Funny, God

7 02 2011

My mother is amazing.  Really.

She is incredibly smart, humble, gorgeous and totally naive about the world.  That makes her adorable.

The scene in my head that plays when I think of describing Mom is from Leverage Season 1 where Parker meets Nate’s ex-wife.  Parker says she’s adorable, pats her on the head, then sniffs her and somehow it’s not overly creepy.   And yes, Mom and I did discuss me writing this post so it’s not like I’m blabbing family secrets or anything.  We collaborated on this and decided you should be a part of our phone call.

I don’t know how Mom made it to me being 30 years old and not realizing that apocalyptic stories and prophecies scare me.  I shit my pants at severe thunderstorms and the apocalypse.  I’ve ALWAYS been this way.

It’s no surprise (to me, anyways) that I subscribe heavily to the Joss Whedon and Terry Goodkind school of thought when it comes to prophecy vs. free will.  I figure we’re all going to die anyways so I should CHOOSE to act in a humane and intelligent way because it helps me and those around me RIGHT NOW.  I don’t act right because of the fear of demons from hell shooting through volcano cracks to eat my brains.

My brain can’t comprehend or accept mass destruction so I live in a way I can wrap my thoughts around.  I also believe that so much emphasis is put on how the world ends that we’re busy bringing the very thing we fear to actuality.  If we hadn’t been working so hard trying to outwit it, it may not need to be outwitted.  And if it is true and inescapable then my part is to live my right here and now life decently.  If it all ends in chaos and despair, then the only reasonable thing to do is to live for joy right now.

Mom really leans towards the end of the world stuff and obviously the 2nd seal has broken and we’re all going to die in a blaze of glory or something here soon.  She also really likes to call and tell me about why and how this is coming about.  I want to know how prophets picked out accurate words when they described their vision because they don’t have a lot of room to write down details.  It’s like making life and death decisions based on a Twitter feed.  If a picture is worth 1,000 words and the prophet is so flooded with imagery that they clutch their heads and fall over, then it’s going to take a hell of a lot of paper and ink to write it out.

My eventual response, after fighting down the panic attack, is “Mom, the world’s been ending for a long damn time.”

I told her I’d write this thesis she’s assigned me when she reads The Sword of Truth novels.  If we both did our part, we’d come away knowing quite a bit about how the other one’s brain works.  At that point of the conversation, we just agreed to think about it and talk to God and see how it went.

We also talked about current events, the state of my brain and all the drama that makes up life.  IRL hasn’t been so steady lately and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking and agonizing about how this good ship Dollins Family should make enough money to stay afloat for another year.  The whole his job/my job/my health/health insurance/education requirements dilemma.  When a day to day routine exists, there is comfort and safety.  When there’s no routine, there’s anxiety and insecurity.  I’m not so secure or carefree at the moment so a lot of our conversation was tinged with my IRL worries.

This is where God gets funny.

I laid down in bed that night and thought really hard “God, I just need a single direction.  Just a feeling that one way or the other is right.  I feel like I need a compass.”

Then I couldn’t sleep and decided to start on the next book in my reading list.

The Psychology of Joss Whedon: An Unauthorized Exploration of Buffy, Angel, and Firefly

Huh, this entire book is about the characters in the Whedonverse who are contemplating this very issue.

First, I laughed at myself for finding theological truths in science fiction and fantasy novels (but then again – have you ever actually READ the Bible as a work of literature?  It’s as good a sci-fi primer as anything.)  Then I laughed some more because just this year I’ve found and become a total Firefly geek.  Before, I didn’t want anything to do with it – I’d never seen the TV show or the movie, I didn’t have any conversations about it.  I really just thought it was a weird Star Trek vs Battlestar Galactica ripoff.  I had no idea.  Now it’s strangely relevant to life.

I read more today and I learned that I’m more like Mal than Buffy.  I tend towards antisocial behavior but its only after I’ve used up the more mainstream ideas.  If things had gone in a more mainstream manner in my life, I’d be a more mainstream type of person.  I’m not only shaped by events, but I live with a more individualized moral code because of those events.  If mainstream included me and people like me, then I wouldn’t have to be something other than normal and a more generalized world view would be relevant.

