Have I mentioned lately how great Miami was? Really it wasn't even like being on vacation. It was like I was in the place I was meant to live forever.
Coming home of course, was a major slap to the face, hands and any other bits of exposed flesh recoiling from the cold. It was overcast and snowing. Oh yeah, and cold. I am so tired of cold. But, enough of my whining on that subject. Here is another one.
Teena got really sick at my Mom's house. She came back to us with a fever of 102 degrees, vomiting and oooooh soooooo crabby. Actually she's pretty cute when she's sick which may sound awful but it's true. That lasted a couple days. As Teena's viral whatever was letting up, The Husband came down with some sort of mucousy mini- mono type of thing. He slept and coughed and gagged then slept more for a few days. Just as he was winding up with his (totally NOT cute) sickness, here comes a sore throat on me. It doesn't feel like strep so I ignore it. But when 4 ibuprofen fail to make a dent in the pain I decide to go to the doctor. Strep. Sure! Of course!
And where is Genea? Well, she could be anywhere because as usual she is just fine. She has been on a tear and has begun the healing process by applying her special type of revenge on us for vacationing. It is taking all of her energy to exert her control on issues such as picking up all the socks except for one. Or pouting over invented nonsense. Or screaming hysterical fits over not being allowed to take her sisters toy. Or asking so many b.s. questions that she is banned from asking for anything for the next 4 hours (Is this the bag? This bag? Is this the bag you mean? This bag right here? Is there any other bag?). Drinking water out of the toothpaste cap (forbidden, ick!) but declining water from a cup. Refusing to go to her room. Refusing to do as she is told. Waiting an extra 5 seconds before answering you. Arguing, instigating etc etc etc. Anyway, she is not sick. Not a sign nor symptom anywhere.
I finally realized, the germs must be scared to go in there. Huh.
(If anyone wandered in here off the street RAD is Reactive Attachment Disorder)
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Jermaine is Dead
So sad. Right after our trip to beautiful So- Be with all the sun and the warm and the pretty, we came back home to a snowfall in Wisconsin. When we got home, the first night I fired up Jermaine the Hot Water Bottle and the next morning I thought I noticed some dampness. Sure enough the next night there was more dampness. Then I tested it out over the sink and slurp! Water coming out. Tragic.
Jermaine Jackson is safe (I assume) wearing a scarf somewhere in California, in case anyone thought that might not be the case. I bought a new hot water bottle today. I was going to give the whole thing up seeing as spring is coming. However, spring in this state is slow. Short bus slow. And my feet were freezing so bad last night I fired up the electric heating pad until I realized my toes should not be buzzing and the thing had indeed shorted out. Sigh. Heavy sigh. Things conspire against me, I swear.
So I need a new Jackson to name the new hot water bottle after. I was thinking Son of Jermaine, but that seems a bit cumbersome. Tito, I am sorry but Tito is kind of pervy. So he is out. Any deceased Jackson's are out, I don't want my bed haunted. So that leaves, Jackie, Marlon, Randy, and Joseph. Jackie's real name is Sigmund, and I kind of like that. Randy's real name is Steven, which has possibilities. What do y'all think?
Jermaine Jackson is safe (I assume) wearing a scarf somewhere in California, in case anyone thought that might not be the case. I bought a new hot water bottle today. I was going to give the whole thing up seeing as spring is coming. However, spring in this state is slow. Short bus slow. And my feet were freezing so bad last night I fired up the electric heating pad until I realized my toes should not be buzzing and the thing had indeed shorted out. Sigh. Heavy sigh. Things conspire against me, I swear.
So I need a new Jackson to name the new hot water bottle after. I was thinking Son of Jermaine, but that seems a bit cumbersome. Tito, I am sorry but Tito is kind of pervy. So he is out. Any deceased Jackson's are out, I don't want my bed haunted. So that leaves, Jackie, Marlon, Randy, and Joseph. Jackie's real name is Sigmund, and I kind of like that. Randy's real name is Steven, which has possibilities. What do y'all think?
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Happy Joy
There is something unique about the combination of early onset Bipolar Disorder and Attachment Disorder in one medium sized kid. You get your highs and you sure get your lows. You get all kinds of up and down in between. You get your throw down wango tango tantrums daily. Sometimes hourly. Sometimes one just starts and never ends but for a few opportunities to take a deep breath.
Scrunched inside of all that tangled up crazy hiding under the stealing and lying and cutting her hair, are the tiny bits of pure, happy, undiluted joy. The happy that shows itself only rarely in it's true form. Often we get fake happy. Daily we get manipulative happy. Genea used to have an 'on-demand' happy that was so void it terrified her psychiatrist. Terrified, it's the exact word he used. There is definitely over happy. Hyper happy. In your face happy.
Once in a while, just often enough to prove we really did see it the last time, Genea has moments or even minutes of pure, happy joy. It used to be that a compliment would spark that happy. Not just an ordinary compliment and I am not even sure I could pick out which compliments did it. Just here and there, if I told Genea hey Genea, great job waiting your turn, I could see you really wanted to jump in there but you held it back and waited, that was really good and will make people want to play with you more, she would float. As broad and wide as her features split when she is having a cry is as broad and wide as they split when she is truly happy. It is like opening a window that has been stuck for years. Clear, clean light that beams and takes over. It elevates her. For that minute she is happy. She levitates to me to give me a hug and smooshes her face in my clothes and I can hear her muffled little smooshed up voice saying, thank you Mama.
One thing guaranteed to bring out the true happy is to go back and get her. Whenever she stays at her grandparents for a few days with her sister and we come back for her, we see the happy. It's not manic or crazy or weird or disproportionate. We meet halfway between houses and when she gets out of my parents car, she runs around to find me as soon as she can escape the seat belt and gives me a big hug. But it's that moment when we first make eye contact as she careens around the back of the car, somehow eluding the restraining clutch of my mom, in that moment is sheer and total, pure happy.
If we really push it sometimes we can get several days out of that happy. If we dedicate our lives and omit all the nonsense, if we leave all the daily requirements of life go by and focus only on keeping that happy, we can stretch it. I used to try a lot harder to keep it and carry it on. Now, I just focus on the time. Remember the time that was happy.
Scrunched inside of all that tangled up crazy hiding under the stealing and lying and cutting her hair, are the tiny bits of pure, happy, undiluted joy. The happy that shows itself only rarely in it's true form. Often we get fake happy. Daily we get manipulative happy. Genea used to have an 'on-demand' happy that was so void it terrified her psychiatrist. Terrified, it's the exact word he used. There is definitely over happy. Hyper happy. In your face happy.
Once in a while, just often enough to prove we really did see it the last time, Genea has moments or even minutes of pure, happy joy. It used to be that a compliment would spark that happy. Not just an ordinary compliment and I am not even sure I could pick out which compliments did it. Just here and there, if I told Genea hey Genea, great job waiting your turn, I could see you really wanted to jump in there but you held it back and waited, that was really good and will make people want to play with you more, she would float. As broad and wide as her features split when she is having a cry is as broad and wide as they split when she is truly happy. It is like opening a window that has been stuck for years. Clear, clean light that beams and takes over. It elevates her. For that minute she is happy. She levitates to me to give me a hug and smooshes her face in my clothes and I can hear her muffled little smooshed up voice saying, thank you Mama.
One thing guaranteed to bring out the true happy is to go back and get her. Whenever she stays at her grandparents for a few days with her sister and we come back for her, we see the happy. It's not manic or crazy or weird or disproportionate. We meet halfway between houses and when she gets out of my parents car, she runs around to find me as soon as she can escape the seat belt and gives me a big hug. But it's that moment when we first make eye contact as she careens around the back of the car, somehow eluding the restraining clutch of my mom, in that moment is sheer and total, pure happy.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Somebody..... please......
Oh hot dang, the 99th follower just clicked herself in! I am so excited!!!! Why? Because that is ONE away from 100, which is the number I have baselessly determined will make me COOL!!!!
Please, someone please, make yourself up a little google thingy and be the 100th! If I had a prize I would offer it as an official bribe. Does anyone want 3 pounds of ground beef accidentally left in the fridge for a week passed it's expiriation date? How about the matching hamburger buns that turned a lovely shade of blue?
Okay, I got it, how about if I promise NOT to send those things out to anyone. Is that a better idea?
For the love of cabbage people, please don't anyone "unfollow". Just in the immediate future, not for the rest of your life. Here is a little story about how cool I am not. (I mean, not yet. Hopefully soon!)
