AARRGGGHHHHH!!!

Summer B session started yesterday. I have statistics and economics. The statistics class meets daily Mon-Thurs for two hours. The economics class is an online class.

Statistics:

• The book is easy(ish) to read, well written, even humorous.
• The prof is a fairly young man, cute in a geekish way.
• The prof is friendly, but not overly outgoing.
• He speaks English; I understand the words.
• The concepts float around my head like mosquitoes. Sometimes they land and connect, sometimes they brush past momentarily, sometimes they miss altogether.
• It is an intensive presentation. The class only lasts 6 weeks, and we are supposed to get through an entire semester's work in that time.

I'm bobbing in the ocean on this one.

Economics:

• It's online, so I don't have personal contact with teacher or classmates.
• It's also fast-paced, with lots of assignments due one right after the other.
• The book is b-o-r-i-n-g. I know economics doesn't have to be this dull.
• I am supposed to have read the first two chapters already. I am on page 14, and I don't know what I've read so far. I fall asleep between the first sentence of the paragraph and the last. It's hard to keep track of the point when I keep nodding off.

I'm floating in the doldrums with this one.

This is one reason I haven't posted in a few days. Hopefully I'll get the hang of this school term and be able to balance my time better.

It starts with a grumble, peaks a bit in the middle, and tanks badly at the end.

I'm in a cranky mood, but I'm not sure why. When in doubt, blame hormones. I was doing alright most of the day, but late this afternoon I started getting testy. Diva was hanging off of me, invading my personal space. I spent a good bit of time with her today. I washed her hair, and spent a while making sure it was properly moisturized. She is supposed to put moisturizer on it every day, but she doesn't, so it gets very dry and brittle. Then she looks like a tatterdemalion*, and I feel guilty as though it is my fault that she won't take care of herself. It's not like I don't remind her, either. There are better ways to encourage compliance, I just don't do it. I don't do it because I'm worn down to a nubbin.

*Look! A new word! I didn't know this one, but it popped up as a synonym when I double checked "urchin." I like it better than "waif" or "urchin" because it's fancy and polysyllabic.

So Diva and I had some pretty good Mommy - Daughter time today. Before I worked on her hair, she sat with me as I perused some blogs (I was very careful to avoid a few of my regulars(NSFW, duh) with her beside me) and looked at a few Facebook pages. But after she leaned her hot body on my arm for an hour, I was ready for some distance. But she keeps coming in here and giving me that puppy-dog look, holding out her hands as if she's a baby wanting to be picked up. That stuff gets really irritating after a while. I could understand it if she were 2 years old. But at 11, she needs to cut that shit out.

They've been leaving me alone for a while, though. I'm happy about that. Superman is with them at the kitchen table teaching them how to play Sargent Major. He is a cut-throat game player. I'm a wimpy wuss. I don't like playing games with him. The first summer we were married he convinced me to play some card games with him. He made me cry. This sweet, funny, solicitous honeybear turned into a vengeful rat-bastard when he had cards in his hands. I took it personally. As I said, I'm a wuss. I cried. He was confused. We rarely play cards together, even now. Thankfully, 75% of our children love to play card games and board games. That's one thing I will miss when they all leave. No one else will be here to play games with the poor man. I might be forced to roll some dice and move some mice.

I have to tell you about a good day my kids had earlier this week. Sproing was at school, thus not in the house creating chaos. The other three sat in the kitchen and played poker; 5 card draw, using dry beans as currency. Black beans were 10, pinto beans were 5, and black eyed peas were 1. Twitched creamed his sisters' collective tuckuses. It was a lot of fun to listen to. I was in the next room, on the computer (aren't I always?), and laughing heartily. It is rare and wonderful when my kidlets make me laugh. I refer to the happy laugh, not that crazed lunatic laugh.

Then the three of us girls "looked" the beans, Light rinsed and soaked them, and Thursday we had bean soup. With a bit of instruction from me, Light made the soup. It was GOOD!

In other news, Sproing was suspended from his summer program for two days. He had a violent meltdown on Wednesday when the group was on a field trip to the skating rink. He ended up trying to run away from the group, going into the woods around the parking lot. When he was brought back to the group, he picked up rocks and threw them at the other students. As soon as they got back to the school, Superman got a call to come pick the boy up. He will be back at school, everything hunky-dory with the staff, on Monday. I hope he's ready for a reboot, too.

I had an excellent conversation with the program director Wednesday afternoon. After Sproing came home, I went over there to investigate. I really like that program! It is designed specifically for kids like Sproing. They do really good work with him, trying to teach him how to divert himself when he begins to feel frustrated. The director spends a lot of time with him, and has a good rapport with him. She doesn't get angry, she allows him to talk to her, she listens respectfully, and helps him figure out some good alternatives when he is inclined to fly into a rage. I hope this is immediately effective for him. I need to see some good results. I am beat down from trying and trying and trying without ever seeing any improvement.

Recently, while reading various blogs and things around the interwebz, I have read tales of misbehaving children. These stories are told from the perspective of an outside observer who watches a young child have some kind of public melt-down, with a generous side of egregious behavior. There are stories of older children who do offensive illegal things. The overwhelming message I hear/read/see in these reports is that there is something wrong with the parents. The youngsters have not been properly taught, trained, molded into civil people. It's the parents' fault. The parents are responsible for their children's behavior.

I take this personally.

In so many of these incidents I see familiar behavior. My kids (the younger two, specifically) do shit like that. It's horrific. I do not "let" them get away with it! I punish them, I talk to them, I teach them more appropriate behaviors and responses, they receive consequences. We have been doing this for years. The kids have been ignoring me for years. Sproing is beginning to get violent and more stringently defiant.

I am not perfect. I am far from being a perfect mother. My natural personality is more inclined to love and encourage than to fight. I have not been as strong, as self-disciplined, as strict as I should have been. We don't have a rigid enough routine around here. Flexibility is my strength, but I'm afraid these kids need less flexibility and more rigidity than I have provided.

I have tried very hard to do what needs to be done. The longer I try, seeing little or no improvement, the more discouraged I become. The more discouraged I am, the less energy I have to do what they really need. I get overwhelmed. I have trouble even doing what little I am capable of.

I am weak. Today I did not have the strength to stand up to Sproing when he was pushing the limits. As I reflect on the day, I see what I should have done. But at the time, I could barely process what was happening, much less call him on his attitude.