(Does anyone else think that the creators of “there’s only one way to God” people are just the theologians with a really good marketing campaign?  I mean, it would be a shitty campaign to say “our product rocks but so does everyone else’s product.” I mean, what would you advertise?  The fact that your god was cross-platform and multi-app compatible?  That’s just a quick way to become irrelevant.  It’s all about branding, people!)

Why don’t I just adapt?  Lots of people who go through weird shit adapt.  Why don’t you?  I ask myself that a lot and the only answer I can come up with is “it’s my personality type.”

I’m not that abnormal in reality.  Most of the people I know and willingly socialize with are unconventional.  They live in unconventional manners and with unconventional world views inside of cultural boundaries.  I speak for myself (which is why there’s a heavy I emphasis in this blog – I don’t like speaking for other people) when I say that I have a well formed, rationalized, and stable morality.  I would make a good space cowboy.  I would not make a good elementary school teacher.  I accept these things about myself and move on.

I think my message was pretty clear: learn about and accept yourself, then move forward.  The only wrong thing to do is nothing.

Besides, if the world ends tomorrow, I won’t have to worry about any of this.





Short Letters to Random People

30 11 2010

Dear House,

I regret to inform you that your TV show is no longer my favorite.  Since I was diagnosed with Lupus, that show got a little too real.  Now I listen to Castle as I fall asleep because it’s just as entertaining and it will never happen.  Seriously.  It would take David Baldacci getting writer’s block, and deciding to drop in and follow me around being a stay-at-home-mom. He could make stupid comments while I make parenting look sexy and cool and once an episode come up with some spectacular solution.  David Baldacci once answered my question on a LibraryThing forum and did it without any mockery or stupidity, so I can’t say I see this ever happening.

I will still watch and enjoy your show but you will no longer be top billing in the part of my brain that dishes out pop culture references to serious situations.

 

Dear Dr. Cuddy,

In the season finale of Season 6 and AGAIN in the first few episodes of season 7, you told House that you being in love with him had nothing to do with wanting him to change.   He told you that you’d eventually start being pissed off at the things he’s ALWAYS done – like lying to you about a patient – and you said “nuh uh, won’t happen.”  Now, you’re pissed at him for doing exactly the same thing he did in every single fucking episode in the last 6 seasons.  If you really don’t want to care about him doing what he does, only assign him patients you hate.  Then if they die from some stupid treatment that will spike your BP, you can at least be comforted in the fact that they are DEAD.

Or whip out the ole “really long consent form” for all his future patients.  “By signing this you agree that you’re about to be treated by a mad genius.  You agree not to sue him or his employers for any retarded, unethical, experimental, insane, and unrecommended treatment.”  You’re smart enough to get what you both want.  It’s just going to take some creativity.

 

Dear “As Seen on TV” Toy ads,

Thank you so much for teaching my kids the art of creating stupid jingles.  In response, I have taught them about the psychology behind advertising.  At least now they know not to sing me the little tune and beg for something at the low, low price of $59.99 for 2 packs of glorified play-do unless they really want to hear Mommy rant for hours.

 

Dear Girls,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.  I know I don’t want you to ever read this because no one should have to carry this with them, but I can’t hold it inside me.  If you ever do find my blog, this is at least an honest recollection from a woman who loves you.

I replaced the last pictures we had of you with more recent pictures of our forever children.  For some reason, God had different paths planned for us and we were only together for a short time.  I spent and I spend a lot of time mad at Him for what happened.  It’s odd to me that I still love you the same amount as I do the children who live in my house.  With them, they get older and smarter.  They make mistakes and grow.  They get more and more like us.  They have opinions – rather loud ones – and desires and needs.

With you, all I ever got was a few months and some pictures to remember you by.  I remember you as 5 and 7 year olds but 4 years and an entirely new family have come for both of us.  With them, I was handed their novel.  With you, I was only given a few short chapters.  I’d like to read more and know more, but it’s best not to pester the author while the story is in progress.  In another 10 or 15 years, hopefully I can learn the rest.

