My kid can negotiate better than your kid.

Good Lord, God All Mighty.  My son has been starting up on something new and I'm not liking it.  Not liking it one bit.  Seems when he doesn't get his way, when I ask or, God forbid, tell him what to do, he turns into the defense team representing OJ Simpson.

A simple request turns into a full fledged negotiation and the negotiation takes longer than the actual request to begin with.  There have been times where I've just given up and said, "God dammit, I've asked you to go do something, please go and do it.  NOW."

That is met with, "ITS NOT FAIR.   I HATE YOU.  I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF MY GAME AND ALL MY DATA WILL BE LOST.  AGGGGHHH!!!  I HATE YOU!"  And if that weren't enough, he goes up to his room stomping all the way, all thirteen steps, slams his door and tears apart his room.

Add to it, he's still yelling, "I HATE YOU.  I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU HAVE A BAD DAY.  I'M GOING TO MAKE YOUR DAY HORRIBLE."

I try my best to ignore these statements while he's coming undone but it's hard.  He seems to think that because he's having a bad day, everyone else around him should as well.  He takes it upon himself to make sure your day is as bad as his.

A picture of the two of us he tore to bits in a meltdown
along with half of his room.  This is what hurt the most.

There was one particularly bad day where he said these things to me and I just lost it.  Lost it completely.  I lashed back at him and yelled, "You wanted me to be mad?  You wanted me to be mad?  Well now you've got it.  I'M MAD.  NO, I'M PISSED OFF.  Look at me.  Look at my face and see what it looks like.  That's mad.  Now go to your room, NOW."

At the time, even though I was madder than hell, I was telling him to look at my face.  Some weird kind of teaching moment I know.  Even through my own anger I was still trying to teach him.

And he looked at me, scared to death and said, "Can you not make chicken nuggets for dinner?  I prefer mini-corn dogs."

Fucking mini-corn dogs.  I lost it over mini-corn dogs.

After a few minutes I went upstairs and listened at his door.  I could hear him tearing apart his things.  The meltdown was over but he was sobbing and sniffing.  I felt like shit.

To be honest, I was sobbing on the other side of the door.

A little later, I talked to him and we patched things up but not without residual memories for both of us I'm afraid.

I know he says these things because he's out of control and he's seeking to gain that control back.  I know that.  I really do.  He's trying to put his mind, and his world, back the way he wants it.  The way he wants it to be.  But it doesn't always work that way.  He can't play his i-Touch all the time and he can't be in control all of the time either.

I know these things and I know why he's lashing out but sometimes this ride is hard.  Sometimes I loose it.  And sometimes I loose it completely.

I know this new skill of negotiation comes from the stressors of the day, school and everything else that puts his mind to worry.  I know this is his way to seek out stability in his life.  I know that.

So asking him to do a simple thing such as putting his folder in his backpack or putting forks on the table will not happen, it's going to have to wait.  It's too much for him.

I will do it.

And I'm OK with that.


Note:  I write this here because I lose it sometimes.  I do, we all do.  We wouldn't be human if we didn't.  I used to be afraid or ashamed to admit that, that I'd be less than a 'good mom' if I said that out loud.  

I put words to what happens in our house so others may realize they're not alone.  That we all, occasionally, have a moment.  Deep down, we're all doing as best we can.  

I'm so not the hero today.

So the other night I was trying to think of something new to do after the umpteenth time of watching How it's Made reruns and I had the bright idea of watching The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe with the kids.  See, we've been reading the book and it was on cable the other night, so I recorded it.

It was going to be perfect.  It was going to be great to see how the book differed from the movie and we could really work on story progression and character development---some things I've noticed that are becoming a weak spot for Alex as he's getting older.

"Hey guys, you know how we've been reading The Chronicles of Narnia?  Yeah??  Well, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was on cable last night so I recorded it.  Ya wanna watch it?"

"NO."  Came out of the older two kids mouths faster than me declining sex while on my period.  There are some thing I just don't do.

Anyway...

I'll save you all the gory details about how I bribed, wrangled, fed them popcorn in the living room, gave them money, got them to sit down long enough to watch the damn movie but we watched it.  I was happy.  Life was good.

