Are You Ready for School?

We are one of the last states in the nation to begin school. One of the ways we try to keep out of bankrupcy is by getting people to come here and pay for stuff, but you have to have employees to take the money, and the only people who want to be paid to take money for just the summer and no longer are...

students.

So, while the rest of the nation is happily buried in textbooks and icky school lunches and maternal bliss, we get an extra week to freak out.

This year, the freak out is compounded by a new school. Princess started hers six weeks ago, Peanut four, and Buddy freaked out six months ago when we broke the news, and is mostly fine now. The Cuddle Bear is just happy that she is finally old enough to do something the other kids do, she really doesn't care where.

I started mine this week.

This, of course caught me off guard.

About mid-August, people start asking, so are you ready for school to start? as a conversation opener to moms. Suddenly, I realized that every time someone asked me, they'd slowly start to back away and then find something important on their fancy-pants touch-screen phone. That's when I realized my mouth had disconnected from my brain: my brain though I was saying, oh, I don't know. I like having them with me, but the reality was

SCHOOL! GAH! SCHOOL IS STARTING? NEXT WEEK? GAH!
Will my teachers like me?
Will I get in trouble with the principal?
Will I make friends?

What if no one likes me?

No. I'm serious. What if no one likes me? I'm in this horrible phase were no one has as many kids as me, so everyone I suckered into liking me with a boy Buddy's age has had all their kids in school for a couple of years and have gone back to work full time. All the parents of kids the Cuddle Bear's age didn't have enough kids to get to the Eh it's Not Really Dirty You Can Still Eat It Was it You Who Put the Dog in the Pot on The Stove That's So Funny stage, so they're slightly horrified at my parenting. And everyone knows middle kids get lost in the shuffle, so I'm not even sure Princess's and Peanut's classmates have parents. Top that with the economy that has lost three of my friends' husbands their jobs so they moved out of state for new ones, and you find that I know roughly one person in my community.

I am bored and lonely.
And I'm concerned that my social skills have deteriorated.
Am I going to have to *shudder* join the PTO?

Tell me it's not as bad as all that.

Kerrie, Friend of the Reframe

Me last year: For Pete's sake! Can't I be outside for five minutes without someone making someone bleed?!
Me today: Come on, you guys! Can't I be outside for fifteen minutes without someone making someone bleed?!

And that's how I knew things have gotten better on the whole.

It's hard to tell, you know. Kids don't heal on a continuum. It's more like that hose you found in the barn that hasn't seen the light of day since the owners before the previous owners. Tangles. Straight parts. Kinks. Then suddenly you realize there are less knots than there were when you started.

This summer there have been several reunions and weddings and things, and at each one there have been several people who love me who pull me briefly aside and whisper,

so how are things going?

I know what they mean, of course. But the first time I had to stop and think. I didn't really know.

Last summer (which doesn't really count because it was SO hideous because we were moving) sounded like this:
Me: Princess, please (insert menial day-to-day task every member of society must preform to avoid being committed to an institution).
Princess: Primal scream, primal scream, primal scream, whack whack whack, object flies through air, primal scream, primal scream. Kick Mom's shin. Grab Mom in places Mom is unaccustomed to being grabbed. Primal scream. Bite Mom's arm. Don't open mouth back up. Open mouth. Primal scream.

This summer has been more like this:
Me: Princess, please---
Princess: You make me do everything around here! You never make Peanut do anything! This is all your fault! I hate you! You're ugly and mean! You can't tell me to stop shouting! You're making me shout at you and be mean! If you wouldn't make me do stuff I wouldn't shout at you! I'll stop shouting at you if you give me a cookie.

So see what I mean?

I finally decided that yes, I guess things have gotten better. They are not really any more pleasant, but let's face it. Constant shouting, sassing, back-talk, grouching, and refusal is, well, not exactly normal, but closer to the elusive Range.

Embrace the reframe. You never know.

Goodbye, My Love. Goodbye

Physicals. They giveth. And they taketh away.

Four-something years ago we were informed our daughters's first mother's rights to them were terminated, and their last name was magically now the same as ours.

My first reaction was, wow. I now almost officially have four children, ages 6, 5, 4, and 2.
My second was, wow. What if I had a baby, too.

I ran into my doctor's office the next day.

"I need birth control. I need it NOW. Oh, and I've been having anxiety attacks."

She had good news. There was a way to kill both birds with one Pill. Er, stone. Yay.

Three years later I walked into my annual physical. More like my eighteen-month physical, because I put it off until I start to panic about uterine cancer. And she said, "sorry. I have to give you something else." And I said, "no. Absolutely not. No way." And she said, "yes I am. Because otherwise you're going to have a stroke. New research. You'll have to start exercising instead."