I still have the pictures on the computer I use most often.  Every file I pull up, I see your pictures.  I’m learning to let go – quietly and slowly – but I haven’t made it to the point of putting your photos on an external drive yet.

 

Dear my fashion sense,

Are you done with your little vacation yet?  I know I spend most of my time in sweat pants and a tank top but I’m ready for that to change!  Do you know that lately I started throwing out DSW catalogs before even looking at them?  Why?  Because there’s no point in buying shoes when I have a closet full that I don’t wear.

Do you hear me?  I rationalized NOT BUYING SHOES.  I’m going insane without you.  I haven’t had a haircut in months.  MONTHS!  I want to start a blog for fashion choices for people with neurological disabilities (or fibromyalgia or anything that comes with dysautonomia or allodynia.)  I can’t do that when my uniform includes navy blue sweat pants, black knee socks, and a crazy colored tank.

Fashion sense, you better get your ass back here RIGHT NOW.  Put down the tropical drink, put on some clothes and clock back in.  You’ve got work to do!

 

To my children -

Effective immediately, I’m spraying you with Lysol the instant you get in the car after school.  You end up with a virus and get sick for a day or two.  I get the virus and the Lupus tries to eat my face off.

I have been on antibiotics for 10 days now and have 4 more to go.  I taste onions constantly.  Look, even the baby knows “don’t talk to Mommy until she’s had a cup of coffee.”   You try drinking coffee in the morning when all you taste is onion.

The only solution is to stop exposing your mother to germs and I’ve caught you little shits licking tables in fast food restaurants.  I KNOW I’m nuts so I can only imagine what disgusting things the little shits who do not have me as a mom do.  Those kids are sharing their germs with you and I don’t want them.

 

Dear Levenger,

Stop sending me two catalogs several times a month that have the same beautiful, lustworthy items in them.  Once a month, I get to drool over your leather goodies.  After that you’re just rubbing my nose in the fact that I’m too poor to buy them!  I already send you way too much money for Circa supplies – but now I get to cry a little inside when I see the Bomber Jacket leather card wallet that matches my Bomber Jacket leather Circa cover.  It’s the only thing that makes me want to replace my red leather card wallet that I bought 4 years ago.    The red leather wallet that goes everywhere with me.  The red leather wallet that I bought a matching clutch for so I could tote my lipstick and perfume along with my personalized note cards.

I really love you, Levenger.  I love how Mr. Leveen replies to posts online and writes a thoughtful blog.  I love your customer service.  I grudgingly understand how you’ve had to adapt some of your products to Apple’s tomfoolery.  But please stop taunting me!

 

 

With all the love in the world, Cyndi

 





It’s in my coffee

25 11 2010

This morning I woke up not thankful at all.  I knew the Thanksgiving post needed to be written and while I sat on the toilet, I thought “I’m thankful for the normal things – life, family, toilet paper.  This holiday sucks!”

Thanksgiving is just a remembrance of one race taking advantage of another, peace treaties that end in bloody warfare, and gluttony “in honor of a new world.”  What it means more personally is stress, money trouble with the impending “holiday season” to give that budgetary shit storm some extra spice, feeling left out of one group or another for absolutely NOTHING of my own fault*, and needing pharmaceuticals just to survive smiling at people who dislike me for hours on end.

Yeah, I woke up this morning in bitch mode.

Then Coffee came into my life and the funk started to lift. Every sip I take I find something else that I’m thankful for.  I may be able to write this post!

I’m thankful for our children.  A few years ago, I was sitting in a room at the adoption agency crying because our placement fell through and I didn’t think I could survive another holiday season knowing that I was not yet a mom.  It was the week before Thanksgiving.  We had already bought Christmas presents for the girls that would have been our daughters.  Their rooms were ready.  Their clothes were in the closet.  We were waiting on one court hearing to happen THAT WEEK before they moved in to stay.