Yeah, wrong.

A few hours later I hear Alex telling Lizzy, "I want to start doing things slow.  Like really slow.  That way things will be really boring and we can live longer."

What?!?  I could tell by the tone in his voice something was up.  Really up.

This continues all the way up to dinner time where Alex is eating slowly, moving slowly, talking slowly.  It was like stop-gap animation.  After turning into Sherlock-frigging-Holmes and practically a Dateline investigative report later, I finally wrangled out what was up his crawl.

I present to you the condensed version:

"Alex, why are you eating so slowly?  Does this have something to do with The Chronicles of Narnia?"

"Yeeeaaaah."

"Is it because the witch was mean?"

"Yeeeaaaah."  He starts sobbing.

"And because she turned all the animals into stone?"

"Yeeeaaaah, I don't wanna die.  I'm eating slowly so life can be boring.  It will make it appear that I'm living longer because I'm sooooo bored."

"Mkay.  Well, the good news is, you're not going to die.  The bad new is, you still have to eat your dinner."

See, in his mind all the animals the witch turned to stone were killed and dead.  Doesn't matter that Aslan breathes them back to life.  Oh no.  No, no, no.  Some of them legitimately died.  She kung-powed a few of them with her wand and they died where they stood.  Don't forget the few she blasted with her wand while they were flying and then, because they were rocks, smashed to bits when they landed.  Add to it at the end, Aslan basically eats the Witch and that pretty much sealed the deal.  It was all over.

Alex got the shit freaked out of him.

Thank you C.S. Lewis.

So I had a bright idea.

"Hey guys! Come on.  Lets go downstairs and watch Rango."

I was going to be a hero.  I was going to get him off death.  I was going to switch gears with another movie and I was going to save the day.

At this point in the action I have to tell you, I've never seen Rango before.  How bad could it be?  It had Johnny Depp.  I like Johnny Depp.  It was animated so it had to be safe.  And did I mention Johnny Depp?

I have never been so wrong in my entire life.

WRONG.  WRONG.  WRONG.

If you have ever seen Rango, you know my fate and are most likely laughing your ass off right now.

Rango makes the Witch in The Chronicles look like a pussy cat.  A fucking pussy cat.

To start off, Rango almost dies in the desert.  He lives, but immediately another character gets killed off.  Then another character gets killed.  And another.  At some point they have this fucking gun-shoot-em-up-rodeo-thing and there's a veritable blood bath of cartoon characters all being offed in rapid gunfire and puffs of smoke.

It was like the fucking Godfather of western animation.  They killed more characters than Pulp Fiction and to top it all off, there are these four snowy owls that make up a mariachi band all singing about Rango's demise and they never really shut the fuck up about the fact that he is going to die.

Can I get a big fuck you?

And last but not least, there is some shit kid-reptile-thing always asking Rango when he dies, "Can I get your boots?"

It was awful.  Just awful.

The whole time we were watching, it was like sitting in the middle of a four alarm fire.  "Did he die?  Mom, did he die?  Where'd he go?  Acccck, did they all just die?  They did die, didn't they???  Wait.  Oh no!  That one died too?!?  Accckkkk!"

The kids are sobbing.  I'm cussing.

In my brain it sounds like, "Fucking Rango.  Damn you Johnny Depp, I should have known better.  Come to think of it Alice in Wonderland was pretty fucked up.  So was Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  Damn it to hell, I'm such an idiot.  Between you and Helena Bonham Carter, you make me look sane."

And that is how I single-handedly pushed my kid right over the edge of reason.  If we were at the Grand Canyon, not only did my kid do a swan dive over the edge, I was right there to shove him off.

Anyone want to watch some How its Made?

Puppets are the work of the Devil.

So my husband had the insight to tell me that sometimes I can, "Really put my foot in it."  And I can.  There are times when I can see myself, like an angel looking down from above, talking and I Can Not Stop.  I really want to, trust me.  For whatever reason I just don't have the ability.

Anyway, this all started when I got the release form for Lizzy's field trip.  They have this extra section that if parents want to come along you sign up.  The teachers pull your name out of a hat and off you go.  I signed up but never thought I'd be going since Lizzy goes to school with a bunch of overachievers.  The mom's that is.  These lady-bitches have beaten me out of every trip so far this year.  

