The Fourth Day

I have nothing really new to report.

My husband and I came home with that admittance paper saying we'll-discuss-this and, well, we haven't discussed it.

I think we both buried our head in the sand with the thought that his "treatment" is over, he must be better,  I mean, that's what it's supposed to do right?

Jacob is doing better.   A little better.   Instead of melting down every third day, it's every fourth day.  Not ideal, but progress.    I like the extra good day.

He is still on the contract for his games.   He doesn't like it, but those first three days he complies.  The fourth day?  Forget about it.   He shouldn't have a contract, that is completely unfair, why is everyone so mean to him?  F*#k You, rot in hell.

I didn't realize we were in a four day cycle until this week.   After I had already volunteered to take Adam's best school friend for the day while his mom was at work.

Whooo, boy.   Did I mention that friend is an only child?

Thank goodness his mom is laid back and understanding and just happens to be a nurse with experience in mental health issues or otherwise Adam may have been looking for a new best school friend this fall.

Many times when Jacob gets in these moods,  I spend much of my time trying to diffuse them.  I get so wrapped up in stopping it, that I can't see what is actually happening, but this day I watched him and took notes(before we fled to a movie and lunch just to get poor friend out of there):

When Derick left around 5:30 that morning I woke suddenly remembering that he hadn't taken the games from him the night before so I had him go get them before he woke up.  He wasn't happy about having to walk a llllll the waaayyyy upstairs, but he did go get them.  Noted to self:  I will have to be the one to enforce that from now on.

When Jacob woke up an hour later he was livid.  He was sure the littles, who were still sleeping, had taken his things and he made sure they knew he thought so.  I rectified the situation but at that point he was so enraged and now he was mad at ME because hell no I can't take his things!  They are HIS.  Where do I get off?   I ignored him for the next two hours as did the others.  He cussed and griped that entire time, but we have learned to go about our business.    It does not escape me that we could likely have avoided the entire scene if my husband would have put down his phone and turned off the television and reminded him to bring that game down.  

Mood Killer Number 1:  No Sleep.   I am sure he was up until at least 4 playing those games hence the need to "turn it in".

So then the friend showed up and things amped up from there.  Did I mention friend's mom is the school nurse at the private school?  The private school that still causes him to freak out?  She is wonderful to him and was while he was there, but he had many choice words about that place in the three minutes she was in my home.   Like I said before, thank goodness she went to nursing school.

Mood Killer Number 2:  That school!  It still haunts him.  He has really got to learn to let it go.

*Let it go, let it go, can't hold me back anymoreeeerrree*  Embrace that please.

And then there was a friend.  And then Jacob was calling him names, telling him he was stupid, acting just like, no worse, than the three year olds I teach when they don't want to share.

Mood Killer Number 3:  Brother has a friend.  He has many friends.   Jacob is still struggling to make and keep friends.  Things have been better since switching schools, he actually went to a birthday party and when he does have his phone there are a few who text him, but no one ever comes over.  They never did.  Never has a school friend come over for him.  He is so immature he still asks for playdates with his 8th grade friends and I try to explain that it doesn't really work that way at his age, but he just thinks I am being mean to him yet again.

Sooooo…….how do I eliminate these triggers?  Can I ever really rid him of these demons?  And will they even be the same in two days when the fourth day comes again?

The therapy he received has helped.  Some.  When he begins to get upset on the first three days he will slap his ears (not part of the therapy I am sure especially since this is a tic he's had for years) and when I think he realizes that he then gets his shoes and goes for a walk.  He won't share what was discussed "in group" but I am guessing this is a new coping skill he has learned.   It worked out really well for our neighbor's dog we were keeping until yesterday, because while he was here he took him.

Very tired from so many walks….

The contract, when people actually follow it, has helped.   He wants his stuff.  He wants it so much he does bathe and brush his teeth and make his bed and not call us names and complain all morning to get it and keep it for the day.  Most days he is even okay giving it back although he does let me know how he really shouldn't have to do that.    If someone would just remember to take. it. back.

The little kids start school next Tuesday.   They feel like they missed out on a lot of their summer.  I do not blame them.  I want a do-over as well.  Jacob doesn't' go back until the next week.  I really, really do wish it were the other way around.    That is mean, I know, but he wants to go back to school too.   He likes this new school and he feels good there.  He doesn't have behavior issues at school.  I want him to go back because I want the peace, but also peace for him.  It's his happy place.

We still haven't fully discussed the residential treatment facility.   I think we are in a phase where by not mentioning it, we don't have to face it, but I think eventually we will.  Yes, things are a little better and I am hoping they get even better once school is in session, but that fourth day is still hell.  As long as the fourth day is still here, we will have to talk about it.

Eventually.

Progress

So the insurance quit paying for the outpatient program.   I am not surprised.  Oh my could I complain about how much we are paying for said insurance and how others I know get it completely for free while they don't work, but I digress.   How is that going to help things?

Not happy.  Enough said.

Anyway, Jacob was booted from the program last Monday.  We had to have a meeting where they recommended a residential treatment facility for him.  I was like, okay sure, and then they informed me that it would be a three to nine month program and our out of pocket would be about $20,000.  

Um, no thanks?

Again.  Not happy.  Enough said.

We saw his regular psychiatrist that same day and she disagreed that he was bipolar.   People who are bipolar cannot turn it on and off.   Jacob can.   We are still with the same meds, just increased by 5 mg. each.   They had to order them, so I don't know if this helps yet.

The said we shouldn't tell Jacob about her recommendations, if we decide to take him there, just to go there.   My husband agreed.

I did not so the next day when he started his craziness I showed him the admittance slip and calmly explained to him that this would be our next step.   His eyes were opened wide.  Literally.

Since then, things have gone pretty well.  Oh, we still have our issues, but they are closer to that of normal siblings/families so I can deal with this.  When he starts to get out of control, I just remind him of that paper and things calm right down.  He is following his contract for his game and, in fact, just came down to let me smell his hair.   He has been clean for a week now.  

Progress.

Business

I just have to wonder.   What the hell goes through Jacob's mind?