It didn’t happen and I was devastated.  The agency didn’t think we would get another shot with that particular placement so I told them I didn’t care if it was a foster placement – I just wanted kids in my house for the holidays.  (Up to that point we were straight adoptive parents.)  Three days later we got the call about A & E needing a placement.  I went to the family party that year with two babies.  8 months later, LJ came to us and now they’ve been legally and forever ours for over a year.

I am thankful for my animal masters.  For the birds singing to me when it’s time to get out of bed.  For the clean, animal scent I get when I bury my nose into Spooks’ tummy.  For how he has developed a habit for needing to be with me at all times.  For Ernie being a much needed comic even though he doesn’t really smell like a clean animal – he always smells like tuna even when he hasn’t had any for a week.  For Abbie who thinks she’s a person, Cali who loves the kids, and Nola with her big ass nose and her inability to be sad.

I am thankful that even though Shaun got laid off, the company didn’t screw him in the severance package.  We may not end up moving to the trailer park because of that.  There’s still a ton of stress associated with it (which is why I haven’t written in a while… how do you be honest and open about something so volatile?) but it could be worse.  I’m thankful that it’s not worse.

I am thankful for a warped sense of humor. The ability to laugh at things forms a tight bond.  It’s a stronger relationship than liking a sport or sharing a hobby.  We laugh at fucked up things and share an esoteric knowledge base.  Anyone who understands why I want a tramp stamp of the number 42 is a good person to know.  Anyone who knows why I fart in your general direction can be my friend.

I am thankful that my head is so small that I can wear kids’ glasses. Most vision insurance plans cover kids’ glasses 100% and adult glasses at a discount.  Last year I got hot pink Guess glasses.  This year I got some black Candie’s that make me look like a sexy librarian.  Also in the small head gift, I can wear kids’ hats that are cheaper and more adorable than the adult selection.

I am thankful for 50% off Halloween candy on the 1st of November.  However, my body doesn’t quite agree with me on that point.

I am thankful that Sprint gave me a new phone when mine died a premature death for the cost of repairing it.  $35 is much better than having to pay full price or having to switch back to my Blackberry.

I am thankful for the Internet.  Every single part of it – including the over-the-top seriousness of some sites and the absolute idiocy of others.  I love that I can pick and choose the sites I visit (because there’s always a choice) and be a part of the hivemind.  It doesn’t matter if I contribute or if I simply read the stuff in my RSS.  The internet goes on without me and when I feel able to, I take part.

I am thankful that Shaun is a good cook.  He also does the dishes and laundry, which makes me a damn lucky woman.

OK, that’s enough sweetness and sap for right now.   I’m halfway through this coffee and I need to do my motherly duties like pick out the kids’ clothes for the visit to the in-laws and make sure the cameras are ready to go.

*my parent’s families didn’t approve of each other while I was growing up.  I’m the spawn of the one they like (their genetic relation) and the one they don’t have anything in common with.  Now that the parents have been married for 31 years and the rest of them HAVEN’T, all I can say is “haters gonna hate.”  I’ve been excluded from other groups for various reasons that ARE my fault.  Those don’t bother me nearly as much.





Spirit, the evolution of a painting

18 10 2010

When I paint, I forget that stuff goes on around me.  People I’ve known my entire life barely get recognized and I just zone out.  They call and say “whatcha doing?”  “I’m fucking painting.”  “OK, go do that.  Love you.”

This time, I’ve tried to keep (and sorta failed) in touch through facebook with the progression of the painting.  Ah well.  People who know  me know that when I paint, know that at least I’m being quiet and staying out of trouble.

So, here’s the progression of Spirit – 36″ x 24″ mixed media on canvas.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

No, it’s not done.  I’m going for a graphic novel style and decided that the text area needed to be redone.  Also, the photos are out of order, but you’ll figure it out.

The background is an oil wash.  The blue dove motif is acrylic.  The main structure of the white dove is done in Sharpie oil paint pens then I switched back to acrylic for the shading.  Most of the detailing and border is done with paint pen.

