This is Hunter’s room yesterday morning, right before I told him to clean it.
This is Hunter’s room today. Now. As in, 30 hours after I told him to clean it.
All I’m askin’… is for a little respect. Just a little bit.
Time to bring out the big guns.
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There’s something about the words “clean your room” that instantly turns a five year old into something that closely resembles the Tasmanian Devil on crack and energy drinks. As a result, also turns his mother into something like a grizzly bear in a glass factory.
Getting Hunter’s room clean is an all day process. Literally. You’d think the concept of picking up after himself would have sank in about, oh, 2 years ago – about the time he started cleaning his own room – but you’d be wrong. I’m not unrealistic or irrational, I don’t expect it to be white glove clean. Hell, I don’t even expect to be able to walk across the floor without stepping on a handful of toys. When there’s furniture floating on top of toys and other furniture, though… umm, yeah.
When we have company, I feel like I should run to the store and buy some yellow “DO NOT ENTER” tape to wrap around the door to avoid a law suit or save a life. You can never be too careful. Also, it would take at least a week to find a dead body in all that mess.
Yesterday was dreaded room cleaning day. I mentioned it right after breakfast, as I always do knowing full well it will be close to bed time before the floor peaks out from under all of the one armed army men and headless Barbie dolls. (Oh no! Whatever you do, don’t alert Dr. Phil!)
Amidst all of the screaming and yelling and “I don’t wanna clean my room!!”s, I hear “MOM! I can’t find my other shoe!” This is when I take the opportunity to say, “All the more reason to get your room clean” Hunter didn’t like that answer, he responded with “But I can’t! I need my shoe!” At this point, I’m thoroughly irritated. If it’s not one thing it’s another – anything to get out of cleaning for 3 seconds. So I say, “Hunter, get back in your room right this minute and finish cleaning it!” In a nice, calm, friendly voice, of course.
I could see the wheels turning, the smoke billowing out of his ears. Would he decide to press the issue? Damn right he would. This is MY kid. He finishes by saying, “Mom, I don’t think you understand. I need somewhere to put my shoes, I can’t ever find them. I need a Shoes Under.”
How can you argue with that logic?
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It’s no secret how I feel about field trips. I loathe them. They are like a tic, digging at my skin and sucking on my blood. Not to say I don’t want my kids to have them… I do. I just don’t want to go.
I love taking my kids new places, exploring with them, watching them learn. I don’t love taking them and 20 other kids.
Today is field trip day at Hunter’s preschool – it’s at a dentist’s office. Come on, really? The zoo I could handle, the fire station was even kind of cool, but a fucking dentist’s office? If your kid doesn’t know what a toothbrush is by 5, you’ve got bigger problems then being forced to go on a lame field trip.
So, somehow… some way… I have to figure out how in the hell I’m going to get a shower today before noon so we can make it on time to see the damn tooth fairy at his private office suite. Say a little prayer for me.
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As most of you know, my son was diagnosed with ADHD last summer. It wasn’t news that came as a shock to us, more that we just weren’t prepared for the decisions that followed.
We have been experimenting with the different treatment options for several months now which, by the way, is a rather depressing process. Just when you think a medicine is working, it stops. When you think “oh, this is the one”, it isn’t. People keep telling me that this is the longest, hardest part of the process and to be patient. In the meantime, however, I’m watching my son lose weight, eat less, and lose sleep. All the while, still bouncing off the walls.
Treatment isn’t something I was overly anxious about anyway. The truth of the matter is, though, it’s best for many different reasons. First and foremost, it greatly reduces his chances of inheriting the alcoholism that runs thick in both Scott’s family and mine. Also, his ability to learn, to have relationships, to concentrate on just about anything is virtually impossible right now. Without treatment of some sort, he lives his life about 100 steps ahead of the present. Meaning, his mind is not where his body is. This causes him to trip and fall about every other step he takes, he starts sentences and never completes them because he forgets what he is talking about, and he has difficulty learning because he is unable to concetrate on what the teacher is saying – if his mind is present for the lesson at all.