They need better. I am not good enough. They are running amok. Bad things could happen. They are still young enough that, as parents, we are legally responsible for some of the shit they do.

I'm done in. I love them, I care about them, I want the best for them. I'm afraid that the best is not me. There are things I know I should do for them. Like charts. Charts are probably a good idea. I can't get my shit together enough to make a damned chart. We've done charts before. They might work for a few days, but it doesn't last. I think it doesn't last because I can't continue to enforce it. The more beat down I am, the more they defy me and figuratively shit on me, the less inclined I am to work with and for them.

They steal. They take my things without asking. They use my things and break them, seemingly on purpose sometimes. These kids take gifts that we've provided, then misuse, abuse, and break them. They lie. Sometimes I think they lie just for sport. I can't trust a thing they say. I don't bother asking questions anymore because I won't believe their answers. When this goes on long enough, I lose my ability to give a shit. Right now I care, but seem to be incapable of doing anything about it.

I don't know what else to say. There is nothing left. Nothing.

Ramblings and Ruminations

So, Daddy sent a response to the Father's Day message I sent him.

"Correct"

He's not a very demonstrative guy. He also isn't comfortable with email and/or the internet. Eh.

Everyone is back home now. Light spent the last two weeks house sitting for a friend, Superman was with his family over the weekend. Of course the kidlets are here, though Sproing goes to school five days a week. Praise the zombie baby Jeebus. In two and a half weeks I take Twitch to college. For the next two and a half weeks we are all of us. After that, I'm not sure what the household will look like. Sure, Twitch will be home for vacations and such, just as Light is. But Light turns 20 next month, and is a junior now. I'm not sure she will be home next summer. She might, but she also might get a job somewhere else for the summer next year, or stay at school to take summer classes. Now that she's been in college for two years, it feels more like she's visiting over the summer rather than home for the summer, if that makes any sense.

And I'm OK with that. It is time. She is ready. Twitch is ready to make his first real break from home, too, though he will be home when he's here, at least for the first year or so. But he will establish his own domain outside of home. It's all good. It's time. I'm ready.

We were supposed to meet with the psychologist about Diva's test results. The meeting was scheduled for last night, but the secretary called yesterday to reschedule for next Monday. *sigh* I'm impatient. The doctor wants us to get our copy of the results and have a chance to look over it before we meet. Makes sense. The secretary said we will be getting those results in the mail this week. I'm eager to see them. I'm hopeful for useful answers. I want to get this child into some kind of treatment program, preferably one that involves her living somewhere else for a while. Is that horrible of me? Yeah, part of me says it's horrible, but a bigger part says that it's a rational and reasonable thing given the circumstances and situation. I'm going to listen to the bigger part.

I'm getting tired of writing about the kids and the family. Don't I think about anything else? I have been blog surfing this morning, enjoying myself immensely. Warrior Scout has a thought-provoking post today. He talks about "pride" and what it means to him now that he's clean (off drugs). I have some thoughts about the issue, the different definitions of the word, how it relates to gay pride, what it means to be proud of myself in the larger scheme of things. I would wax poetic on the subject, but I've just typed the only thoughts that are clear enough for words.

And speaking of words, as you may know, I am taking a composition course this summer. I've been writing a good bit. I like to write, though sometimes I get so wrapped up in the technical aspects of writing that I don't know what I'm saying. Which is weird, because part of the technical aspects of writing is to clearly communicate the message. Once again, my brain is chasing its tail, going around in circles, making no sense.

It's been hot and muggy here. (Oh, look! Now I'm talking about the weather.) I have not been out of the house in days. Superman took the little car away this weekend, so the only vehicle here was Manny. Dear, dear Manny. One rainy day last week Superman drove Manny, and forgot to turn the lights off when he got home. Yep, dead battery. He plugged it into the charger thingie he has, the thing that's supposed to charge a car battery using the electric current from the house. It didn't work. So when I got in the truck to take Sproing somewhere, it gave me no response whatsoever when I turned the key. Oh, well. Sorry, son, but we can't go. I wasn't broken hearted, to tell the truth. He was, but I don't care. All that to say that I haven't been more than 20 feet from the house in four or five days. It's too damned hot and humid to be outside. And it isn't even wickedly hot. Poor ol' Jackie, in Texas, says they've got temps over 100. We will probably see temps that high for a few days before the end of summer.

Which brings me to what Superman said to me last week. He mentioned something about the possibility of living in Vermont. As a matter of fact, Light said pretty much the same thing. She wants to come visit us in Vermont. When I first started looking at colleges I was attracted to the University of Vermont in Burlington. OK, I know it gets really cold up there in the winter, and I don't know what that means because I've never lived north of the Mason-Dixon line. But I feel up for an adventure, you know? And I want to get the hell out of South Carolina! So there. I hear Vermont is beautiful. The political climate looks pretty good from here, too. I've never been. Not even visited. I'd like to. The predicted high temperature for Burlington (per weather.com) is 78F. The predicted high for this area is 92F. I like 78 better.

OK, having just looked at the UVM website, I don't see any kind of master's degree program that looks applicable. PhD, yes, but I don't want to take that big a leap. I may go on to get a PhD, but probably not, and anyway I want to get a master's first. So, there we go. Does anyone have any recommendations for a master's degree program in clinical psychology, or even better, a graduate program with an LGBTQ emphasis? I've heard good things about UMD. It's in the D.C. area, which doesn't improve my weather conditions any, but what's the most important thing here, anyway? (I honestly don't know the answer to that question.)

This is the final week of class for the first summer term. I'm nearly finished with my composition class. It's been fun. I like the online format. Beginning next Monday I start my Summer B classes. I'll have another online class (Econ. 101) and I will be sitting in a classroom from 10 - noon Monday through Thursday learning Statistics. I think this is the only math class I'll need. I hope so, anyway.

I'm rambling on about absolutely nothing. How can you stand it? I'm going to do something else now, as I'm boring myself half to death here.

My Father's Day message to Daddy

This is what I ended up sending my father. As you can see, I didn't get it off to him until late Sunday night.

A bit of background info: Daddy was a teacher and counselor at a community college in Florida for many years before he retired. I am his only daughter. I have two brothers, and when I was 9 years old he married a woman with three sons. My step brothers were 11 (the twins) and 8 when he assumed the role of father for them. Their biological father was a douchebag who never participated in their lives if he could avoid it.