So, The Husband and I are in So- Be, which is how the cool people refer to South Beach, which is actually Miami Beach in Florida. Right, I don't do math or geography I just know I went to the beach. Okay, I spotted the most beautiful black leather jacket in a Benetton store window and left a trail of drool slime behind me walking in. Like a lemming (what the hell is a lemming anyway, a fish?) I was to that gorgeous jacket. It was a tad bit biker-ish with zippers and metal all over it. A little flair of Members Only with scarf snaps on the shoulder. That nice soft, smooth leather, with a nice soft lining. Pockets all over. It was stunning and when I tried it on, I was still a midwestern stay at home mom, but now I was wearing a totally cool black leather jacket. It was made for me I tell you. I don't care how many "units" were procured by the Benetton people in however many sizes, this jacket was for me. It was fitted in all the right places and long enough in other good places. Beautiful.
The Husband didn't like it. While that in itself would never make- or- break a decision for me, it made a dent. See, this is a man who likes a mandarin collar on his dress shirts. Sigh. Or a white collar on an otherwise colored shirt. Sigh- convulse- sigh. Spontaneously I decided I would ask the sales man. Surely, the sales man is being paid to tell people they look fabulous in every bit of fabric ever stitched together by the small children of Guam. Right? I mean this had to net me about the cleanest guarantee ever in history of being told how sharp and snazzy I was looking in that beautiful jacket! Either the man was on commission, or the company was paying him hourly to sell their stuff right? Can't lose!
Lose I did. Yikes. I approached, a little excited, and I asked my question in that tone of voice that says I already know your answer, do you think this jacket works on me? Hmmm, he said, as he flipped his hip to the side and planted his arms cross-ways over his chest. He looked me over in great detail and then I realized what he was seeing. I watched him, and I realized he was not going to say, wow you are so hot in that jacket you mid-western stay at home mom you! He was seeing the inch of gray and brown hair that I didn't have time to touch up. The make up that I just barely bothered slapping on. I remembered earrings but the silver plating was starting to crust off in the back. I bet he noticed that. My plain t-shirt and my Steve and Barry's shorts from before they went bankrupt 2 years ago. Most assuredly he was noting a rupture of a hair on my leg, on the outside of the ankle where it grows a lot faster for some reason. The hair on my head clearly outgrown and untrimmed, the bangs a d-i-y job on the fly. My comfortable shoes that I love.
It occurred to me that he was not just thinking how un- hot I looked, he could not even bring himself to pretend and just say it for the commission. He thought he was better than me. A lot better. So much better he couldn't even see me in the land of the un-better from his perch at the top of his better than me tree. Just because he could match his black shirt to his black pants and his black shoes and he works at what is apparently a 24-hour Benetton. So I screamed.
"You think you are better than me because you can match 2 colors of black and shave your head? Maybe you are, maybe you are better than me but if you are it's not because you can dress yourself. It's not because your head is bald and my head has an inch of outgrowth from a home dye job. Being an employee of the cool place where all the awesome pretty clothes live doesn't make you better. When we both leave here we will leave the pretty world of all this wonderful stuff and we will both just be two plain people and who is better will remain to be seen. Maybe it's you, maybe it's not. But you don't know so stop looking at me like that !!!"
Well, maybe I just screamed that in my head. And, maybe it was after the fact. The fact being, that he blankly and blandly scrutinized me from head to toe and said without expression, "eh. It looks okay".
I went and looked back in the mirror. It was a beautiful jacket. Made of "eco- leather" whatever that is. Donated altruistically by happy cows I imagine. I put it back on the hanger and we left.
Now how un-cool is that? But see, if I can get to 100 followers, and maybe a few extra just in case of if some people are extra partial to Benetton and decide to excuse themselves, then I can be cool in my head and in my computer. I am not opposed to anyone making up a second personality just to do it. I didn't say that. Ahem.
Please, someone please, make yourself up a little google thingy and be the 100th! If I had a prize I would offer it as an official bribe. Does anyone want 3 pounds of ground beef accidentally left in the fridge for a week passed it's expiriation date? How about the matching hamburger buns that turned a lovely shade of blue?
Okay, I got it, how about if I promise NOT to send those things out to anyone. Is that a better idea?
For the love of cabbage people, please don't anyone "unfollow". Just in the immediate future, not for the rest of your life. Here is a little story about how cool I am not. (I mean, not yet. Hopefully soon!)
So, The Husband and I are in So- Be, which is how the cool people refer to South Beach, which is actually Miami Beach in Florida. Right, I don't do math or geography I just know I went to the beach. Okay, I spotted the most beautiful black leather jacket in a Benetton store window and left a trail of drool slime behind me walking in. Like a lemming (what the hell is a lemming anyway, a fish?) I was to that gorgeous jacket. It was a tad bit biker-ish with zippers and metal all over it. A little flair of Members Only with scarf snaps on the shoulder. That nice soft, smooth leather, with a nice soft lining. Pockets all over. It was stunning and when I tried it on, I was still a midwestern stay at home mom, but now I was wearing a totally cool black leather jacket. It was made for me I tell you. I don't care how many "units" were procured by the Benetton people in however many sizes, this jacket was for me. It was fitted in all the right places and long enough in other good places. Beautiful.
The Husband didn't like it. While that in itself would never make- or- break a decision for me, it made a dent. See, this is a man who likes a mandarin collar on his dress shirts. Sigh. Or a white collar on an otherwise colored shirt. Sigh- convulse- sigh. Spontaneously I decided I would ask the sales man. Surely, the sales man is being paid to tell people they look fabulous in every bit of fabric ever stitched together by the small children of Guam. Right? I mean this had to net me about the cleanest guarantee ever in history of being told how sharp and snazzy I was looking in that beautiful jacket! Either the man was on commission, or the company was paying him hourly to sell their stuff right? Can't lose!
Lose I did. Yikes. I approached, a little excited, and I asked my question in that tone of voice that says I already know your answer, do you think this jacket works on me? Hmmm, he said, as he flipped his hip to the side and planted his arms cross-ways over his chest. He looked me over in great detail and then I realized what he was seeing. I watched him, and I realized he was not going to say, wow you are so hot in that jacket you mid-western stay at home mom you! He was seeing the inch of gray and brown hair that I didn't have time to touch up. The make up that I just barely bothered slapping on. I remembered earrings but the silver plating was starting to crust off in the back. I bet he noticed that. My plain t-shirt and my Steve and Barry's shorts from before they went bankrupt 2 years ago. Most assuredly he was noting a rupture of a hair on my leg, on the outside of the ankle where it grows a lot faster for some reason. The hair on my head clearly outgrown and untrimmed, the bangs a d-i-y job on the fly. My comfortable shoes that I love.
It occurred to me that he was not just thinking how un- hot I looked, he could not even bring himself to pretend and just say it for the commission. He thought he was better than me. A lot better. So much better he couldn't even see me in the land of the un-better from his perch at the top of his better than me tree. Just because he could match his black shirt to his black pants and his black shoes and he works at what is apparently a 24-hour Benetton. So I screamed.
"You think you are better than me because you can match 2 colors of black and shave your head? Maybe you are, maybe you are better than me but if you are it's not because you can dress yourself. It's not because your head is bald and my head has an inch of outgrowth from a home dye job. Being an employee of the cool place where all the awesome pretty clothes live doesn't make you better. When we both leave here we will leave the pretty world of all this wonderful stuff and we will both just be two plain people and who is better will remain to be seen. Maybe it's you, maybe it's not. But you don't know so stop looking at me like that !!!"
Well, maybe I just screamed that in my head. And, maybe it was after the fact. The fact being, that he blankly and blandly scrutinized me from head to toe and said without expression, "eh. It looks okay".
I went and looked back in the mirror. It was a beautiful jacket. Made of "eco- leather" whatever that is. Donated altruistically by happy cows I imagine. I put it back on the hanger and we left.
Now how un-cool is that? But see, if I can get to 100 followers, and maybe a few extra just in case of if some people are extra partial to Benetton and decide to excuse themselves, then I can be cool in my head and in my computer. I am not opposed to anyone making up a second personality just to do it. I didn't say that. Ahem.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Welcome to Miami
If I could remember the words to that cool Will Smith song I would post them. But I don't. But I am in Miami Beach--- woo hoo! It's awesome here!
A few months ago, The Husband thought he would surprise me with a trip. He wanted to do a "last minute vacation" type of thing, where you go hunting on- line for a deal just a few days before you want to leave. We have been married for ten or even twelve years and so knowing him as I have, I had some doubts. We'll just call them doubts. Instead of taking a vacation to Fargo in February I decided to do my own hunting and decided on Miami Beach.