He knows how to behave.  He was "normal" last Thursday and Friday.   He kept his voice down, he got his chores done, he cleaned up after himself, and even initiated conversation with us a few times.

I don't even know what happened today.

I am telling you, it's fricking insane here.

I had to put him outside.  AGAIN.  I had to disable our garage doors.   And the doorbell.

My mother bought us a book, as if we don't have or haven't read enough of them.   He apparently dug through my husband's things at some point because this is how he found it yesterday:

Way to steal my post-its.

I guess I should feel glad he was curious enough to check it out.   The vandalism I could do away with.

This actually points more toward a bipolar diagnosis as bipolar patiens do not think they have anything wrong with them that others are making it all up just to piss them off.   At least this is my synopsis from the things I have read and the time I spent with my mother-in-law.    She would also stop taking her medications.   Jacob, as far as I can tell, didn't have any today.

We couldn't find Adam's game this morning.   I had locked it in the safe a few days ago at Adam's request because he was just so tired of Jacob stealing it.   When I opened it today, it wasn't there.   I wracked my brain to remember if I took it out, but I know I didn't.   Adam went upstairs and found it underneath a shelf in Jacob's room.   Of course.   No wonder he acted like an ass and got his game removed.    Why behave?   He had a back-up.   That pisses me off, for sure, but the real problem with this is apparently he knows our safe code.   The safe that has all of our important papers,  emergency money, and Derick's guns.  I don't know much about that safe, but I sure hope you can change the combination.   How in HELL did he do that?

Elizabeth (because I didn't know how) had to install the Wii downstairs because Jacob spent so much time changing everyone's names to dirty words and erasing all of their accomplishments.    And really, I just don't want them to have to go upstairs around him anymore.

Since the contract did not work (no surprise there), I told him my next step was going to the school and talking with his LDC (Leadership Development Corps) Commander.   They have a creed they are to follow at all times and, well, he obviously isn't.  He LOVES LDC and has the opportunity to be a group leader and hold office next school year.    If Captain finds out he is behaving this way, that won't be an option any longer.   In fact, he may even be kicked out.   I would hate to do that to him, but I will.  I thought by actually putting him in this program he might realize I am serious, but so far, he doesn't seem to get it.   He needs to know I mean business.  

I have a babysitter here tomorrow and the next day for ten hours while I relearn the same crap I learned when I got my degree, but hey, I have to do it, and, well, I won't be here.    If he pulls this crap while she's here, he's going to find out just how much business I mean.

Cycling

So he did better on Thursday.   The cycle was starting again.   We wrote up a contract with conditions about how he would keep the game and why he would give it back.

He had to give it back today.  Well, we take it away at night, but he isn't able to get that privilege today.  Or probably tomorrow either.   Shoot, probably not all week.

It's so freaking predictable it's not even funny anymore.

Where he was quiet and followed all the rules on Thursday and even yesterday morning, today he came right down at 6 am, started poking Adam with a Wii remote, refused to take his medicine, made strange noises, ran up and down the stairs, threw things, smeared food all over the granite and floor, and turned the television up and laughed like a drowning hyena.    My husband locked himself in (and me out) of the bedroom and then just left the house completely.   "I am not putting up with this shit on my day off" and slammed the door.

Gee, I don't ever get a fucking day off.   Ever.   I deal with his morning tirades all through the school year.  I go to work a stressed out mess every single day.  I clean the messes that he makes before he gets home to see it, I calm the others so they don't lay their grievances at his feet when he returns home.  I drive him to every therapist, psychiatrist, outpatient crazy care while dragging two others with me.  I deal with the teachers, I throw his medicine down his throat.   What does HE do?  Complain about it and then find something fun for himself to do because, hell, he deserves it.

I have a mandatory preschool conference next week.  My mother is extremely ill and cannot come watch them like we had planned on.   My husband just CANNOT take any time off to help me with this.  I can hire a teenage babysitter, but I am not really comfortable with that.   We are forty plus year old adults and this is very hard.   I am just so afraid of what will happen if I go that route.   If I do not go to the conference, I cannot work at preschool next year.  

I will probably get fired.  

I really LOVED that job.   I mean, without that, I don't really have a happy place anymore.   God knows, here isn't it.

Five more years.

In five more years he'll be 18.   At that time, he is out of our home.   I know that is harsh and I hate even thinking it, but he'll be 18.  I'll teach him everything he'll accept until then, but if he refuses to take it, then so be it, but he isn't staying here.  I don't owe him anything after that.   I remember my tiny baby and try to go back and think of him like that, but it's hard.   All I see is this rude, nasty creature and I just want to be free of him.   I had a boyfriend who cussed me out once and then burned me with a cigarette.   I promptly broke up with him and then got a restraining order against him the minute he came around trying to suck up.   I wasn't going to put up with that shit, but man, I put up with it now.  Society really frowns on dumping your own kid.   No one cares how the other children are doing.   We will talk to him and then send him back home with you.  You gave birth to it, you are dealing with it.  Period.  

Only five more years.

Great

So.

The therapist thinks Jacob is also bipolar.

Hmmmm……

It's possible.

Derick's mother was bipolar.   She had a hard life.  A hard, hard life.

She was also very hard to deal with.

Ugh.   I knew when I married my husband this could happen, but you know, you don't really think it's going to happen.

Now not only am I worried for Jacob, I am worried for the other two.  What if they get it too?

Why did our kids get this and not his sister's?    She smoked and drank while she was pregnant.   I doubt she ate very well.   I cut out caffeine, blue cheese, lunch meat, all forms of pain medication and I had nine month long headaches.   Why does she get normal kids and we don't?  How in the hell is that fricking fair?

My husband interrupted the therapist to say he thought Jacob was like this because my mother and I spoiled him by buying him toys when he was a baby.    I wanted to reach in and rip his tongue out.

And OF COURSE we bought him toys!   He was our first child, we didn't HAVE ANY!