Soon… my little dove.  We’ll work together again.





It’s way too early for my brain to be working

11 10 2010

I woke up at 4 am, back screaming at me and my brain cycling through the things I need to do.  The kids are on fall break so that means today and tomorrow will be spent watching TV and seeing if I can con the g’parents into watching a couple of them.  I may even bathe in sunblock and take them to my family’s communal playground.

Lupus makes me have to be extra cautious but it also does miraculous things with my body.  That bite from last week?  Totally healed.  All that’s left is a small callous – smaller than the sharp end of a pencil.

Yesterday we had my nephew’s 4th birthday party and he’s ADORABLE.  Being a ham runs in the family.  We played at Chuck E. Cheese for a while then he opened his presents.  The one from us ended up being last and when he pulled it out of the bag he yelled “WHAT?? WHAT?!”  It was one of those new Hot Wheels tracks that have the robot obstacle course.  Then he grinned real big and said “ok, we need to go RIGHT NOW.”  LOL  No one even got a hug goodbye – he just escaped with his toys and made Grandpa put them all together.

It was really great to see our family all in one place again.  I miss my family A LOT.  Bob has been working insane amounts of hours and Sister has been getting married and moving.  Grandmommy works overnight.  I have 3 kids and a disease that I have to judge each morning on whether I can handle what I have planned.  The only person I’ve seen with any regularity lately is my Dad who works around the corner from me.

Halloween is coming up and did you know that Ben 10 costumes only go up to a size 8?  What am I supposed to do with THAT BS?  LJ is a size 10/12 at the smallest so it looks like I’ll be making his this year.  All he’s talked about for months is how he wants to be Ben 10, who is his hero.  Alyssa’s going to be a fairy and E-baby is going to be Bumblebee from the Transformers movie.  That means today I’ll be trying to figure out how to make a Ben 10 costume out of a T-Shirt.  I got a 6 pack of white tees, so I have some room for error.  ;)

No word yet on if I’m dressing up but I found a slutty Ninja Turtle costume that looked ADORABLE.

Yesterday I went totally OCD and hung shelving, rearranged books, and totally let my crazy take over.  I would be more effective if I weren’t so crazy but I’m in the middle of stepping down on the dose of Effexor again.  It’s the only thing that has ever controlled the OCD so I may just have to get used to this new normal.  Oh well, it’s an asset when I have a job because I don’t screw up.  Screwing up is the most terrible thing ever to a person with OCD because that means the universe is about to dissolve into oblivion.

Cyndi Dollins:  Using mental illness as a tool since 1986.

On that note, I’m working on perfecting my resume so I can get it online.  I don’t know if I can handle a full time job but I’m going nuts not having a challenge.  My self-worth is definitely tied to what I can do and I HATE feeling like I reached the peak of my career at 26.  I also don’t want to be left behind by the industry during this whole get myself better/get the kids raised thing I’m doing now.

In the meantime, I’m going to work on learning everything I can about computer networking on a larger scale and I may even get my Microsoft Office certifications.  I’ve toyed with the idea of going back to school – my choice would be Breneau – but I’m not sure if I can get financial aid.  We’re in that weird middle ground where we’re not rich enough to pay for schooling but not poor enough to get them to pay for it.  I wonder if there are any grants out there for SAHMs with Lupus.

I have more of my sketchbook project to photograph and get online.  I think it’s coming along rather nicely and I hope I can finish by the deadline.  My current page is an interlude from ways to get revenge and it’s on things I hate with a passion.

Then I need to update our family calendar… and get Ernesto to the vet because he’s been limping on his front leg… I need to finish printing and putting together my sister’s wedding album… photograph and list stuff on Etsy… talk to my dad about getting a couple of computers from him… work on altering a couple of Alyssa’s uniforms… go through all the kids clothing and get rid of stuff that doesn’t fit…

And you know how it is:  when your brain is that full, it’s impossible to sleep.  So I took my meds, I’m sipping on some coffee and I think I’ll work on my sketchbook until I feel like I can rest a little more.  Later today, hopefully I’ll write a much less boring post, but no promises!





cat urine, centipedes, and other c words

4 10 2010

Life occasionally gives me affirmations that I have never been and never will be a normal person.  Either that, or I’m so hyper-normal that sitcoms draw from my rants to make shows that everyone can relate to.