So we are in South Beach, staying in the art deco district which is sooooo cool. I want to bring my Fiesta Ware collection and eat stuff off it on the sidewalk. It is in the mid 60's, but is supposed to warm up over the weekend to the 70's. Anyway it's warmer than Green Bay so it's all good. Hopefully I will get a chance to show off my hair removal strategy results. Like by wearing a swim skirt ha ha.
The girls are with my parents, and so far (about 8 hours) my Mom does NOT sound like she wants to fling herself off a mountain top, so that is a huge improvement over the usual. I called and Genea answered the phone, excited and happy to talk. Teena refused to come to the phone as she was "busy" watching a movie.
So I will be off- blog for a few days! I have a mini-computer here and will be keeping up with email and reading and such but probably not commenting much for a few days. We will be home on Monday.
A few months ago, The Husband thought he would surprise me with a trip. He wanted to do a "last minute vacation" type of thing, where you go hunting on- line for a deal just a few days before you want to leave. We have been married for ten or even twelve years and so knowing him as I have, I had some doubts. We'll just call them doubts. Instead of taking a vacation to Fargo in February I decided to do my own hunting and decided on Miami Beach.
So we are in South Beach, staying in the art deco district which is sooooo cool. I want to bring my Fiesta Ware collection and eat stuff off it on the sidewalk. It is in the mid 60's, but is supposed to warm up over the weekend to the 70's. Anyway it's warmer than Green Bay so it's all good. Hopefully I will get a chance to show off my hair removal strategy results. Like by wearing a swim skirt ha ha.
The girls are with my parents, and so far (about 8 hours) my Mom does NOT sound like she wants to fling herself off a mountain top, so that is a huge improvement over the usual. I called and Genea answered the phone, excited and happy to talk. Teena refused to come to the phone as she was "busy" watching a movie.
So I will be off- blog for a few days! I have a mini-computer here and will be keeping up with email and reading and such but probably not commenting much for a few days. We will be home on Monday.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Too True Tues(day) #15: Things Worse than Waxing
Too True Tuesday is your chance to 'fess up, tell it like it is, and let it all hang out. Let the truth set you free on alternate Tuesdays in the blogosphere! This weeks topic is..... hygiene we hate! Well, I thought that sounded catchy. Whatever area's you might have issues with and whatever you hate that you have to deal with and in my particular situation what ever of all those that might be caused by an accelerating age of which I have no responsibility for but when I find out who does, look the hell out!
I find myself in a position that requires the use of a bathing suit. In the middle of winter. Generally in winter I like to grow a layer of extra warmth in a natural sort of way. In other words, I am not a fan of hair removal and I cheat in the winter and leave it go. A lot. I have always been hair removal impaired. Either I am walking around with enormous bloody gouges trailing up my legs, or I am walking around with long random patches of lengthy hair. I tried the depilatories, but quite frankly embalming myself with a chemical that actually melts the hair off the body just seemed worrisome. Also, it never really worked on my super strong hairs. Again with the random strips of missed hair spots. Lucky for me that should keep me from any early womanly baldness issues! Anyway.
Additionally, as one ages due in no part to one's own fault, it appears that one's bathing suit area of need, ummm, expands. A lot. Shaving there has resulted in monstrous angry red mountains that take a week to subside, at which point 2 or 3 more hair removal sessions should have been implemented. So obviously that won't do. A few years ago I discovered home waxing. Never have I been the type to go and flap my personals in the breeze for someone else to wax, but I was not opposed to doing it myself at home. BUT. IT. HURTS. On a scale of 1-10 waxing is next to 30 hours of childbirth.
So I have been dreading and dreading, procrastinating and getting down to the wire. Today I got all my mental prep work done finally and got ready to go. Getting ready to go is the bulk of the time consumer in this process as the actual waxing is just, szzzzzt! Got everything cleaned up and ready to go and..... seems to be a problem with the actual wax.... it seems it got so old it turned into a solid mass that will not melt and kind of looks funny. Not funny ha ha. No ha ha at all. So as I stood there trying to process this information and think through what on earth was I going to do now, I noticed something. A highlight.
Strange. I don't remember putting any highlights there. Not really the sort of thing I would do anyway.
AAACCCCKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!
It was a white one! And on closer inspection, TWO white ones! THIS is NOT acceptable! Shock, I was in shock! Devastated shock!
However I realized, finding an *ahem* highlight, is actually something worse than waxing. Go figure.
Okay, so here is what you do. Go tell your great story on your blog, and link mine somewhere in it. Then come back here and enter your information into Mr. Linky. You have to do that part or no one knows where to find your story! Now puhhhh- lease, someone tell a worse story than mine so I can show my face in the world!
I find myself in a position that requires the use of a bathing suit. In the middle of winter. Generally in winter I like to grow a layer of extra warmth in a natural sort of way. In other words, I am not a fan of hair removal and I cheat in the winter and leave it go. A lot. I have always been hair removal impaired. Either I am walking around with enormous bloody gouges trailing up my legs, or I am walking around with long random patches of lengthy hair. I tried the depilatories, but quite frankly embalming myself with a chemical that actually melts the hair off the body just seemed worrisome. Also, it never really worked on my super strong hairs. Again with the random strips of missed hair spots. Lucky for me that should keep me from any early womanly baldness issues! Anyway.
Additionally, as one ages due in no part to one's own fault, it appears that one's bathing suit area of need, ummm, expands. A lot. Shaving there has resulted in monstrous angry red mountains that take a week to subside, at which point 2 or 3 more hair removal sessions should have been implemented. So obviously that won't do. A few years ago I discovered home waxing. Never have I been the type to go and flap my personals in the breeze for someone else to wax, but I was not opposed to doing it myself at home. BUT. IT. HURTS. On a scale of 1-10 waxing is next to 30 hours of childbirth.
So I have been dreading and dreading, procrastinating and getting down to the wire. Today I got all my mental prep work done finally and got ready to go. Getting ready to go is the bulk of the time consumer in this process as the actual waxing is just, szzzzzt! Got everything cleaned up and ready to go and..... seems to be a problem with the actual wax.... it seems it got so old it turned into a solid mass that will not melt and kind of looks funny. Not funny ha ha. No ha ha at all. So as I stood there trying to process this information and think through what on earth was I going to do now, I noticed something. A highlight.
Strange. I don't remember putting any highlights there. Not really the sort of thing I would do anyway.
AAACCCCKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!
It was a white one! And on closer inspection, TWO white ones! THIS is NOT acceptable! Shock, I was in shock! Devastated shock!
However I realized, finding an *ahem* highlight, is actually something worse than waxing. Go figure.
Okay, so here is what you do. Go tell your great story on your blog, and link mine somewhere in it. Then come back here and enter your information into Mr. Linky. You have to do that part or no one knows where to find your story! Now puhhhh- lease, someone tell a worse story than mine so I can show my face in the world!
Pea to be, you and me
Popular topic these days, going pea. It seems a lot of kids are having a flare up in their mad pea-ing and their parents are having a bit of a "I have had it with the effing pea already" moment. Pea-ing where there is no toilet involved, no toilet for miles. On stuff that is not porcelain or filled with flushable water. Pea pea pea. Corey put out a post the other day asking for Dr. Mom opinions and idea's about how to handle pea issues. Since I am way to wordy to just leave a comment, here I am.
Yes, I am deliberately spelling it "pea". I used to be consumed with pea, and subsequently posted about it often. This led to a trail of perverts doing perverted searches on the subject of perverted pea things and finding me and my lovely little mommy blog. Not good. Now if anyone has a perverted thing about pea's the vegetable, well, you just cannot avoid the whole world.
You don't shame the child for having pea "accidents". But that doesn't mean you just ignore it either. I couldn't live with myself if I did not at least make sure the child knows how nasty and disgusting it is to pea places where pea is not meant to be. Once that is done however, ignoring freestanding pea to the fullest possible extent really is the best way to go. THIS DOES NOT mean there are no consequences! It just means that if pea-ing is about attention, DON"T FEED THE BEAST!
We had massive pea issues here. When Genea came to us she was fully potty trained at the age of 4. It was several weeks in when she started peeing on herself. At first we were supremely kind, considerate, helpful and pleasant with her about it. So, it progressed. It went from one time every few days, to several times a day. Now, Genea has never been a "mad" pea-er. Some kids are and will pea in revenge when you make them wear 2 matching socks, or whatever. Genea has highs, and lows as far as her moods and then she has the in- between times. Her pea-ing always spiked when her other issues were more subdued. Just as I would start to think, ahhhh, the incessant never ending control challenges are letting up, pissssssssssssss, nope! Don't you go thinking you got this parenting business under control lady! Pisssssss on you! And pea everywhere else too. On the bed, on a chair, on the couch, on the rug. She always pea'd in her clothes and then would wander around like that until we noticed while sitting on various surfaces.
