Only 96 More To Go

Jacob received ONE award this school year....



Perfect Attendance.

In all honesty, I feel like that is really my award because, I mean, how the hell did he get there if not for me?

I did not even want to go to the awards ceremony. In fact, I almost didn't. This is the only picture I took and even then my husband forced me to walk up and take it.

It takes a lot of effort to NOT make honor roll or superior conduct. Shoot, his bullies all got an award for superior conduct and they supposedly saw the principal at some point. Of course, I realize now that may have just been a story told just to shut me upto appease me. But that's a whole 'nother story.

We are on day five of summer vacation and I have to say, it pretty much sucks.

I got all ambitious like on Friday and drove the kids to the teacher store where I doled out sixty bucks on books and charts and fun stuff to begin Fourth Grade Remediation 101. I spent Saturday morning planning our week's activities plus an extensive check chart of chores that aren't really new but a huge reminder as to what is expected of each and every child with shiny stickers to trade in for allowance quarters. I mean, what child doesn't want money?

My big one doesn't apparently.

I think "I don't have to do any of this crap snd you can't make me" was what he spewed as he stomped up the stairs.

And really, I guess he's right.

He has never done time-out and don't tell me to spend eight hours chasing him back to the spot because I've tried that. I have two other kids I have to feed at some point. I know that mysteriously works for the Super Nanny kids but it never has with him.

I can no longer drag him anywhere. He's too strong for me. We used to put him outback and pull the blinds for his time-outs and that worked until he realized all he had to do was drop and drag.

I could spank him with a belt but the last time I tried that he kicked me so hard I coughed up blood and dealt with searing rib pain for two months.

I don't know what to do with him. I've tried nice, I've tried mean, I've tried sweet and understanding, and I've tried ambivalent and nothing works. My child is a lazy, sullen, rude, smelly teenager already and he's only ten.

I have a MASTERS DEGREE in this shit!

Seriously. I have a masters degree in special education with emphasis on....get this....BEHAVIOR DISORDERS. WTF?

I completely integrated a child back into the mainstream classroom using all these fancy techniques I learned yet I CANNOT get my child to feed the damn cat or talk respectfully using the exact same crap.

He has no more stuff since he refuses to clean it up. He has no sheets on his bed since he refuses to make the bed. He is down to only a few items of clothing since he refuses to walk the three steps to the laundry chute. These haven't done anything to change his ways.

This weekend he peed all over the bathroom floor and wall out of spite. What do I do then? Lock him out of the bathrooms?

His therapist wants to admit him to a facility in Austin. Austin is three hours away. It's a nine month program. It costs over $50,000. Our insurance will not cover it. When the sweet doctor lady wants to send a kid who has to attach himself to my arm just to walk the grocery cart fifteen feet to sleep away from home for nine months, it just defeats you.

We can't afford that. And really, I don't think we can afford to chance what might happen if we'd actually drop him off there and drive away. The nice therapist lady seems to think we don't have any other option.

This was definitely not what I imagined when we decided to have children.

Life as photographed by Adam

I couldn't find my camera most of last week. I finally found it today. Under the bed. And this is what I found on it.....












There was another really interesting one I had to delete once I figured out what it was.

I just hope he doesn't continue that when he gets a Facebook page.

Are There Really 101 Days of Summer Vacation?

So today was the last day of school.

It was pretty unremarkable as last days of school go, well, aside from the huge water gun fight and having to watch my child be sprayed mercilessly yet not spoken to at all for the entire hour I put up with that shit before leaving early.

I really thought I was doing a wonderful thing for him by taking him to lunch at his fave greasy pizza palace afterwards.

I was so wrong.

As I was ordering my ten year old child bounced himself off the wall, threw paper napkins, screamed in, what I can only guess was, tongues, growled like a dog, and told me he'd kill me if I didn't leave that place RIGHT. NOW.

Um...yeah.

This is Jacob's new "thing".

Remember last year when he went all crazy bat-shit on that funky Concerta?

Yeah. Kinda like that. Except, there is no rhyme nor reason for this behavior. On the Concerta he was consistent with his agorophobia. Is it agorophobia that makes you want to not be near people or go places? Or is that arachnophobia? Well, whichever, he's afraid of spiders too.

What was I saying?

Oh....Jacob has developed the paranoia again when we go places although it really just depends on the place.

If it's one of Adam's soccer games and the inevitable Chick-Fil-A feast after then he has it.

If it's Target and we promise to buy him something. Hmmm....not so much.

Anyway....