Well, I got picked.  I had no idea where we were going but I was so happy I finally beat the lady-bitches at their own game.  We were going to see a puppet show.

I HATE PUPPETS.

EVEN WORSE THAN CLOWNS.  

I HATE PUPPETS. 

So there I sat on a bus full of screaming kids thinking to myself:  "Who in their right mind decides they want to have a career playing with puppets?  I mean, what in the hell would possess a rational, able bodied person to wake up and decide they want to make their life's ambition to provide puppet entertainment to the general population?  And that's assuming they're rational.  And in the ghetto, inner city or urban core, where ever.  But really, what kind of person besides Mr. Rogers, wants to go into puppet work?  For children??  Its just not right."    

So there I sat with a bunch of Kindergartners praying to get out of the place alive and unharmed by rogue puppets or snotty six year olds.  Speaking of which, all my friends who are Kindergarten teachers?  You ladies are Saints and should be Canonized or you're crazy.  I'm not sure which.  I just know I could not do your job.  

Look at these freaky-ass things.

Fast forward to later in the evening when I dropped Lizzy off at a birthday party.  The party mom's all, "How were the puppets?  It must have been soooo much fun!"

And I was all, "No, it wasn't fun.  It was downright unnerving.  Scary even.  I mean, there were freaky puppets looking down from the walls and everywhere.  It was the weirdest place I've ever been and I think I'm going to have nightmares and post-traumatic stress from the whole thing.  Gawd, just thinking about it now gives me the shakes.  Uggh, I mean a whole puppet show on Go Dog Go?  I thought time stood still and I was trapped in hell with some wacked-out puppeteer and bunch feral six year olds.  What time to I get Lizzy?  Seven o'clock, right?"

And she's all, "You don't like puppets?  What's not to like about puppets?  What kind of person doesn't like puppets?"  

That's when I realized I had said too much.  

She was looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights, looking into my soul and seeing Satan.  She was truly concerned for my well being and my utter disdain for all things puppets.  I even saw her flinch and take a step back.      

I'm sorry but I don't like puppets.  

And I hate clowns too.

  

Thank you Google Images and Steven King.  

Wonder what she thinks about that.  

Hi my name is Lizbeth and I'm a candy whore.

Halloween you suck.  No, not because my kid went out and under ten minutes decided his legs hurt but because for the short time the kids were out they hauled ass.  They banked more candy than I've ever seen.

People were dumping handfuls, handfuls of candy into their bags.

You would never know we were in the middle of a double dip recession in this neighborhood.  Never in a million years.

I even brought extra bags because last year we had frigging meltdown after meltdown when the bag was too heavy and all I heard was, "I can't carry it anymore...this is too much like work...I don't even like Starburst."  You could have followed our candy trail all the way back home from all the shit Alex unloaded just to get back to the house.

Being the smart girl that I am I actually remembered last year (pausing for a momentary shudder) and thought to myself, "hummmm maybe I should bring an extra bag or two."

It was a good thing I did as I was the one lugging the heavy bags home.

And here's what I don't get, I'll never understand.  The kids can have two or three pieces of candy and then walk away.  THEY WALK AWAY.  How do they do that?

I don't have the desire or, and this is the important part, the ability to walk away.

I have single handedly reduced their candy supply by one-third and I'm no where near close to being finished.  I have not seen a Twix or Baby Ruth since last year and let me tell you, it's been a long time coming.  A long time coming.

They used to have two more bags but yours truly ate that too.

And here's the thing, I don't do this late at night after everyones sleeping or when they're at school.  I'm working on this stuff all day.  Do you know how good Milk Duds taste with coffee?  Or how good a handful of Snickers are before dinner??

I made the mistake of counting how many wrappers were in the trash by my own hand and I counted nineteen excluding the one that I was currently working on.

NINETEEN.

And that was before I even went to pick the kids up from school.

The only thing that I keep thinking of is, "thank God I'm not diabetic."

And I'm too weak to upend the candy buckets into the trash.  The kids could care less at this point but I don't have the ability to pitch it.  I can't do it.  There are starving kids in China for Christ's sake.  Such a waste to throw it out.  But more than that, I want to eat it.  All of it.  Even those shitty lemon Starburst.