So along with Bribe and Threaten Parenting, I also have a few beliefs in the area of motivation. I think that if you are going to try to make a behavior stop you have to make it more worth it to stop the behavior than to continue it. Likewise you have to make the reward they get out of it less appealing by using natural consequences. In other words, the resulting hassle has to really suck if it is ever going to devalue the thrill.
Now I am only talking here about daytime pea "accidents". Nighttime bed wetting is a completely different thing and often the child needs to physically mature out of it. Here are some things we have done that worked in that it would stop the pea streak for several weeks at a time before it reappeared. Incidentally, we always let the first few go without any consequence in a streak. This was probably a mistake with Genea but I felt like, all kids have an accident here or there, it happens. But with her, she rarely benefits or changes her behavior with a warning or a considerate sort of, "I'll ignore that this time". To her that is a challenge and offensive to her rigid nature. This list might seem overly punitive and harsh but for most of the time we had pea issues I did parts of the list at a time, not all. The also assumes you have exhausted all the typical, more positive ways to go about the business of keeping pea where it's supposed to be.
So, here we go!
Set a timer for every hour. Child brings the timer to you to reset and leaves it in the bathroom in between visits.
Child has to sit on toilet for 10 minutes, also dictated by timer.
Child clearly needs to spend more time around the toilet and should really become more familiar with it, so child becomes in charge of cleaning toilet until it sparkles (I just made a spray bottle with soap and water, I never actually considered that to be a cleaned toilet lol!)
Child has to hand wash all soiled clothing in the sink, rinse and wring out.
Child has to take wet clothing to laundry room.
If those don't work, progress to:
Set timer for every half hour with child in charge of carrying timer around and responding to it.
Child has to sanitize toilet seat after every use.
Child has to clean up all mess.
(Note, I never consider any child-cleaned thing to actually be clean! Having her do it is for show, to make the point and to know how it feels to have to clean up pea and pea residue all day. Same with the potty and laundry. I went back and re- did all of it all sneaky-like).
Then....
Child has to carry around a sheet of plastic to sit on if child continues to pea on furniture.
If child forgets to put down plastic, she has to then sit on the floor on her sheet of plastic and on no fabric surfaces.
We went through a phase towards the end of the last school year, where Genea started pea-ing herself at school. Once she did it, she opened her own floodgate and discovered all the cool things that adults will do for you and with you when you have had an "accident". The problem quickly accelerated and the school teachers were extremely careful that no other child should catch on to the accidents. Unfortunately that took out the social stigma aspect for Genea, and just left her with the fun, manipulative aspects. This was the point where I started having her wear pull- ups to school. I hated to do it, but being known as the kid who pee's herself in kindergarten, well, we all remember kids who never recovered from that label even years later. It was going to be horrible for Genea socially if I just let her go on. So, from there I told her I will pay for one pull- up, the one you wear at nighttime. Any more pull-ups and you have to pay me back by doing a "nasty chore", such as scrubbing out the garbage can or wiping down the stairs, pulling weeds, etc. Thankfully, this was what it took to knock back the pea problem almost permanently. I used every single weapon listed, once she started going on herself at school and it was hell. Hell. But, it worked after several days, maybe a week or two and control pea-ing never came back.
The last 2 weapons in my arsenal are things I never used, thankfully. One was fairly dramatic. Pea-ing on myself. Take the shock and vileness out of the equation. The other was to use the placebo effect, but I don't know that that would have worked. There is too much of a deliberateness to Genea's pea problem.
Don't forget your "RAD Rule of 3", that I just made up. It will take your child 3 times as long to get the message and stop the behavior as other kids. Your child will try 3 times harder to make it your problem, not hers. It will appear to get approximately 3 times worse before it gets better.
Remember, the pea-ing and its fall-out should be all about the child. It doesn't bother you one bit if your child wants to marinate in pea all day! It is not anything for you to worry about or have to deal with! Really, you are thankful because your toilet is being scrubbed and your floors and being washed and you don't have to do it! Score!
Yes, I am deliberately spelling it "pea". I used to be consumed with pea, and subsequently posted about it often. This led to a trail of perverts doing perverted searches on the subject of perverted pea things and finding me and my lovely little mommy blog. Not good. Now if anyone has a perverted thing about pea's the vegetable, well, you just cannot avoid the whole world.
You don't shame the child for having pea "accidents". But that doesn't mean you just ignore it either. I couldn't live with myself if I did not at least make sure the child knows how nasty and disgusting it is to pea places where pea is not meant to be. Once that is done however, ignoring freestanding pea to the fullest possible extent really is the best way to go. THIS DOES NOT mean there are no consequences! It just means that if pea-ing is about attention, DON"T FEED THE BEAST!
We had massive pea issues here. When Genea came to us she was fully potty trained at the age of 4. It was several weeks in when she started peeing on herself. At first we were supremely kind, considerate, helpful and pleasant with her about it. So, it progressed. It went from one time every few days, to several times a day. Now, Genea has never been a "mad" pea-er. Some kids are and will pea in revenge when you make them wear 2 matching socks, or whatever. Genea has highs, and lows as far as her moods and then she has the in- between times. Her pea-ing always spiked when her other issues were more subdued. Just as I would start to think, ahhhh, the incessant never ending control challenges are letting up, pissssssssssssss, nope! Don't you go thinking you got this parenting business under control lady! Pisssssss on you! And pea everywhere else too. On the bed, on a chair, on the couch, on the rug. She always pea'd in her clothes and then would wander around like that until we noticed while sitting on various surfaces.
So along with Bribe and Threaten Parenting, I also have a few beliefs in the area of motivation. I think that if you are going to try to make a behavior stop you have to make it more worth it to stop the behavior than to continue it. Likewise you have to make the reward they get out of it less appealing by using natural consequences. In other words, the resulting hassle has to really suck if it is ever going to devalue the thrill.
Now I am only talking here about daytime pea "accidents". Nighttime bed wetting is a completely different thing and often the child needs to physically mature out of it. Here are some things we have done that worked in that it would stop the pea streak for several weeks at a time before it reappeared. Incidentally, we always let the first few go without any consequence in a streak. This was probably a mistake with Genea but I felt like, all kids have an accident here or there, it happens. But with her, she rarely benefits or changes her behavior with a warning or a considerate sort of, "I'll ignore that this time". To her that is a challenge and offensive to her rigid nature. This list might seem overly punitive and harsh but for most of the time we had pea issues I did parts of the list at a time, not all. The also assumes you have exhausted all the typical, more positive ways to go about the business of keeping pea where it's supposed to be.
So, here we go!
Set a timer for every hour. Child brings the timer to you to reset and leaves it in the bathroom in between visits.
Child has to sit on toilet for 10 minutes, also dictated by timer.
Child clearly needs to spend more time around the toilet and should really become more familiar with it, so child becomes in charge of cleaning toilet until it sparkles (I just made a spray bottle with soap and water, I never actually considered that to be a cleaned toilet lol!)
Child has to hand wash all soiled clothing in the sink, rinse and wring out.
Child has to take wet clothing to laundry room.
If those don't work, progress to:
Set timer for every half hour with child in charge of carrying timer around and responding to it.
Child has to sanitize toilet seat after every use.
Child has to clean up all mess.
(Note, I never consider any child-cleaned thing to actually be clean! Having her do it is for show, to make the point and to know how it feels to have to clean up pea and pea residue all day. Same with the potty and laundry. I went back and re- did all of it all sneaky-like).
Then....
Child has to carry around a sheet of plastic to sit on if child continues to pea on furniture.
If child forgets to put down plastic, she has to then sit on the floor on her sheet of plastic and on no fabric surfaces.
We went through a phase towards the end of the last school year, where Genea started pea-ing herself at school. Once she did it, she opened her own floodgate and discovered all the cool things that adults will do for you and with you when you have had an "accident". The problem quickly accelerated and the school teachers were extremely careful that no other child should catch on to the accidents. Unfortunately that took out the social stigma aspect for Genea, and just left her with the fun, manipulative aspects. This was the point where I started having her wear pull- ups to school. I hated to do it, but being known as the kid who pee's herself in kindergarten, well, we all remember kids who never recovered from that label even years later. It was going to be horrible for Genea socially if I just let her go on. So, from there I told her I will pay for one pull- up, the one you wear at nighttime. Any more pull-ups and you have to pay me back by doing a "nasty chore", such as scrubbing out the garbage can or wiping down the stairs, pulling weeds, etc. Thankfully, this was what it took to knock back the pea problem almost permanently. I used every single weapon listed, once she started going on herself at school and it was hell. Hell. But, it worked after several days, maybe a week or two and control pea-ing never came back.