I guess our next step is to continue the three hours a day through next week.   The following Monday we meet with the psychiatrist to adjust his medications…..lower the ADD meds, add mood stabilizers and antidepressants.   If he refuses, he will be hospitalized in psychiatric hospital for a week to regulate the new medicines.

And THEN our summer will be over.

Goody.

Cleanliness is Next to Godliness

Isn't that how the saying goes?

Maybe they were on to something.

Jacob refuses to bathe.

I am not real sure when this started.  When he was a baby a bath was the only way to calm him.  Some days I would put him in the tub ten times.  If he was in the water,  at least he wasn't crying.  Of course, then it exacerbated his ecxema and then he'd cry because of the creams, but hey, at least he wasn't crying during the bath.

I guess about the time he started school he stopped wanting a bath for fun.   I'd have to really put my foot down to make him take one every evening, but I just figured it was a kid thing.

Fast forward a few years and getting him to bathe is a full on fight.

Some days he runs some water (he ABSOLUTELY refuses to shower and I don't push that one due to the sensory issues) and sits there.  Some days he runs water and wastes it, he just stands there.  Some days he doesn't even go that far.   He'll just come down with greasy, sticking-straight-up hair and flip the eff out when I point out he's lying.  About twice a week my husband will corner him and put him in the shower fully clothed and wash his nasty hair.   We just gotta hope that soap running down is getting something clean.

The last time he washed his hair was Saturday.  Today is Wednesday.  The last time I saw a pair of his underwear in the laundry was early June.  The soap and shampoo I left on his bathtub at Christmas is still 3/4 full.  The last time I cleaned the sink was about that time too.  He doesn't brush his teeth either.

So far I haven't found any correlation to ADD and bathing.   He swims.    He seems okay with splash pads and sprinklers   I just don't get it.  It's gross.

I haven't pushed it much since he's been "in treatment".  I want them to make a fair assessment of him and this is part of it.   I am eager to see what they have to say.  Our family meeting is tonight.

ADD PSA

This kind of crap pisses me off.

Oh my goodness!  My precious cheerleader daughter didn't want to do her homework!  Her daydreaming was so, so worrisome.

I want some of that.

This is the kind of shit that makes everyone else in the world believe that ADD is a made-up illness.

Step right up!  Come see OUR ADD!  It will make your head spin.

Our ADD started at 6:30 this morning.   We were all awakened by the loud, incessant, not-at-all-in-tune whistling.   He says he just likes it.  I asked him to stop, he gave me an evil grin and went louder.  So now that we are all up,  HEY, how much fun might it be to eat everyone's food?  Every kid eats three whole boxes of cereal don't they?   I have two little ones sobbing at the moment because they NEVER wake up in time to eat THEIR cereal.   I am so glad he is happy about it though, I guess he is, he is maniacally laughing when he's not shoving that shit in his mouth.  They may have been able to eat the leftover bacon and hash browns  if he hadn't smeared that shit with ketchup (the littles hate ketchup), then blew it up in the microwave, and then figured it was some sort of abstract art and left it there for all to see.  When I handed him some towels and told him to clean it up,  he growled at me like a dog, told me I could burn in hell,  and ran upstairs screaming how unfair we all are.

He has refused to take his medications and we are to a point now I cannot force them on him.   He is small and weak, but the adrenaline makes him strong and violent and I'd like to keep my ribs intact and my glasses on my face, thank you very much.

According to "the book", this behavior is a direct result of the deficiencies in various parts of his brain.  He will subconsciously start conflict to raise his adrenaline levels because the adrenaline evens out those "bad" parts and actually helps him to calm and concentrate and go about his day like the rest of us just do.  I get that.  I feel for him, I really do.  It's just, one day I want him to move away and get a job and this kind of behavior isn't going to fly with the boss.  Or a wife.   I don't care what he has, he isn't going to sit on his ass and be waited on the rest of his life.   You smear ketchup all over the kitchen, it's your responsibility to pick that up.

So thank you Holly Robinson Peete!  I am sure you meant well and all, but you have no idea what ADD really is.  Your PSA isn't really helping the cause here.  If you really want to help, go to one of the many psychiatric facilities and sit in the waiting room and exchange stories with the other shell-shocked adults in there.  Listen to the kids fighting and screaming in the back and you may even see an ambulance come to take one away.   Look around and notice that you might actually be the only PARENT in the room.  Talk to the ones around you and learn the other parents have already relinquished their rights to the grandparents because they just couldn't take it anymore.  You will leave with a heavy heart when you see those poor old people, one with a cane, just doing the best they can when they really shouldn't be doing it at all.   You will be surprised to know that everyone of those kids are the same as my kid.  They take the same medications, they have the same outbursts, they have the same diagnosis:  ADD.

And not one of them is daydreaming.

Healing ADD

So he was better yesterday.

But he always is.

He wants his game back, so today, I am expecting stellar behavior.   Because we have ridden this ride so long and know this twist so well,  I know that most of today will be just fine and then about three he'll use his best manners to ask his dad if he can have that game back and he will oblige but preface it by saying, "I don't want to hear or see anymore of whatever-behavior-got-it-removed-in-the-first-place" and Jacob will say, "Oh, yes sir" and go about his business.

Tomorrow morning, the shit will hit the fan again.  

I know you're wondering, why the hell does he have the game at all?   Why give it back?

Well, because every class, support group, book, therapist, and psychiatrist says children, especially those with ADD need to work for something in small doses.  You cannot expect them to work and work and work and then work some more and the reward never come.   Kinda like how adults feel at the end of their two week pay period I guess.

So he has a hand-held game and that's all he wants.  Ever.  He has it for a day, is without it for a day or sometimes longer, gets it back and we start over again.

I have tried charts, reward systems, checklists, token economies, every single approach in the three books I kept from all those behavior classes in college and while they work spectacularly with the littles, not so much with the big one.

*Interesting fact:  I have a masters degree in Special Education with an emphasis in learning disabilities and, what for it, ……….behavior disorders.   Graduate Summa Cum Laude too.  Way to screw with me universe. 