Now, on with the show!

"By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right,

he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong."

-- Charles Wadsworth

Sunday June 21, 2009

10:30 p.m. EDT

It is still technically Father's Day. You are probably on your way to bed by now, if not sawing logs already. And I didn't call you today, or send you a card, or any of those things that "good daughters" are supposed to do for their fathers. Eh. I suppose we will both have to live with that. The alternative is hardly attractive.

Superman is doing his "good son" duty this weekend. He is in [his hometown] until mid-day tomorrow, spending this Father's Day weekend with his dad. [Father-in-law] is not doing well. He is beginning to show the frail countenance of the declining elderly. He and [Mother-in-law] came for Twitch's high school graduation a couple of weeks ago. He looked a little peaked, but in the brief time I spent with him, he seemed well. They drove the five hour trip down here on Friday, and returned home on Saturday. [FIL] could barely get out of bed for days afterward. One never knows about these things. Human beings, body and spirit, are amazing. [FIL] could live for five more years, or he could be dead by his birthday in late November. However, that could be said of us all.

On parenting:

Being a parent changes a person. It's not something one can totally prepare for. I could read books about children, adhere to a philosophy of child rearing, and paint the spare room in pastel hues. I would buy a minivan, crib, car seat, and high chair. I could even study child development and become something of an expert in the knowledge of children's behavior. I might get college presidents to bestow upon me the high honor of an advanced degree on the subject, but that won't prepare me for parenthood. None of these preparations include living with children and being totally responsible for their care 24/7.

You did it. You fathered a passel of children. When I say "fathered" I don't restrict that to the biological function. There were six of us, all tolled. Undoubtedly you have had a paternal influence on many more. The pedagogue that you are, you have a gift for the craft. And craft it is. Tricky stuff, this parenting. What works with one doesn't do a thing for another. There are too many human influences in the equation, being as how all the parties are human. Yet somehow, with the passing of time, we all survived. You may be a bit crazier for the experience, but overall I think you did a fine job. I am having a very difficult time with my own very difficult children now, and that increases my appreciation for all you have done and for who you are.

With love,

Your favorite daughter.

In honor of Father's Day

"By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right,

he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong."

-- Charles Wadsworth

Once again, Father's Day comes 'round on the guitar and I haven't done anything for my dear ol' Dad. I'm gonna send him an email with this quote and a sorry excuse for why I didn't actually get a real card or anything. It'll have to do.

Superman is going to his parents' home for the weekend, so my kids won't have their father here on Father's Day. Superman won't return until Monday, so he won't be here at all Sunday. I'm not overly upset about it. I am mostly pleased that he's going to see his dad. The old man isn't doing too well. As you may remember, they came here for Twitch's graduation. They didn't stay long; drove down Friday, returned home Saturday. Mom-in-law talked to Superman a couple days after they returned, and said that Dad had a really bad time when they got home. He was completely wiped out and couldn't do a thing for days. He seems to be declining more rapidly now. This may be his last Father's Day, so I think Superman is right to spend it with him.

In other in-law news, Superman's sister is getting married on the 11th of July. Second marriage for her and the groom. Both had long lasting but unhappy marriages. SIL was miserably married to "The Lump" for nearly 20 years, and finally realized that she just couldn't do it any longer. I am very proud of her for leaving him. She is a Super Christian; has been involved in her church for ever. Plays the piano for the senior adult choir and a few other things. I think she was doing part-time secretarial work for the church at one point. Anyway, she had to struggle over that hurdle to get to the point where she could leave her husband. She had pretended for years and years that everything was fine, so when she left his sorry ass, everyone she knew thought it was horrible. They have been separated for a few years now, and the divorce was final over a year ago. People in the church are still giving her hell about leaving The Lump. She's moving to Chattanooga with her new husband, so she'll be 200 miles away from her old life. It's a good thing.

But what I came to tell you about is my FIL. His health is failing. SIL gets married on the 11th of July, and I hope FIL is able to attend. That's less than a month away, and I think he'll probably make it. I'm really glad she's getting married so soon. I'm very worried about FIL's health. He and I haven't been able to get along with each other for many years, but I think he's a fine man in his own right. His wife and children love him very much. As much as I don't like to spend any time with him, I am sad about the prospect of losing him. It'll be really hard on Superman and his sister and brother.

Of course his wife of 50+ years will be devastated. Well, I don't know if "devastated" is the right word. It will be hard on her. They are very close. But I'm pretty sure she will be OK. She's strong, and everyone has always assumed that she would outlive him. It will be hard, but she'll be OK. Now, on the other hand, if she dies before he does, he'll be dead inside of six months, I'm sure. As poorly as he's doing now, it might take less than two months for him to go if for some reason she should die now.

This is terribly depressing, and purely speculative. Let's change the subject.

Summer A term will be over next week. I have one more regular writing assignment due Monday, and I'm not sure if we'll have any kind of final exam. Exam day is next Thursday. We get a whole 3 days!! off between Summer A and Summer B. Classes begin the following Monday. I have had this online composition class this term, and Summer B I have Economics 101 online, and a math (statistics) class that meets on campus. I have very much enjoyed the flexibility of the online format, and am not looking forward to having to go to class. It's too damned hot to get out of the house. I hope the classroom is well air conditioned.

Speaking of school, I have some homework to do. I also have to iron some of Superman's shirts. He leaves for his folks' house after work today, so I have maybe four hours to iron three shirts. Since the ironing board is hiding behind a huge stack of miscellaneous stuff, it could be a tough chore. I'll see to that now, then.

It sounds truthy to me

"There are two ways of being happy: We must either diminish
our wants or augment our means - either may do - the result is
the same and it is for each man to decide for himself and to
do that which happens to be easier."
-- Benjamin Franklin

Apropos of nothing, I just liked the quote.

Simply for the purpose of chronicling Diva's transgressions, I will relay her latest feat. Sunday afternoon when she was at a friend's house, she stole the mother's debit card. The mom accused her own daughter of doing it, not suspecting Diva. They searched high and low, eventually asking to look through Diva's bag. Diva showed them her bag, rifled through it a bit, and came up with nothing. When I spoke to the mom yesterday (Monday) she said that Diva had done a perfunctory search, nothing very thorough. In speaking to the mom, I said that Diva is a suspicious character, and very well may have taken the card. After exchanging a bit more info, comparing notes, I determined that Diva was guilty.