The last 2 weapons in my arsenal are things I never used, thankfully. One was fairly dramatic. Pea-ing on myself. Take the shock and vileness out of the equation. The other was to use the placebo effect, but I don't know that that would have worked. There is too much of a deliberateness to Genea's pea problem.
Don't forget your "RAD Rule of 3", that I just made up. It will take your child 3 times as long to get the message and stop the behavior as other kids. Your child will try 3 times harder to make it your problem, not hers. It will appear to get approximately 3 times worse before it gets better.
Remember, the pea-ing and its fall-out should be all about the child. It doesn't bother you one bit if your child wants to marinate in pea all day! It is not anything for you to worry about or have to deal with! Really, you are thankful because your toilet is being scrubbed and your floors and being washed and you don't have to do it! Score!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Return of The Guest
When it rains, it pours. Only it is winter here so I guess when it flakes, it blizzards. Maybe I should be thankful it is not tornado-ing. Yet.
Anyhow, this is exciting, The Guest has returned. Right, because I DID need some more exciting crap in my life. Really.
So incidentally, and having nothing *ahem* to do with a certain *ahem* guest. Who likes a sentence finisher? Anyone? There you are speaking and enjoying the sound of your own voice and all you have to do is hesitate long enough to refill your breath, and the sentence finisher has jumped in to save you, to help you, to free you. Some finishers are reasonably accurate and fairly harmless. Not all. Here is an example. Say you are walking past a pet store.
Husband: Oh look at the cute little puppies, I would love to.........
Sentence Finisher: .......rush in and buy one to free it from its prison and train it to work with multiply handicapped children while simultaneously stage coaching it to do commercial work so the sad little children will always have a source of income.
Husband: ....nooooooo....... I was going to say pay someone to clean up the yard.....
Me: Oh look at the cute little puppies, I would love to.......
Sentence Finisher: ............ chain it to a stump and force it to breed for your puppy mill before drop kicking it off of a bridge......
Me:..... uh.... nooooooo...... I was going to say I would love for Husband to pay someone to pick up the yard after it....
Is it just me or does that exchange sound unbalanced? Not that it actually happened, because it would be inappropriate to report on true events. That's the sort of thing that would lead to divorce. So I am summarizing, recapturing the feeling of the moment in my own words. With my own interpretation. Ahem.
Smile. Must keep up fake smile.
It might require a crowbar to unclench my rear end, but whatever. Smile. Grit teeth. Smile.
Anyhow, this is exciting, The Guest has returned. Right, because I DID need some more exciting crap in my life. Really.
So incidentally, and having nothing *ahem* to do with a certain *ahem* guest. Who likes a sentence finisher? Anyone? There you are speaking and enjoying the sound of your own voice and all you have to do is hesitate long enough to refill your breath, and the sentence finisher has jumped in to save you, to help you, to free you. Some finishers are reasonably accurate and fairly harmless. Not all. Here is an example. Say you are walking past a pet store.
Husband: Oh look at the cute little puppies, I would love to.........
Sentence Finisher: .......rush in and buy one to free it from its prison and train it to work with multiply handicapped children while simultaneously stage coaching it to do commercial work so the sad little children will always have a source of income.
Husband: ....nooooooo....... I was going to say pay someone to clean up the yard.....
Me: Oh look at the cute little puppies, I would love to.......
Sentence Finisher: ............ chain it to a stump and force it to breed for your puppy mill before drop kicking it off of a bridge......
Me:..... uh.... nooooooo...... I was going to say I would love for Husband to pay someone to pick up the yard after it....
Is it just me or does that exchange sound unbalanced? Not that it actually happened, because it would be inappropriate to report on true events. That's the sort of thing that would lead to divorce. So I am summarizing, recapturing the feeling of the moment in my own words. With my own interpretation. Ahem.
Smile. Must keep up fake smile.
It might require a crowbar to unclench my rear end, but whatever. Smile. Grit teeth. Smile.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A Brilliant Idea
So, I thought I would lighten things up in here a bit. I found this post that I wrote over the summer in my drafts. Which, surprisingly I have very few of. Anyway, this past summer I had no car and no camera as both were broken. Relevance to be explained.
Sadly, along with my car over the summer my camera broke as well. So this is a picture from my cell phone, which is why I never put up this post in the first place. Techno- impediment. Could not get it out of the phone until now.
This is after the air brush paint, before the dye. Not so good.
(Now back to 2010).
After that, I put down a different carpet in the girls room. That one up there is in the back storage in our house. The one I put in their room curled up at the edges and we all tripped over it every day. Besides, Teena had already colored that one in with pink chapstick. So I put down some foam alphabet letters only those kept coming apart (mysteriously!). Then, I put down a large kitchen rug. Only recently someone had a supreme error in judgement and told a lie. In that lie was an involved story involving a turd and that carpet. So even though there was no visual evidence of the atrocity, I have to work under the assumption of guilt. In other words, if there is a chance there is poo dust on that carpet it has got to go.
Now, I have put my yoga mat down in the bedroom. Since I don't need it. Why have I made so much of an effort to keep a stupid rug on the floor in there? Well partly because someones husband went late in the sale and bought the girls a medium wood tone bunk bed because the pretty white ones were all sold out. Unfortunately the floor is also a medium tone wood. Ick. Looks like all kinds of nature threw up in there. It desperately needs a carpet of a non- wood tone to break up the visual something something.
The other reason is that Genea will go to sleep on the floor when she is really stressed. I can put her back in her bed 50 times and 51 times I will go check on her and she is back on the floor. So I don't want her to be directly on the cold wood! At least if she is going to sleep down there she should be a little comfortable. A little cushioned, a little more warm. That's why I have to have something down.
Once in a while I have a moment. One that could be called genius. An idea so brilliant it is blinding. Blinding! You gotta' wear shades!
In the girls room, really ever since Teena was born, I have had an off -white rug on the floor. Maybe it is pale beige but you get the idea. It is probably a 5x8 and I can't remember how much it cost but I can rest easily estimating it at $30 or less. Because I would be most unlikely to spend more than that. It is a Berber type rug, the sort that Home Depot might run a special on, the kind of thing that they finish up with a nice edge, instead of disposing of it, and sell.
As one accustomed to children might imagine, off white, taupe, any color other than the color of dirt is not going to look nice for long. This little rug looked okay for a few years really but as one would expect it got dingier and dingier. Then, the little inhabitants (now 2 of them) of the bedroom containing the rug began the process of trying to get their little rear ends to the toilet. In time. And over the past 2 years, the 2 little inhabitants have had success in this endeavor if you define success with a wide presumption of learning the process and by learning I mean by failing a few times. Few, few dozen, thousand, whatever. And so this little rug has become well, infectious.
Now I would like to carry the recycled brown paper bag banner in the parade for the "Greenest Green Mom There Ever Was" because I have tried to save this rug. I am going to save this planet people, and I am going to save it one grimy crappy cheap carpet at a time. Do you want to know how many chemicals get dumped in the ocean from the procedures used in the manufacturing of cheap carpet? Find out and tell me because I have no clue.
Call me "Green", call me too cheap to buy another carpet, call me way too lazy to drag it out to the garbage. I had a brilliant idea. An idea so astounding, it blinded my own brain rendering me motionless, stunned for a moment by the evidence of such creative genius.
Call me "Green", call me too cheap to buy another carpet, call me way too lazy to drag it out to the garbage. I had a brilliant idea. An idea so astounding, it blinded my own brain rendering me motionless, stunned for a moment by the evidence of such creative genius.
Dye the rug yellow. Dye it yellow to match the current pee stains on it and dye it yellow to mask future further pee stains. I will take all the control and all the mad out of the issue and dye their carpet to match their dysfunctional little behaviors!
Yes, yes indeed, I amaze myself sometimes. Really. Take a minute if you need to.
Hmm, how does one dye a cheap carpet? Dunno. I started by cleaning it viciously. Soaked it outside with hot water and anti- bacterial soap and beat the crap out of it. Quite frankly I was not sure it would survive the cleaning attack it received nor did I care. Good enough. I bought some of those little spray airbrush cans of fabric paint from a massive craft store. A yellow can of airbrush paint and since there was only one can of yellow at the store and even though it said it would cover 30 square feet I had my doubts so I bought a can of hot pink airbrush fabric paint as well.