Poo.

And so this week begins my new voyage with the new anti-stroke pro-anxiety anti-fifth-child prescription.
It's day two. So far, not so good.

Not helping the situation is Vacation. Anyone who's lived with RAD for more that two days just got heart palpitations from reading that word. And actually, it's not been bad. Princess has been doing surprisingly well this summer and is working with me more and more to calm herself, but Vacation is a test of all things. Although, honestly, it's turned out to be more about dread for me than anything Princess has shelled out. Even coming home has gone surprisingly well. In fact, it's the first time we've made that particular (6-hour) drive without a rage or tantrum. Granted, no one was sitting by her in the Suburban. Josh and Buddy were driving back another way from their Canadian Boys Beer and Belches fishing vacation. But that means I was driving ALONE, so they cancel each other out. There have been almost no issues since we've been home either. Which means it's me. Anticipation will do you in every time.

So it's day two. And I discovered Princess is out of underwear. It's both our faults. I emptied all the suitcases into the washing machine, but not the drier. But Princess is the proud owner of 20 pairs of underwear, and if ten of them weren't already in her laundry box from the three days before we left, some of them would be available for use. But do you think I handled this calmly, apologetically, with sillines and a dash of not my problem? Not so much. Nope.

So I popped some adrenal support, some niacin, some vitamin D, and prayed for some grace. I'll start training for a 5K (hahahahahahahaha!!!!) again, even though I'm pretty sure it's going to give me elderly, arthritic knees before my time.

What else can you do when your doctor insists against your will that you don't have a stroke?

The Unanswerable

WHY is it ALWAYS someone else's friends!?

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. SLAM!
Which was probably for the best, because I wouldn't have known what to say, anyway.

I don't think it was really a question.

A friend of Buddy's had just arrived to play, and they headed up to Buddy's room.

Can I play in your room, too?
You're not allowed past the bathroom.

Which was true. And, really, much kinder than just saying plain no.

Our upstairs goes: my room, Princess's room, children's bathroom, Peanut/the Cuddle Bear's room, Buddy's room, and Princess is not allowed past the bathroom for several reasons, most of which involve hitting and stealing. But the real reason Buddy said that was because he needs normal, neurotypical breaks with normal, neurotypical friends.

This year Princess was invited to one birthday party.

Why is it always someone else's friends?
Well, we both know why.
It's just neither of us know what to do next.

Fireworks

Having a RADling means "family fun" is a conscious decision in which you know you're going to pay dearly on one end or the other, but you do it anyway. Because, gosh darn it, you deserve it. Such was Fourth of July Weekend. We partied had friends over. We barbecued. We lived outside. We stayed up reeeeeeeally late to see fireworks.

We got home at midnight.
Five hours past Princess's ideal bedtime.
Seven hours past the youcan'tmakemeIwon'thavefunbecauseIdon'twantto Rage of the Century.

And then we shot off the horde of illegal out-of-state fireworks we bought the weekend before.

So, needless to say, Princess was totally weirded out.

Also, Princess has a latent fear of the dark. She wanted to hold my hand, which was great, because she usually prefers to be either ten feet behind me or five feet in front. So I was enjoying it, but she was still clearly uncomfortable.

Then, her sisters, who have a sisterly radar for hot spots, began talking about robbers. And long spooky shadows. And bats. And coyotes.

I don't want to be out here anymore.
Ok honey. The lights are all on inside. You can go get on your pajamas and I'll tuck you in in a little bit.
Can you come too?
I want to see the fireworks, sweetie, but you can go in if you want.
I'm going to go in.
Ok.

She ran up to the house like she was being chased by coyotes and robbers and like bats might swoop down and get tangled in her hair. All the way to the lit front porch. And she stopped. For a long time.

Princess? You sure can watch from there if you feel better. You can sit on one of the chairs.
Silence.


I feel better with you.

She ran back to me, chased by coyotes and robbers, bats swooping, and held my hand.

Where's MY Calm-Down Card?

I have all these great ideas, and no one they work with.

Since spring, I've had to restrict Princess's world smaller and smaller, keeping her closer and closer to me. She's been going 0 to 120 in under a second and hitting or bludgeoning siblings with very little warning, in addition to the bus incident and shouting in the gym teacher's face. I now need her withing hearing distance so that I can catch things going south quickly, which means no girls' room, no basement, and no outside when I'm not there and other kids are. Josh or I are outside plenty every day, but this one is still a particular thorn in Princess's paw.