Although he is losing weight, he is still almost as tall as me and much stronger already. I attempted to take him by the hand and escort him from the building but he pulled the drop and drag (which I find extremely ironic from a kid who just demanded to leave). I eventually got him to his feet and out the door but I'm sure to the owners of that fine establishment and the video cameras they use it appeared I was probably abusing him. It didn't help that two teachers from his school walked right in just as I was getting him to the car. I might have said f*ck about that time too. Oops. It's very difficult to refrain from profanity when you're being kicked in the gut.

I keep wondering if the cops will show up.

I am bummed that this yummy pizza will be my last. You know I ain't setting foot in there again.

So here we go again.

I got the first available appointment with the only other child psychiatrist who takes our insurance. July 18 at 1:45. The child has refused to go on our annual trek up to the fancy water slide. He will be staying with his grandparents. I have been told he'll set fire to the church if I even attempt to drop him off for Vacation Bible School in two weeks. He screamed for a solid five minutes when I told him I'd signed him up for ONE three hour art class. He loves art. WTF?

I don't know if he's playing me or not. I kinda feel like he's using last summer's meltdown as an excuse to get out of doing anything. I also feel like he sometimes needs to be committed to a mental facility. I don't know what the hell is going on with him.

Something has to change though. He scares my little kids. Shit, he scares me.

I just don't know what to do anymore. I love him, but I don't really like him much. I want to get help for him, but damn, we've been getting help for him for YEARS and nothing has helped. He maxes out our insurance fund every year by May for all the specialists he sees. He almost failed fourth grade. He got ten demerits a day, every day. He saw more detention in one month this year than I ever did in all twelve years of school. He's been kicked out of church. Again.

What did I do to deserve this? What did my little kids do to deserve this? What did Jacob do to deserve this? Where are the answers to my prayers? His prayers?

How many days until school starts again?

Holy shit I hope we survive this summer.

My Loves

The Cone of Shame

Poor...

Because He's My First Baby...

My dog almost died this week.

But he didn't.



Instead he got a $3500 spleenectomy done by a fancy-schmancy veterinary surgeon complete with new-fangled funnel alternative.

Plus the added towel since the expensive blow-up donut didn't keep him from releasing two staples in the blink of an eye.

This will give him nine more months. Maybe a year.

We had to do it though. The maybe two weeks was more than we could hear.

So we won't be going to Disney next year.

We won't be getting curtains. Finally.

But our dog will be here this summer. And possibly Christmas.

So it was worth it.

The Last Day of Three....Really

Four years ago today....

It really does seem like yesterday.

It's hard to remember when we didn't have a little bit of pink in our house.



And can I just say how so very much I miss that sweet little boy rubbing my hair in that chair every morning. What I wouldn't give for one more morning of that.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

My Blog is Broken...

Or at least that's what I hear ;)

I have lots to write about it, but no time in which to do it. We are in the last six weeks of preschool and along with that comes Mother's Day Tea, Father's Day Picnic, Easter Egg Hunts, and "Graduation". Those also come with art projects that must be laminated, cut, magnetted, and wrapped and guess who gets to do those things? Did I happen to mention the twenty page scrapbooks I have to put together for each child? ALL FIFTEEN OF THEM????

Yeah. That's taking up all my blogging time.

But not Facebook time. I can't let my Frontier and Island die.

Priorities, ya'll.

Anyway....

I found this in my archives. I almost cried. I remember taking that picture. I remember how smart she thought she was because she could take that hat off. Now that baby can put letters together to write words. She can read a little too. She can kick a ball as well as her brothers and can put her own temporary tattoo on her arm.

She got big.

No fair.

In two weeks she'll be four. years. old.

How?

When?

Gah.

This...

Is being posted just because I like it.

Every day I get with that old dog is a gift.



And the girl too, yes, every day I get with that girl and her brothers is also a gift, but, you know, the dog is old so I am very grateful to have this picture and be able to take another today if we want.

10

I swear, I don't know who this person is. I know I had a baby yesterday ten years ago but I haven't seen him in a while.



My baby is 10 today.

10.

10 = can't call him little anymore.

I still look in my back seat and expect to see him grinning at his roly-poly self in that Elmo mirror with a pacifier stuck in his mouth.

I wanted to write about the day of his birth before it escapes me completely as I am beginning to lose details of the scariest day of my life, but that isn't how I want to spend my baby's birthday. I think there's a trip to the comic book store, the Lego store, TRU, and the best Chinese restaurant this side of town in my future.

Ten years ago I became a mom. I figured by now I'd have it all figured out. LOLOLOLOL........

Maybe in the next ten years?

13

Yesterday my furry baby was 13.



