Thankful

I used to be so punctual.  Oh, I still get everywhere I need to be on time, I am very rarely late for work/school even with three kids dragging their feet every morning, but when it comes to this blog, I am forever and hopelessly running behind.  

On November 1 I noticed everyone in my Facebook world jumped on the thankful train and started posting their blessings every day.  Every day I meant to do that too and, well, it didn't happen.   Wouldn't have been very hard and wouldn't have taken me very long, but once I scrolled through the daily happenings of my 246 close friends and dug for treasure I needed to log off and watch Duck Dynasty marathons clean the house, cook meals, and raise children.  

So since I very rarely have my own bloggy ideas anymore, I've decided to steal the facebook fun and move my thankfulness over here.   Will I do this more than once?  Eh?  I hope to, I have plenty to be grateful, but, you know, the whole speech, guitar, gymnastics, football, psychiatrist, part-time job thing......

Day 1......Better late than never.....

The obvious:

I always want to send a photo Christmas card to Dr. Swami who told me fifteen years ago I would likely never have children without absolutely any explanation or bedside manner whatsoever.   I am certain without a doubt that God sent us to Texas, to this job just thrown into the husband's lap, just so we'd get out of West Virginia and into a world with better medical facilities.   Should I wait until tomorrow to say how thankful I am for Texas doctor too?  Nah.  Where Dr. Swami said I'd need to have three miscarriages before she'd help me in any way, Texas Doctor dosed me up with enough hormones everytime I finally got pregnant (except the last one, which was a surprise and maybe also a miracle) so I wouldn't have to experience the inevitable that comes with a progesterone level of four.   I mean, what if I'd miscarried these children because  I had one West Virginia doctor to choose from?  Would I have three different kids?  Would I have any children at all?  Boggles the mind to think about.  

Being a mom is hard work.  There are some days I just want to shut the bedroom door and be done with it for the night and then, naturally, that's the night two of them are puking all over their beds and the third one is complaining very loudly about how horrible his life is that he has to live here.  With that.  The travesty.  Oy.  When the frustrations mount, I try to remind myself how very much I prayed for these children and how very lonely I would be without them.   

The End of the Book

I bought the book Marley and Me years ago and I've never finished it.  Oh, it's a good book.  I got many laughs from it, especially realizing how very much they had stolen from our own life.  In fact, as I look back now, I wonder where they kept the spy cameras to get all of the material.

I never finished it though.  Marley got old and Marley got sick and then I closed the book never to open it up again.  The same is to be said of the movie every time it comes on TBS.  Owen Wilson starts to look a little grieved and I switch the channel.  Lalalalalalala.  I know not what you are speaking.

Yet.

Now I do.

That sweet Ezra held on as long as he could.  He tried so hard for me.  I could see in his eyes he just wanted to make it all right, make my sadness stop, do whatever he could to make things stay the same, but such is the passage of time and the way of life.  None of us, animals included, are made to last forever.  His will was so strong, yet his body was so weak.

We spent Labor Day weekend at the lake with my parents.   My dad and husband went hunting as they do every Labor Day while the rest of us did as much non-labor as we could.  The weather was wonderful so we let Ezra outside most of the day that Saturday.  He roamed the land and sniffed at stuff and I was amazed at how well he was getting around.  In the back of mind I knew I should have brought him back in, but he was having such a good time, I just wanted to watch him.  I remember saying to my mom, "See, he's not too bad for a 14 1/2 year old dog".

The next morning that tumor on his leg had doubled in size.  It was red.  Blood red.  That's when my heart started to ache.

When the menfolk returned the next day they confirmed what I already suspected, that tumor was bleeding inside.   Of course, that's a bad thing.

I honestly thought he'd die that day.  I don't know nothing about no bleeding tumors, but we brought him home and waited.  He ate bacon wrapped New York strip steak one night.  Rare bacon cheeseburgers the next night.   Spaghetti meatballs and an entire bunch of bananas the next.

He didn't seem to be in any pain and  he was still able to get up and down and go outside and most especially eat anything given to him plus beg for whatever I had, which was gladly given.

On Sunday my husband and my dad left for their yearly trip out west.  No one needs to tell me how selfish he was to leave at that time.  The money was spent,  the trip long planned and I sent him on his way.  To be honest, I enjoy this particular trip because my mom always comes to stay and she will pick the kids up from school relieving me of the pick-up line for four days and, well, if you have kids and have done the pick-up line you know how much I was looking forward to it.

Also on Sunday.  Ezra couldn't stand up as long as he had been.  If you weren't looking for it, you probably wouldn't have noticed it, but that ache was in my heart.  I was looking for it.   I smiled and waved and prayed he'd live until they got back.

Also on Sunday.  I got the shingles.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Ezra did pretty well Monday and Tuesday.  He was still eating and walking and getting up and down, just more slowly and the desire to trot all the way across the kitchen to beg for my food just wasn't worth it anymore.  I brought the food to him.

On Wednesday the tumor began bleeding.  Just a tiny little speck, you'd almost miss it if you weren't looking for it, but you know I was looking for it.  That ache became a pound.   I sobbed in my bathroom for two hours and then I pulled myself together and spent the night on the floor with my first furry baby.   Every time I'd cry he'd shiver.  I thought he was in pain and maybe he was, but if I stopped crying, he'd stop shivering.  It broke my heart because I knew, even in his death, that dog was wanting so much to take my own pain away.  I had to be strong for him and I tried, but it was hard.

