: to cut out all the carb snacking that happens in my life. This means no trips to the snack baskets at work and to bring in healthy snacks for myself. Since I don't usually eat lunch at work, I must also endeavor to bring in healthy options to eat for lunch.
4) In consideration of goals 1-3: to exercise at least three times per week, gradually working up to five times per week. This one is going to be tough for me considering how much I hate mornings, so I know I won't wake up in time to actually go for a walk or do any yoga. And I don't get much down time before 10 at night. Right now, I don't have the excuse of the weather being too hot. It's perfectly lovely walking weather. I just need to f-bombing get my lazy tush out of the house.
5) Once a week, preferably twice, I will not make dinner and I will tell everyone -- even the Lady Gray -- that they have to fend for themselves so I can disappear into the studio and be creative. It doesn't matter what I create, so long as I create.
6) Not to overcommit: time, money, energy, resources. NO will be my key word of the year.
7) To actively work toward my goal of having a creative business. This means that that #5 and #6 need to happen. It also means I need to follow through on some of those classes I signed up for, work on my web sites, work on products and work on a business plan. It also means that I need to be more organized, thoughtful and productive.
8) To listen more attentively and to give my attention. The electronic devices will get put away and I will focus.
9) To save money each month. This means I'll have to forgo my Christmas card from Mr. Bezos, I suppose, but it'll be worth it in the long run. It also means that I'll have to plan meals for the week and only shop for the meals, rather than whatever strikes my fancy at any given time; look for specials and deals and learn to tell myself no. Instant gratification only lasts for an instant anyway.
10) To really quit smoking. Good lord does this need to happen. No more cheating just at work. No more using stress as an excuse to buy a pack of cigarettes. I have an e-cig, I need to use it.
11) To find opportunities for volunteerism and to give back to the world.
12) To spend more time with my family -- this includes my family up north, my family here and Jeff's family. I need to make an effort to see them and spend time with them. There's precious little time that each of us is allotted on this sphere, so I need to make the most of it with the people that I love.
----
Because I've run out of "things", here are some other goals: to get ready every Sunday for the week ahead at work. To get to bed at a reasonable time so I wake up refreshed. To use what little time I have available each day to work toward achieving my goals. To remember that, in order to be able to give to my family, I need to, first, give to myself. To remember that I am worth love -- my own especially -- and to make the effort to love myself a bit more (this does not mean go shopping every week. It means that I need to honor each phase that I'm in, dwell in my heart a little bit more, and take time out for me). I also need to remember that I cannot and should not control the people in my life or their behavior. I need to love and respect my loved ones for who they are right now, not who I think they should be.
It's going to be tough to make all of this happen. There will be a fair amount of pity partying happening, methinks. Theoretically, I shouldn't try to do all of this at once since so much change might seem daunting and I'll just quit. But you know what? I use that as a damn crutch. And, like my dentist said (as she was filling my very first cavities), "go big or go home, huh?" Damn straight, Doc. Damn straight.
Wish me luck!
Usually the pattern goes like this (it's almost always in conversation form)
Me: Yeah, it's really rather selfish of me to keep buying so many books. I haven't finished the last 20 I bought.
Brain: But you work hard and take care of your family. You deserve a treat.
Me: Do I need a treat every single week?! Amazon hasn't charged me my annual prime fee, I spend so much on there!
Brain: See! You're saving money!
Me: No I'm not!
Brain: No, really. You are. Jeff Bezos might send you a Christmas card.
Me: Really? You think so?
Brain: You're one of his best customers. I'm sure he will.
Me: That would be SO COOL. (clicks "add to cart")
Brain: (look of smug satisfaction)
Lather, rinse, repeat until I start leaving my debit card at home and change my Paypal password to something I can't remember. Ever.
So, for all of cyberspace, I am putting my resolutions out there. I expect you to hold me accountable, Interwebs -- all five of you who might read my blog.
1) Cliched as it is: to lose weight. I have set a goal of four pounds a month for a year. That's 48 pounds that I want to lose by this time next year. 12 pounds off what I really need to lose in order to be at my weight when I got pregnant with the monkey. Which was still a good 20 pounds off from what I need to weigh and be at the appropriate weight for my height.
And those numbers might be off, truth be told. I haven't gotten on a scale in two months because eating holidays and all that. But I'm going to start with 48 pounds.
2) In consideration of goal number 1, to cut out all the excess sugar in my diet. I will make exceptions for coffee and tea, but this means no soda, redbull (ACK! Kill me now!), candy, or other sweets.
3) In consideration of goals number 1 and 2: to cut out all the carb snacking that happens in my life. This means no trips to the snack baskets at work and to bring in healthy snacks for myself. Since I don't usually eat lunch at work, I must also endeavor to bring in healthy options to eat for lunch.
4) In consideration of goals 1-3: to exercise at least three times per week, gradually working up to five times per week. This one is going to be tough for me considering how much I hate mornings, so I know I won't wake up in time to actually go for a walk or do any yoga. And I don't get much down time before 10 at night. Right now, I don't have the excuse of the weather being too hot. It's perfectly lovely walking weather. I just need to f-bombing get my lazy tush out of the house.
5) Once a week, preferably twice, I will not make dinner and I will tell everyone -- even the Lady Gray -- that they have to fend for themselves so I can disappear into the studio and be creative. It doesn't matter what I create, so long as I create.
6) Not to overcommit: time, money, energy, resources. NO will be my key word of the year.
7) To actively work toward my goal of having a creative business. This means that that #5 and #6 need to happen. It also means I need to follow through on some of those classes I signed up for, work on my web sites, work on products and work on a business plan. It also means that I need to be more organized, thoughtful and productive.
8) To listen more attentively and to give my attention. The electronic devices will get put away and I will focus.
9) To save money each month. This means I'll have to forgo my Christmas card from Mr. Bezos, I suppose, but it'll be worth it in the long run. It also means that I'll have to plan meals for the week and only shop for the meals, rather than whatever strikes my fancy at any given time; look for specials and deals and learn to tell myself no. Instant gratification only lasts for an instant anyway.
10) To really quit smoking. Good lord does this need to happen. No more cheating just at work. No more using stress as an excuse to buy a pack of cigarettes. I have an e-cig, I need to use it.
11) To find opportunities for volunteerism and to give back to the world.
