Comment and Commenting

Y'all, check out this comment on the previous post:

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "This isn't what I expected from today (A rant. You...": How could anyone talk about a child this way. So very sad. You are a bad mother; its no surprise she doesn't respect you. 

I am very amused. All the years I have spent trying to be kind and loving to her, (and for that matter I still try) and the child treats me like dirt. One can only be hurt so many times before lowering the level of effort.

We had a rough evening yesterday, but about an hour after she took her meds she calmed down (because they make her sleepy) and was kinda nice to me. She wanted me to help her crack her back because it hurt. She was sitting at an odd angle and fell asleep in the chair in her room and her legs fell asleep. She called me "Mom! I can't feel my legs!" So I helped her get up, explained about cutting of the blood supply, etc. We were very civil to each other. Then she went to bed.

This morning I got her up at 10:00 and offered to take her with me to the fabric store. Simplicity patterns are on sale for 99 cents and fabric and notions and all kinds of stuff is marked down significantly. I offered to let her pick one or two patterns and either I'd make her something or she could make 'em. She liked to sew at one point in her life, maybe three years ago. She declined. She's not been antagonistic (so far) today, but she hasn't been pleasant either. I've been about as nice as I can be, which is pretty darn nice under the circumstances.

In a sense, the anonymous commenter is correct. I am a bad mother. Well, probably not "bad" exactly, but I have many faults, and I don't parent my daughter as well as I could. Nor my son, either. I (we) have not been as consistent as we should be with rules and consequences, for example. Both of these kids are very difficult to parent, both are emotionally disturbed to one extent or another. Clinically. Like, with psychiatric diagnoses and shit. And that shit is HARD, dude! Normal stuff doesn't work with these kids. We do what we can with what we have.

So, Anonymous, if you'd like to take Diva for a few months and do a better job with her than I have, come on! You'll need a six month minimum, better eighteen months to get a genuine Diva experience. She does the "honeymoon" period really well. New situations usually bring out the best in her. She can be quite sweet. Maybe if you are truly a better parent than I, she'll respond well and have a smooth transition to adulthood. I know she and I aren't a "good fit" personality wise, and that is part of our problem.

I genuinely wish the best for Diva. I want her to have a good relationship with her parent figures. I want her to have honest confidence in herself and her abilities.* I want her to have good people skills, respect herself and other people. I've done what I can to teach her these things, to model them for her. It saddens me that our relationship is so poisoned. We've had good times. Recently, things haven't been so good. If you can do better, please come forward.

*By that I mean not delusional about her capacity to, for instance, sing and dance. She tends to think she's American Idol winner quality about stuff like that. She's got rhythm, sure, and she has dancing potential, but she's not that good, and when we gave her dance lessons she didn't commit to them the way she needs to in order to be that good.

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.

Gloom, despair, and agony on me

I'm working on the other one, the story of how I broke through John's wall of "duh" in order for him to notice me. But right now I can't concentrate on that.

Because I'm depressed. It doesn't matter how much I know, or how well I can intellectualize this mess, my heart has it's own message. The heart doesn't necessarily agree with my head. 

Last evening I talked to a woman from a group home for children about getting Diva and Sproing placed there. It was a lovely chat, and she was most kind. Today I started the legwork. I arranged for the kids' school and the psychiatrist's office to send info, reports, etc. about the kids to this home for wayward youths. I thought I was doing OK with it all, but this morning, as I actually put forth the effort to begin the process of temporarily removing the kids from my home I had a harder time than I thought I would. My heart is now overriding the voice of reason in my head. 

I can't take care of my own children. I have, at least on some level, failed them. I am shirking my responsibilities as their mother by sending them away. I'm reneging on the promise I made at their adoption hearings to love and care for them. I really don't want to do that. I am committed to being a good parent to these two younguns. But I can't do it. I have failed. 