By Thursday morning there were four more spots and they were bleeding more.  When I took him outside I could not believe the pool of blood under him.   He hung his head in shame.  I told him over and over how I was not mad at him but he'd lost his dignity at that point.   He didn't like being a burden on us.

I had to work that day, although really, I probably didn't.  My boss would've let me stay home, but I couldn't.  I needed my pounding heart to calm down.   My mom, God love her, stayed home and petted that dog all morning until the menfolk arrived again.  My cell started ringing as soon as my morning was finished and I knew.  I didn't answer for half an hour but when I did my husband was sobbing.  "You know what I need to do?"  Of course I did.  I had known it since the ache crept in.

I went home and spent ten minutes crying over my first baby.  I told him how very much I loved him and what a great brother he'd been to the children.  I told him I knew he'd be there to greet me when it was my time, in fact, I am sure he'll push everyone else out of the way to get to me first.  I told him I knew he loved me and he had taken such good care of me all these years but I was able to do it myself now.  He's gotten me through those very hard infant nights and friendless days and now it was his turn to go to Laura and Sadie and Mimi and Haley and RUN.....Run like the damn wind that we'd all be okay......eventually.

I took plaster paw prints and brushed some hair into a bag and then my sister drove me back to work while they took him in my car.

We told the children we had to take him to the vet because of the bleeding tumor and he died while he was there.   I suspect Jacob knows the truth, but he hasn't said anything.   We must have been pretty convincing because this morning my sister says to me, "I can't believe he died as soon as you got him to the vet."   I was always the smart one.

Our home is so empty.  I never realized how much that dog was a part of the minutes of my day.   Every time I passed him I bent down to give him a pat, I still find myself gearing up to do so when I pass his favorite spot.   I tossed him our pizza crust the other night.  It got sauce on the carpet because no one was there to get it.  We went out to eat this morning and it was sad not to be greeted at the door with his nose in the air wondering what we'd brought him in the bag.   Plus, my goodness, how much food my youngest two children waste.  I have always just absentmindedly scraped what's left in his bowl not really paying attention, but, WOW, that dog has eaten really well since they came along.

So I read the book The Art of Racing in the Rain  at the recommendation of a friend who thought I needed to read it after this week.  It was okay.  I think I may need to read it again because I suspect I am still in somewhat of a fog, but my first impression, eh.

But I do think I will go back and finish Marley and Me.  I have lived the whole book now.  I know what's coming.   I can do it now, because I know it cannot be as bad as the real thing.

Ezra Kieran
February 20, 1998 - September 13, 2012
Fourteen years, six months, 24 days
Best.  Dog.  Ever.

I'm Going To Disney World.....One Day

I am sitting here, with my trusty dog and my trusty laptop.  I can hear very faintly the sounds of Jake and the Never Land Pirates under the constant and grating screaming coming from our second story.  You can never find quiet in this house.  Our walls are filled with the fighting, the swearing, the destruction of once-loved playthings.  My oldest son requests to be home-schooled and I laugh every time he brings it up.  I can't help it.  I would love nothing more than to have all my children home under one roof, soaking up knowledge that I give them, spending time exploring more than an eight hour day, but there's no way I can.  It is 9:15 a.m. and I need a drink.  Or a cigarette.  Or both.  Yet, I don't do either.  If the vidodin didn't give me a raging headache, I'd be all over those.  Instead I turn to Facebook and lose myself and my mind in my damn Frontier.  I hate that Frontier.

We have yet another therapist to add to our list of after-school activities.  She specializes in autism spectrum disorders.  His other therapist felt she would be a better fit.  Oh, she will continue to see him, but not as much, letting this other woman "do her magic".  In other words, he's being dumped.  Even his THERAPIST has given up.

*sigh*

New therapist thinks he should be tested.  Again.  We can go to Disney in the spring or retest.

You know what?

We're going to Disney.

You know what else?  Jacob doesn't want to go.   Part of me wants to grant him that wish too, because I am just so.  very.  tired.  of the drama every.  single.  day.

He'll come with us, of course.  I would hate myself for not taking him, but I am sure I will be punished every minute of our expensive vacation for it.

I spent over six hundred dollars this summer plus the gas driving twice daily two towns over so Jacob could attend art camp.  I could say, and I will, that I did it so he could finally fit in, do something he truly enjoys, and find a friend who gets him and actually wants to do things with him.

But it's my blog and I'll be brutally honest here:  I did it so he wasn't here all day.

Those art teachers were so complimentary of me doing so much to better my child's artistic skills and I just smiled and nodded and thought how so very happy I was to have some peace and quiet for seven solid hours.

School starts in two days.  I have been dreading it for five years.  My baby is going to kindergarten.  See, I just teared up typing that.  I really should be writing about that...and maybe I will, but now, it's just the constant screaming and complete unhappiness that makes me so very happy for Thursday.   I will miss Elizabeth so much, but I cannot wait for these boys to get the hell out.   I have tried all summer to create meaningful experiences for them, make memories, work as a team, and still.....Jacob doesn't like us.  We get in the way of his, I don't know, laziness?   If I won't buy him new Legos or let him spend fourteen hours a day on the computer, or ask him to please put his dish in the sink than he hates me....hates us all.....wishes we'd die and he could do whatever he wanted, yet he can't even fathom that if we did?  It would not be that way at all for him.