The airbrush fabric paint worked in that it looked cool where the paint took. But since it didn't saturate it wound up looking like yellow goober on top of a stained carpet. The pink blended well with the yellow only with the same effect of pink goober stuff on top of a stained carpet. I know I went to public school, in Illinois no less, but I must have made a big fat mistake in my math somehow anyway because I quickly ran out of fancy airbrush fabric paint after about half the carpet had paint on it. Now it is halfway painted with colors that just sit there on top and don't sink in. Blotchy. 2 cans of 30 square feet should be 60 right? And the carpet was 5X8 which is 40? Is this not right? Well anyway. Moving along.
It occurs to me that this is not better than the original.
But I battle on. I decide to try to use a rit type fabric dye. Only it is hard to get to the store what with the broken car all summer and when I finally get to a store they don't have rit they have some other brand. Whatever. I bought it in Sunflower. Doesn't that sound like a pleasant addition to remake my greenie green green little rug? In yellow that is, not green.
But how am I going to rinse this dye business off, I thinks to myself? You have to pour the dye on, let it sit and then rinse it. You have to rinse, it says so on the label. Brilliant idea #2. Wait for rain. Put the dye on when the weather geniuses say it is going to rain, then let the natural rain rinse it! See, that was smart of me because I could not possibly put the carpet in the washing machine and you have to be able to rinse this dye stuff off or a bad toxic thing could happen. Using that natural rain stuff saves water!!! Green again!
No rain came.
Until yesterday (in July). Finally rain was predicted and looked promising. Mixed up my fancy Sunflower colored yellow dye and dumped it all over the carpet outside. Only now it looks like instead of 2 little girls, one gigantic elephant pee'd all over the carpet. Oh well, I decided, I will wait for the rain to rinse it off and then I will see how it turns out from there. Gotta be better than it is now!
Only by now, I have spent countless valuable hours that I could have spent enjoying my family or watching important tv shows, on this carpet. Dollars and dollars on paint and dye. Chemicals aplenty. And one local store had similar- but-definitely- cleaner rugs on clearance this week. For $26.
And evidently, fabric dye does not take to chopped up finished edge carpet remnants. It leaves a sort of dingy filmy color- though it did saturate under the airbrush fabric paint. Turned out that by "Sunflower", they meant similar in hue to a dried french mustard stain.
Sadly, along with my car over the summer my camera broke as well. So this is a picture from my cell phone, which is why I never put up this post in the first place. Techno- impediment. Could not get it out of the phone until now.
This is after the air brush paint, before the dye. Not so good.
(Now back to 2010).
After that, I put down a different carpet in the girls room. That one up there is in the back storage in our house. The one I put in their room curled up at the edges and we all tripped over it every day. Besides, Teena had already colored that one in with pink chapstick. So I put down some foam alphabet letters only those kept coming apart (mysteriously!). Then, I put down a large kitchen rug. Only recently someone had a supreme error in judgement and told a lie. In that lie was an involved story involving a turd and that carpet. So even though there was no visual evidence of the atrocity, I have to work under the assumption of guilt. In other words, if there is a chance there is poo dust on that carpet it has got to go.
Now, I have put my yoga mat down in the bedroom. Since I don't need it. Why have I made so much of an effort to keep a stupid rug on the floor in there? Well partly because someones husband went late in the sale and bought the girls a medium wood tone bunk bed because the pretty white ones were all sold out. Unfortunately the floor is also a medium tone wood. Ick. Looks like all kinds of nature threw up in there. It desperately needs a carpet of a non- wood tone to break up the visual something something.
The other reason is that Genea will go to sleep on the floor when she is really stressed. I can put her back in her bed 50 times and 51 times I will go check on her and she is back on the floor. So I don't want her to be directly on the cold wood! At least if she is going to sleep down there she should be a little comfortable. A little cushioned, a little more warm. That's why I have to have something down.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Fabulousness (not that though)
I do soooooooooo love an award! This here though, is really amazing because I had no idea I was even on their radar screen. Like, these people are BIG! "The Accidental Mommy" has been picked as one of the top 101 adoption blogs in the universe! Seriously, I about pee'd myself, before I remembered that is not allowed in my house. Here- go see for yourself, it's really true! I'm not making it up!
THEN, to help balance out my super suck-ass week from hell with good stuff I like, I got this from The Mommyologist !
Now, isn't that pretty? It makes me think of vacation! Incoming here are all the rules:
1. Put the logo in my post or within my blog.
2. Pass the award onto 12 fellow bloggers.
3. Link the nominees within my post.
4. Let the nominees know they have received this award by leaving a comment on their blogs.
5. Share the love and link to the person who gave you the award!
So, here are the bunches of bloggers I am passing this on to:
For having the best blog names I never would have thought of:
Sitting on the Mood Swing at the Playground
Just Because My Pickle Talks Does Not Make Me an Idiot
Good Moms Are a Lot of Things
This Work Stinks
Faith Makes Things Possible Not Easy
Reptiles in the Ice Cream
Muddling through Mayhem (doesn't THAT just say it all)
Here are some new bloggers that just made it to my radar screen:
GB's Mom
The Short Bus
AND, just because I have to share all awards with Annie or she gets REALLY upset, and I blog- stalked her trying to entice her over to my blog to leave some of her great comments for WAY too long to go making her mad, for Annie.
One Mother's Day
There you go. Once again, I implore you, if you have yourself "follower- ing" please make sure your blog links to your little avatar so I can find you! And, because I am technologically incompetent, it took me about 2 hours to do all the link dealies so just take your award and go. If I have time I will go around and leave everyone a comment to say "hey you, come check out your award", but otherwise grab and go!
Friday, February 5, 2010
Update
I have a weird feeling Genea had already caught a whiff of the pile of shit across the street, probably about 6 weeks ago. I was thinking as I was writing last night. Things bounce around in my brain and from the information I got yesterday combined with the coincidental unexplainable shift in behaviors around here, I realized, Genea may have already had contact (see previous post if none of this makes sense to you) with her first adopted dad.
The Skank had made a point of telling me that the Jack Ass had not been recognized by Genea as far as either of them knew, and I took that at face value. However, they had passed within vision range and within hearing range of each other on one occasion.
About a month and a half ago, give or take a couple weeks, Genea started coming apart. Not in her usual bipolar way, where there are physiological signs. Instead of significantly regressing in 2 or 3 areas as when she is cycling, she has had a moderate regression in almost all areas. Bizarre stuff we haven't seen in ages. Pooping on herself, and sitting in it. Stealing, obvious lying, sneaking around stealing and then lying about it. Wetting the bed increased. She has been agitated, anxious, pacing and walking heavily. Irritable and labile. Low low loooooow focus. Getting up in the night to look for me. Which I don't mind a bit, she comes in bed with me for about 15 minutes and when she feels safe, she goes back to her own bed. The problem is she has been doing it, 3-4 of 7 days for a little longer than a month now, which is the most persistent streak we have ever had.
During the last appointment we had with Genea's psychiatrist, this all came up and we all chalked it up to the change in schedule with winter break and then school starting again. That didn't sit right with me at the time, but I had no better suggestion and it certainly was likely. Genea being the anti-change activist that she is.
This morning I called Genea's former therapist to ask what she thought. I considered that maybe Genea did see and recognize Jack, and has been keeping the information to her self out of terror. Therapist thought that was not likely, because Genea would show more signs like being afraid to go outside in the yard, which has not been the case at all. I also considered that the one time where they passed on the street might have registered with her. Maybe she saw him and had a twinge, and heard him talk and a deep part of her brain recognized the voice, but not specifically, if that makes sense. Maybe she noticed him without realizing who he was and it freaked her out and is still freaking her out and she still doesn't know why.
I can tell you this, Genea is extremely sensitive. Slight shifts of air will gain her attention. She notices everything. If I drop a contact lens, I call Genea to help me find it. If The Husband loses his keys, Genea remembers where he put them. Her school called me today to tell me she was complaining of a stomach ache and a headache. They said she was shaking. The secretary made a point of emphasizing and repeating it. She is shaking. Okay I said, not about to explain anything. I told her, we have all been sick I am sure that's it and I will be right there to get her. She has never once been sick at school before. Never. I truly thought The Husband and I did a bang- up job covering our conversations and moderating our tones of voice last night. But I would bet a million bucks she picked up on the tension and that's what made her sick at school.