12) To spend more time with my family -- this includes my family up north, my family here and Jeff's family. I need to make an effort to see them and spend time with them. There's precious little time that each of us is allotted on this sphere, so I need to make the most of it with the people that I love.
----
Because I've run out of "things", here are some other goals: to get ready every Sunday for the week ahead at work. To get to bed at a reasonable time so I wake up refreshed. To use what little time I have available each day to work toward achieving my goals. To remember that, in order to be able to give to my family, I need to, first, give to myself. To remember that I am worth love -- my own especially -- and to make the effort to love myself a bit more (this does not mean go shopping every week. It means that I need to honor each phase that I'm in, dwell in my heart a little bit more, and take time out for me). I also need to remember that I cannot and should not control the people in my life or their behavior. I need to love and respect my loved ones for who they are right now, not who I think they should be.
It's going to be tough to make all of this happen. There will be a fair amount of pity partying happening, methinks. Theoretically, I shouldn't try to do all of this at once since so much change might seem daunting and I'll just quit. But you know what? I use that as a damn crutch. And, like my dentist said (as she was filling my very first cavities), "go big or go home, huh?" Damn straight, Doc. Damn straight.
Wish me luck!
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Well hello! Sit down. Have a cup of tea with me. Let's catch up.
I have been, as usual, missing from my blog spot. There's been a lot going on, what with the holidays and such. But Christmas has come and gone and the new year is right around the corner. It's time to clean out the old and begin fresh and new.
I've been considering an overhaul of this space -- or to scrap this one and start anew. Well, I won't scrap this blog, because so many wonderful memories and rambling thoughts have been shared here. But, as time goes on, my priorities and goal have shifted. And maybe it's time for this space to shift with me.
This isn't to say that I've lost sight of my "two" year plan (which is edging closer to five years now) or my life lists. Those things still simmer in the back of my mind and I am cognizant that every decision, no matter how big or small, that I make brings me closer to my goals.
We're three days away from 2014 and I'm excited about it, for once. Usually, the new year makes me rather melancholy. I don't know why, but it does. This year, I see nothing but bright lights and shiny futures ahead for all.
So while I won't scrap this place, that has been so special to me for a few years, I'll reserve it now strictly for random life updates, pictures and goals. I am going to start another blog, that I will link to through here (should those of you that check in here wish to read it) that I'll fill with my more controversial thought processes: namely sex, politics, religion and my relationships.
I'll catch you on the flip side.
Namaste
I've been considering an overhaul of this space -- or to scrap this one and start anew. Well, I won't scrap this blog, because so many wonderful memories and rambling thoughts have been shared here. But, as time goes on, my priorities and goal have shifted. And maybe it's time for this space to shift with me.
This isn't to say that I've lost sight of my "two" year plan (which is edging closer to five years now) or my life lists. Those things still simmer in the back of my mind and I am cognizant that every decision, no matter how big or small, that I make brings me closer to my goals.
We're three days away from 2014 and I'm excited about it, for once. Usually, the new year makes me rather melancholy. I don't know why, but it does. This year, I see nothing but bright lights and shiny futures ahead for all.
So while I won't scrap this place, that has been so special to me for a few years, I'll reserve it now strictly for random life updates, pictures and goals. I am going to start another blog, that I will link to through here (should those of you that check in here wish to read it) that I'll fill with my more controversial thought processes: namely sex, politics, religion and my relationships.
I'll catch you on the flip side.
Namaste
Monday, September 16, 2013
I'm such a fucking hipster
And I say "fuck" a lot. I need to stop that. My grandmother might read this blog one day.
Then again, I say "fuck" around her, too.
I'm going to Hell.
And in other news, check an item off of my life list -- I am now the proud owner of a MacBook. Well, sorta. My job technically owns the MacBook, but since I work for my parents and will probably never, ever leave, I'm probably going to be buried with this thing.
And with the addition of a MacBook to my iCollection, I officially own an iPod, iPhone, iPad (regular and mini) and MacBook.
Did I mention my vast collection of scarves. Also, I own a pair of black chucks. And yes, my glasses are black rimmed. See? I told you I'm a hipster.
When the box arrived today at work, it was sort of anticlimactic, actually. I had yearned for years for a MacBook that the yearning had sort of become my thing. I plotted and planned and contrived different ways to get a MacBook, and there it was. On my desk. It took a full two hours before I actually felt like opening it.
What am I going to do now that this goal is off my list? Granted, I have seven thousand other goals on my life list, but this was high on my radar. Superficial, yes, but a goal within my grasp.
It got me thinking, though, that so much of my life list is rather superficial. But the superficiality is what makes the goals realistic and tangible. Getting the item off of the list, though, wasn't nearly as satisfying as I had hoped. That part made me sad. I was more giddy ordering the MacBook than I was getting it. Maybe it's a sign that I'm evolving -- I don't want things anymore, I want experience. Or maybe it's because, as a pretty consummate Apple fangurl, I'm Appled out.
But it's easy enough to put the MacBook down and focus on what's important: making my little girl say "mommy" again and hanging out with The Trolls; and gazing at my beloved next to me, while I think about how lucky I truly am.
Then again, I say "fuck" around her, too.
I'm going to Hell.
And in other news, check an item off of my life list -- I am now the proud owner of a MacBook. Well, sorta. My job technically owns the MacBook, but since I work for my parents and will probably never, ever leave, I'm probably going to be buried with this thing.
And with the addition of a MacBook to my iCollection, I officially own an iPod, iPhone, iPad (regular and mini) and MacBook.
Did I mention my vast collection of scarves. Also, I own a pair of black chucks. And yes, my glasses are black rimmed. See? I told you I'm a hipster.
When the box arrived today at work, it was sort of anticlimactic, actually. I had yearned for years for a MacBook that the yearning had sort of become my thing. I plotted and planned and contrived different ways to get a MacBook, and there it was. On my desk. It took a full two hours before I actually felt like opening it.
What am I going to do now that this goal is off my list? Granted, I have seven thousand other goals on my life list, but this was high on my radar. Superficial, yes, but a goal within my grasp.
It got me thinking, though, that so much of my life list is rather superficial. But the superficiality is what makes the goals realistic and tangible. Getting the item off of the list, though, wasn't nearly as satisfying as I had hoped. That part made me sad. I was more giddy ordering the MacBook than I was getting it. Maybe it's a sign that I'm evolving -- I don't want things anymore, I want experience. Or maybe it's because, as a pretty consummate Apple fangurl, I'm Appled out.
