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.

blah blah blah blah

School is going well for me this week (so far), grade-wise. I got my scores from the developmental psych test I took Monday and the sociology exam from last Thursday. I suspect it may not be appropriate to mention in this quasi-public forum what the scores were, exactly. If you're that curious, email me. 

Diva. Did I ever go into any detail at all about Diva's indiscretions from last week? Do you really want to know? If not, don't read the rest of this paragraph. As I reread the post, that about says it all. Diva tried out for a spot in the Arts Magnet School program for middle school. She did not get in (there are lots of reasons, and I support that decision). However, Diva darling was very angry when she received the letter informing her that she didn't make the cut. So she made an obscene phone call to the woman in charge of the Arts Magnet program for our school district. Since the woman wasn't in to take the call, Diva left her message on the voice mail, and included her name (First Middle Last) and our home telephone number. Then she added "Don't call me!" Not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, obviously, and one of the reasons she didn't get into the program. So she was suspended from school for 3 days, beginning last Friday. Tomorrow will be her first day back. Superman and I have tried to make her life pretty miserable since then. She's done school work and a lot of scrubbing and cleaning. I fear she may have enjoyed herself too much anyway. She has been grounded this whole time, not allowed to play with anyone (besides Sproing) and not able to talk on the phone. Will this make a difference in her behavior? I don't know for sure, but I doubt it. If history is any indication, it won't make a hill of beans worth of difference in her behavior. 

The next paragraph is about Sproing and the trouble he got into in school today. I'm warning you now so you can avoid it, too, if you so desire. 

I have decided to stop checking my phone messages between classes. Right before sociology class today I checked my voicemail. I had a message from the case worker at the elementary school telling me that Sproing had misbehaved in class to the point that he was removed from class and sent to the in-school suspension room for the last 3 hours of school. In the message she asked if he is taking his medication. Oy. I talked to Superman, asked if he'd given the boy his meds this morning. (I got to sleep in a little bit this morning!) Yes, Superman watched Sproing take his meds today before school. After I got out of class I went to the school to ... To what? Investigate maybe? See what damage he'd done this time? I don't know. But there I was, and I gathered incriminating information. He'd started acting out oppositionally in his music class, and was sent to the office. Afterward he was sent back to class on the condition that he could get himself under control. He assured the case worker that he was OK now. Half an hour later his classroom teacher sent him back to the office, which is of course when they put him in lock-up and called me. I had to get Twitch from school so wasn't home when Sproing came home. I left a note on the whiteboard in the kitchen for him to stay home, to not go out with his friends. Diva was instructed to point out the message. She asked what to do if he didn't stay, and I told her that if she makes sure he sees the message, then she has done her part. If he doesn't stay, that's his decision and he will reap the whirlwind for it. Guess who was not home when Twitch and I returned? I've called his friend's house but get no answer. Somebody is in deep weeds right now. 

In a bitter twist of irony, the sociology professor lectured today on deviance and conformity. 

My mind is full of so many things. I want to write about the exciting things I'm learning in school. I want to write about some of the self discoveries blooming in my life. I want to express my excitement about an interesting symposium I may get a chance to attend in Washington, DC next month. These children take a lot of effort (duh) and distract me from other things. 

Let's take a look at that for a moment. (The rest of this post is skippable, too. It's going to be filled with navel gazing on the topic of parenting vs. the rest of my life.) What is my responsibility to these children? How far does it go? Must or should I devote all of my energies to caring for them? Is it alright for me to have interests outside my family? 

Here's the deal. Theoretically at some time in the future my children will leave this home and build lives for themselves outside of our immediate family structure. (I say "theoretically" because today I can't see that happening.) Or they will leave this home to take up residence in a penal institution. Whatever path they take, it will be away from me. That is how it should be (The becoming independent from the parent part. Not the jail part, necessarily). Assuming that day comes and I am still alive, I will need a life of my own. Now is a good time to prepare for my future, and that's what I'm trying to do. 

I do have other interests. If you have read just about anything else in this whole blog you will know that the GLBT community, issues, rights, etc. are a passion for me. I feel something akin to a divine calling to be involved in some way in helping and supporting the homosexual community. 

It just seems to me that I should be able to attend school and parent my children. On one hand, one could argue that having outside interests and being involved in something I find fulfilling (school, in this case) is generally good for me and by extension good for the family, including Diva and Sproing. And Twitch and Light, as well, of course. Superman thinks it's a very good idea. He likes me to be interested and excited about life. That's one reason I call him Superman. 

On the other hand, perhaps I am neglecting the needs of my special-needs young adolescent children. Perhaps, one could argue, I should be at home to deal with issues that come up with them during the day, and be prepared to tend to them when they get home from school. As it is, I'm frequently busy studying (or pretending to study but writing blog posts instead) when they are home in the afternoon. 

I feel very weak today. I'm emotionally fragile and unsure of myself. Then those messages start playing in my head, the ones that go something like "if you were really a good mother, you would...," "You are selfish for...," "You don't deserve...." I know I'm not supposed to listen to those messages, rather I am supposed to focus on positive and encouraging messages. And here's a hint about how depression works: I don't deserve to hear positive messages, and I feel guilty for holding that opinion. No of course that doesn't make sense! That's why depression is considered a disorder. 

A neat and tidy summary would look really good here. But this is my life, or something like it, and there are very few neat, tidy summaries here. So this is all you get.