Filed under: Uncategorized
Filed under: Sometimes she thinks too much
Today we heard that they moved SD’s cousin’s 9 yr old son to hospice care. There just isn’t anything more they can do for him. No clinical trials, no guessing, nothing. Now it’s all a matter of when. There is no more if.
It makes me want to pick up #4 and put him in my pocket, to never let him out of my sight, and to play, play, play with him. We flew lego ships around the front yard earlier today, dropping pinecone bombs on The Enemy Base, and plotting various forms of revenge. Then we went out to eat Mexican at El Sombrero (he had 3 tacos and a plate full of beans. He’s developed a real appetite recently). Now he’s helping SD put up some more storm windows, being in charge of the power tools and all.
I’ll say it again. I want to pick him up and put him in my pocket. Yesterday the nurse called from school saying he had a headache that Tylenol just wasn’t helping. So, even though it was only 10 am, I went and brought him home. He played quietly in his room with the lights dim (light made his head hurt more), and by noon was feeling right back to normal. Given all that has gone on with the cousin’s kid, I was working hard not to freak out and rush him to the doctor, but he’s fine. It was just a headache.
Never take your children for granted. They aren’t really yours anyway, just loaners for who knows how long.
Well, this is exciting! A while back I promised #3 that he could get an old truck to fix up, if he found just the right one. Well! We did! Actually, I found it, on Craigs List, and showed it to him and he approved. It’s a 1966 Chevy C-10, exactly what he was wanting. Now he needs to find an engine and a transmission for it…and a rear end, too. Did I mention it’s a project truck?
See, he’d been running a bit wild, spending time with people that worried us, generally flying out of control. I decided he needed a project, something to invest time, money and energy into, that he could be proud of and call his own. Since he wants to be an automotive mechanic, a project truck seemed just the thing.
On top of the project worthy nature of said truck, it’s a 7 hour drive away in Pensacola, which will give him and Sweet Daddio some serious quality time together as they travel.
I’m also getting a pole barn built in the back yard, for him to work under (and eventually for SD to use when woodworking)
I don’t care how much it all costs, really, it will be worth it to have him home and busy, instead of away and getting arrested.
#4 came home this afternoon announcing that he’d thrown up at school a couple of times. The school nurse and I know each other on a social basis, so she knows my attitude toward infirmity. Therefore, since it was toward the end of the day when he was sick, she told him to suck it up and ride the bus home, but under no circumstances was he allowed to barf on the bus.
So he came in with this news and I fed him a glass of ginger ale and a couple of saltines, which he threw up.
Thing is, he feels fine. no fever, no disgusting oozing from any ports, just an inability to keep food down.
That’s when I remembered something Mom used to do when Bro Scott and I were sick: Hot jello. She’d make up the pack of jello according to directions, and rather than wait for it to congeal, she’d pour some in a cup for us to drink. Lemon was my favorite.
So, I made #4 some hot jello and you’da thought I was Wolfgang Puck.
Now. If you have children, and they’re within reach, give them a hug and tell them you love them, because you never know…you just never know.
It went very well. It turns out #4′s 2 teachers are quite fond of him, his courtesy, sense of fair play, and willingness to own his mistakes. They like that. We spent the time together coming up with a plan of action to help deal with his distractability. ADD anyone? Ya think? In exchange for their work with him, I am to get him to a doctor and a psychologist for an evaluation. Both teachers agree that he’s a shoo-in for the gifted program (“he’s the smartest kid I’ve had in years”), but his teeny little attention span makes it tough to take the 2 hour tests required to qualify. Maybe if I could just get him 1 Ritalin to take before the test.
It did my heart good to have the teachers say such nice things about him. It was like a strawberry sundae, after the cat poop of dealing with #’s 1 and 3 this week.
The search for #3′s truck is in full swing. He wants a 1970 Fleetside Chevy C-10. We are scanning Ebay, AutoTraders, CraigsList and more, looking for just that. Just a body and a chassis, as he wants to build the rest of it himself. I’ve promised a steel carport in the back yard, so he can work when it’s raining, and he’s promised to be home 6 out of 7 nights for dinner and to work on it. Fair enough. If his head’s under the hood of a truck he’s not committing a felony elsewhere.