Last year he had a tumor cut off his leg. I cried the whole day.

The year before that he had a stomach bug for three days that I was sure was the beginning of the end.

I really never expected to see my sweet pup enter the "teen years". Especially after our first vet told us we'd be lucky to get ten given his pedigree Labrador status. I cried that whole day too because after only three days I was completely in love with him.

Ezra is a good old dog. He's going strong for 91. He still enjoys fetch although he has to rest a lot more. He still tattles on the kids if they are doing something wrong. He has another huge tumor on his leg that we've decided not to remove because, well, he is 13 and, well, we're still paying for the last one.

The odds are he won't make it to 14, but who knew he'd make it to 13, right?



One thing I do know is that we all love him. So much.

Why?

Why are kids so fucking mean?

I thought things were going better since I went up to that wretched school and demanded he not be bullied. Oh, he isn't bullied so much anymore. Well, in the let-me-shove-your-face-in-the-dirt kinda way. Oh no. They've just decided that Jacob can be no where near them at any time so now he's the kid who sits alone with the random straw paper thrown at him. In front of his mother no less.

The very saddest thing about this is that he thinks this is all a-ok. He thinks its great actually.

I. Do not.

Jacob befriended a new kid who showed up the last day of school before Christmas break. A very fat, not too smart, trip-over-his-own-feet kinda kid. The rest of the class had nothing to do with him so Jacob bent over backward to make this kid feel welcome. For the past few weeks things have been hunky-dorey with said kid until last Thursday when Jacob climbs all innocently into the backseat to tell me that Kid told him he didn't want to talk to him at school because the other kids told him they'd make fun of him if they did and guess who's sitting with the popular kids now? Jacob? Was okay with that. He has absolutely no idea how to be treated right that he has no idea he's being treated wrong.

When I went in this afternoon to fetch him from after-school care (which, long story, he shouldn't have been there) Kid and his new side-kicks were sitting in a pack at a long table shooing Jacob even farther, farther, no a little farther away all while my 178 IQ kid just nodded and grinned stupidly thinking this is what all friends do. In fact, he stated as much. Not one child would meet my gaze when I inquired just what in samhill was going on there. Even when he got up and said good-bye to each and everyone of them they all looked away. They wouldn't even respond to me. Little bastards.

Needless to say we had a long discussion again about reading social skills until finally I just had to tell him. THEY. WERE. BEING. MEAN. PERIOD. He still thinks Kid will be his friend tomorrow. I am still beating my head on the granite.

Christian school = Christian behavior. At least that's what it says on the website.

NOT.

Fucking not.

I really want to take him out of that school but I am so, so, so, so afraid it will be so, so, so, so worse in a new place. I just don't know what to fucking do. God I wish my kid was normal. Just a little bit. I wish he had one iota of a social skill so he wouldn't be treated like this. Why does God not help him? Why does God continue to allow him to be treated that way? Does He want him to commit suicide one day? Does he want him to learn THAT way of treating others? I am so damn confused and conflicted I don't even know what to believe anymore. I understand how adults can be put through trials, but children? Why the hell is that good?

Six years. Still not getting better. I want some answers.

And on Thursday....

It is funny how God works....

Today, my co-worker was taken by EMT to the hospital after experiencing dizziness, sweatiness, and severe chest pain. Thankfully, all children had been dismissed by then. Mine were there but she downplayed it and had me take them home before the ambulance arrived. Always thinking of others she is.

I can't remember any of my own problems right now even though I am running a fever and likely have the flu as of 3 pm. Do I even have real problems?

Got a text ten minutes ago that she DID NOT have a heart attack but she is being admitted. They think she is fine but they have to do those things you know.

If you pray, remember her. She has been so good to me these past few months and Elizabeth absolutely adores her (she's her teacher).

My Life is What *I* Make of It

I can't stand seeing the gloom on my blog. That was never what I intended when I started it. I don't want to use the spot I created to celebrate my children to focus on the shortcomings of my life. My marriage isn't perfect. It never was. I really had no business airing it on the world wide web, although your support has been appreciated.

Instead, I bring you more of this:



This.

Is why I continue to find happiness.

I love my kids. So much so that sometimes just looking at them makes tears roll down my face. They are the reason I do everything I do. I am not a perfect parent but those kids know they are adored.

I love my job. So much so that I don't even mind waking up at 6:30 in the morning to prepare for it. If you've read for me for long, you know this is big stuff. It is probably the worst paying job for the work I put into it, but this is why I do it:
(Sshh...don't tell...It's probably not kosher to post this & I'll delete it soon, but I adore them too)



I am far from unhappy.