So last night I had a little talk with the child. I have learned not to ask questions. I simply told her that she is well aware of the difference between right and wrong, but her problem is that she doesn't care. You need to care, I said. You know darned well that taking someone's credit card is very wrong. Not only is it wrong, but it's illegal. It is the sort of illegal action that could get you arrested. It also will make you unwelcome at your friends' homes. You will lose friends.

I went on in that vein for a little while. It wasn't a very long talk. At no time during the discussion did she deny taking the card. She is now glued to the house. No going out anywhere for anything other than doctor's appointments and such. Not that it'll make any difference. Nothing does.

Now, back to something I touched on a few paragraphs ago -- I talked to the mother of this friend of Diva's. Diva's friend is adopted, having been removed from her original home because she was being abused. We need a name for her adoptive mom, because she will be the subject of some discussion. Let's name her Ma. Yep, I like that. OK, so Ma and Pa have adopted Girlie. Girlie was 7 years old when she was removed from the abusive home, and is 10 now. For reference, Diva is 11. Girlie is not an easy child. She has many emotional/psychological problems stemming from her early abusive childhood, among which is compulsive lying. Diva is a veteran liar, too. Ma and Pa have two (or maybe three) other biological children, a boy, 13, and a girl __ (older. Old enough to drive.) There may be an older sister, too, who's out of the home now, but I'm not sure. It doesn't matter here. It's time for a new paragraph. This one is tangled up.

Ma has been a very successful mother, raising her other children to be generally acceptable young citizens so far. Nothing out of the ordinary. Girlie comes along, and POW! Out of the ordinary ball park. Sound familiar? Ma and I talked for the first time yesterday. Superman met Ma and Pa when he took Diva to Girlie's birthday party recently. He said I'd like them, but yesterday was the first time I'd talked to either of them. Ma and I had a very good conversation! It was productive and encouraging. We have a lot in common. The poor dear has no one else she can really talk to about her struggles with Girlie. Girlie is a relative, daughter of a cousin or something, so Ma can't really talk to her family in any detail about Girlie because of the emotional/social family connections. Badmouthing Girlie's birthmom gets Ma in dutch with birthmom's mother, sisters, etc. Difficult. Ma doesn't really have anyone else she can be brutally honest with about how she feels, about how hard it is to parent Girlie, about her feelings of inadequacy as a parent. Sound familiar? Yeah, I just blurt it all over the blog.

So Ma and I commiserated. It was great. I told her that I, too, sometimes feel like a failure as a parent, that I don't know what the hell to do with these kids. I teach them right from wrong and they ignore me like I was a fence post. Some days I have some pretty negative feelings about my kids. Ma was so relieved to hear someone else voicing these feelings she has had! And I told her that whatever Girlie chooses to do, it isn't Ma's fault. Ma does the best she can, and she does good stuff, but Girlie does what Girlie wants. It's not Ma's fault. I could hear, over the phone, the weight of thousand guilt trips falling from Ma's shoulders. Yep, we're BFFs now.

Ma came by a little while later to drop of Diva. Oh, I forgot to tell you the rest of Diva's transgressions. The reason Ma called me yesterday was that Diva showed up at their house. I thought maybe Light had taken her over there, but no. Diva had walked two miles along a busy road without my knowledge or permission to show up at Girlie's house unannounced and uninvited, the day after stealing Ma's debit card. How many levels of wrong can you see in this picture? Anyway, Ma called to check if I knew that Diva was there. They were going out anyway, so she brought Diva home. After talking on the phone for nearly an hour, she wanted to actually see me. So we met. It's all good.

Ma seems to have been significantly touched by my ability to listen and relate to her. It's another of those things that reinforces for me my decision to pursue a degree in counseling. Of course she is potentially a great friend and confidant for me, as well.

And let me tell you more. Ma told me that she has lost 200 lbs! She showed me a picture of herself before she lost the weight. She now works at the YMCA (leading exercise groups maybe? I am not sure.) She got control of her unhealthy food choices and portions, and began exer*koff-koff*cising. Now at a healthy weight, she looks great. She still has lots of extra skin on her upper arms, but that looks good to me. It makes her look like a real person, not some skinny Minny who hasn't had to work to overcome problems. She told me that she loves the work she does, helping others become healthier through exercise and whatever. And honey, I need that. I'm afraid of it, I don't want to work that hard, and I certainly don't want to sweat, but if I don't change something, nothing will change. You know what I mean.

I saw my therapist today. We had a good visit. I told her about Ma, and she was encouraged about a lot of things pertaining to what Ma and I talked about yesterday.

Superman and I have an appointment Monday to see the psychologist who did Diva's testing. We will discuss the results. I am waiting with nervous anticipation.

There are boo-skoodles of pictures on the memory card in my camera, lots of stuff I want to share with you. Perhaps I'll get to that soon.

TTFN

A new post

just because I haven't posted in a few days.

I feel dizzy and disconnected. Not that that's a bad thing. I like being disconnected sometimes. I'm a bit too hot, though. Summer is doing its hot thing here.

The trees in our front yard are ill. Superman suspects fire blight. Evidently fire blight mostly affects apple and pear trees. Our trees are ornamental Bradford Pears. I don't particularly like Bradford Pears, but they look nice in our yard. Well, they did. They look sparse, with clusters of dead leaves sprinkled throughout. The trees probably need to be removed, sad to say. Perhaps we'll plant something else. I'm in favor of the Ginkgo. Dogwood trees are lovely, also.

I don't like to go out. I don't like to see people. I don't like to leave the house. I want to stay in one or two rooms in the house I'm in. I had to get dressed and drive the kidlets to a friend's house this noon. It was unpleasant. I wasn't afraid or panicked or anything, just mildly uncomfortable. There are too many people in this house. I want them all to go away. No, scratch that. I want to go away and leave them here. I want a small cabin in a remote location, preferably in the mountains, and I want a quiet person to deliver groceries and supplies once a week. Of course I want internet connection. I can satisfy my need for personal interaction electronically. Superman is invited to stay with me. Otherwise, I'll see everyone else online, mostly. I'd like to visit with some of my blog buddies, one at a time. A mountain cabin sounds like a nice place to do that. Eventually my peripatetic nature would send me traveling again, but right now I want to stay at home.