But it's easy enough to put the MacBook down and focus on what's important: making my little girl say "mommy" again and hanging out with The Trolls; and gazing at my beloved next to me, while I think about how lucky I truly am.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Comparing Apples to Agent Orange -- How Not to Be a Dick
One of the most solid pieces of advice that any person anywhere will ever hear is never to compare their last relationship to the one they're currently in. It's just bad news all the way around. But we're also human beings, so we're going to do exactly the opposite of the thing we're not supposed to do.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Oh Internet! You just keep doing you. Thoughts on #unplug
Let me go on the record as saying that I'm as about as old school as you can get and still be even mildly NOT 78 years old. I have Facebook. I have a blog. I even have my own [never updated] web site. But I don't tweet, skype, tumblr or any of that crap. I probably should if I want to get my business off the ground, but I'm kind of lazy and it seems like figuring out what the hell the hashtag is for would take up more time than I'm willing to give it.
Besides, I'm pretty sure the lifespan of anything on the internet is about 35 seconds. So I'm holding out for the day that Twitter becomes Myspace.
But then again, the Internet is hopelessly self-absorbed and Twitter hit the nail on the head by pandering to that element.
Dammit. I guess I'll have to figure out Twitter. But not before I get fully vested in the newest Internet meme: #unplug.
Let me throw an addendum to my previous on-the-record by saying that I REALLY love the concept of this. In case you're not familiar with the how to, here's the premise:
1) Realize that you're hopelessly addicted to anything Internet-related and powerless to your addiction.
2) Seek to make amends to anyone you've wronged.
Oh... wait. That's AA. Moving on...
The premise behind unplugged actually IS acknowledging how hopelessly plugged in we are and how we've kind of lost touch with reality. For instance, every night, The Fiancee™ and I sit on the back porch having a chat and a smoke theoretically catching up about the day and figuring out what the game plan for the night is. But if you were to look through the sliding glass door, you'd see both of us more engaged with our devices than each other. Neither of us are big Internet addicts, but the Internet has kind of stripped us of our ability to have a meaningful dialogue. Or even an unmeaningful dialogue.
It's made it impossible to have an uncomfortable silence.
That's not right, y'all. Not right at all.
So point of unplugging is to pick a time frame (a day, week, month, etc), pick a day to begin it, let all your peeps know you're going off line and then DO IT. Only use your phone for calls and texts. Leave the TV off and your laptops unplugged. Go out and explore a city.
Talk to real live people... in person <---that's the part that terrifies me the most. I live in Florida; people are scary here.
Afterward you can plug back in, but maybe not so much this time. Or maybe you can plug all the way back in, but schedule unplugged moments. Or maybe you'll become a hermit and never plug back in again... until the History Channel shows up with a camera crew to film you for an episode of Mountain Men.
I'm totally down for this because, for real, I'm not that plugged in ANYWAY... and maybe unplugging will help me get over my agoraphobia (I'm pretty sure the only way I'm getting over that is by moving out of this shit hole of a state).
But the irony... the supremely delicious irony of #unplug is that it's an INTERNET MEME. Unplugging has a damn hashtag and people have been tweeting about it. I'm blogging about it. It's a Google+ discussion (or whatever they call it on Google+ I can't figure Google+ out). I expect it'll be showing up in my Facebook feed any day now.
Oh, sweet precious Internet. Never change.
Besides, I'm pretty sure the lifespan of anything on the internet is about 35 seconds. So I'm holding out for the day that Twitter becomes Myspace.
But then again, the Internet is hopelessly self-absorbed and Twitter hit the nail on the head by pandering to that element.
Dammit. I guess I'll have to figure out Twitter. But not before I get fully vested in the newest Internet meme: #unplug.
Let me throw an addendum to my previous on-the-record by saying that I REALLY love the concept of this. In case you're not familiar with the how to, here's the premise:
1) Realize that you're hopelessly addicted to anything Internet-related and powerless to your addiction.
2) Seek to make amends to anyone you've wronged.
Oh... wait. That's AA. Moving on...
The premise behind unplugged actually IS acknowledging how hopelessly plugged in we are and how we've kind of lost touch with reality. For instance, every night, The Fiancee™ and I sit on the back porch having a chat and a smoke theoretically catching up about the day and figuring out what the game plan for the night is. But if you were to look through the sliding glass door, you'd see both of us more engaged with our devices than each other. Neither of us are big Internet addicts, but the Internet has kind of stripped us of our ability to have a meaningful dialogue. Or even an unmeaningful dialogue.
It's made it impossible to have an uncomfortable silence.
That's not right, y'all. Not right at all.
So point of unplugging is to pick a time frame (a day, week, month, etc), pick a day to begin it, let all your peeps know you're going off line and then DO IT. Only use your phone for calls and texts. Leave the TV off and your laptops unplugged. Go out and explore a city.
Talk to real live people... in person <---that's the part that terrifies me the most. I live in Florida; people are scary here.
Afterward you can plug back in, but maybe not so much this time. Or maybe you can plug all the way back in, but schedule unplugged moments. Or maybe you'll become a hermit and never plug back in again... until the History Channel shows up with a camera crew to film you for an episode of Mountain Men.
I'm totally down for this because, for real, I'm not that plugged in ANYWAY... and maybe unplugging will help me get over my agoraphobia (I'm pretty sure the only way I'm getting over that is by moving out of this shit hole of a state).
But the irony... the supremely delicious irony of #unplug is that it's an INTERNET MEME. Unplugging has a damn hashtag and people have been tweeting about it. I'm blogging about it. It's a Google+ discussion (or whatever they call it on Google+ I can't figure Google+ out). I expect it'll be showing up in my Facebook feed any day now.
Oh, sweet precious Internet. Never change.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Vagina. Vagina. Vagina. Uterus.
That blog title is likely to get me some hits, don't you think?
I come from a long, long line of fiercely independent women. I wouldn't go so far as to call it entirely feminist, since we were "feminists" long before that was an actual thing. On my mother's side, we were frontierswomen, blazing trails and breaking laws as we saw fit. My great-grandmother graduated summa cum laude and was a Fullbright scholar and Guggenheim Fellow. On my father's side adversity was overcome and my grandmother, despite having to leave her beloved church because of it, divorced her abusive husband. Before that, she raised six kids while working three jobs to support them.