His therapist called last week to say she read a book that described Jacob so well that she wanted us to read it too.  It is called Healing ADD by Dr. Daniel Amen.  If you watch PBS you can catch him during the money begging segments.    According to him there are seven types of ADD based on which part of your brain is deficient.  He does brain scans to note activity in the temporal lobe and frontal cortex etc. and diagnoses they type and then has a treatment plan to address those parts of the brain.  Jacob, of course, is the worst type.  According to Dr. Amen, he has Ring Of Fire ADD which affects many parts of the brain and is very difficult to treat.  OF COURSE.

Of all the books I have read on this subject (and there are MANY), I like this one the best because FINALLY Jacob is addressed.  THIS is the ADD we see.   Oh, how I wish it were as simple as sitting still.

So I am still reading this book.    There is a diet to follow.   I am slowly taking that on.    There is a lot to digest (see what I did there?).  

But for today, it is 7:45 and so far no outbursts.   I'll take what I can get.

Where I Am

So yesterday was interesting.

We spent almost three hours locked in the bedroom and then drove him to his two hour session.

My mother asked me to buy her some fabric so off we went.   This place is just far enough away that it makes no sense to return home only to turn around 20 minutes later and go back, so we find things to do.   We hit the resale stores on Tuesday.  The supermarket on Wednesday.   Thursday it was the fabric store.

So we go into the fabric store, which I usually love, and peruse the material.  I was looking for non-fraying satin so Gammy can make Adam a pair of pajama pants.  Oh yes, satin pajama pants.  So he'll quit wearing his sister's.   At least it makes me smile.  Anyway, I find the satin and I can't figure out for the life of me what I should buy.  I was confused.   In a fog.  I couldn't even do the math.  I mean, I struggle with math, but this was elementary basics, I DO know how to do that.   So I decided the hell with satin, scrapbooking sounds fun.

Until the entire row of colorful goodness completely overwhelmed me.

So we went to the yarn.  That's it!  We'll knit.  Ummm…..couldn't even figure out the most basic of patterns.

And then we left empty-handed.

I got in the car and tried to remember if I had been drinking or maybe snuck a seven year old leftover vicodin in the middle of the night.   No.  It wasn't that.    Too much caffeine maybe?  Didn't have any.  Someone poured my iced coffee down the sink.  Did I eat breakfast?  No.  But I rarely eat breakfast and have never had this reaction…..

Except…..

Thirteen years ago when I had a screaming baby eighteen hours a day.

The shakiness, the fogginess, the stomach pain, the loss of appetite (which could be a good thing, I could lose 10 pounds), same stuff I encountered when a family therapist suggested I was struggling with post traumatic stress disorder.

Hmmmm……interesting.

Of course, it's very much the same this summer.   The screaming does go on almost all day and into the night.  The only difference this time is it's accompanied with words.  Very nasty, mean, ugly, disgusting words and names and phrases.

I was brought into a tiny room yesterday to pay the rest of our deductible for these services.  I explained to the lady then that I didn't think this was helping and could we move up to the next phase which will be SIX hours a day.  She didn't seem to care at all, said he was doing okay in the group and I could discuss it with his therapist at our family session NEXT WEDNESDAY at 4, here's the door, have a good day now.

No.  I am not going to have a good day.

My little kids have to wake up earlier than usual, spend three hours piddling around every single day when they'd rather be holed up in a fort in the living room in their pajamas.

I can't stay home and just chill which I really look forward to during the school year.  I love not having to get in the car, sometimes for whole weeks.

We never do get to go to the pool, our happy place.  It's too early in the morning to do a morning trip and too late in the afternoon to do it then.

I can't have a conversation with my oldest child or even be in the same room with him.   Not really what I would consider a "good" day.

Really, really hoping that something shifts and we can find that again.

My New "The Real ADD" Blog

So, I thought about making an entirely new blog, but, well, eh, who has the time and this one needs some love.  If you can call it that.

Since my life almost completely revolves around our daily struggles with "ADD" and this blog is about my life, well, so be it.

So if you haven't read for a while or ever,  Jacob, my oldest, has ADD.  Not ADHD, ADD.   He also has an auditory processing disorder, anxiety, oppositional defiant disorder, and quite possible Aspergers Syndrome.

I don't care what label he has, I just know that it is tearing our family apart.

You know what I am doing right now?  I (and my two other kids) are locked in my bedroom and have been for about an hour now.   Jacob has been up since 6 am and his foul mouth has not stopped since.  Best I can tell he was set off because I asked him to take his medicine.

We were supposed to be up at the lake relaxing by the water with my parents.  Instead, Jacob has been committed to an outpatient day treatment facility.   I just didn't know what else to do.  After a similar tirade last Thursday, I called his psychiatrist who recommended this route.   My husband and I discussed and decided we could not afford it, but after he kicked Adam in the ribs and then ran off screaming down the street, we figured we had to do something.  So there he is.  Two hours a day.  I mean, what is he getting in TWO FRICKING HOURS.  When I agreed to this, I figured since they used the adjective intensive it would be, well, longer maybe, but whatever.  This will be his fourth day. So far, the only peace we have is in the two hours he is away.  My little kids and I will be staying in a hotel tonight.   If my kids can't have vacation, they can at least be away from this hell.

Every day I see something online or tv about how ADD is fake.  Please, all you naysayers, come here and see this shit.  You would be amazed.  I can guarantee you wouldn't last the day.  My husband can't.   He works longer and longer and later and later and you know what?  I don't blame him.  If I had somewhere to go and someone to watch him I would do the same.  Thirteen years of miserable unhappiness will wear on a person.

I love my child.  Oh man, I love my child.   Every penny I make goes toward attempting to get him some help, but so far, nothing has worked.  I am hoping this new endeavor will at least make some progress but I am not seeing any yet because right now, I don't like him very much.  Oh sure, blah, blah, I don't like the behavior, but I watch him fight everything we try and it kinda makes me not like the person much either.  I am human.  Sue me.

So here is where I will document every step we take because I am telling you, if someone had warned me that THIS was ADD, I wouldn't have believed them and maybe someone else can be comforted by the fact that they are not alone.