Is this hermit behavior unhealthy? Something tells me it is. I'm not sure that I care, though.

We finally joined Netflix. I know, welcome to the 21st century. I spent most of the day Friday watching some "watch instantly" movies. It seems I'm a sucker for really bad gay movies. Ever seen "Angora Ranch"? It's a train wreck, and I liked it. "Gone But Not Forgotten" is another one I like. I own that one. The acting is atrocious, the cinematography stinks. The stories are kinda cute, if a bit sappy. On the other hand, "Keeping Mum" is actually good. The location is very nice, too. This whole Netflix idea fits in with my hermit tendencies. I can get most any movie I want without having to leave home. Life is good.

Superman is remodeling the kids' bathroom. It's torn apart right now. I should take some "during" pictures. Too late to take "before." S came over to help Superman scrape the walls in the bathroom yesterday! He hasn't been here since he and C moved out back in December. It was great to see him again. Superman drove him home later, and went in to see their apartment. He said it looks like a disaster area. It's much worse than this place, and this place is pretty messy. I am very, very amused by this news, but not a bit surprised.

Another sign that Java might be insane: I have trouble making decisions. Simple decisions. I go into the kitchen to fix a snack, and can't decide what to eat. I stand there looking stupid for a few minutes, then leave. When I took the kidlets to the friend's house, I couldn't decide which way to go. There are four roads that lead out of our subdivision, and they all exit onto the same four-lane Avenue. This friend lives in a different subdivision about two miles east of here, also directly off the same Avenue. All I need to do is go to the end of our road, hang an east, and drive two miles, then I hang a north, then a west, and the child's house is a dozen houses down on the north. But I had a hard time deciding which of the four streets to use to get to the Avenue. I haven't been to the grocery store, or even to The Great Evil Empire store in a week or more. I stopped at a grocery store on the way back from taking Mama to the airport last Sunday evening, because I needed some ginger snap cookies. That is the last time I went to any store. It has been probably two weeks since I visited the Evil Empire, and I used to go almost every day. I can be stunningly brilliant, but I can't decide which cracker to eat.

That's all I know today. If something momentus comes up later, I may post again this evening. Who knows?

My quiet Tuesday morning

Sproing started summer school today (Tuesday)! Did I tell you about the summer enrichment program? It is a grant funded program for 3rd - 5th graders in this school district. Actually, it might be limited to just a few zones within the district. I'm not sure, but whatever the perameters, Sproing is there. It sounds like a fantastic program. They do basic math and English/Language Arts (ELA) skills using a fun unit-based approach. Everything they do revolves around a specific theme, which I assume changes from week to week. They only stay in the classrooms for a few hours in the morning, and during that time they switch classes every 50 minutes. The do the lunch thing, then have fun activities all afternoon. They'll be doing karate, gymnastics, and playing with a Wii. There are a few other activites, but I can't remember them all. Every Wednesday they go to the skating rink for a couple of hours, and there are a bunch of really fun field trips planned for the summer. The program runs from today until the end of July, except for a break the first few days of July. They will go to one of those hands-on science museums, to both of the large state universities (USC and Clemson), and down to Charleston for a brief beach trip. I don't know how that's going to work. It's a long drive from here. Will they stay overnight? The final field trip will be to Carowinds, where they will get a behind-the-scenes tour of the roller coasters. Then of course they'll get to go on rides and stuff at Carowinds.

He takes the bus to school every morning, and the bus brings him home eventually in the afternoons. The program day is from 8:30 to 2:30, five days a week. They serve breakfast beginning at 8:00, and of course they serve lunch. All of this stuff is completely funded by the grant, including the meals and the field trips. I am loving this, man! I hope Sproing enjoys it. If he doesn't, he'll act out and get himself tossed out of the program. That would be a real bitch.

In other news, Diva is at the hospital's behavior health* center going through a battery of psych tests. She will be there much of the day today, and I think there will be more tests tomorrow. I hope they get to see her for two days, because 1) it would keep her busy and out of my hair for another day and 2) it would give the testers a chance to see her on a different day. If she is in a different mood tomorrow, she will behave and respond very differently. Someone suggested to me that she might have dissociative identity disorder. I doubt very seriously that she does, but I understand how one might get that impression. She has very different attitudes with changes in mood or something. It might be mood, it might be something else entirely. I do not know.

Diva began her first pack of birth control pills this week. She's had three so far. Yesterday and this morning she complained about her stomach being a little upset. That could be a side effect of the hormone pills. The pills mimic the hormone changes of pregnancy, which tricks the body into not getting pregnant again, since it thinks it's already pregnant. Of course one of the symptoms of pregnancy is the upset stomach/morning sickness thing. And that is a possible side effect of the pills. In a way I feel kinda sorry for her, but mostly I think "hey, kid, this is what it's like. Welcome to the real world."

She is growing up way too fast, and there doesn't seem to be much we can do about it. She's never been very good at being a kid. She wants to do grown-up things, and is terribly impatient with the idea of not being old and/or mature enough to experience those things. Of course she is too immature to realize that she isn't mature enough. And she doesn't trust us, or believe us, when we tell her to wait. I remember hating to hear "you're not old enough" when I was a kid and wanted to do something, so I understand her frustration. However, I don't recall wanting to do so many of these grown-up things quite so early. She doesn't seem to want to do many kid things. She's very unsatisfied, poor girl. I am just trying to keep her as safe as possible, which ends up leaving her out of very many fun activities. I can't trust her to be out on her own, but I don't think she should stay cooped up in the house all day. It's a dilemma.

Ya' know, come to think of it, the YMCA has a summer day care program that she might enjoy. It'll be expensive. It is effectively day care, but it's more like day camp the way they operate the program. If she wants to do it, and has a couple of positive experiences with it, she'll likely be ok. If she decides not to like it, she'll make life hell for everyone involved. She's a selfish bitch like that. I'm gonna go check out the hours and the cost right now. Wish me luck!

*"Behavior health" is the current term for what we used to call "Mental health." Interesting, huh?

The Aftermath and other ramblings

I don't like the word "aftermath." I think it is a stupid word, but sometimes that's the right word to use. It probably isn't the right word to use in this case, but whatever.

I do like the phrase "but whatever."