Anyway. I did some research today and there may be a possibility of filing for a restraining order based on either stalking laws or psychological harassment. Naturally this subject is not mentioned in any legal statute so just as with everything else, we are trying to do the best we can do without precedence. The Husband is playing voice mail tag with a lawyer, so we will see what he says there.
THANK YOU so much for all the supportive comments, it's really nice to know so many people "have our back". It is just so damn bizarre. Like if I read it in a book I would toss the book aside because there is no way that would actually happen. No one could be that ignorant. It's not even believable.
We own our house. The Skank rents. That Jack has been there for so long already tells me it is probably a "solid" relationship but probably not permanent as she is already twice divorced. She is a real catch, seriously. She is on disability, gets housing assistance, and child support. Most likely food stamps. Jack would never have to work again. I really don't know what he is thinking. We always knew that both of the original adopting parents still lived here in town. I knew there was a chance we would see one of them at the mall, or at a gas station. I thought if we had Genea with us, they would have the sense to tuck away in a corner until we passed. The coincidence of this man finding himself a single skank to live with across the street from us is astounding. The Husband and I are both still mouth-opened about it. He thinks there might be more to it, but I don't. Jack had so little interest in Genea when he was around her, I just don't think that has changed.
Could someone really be so dumb as to think moving in across the street of your formerly adopted child would not have a bad result? Every day I am surprised a little more at how inanely stupid one single person can be.
The Skank had made a point of telling me that the Jack Ass had not been recognized by Genea as far as either of them knew, and I took that at face value. However, they had passed within vision range and within hearing range of each other on one occasion.
About a month and a half ago, give or take a couple weeks, Genea started coming apart. Not in her usual bipolar way, where there are physiological signs. Instead of significantly regressing in 2 or 3 areas as when she is cycling, she has had a moderate regression in almost all areas. Bizarre stuff we haven't seen in ages. Pooping on herself, and sitting in it. Stealing, obvious lying, sneaking around stealing and then lying about it. Wetting the bed increased. She has been agitated, anxious, pacing and walking heavily. Irritable and labile. Low low loooooow focus. Getting up in the night to look for me. Which I don't mind a bit, she comes in bed with me for about 15 minutes and when she feels safe, she goes back to her own bed. The problem is she has been doing it, 3-4 of 7 days for a little longer than a month now, which is the most persistent streak we have ever had.
During the last appointment we had with Genea's psychiatrist, this all came up and we all chalked it up to the change in schedule with winter break and then school starting again. That didn't sit right with me at the time, but I had no better suggestion and it certainly was likely. Genea being the anti-change activist that she is.
This morning I called Genea's former therapist to ask what she thought. I considered that maybe Genea did see and recognize Jack, and has been keeping the information to her self out of terror. Therapist thought that was not likely, because Genea would show more signs like being afraid to go outside in the yard, which has not been the case at all. I also considered that the one time where they passed on the street might have registered with her. Maybe she saw him and had a twinge, and heard him talk and a deep part of her brain recognized the voice, but not specifically, if that makes sense. Maybe she noticed him without realizing who he was and it freaked her out and is still freaking her out and she still doesn't know why.
I can tell you this, Genea is extremely sensitive. Slight shifts of air will gain her attention. She notices everything. If I drop a contact lens, I call Genea to help me find it. If The Husband loses his keys, Genea remembers where he put them. Her school called me today to tell me she was complaining of a stomach ache and a headache. They said she was shaking. The secretary made a point of emphasizing and repeating it. She is shaking. Okay I said, not about to explain anything. I told her, we have all been sick I am sure that's it and I will be right there to get her. She has never once been sick at school before. Never. I truly thought The Husband and I did a bang- up job covering our conversations and moderating our tones of voice last night. But I would bet a million bucks she picked up on the tension and that's what made her sick at school.
Anyway. I did some research today and there may be a possibility of filing for a restraining order based on either stalking laws or psychological harassment. Naturally this subject is not mentioned in any legal statute so just as with everything else, we are trying to do the best we can do without precedence. The Husband is playing voice mail tag with a lawyer, so we will see what he says there.
THANK YOU so much for all the supportive comments, it's really nice to know so many people "have our back". It is just so damn bizarre. Like if I read it in a book I would toss the book aside because there is no way that would actually happen. No one could be that ignorant. It's not even believable.
We own our house. The Skank rents. That Jack has been there for so long already tells me it is probably a "solid" relationship but probably not permanent as she is already twice divorced. She is a real catch, seriously. She is on disability, gets housing assistance, and child support. Most likely food stamps. Jack would never have to work again. I really don't know what he is thinking. We always knew that both of the original adopting parents still lived here in town. I knew there was a chance we would see one of them at the mall, or at a gas station. I thought if we had Genea with us, they would have the sense to tuck away in a corner until we passed. The coincidence of this man finding himself a single skank to live with across the street from us is astounding. The Husband and I are both still mouth-opened about it. He thinks there might be more to it, but I don't. Jack had so little interest in Genea when he was around her, I just don't think that has changed.
Could someone really be so dumb as to think moving in across the street of your formerly adopted child would not have a bad result? Every day I am surprised a little more at how inanely stupid one single person can be.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Unimaginable
The most bizarre, unimaginable, horrible thing has happened. The woman who lives across the street and down one house came over today when the kids got home from school, and asked to speak with me in my driveway. Alone. Okay, so I sent the kids in the house and went out.
She tells me a man's name. She says, he is staying with me. The name is of the man, the original Dad, who with his wife, adopted Genea from Ukraine. The couple who went to Ukraine, adopted Genea and brought her to this country. That man. They divorced quickly after they terminated the adoption a couple of years back. I don't know what either of them has been doing since, but now he lives across the street. Evidently with his new girlfriend and her 2 children.
I must be in shock. If I so much as crack open the place in my brain that realizes what this will do to Genea, if I open so much as a sliver, all hell comes careening down.
This fucking moron knew where we lived. He brought some of Genea's stuff over when we were transitioning her here. He knows what he is doing. He was so indifferent to her at the time, I am not worried that he has some strange intention. He has lived there for about 3 months now, and we never knew. Although, I mentioned to The Husband just a week ago- look at that truck in the driveway at The Skank's house.... it has been parked exactly there and it never leaves. Whoever is living with her right now, he must not have a job and he must not ever go anywhere because that truck is always in that exact spot. He is not a bad person. I don't worry that he was abusive to Genea. The Skank assures me that however The Husband and I see fit to handle this, they will comply. He has been deliberately avoiding contact with Genea and that is apparent because I rarely have seen him. I have seen him from across the street myself and not recognized him. Of course, I wasn't really expecting to look for him. Of course there are a half million other places the jackass could live.
I just cannot believe this kind of bullshit is happening. What. The. Fuck.
Genea lived with the original adopting couple for almost 3 years, until she was four. So she will remember him. The Skank suggested we tell Genea that is the man's twin brother. Brilliant fucking idea lady.
So. We are going to wait a bit, think it through and consult with some other people. There is not really a book or therapy technique that will guide us through this kind of shit. The Husband is going to talk with the man and try to figure out what is going on, what his intentions are.
I just.... what this will do to Genea.... I just can't even think. The word "catastrophic" keeps coming into my brain. She doesn't talk about them, I know she would not want to live with him or anything like that. I am guessing she will barely remember him. But she will have a visceral recognition and it will be very, very, bad. Of his voice maybe, his posture. We can't just sit and wait and see what happens. If she notices him in some way, it will be all over. We are going to have to confront and control the possibilities within the ridiculously thin margin we have available. Fucking moron. It wasn't enough to screw her up by disrupting their adoption in the first place. Now he has to move in across the street? I mean, we can't make him move away. We can't control where he lives.
I don't even know what Genea will think. That we are giving her back? Sending her away? She is not safe or secure with us if he is there, she will think that. She might think she will lose us and he will take her.
Excuse my reeling around. I am writing as my brain is jumping from thought to thought.
SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
She tells me a man's name. She says, he is staying with me. The name is of the man, the original Dad, who with his wife, adopted Genea from Ukraine. The couple who went to Ukraine, adopted Genea and brought her to this country. That man. They divorced quickly after they terminated the adoption a couple of years back. I don't know what either of them has been doing since, but now he lives across the street. Evidently with his new girlfriend and her 2 children.
I must be in shock. If I so much as crack open the place in my brain that realizes what this will do to Genea, if I open so much as a sliver, all hell comes careening down.