The medicines used to treat ADHD, even in children, are narcotics. It’s not like experimenting with Flinstone vitamins. They take a toll on him, even under close doctor supervision. Part of me, the “mom” part, just wants to give up. Just wants to stop them all together and have my son back. The rational part of me, however, says that would be selfish. The older he gets, the more important it will be for him to be on a treatment plan for the reasons listed above.
Some say that finding the right medicine could take several months, maybe even a year. I wasn’t prepared for this part when we first heard the news. Naively, I thought the doc would hand us a prescription and my little boy would magically be better the next day. Really. I was way off.
So, we continue on our journey to find the right treatment for him. I do believe that we’ve found the right medicine, finally, we just need to work on the correct dose now. Hopefully.
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Hunter has ‘share’ every Monday at school. This isn’t the typical “bring your favorite stuffed animal or bouncy ball” type of share. It’s not the kind that you and I had many moons ago, either. You know, back when it was called ‘show and tell’ – also before getting through the school’s metal detector was something you had to take into consideration when choosing your item.
This is the kind of ‘share’ that promotes learning – yeah I know, right? Lame.
Every Monday morning Hunter and I run around his room frantically looking for something that he can bring to school. Every week there is new criteria that must be met – this week the item must start with the letter “N” and, of course, still be something that he knows enough to tell the other kids about.
Some weeks have a color and a letter. One week was a purple “E.” I’m sure because everyone just happens to have a purple elephant hanging around. Shit, some weeks have 2 colors and a letter.
Dear Teacher: This is the shit that I pay YOU for. Thank you.
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In addition to the birth of Ruby, we also had Hunter’s birthday during my time away. That’s right folks, there’s a whole 4 days between the kids’ birthdays. Four days.
Let’s recap. December 25th = Christmas + 5 days = December 30th = Ruby’s birthday + 4 days = January 3rd = Hunter’s birthday = MOMMY AND DADDY ARE BROKE
So, as Scott and I pick our chin’s up off the floor and THANK GOD that we know better than to have a single credit card, we move forward in the new year. Why don’t we have a single credit card? Well, because we both love to spend. A lot. What’s better than spending money? Why, spending money that you don’t have, of course.
So, my little dude turned 5 last week. My first born. Also, my wake-up call to reality at the time. What? There is stuff to do that don’t involve booze or cigarettes? Well, I’ll be dammed – there is. And, it’s great.
So, 5 years ago this little guy was born. Happy Birthday Dude-ma-sun!
Because sometimes the days when there’s nothing to do make the best days of all.
I applaud your effort, ghosts and goblins. I really do. I even feel a little bit sorry for you, having lost your mojo and all. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You didn’t stand a chance once these two came around. Please, come back next century and try again.
PS – To goblins mother: I would like to offer you my deepest apology for the goose-egg that your son came home with on his head last night. If it eases your mind, Sophie is grounded for the rest of the week.
OMG, we should totally be, like, BFF’s.
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Alright guys, this one requires a little back story. I know, it’s kind of like the prologue in a novel. No one really wants to read it. In fact, you throw up a little in your mouth when you see that there is one. But, you squeeze your butt cheeks together and get through it because you just know that, if you don’t, you’ll get somewhere near the middle of the book and be all, “What the hell? Her dog ate her pet rat when she was 6 and in order to understand the rest of the story YOU MUST know every detail about that incident?” Then, you read page 243, line 46 and it says, “See, should have read the prologue, dumbass.” Shit.
So, squeeze those butt cheeks together and read on:
You could probably find a few twigs and some grass behind my ear if you dare look these days. At your own risk, of course. I’ve been nesting. Severely. Because of this, stuff has been “disappearing” in great masses around the house. Like, 4 trips to the thrift store drop-off center with my SUV so full I had to call Scott for help to shut the door kind of masses.
I’m fairly certain that Hunter thinks his sister is stealing all of his things and burying them in the back yard. He is utterly confused as to why his toys have been reduced by nearly three-quarters over the course of the last few weeks. I allow him to believe this. After all, some good old-fashioned sibling rivalry is good for the soul. And, an easy “out” for mom. Please visit my “Contact” page for information as to where you can send hate letters and waving fingers.