Graduation weekend is over! I survived! We all did, actually. The visit with the in-laws went well. We were all on our best behavior. Superman says he felt the disapproval from his dad, but neither of them said anything. They didn't say anything critical to me. I tried not to say much of anything at all to them. I smiled. I answered questions. I excused myself from the gathering, went to my room and took a nap. That was the best part of all. When I finally woke up at 9:00 p.m., they had gone back to their hotel.

The visit with Mama was mostly nice. As I mentioned in a previous post, she was mildly annoying, but only because I allow myself to be annoyed at some of her little quirks. She didn't intentionally annoy me, as far as I could tell. We didn't really do much. It was a very laid-back visit. She brought a book and read a lot. I blogged some while sitting in the living room with her. That is sort of like spending time with her. We're in the same room, and if I see something particularly interesting I read it to her.

Mama has always been a very active person. She is in her mid 70s now, and beginning to slow down. I have never been active. That woman has run me ragged for years, dragging me here and there to see things that should interest me. Some of them do interest me, so I guess I'm better for it. Now that she's slowed down so much, I can keep up with her. I actually am waiting on her now. I like this better.

She told me about a time when I was 4 years old. I had a favorite baby doll that I carried around a lot. I took the doll to preschool one day and gave it away to another child in the class. Mama was upset that I'd done that, but evidently I didn't think anything of it. I can see both sides of the situation now, as a mother and a generous person. As a mother, I would be frustrated if my child did that, especially if I had spent time and money buying the doll specifically for my child. I can also clearly understand my desire to give a toy to another child if I felt that the child would be comforted by my action. Mama has no recollection of why I felt inclined to give the toy away. She doesn't think that way herself. As nice a person as she is, generally, she isn't into sacraficial generosity. I don't know why, but I am. Evidently I always have been.

Let me tell you the incident that sparked this conversation. We were on the interstate on the way to the airport for her flight back home. I was in the right lane, and traffic was moderately heavy. An 18-wheeler was entering the highway from an entry ramp with a fairly short merge lane. I was in the way, and couldn't get into the left lane. The truck was rapidly running out of lane, so I slowed down to allow the truck to merge. As soon as I got clear of the back of the trailer I flashed my headlights and waved him over. Mama said something about me being nice, but with a tone that suggested she thought this was not a good thing. I'm too nice, or perhaps she wouldn't have been so nice.

But that's who I am. It's what I do. As for trucks, I've always had a lot of respect for truckers on the road. As I have learned rules of the road that make driving easier for truck drivers, I've adapted my driving behavior to accomodate them. Now that I've spent over three years as a professional driver myself, I have even more respect for anyone who drives a large vehicle. I know how tough it is to move a big long vehicle into another lane. I also don't usually mind driving behind a truck, but I understand a lot of people do. I hate being behind a school bus, ironically. Most bus drivers do, especially if they are driving a school bus at the time.

Did I mention that my "F" key still isn't working well? That is so fffffrustrating!

There's more, but I'll save it for another post.

stuff, and Patrick

As I mentioned last week, I had an English assignment to write a piece in the style of a magazine article. I used "Smithsonian" as my publication inspiration. I just received an email from the prof with feedback on the paper. I quote: "I enjoyed reading this article so much that I took the time to read and re-read it at leisure. I am very fond of nature writing. When it's done right--which is not easy to do--it has the poetry of a still scene painting. You've done it right. What a delightful read. I particularly enjoyed the magazine version.

May I share it with the rest of the class? I would also like to see this published somewhere. Let me see if I can figure out what publications publish pieces like this. It should find a larger audience than just our class." I think she liked it.

In other news, Mama is still here. Things calmed down a lot after the in-laws left. After we returned home from the graduation exercises, we served the pie. It was well received. I certainly enjoyed both the pecan and the lemon meringue. Then I retired to the bedroom for a nap. I had dropped Mama off at her hotel on the way home from graduation since she was tired and not feeling well. So Mama wasn't here to "worry" about. I took a nap that lasted until 9:00 Friday night. The in-laws were gone, someone (not Someone) had ordered pizza, and Mama had been retrieved. I find that sleep is often a wonderful way to avoid confrontations.

The weekend is going well. Mama is pleasant company, and not particularly demanding. I am only slightly annoyed with her, and that's mainly my fault. There are some little habits she has that just annoy the crap out of me. Nothing serious, nothing that would necessarily bother anyone else, just stuff that irritates me. I'm a real bitch that way.

I will take Mama to the airport this afternoon. We need to leave here at 5:00 in order to be at the airport early enough to suit her. Whatever. I don't think I'll wait with her, unless she really wants me to. I'd rather not have to park the car at the airport. I have a craving for ginger snaps. I want to drop her off at the airport and find a grocery store where I can get a bag/box of gingersnaps.

The f**king "F" key on my faulty keyboard is still fudged up. I cleaned under it, but to no avail. Well, I availed a bunch of crud out of there, but it still doesn't want to work properly.

****I just received an email from Patrick. His brother was killed in a car crash yesterday. Please keep him and his family in your thoughts and prayers.

I'm coming up for air

So far so good.

I must amend the previous post and say that my mother-in-law is usually not as bad as she was that day. That was one of her worst episodes.

Somehow we ended up rushing around frantically cooking as the in-laws arrived today. I hate that. This time, though, there were four of us cooking. Light did most of it, really. Twitch grilled the London broil. I made two lemon meringue pies. I was the one pulling stuff out of the oven at the last minute, though, because everyone else was busy with something else. Whatever.

I sat in the living room with all the parental units and the children for about fifteen or twenty minutes. I smiled. Then I excused myself. When Light had the table set and ready for the meal, I ate with everyone. Then my mother and I went to the graduation venue early. I wanted to be there with her when the doors opened so we could get a seat close to the doors. She can't walk very far, and I didn't want her to climb a lot of stairs in the arena. This is the arena where Lander Univesity plays basketball. So we got there early and got a good seat very close to the entrance.

The graduation ceremony was dreadfully dull. There were four or five different student speakers. None of them spoke for too long, but they all said practically the same thing. They all used the "turn the page," "this chapter of our lives" metaphor. The dispensation of the diplomas was tedius. The chorus sang a couple of pieces, and that was the best part. I also enjoyed watching this huge black man directing the graduates to their seats when they processed into the arena. The guy was head and shoulders taller than almost all the students, and was a massive wall of very dark manhood. It was funny to see the tiny teenage girls standing beside him. If he sneezed he'd have crushed them.