Aaahh

Phoebe

Remember last time when Jacob ruined our snow day by peeing on the bathroom rug?

Yeah, I may have been wrong with that.  (And I did apologize.)

Turns out it really could've been cat pee.  Who knew?  

Not me, that's for sure.

Ten days later I was all like, "What's up with all this people pee in front of every toilet (four) in the house?  Who did this?  I am looking at ya'll boys (and man)? "  And then I saw my cat exit one of those bathrooms and was all like, uh-oh.  

So I googled and guess what?  Cat pee that does not smell like cat pee means said cats kidneys are failing.  

Shit.  

But she didn't seem different.  

She was still jumping onto the counters.  And the beds.  And racing Adam across the house.   She didn't seem sick to me.    Surely this was a fluke and maybe the litter box is too dirty or the kids have too many shoes/dirty clothes/toys blocking it.   Yeah, that had to be it, because she sat right next to me on the chair arm while I was googling all this strange information.   

That was Friday afternoon.

Saturday morning she was dead.

Overnight she got worse.  She would jump up onto the bathroom counter but fall into the tub.  She wouldn't try to get up.  She slept in the bed with me and two of the kids but she didn't sleep much.  She paced a lot and then she curled up with each of us for extended amounts of time.  She always curls up with us, but then she gets down to go to her bed:  

She never went to her bed that night.  

(See how pitiful.  She was not doing well)

The next morning she was stumbly.   Derick said she probably had an ear infection and was taking her to the vet.  He'd be back with antibiotics and she'd feel better he said.  You stay home and take a bath and read your book and don't you worry about her.  

But I knew.  

He called me half hour later and said I had to come.  

So the kids and I went.  

Her body temperature was 96.  I guess a cat's normal temp is 102.  Who knew?  

He gums were gray.  They are supposed to be pink.  

We cried.   The vet left.   We cried some more.   We passed her around and gave her kisses and she snuggled us the best she could.   She tried so hard to get up and be with Elizabeth who was in a ball in a corner.    Of all the kids she tolerated Elizabeth the most.    

The vet came back and said we could take her home but she wouldn't last much longer.   Phoebe hated the carrier so I couldn't put her back in it again.  I looked at her and could tell she was done.   She needed peace.   We needed peace.   I couldn't continue to do that to my hysterical children.   So we kissed her and hugged her and sat with her until the sedative took effect and then scared all the people in the waiting room as we attempted to get to our cars and make it home with an empty cage.  

I had that cat for 19 years.   I got her as a kitten at a pet store in a Virginia Beach mall for $30.  I didn't go there shopping for a pet, but I saw her in a cage outside the store as I walked past and for whatever reason decided I needed her right then and there.  They put her in a cardboard box of which she promptly escaped and attached her long sharp claws to my head and neck.   I somehow made it through a Wendys drive thru and then home and released her into her new home.   I unpacked my meal at the coffee table (where I always ate as a single yuppie) and she immediately raced over and stole the bacon from my sandwich.   Then she came back for fries.  

I named her Sara to begin with because that was my favorite name at the time.   She was not a Sara.  Three days later she was Phoebe Figalilly because I loved to watch The Nanny and the Professor when I was young.  

She was good company the next two years as I lived alone.  She greeted me at the door when I returned from work.  She would fetch furry play mice and we'd play that game for hours.   She loved to run and roll into the coupon cutting trash every Sunday morning.  She loved to jitter at the birds outside the glass door.   She would sit on the edge of the tub while I showered or bathed and she always slept on the extra pillow I kept beside my head.  

I have been with her longer than anyone else in this house.   Being a cat, she was not all up in my face like Ezra.  She didn't love everyone she saw, she was not a dog.    My dad would always tell everyone to stay away from her that she was a cranky old cat who didn't want to be messed with, not like his Mimi, his version of the-best-cat-ever, but he would end by saying, she does love Andria.  Andria is the only one she'll deal with.   And for a long time he was right.   She eventually warmed up to Derick and would wait for him at the door with fake furry mice too until he brought Ezra home and broke her heart.   She was always good to the boys in the sense that she never hurt them, but she didn't hang out with them much.  I think Jacob's months-o-colic scared her and Adam was scared of her so she stayed away.  When we brought Elizabeth home she was lying in the crib with her two hours later.  I said she must have sensed there was another girl in the house.  

She lived 19 years.   I can't really ask for much else.   She was my sweet baby.   I miss her.

Phoebe Figallily
May 12 1995 - February 8, 2014

Snow Day

Really.

We are having a snow day in southeast Texas.    Never mind that it isn't snowing, or even icing, but nevertheless, we are having a snow day.

I want to poke my eyes out with a rusty fork.

I got so excited yesterday when we got the calls.   I thought they were crazy, but still…..NO WORK!  NO SCHOOL!  Yippee!!!

The little kids made a fort in the living room and slept away from me for the first time in weeks.

We were going to drink cider and watch Back to the Future (all three!) and not get dressed and love our life today.

Um.  Not so much.

I don't know why I ever think we will EVER have just a nice relaxing day.

As is usual for our mornings, it was ugly.

The same yelling, the same fighting, the same fits.   I don't even remember what it was all about, but eventually I sent Jacob upstairs and told him not to come down until his meds kicked in.

About an hour later I went up to retrieve him and saw his patch still in the package on his desk.  (Shame on me for trusting) and Adam's dirty clothes piled on the bathroom rug covered in pee.  Along with the tile floor and grout and the wall and sink cabinet surrounding the toilet.

Are you fricking kidding me?

Oh, he blamed it on the cat.  Which would not be too unusual, we have an 18 year old cat, but um,  it you've ever had a cat you know there is a distinctly different odor.  I've dealt with cat pee before.  Just last week even.  This, most certainly, was NOT cat pee.   As calmly as I could, I put the sopping wet clothes down the laundry chute and handed him the rug and told him to take it outside and hose it off.   He lost his ever loving mind and let me know that was MY job.

Oh, hell no.