ADD or Tweener?

Either way.....I can't wait for school to start on Thursday.

For him.

Fifteen

Just because I didn't want to NOT post in July.....

Yep.  Ezra's still around.  I feel like I should call the veterinary surgeon and let him know.  He swore he MIGHT live nine months after the surgery he sorta kinda wasn't really sure would help him.  I know we looked like complete fools agreeing to pay $4000 for MAYBE six months more with him, that and the fact that we were pretty much sobbing on the cold tile nasty with animal germs floor.

We have taken it day by day since and here we are fifteen months later.

When I start to stress, I look at him and remember how blessed we are to still have him here.

Yes, it's probably silly to some to deplete our long saved Disney World account to save him, but we have not once regretted it.

Yes, he's fourteen and a half years old and his odds of living to another birthday aren't good, but when we all wake up and see his smiling face (yes, he smiles) another day, we are happy.

And that was worth $4000 to me.

My Strange Addiction

Do you watch that show?  Wow.  That's all I have to say about that.

I feel I can't judge because I have my own issues.

I can't.  Stop.  Buying.  Clothes.

For my kids that is.  I'm still wearing the new clothes I bought for my honeymoon.  Well, the shirts anyway.

Obviously you can tell this is Elizabeth's closet.   You may have seen it before....It's only gotten worse since then.

Yesterday, Wednesday, I drove Jacob two towns over to his summer art camp and was in the direct fire of a few of my favorite resale stores.  Now, I don't go there often because, well, they're two towns over and you've seen gas prices and, honestly, I just dont' like to be in the car with my kids that long AND, well, you see the closet.  I knew how close I was but I resisted because I know my children have plenty of clothes.  I did well on Monday, and even Tuesday, but I had some extra time to kill on Wednesday and I was pulled into their orbit where I became $65 poorer.  Almost everything I purchased was sixty percent off secondhand prices so I came out with a big bag.  I even had some things for the boys.  Two shirts and a pair of shorts.  The rest, all for for Elizabeth.

The guilt.  All mine.

She didn't need any of it, even if I did get a brand new Gymboree outfit for $7, she did not need it.   Especially since last week I spent $70 at JCP, $25 at Target, and the week before that I spent a whopping $80ish at Old Navy.  BUT IT WAS ALL ON SALE AND I GOT REALLY, REALLY SUPER DEALS ON ALL OF IT.

This morning, when I took the pictures, I counted 80 dresses, 88 skirts, and 72 tops crammed into her walk-in closet.

There were only a handful of pants/shorts in her drawer, maybe 10 total, so I didn't take a picture of it (also it was very messy).  She did, however, have 22 swim suits.  What can I say?  We do go to the pool a lot.

I didn't count the bows either because I wouldn't get an accurate count since they are all over the house.  Bows are expensive.  She usually doesn't keep them in her hair long so why do I buy them?  She could really get by with a clippie barrette every day, but what fun would that be?  I never thought I'd be a bow mama, but I am.  *sigh*  

She wanted a short hair cut this week so we won't be using those bows as much anyway.

They are having a $1 sidewalk sale at another store I'll pass this afternoon.  I am so hoping my car stays straight and goes only where it needs to go today.

The Graduate

Before I can talk about this.....

*I might die from the preshusness*

I need to talk about this.....

WTH?

I was just pregnant with this child.   

How? Did? This? Happen?

I dreaded this moment all year long.  Working at the same school, I had to work graduation last year and very plainly remember watching those great. big. kids reciting their Bible verses and marching up the aisle in pursuit of that shiny trophy and thinking awww.......and then they lined up to sing some little ditty about going off to kindergarten and being oh, so ready, and I froze behind those metal risers where I was to stop escapees from plummeting to their death  parent's forever embarrassment.

OMG. OMG. OMG.  Elizabeth will be singing this song next year.  OMG. OMG. OMG.  

And then I sobbed.  At some other kid's graduation.  While holding onto some poor kid's khaki pants leg for his own good.  At least my tears kept him from jumping.  I think.  

I had a baby, dammit.  Not a kindergartener.  

I sobbed again on her first day of school.  And at the Christmas program.  When her class toured the kindergarten.  And for the last six weeks of school each and every time I would peek through our connecting door and see her there.  Right there twenty feet away from me.  Which she won't be next year.  *sigh*  

How blessed I have been to hear her laughter during play time.....hear her counting to 100 more loudly than everyone else.....cutting through my room to use our restroom when hers was occupied.........retrieve little drawings she'd secretly shoved under the door....sing and dance during chapel with her......receive surprise kisses when she'd sneak over during center time.   What will I do next year?   Ugh, I need to stop myself before I start sobbing again right here in my recliner during Dr. Oz.  

But I made it through the graduation.  My very last preschool graduation ever, well, at least for any child that was cut out of my abdomen.  I'll be back again next year holding onto some other kid's leg behind the risers, this year, I was able to sit in my saved seat up front and center and watch MY baby recite her verses, snag her trophy, and sing that heart-wrenching kindergarten tune, weeping and smiling the entire time.  

I survived it.  Barely.  And here are some pics.....