I'm loathe to admit it but candy is my crack.  And Mama wants her crack.  Mama needs her crack.  My God, I'm a slave to my kids Halloween candy.  I actually dumped a whole bucket out on the counter to ferret out the last Twix and then told the kids to back away, nice and slow.  I need my fix.

What the hell is wrong with me???

Wait.  Nobody answer that.

Brace yourselves, we had a busy weekend.

That title's a bit deceiving.  We really didn't have a busy weekend at all but it sure felt like it.  Now that we're done with Labor Day I feel like we're really into the school year.  You may feel free to insert your favorite cuss words or your exclamations of joy here depending on which camp you're in.

Me, personally, I need a vacation.

Just for kicks, let's recap the weekend, shall we?  With it being Labor Day and all, you'd think we did something exciting.  Yeah, no.

We actually did try going to the Zoo on Sunday but somebody who shall remain nameless labeled the Downtown City Market as the Zoo in the car's navigation system and since you know, we turned into chimps and the car was driving us, we blindly went downtown instead of the Zoo.

Horrible, horrible mistake.

By the time we figured out our own stupidity, we wound up with:

• One really pissed-off little girl: "This isn't the Zoo!  I want to pet the lambs!  Where are the lambs???  I don't see any lambs!  WAAAAA!!!!!" 
• One car-sick boy: "Mom, my shoulder hurts."  And just like that, breakfast was all over the backseats of the car.  Mental note: Sudoku + driving = sick boy. 
• A baby who promptly fell asleep and then was a little bitch for the rest of the day.  
• With Lizzy still screaming and Alex puking I called it officially over and we went back home.  Please skip this paragraph if you don't like nasty language.  It sounded similar, but not exactly like, "God Dammit, how in the hell did we make it downtown?!?  Oh Fuck No.  He did not just puke back there.  Oh God Dammit, he did.  Son of a Bitch, this is such bullshit.  I'M DONE.  How long is it going to take us to get home?  Thirty minutes?? Oh fuck no.  I'M OUT.  No, no, no guys mommy's not really getting out of the car.  It's just an expression.  She's just really had a rough morning.  Can you guys just keep your headsets on for a few minutes?  Yeah, you can?  You guys are great!"

So I've clearly been a little strung out...    

That's why we did a bunch of nothing over the long weekend.

Friday night:

Saturday:

On Sunday one dropped out but the other was still going strong:

And Monday he was back into his Saturday clothes and doing a little more of this:

And Tuesday they went back to school.

Amen and The End.

I'm sick and a liar to boot.

I was going to write something all funny and cracked up today but I'm not.  I'm exhausted, worn out and I'm sick.  I finally succumbed.

And the worst part is, they're on day eight of this and I'm on day two.  I still have all that fun to look forward to.   

But you want to know the really bad part? 

I sent them to school today.  Loaded them up with Tylenol and chucked them out the side door of the minivan.  I know.  I'm a horrible parent.  Thing is, the whole school's sick.  I'd feel a little differently if I weren't walking into a giant petri dish when I went up to the classroom today.  Every single kid was snotty and they were all still at school.

Lizzy's teacher met me at pickup last Thursday and said she looked a little sick and points to her nose giving me the biggest teacher hint that maybe she should have stayed home.  I did a quick scan and noted her nose looked as snotty as all the others.  Whatever. 

I looked her teacher square in the face and in my croakiest, I'm not sick voice, said, "I know.  Allergies. We all have them.  Juniper's real bad right now." 

Here's the deal:  I'm not allergic to anything.  I have no idea if Juniper's bad right now.  I made it all up.  Pulled it out my ass and spit it out my mouth.  I looked her square in the face and boldfaced lied. 

That was last Thursday and Lizzy's been home ever since.  So when I turfed them out the door today I was this shy of loosing it myself.

And the really bad part???  I'll do it again tomorrow if I have to. 

Wait. 

Shit. 

Tomorrow's Saturday. 

Lord, I think this turned out funny after all.  Either I'm a comedic genius or I really need to lay off all the meds.  You decide...