Sure anyone else would just throw that rubber backed rug into the washer but guess whose husband bought a washer that has a great big Mr. Yuk sticker on the lid explaining how you can't wash anything waterproof or else you'll ruin your washer.    I mean, WHAT?

He wouldn't clean the rug.  Or anything else for that matter.  And I was informed it was a holiday so he didn't have to do anything and I should get my lazy ass downstairs and fix him something to eat because that was my job.

That's when I dragged his ass outside.

With the rug.

With instructions that he could come in when it was rinsed.

He spent 30 minutes beating on our front glass door.    There's a crack now.  I am waiting for it to completely collapse soon.  Then what do we do?  Invite the neighbors in?

I kept waiting for the police to show up.  It was 35 degrees outside and raining.  I probably should have let him in.  I know he was sure I would let him in.   I know my neighbors are probably still talking about me.  But you know what?  I told him to do something.  I don't think I was being unreasonable in asking him to clean the mess HE made.   I was NOT going to let a fit throwing toddler-like teenager believe I would back down and do it myself.  This child IS going to learn that HE is responsible for his behaviors and actions.    Thirty minutes later he finally sat down and shut up and I opened the door.   He washed the rug.  Sort of.

This is what we get.  Always.  It would have been easier to just throw the damn rug away.  I could've cleaned the floor myself.  (Adam actually cleaned the floor and wall and sink).   I could've said absolutely nothing to him today and avoided all of this.  In fact, I have done just that before because sometimes I just don't have the energy to deal with it, but he is almost 13 years old.  This has GOT to stop because,  HELLO ADULTHOOD COMING.  Plus, I just don't know how much more I can take.

He had a psych appointment last week.  My husband took him for the first time ever.   He explained to her how we are reaching a breaking point and she prescribed yet another medication.   That makes three now.  So far I can't tell it's making any difference.   I bought a bunch of essential oils for a ton of money that someone else swore worked so well they were able to quit the meds.    I swear it made him worse.  At least they smelled good.   I have cut out dyes and gluten and artificial everything and still, here we are.   We will never enjoy an evening or a weekend or a family vacation or even a rare snow day because this is what we get during the hours he is here.

I love him, but I don't like this.

I want a good snow day.

One day.

Edited to add……two hours later…..

He is up in his room and I hesitate before calling for him to come down to get his folded laundry to put away.  I could just do it myself tomorrow, but I don't want to so I brace myself and ask him to come down.  He waited a bit but finally came, I held out the stack of clothes and told him I wanted them put up and he answered, "Yes Ma'am" and took them up.  Of course I haven't gone up to check that they aren't on the floor, but no fight.  This is the conundrum with him……Before the meds = hell; After the meds= not always so bad.  BUT…BUT….BUT…..I know if I'd woken him this morning, told him if he got through the day without fighting, raising his voice, or complaining we could go to Game Stop, then he would have been wonderful.   I know, because I've done it before.  Ugh.  

At least we were then able to have cocoa and cookies for lunch.  He declined.  

A Major Award

That's my girl!

Second highest average BAY-BEE!

That face is because she realized the boy with the highest average got a medal.  A medal.

She came back to sit with me after it was over and this was our conversation:

Me:  You got an award, aren't you proud of yourself?

Her:  This is not an award.  It's a piece of paper.

Me:  No.  You were recognized in front of the whole school for doing so well in school.

Her:  I want a medal.

Me:  Then you have to get highest average.

Her:  Austin better watch out.

Does this make me a better mother?  Because I think it redeems me.   My kid.  Who is raised by me.   Who possesses my DNA.  Got an award.

Ummhhhmmmm.........that's MY GIRL!

Strange Days

My children bicker a lot.  Over stupid stuff.  Everywhere.  Anywhere.

This afternoon we were in the car heading to yet another psychologist appointment when all three started screaming about something.  I don't even listen anymore.  I told them once to knock it off.   It continued.   I yelled at them to shut the hell up.   Still continued.   I sat and fumed for a bit and then I found a classical music station on the radio (91.7 for you locals).    Within thirty seconds it was quiet.  We rode the rest of the way in silence.   Adam even opened the door for Elizabeth when we arrived.

Ooookkkaaayyy.

So we head home and it starts again so I instantly go back to the music.   Silence.

We ate dinner.  We cleaned up.   I have the television on the classical music station and all three are playing Wii together with inside voices.

I feel like this has to be a fluke.  Right?

I mean, I have heard that music soothes the savage beast, but really?

I guess I'll be adding this to our routine.

*please, oh please, don't be a fluke*

Resolutions

Every year I make a big list of the things I am going to do to make our lives better as the calendar changes.    Sometimes I stick to them, sometimes I forget all about them until I look back and see, oh yeah....oops.  I swore I wasn't going to make any in 2014, but I have this innate need to make lists and check off those lists, and work toward a goal.  It really is very annoying.

I did lose about 8 pounds last year.  I don't really know how I did it, except maybe the trip to Disney where we didn't purchase the dining plan and only ate one meal a day.   Combined with all that walking, I lost 15 pounds in just that one week alone.  Of course, they opened a Which Wich very close to me resulting in gaining some of it back, but I am now a size 8 again instead of almost a 12.  I'll take it.  I am 45 years old and approaching menopause.  I doubt I'll ever wear my size 2s again.   I hope to exercise at some point.  Don't know when that will be since I HATE it, but one day.  Maybe.

I did not blog every week last year, but I did double my blog posts so it's a start.  I don't think I'll ever get back to the way it used to be (sunrise, sunset), but such is life.  Hopefully I'll be able to document the big important things here because the baby books are collecting dust.

There will be pictures on our walls and stairway at some point in 2014.   Ditto curtains.

The biggest thing I want to change this year are our mornings.   Me, oh my.   I want to smash my face into the granite every.  single.  morning.   It is awful here.  Don't ever come here before 9 am.  Ever.  Or maybe do come here.  It will make you feel good about your life.   Oy.   I really don't know what to do for the hour-two hours we are waiting for Jacob's meds to kick in.  I have tried ignoring him, I have tried starting earlier, I have tried starting later, I have tried prayer, I have tried separation, I have even tried alcohol on non-school days.  Yes.  It's that bad.  I don't know what else to try yet, but we need the mornings to change.  The morning sets the tone for the rest of our days and I think if we can get this under control we'd all be so much happier.