 I do not understand why my husband, who does not cry at such events, always insists I take the pictures.  I mean, through tears, this is what you get.....

 She was THRILLED to go on stage.....if they'd asked  her to stop and do a song and dance routine she would not have objected.....and seriously, even through the blur and red-eye she seems so old here.  Sunrise, sunset......*sob*

 I hate my camera.   The flash took FOREVER and I missed this precious moment.....if nothing else it is noted here that her teacher, my friend, seems to be laughing at my nervous breakdown.  They were taking bets how soon it'd be before I got teary.  UM....in the car on the way there.....

MOM....I HAVE A TROPHY!  STOP CRYING!

I love this child.  Remember how bummed out I was to find out I was pregnant ?  I can't either.  

Another milestone for my baby.....and I survived.  

Someone will need to come hold me in August though.  

Change of Plans

What did I say the last time we talked about Jacob's school?

We were sending him to the public middle school right?

Bwahahahaha.....tricked ya.

No, we won't be doing that. At least not next year. Well, unless we change our minds again, which is entirely possible.

A few weeks ago I spent part of the morning with Jacob in his fifth grade class helping him to prepare a presentation on Greece, something I'd he'd been working on for weeks. I He made baklava and taboulleh, and a huge Lego piece depicting the Trojan War. So I was there a bit and I watched the kids around me and was suddenly struck by how old they all were. Two of the boys needed to shave. I shit you not. But that wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing was their attitude. Deary me, it was brutal. At one point I even stood up and gave a small speech about how they were attending Christian school and, well, where are the Christian attitudes? Then the teacher pulled me outside and gave me a little speech explaining this is just how fifth graders are, exerting their independence, pushing the envelope, seeing where they fit, yada, yada, yada. And then I went back to my tiny three-year-olds and continued to teach them how to love each other and use good manners, wondering wth am I working this hard? They'll just get older and be expected to act like assholes and all my hard work will fly down the drain. Gah.

It was hard to be in that fifth grade room. It was so blatantly obvious my kid does not fit there. At least the teacher shushed them up when they started laughing at his Legos. My kid plays with Legos. The other kids text during class. Huge maturity gap.

I didn't sleep well that night. I was so very worried it would be much worse at middle school. In my heart, I just know he isn't old enough to go there. I kept remembering how kindergarten teacher recommended retention, first grade teacher recommended retention, second grade teacher recommended retention, and third and fourth grade teacher just prayed he'd catch up socially very soon. Then it hit me: Why can't we retain him right now? Huh. Why hadn't I thought of this before? That would give him another year to try to catch up to the facial-haired ones.

When I approached the husband with my plan he said he'd go along with it IF he went ahead and did sixth grade at the private school (shudder, he'll still be there with the shavers) where he can learn the locker/changing classes situation in a smaller setting and also have a study hall with a teacher who teaches organizational skills, hopefully helping him prepare himself for doing it own him own the next year. Also, they do guitar in sixth grade and I think the husband really wanted that for him as well.

I am still pushing to redo fifth grade at the public elementary school. I feel like he could meet some kids and move forward the next year with them. Also, if he needs special ed services, we can start the process in his redo year and be ready when he moves on. I have a feeling a will lose this battle though.

So.....as of today (and it could still change), Jacob will go to sixth grade at the private school just like always and do it again the next year but at the middle school down the street.

We'll see how this works out.....

Everything Happens for a Reason

I know you've heard it said before, everything happens for a reason. I don't like to hear that too often because, well, I hear that too often. Sure Jacob is bullied and teased and causes us a ton of grief, but, oh well, it's happening for a reason.

WTH IS THAT REASON?

But that's not where I'm going with this....

Let's rewind 12 years shall we?

June 2000: The husband and I had been living in Hell Hole Neighborhood, Texas for about six months. I still didn't have a job. I liked all that free time and most especially the sleeping until 11 every morning, but I was bored. And becoming broke.

Off topic....OMG, 11? Our days are now already hours old by then. I should've appreciated that more.

Anyway, I drug myself out of my cozy bed and hit the pavement in search of a job and whaddya know? All I had to do was ask for one. I got the first one after my first interview. I started teaching second grade two months later and a month after that peed on the stick and found two pink lines.

Hmmmm....

I went from lounging every day to having a difficult, sometimes bed-ridden pregnancy plus 22 students who depended on me to learn to read and, you know, pass second grade. It was hard. All I wanted at that time was to go back home and pretend I'd never been to that interview. The vice-principal was always on my case because, although I had doctor excuses, she thought I was lying every time I'd be sentenced to bed rest. The kids weren't very well-behaved, most likely because they never knew who was actually going to be their teacher any given day and I was just so freaking tired. I did, however, meet some very nice women and the best part of my day was lunch in the teacher's lounge with them. When Jacob was born so early and my career abruptly ended, I was glad to be off my feet, but I missed those women. Oh, we kept in touch for a while, but you know how things go especially with children, you just don't find the time....

Now, let's go back to 2011 okay?

I am sitting at a table at the first staff meeting at my first job in ten years. I am scanning through the handouts and come to the page listing all employees and I recognized a name but then I thought, now there's lots of that surname in these parts surely not.

But surely so. One of those women was now my co-worker again. Her three year old daughter was in my class.

Hmmmmm.....