None of us has been dependent on a man. Ever.
When I first became a mother, I wanted sons. Girls are a pain-in-the-ass (we really are) and I wanted nothing to do with them. I was and am determined to raise my sons to be feminists, to understand and appreciate womanhood and the strength that women possess; to be in awe of it instead of lusting after it.
Aside from the occasional booby jokes, the evidence shows that I'm doing OK in that department. The Monkey is friends with more girls than guys and has a healthy respect for girls. The one girl he has a serious crush on, he won't ask out because "he'd rather have her in his life as a friend than ask her out and risk losing her." The Nugget says things like, "I'm going to make sure my sister only has boyfriends that love her."
Not that she'll need protecting, but it's nice to know that The Nugget is already polishing his guns.
Anyway...
As I got older and American society has degraded back into thinly veiled misogyny, and after birthing a daughter, I realized that merely teaching my sons to be in awe of women is not enough. To raise them to be feminists is not enough. To be loyal and good to their mother and sister is not enough. But I don't know what "enough" is.
Because I'm scared, y'all. I'm scared that women are allowing themselves to be subjugated again. I'm terrified that my daughter's reproductive choices will no longer be rights that she can decide on for herself. There's a distinct possibility that we're heading back to a time when women went to college to find a husband rather than get an education and have a career. As it is, more often than not, women have to choose between having a family and having a career.
That scares me. To no end.
I'm going back to work full time on Friday and leaving The Lady Gray with a nanny. It breaks my heart to have to do this because I'd so much rather spend all day trying to make her smile and now I'll be paying someone else to do that. But that has nothing to do with not wanting a career. If I did end up quitting my job to stay home with her, I'd spend her nap times trying to start up a freelance copywriting/advertising business with a side of hand-made goods on Etsy. Shit... I'd do that even without a baby at home.
Here's the thing, I go without sleep to get work done. I wake up with the baby in the middle of the night. I cook. I clean. I pay my bills. I make more money than The Fiancee™. He gets home from work and waits for dinner to be made. He spends a few precious moments with the baby and then he's in bed and asleep, usually, by 9:30 every night.
This isn't to say that The Fiancee™ is lazy or I'm better than him, but more to say that, as a woman, I'm more capable of getting shit done than most men. Countless studies prove that the tendency for men to think linearly puts them at a disadvantage to women, who can think in broader terms and tackle more at once.
Either that scares men or it makes them think, "Shit. Well, I can just sit back and let her handle it all." Or maybe it's a combination of the two. And it's the fear of the almighty vagina that has the collective man figuring out ways to shut our power down. They're starting with our right to choose what to do with our own bodies -- as if we're so much breeding stock for their holy seed. And now they're going after our right to work, saying that women going out to the work force began the degradation of American society.
The Fiancee™ wants another baby. I don't. I'm not having another one. End of discussion. If, perchance, I did get pregnant again, I would terminate the pregnancy. Because it's my right to do so and I don't want to put my body through that again. Carrying The Lady Gray took a huge toll on my body. I'm still recovering from it and it's not an experience I'd like to relive. He'll be pissed and it might be a breaking point for our relationship, but my right to choose not carry another pregnancy to term is mine alone to decide. As soon as he stops masturbating, I'll let him have a say in my reproductive decision-making.
But here's the really scary part -- women are allowing this shit to happen! We're more concerned with looking good to men than we are about being relegated to the kitchen. How in the hell did that happen? Actually, I know how that happened.
All of this disjointed blogging is to say that we need to raise our children to fight for the equality of the sexes. It's not enough to raise our sons to be feminists. It's not enough to teach them that a woman's reproductive choices are hers. It's not enough to teach them how to cook or to love their sisters. We need to teach our daughters that the fight for our rights is never ending. We need them to not be complacent. We need to teach them that pink was originally a boy color (it was. Look it up). And we need their first word to be vagina.
I come from a long, long line of fiercely independent women. I wouldn't go so far as to call it entirely feminist, since we were "feminists" long before that was an actual thing. On my mother's side, we were frontierswomen, blazing trails and breaking laws as we saw fit. My great-grandmother graduated summa cum laude and was a Fullbright scholar and Guggenheim Fellow. On my father's side adversity was overcome and my grandmother, despite having to leave her beloved church because of it, divorced her abusive husband. Before that, she raised six kids while working three jobs to support them.
None of us has been dependent on a man. Ever.
When I first became a mother, I wanted sons. Girls are a pain-in-the-ass (we really are) and I wanted nothing to do with them. I was and am determined to raise my sons to be feminists, to understand and appreciate womanhood and the strength that women possess; to be in awe of it instead of lusting after it.
Aside from the occasional booby jokes, the evidence shows that I'm doing OK in that department. The Monkey is friends with more girls than guys and has a healthy respect for girls. The one girl he has a serious crush on, he won't ask out because "he'd rather have her in his life as a friend than ask her out and risk losing her." The Nugget says things like, "I'm going to make sure my sister only has boyfriends that love her."
Not that she'll need protecting, but it's nice to know that The Nugget is already polishing his guns.
Anyway...
As I got older and American society has degraded back into thinly veiled misogyny, and after birthing a daughter, I realized that merely teaching my sons to be in awe of women is not enough. To raise them to be feminists is not enough. To be loyal and good to their mother and sister is not enough. But I don't know what "enough" is.
Because I'm scared, y'all. I'm scared that women are allowing themselves to be subjugated again. I'm terrified that my daughter's reproductive choices will no longer be rights that she can decide on for herself. There's a distinct possibility that we're heading back to a time when women went to college to find a husband rather than get an education and have a career. As it is, more often than not, women have to choose between having a family and having a career.
That scares me. To no end.
I'm going back to work full time on Friday and leaving The Lady Gray with a nanny. It breaks my heart to have to do this because I'd so much rather spend all day trying to make her smile and now I'll be paying someone else to do that. But that has nothing to do with not wanting a career. If I did end up quitting my job to stay home with her, I'd spend her nap times trying to start up a freelance copywriting/advertising business with a side of hand-made goods on Etsy. Shit... I'd do that even without a baby at home.
Here's the thing, I go without sleep to get work done. I wake up with the baby in the middle of the night. I cook. I clean. I pay my bills. I make more money than The Fiancee™. He gets home from work and waits for dinner to be made. He spends a few precious moments with the baby and then he's in bed and asleep, usually, by 9:30 every night.