I know all the right answers. I'm smart. My head knows these things. "I am being a good parent by getting them the help they need."  "I have done my level best, but we just need more help." "It's only temporary." "I am not giving up on them." "I'm doing this to help the whole family." 

Bullshit. I'm dumping them on someone else's plate. Let the group home deal with the bad attitudes and misbehavior because I'm tired and don't want to do it anymore. 

This conversation has been going on in my head since last night. It's getting louder. You see, when these voices start this kind of shit it rolls downhill, gaining speed and debris. I am generally worthless now. Worthless and undeserving.

Oh, and to make matters worse, I saw my physician this morning. I needed a refill of my acid reflux medicine and he wanted to recheck my iron levels, since I had some iron deficient anemia a few months ago. He checked my blood, and I have some. Iron level is good, but the blood sugar level is pushing the upper limits of normal. He's very concerned about my blood sugar, as I am quite overweight and am at risk for adult-onset diabetes. I think he is surprised I don't have it yet. I have gained 14 pounds since the last time I saw him (about 3 months ago, I think). He is not happy about that. He wants me to get regular exercise, and to cut down on fats and carbohydrates in my diet. He assures me that regular exercise will improve my mood, as well. I have heard of that, but have never experienced it myself. The only thing exercise has ever done for me is make me sore, hot, and sweaty. I don't like that. 

I don't like myself very much. I'm fat, lazy, worthless, an incompetent mother, and a slob. I look around me, at my home, my life, my body, and there is a lot of evidence to support these claims. 

I heard once upon a time that eating disorders are a form of very slow suicide. That makes a lot of sense to me. I overeat. I'm a stress eater, not that that is any excuse, but it is a reason. I've been under a lot of stress recently, and I have been eating a lot of high fat, high sugar foods. It's no surprise that I have gained more weight. 

Being in this state of mind prevents me from being as coherent as I want to be. This post seems to wander, ramble, and I think it just got stuck in a brier patch. I'm going to shut up now before I get myself stuck any worse than I already am. Besides which, it's time for me to get ready for my appointment with my therapist. Boy, is she ever gonna get an earful today.

I should have kept my mouth shut.

I was trying to make meaningful conversation. Twitch and I were talking. He rode to school with me when I went to work early this morning. I was trying to let him know that even though I have trouble communicating with him sometimes, I still love him very much.

All he heard was that I don't like to be around him. NO NO NO!!!! The look on his face killed me.

Yes, sometimes his brand of energy doesn't mesh with mine. Sometimes I can more easily communicate with S or C, and definitely with Light. (She says that I am the other half of her brain.)

But I love my son! He is a very special person. He's almost 17, growing rapidly into a man. The growth stage is kinda awkward, ya' know? Sometimes it is hard for me to interact with him. He argues with me, I don't listen to what he says, I don't pay attention to the subtle things in his life that have meaning for him. I don't understand a lot of what is important to him.

And in so many ways we are so much alike. When I look at him I see myself at his age. He's nicer than I was, though. Sorry Mama. If, in this conversation we had this morning, our roles had been reversed, I would probably have reacted in a similar, very wounded manner. So Why Did I Open My Mouth?????

Can I un-do the damage? Can I in some way effectively express my love for him as my son?

I feel terrible.

9:00p.m. update- Twitch, I knew, was going to ride home with me when I finished work. I left the van unlocked so he could get in, put his bookbag down, etc. Before I left for my afternoon route I wrote him a note and left it on the seat where he'd find it. I said a lot of the same stuff I said here (thanks Dantallion and dykewife!). I enumerated things about him that I like and admire; characteristics I see in him that are hallmarks of a good man.
He came out to meet me at the bus when I pulled into the lot. The first thing he said to me was that he got my note. He said that as I was about to ask if he'd seen it. He gave me one of the best hugs I've had from him in a long time. (he's not much of a hugger- doesn't like to be touched very much) We talked some, and I feel a little bit more at peace about our relationship. I need to pay more attention, to try harder.