You know they say things happen for a reason.

I hated that job. I don't know why I took that particular job over another offered to me at the same time. Shoot, I have no idea why I even applied there as it was in the next district over and a 30 minute drive each way. I wondered constantly why the heck was I there?

Now I think I might know.

I find it so odd that my friend and I just happen to end up living and working in the same town when each of us lived somewhere else ten years ago. It's like she was meant to be in my life, I was meant to meet her and to know her.

Our daughters are the same age. They are best friends. Inseparable. BFFs.

Eleven years ago we gave birth to boys within two weeks of each other and then went our separate ways.

Today we lay by the pool and watch our girls share secrets and giggle and pretend to be mermaids.

So as much as I hate to hear it, things do happen for a reason.

5

Happy 5th Birthday Elizabeth!

(Just a wee bit late)

When I started this blog, your oldest brother was not even five. Adam was a few months old. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought of you, and yet, here you are. All five years of you.

Elizabeth. At five years old, you know all your letters, you can count to 100, and you can read some words. You've been writing your extremely long name for over a year now. I know your kindergarten teacher will be impressed with your beautiful handwriting. Which. GAH. Kindergarten? You are so ready for it. I, however, am not. I will sob like the baby you used to be on that day and I know you will rub my back and give me a kiss and ask me if it's okay in that motherly way you have for anyone sad or crying. Maybe you'll be a nurse one day? No, you'll be a princess, don't I know? You'll live at Disney World with all the other princesses and they'll make a movie about you too.

You love your Disney Princesses. Ariel has always been your absolute favorite, although last Christmas we went through an all Belle, all the time phase, but it wasn't long before the finned one was front and center again. Rapunzel is getting a lot of play here recently and you've decided when you get married and have a baby that is what her name will be. I remember I wanted to name my baby Imperial when I was five (after my glow-in-the-dark yo-yo) and since you aren't Imperial, I'll worry about that one when the time comes.

You have a boyfriend. You are five years old and you have a boyfriend. I hope he likes Rapunzel.

You have played with Jesse since you were babies. He bought you a Tinkerbell music box for your birthday and when he went to Disney this year, he bought you an Ariel crown with the money he was given to buy himself something. He says you are beautiful and tells you this often. He is a very smart boy. You are five and you have a boyfriend. I am still trying to wrap my mind around this one.

You have a BFF...

Seriously, ya'll were skipping around school telling everyone you were BFFs. Do you even know what that means? And I can't believe I don't have any better pictures of the two of you. I must do something about that before Sarah goes to her neighborhood school and you don't see her as often.

Your favorite show is Max and Ruby. Your favorite foods are french fries and Panda noodles. Your favorite color is pink, except on the days it is purple, but you will choose yellow flowers, paper, or crayons because it is MY favorite color. You have a closet full of dresses and I didn't realize you didn't have any shorts or pants until we had your first soccer practice and we had to borrow a pair from Adam.

So yeah, you play soccer!

Sorta.

You enjoy dressing up in your "costume" and eating the snacks, and most especially drinking the water you normally won't touch out of the tiny paper cups out of the coach's bright orange push-a-button-to-get-the-water cooler.

You also take dance....

Ballet and tap, although somewhere along the way ballet became jazz and, well, your dad might pass out when he sees that routine at the recital. I am proud of how you've stuck with it all these months when I know you'd rather spend our day off at home. It's almost over and, no, we don't have to do it anymore if you don't want to.

I have felt so much guilt these past two years for taking a job and putting you in school all this time. I still feel like I should have stayed home with you like I did the boys and I feel a little sick knowing I can't get those days back. I will forever wonder if I did the right thing or what we may have missed out on, but you have always loved school. You know where everything is at the school and you are a huge help to me in the mornings getting ready to start MY day. My students wonder every Tuesday morning what Elizabeth picked out for them to play with that week. They like that you peek in the door sometimes and wave at them and I was mighty impressed both years when you knew all their names within the first week. The joke around the teachers right now is that Elizabeth might ask to go to the bathroom while at kindergarten and trot all the way over to the other side of the building to come peek her head into all our rooms just to say hello. They all think they are joking. I fully expect that to happen one day.

You love Adam with your whole heart and he loves you too.

I don't even really think about having playdates with schoolmates because you've always had each other. I hope you always get along as well as you do now. You rarely argue, you like to play the same things, and you're friends. What a wonderful gift you were to him.

You've been a wonderful gift to me, too. I love seeing all the princesses lined up at the table in the morning. I love buying too many sweet little dresses and the shoes to match. I love that you love to sit and have actual conversations with me and you actually listen to what I have to say. I don't even mind sitting on the Polly Pockets that get left in the tub (although, I could do with less of that). With just the boys I always felt a little out of place. I still don't know all the different type of weaponry you need to become a full blown ninja, or for that matter, what an actual ninja really is, was the panda a ninja? You get me and I get you and it's nice to have that.

I still thank God every single day for you. Sometimes I look at you and still can't believe you are here. I love that our pink crayons are no longer always new. I love that our back seat is so very full. I love that I still, for now, have a wee little hand to hold.

I adore you Libby Goose.

Stop growing so fast!