Anyway, my boss gave us all a book called Jesus Calling.  Her intention was that we read it each morning and take that portion of The Word to sustain us while teaching our preschool children.   It's a daily dated devotional book with scripture.   With all that goes on here each morning, the last thing I have time for is reading.  Shoot, some days I get all the way to school and realize I didn't put any makeup on, so reading?  Gah.  My boss, though, was very insistent that we at least give it a try.  So I did.  I mean, I've tried everything else in the morning.  Why not?  So the first day I sit my little two down for breakfast while the big one is upstairs claiming something is unfair and I quietly juggled one page of verse and thought.  The three of us at the table in our own little world.

*lighbulb*

If I'm going to read it, why not read it out loud?

And that's what I am doing.

It hasn't miraculously fixed our mornings, but at least they have that message to take them through the day if they choose.

I'll let you know in 2015 how it worked.

Wish us luck.

Out With the Old....

Just because I wanted at least one post in December.......

My friend took beautiful pictures of the children for our Christmas cards.  They were fantastic but, alas, I can no longer locate the jump drive they are on.  Figures.

I have a goal for 2014 that I will finally find some semi-matching frames and hang some photos in this house.  We have lived here five and a half years and have pretty much nothing on the walls.  Oh, there are the two mismatching very, extremely, is-this-a-joke? pictures my husband bought one weekend when I was away.  I mean, they are so butt ugly I actually explain to new visitors that I didn't do that and have no idea what he was thinking.  One day I'll post them, but to be honest, I don't want to waste the battery power on my camera on them.  

Anyway, Happy New Year and all that jazz.

We Are Not French

Ugh.

Have you seen the article swimming around Facebook about how French children don't have ADHD, because, you know, French people are better parents, yada, yada, yada.

I would link to it, but I still haven't figured out how to have two screens open on my almost year old Macbook.   Manual?  What's that?   If you are confused, google it.  You know, if you are even reading this rant.

Anyway....

Only- Facebook Friend, who I truly only know through Facebook, posted the article this morning along with a lot of other posts that let us know what a great mother she is now that she has a six month old and has truly mastered the art of parenting.  Good for her.  Such optimism.  STFU.  Please.

I wrote a pretty hastily put together reply that went something like this:

Until you walk in my shoes, don't judge.

 I told her I agreed many children in the US are misdiagnosed and overmedicated without looking into other underlying causes of the behavior.   As a teacher, I have filled out numerous forms from different doctors and stated my opinion in black sharpie about how I don't believe Brian, Jason, Adam, Peyton, Morgan, or Chris have anything other than a busy personality/loud voice/zest for life and have had said opinion not even matter when Brian, Jason, Adam, Peyton, Morgan, and Chris all came back the next week sleeping at their desks until the meds wore off mid-afternoon.   I get that argument.  What I don't get is how now ADHD is a fake illness that would mysteriously go away if I'd only stand up and actually be a good parent.

WTF?

I invite any of these people, writing any of these "articles" to come to my house any given day and see our non-ADHD.

As I typed to my Only-Facebook friend, I let her know that since I was hoarding because at the end of the year there will be a shortage of them  giving my child a break from the morning override pill and still waiting for the takes-2-hours-to-kick-in patch to, well, kick in, that I was watching my almost teenager attempt to run up the wall, fall back on his back, and then laugh maniacally until he got up and tried it again.  When he wasn't doing that he was mumbling the MF words under his breath while also laughing maniacally slamming himself into the couch,  oh, and then there was the moment I went out in the pouring rain and got us all a dozen doughnuts, went to the bathroom, came back and there were no more doughnuts.  Oh yes.  While the others slept and I was out of the room for one minute he ate a dozen doughnuts.  He knows not to do that.   In two hours, he wouldn't have done that.  At that point, there is no impulse control.  He wanted a dozen doughnuts, he ate a dozen doughnuts.    As I was cleaning up that mess, he picked his lips until they bled and wiped the blood all over my favorite blanket.   Ruined it.  He also knows not to do that.   Now he is sequestered in his room at my request screaming about what a horrible parent I am and how he can't wait for me to die.  Ironic, no?

Please don't tell me my child has learned that this behavior is acceptable.  Not only has it never, ever been, but he was punished for this particular behavior this morning.   Go figure, I disciplined my child.  I took away his DS and put him in his room.  When he started destroying the things in his room and then kicking marks into the door, I put him outside.   In the cold and rain.  His therapist recommended this because unless he runs out onto the highway, he is probably less likely to hurt himself (or us) out there.   He stood there kicking our glass door until he realized his 12 minutes wouldn't start until he stopped because that is the way it has always been.

You know no matter how you deal with your children anymore, it's wrong to someone.

My neighbors and my mother believe we should put on the kid gloves when dealing with Jacob because HIS BRAIN there is SOMETHING WRONG!  OMG!  Baby him!  Love him!  Ignore that!   HE HAS THE ADD!  He can't HHHEEELLLPPP it.  I disagree.   I figure the police won't care if he has THE ADD when they find him destroying some property somewhere just because he feels like it and his meds haven't started working or, which is what I am sure will happen when I am not there to enforce it,  he will just not take it.

I detest giving my child medications.   I worry each day that I am ruining his liver, his kidneys, shoot, maybe even his brain, but if you want to see what will happen if I don't,  come here every morning between 6-7:30.  You may want some medication yourself after that.   If I didn't teach preschool I would probably take up drinking.  Yes.  That early.

Jacob's official diagnosis is severe ADHD.  He has some Aspergers tendencies but they won't add that to his "stuff".   He goes to school at 9 am and until I told the teachers he had "this", they didn't know.  Of course, I listed it on all seven first-day papers, but like everyone else, the probably figured, Ah, bad parenting when they read it.   One day he decided to peel his patch off and spit his pill onto the floor just to make me mad, even though, I wasn't mad because I didn't know anything about it until the emails started coming in.  Those teachers thought he was under the influence of drugs.  LOL.   That's what happens when he ISN'T on drugs.   Does this make them a bad teacher because they can't handle him?  No.  He has ADHD.  For reals.  What do you know.