This isn't to say that The Fiancee™ is lazy or I'm better than him, but more to say that, as a woman, I'm more capable of getting shit done than most men. Countless studies prove that the tendency for men to think linearly puts them at a disadvantage to women, who can think in broader terms and tackle more at once.
Either that scares men or it makes them think, "Shit. Well, I can just sit back and let her handle it all." Or maybe it's a combination of the two. And it's the fear of the almighty vagina that has the collective man figuring out ways to shut our power down. They're starting with our right to choose what to do with our own bodies -- as if we're so much breeding stock for their holy seed. And now they're going after our right to work, saying that women going out to the work force began the degradation of American society.
The Fiancee™ wants another baby. I don't. I'm not having another one. End of discussion. If, perchance, I did get pregnant again, I would terminate the pregnancy. Because it's my right to do so and I don't want to put my body through that again. Carrying The Lady Gray took a huge toll on my body. I'm still recovering from it and it's not an experience I'd like to relive. He'll be pissed and it might be a breaking point for our relationship, but my right to choose not carry another pregnancy to term is mine alone to decide. As soon as he stops masturbating, I'll let him have a say in my reproductive decision-making.
But here's the really scary part -- women are allowing this shit to happen! We're more concerned with looking good to men than we are about being relegated to the kitchen. How in the hell did that happen? Actually, I know how that happened.
All of this disjointed blogging is to say that we need to raise our children to fight for the equality of the sexes. It's not enough to raise our sons to be feminists. It's not enough to teach them that a woman's reproductive choices are hers. It's not enough to teach them how to cook or to love their sisters. We need to teach our daughters that the fight for our rights is never ending. We need them to not be complacent. We need to teach them that pink was originally a boy color (it was. Look it up). And we need their first word to be vagina.
If I click my heels three times...
The only downside to going home for a visit is the raging homesickness that I feel for weeks afterward. Sometimes, like after my last visit, it doesn't last terribly long. Other times, it'll take weeks for it to ebb. Methinks this is one of those times where I'll be longing for home long after I've left.
Sweet Lady Gray was thoroughly doused with much love by her extended family. She also got to spend some time in the hands of the women (her great-grandmothers) who are so important to me and, hopefully, have enough life left in 'em to last long enough for her to actually remember them. I hate the thought that she might only know them through pictures.
The Trolls are still up north for an extended visit with their side of the family and I miss them terribly. I miss their noise and their smell. I even kind of miss their mess in the living room. OK, I'm lying about that last part. It's actually quite nice not having to fight with them to pick up their mess.
But on the topic of homesickness, part of me doesn't want it to go away. Part of me wants it to hang on for dear life so that the fire of my "Two Year Plan" doesn't turn into a slow burning cinder. I want the fire to rage. I want to be motivated to scrimp and save so I can get the hell out of Dodge. That's the hardest part for me. I'm such a hedonist that depriving myself of instant gratification for a long term goal is incredibly difficult. And every time I go home, I come back to Florida thinking that THIS time I'll get my shit together and save some money, but then something shiny tempts me and there goes the Massachusetts fund.
But not this time. This time I'm determined to get back home for good. No, seriously. I am. If I have to, I'll drag The Fiancee™ kicking and screaming with me, but we're going. Because who wouldn't want to be surrounded by this all the time:
"If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any
further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really
lost it to begin with!"
Sweet Lady Gray was thoroughly doused with much love by her extended family. She also got to spend some time in the hands of the women (her great-grandmothers) who are so important to me and, hopefully, have enough life left in 'em to last long enough for her to actually remember them. I hate the thought that she might only know them through pictures.
The Trolls are still up north for an extended visit with their side of the family and I miss them terribly. I miss their noise and their smell. I even kind of miss their mess in the living room. OK, I'm lying about that last part. It's actually quite nice not having to fight with them to pick up their mess.
But on the topic of homesickness, part of me doesn't want it to go away. Part of me wants it to hang on for dear life so that the fire of my "Two Year Plan" doesn't turn into a slow burning cinder. I want the fire to rage. I want to be motivated to scrimp and save so I can get the hell out of Dodge. That's the hardest part for me. I'm such a hedonist that depriving myself of instant gratification for a long term goal is incredibly difficult. And every time I go home, I come back to Florida thinking that THIS time I'll get my shit together and save some money, but then something shiny tempts me and there goes the Massachusetts fund.
But not this time. This time I'm determined to get back home for good. No, seriously. I am. If I have to, I'll drag The Fiancee™ kicking and screaming with me, but we're going. Because who wouldn't want to be surrounded by this all the time:
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| My cousin, KadyRose, my Aunt Moe, The Monkey, my Aunt Kathy, and the Nugget at Mt. Tom Ice Cream |
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| Sweet Lady Gray enjoying real grass while watching her brothers play wiffleball. Notice her monkey toes? |
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Time Flies When You're Busy Staring at Your Baby
I admit it: I'm one of those sappy, stares-at-my-babies kind of moms. Seriously, I make some REALLY good looking kids. It is physically impossible to NOT stare at them. Each one of 'em had/has one of those baby smiles that light up a room and I would and will do anything to see that smile. It just slays me!
My baby girl is officially two months old today. I don't know how that happened. I don't know how she got so big, so fast when, clearly, all I do is look at her.
Happy birthday, Baby Girl! You light up my world, my heart and my soul. I am grateful for every single solitary second I have you.
My baby girl is officially two months old today. I don't know how that happened. I don't know how she got so big, so fast when, clearly, all I do is look at her.
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| At her first baseball game. Of COURSE she's rocking a Red Sox onesie. |
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| Experiencing her very first photo bomb, courtesy her biggest brother. |
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| She's knows she's adorable. Also, she hates dresses and will take any opportunity she can to poop on them. |
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| Even her metal scream is adorable. |
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| Seriously?! How can you NOT want to see that face EVERY SINGLE MINUTE?! |
Monday, May 27, 2013
I'm still not sure about all the comma rules, so probably shouldn't be lecturing about punctuation.
Saturday night I had the pleasure of seeing at least 15 minutes of The Fiancee's nephew in a high school stage production of "Oklahoma." I would've seen more, but The Lady Gray decided that she wanted to voice her opinion about the production, so I excused myself to allow her to rant all she wanted... in the car.