Almost Five

It's been so long since I blogged that my blog has all changed itself. Anyway, on April 19 my brand new baby turned five. FIVE! Surely not. If I knew how to link back to that very day I would, but alas, I do not. I may need someone to come help me figure this out. Once I do, poor Elizabeth will get her very late birthday post. That's what happens when you come last.

Here

Is where we are....

We think Jacob will be attending middle school in our regular school district next year.

We made our choice and were okay with it and now we've started to have some nagging doubts. One day it seems like a great idea and the next day we're sure he'll be killed by fourth period. I had tiny babies. Babies I could dress up and plop in the stroller and waltz around the mall fully made up and gorgeous. I should have known when that didn't work out that the next eleven years wouldn't fare as well.

*sigh*

I know you're all like WTH? Put him the dang free school and forget about it already! And I should, I freely admit, but, man, it's harder than it seems. My kid has problems. HUGE problems. It goes much further than oh, he's got ADHD and some kids tease him sometimes. This kid of mine? He doesn't have friends. Not one. Oh, he'll try to make some but they don't stick around more than a few minutes because they figure out quickly, this kid is weird. He talks to himself. He makes up songs and sings to himself. He believes in Santa and the Easter Bunny and nothing you can say will make him think otherwise. His hair is dirty and his body stinks and his teeth haven't been brushed in at least three months. He writes stories all day long about whatever show, story, Lego, or video game he is into at that moment. He refuses to do his school work. He can't play sports and spends every gym day the target of the others who can. He plays dodge ball when they aren't even playing dodge ball. Shoot, even the coach encourages it. At the CHRISTIAN school that everyone tells me he should stay at because, OMG is it going to get worse where the teachers can't pull the Jesus card all day, because if the Jesus kids are bullying teasing him, wth will the bad kids do?

And what about all those hallways and the eight different teachers and the lockers and the four. flipping. minutes to get to class? I mean, he can't even get his books out of the desk he's sitting in four minutes.

I talked to the special education teacher and principal about a 504 plan and possible special ed services and was pretty much told to shut up already. Even if he shows "symptoms" they wouldn't test him until second semester which means he might get some help by mid seventh grade. Apparently "the middle schools" want to test kids OUT of special ed at this point so everybody can go to high school without a label. I taught special ed. In elementary school. I worked my ass off getting all those needy kids services and then GIVING them services. It was hard. I see now I should've taken a middle school position.

Jacob's teachers (he has two now since he qualifies for the private school equivalent of special ed) stop me at least twice a week to implore to my sense of compassion to please reconsider "throwing him to the wolves". As a teacher can't I see he's not ready for this? Just one more year in a smaller setting learning only four teachers and two hallways and ten whole minutes to maneuver the locker? With a cherry on top? My Gawd Woman! The humanity!

My boss says DO. NOT. CHANGE. YOUR. MIND. HE. WILL. BE. FINE. TRUST. ME. I. HAVE. LIVED. THIS. ALREADY. RICH. KIDS. ARE. MEAN.

I paid his re-enrollment fee in February. I forgot they'd send a letter stating they'd received it. My husband opened it. He was pissed at me for a while. He wouldn't entertain the thought of repeating this conversation.

Until Friday.

Seems he's a little concerned now too, BUT, uh, well, 2 kids + $509/month + 1 kid +$265/month = 1 arm and 1 leg and many beans for dinner.

I am praying like they tell me to do, but so far, just more confusion. And the need for a nighly Unisom just to get some sleep.

I'm still waiting for his to get easier. Anyone know when that will be?

Happy Easter!

11

Only a week(ish) late but....



Happy 11th Birthday Jacob!

If I had any of your baby photos stored onto this computer or even knew where the CDs that contain them are, I would post them here.



Wait a minute, maybe this will work?



Thank you Facebook.

Anyway....On March 4 at 2:23 AM, you turned 11 years old. 11. Old. Wow. I would roll my eyes at my own mom when she'd sigh wistfully about my being born just yesterday but now I know exactly what she meant. Just yesterday you wore Baby Gap overalls with your little shirt poking out. You rode Ezra around the house. You knew every. single. Thomas train that ever was and played with them all. day. long. Now you wear size 8 Levis with Star Wars shirts, have mastered every Mario Wii game we own, and, well, you'd break poor Ezra's feeble back if you attempted to just lean on him.

I feel like I missed a lot and at the same time I feel like I haven't given you enough room to grow. I regret not going to the Children's Museum while you were in preschool like I had planned. I think I should've let you fight your own bully battles from the day they started, maybe it'd be easier for you now? I don't know. I still feel new to this. You are 11, but you are number 1. Everything I do with you I do first. Sorry, Buddy.

I won't use this space to discuss the ADHD, but if you read this years from now, just know it's a huge part of who you are, but it isn't all you. We'll figure this all out. Eventually.

So, aside from the ADHD, who is Jacob at 11?

Well, you love video games. If it's a Mario video game, even better. I think your current favorite is Super Paper Mario because you are always trying to get me to play it and my eyes begin to glaze over and I now know why Gammy did the same when I'd try to teach her to play Asteroids on the then new-fangled Atari. I just don't get it son. I do like to play Legos and will gladly do those with you, but you don't really want me too since you can whiz through each set and those you make in your own imagination, which speaking of, you love your Legos. You want the Star Wars Death Star when you turn 16 and if you were at all capable of holding onto money I think you'd save up for it. Money and gift cards just burn holes in your pocket.