At the same time, I've been focusing on encouraging her to use her Calm-Down Card. So last night I though, huh; I could pair them together.

This morning I explained that YAY! I thought of a way she could earn some time outside with other kids and no me! Every time Daddy or I tell her to use her calm-down card, and she does, she can have 15 minutes of other-kid-outside-time. Isn't that GREAT?

Princess sure thought it was. She immediately grabbed her calm-down card off the fridge and started to run down the steps.

Um. Princess? So...who told you to use your calm-down card?
But you said if I use it I get time outside with the other kids.
I said if you use it when Daddy or I tells you to you earn time outside with the other kids.
Oh.

And she went back to running the steps on the card.

Princess. Who told you to use the card?
No one.
Ok. I think you should grab a paper and a pencil. I think you need some help remembering this.


She came back with lined paper and a marker. I recited the conditions. Twice. She wrote them in hot pink marker completely ignoring the lines on the page. When I had her read it back to me, she got as far as word three before she was stumped.

Hey Princess. What do you think the lines on the page are for?
To write on?
Right. So I bet it would be pretty helpful to write ON them, don't you think? Try that.

So she did. Twice.

Honey, do you think it's the marker that's the problem, or your handwriting?
My handwriting.
Ok, then you'll need to write it again, but neatly, because you'll need to be able to read this when if we have a disagreement about it later.

Again.

Get a new paper and a pen or pencil.


So it was written and read successfully.

So now can I go outside?
Uh....the Cuddle Bear is out there right now- how many minutes have you earned, honey?
None?
Yeeeeah.
So can I go outside?
Um, no.
REEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
Go use your calm-down card.

So she sat down on the steps. A few moments later the noise started up again.

I see you're not using your calm-down card, so you'll need to go finish that noise in your room.

The typical room-scream fest insued, followed by the quiet formal Time Out, and I released Princess to "do over."

So can I go outside?
???
You told me to do my calm-down card.
Yes, well, but the whole DOING of the calm-down card was missing, and that's kind of the whole thing behind earning Time Outside With Kids.
Oh. Ok.

And she began to run down the calm-down card steps.

Ok! I'm done! Can I go outside?

Seriously, I'll spare you, because this happened twice more with negative-forty calm-down card usage. By 9:30 a.m. I was banging my head on the table trying to hold back tears as to not upset Buddy who was verbalizing his desire to not have to listen to this crap all the time as Josh prepared to leave for work earlier than he had intended because listening to all of this was actually putting him backward in what he needed to accomplish.

Did I mention my Suburban is in the shop? Since Monday night until Friday afternoon? Yep, that's right- I cannot leave. Oh, and by some disgusting slap in the face of fate, Josh has extra stuff after work several nights this week and has to show our old house to several prospective tenants. Fabulous life timing. Plus the thing he's going to tonight has great food and great wine and great people and every year everyone says, "you should bring your wife," but his wife is not fit to be seen because she keeps breaking out in hives and is missing chunks of her hair.

On the bright side, I have plenty of time to pound the calm-down card. Excuse me while I go use it myself.

Peanut Ingenuity

My children are geniuses.
No. Seriously. They are.
Ok. So there hasn't been any testing to prove it. Who needs testing when there is cold hard evidence like this:

Summer (so far) hasn't been as bad as last year, but no miracles have ocured in the past year, either. As a result, the atmosphere of our house could be described as... well,

noisy.

The good news is: thanks to what they call "pharmaceutical intervention," we're down to one decent size rage per day, plus we're getting about four rage-free days for every 10 non-rage-free. This is a major step up from six to ten rages per day plus my hugely bruised shins, bite-marked arms, and concussed head of yester summer.

Still, it's... well,
noisy.

The above photos were taken during a particularly noisy moment. I had restricted Princess to smack dab inside my space, and she was making very sure I enjoyed it as little as humanly possible. Princess has patented a noise she reserves for such moments. It is truly indescribable, but if you did a mash-up of fingernails on a chalkboard, squeaking Styrofoam, a fork scratching into ice, and the mating cry of rhesus monkeys, you could probably use it as a springboard for your imagination.

As this hideous noise is taking place, in slither these two blanketed figures, at an incredibly slow pace. So slow that it take at least five minutes for me to realize they are slithering through the kitchen. As they near me, the larger blob raises an appendage and hands me a blanket.

"Here Mom. Here is your snail shell. If you put it on, you won't be able to hear the screaming. It'll just sound like, 'hey I REALLY love my family.'"

See. I told you. Geniuses.

(photo by Peanut. Which is why my hips look disproportionately wide. She's short)