However, someone ate the rest of my pint of Hagen Daz chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, and I am not happy.
…because I want to and I need something simple to think about.
Last thing I put on my body: a pair of tatty house slippers
Last thing I put in my mouth: a swallow of iced green tea with lime
Last thing I said to someone: I love you, tell your teacher I’ll see her at 3.
Last thought before starting this post: My head hurts and I’m tense. Is it too early for a drink?
And I am tense. The activities of yesterday, compounded by #3′s announcement that he’s dropping out of high school, and slathered with the overwhelming guilt of feeling like a failure as a mother, well…I’m feeling kinda tight across the shoulders and headachy and the heck of it is that I KNOW people who would give their right arm and all their teeth to have my particular set of problems. SD’s cousin’s child, his cancer appears to be back, and in his brain. 9 years old. She’d give her own life to save his. She’d give me a blank stare if she heard me whining.
But the fact is, my set of problems are mine, and I’m not coping as gracefully as I’d like. Maybe it’s because of all the people Sweet Daddio works with, who bring him copies of the news report announcing the arrests of our children. People he works with, oversees, maybe loses their respect because of our children’s abject stupidity. If we can’t bring our own kids up right, how can he be expected to run a company right? It’s not so bad for me. I don’t really know anyone who would do that. I explained that to #1 yesterday, when he commented that we didn’t need to be concerned by his behavior, as it didn’t affect us. He said “Oh. I didn’t think about that.” A person’s actions always ALWAYS have some sort of ripple effect. I refrained from thanking him for putting us in this embarrassing position, and for potentially compromising SD’s career.
I have a conference with #4′s teacher this afternoon. I am dreading that, because I know she’s impatient with him. If she starts in with me about how important this and how necessary that and all, I’m going to pull out the “2 kids in jail, 1 kid a dropout” card and tell her I just can’t muster up the concern right now. Really, I can’t. I have a bail bondsman in my cell phone. My kid having to pee every 30 minutes just isn’t high on my list right now. (he does it because he’s ADD, I know this, I’ve been there with 2 other kids, I know how to handle it but she has to be willing to cooperate, which she isn’t so much)
I think today, in order to earn a sense of accomplishment, the bathrooms will get a thorough scrubbing. When that’s done I’m going to cloister myself in the spare room and make things out of clay. A while back #4 suggested I make for angels representing the Elementals of Fire, Earth, Water and Air. They’re all done except Air, and I’ve been pondering on that one. I’m thinking that’s what I’ll do today. After the bathrooms are cleaned.
Filed under: Uncategorized
So. I’ve been whining about my kids and the heartburn they’ve caused. This evening, Sweet Daddio came home with the news that his cousin’s 9 year old boy is probably dying. He’s been through leukemia twice, a bone marrow transplant, all that grueling stuff, and now he’s failing.
My kids aren’t dying. They aren’t even sick.
I feel like a real ingrate.
Filed under: *whinge*, family, Good grief, say it isn't so!, what? um...what?
I could go into a long and detailed account of how I spent my day, but it involves one of my children, the Sheriff’s Department and a bail bondsman. So I won’t. Suffice it to say I damn well DESERVE that vodka and frozen strawberries, yes I do. Oh, and it’s not the same child that involved Sheriff’s Department and bail bondsmen a couple of weeks ago. Next thing you know I’ll have my own coffee cup there. “Oh Hi, Miz Toot! Which one is it today?” I even put the bail bondsman (bondsperson, a delightful 50-something black woman who kept saying ‘It’ll be alright, baby, it’s not the end of the world.’) in my cellphone. What does that say about my life? When I told Sweet Daddio I’d done that, he was…well…he was pretty quiet for a bit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.
I will give this much detail: no one died, no one’s pregnant, and no property was damaged. I remind myself that every few minutes. It’s mental Anbusol, and it works.