Mama and I did not sit with the rest of the family. After the ceremony Mama went back to her hotel to lie down. She is tired and doesn't feel well. The rest of us are at home. We served the pies (pecan and lemon meringue), and now Light is showing the in-laws her artwork. I am hiding in my office, doing this. I'm tired and slightly dehydrated and grumpy. I think I'll go lie down for a while. The ordeal is more than half way over. I feel good about that. If I can avoid the people for another few hours, we'll be golden.

Preparing dinner for the in-laws: why I don't

Many years ago, before Diva and Sproing were born, we lived in a cute little house in the country. Light and Twitch were maybe 5 and 7, give or take a year or two. Superman's parents were on their way to visit us. I don't recall the occasion. It may have been a "just because" visit. "Just because" in this instance means "just because we live to torture you." (My interpretation)

The drive from there to here is approximately 5 hours. They said they'd be arriving at our house at 12:00. (Whatever time it was, I don't remember, but lunch was the meal in question.) We have traveled that trail ourselves, and predicting the exact time of arrival is iffy, in my experience. Not so with the Super-in-laws. (Here, "Super-in-law" refers to the fact that they are perfect. Not nice, kind, or thoughtful, just perfect. As in "can do nothing wrong.") They are precise and punctually perfect.

Being perfect, of course, they have a perfectly lovely home, clean and well apportioned. I, on the other hand, am a mess. My house is perpetually cluttered, and not particularly clean. In preparation for the in-law invasion, we had attempted to clean up a bit. It is impossible to be completely prepared, though. Impossible. I was stressed. (duh)

I was told that they would be expecting lunch when they arrived. I was reminded that Father-in-law (FIL) does not eat breakfast, and would need his lunch in a timely manner. He is used to eating at 11:00, so he would be an hour past hungry when they arrive. The mid-day meal is their large meal of the day. Now that they are retired, they eat a substantial lunch, then a very light supper. And you know how FIL loves my baked ham! (hint hint)

So I was fussing around in the kitchen, trying to get it all together. I was working on an impressive menu. We had the ham, some desserts (probably pies. That's typical.) at least two side dishes, freshly baked homemade bread of some sort (either biscuits or yeast rolls) and I don't know what else. And I had two children who I was ostensibly homeschooling. 

At some point during the morning I was in the kitchen, trying to clean up as I cooked. I had an empty glass jar with a label I was trying to remove. Soaking didn't help, so I took a razor scraper to it. The jar, as are most jars, was round. I held the jar with my left hand, being right handed. In the process of trying to clean this thing up, I made a bigger mess. Of my thumb. The razor slipped and I jabbed the blade into the knuckle of my left thumb. There was much blood, and a fair amount of pain. I washed and wrapped it tightly, and the blood flow slowed, but did not stop. 

I had a ham in the oven, nearly finished. There were a few side dishes and some bread that still needed to bake once the ham was done. The in-laws were an hour or so away. This was before we all had cell phones, so communication was impossible. My babies were too young to leave alone, though I think Superman was there. But he was working like a dawg trying to clean the place, if indeed he was there. I was cleaning in the kitchen as much as I could while cooking and caring for the kids. So I just wrapped my finger tightly and soldiered on. I had to change the dressing once or twice; the blood was flowing slowly. 

It was a week day, so Superman would have or should have been at work. He may have taken the day off. I know he was there when his folks arrived. On time. Exactly. (Spooky, really). When they pulled into the driveway, Superman was in the shower. He'd been working and was all sweaty and smelly, so he was bathing. I was very busy shuffling things into and out of the oven. 

Now, I married into this family. I was not born Perfect. Only these people and their children are Perfect. It only hurts my case that their daughter, who is almost exactly my age, is indeed Perfect. She has a Perfect house, cooks delicious Perfect meals, and always gets everything on the table at the same time at the Perfect time. I am not Perfect like her. When these people arrived there was still close to an hour before the meal would be ready. I did, though, thoughtfully prepare a few little appetizers to help tide them over until lunch. 

As I said, Superman was in the shower. Mother-in-law (MIL) greeted my children (not Perfect grandchildren, because their mother was woefully deficient as a parent) then came into the kitchen where I was up to my eyeballs in stress and cooking. She asked if dinner was ready. I said I'd run into some trouble, and it would be about an hour before everything was on the table. I showed her the appetizers. She refused the appetizers, saying they didn't want to spoil their appetite for the dinner. huh? 

That's not the gold, though. No, then she stood in my kitchen and blessed me out because lunch wasn't ready. She had told me when they would arrive. She told me "Dad" would be hungry. So why did I not have lunch ready? She was hungry! She needed to eat! "Dad" needed to eat! I directed her to the appetizers again. NO! She wanted LUNCH, not a little snack that would spoil her appetite. 

Superman usually intervenes before she can start this bullshit. He was wet, naked, and totally unavailable in the heat of the moment. I stood in the middle of my kitchen and stared at her, dumbfounded. I so wanted to say (in a very stern voice) "Get back in your car, turn right out of the driveway, go two miles into town, and there you will find a pizza parlor and a Mexican diner. You can eat there." I didn't though. I swallowed it, and just said "I'm sorry it isn't ready. I'm doing the best I can." 

Superman finally came out, dressed and in his right mind. The in-laws greeted their perfect son, the poor boy who had mistakenly married this pathetic excuse for a wife. MIL then had the gall to laugh lightly and tell him that she was a bit cranky because she was hungry. Ha ha ha, isn't that quaint?

I stayed in the kitchen and finished preparing the meal. I served the meal. We ate. Once I'd had a bit of food and saw that the kids had some lunch, I took myself to the doctor's office to get my thumb stitched up. Because the cut needed stitches. The doc soaked my finger in some kind of disinfectant stuff for about half an hour before he sewed it up. I was grateful to be able to spend that extra time away from home and the Perfect Mother-in-law.

I will bake a pie as my contribution to this mid-day meal. I will bake a lemon meringue pie, because that is the kind Twitch likes. FIL won't eat it, though. He once told me "The GOOD LORD deliver us from Tart Desserts." (I wish you could hear the inflection. It's wicked.) 

I'm too old for this shit. 