You had a lead part in the school wide play in November. This made you happy and you did a fabulous job. You love acting and drama. You led the artistic production in the fifth grade musical. You love art too. The rest of school does not interest you much. If you'd actually do the work and then remember to turn it in, your grades would be MUCH better, but that's all I'm going to say about that.

Your favorite color is still blue, your favorite television show is Clone Wars, and you are currently reading books about King Arthur. You love Chinese food, the queso at our favorite Mexican place and Chuys jalapeno dip. You prefer cheese pizza but have started eating pepperoni without complaint. You like hot wings and macaroni and cheese and Gammy's gumbo the best, but if it's dinnertime and your meds have worn off, you'll eat anything I sit in front of you. You haven't eaten lunch at school all year, in fact you are still carrying the same lunch I packed you back in August, minus the sandwich I finally fed to Ez. You hate the medicine, but you hate how you act without it. I hate you have to deal with any of it, but like I said before, we're not going to talk about it today.

You love your Gammy more than anyone. I think you're her favorite too, but I will deny that if anyone ever asks. You love to spend time with her and especially love to go up to her house by yourself. I know she feeds you ice cream for dinner and lets you sleep on the floor by her bed even though she's not supposed to. My own Granny slipped me Baby Ruth candy bars and rubbed her Rose Milk lotion under my socks when she wasn't supposed to, so I guess it's her right. I just know it makes you happy so I ignore it.

Ezra almost died last year. You were very concerned and visibly upset, but when you realized how sad your parents were, you stepped up and helped out. He wouldn't come in at all that night and even though we told you not to, you went out every hour that night and checked on him. You brought that old brown banana with you each time to try to get him to eat. You sobbed in the crook of his neck and it was the saddest thing I have ever seen. When, at the vet, you heard how much it would cost to save him, you volunteered every cent you had (wasn't much since you aren't a saver) and said you'd quit the private school and wash people's cars to earn it. The vet cried. He promised us only six months more with that old dog but I know your daily prayers have kept him alive almost eleven.

11.

Seems like yesterday. It truly does.

In 11 more years you'll be 22. Leaving college, living your life. I know that now will seem like yesterday then too.

I have loved you all these 11 years. I know sometimes it doesn't seem like it, but I really do love you, Jacob. I hope between these next birthdays I will learn to know you and understand you and help you more.

If I'd Just Take a Parenting Class This Would All Go Away

We're going to talk about Jacob again today.

Maybe I should just rename this blog the Jacob blog?

Anyway..,

I am sitting here watching the Today show and listening to Matt Lauer report on how, basically, it's probably my fault my child has ADHD because I might have put him in the bath too soon or picked him up when he wasn't ready as a baby.

WTH?

Some old dude is saying something about how most kids shouldn't be medicated and maybe it's a parenting issue?

Of course, this is just my interpretation from what I saw through my red eyes.

My kid? He's currently on my front porch throwing rocks at our glass door because he is not able to be medicated on non-school days since we have to hoard his pills due to the adhd drug shortages. He has four pills left and I have fumes left in my gas tank after driving everywhere looking for some. His psychiatrist will see me March 20 though we can "discuss our options".

Yes, some kids may be unnecessarily medicated for ADHD. I saw a few instances myself back when I was an adult and had a real job, but ADHD isn't always the inability to sit in criss-cross applesauce during circle time.

Let me introduce you to our ADHD:

*screaming for no apparent reason
*running circles around everyone in the house
*punching siblings in the gut and then laughing maniacally
*stealing brother's food, spitting it out on the floor and then laughing manically.
*kicking frail dog then laughing maniacally
*beating Wii wheels into entertainment center for the pure hell of it
*calling everyone foul names when asked to complete a chore
*constant refrains of I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU

And that was just the first ten minutes after I was awakened with his opening my bedroom door and yelling, GET UP over and over.

I was finally able to catch him and restrain him and get him outside but not before gaining some new scratches on my face and another kick in the same ribs he broke last year.

No...he doesn't need to be medicated. I just need to teach him to sit still.

He is still outside. I am afraid to let him back in. I wonder, though, when he'll find a big enough rock and break the door.

Today is a school holiday. I think the note they sent home said something about "enjoy this extra time with your children". We had plans today.....Chuck E. Cheese pizza for breakfast, a trip through Toys R Us to burn those Christmas gift cards, expensive dessert at the cupcake boutique down the street. I was really looking forward to it.

Oh well.

The sad thing is, my little kids are so used to NOT doing that was promised due to the ADHD they just shrugged and found something else to do, no tears, no complaint. I think they would have been shocked if we'd actually made it to one of those places today.

Enjoy this extra time with your children.

I wish.

7

So today is Adam's day....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADAM!



Dear Adam,

I cannot believe you are SEVEN! I think I blinked and you grew up. Weren't you just a baby yesterday?

You are still my sweet little tiny, but you've changed some. You read very well and can add and subtract and you have the most beautiful cursive handwriting I've ever seen. Your favorite thing to do right now is draw. Our house is filled with pictures you've hung up everywhere. I love to see them, although it makes your dad mad when you use glue to hang them. Tape is a better choice, son. Most of the pictures are of Ben 10 and his various cohorts, but there's a few of you and me and a few more of you and Elizabeth.