This fucking moron knew where we lived. He brought some of Genea's stuff over when we were transitioning her here. He knows what he is doing. He was so indifferent to her at the time, I am not worried that he has some strange intention. He has lived there for about 3 months now, and we never knew. Although, I mentioned to The Husband just a week ago- look at that truck in the driveway at The Skank's house.... it has been parked exactly there and it never leaves. Whoever is living with her right now, he must not have a job and he must not ever go anywhere because that truck is always in that exact spot. He is not a bad person. I don't worry that he was abusive to Genea. The Skank assures me that however The Husband and I see fit to handle this, they will comply. He has been deliberately avoiding contact with Genea and that is apparent because I rarely have seen him. I have seen him from across the street myself and not recognized him. Of course, I wasn't really expecting to look for him. Of course there are a half million other places the jackass could live.
I just cannot believe this kind of bullshit is happening. What. The. Fuck.
Genea lived with the original adopting couple for almost 3 years, until she was four. So she will remember him. The Skank suggested we tell Genea that is the man's twin brother. Brilliant fucking idea lady.
So. We are going to wait a bit, think it through and consult with some other people. There is not really a book or therapy technique that will guide us through this kind of shit. The Husband is going to talk with the man and try to figure out what is going on, what his intentions are.
I just.... what this will do to Genea.... I just can't even think. The word "catastrophic" keeps coming into my brain. She doesn't talk about them, I know she would not want to live with him or anything like that. I am guessing she will barely remember him. But she will have a visceral recognition and it will be very, very, bad. Of his voice maybe, his posture. We can't just sit and wait and see what happens. If she notices him in some way, it will be all over. We are going to have to confront and control the possibilities within the ridiculously thin margin we have available. Fucking moron. It wasn't enough to screw her up by disrupting their adoption in the first place. Now he has to move in across the street? I mean, we can't make him move away. We can't control where he lives.
I don't even know what Genea will think. That we are giving her back? Sending her away? She is not safe or secure with us if he is there, she will think that. She might think she will lose us and he will take her.
Excuse my reeling around. I am writing as my brain is jumping from thought to thought.
SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Too True Tues(day) #14 Shameful Secrets
So here's the deal for this weeks TTT: your most shameful listening habit. The embarrassing music you put on your ipod because no one else can hear it that way. A song or singer that you would not confess to your best friend unless it was because you were really drunk at a bar before you had children.
My first one is something I recently confessed on another blog. It's really bad. I really love the song and if I ever get a minute alone I will dance and sing to it. Okay, it's Sexy Back. Justin Timberlake. So there we have a double whammy- killer humiliating song, by a former Mickey Mouse Club Musketeer. Evidently only bad things happen to people who like bad music because there was a glitch when I ordered this song. I believe it to be possible that my ipod attempted to reject the song and refused to allow it in, along with a few episodes of The Office and some other stuff. Half my order downloaded, half didn't. So I had to actually contact apple and confess to what I had done. The reply I got was along the lines of "what goes on in your home is not our business", LOL! I would have been less embarrassed ordering foot fetish pornography!
My other, rather geriatric love, is Neil Diamond. I can listen to most any of his hits. I don't discriminate. I would love to dye my hair blue and hobble on in to see him in concert. I bet he really sings! With his voice! I made the mistake of telling my sister about this, who then told my parents, who heckle me to this day. Sad, the upbringing I had. Tragic really. In the "days before children", I confessed this to some friends at a bar where good judgement and logical thinking had abandoned me for some reason. Turned out, they love Neil too! So we hijacked the jukebox thing and played Neil for hours. They loved us at that bar. Really! Then we had this cool Neil club together and would pretend to sing at karaoke (really more just howling sorts of sounds). Then we all got pregnant and it was over. Sigh.
Okay so there it is. Confess to your shameful secret! Everyone has a song they love that they would be embarrassed to tell people- 'fess up. Here is your chance! No more hiding in the closet! Sing it loud, sing it proud! You write up a blog post, with a link to this post somewhere in it. Then come back over and attach yourself to the Mr. Linky thing. Then leave a comment, and if you do not have a blog you can confess your shame in the comments as well. Very freeing. Now really, you have to do the Mr.Linky part. Last time I found a bunch of people getting their cheap on who did not know how to link back. People with great idea's, sitting around in the dark, leaving the rest of us ignorant of their fabulous cheaptastic traits. It's about helping the world, people.
My first one is something I recently confessed on another blog. It's really bad. I really love the song and if I ever get a minute alone I will dance and sing to it. Okay, it's Sexy Back. Justin Timberlake. So there we have a double whammy- killer humiliating song, by a former Mickey Mouse Club Musketeer. Evidently only bad things happen to people who like bad music because there was a glitch when I ordered this song. I believe it to be possible that my ipod attempted to reject the song and refused to allow it in, along with a few episodes of The Office and some other stuff. Half my order downloaded, half didn't. So I had to actually contact apple and confess to what I had done. The reply I got was along the lines of "what goes on in your home is not our business", LOL! I would have been less embarrassed ordering foot fetish pornography!
My other, rather geriatric love, is Neil Diamond. I can listen to most any of his hits. I don't discriminate. I would love to dye my hair blue and hobble on in to see him in concert. I bet he really sings! With his voice! I made the mistake of telling my sister about this, who then told my parents, who heckle me to this day. Sad, the upbringing I had. Tragic really. In the "days before children", I confessed this to some friends at a bar where good judgement and logical thinking had abandoned me for some reason. Turned out, they love Neil too! So we hijacked the jukebox thing and played Neil for hours. They loved us at that bar. Really! Then we had this cool Neil club together and would pretend to sing at karaoke (really more just howling sorts of sounds). Then we all got pregnant and it was over. Sigh.
Okay so there it is. Confess to your shameful secret! Everyone has a song they love that they would be embarrassed to tell people- 'fess up. Here is your chance! No more hiding in the closet! Sing it loud, sing it proud! You write up a blog post, with a link to this post somewhere in it. Then come back over and attach yourself to the Mr. Linky thing. Then leave a comment, and if you do not have a blog you can confess your shame in the comments as well. Very freeing. Now really, you have to do the Mr.Linky part. Last time I found a bunch of people getting their cheap on who did not know how to link back. People with great idea's, sitting around in the dark, leaving the rest of us ignorant of their fabulous cheaptastic traits. It's about helping the world, people.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Side Notes
Heads up on tomorrow's Too True Tues(day): The most embarrassing thing on your iPod. If you don't have an ipod (and why not? Just because they cost the equivalent of a month of bargain basement quality day care? ), the most embarrassing song you listen to on your .... what.... record player thing? Car radio? Whatever. Here is an example. I have a friend who likes The Wiggles. And, she seems fairly normal otherwise so I really can't figure that out. She drives a minivan though, that could be a hint.
On Monday, Oprah is doing a show about child molesters with child molesters. The trailer showed her asking one of the scumbombs what he would say to a child of 5 to assure she would not tell her mother what was going on. You can believe that my face will be glued to that episode. Though sadly not in person, as my on- going quest to get to the Oprah show continues to fail. Most recently I filled out an application for an episode for January 28th. I had to verify 12 ways from Sunday that I was not ever going to be on another episode if I got this opportunity. Turned out that was the Jay Leno episode, so clearly the spirit world is saving my karma for something better. It was meant to be and the universe was sending me a message that I am in- line for a way better show than that. I just wish the universe would be a bit more prophetic being as I am getting tired. I just want to be in the audience! OPE- call me!
I want to really genuinely say Thank You to all the people who contributed comments to the post about psychiatric medications and children. A lot of people left notes that had to be hard to write and I appreciate that. The more that is out there, the better chances get for other people who might need help.
K. See you tomorrow!
On Monday, Oprah is doing a show about child molesters with child molesters. The trailer showed her asking one of the scumbombs what he would say to a child of 5 to assure she would not tell her mother what was going on. You can believe that my face will be glued to that episode. Though sadly not in person, as my on- going quest to get to the Oprah show continues to fail. Most recently I filled out an application for an episode for January 28th. I had to verify 12 ways from Sunday that I was not ever going to be on another episode if I got this opportunity. Turned out that was the Jay Leno episode, so clearly the spirit world is saving my karma for something better. It was meant to be and the universe was sending me a message that I am in- line for a way better show than that. I just wish the universe would be a bit more prophetic being as I am getting tired. I just want to be in the audience! OPE- call me!
I want to really genuinely say Thank You to all the people who contributed comments to the post about psychiatric medications and children. A lot of people left notes that had to be hard to write and I appreciate that. The more that is out there, the better chances get for other people who might need help.
K. See you tomorrow!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
LinkWithin