While pacing in the vestibule, waiting for the rest of our group to exit the auditorium, I happened to notice the signs for one of the bathrooms:
While pacing in the vestibule, waiting for the rest of our group to exit the auditorium, I happened to notice the signs for one of the bathrooms:
Girl's
Bathroom
(some [probably poorly punctuated] Braille)
Really! This is in a HIGH SCHOOL, y'all! Supposedly a place of learning -- even if not of the higher variety. How in the Hades could this have gone unnoticed? What one lucky girl gets to use this bathroom? Do they have a vote each day? Does the prom queen get to use this bathroom or does she need to find the one that is properly punctuated?
Apostrophe abuse makes me itchy in a big way.
But I probably shouldn't have expected anything less from a school that has intentional textese graffiti all over the entrance.
Textese makes me break out in hives. Really is it SO difficult to put in the extra letters? We're not paying by the character anymore, People! You can spell the whole word!
This is what scares me about the world I'm leaving to my children. I remember when "ain't" wasn't actually a word. Now it's in the dictionary! We're deliberately dumbing down rather than holding our offspring to a higher standard. Instead of making our kids work their asses off for a trophy, we're handing them out like so much candy to soothe their little wounded egos.
What. The. Fuck. Is. WRONG with us?!
Look. It's our job as parents to wound our children. No, seriously. It is. (Side note: my mother can now die happy that I admitted that). Because it's our job to teach our kids that the world is a tough motherfucker and she takes no prisoners. I would love nothing more than to save my kids from every heartbreak and hardship they'll encounter, but I would be doing them a disservice. Just like I'd be doing The Monkey a disservice for telling him that his crap-tastic, half-assed paper about the 1936 Olympics was good enough to hand in rather than making him re-write it (I let him off the hook when it would warrant a C. But only because I was tired of arguing with him about it). Or if I let The Nugget hand in his math homework with every answer wrong because "Mrs. Kling will go over it tomorrow in class".
NO! It's my job to torture my kids and make them sit at the table 'til the job is done. It's my job to yell at them. It's my job to paint a bleak picture of the kind of future they can expect if they continue to accept mediocrity as the standard.
But I'm wicked hard-pressed to enforce these lessons when the schools around here allow apostrophe abuse to go unchecked and humor textese, because my kids will know I'm full of shit. They'll know that the world at large accepts half-assery and they will be able to out-argue me. And I won't have the safety net of the world giving them their comeuppance because the world is all, "Meh. I'm too busy watching Breaking Amish. Catch me at the commercial."
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
I'm the kind of exhausted that parents of a newborn are. Oh wait...
The Lady Gray decided to switch her schedule from nights to days, so was up a goodly portion of last night. Not to mention the fact that we're getting some stormy weather around here and, like my middle child, she's a baby barometer, too. Cranky and fussy, she is, and I just feel so badly for her.
She's down for a nap now and I'm hoping that it will last long enough for me to hop in the shower and then put my contacts in. Oh, glorious contact lenses! How I've missed you. While I do look pretty fancy in glasses, I can't help but reflect on Dorothy Parker's assessment of them:
"Boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses"
Which makes me feel decidedly un-sexy. Not that my usual uniform of a tank top and jammy bottoms helps matters much. Or the lack of make up, post-natal acne and hair tossed into a very unattractive pony tail. It's a wonder how The Fiance™ can even think of having another baby.
All of this rambling is to say that I have to leave in a couple of hours to go get The Nugget and take him to his orthodontist consultation. Yes, dear readers, it is possible that I will have another one in braces soon. But in the mean time, I'm enjoying to quiet of the house and doing my level best to ignore the pile of dishes that need doing and the laundry that needs folding. Because I'm tired and I'm supposed to be honoring that and sleeping when the baby does, instead of gulping down a cup of coffee (the one a day I'm allowed while nursing) and fighting the urge to sleep.
Because time moves too quickly these days and before I know it, I'll be returning to work full time and trusting my baby with someone else. Not an easy thing for this mama to wrap her head around, even if I am leaving her with an aunt and uncle her love her to the point of worship.
Edit: Guess who just woke up? I'll get to that shower later, I suppose.
She's down for a nap now and I'm hoping that it will last long enough for me to hop in the shower and then put my contacts in. Oh, glorious contact lenses! How I've missed you. While I do look pretty fancy in glasses, I can't help but reflect on Dorothy Parker's assessment of them:
"Boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses"
Which makes me feel decidedly un-sexy. Not that my usual uniform of a tank top and jammy bottoms helps matters much. Or the lack of make up, post-natal acne and hair tossed into a very unattractive pony tail. It's a wonder how The Fiance™ can even think of having another baby.
All of this rambling is to say that I have to leave in a couple of hours to go get The Nugget and take him to his orthodontist consultation. Yes, dear readers, it is possible that I will have another one in braces soon. But in the mean time, I'm enjoying to quiet of the house and doing my level best to ignore the pile of dishes that need doing and the laundry that needs folding. Because I'm tired and I'm supposed to be honoring that and sleeping when the baby does, instead of gulping down a cup of coffee (the one a day I'm allowed while nursing) and fighting the urge to sleep.
Because time moves too quickly these days and before I know it, I'll be returning to work full time and trusting my baby with someone else. Not an easy thing for this mama to wrap her head around, even if I am leaving her with an aunt and uncle her love her to the point of worship.
Edit: Guess who just woke up? I'll get to that shower later, I suppose.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Happy Birthday, Lyla-Gray
My baby girl is officially one month old today. It seems like yesterday that my teething, smiling, gassy-as-a-trucker, sweet baby graced us with her presence.
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| She was actually only 20 inches long. I'm short; she didn't have a whole lot of room to work with. |
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| It's hard to be photogenic when you're opened up like a Thanksgiving turkey. |
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| Oh! The indignities of the first minutes of life. I'm proud to say she scored an 8 and 9 on her APGARs. |
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| Don't let this sweet face fool you. OK. Go ahead and let it. She's still fooling us (she's a few hours old in this one) |
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| The Fiance™ and Lady Gray |
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| The Fiance™'s twin brother (and Lady Gray's godfather). No, they look nothing alike. |
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| Nugget love! |
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| She looks so much like The Monkey, I shall call this "Doppleganger sister!" |
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| Seriously, don't let the sweetness fool you. |
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| Cuz she can be a banshee when she wants to! I call this "Metal Scream!" |
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| She does smile. A lot. It's cute. |
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Almost a Month
The Lady Gray - aka Fussy McFusspants - is three days shy of being a month old. I've started packing up my maternity clothes and digging out my yoga pants. In just a couple of weeks I will be officially cleared to resume my normal activities. This makes me rather sad, to be honest. Not because I don't long to get back on the mat, but because my baby is growing too quickly. As much as I complain about the lack of sleep, I'd gladly go without sleep for the next year if she would just slow down. My sweet newborn daughter is coming into her personality, with all its glorious fussiness, but I miss her being just mine. I'm still not ready to share her with the world yet and all this packing up of maternity clothes is just reminding me that she's not in my belly anymore.