Stupid articles saying that French parents are superior because they have routines, discipline more, and feed their kids better is very demeaning to American parents.     Don't lump me into the American bad parent just because my child has ADHD.   I am not a super parent, and I don't try to be.  I don't have the time or energy for that, but I do the best I can with the hand I've been dealt.   Someone, though, will read this article, hear about Jacob's ADHD, and naturally assume, well, I don't work hard enough and I am lazy with my kids because this author stated that I don't discipline, so therefore, she's a bad mother, so I and my kids will need to distance myself from them, because, that's a bad family right there.  OR, and I already get so much of this, let me tell you what you should be doing to make it all better.  If you just do THIS, then all of your problems would go away.  I will help you to be a good mother, because, OMG, you aren't doing so hot.

I have a child with ADHD.   It's more than just getting out of his chair during class or wiggling during criss-cross applesauce time.    It is real.  It is hard.   It is sad.   It is bad enough to deal with it without all of the judgemental "authors" out there trying to make us out to be the bad guys.  I didn't give this to my child.   I didn't make him this way.   There is nothing I can do, that I haven't already tried, that is going to make it go away.  Even the medicines quit working after a while and they don't completely get rid of some of the behaviors.

How hard is it just to accept others?  French, American, Swahili, whatever.  I say if the children are still  alive at the end of the day, it's a good day.  You've done your job.  Good for you.

Pierced

So NaBloPoMo isn't happening for me.   I had good intentions.  Life just got in the way I guess.  Anybody else feel like life is harder after the kids go to school?  Silly me.  I always figured it would get easier.  I mean, they are gone most of the day.  How could it get busier?  Oh well.  I will miss this one day. 

Elizabeth got her ears pierced.  In August.   We went in April for her birthday and got to the door and she changed her mind.  I really didn't think she'd do it this time, but she sure did.   

Waiting.....waiting......waiting.......Amazing how many people need cheap jewelry at 10 am on a Tuesday morning.

This picture breaks my heart.  I immediately wanted to call abort on the entire mission, but then she'd only have one ear done and the private school handbook has explicit instructions on that being a no-no. They did both ears separately because the other Claire's worker didn't show up.  She didn't want to come back another day so I have to give her props for being brave.   This face was as bad as it got.  There were no tears.   Whew.

Finally!  I look awesome.  

I wasn't able to get my own ears pierced until I was 16.   My parents rule was 18, but then we moved to West Virginia when I was 16 and I was sullen angry teenager missing my previous life so they thought poking holes through my flesh would cheer me up.  It did.   I went back a few months later and got them pierced again and then again a few years after that.  I have three holes in each ear.  I love it, but my parents were (and probably still are) mortified.   I begged to have my ears pierced in first grade.  second grade.  third grade........My dad always said to me:  "When you are an adult, you can do what you want with your ears"  to which I would reply:  "But I really want it now, they are my ears. Whine.  No fair"  and he would say:  "When you have your own children, you can do whatever you want with their ears, but you are my child and I am not doing that to you."   So when I posted these pictures on Facebook my parents went insane.   I still see my dad pulling her hair over her ears when he sees her.  Gah.   He told me I could do what I wanted with my own children.

I have found out that his is sort of like the breastfeeding thing.  People have opinions.  They like to voice them.  Elizabeth still shows off her big girl earrings and some people will loudly wonder why I would do that to her and then others are like, you should have done that when she was a baby.  Formula, breastmilk, public school, private, pierced ears or no, it's always something isn't it?  I am just going to say that what I am doing is the absolute right way.  For us.  Others don't get a say because they don't have the c-section scar.

This was a good day and a sweet memory with my beautiful girl.   Wouldn't change a thing.

NaBloPoMo

Can I write a post everyday throughout November?

Probably not, since, well, I already missed the first day.

But.....

WTH.

If nothing else, I have pictures.....

Michelangelo and Belle ready for trick-or-treat.

Seriously though.  I HATE Halloween.   I enjoy the costumes and the joy on the children's faces, but the whole begging for candy thing, I just can't get into.  For starters, no one ever says "thank you".  My kids go home if they don't say thank you.  Teach your kid to say thank you.  It won't hurt them.   Don't tell your kid to reach into my bucket and take however much they want.  If you want them to help themselves, buy your own bucket.   This must have been the way the moms of the teenagers down the street were taught because four of them, with five o'clock shadow, showed up at our door carrying the requisite pillowcase and dressed just like they did when they exited the bus a few hours prior did just that to Jacob.  I had to answer a phone call when the doorbell rang and thought I might be able to let Jacob hand the candy out just this once.   Then I heard, "Whoa, dude, come check this out" and then Jacob turned around to me with an empty bucket.  An empty bucket that just 20 seconds earlier held $30 worth of excellent, non-crappy candy.

WHAT?

Of course the hoodlums ran up the street hooting and hollering while the lady with the 18 month old zombie in the stroller just stood there laughing.  When she held out what I am assuming was the zombie's bucket I had to tell her I had nothing for them, our Halloween was heading up the street.  Then she stopped laughing.

Did you happen to see The Middle Wednesday night?  When Frankie and Mike had to hide in their house with the lights off to avoid the doorbell?  That was us the rest of the evening.

I hate Halloween.

It had rained all.  day.  long and I was sure it would be cancelled.  In fact, I was practically giddy thinking I had a good excuse not to have to partake in the festivities.  We could all sit around It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown eating out of our own personal very good candy bag and enjoy each other's company instead of begging for hand outs from people we see once a year.   Then two hours before the rain stopped and the sun came out and I swear I saw a dove with an olive branch signaling the new beginning.   Man, I was bummed.

So we did Halloween.

This was the only picture I got.

And I don't have any leftover Heath bars.

Boo.