Confused and frustrated...yeah, sometimes, but I learned long ago you can't rely on anyone else to make you happy and you also can't make someone happy unless they really want to be.

I choose to be happy as often as I can and that's why I needed to get my whine-fest off the top of my blog.

I Just Want You All To Know....

I got my serving bowl back.

Monday

Aahhh....Monday.

It really is my favorite day of the week. My day off, the husband takes the kids to school, and I don't usually have any errands to run aside from fetching the school boys at noon and three. I am currently watching some strange new show on Nick Jr. with Elizabeth in our pajamas. Did I mention we slept until 10? Love me some Monday.

I am also so very relieved Sunday is over for another week. The husband came home from church and locked himself into his study until 5:30 when he went next door to be wonderful to the neighbors at their annual Super Bowl party. He even gave them my great-grandmother's serving bowl because he's so nice to others like that. Can we say passive-aggressive?

Jana hit the nail on the head when she suggested he's just a little pissed off every Sunday because he is not a part of the perfect family. It's sad, really, because in comparison to many, we have a pretty decent life. Our kids are extremely healthy, we live in a nice home in an even nicer neighborhood, and we can barely afford to send our kids to the school of our choice. We eat and have heat and have the choice of hundreds of television channels. That, of course, is never enough. What's that they say? Money can't buy happiness? I am not saying we are rich, far from it, but we don't struggle to put meals on the table. Oh, I had to go back to work to afford our health insurance, but damn, at least we have some huh? That's a whole other can of worms which does, to some extent, contribute to some of our problems, but I'll get to that another time.

Anyway, my husband would love to have the perfect life. I think it's something he's wanted all his life because goodness knows his childhood life was not even close. His mother is mentally ill. It won't matter how many medications she takes or even if she takes them religiously, she will always have problems. She will never be able to hold a job, drive a car, or make a complex decision. She hasn't been able to do that since Derick was a toddler. She's different. And weird. And it's very noticable. His dad has different issues that I have sworn never to divulge in this blog. We don't even talk about it, it's that distressing to him. I am sure it was all pretty embarrassing to the teenage husband. I'm thinking this is when his imaginary perfect life began.

So many people we meet tell me how great my husband is, because, well, to them he is. He's helpful to the neighbors, he can carry a great conversation, he plays with children, and he really would offer them the shirt off his back. Or, even my great-grandmother's serving bowl. I just smile and nod and resist the urge to tell them, yeah, he CAN be a super guy. We'd LOVE to see more of that ourselves but I think by the time he gets home and done putting on his perfection front, it's too exhausting to keep it up. Just a guess.

Today is Monday. My husband left a cup of coffee for me and made sure the boys were quiet enough so that the girl and I could sleep in. I saw him for just a bit and he told me to have a good day. Sunday is over. His demons are gone. Today.

I wonder often if he is in the beginning of his own mental illness. Maybe he's struggling with is own inner demons. Maybe he works too much. Maybe he wasn't taught how to be real with people, I mean who was there to teach him? Maybe he's just an ass.

Hopefully 2011 will bring us both some answers.

Sunday

I hate Sunday.

I dread it all week long and not because it's the end of the weekend, no. In fact, I am a pretty big fan of Monday. It's my favorite day of the week.

I hate Sunday because it's church day.

I quit going to "our" church many years ago. I don't like it there. I like church allright, but just not this one. I left high school 23 years ago. I don't want to do it again on my weekend. My husband, though, goes every. single. week. You'd think that would be a good thing, but no. It's not.

I don't know what it is, but on Sundays my husband becomes very nasty and mean. He wakes up screaming and goes down screaming every. single. week. That is, if he even speaks to any of us at all that day. The days my husband hates his life are always on a Sunday. Right after services.

Now, I thought maybe he was being pissy because I wasn't going to church with him so I got dressed one Sunday and was happy to try it again and he told me in no uncertain terms that he didn't want me there. Another Sunday argument ensued and I haven't attempted that again. Once bitten, twice shy I think they say.

Isn't church supposed to make you more at peace? Godly? If anything, my husband comes home a demon. I wouldn't call his actions at all Christian. Why do you suppose that is?

This has been going on for yyyeeeaaarrrss. It does not change. Ever.