With The Monkey nearing his fourteenth birthday, it's just another reminder of how quickly time goes and how truly heartbreaking motherhood is. Heartbreaking in a good way, though. Because these magnificent creatures I have birth to are just so breathtakingly wonderful. But every year they get older is just another year closer to them being grown beings and not sweet babies anymore.
This is why I told The Fiancée that I'm not having anymore babies. That and because, as of Sunday, I officially hit my scary age and don't want to run the risk of conceiving a child with birth defects. Selfish, I know, but it's more about not wanting a child to have any kind of compromised life.
Time moves too fast, it does. One of these days, I wish it would slow down.
With The Monkey nearing his fourteenth birthday, it's just another reminder of how quickly time goes and how truly heartbreaking motherhood is. Heartbreaking in a good way, though. Because these magnificent creatures I have birth to are just so breathtakingly wonderful. But every year they get older is just another year closer to them being grown beings and not sweet babies anymore.
This is why I told The Fiancée that I'm not having anymore babies. That and because, as of Sunday, I officially hit my scary age and don't want to run the risk of conceiving a child with birth defects. Selfish, I know, but it's more about not wanting a child to have any kind of compromised life.
Time moves too fast, it does. One of these days, I wish it would slow down.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Seventeen Days
That's how old my baby girl is. That's nearly three weeks. It's 408 hours and 24,480 minutes. I dare not count the seconds.
The first week she was here was mostly about recovering and discovering. Recovering from the surgery required to bring this precious life into the world, and discovering how to be a mama to a new little one again.
The second week was learning to navigate parenthood and find ways to fill the hours that I am home alone and she is sound asleep (and sleep she does, this little one).
And here I am in the third week and I'd have to say this week is about joy. Joy in finding ways to make this pensive child of mine smile [when she's not asleep]. Joy in reading her face and trying to decipher all the thoughts that are surely running through her head.
But I'm a little bit sad, too. I'm sad that time seems to be moving so quickly this time around. I really can't believe that it's been almost three weeks since I first glimpsed this new life over the blue curtain and heard her first cries. It's been almost three weeks since I was wheeled past the nursery window and I glimpsed her pooping not for the first time (she's got quite the productive digestive tract, let me tell you).
The rhythm of our days is returning to our version of normal and The Lady Gray seems to just fit so nicely. In such a short time she's become an integral part of our family that I can't imagine a life that didn't have her in it.
The first week she was here was mostly about recovering and discovering. Recovering from the surgery required to bring this precious life into the world, and discovering how to be a mama to a new little one again.
The second week was learning to navigate parenthood and find ways to fill the hours that I am home alone and she is sound asleep (and sleep she does, this little one).
And here I am in the third week and I'd have to say this week is about joy. Joy in finding ways to make this pensive child of mine smile [when she's not asleep]. Joy in reading her face and trying to decipher all the thoughts that are surely running through her head.
But I'm a little bit sad, too. I'm sad that time seems to be moving so quickly this time around. I really can't believe that it's been almost three weeks since I first glimpsed this new life over the blue curtain and heard her first cries. It's been almost three weeks since I was wheeled past the nursery window and I glimpsed her pooping not for the first time (she's got quite the productive digestive tract, let me tell you).
The rhythm of our days is returning to our version of normal and The Lady Gray seems to just fit so nicely. In such a short time she's become an integral part of our family that I can't imagine a life that didn't have her in it.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Because I'm taking the high road on Facebook, I'll come to my blog to rant
The Lady Gray is down for her umpteenth nap at the moment, so I have an hour or so of time to myself. I could be cleaning or doing something more productive than sitting on my back porch wishing that it wasn't so damn hot out already, but I have to go and get the trolls soon. Once the trolls get home, it'll be pure craziness round these parts for a bit.
Speaking of the trolls...
One of the things that kept me with The Ex far longer than I should've was his family. They're a tight knit bunch and I was worried that if I left, he'd get them in the divorce. Fortunately, it was a baseless fear, since -- as it turns out -- they're a tight knit bunch who know how to compartmentalize. As such, I've remained friends-ish with his sister over these past few years. The friendship has cooled to more of a friends-on-Facebook level over the last few months, which happens when life gets in the way.
The Lady Gray has been home for a week now. Like any good new mom, I've been kind of blowing up Facebook with pictures of her. I'm not going over the top, but I also have a crap ton of family up north who don't get the benefit of watching her grow up and probably won't meet her for quite some time. It's my way of keeping them in the loop. Besides, my step-dad asked me to keep posting there.
Today, the ex-SIL decided to comment on one of the pictures of The Lady and asked where pictures of "my other two children" were. Clearly she's upset that I haven't been giving equal air time to all three of my children. One half of my brain was all, "Oh my god! She's such a good aunt!" The other half of my brain was all, "Da fuck?!" So I decided to play the middle road and say something along the lines of, "Well, they're at school at the moment... ;) But actually, I've taken pictures of with The Monkey's phone... etc" Her response, "Yeah, but you've had her for a week."
On Facebook, I decided to let it drop. But I want to go on the official record as saying the following:
Just because there aren't more pictures of The Monkey and The Nugget on Facebook doesn't mean that I love them any less than The Lady Gray. In fact, if it's possible, I love them MORE since she's gotten here (there's something about loving more that makes you love MORE, y'know?). I wasn't in the habit of posting pictures of them all the time before she got here and since The Monkey now has his own Facebook page, he can post all the pictures of himself that he wants. That's the beauty of having a teenager in the house.