It has been a busy day. Tomorrow will be worse.

This morning I went to the "graduation" ceremony at the elementary school, where my dynamic demonic duo received their certificates of attendance for the fifth grade. Yep, a certificate of attendance. It means diddly squat. The only part of the ceremony I enjoyed was the speech by the principal of the middle school that my kids will attend next year. The rest was ... less. At one point in the midst of the program I started getting a bit panicky. There were too many people in that cafeteria. I was trapped. I would have gotten up and stepped into the hall, but that would have drawn more attention to myself, and that would be worse than just sitting there. So I just sat there. I survived. 

Light and Sproing took the little car (Eva) to the airport in the "big city to the north" to meet Grandmommy's plane. That went well. So now my Mama is in town. She and I went out to dinner tonight. We had a pleasant visit. She's here at the house now, visiting with the kids. Each of the grand kids is showing Grandmommy his or her special achievements. Light has displayed her pottery, Twitch showed her all the nifty stuff he did in his PhotoShop class. The youngsters showed off their certificates of attendance. Grandmommy is appropriately impressed. 

While big sister and little brother were off collecting the grandmother, I took Diva to her first gynecology appointment. Did I mention that she's 11 years old? Actually, today is her half birthday, so she is now 11.5 years old. She had her first pelvic exam (it's worse than a prostate exam, really) because she has had her first sexual intercourse. This is shit. They did a pregnancy test. It was negative. I figured it would be, but WTF. They are testing for chlamydia and gonorrhea. Results will be back in a few days.  I expect negative results from that, too. The point, really, is to demonstrate to the child the dangers inherent. I believe the doctor talked to her and showed her some really nasty, scary pictures of what can happen with STDs. That was what the nurse and I talked about when I called last week. We left the office with a prescription for birth control pills for my 11.5 year old daughter. 

On the way home, Diva was going on about how glad she was that the pregnancy test was negative. She was revelling in the drama, thoroughly enjoying herself. I know that game. I put the quietus on that one. I told her that this is not a game. I lectured her all the way home. This is NOT fun or funny. You must not do "that" again until you are ready to handle the possible consequences. Do you have a high school diploma? Do you have a job? Can you pay for an apartment? Do you have transportation? Can you buy food for yourself and a child? Can you pay for utilities? ("What's that?") Can you pay your medical bills? Or do you have insurance? Etc. I'm sure she tuned me out. If she doesn't like it, it doesn't apply to her. The child is not right in the head. 

I'm having a hard time. Taking her to the doctor was so hard.  It has been so difficult emotionally, this whole thing. I'm terribly depressed. I've been on the verge of tears most of this week. Watching their 5th grade celebration thingie this morning was heart breaking under the circumstances. 

We do what we must. I carry on. I take the next step, breathe the next breath. But my mind is coming unglued. My heart is in tatters. 

To complicate matters, my mother is in town. Worse yet, my in-laws arrive tomorrow. I will survive. I am a survivor. I'm just not sure how healthy I'll be on the other side. 

Coming up: the story that explains why I will not be preparing dinner for the in-laws.

I'm still standing

I'm still here.

I had an assignment in my English class to write a paper in the format of an article from a magazine. She gave Good Housekeeping and Vogue as suggestions. I'm not much of a Vogue or Good Housekeeping kind of gal. (quit snickering) My favorite magazine is Smithsonian. Smithsonian articles are not simple affairs. I didn't want to do real research to write a factual article. That's too much work. I'd much rather pull something out of my ass, like I usually do. But the Smithsonian was the only magazine that inspired me for this assignment. So I wrote a parody piece. I combined the idea of a snipe hunt with Rodents of Unusual Size (R.O.U.S.es). I wrote an article in which I detail a morning spent with a researcher from the University of Florida on an observation of the Florida snipe. I used photos of capybara (the largest rodent on earth) as my snipe. It was great fun. I haven't received any feedback from the professor, so I'm not sure how it was received. I had a blast writing it, though. 

Capybara or Snipe, depending on one's interpretation

Sproing and I had an appointment with his counselor today. Sproing has been doing so much better recently. Two or three weeks ago we added Zoloft to his medication regimen, and that seems to have made a significant difference. About the same time we bought him a used PSP handheld game console. Between the two, I'm not sure which one made the biggest difference. We talked with his counselor about how much more in control of his emotions and reactions he is. This is good! 

Sproing then left the room so the counselor and I could discuss some other stuff. I told her what the psychiatrist had said, that Sproing needs a lot of structure in his life. The doc indicated that Superman and I needed to get our shit together (she said it a bit nicer than that) and have firm rules, appropriate and consistent consequences, etc. I was intimidated. I got the impression from the doctor that in order to be a good mother to Sproing and Diva, I needed to get over my issues with structure and self discipline to provide that kind of environment for the kids here at home. Ugh. She told me that Sproing's counselor was very good with that sort of thing, and could help us get organized and develop lists of expected behaviors, consequences and rewards and stuff. 

Well, today I discussed that with the counselor. She seems to think that a large part of our success so far is in our (mine and Superman's) ability to be flexible and go with the flow. According to the counselor, we should stick with our strengths and not try to fight against our natural inclinations. Though perhaps a few guidelines about positive and negative consequences for specific behaviors may be helpful, generally let's work with our strengths. I was so relieved! I've been more stressed than I realized about the prospect of changing my entire life around to fit into that whole structured lifestyle. 

And speaking of stress, my mother flies into town Thursday afternoon. The in-laws plan to arrive late Friday morning, and Twitch's graduation exercise is at 2:00 Friday afternoon. There is some expectation of having a fabulous lunch here before the graduation ceremony, then dinner out that evening. I have had enough of preparing meals for the in-laws. I may tell you that story some day, but suffice to say that I ain't gonna put myself out again. Superman and Light have an idea or two, though. Superman will take Friday off from work, thankfully, so he can be here when his parents arrive. I'm trying to think of some urgent errand or emergency or whatever I can come up with to have an acceptable excuse to stay away from home Friday. I'll show up at the graduation, of course. Since my mom will be here, too, I don't think I can pull it off. Aw hell, my mother likes Superman better than she likes me, so why the hell not? 

And it probably won't be as bad as I fear. It often isn't. The times these visits turn bad, though, is enough to make me gun-shy. 

For now, though, I'll just stand my ground.