In other news, I found a store in Maryland that carries all the stuff I like for sculpting, and they’re cheaper than Hobby Lobby even with shipping factored in! They have the glitter white Fimo I am so enamored with, and in bulk! Plus tools, the good kind! I’m happy, and their customer service is, like, totally awesome, dude!
Thanks to today’s activities, I didn’t get my garden manured. Oh well. Maybe I’ll guilt the child involved into helping me out with it. Only fair, doncha think?
You know, I’m feeling a little tense. I think I’ll go rack up the balls and play a game of pool with myself.
Filed under: Another Silly Meme, Good grief, Sometimes she thinks too much
A twitter like post comprised of something…like a twitter post…sort of. Maybe it will go somewhere, maybe not.
Last phone conversation: with the director of my grandmother’s assisted living place, making arrangements to stay in their guest room when #4 and I go out there over Spring Break.
Last meal: chicken noodle soup from a can, Triscuits, and a mineola.
Last task finished: cleaning the crud off the stove and surrounding area.
Last thing watched on TV: Little House on the Prairie Season 7, the episode where Caroline thinks she’s preggers but it’s just menopause.
Last Netflix: Big Love. What a great show…all his problems would be solved if only he’d just stuck with one wife.
Last thing received in the mail: An offer to loan me $8700 to solve all my problems, and only 99%APR too. Viva la paper shredder.
Last thing a kid said to me: “Hey Mom, watch this!”
I am sort of trying to tie up loose ends, follow through on promises made, make it through a day (or week) without pissing someone off or sticking my foot in my mouth clean up to the shinbone. I am trying, when he asks, to get the bills made out and mailed, the shirts to the cleaners, and find the source of that funky smell.
The problem is, my mind is like the Swiss Cheese. If someone doesn’t say something to me 3 or 4 times, or if I don’t write it down immediately, I forget it. I don’t intend to, it just goes *whoosh* in one ear and out the other. A bit of research says it’s a fairly common side effect of long-term lithium use. Is 15 years long enough? 15 years at 3 times the standard dose? It’s not swiss cheese anymore, it’s more like chicken wire. It’s a funny thing this memory nonsense. Everything else in the brain-pan works just fine. I comprehend well, I understand complex ideas, all that good stuff is still right there where it should be. It’s just that information added isn’t always information retained.
I have my ways, yes I do, of dealing with the mind made of chicken wire. Lists, endless lists, from the standard grocery list, to the list of tasks I make out in the morning when Sweet Daddio is there with his requests. If I write it down, it will get done. If I don’t, my easily distracted little brain gloms onto something more interesting than shirts-to-cleaners, and it doesn’t get done. Not out of any malice, just chicken wire forgetfulness. When I make a list, let me tell you it’s right detailed, like this:
Clean the bathroom (scrub toilet, wipe counter, scrub bathtub, mop floor)
Clean the living room (dust all the tabletops, sweep and mop the floor, wipe the upholstery, dust the wall thing)
Clean the kitchen (sweep and mop the floor, scrub the stove, wipe the appliances)
take shirts to cleaners (Andrew’s, corner of Main and College)
Go to bank (cash check)
Give the dogs a biscuit (1 each, at 2 pm)
I have to put down exactly what to do, and check them off as I do them, or I will go for a month without scrubbing the toilet (ew) or I’ll wander into the bank and have no idea why I’m there. I keep a master list of tasks, and spread them out over the week, but without that list, fairly nothing would ever get done around here.
So tonight, working off today’s list and the menu I made up Sunday, I know what to fix for supper: Beef stroganoff with noodles, and broccoli.
Because it’s written down, so I know the stuff is in the fridge.
What’s the last thing you did/watched/read/yelled at someone?
That we invited #3′s arresting officer over for dinner, and he accepted.
That I checked the news one morning and it was announced that thin was no longer in. I was smiling the whole rest of the day.
That the reality of the past 15 years of my life was the dream, and the reality was not what the dream was.
That I flew in a grocery cart.
That I woke up, went about my business, then something odd happened, and I woke up, etc. Several times over.
That the dogs talked, and they were better at math than I am.
That my children were all babies again. That one scared me.
What do you dream about?