Here's the real thing though: I don't post pictures of them every day because I'm too busy trying to keep their routine as normal as possible [with a mom that needs to sleep when the baby does and all that jazz]. There are things like home work that needs to be done and supper that needs to be cooked and eaten, and chores that need to be completed. Life needs to happen despite the fact that there's a new baby here. I don't get a mulligan on the old kids because there's a new one. And I don't have a whole lot of time to stop and take pictures of our daily routines.
And let's not forget that, despite the fact that I'm moving around really well, I still had a c-section. I'm trying to do all of this while recovering from major abdominal surgery.
There are more pictures of The Lady Gray because her routine consists of eating, sleeping and pooping (and sometimes pooping in her sleep). I'm home with her all day and, frankly, it's kind of boring. So I'm trying to keep myself entertained with something other than crap TV.
Not for nothing, but The Lady Gray is ten years younger than her closest sibling. The Trolls have had at least ten years more of pictures being taken and posted, and framed and hung than she has. Yes, she's been here for a week and she's got a lot of catching up to do.
Speaking of the trolls...
One of the things that kept me with The Ex far longer than I should've was his family. They're a tight knit bunch and I was worried that if I left, he'd get them in the divorce. Fortunately, it was a baseless fear, since -- as it turns out -- they're a tight knit bunch who know how to compartmentalize. As such, I've remained friends-ish with his sister over these past few years. The friendship has cooled to more of a friends-on-Facebook level over the last few months, which happens when life gets in the way.
The Lady Gray has been home for a week now. Like any good new mom, I've been kind of blowing up Facebook with pictures of her. I'm not going over the top, but I also have a crap ton of family up north who don't get the benefit of watching her grow up and probably won't meet her for quite some time. It's my way of keeping them in the loop. Besides, my step-dad asked me to keep posting there.
Today, the ex-SIL decided to comment on one of the pictures of The Lady and asked where pictures of "my other two children" were. Clearly she's upset that I haven't been giving equal air time to all three of my children. One half of my brain was all, "Oh my god! She's such a good aunt!" The other half of my brain was all, "Da fuck?!" So I decided to play the middle road and say something along the lines of, "Well, they're at school at the moment... ;) But actually, I've taken pictures of with The Monkey's phone... etc" Her response, "Yeah, but you've had her for a week."
On Facebook, I decided to let it drop. But I want to go on the official record as saying the following:
Just because there aren't more pictures of The Monkey and The Nugget on Facebook doesn't mean that I love them any less than The Lady Gray. In fact, if it's possible, I love them MORE since she's gotten here (there's something about loving more that makes you love MORE, y'know?). I wasn't in the habit of posting pictures of them all the time before she got here and since The Monkey now has his own Facebook page, he can post all the pictures of himself that he wants. That's the beauty of having a teenager in the house.
Here's the real thing though: I don't post pictures of them every day because I'm too busy trying to keep their routine as normal as possible [with a mom that needs to sleep when the baby does and all that jazz]. There are things like home work that needs to be done and supper that needs to be cooked and eaten, and chores that need to be completed. Life needs to happen despite the fact that there's a new baby here. I don't get a mulligan on the old kids because there's a new one. And I don't have a whole lot of time to stop and take pictures of our daily routines.
And let's not forget that, despite the fact that I'm moving around really well, I still had a c-section. I'm trying to do all of this while recovering from major abdominal surgery.
There are more pictures of The Lady Gray because her routine consists of eating, sleeping and pooping (and sometimes pooping in her sleep). I'm home with her all day and, frankly, it's kind of boring. So I'm trying to keep myself entertained with something other than crap TV.
Not for nothing, but The Lady Gray is ten years younger than her closest sibling. The Trolls have had at least ten years more of pictures being taken and posted, and framed and hung than she has. Yes, she's been here for a week and she's got a lot of catching up to do.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Sweet Lady Gray
The Lylabean is here (or, as I've taken to calling her, Sweet Lady Gray). She came into the world at 9:21 last Friday morning, weighing in at a whopping 9 pounds, 8 ounces! Talk about a weight loss plan; ten pounds right outta the gate!
Tomorrow, The Fiance™ goes back to work. I'm sad about this -- mostly because my hormones are still settling down from birthing the Lady, but also because having a helpmate has made all the difference in the world, during this first week of new parenthood. If I'm honest, I'm a little bit scared that I won't be as adequate at this parenting stuff without him.
They say it's like riding a bike, having a new baby. But there have been a lot of firsts for me with Lady Gray. We're successfully breastfeeding, which I wasn't (or wouldn't do) able to with the trolls. (Knock on wood), she sleeps pretty soundly for the most part and for long durations, something neither of the trolls did this early for sure and, in the Nugget's case, at all until he was a toddler. Having a partner who gets up at 3 AM just to change the baby's diaper is something novel, too, because The Ex wasn't a big fan of helping out in the wee hours of the morning (when he was actually around).
I'm feeling ridiculously blessed and scared, but mostly blessed. I am so grateful for this life I have.
Tomorrow, The Fiance™ goes back to work. I'm sad about this -- mostly because my hormones are still settling down from birthing the Lady, but also because having a helpmate has made all the difference in the world, during this first week of new parenthood. If I'm honest, I'm a little bit scared that I won't be as adequate at this parenting stuff without him.
They say it's like riding a bike, having a new baby. But there have been a lot of firsts for me with Lady Gray. We're successfully breastfeeding, which I wasn't (or wouldn't do) able to with the trolls. (Knock on wood), she sleeps pretty soundly for the most part and for long durations, something neither of the trolls did this early for sure and, in the Nugget's case, at all until he was a toddler. Having a partner who gets up at 3 AM just to change the baby's diaper is something novel, too, because The Ex wasn't a big fan of helping out in the wee hours of the morning (when he was actually around).
I'm feeling ridiculously blessed and scared, but mostly blessed. I am so grateful for this life I have.
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| Lady Gray, a couple hours after she was born. |
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| The Fiance™ cutting the cord. |
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Just an update about tomorrow
Tomorrow is the Lima Bean's big debut. She'll be here in the early hours of Good Friday -- also my Grammy's birthday.
Pre-op at 5 AM on the dot. C-Section festivities to begin at 8 AM. Look for pictures on Facebook (or until I learn how to upload them onto this here newfangled laptop).
Wish us luck, health and love!
Namaste!
Pre-op at 5 AM on the dot. C-Section festivities to begin at 8 AM. Look for pictures on Facebook (or until I learn how to upload them onto this here newfangled laptop).
Wish us luck, health and love!
Namaste!
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