You see, the truth of the matter is, he has no idea what toys are gone. He knows there are some missing, but if you asked him to name which ones, he’d reply – “Well, well…”, then get distracted by the Subway commercial on T.V. He’d then continue on with, “Subway, Eat Fresh” and walk out of the room. Just like that. A couple of years ago, when he was an only child, I would have followed him to the other room and picked his brain for more information. Now? I shrug my shoulders and silently thank the Lord for letting me get off that easy.
So, Hunter has this flashlight. It’s been broken for years, you guys. It DOESN’T WORK. It is the ONE thing that the kid is up in arms about. He has turned the house upside down to find the damn thing. I hear about it every day. EVERY DAY. It wasn’t even in good enough condition to give away. I threw it out. Along with the billions of other broken toys and action figure heads I found at the bottom of his toy box.
So, all of THAT was leading up to THIS:
On our way home from school today Hunter and I were having a conversation in the car. Well, I was talking, he was mostly shrugging his shoulders and replying with “uh huh” to pretty much everything I said. Here’s how it went down…
Me: Do you ever get to see Parker anymore? (His best friend from last year that is in a different class now.)
Hunter: Uh Huh
Me: You do? Do you get to see him at recess, then?
Hunter: Uh Huh
Me: That’s nice. At least you still get to play with him some.
Hunter: You know, he’s 5 now. (Clearly informing me of this because it meant he was cool himself for hanging out with a 5 year old.”
Me: Well, you’ll be 5 in just a couple of months.
Hunter: I WILL??
Me: Yep, 2 months.
Hunter: Is that like, the day after the day after tomorrow?
Me: No, it’s several weeks. It’s after Christmas. It will probably even be after the new baby is born.
Hunter: Oh. (Disappointed because this is AGES away.) The new baby will be here in a couple of months?
Me: Yep! Are you excited? You’re gonna have another little sister!! (Wishing I had a candy bar to offer in trade for a reaction with the slightest bit of excitement.)
Hunter: Well, I guess. Maybe she’ll have my flashlight when she comes out.
Me: HUH?
Hunter: The baby. It’s gotta be pretty dark in your belly. Maybe she’ll have my flashlight with her when the doctor takes her out of your tummy.
OH, FOR THE LOVE, MAN!
Hunter and I have a new game. Well, he calls it a game, I call it a Hail Mary. For fear of losing my hair and also of being “that” woman at the grocery store, I’ve resorted to this.
Oh, remove your halo for one minute, you know damn well which woman I mean. Stretchy pants, tube top, blowing a bubble and yelling “what, you think I’m made of money or something?!” at her kid because he asked for a candy bar.
I’d like to take this opportunity to say this: Once you’ve birthed a child, it is safe to just assume that you need a bra. Also, and more importantly, your kid doesn’t need to know about your broke ass. It’s not his problem. It’s not his choice, and there’s certainly nothing that he can do about it. A simple “not today” would suffice. I’d say this to your face, but I’m fairly certain that you’re the hair pulling, brass knuckles type and, well, I don’t really think my 4 year old needs to see your nipples fly out from under your shirt today. Thank you for your time.
Anyway, I have a clear glass vase filled with colorful beads, or, er… diamonds (I went along with it because I don’t have my will in order yet and, well, trying to change his mind just might take that long) sitting on my kitchen counter. Next to that vase is a small jar with his name on it.
When he does something good he gets a “diamond”. When he does something bad I take a “diamond” back. Every Sunday morning we will open that little Holy Grail jar and count his diamonds from the week. Once they are counted, we will then refer to the prize chart. I have this pinned next to the chores list on our bulletin board. Lucky for me, there is plenty of room on said bulletin board because it is hung in the kitchen for the purpose of fooling company into believing that I am organized, domestic, and actually do my chores. Also so I can buy those cute little pins that say things like “Our Lady of Perpetual Mood Swings.”
This totally works. Yes, the bulletin board scheme works too for all of you inquiring minds, but I was referring to the diamond game. Well, for the day that I’ve been doing it, it’s totally been working. Hunter seems much happier because now there is a rewards system in place to recognize his good behavior as well a disciplinary system in place to “punish” him for the bad.
Also, I am happy because I no longer have to worry about appearing in the next edition of People of Wal-Mart with my tits hanging out the bottom of my shirt screaming at my child through the bubble gum pasted on my lips. I only have to worry about that here at home now.
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