Which, speaking of, Elizabeth is still your favorite person. Oh, you tell me I am your favorite person, but I just smile and nod and know you are saying it to make me happy. You and Elizabeth are two peas in a pod. If she likes something, you like it too, regardless of the fact that it might be an entirely female entity. If she wants to paint toenails, you do too, you just don't want all your friends to find out about it. You like to read stories to her and she enjoys listening. Nothing warms my heart more than seeing you give her a huge hug each and every time the teacher loads you into the car after school. You have always adored her and time has not changed that. She is truly your favorite and I am okay with that.



Your favorite color is blue, your favorite shows are Wild Kratts and Ben 10, you like dinosaurs and Cars, and your favorite food is spaghetti, but only with Gammy's homemade takes-six-hours-to-cook sauce. You want oreos and nutella sandwiches in your lunch and you like pizza Wednesdays at school. You play a lot with Roddy and Cade down the street and I like that they are in your class too, although, I am sure your teacher does not.

School is not your favorite place. Going half-day last year was fine, but all day long, well, is a waste of valuable play time to you. You'd rather come home before lunch and play with Elizabeth all afternoon but, alas, this is what life becomes as you continue to grow. I think you have realized that it's not going to change and you've been doing better, but the teacher said you can still be swayed if someone thinks you're funny. I think class clown was tossed around in our last conversation. Well, you are pretty funny.

I remember the day you were born and you honest and truly smiled right at me. Your dad saw it too so I have a witness, although no one believes either one of us, but we know you did and it wasn't just gas either. You are a happy little dude and always have been. If things don't go just your way, you figure out another way. You usually don't get too bent out of shape over things and I hope you stay this way. It's a good way to be.

We went to a movie (Puss in Boots) yesterday and you sat in my lap the entire time. I savored every moment even though my legs were so asleep I couldn't get up when it was over. I know one day you won't fit there and you won't want to fit there and one day you'll lose your sweet baby Adam smell right behind your ear the same way your brother did, but for yesterday I held my sweet little tiny with his dangly legs and pointy elbows and remembered what was and what I still have and it was a wonderful day.

I love you Addie-Man.

Now you are 7.

Again...

My blog is broken. Or so I'm told.

Where did all those posts go? ;)

Oh, two kids with homework, a house to clean, a job to work.....oh, how I miss my early mommy days when I thought I was so bored. What I wouldn't give.....

Anyway...

There's so much to say and so little time. Where do I begin?

I guess we'll talk about Jacob this week. K?

Guess what? Seems there is a shortage of ADHD medications. I wasn't able to fill the latest prescription although I travelled miles and miles to find it. They just aren't making it. The good news about this is, so far, only the four hour override morning pill is affected. I do still have 26 pills leftover that I am hoarding for school days, so although the weekends are rough, at least he's not acting crazy at school. Yet. I am praying they don't stop making his patch by the time we need it refilled in March. Me oh my, that would be a problem.

The first nine weeks of school, Jacob failed math, language, and history. We were told by the psychologist that he would always need help with math, but he failed the other two out of pure laziness. He refused to do any homework, wadded his school work into his desk, and just pretty much clocked out. His explanaation: I'm a kid, I shouldn't have to do all this work. Grrrrr. And we're paying 500 bucks a month for that. Yeah.

Seriously, I really just wanted to yank him out of that school and drop him off at the public school and be done with it, but we were paid up through December with no refunds. So....this last nine weeks was spent three to four hours a night at the dining room table doing and redoing homework and schoolwork and studying like I haven't done since those late nights in college. Another reason there wasn't much blogging this fall. I got lots of resistance and lots of grumbling and so much this-isn't-fair-I'm-just-a-kid-I-hate-you-so-much, but this report card he got a B in language, an A in history, and, eh, a D in math, but at least it was a bit of an improvement. If there hadn't been, he was heading to our public school. I mean, gah, I'm not going to keep paying for him to lounge when he can do it down the street for free. Of course, now he thinks he's off the hook, and as much as I'd love to have those afernoon hours again, we have to keep working. It's just getting harder.

Our plan has always been to send Jacob to the local middle school in sixth grade (next year). Elizabeth starts kindergarten this fall (hold me) and there is no way in hell we can afford three private school tuitions. None. The psychologist believes he should also go there and be enrolled in the special education program, which, I just don't know. More about that later. Anyway, I've met with Jacob's teacher three times and she has practically begged me not to do that. She doesn't think he'll be able to navigate the changing of classes at a school at least ten times the size he's in now. She's afraid he'll be physically bullied and lost in the shuffle with the thirty pupil classrooms. She has even offered to help me get a job there next year so we wouldn't have to pay. I just don't really know what to do. My husband, of course, wants to stick to our original plan because, well, money. I want to at least try the public school because, well, art and computers and robotics and swim teams and...and...and...well, is it a better place for him? How will we know if we don't try? The only problem with that is if pull him out of the private school he loses his spot and there is already a waitlist. What if turns out to be a horrible situation? I mean, what would we do then?

We have to decide by mid-February. That's not much time. When he's screaming and yelling and complaining about school I've already pulled him out in my mind, but every other time I am worried. Stressed. Afraid of making the wrong decision. Afraid of making things worse. Afraid of one day having a deranged teenager crash into his school to open fire on his classmates.

What are your thoughts?