The only thing now, is that he drags the kids into it. He insists they go with him yet *I* am the one responsible for getting them ready. I know I should make him do it, and I have in the past, but trust me when I say he's even worse if I don't. So this morning I dress Elizabeth and he comes stomping out bitching because she doesn't have a bow in her hair. Elizabeth has no hair...remember? In fact, it's even worse because she gave herself a small trim at Christmas so what grew back is no longer there. A bow will not stay in her hair. Period. He knows this, but it's Sunday and he has to prove it. He barked at me to find a bow. I didn't budge. He stomped up to her room mumbling the whole time about how fucking lazy I am and came back with a ten dollar yellow bow that in no way matched the pinkness in which she was decked out. I removed it. He threw a fit worthy of the rottenest two year old and stomped out of the house screaming how she would NOT go to church with him with her ugly hair like that, no way, no how, and I am a complete dumb-ass and slammed the door.

Now. The thing with my husband is that you never, ever know when to believe him. Super Nanny would have a field day with him because he rarely follows through with a threat. I guess I should've realized that before I started taking her fancy clothes off, but damn, I was pissed. I just wanted that behind us. So about a minute later he comes crashing back in and sees me undressing the girl and the shit hit the fan. Mr. Christian threw some shit and slammed some doors and refused to take any of the kids with him. The boys just stood there not knowing what the hell happened. And now he's gone. I know he's in that church schmoozing with the other fake Christians pretending he's the most wonderful person. He's probably praising Jesus with his hands in the air and hugging the congregants with a hearty "God Bless You" and we'll be punished for that when it's all over this afternoon.

Why the hell does he do this?

The past month he has been pretty pleasant. When he was here. He spent a week in Vail and a week in Louisiana, but between those times we were happy. We had fun even. He actually seemed to enjoy being with us. I started sleeping without medication again. It was nice. Why did I not realize he was decent because he hadn't been to church in a solid month? Why is he NOT decent when he goes to church? What the damn bloody hell is that about?

I work at a church. I teach at a Christian preschool. I pray with my kids and teach them about Jesus and come home at peace about that most days. In fact, it has helped me become more tolerant and calm with my own kids. Most days. I mean, isn't that what church is SUPPOSED to do for you?

Why does my husband hate us every Sunday?

I hate Sunday.

Why?

I am sorta, kinda, keep-my-fingers-crossed getting better. So much better I went ahead and took my kids to a birthday party on Saturday. I drove an hour and twenty minutes each way when I really didn't want to and stood outside in a park for two hours shivering deep within my bones, but we went and the kids were happy.

For my trouble, we've all been exposed to strep throat.

Seriously.

I stood for fifteen minutes talking with a friend while my kids were within breathing distance of hers. As she went to walk away from me, she stopped another friend to say she was going home to bed because she didn't feel too well and had a fever all day.

Really?

WTH?

Did she not get the common courtesy memo about fever=stay home?

This morning she announced to Facebook that she has strep throat. And so do her kids.

Yippee!

I can semi-sorta maybe see why people go to work sick. I've been on the short end of the sick day spectrum once upon a time, but why go to a birthday party around tons of babies, kids, and elderly people that really doesn't require your presence?

At Adam's party last week I offered cake to a classmate who had been dropped off at the door who then told me he didn't think he could eat any since he'd been vomiting all night long. That was after he's spent two hours in the confined bouncy house with nineteen other children.

I heard a mother telling another that her kid had a fever that morning, but thankfully, was all better after she'd given her some ibuprofen.

Are people REALLY this stupid? Or thoughtless? Or so bored they can't just stay home?

I really, really hope we don't get strep throat. Jacob has perfect attendance so far and while it's not that big a deal, I'd hate to think going to a party disqualified him from probably the only award he'd get at the end of the year. I also need to go to work tomorrow. If I don't go, I don't get paid. But if we're sick, we won't go.

And THAT'S what everyone else should do.

And....

I am sick.

Who didn't see that coming?

I went to work anyway this morning since I don't have a fever and my fine motor skills have developed so that I can blow my nose AND cover my coughs and sneezes.

Three year olds...not so much.

The same parent who TWICE last week was told, HEY! YOUR KID IS SICK!, had to be called first thing after her sweetie sneezed green snot all over the kid in front of him. She showed up five minutes before pick-up time.

Three other parents had to be called for the same thing and THEY also waited until pick-up time to show up.

WTH?

And I wonder why their children do not follow any instructions I give them.

I mean, you get a call that your child is sick and you wait three hours to go and get him? Who does that? I could understand if they were working parents or maybe even had another child at home with them but to the best of my knowledge, they are home alone all morning. Must be nice. Damn, I was called a few months ago just to be informed that Jacob had a bellyache most likely due to his new meds and I left a full Target cart to rush up there. He is almost TEN fricking years old. These kids are THREE!

Grrr.....this is starting to really piss me off.