I don’t lead a boring life… and sometimes I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

Yesterday was a big high school alternative reunion for all us kids that didn’t fall into the “my senior year is the best senior year ever” category and it was going to be kids and all at a park in the sunshine.  We were also supposed to help my Grandma move into her new place and my sister move into G’ma’s old place.  (Musical houses.)

My body heard “sunshine” and decided to shit itself and quiver in fear.

About a week ago I got a bug bite on my hand.  No. Big. Deal.

Saturday, the bite suddenly turned into a giant water balloon and burst into a fountain of blood and white blood cells.  All this happened in an HOUR.  It was a normal little semi-itchy bug bite at noon and at 1 it was a giant blister of pain.   Thank you, Lupus, for over-reacting yet again.  After the detonation of my tiny hand sore, I ended up with a dime size patch of skin that sloughed off in a manner that would make a zombie barf.

(I have a few other bites on my legs that are now getting the side-eye in case they think the action on my hand was a totally awesome display.  Giant pussy sores on my thighs?  Sexy!  At the first sign of an itch, I’ll be at my doctor’s office asking for steroids.  Let the Lupus know I kick back!)

Still, Saturday night I went to bed thinking I’d have Sunday to meet old friends and help out family.

Then the C words started.

Cat Urine.

I was laying in the bed watching TV and trying to kick the last of a migraine before starting the day.  The TV show (Castle) went from one episode to the next and in between I heard the sound of running water.

From the direction of the hackerspace.  Thank God the main computer is on a shelf instead of on the floor!

Spooks, my lovely feline bastard, was squatting and pissing IN BETWEEN the dog beds.  Not on.  No, we could not just put a dog bed in the wash.  He infiltrated two dog beds, the body pillow I use to keep the dogs from under the bed, the carpet, and the carpet padding.

Instant exile.  Migraine Mommy goes to put down towels and put the dog beds in the wash.  Then she saw them.

Centipedes.

Hundreds of them, alive and dead.  Migraine Mommy screams, shits herself, and falls dead on the floor but decides a floor with centipedes is a TERRIBLE place to die and gets back up again.

Carpet.

Otherwise known as the fabric that will never harbor another bacteria or insect in the next 100 years.  The only other way I could have cleaned it was with a flamethrower and I considered it.  It’s hard to rent one on a Sunday, though, and Shaun didn’t want to visit IKEA for replacement furniture.

And yes, I do itch everywhere and I’m on Benadryl.  Bug poisons and I don’t get along very well.

Lawn maintenance.

It’s not a C word, but I did promise my husband that if he did not cut and poison the yard in the next hour I was going to start killing people – namely, him.  It’s not his fault but he is my knight in shining armor sent to save me from hundred legged creatures.

Concerta.

Thank you God for the healing powers of Concerta!  Two thirds of the Children were sane during this entire session of the Crazy.  They did things like play and read books while the grown ups freaked the fuck out.

Contamination zone.

Everything inside the area contaminated was tossed into the bathtub for a scalding anti-yuck session.  Including me and Shaun.

Canceled plans.

Yup.  All of them.

Every single fucking plan died with those centipedes.

The day also included a lot of crying, a metric ton of cussing, and hours of listening to the whine of the vacuum.

I guess the mystery bite on my hand was put there by a centipede which does not help the Crazy AT ALL.  I just keep telling myself that hospitals and hotels would be much less sanitary than my current sleeping platform, so I can’t go certifiable.

Yet.

If another bite goes geyser on me, that determination may change.





miracles

30 09 2010

This is just a small update after dealing with all the frustrations.

The oldest child had his meds upped and we met his new CSI last night.  It’s been going really well for him.  There’s still a lot of taking a step forward then falling right back down, but when he met the new guy last night he was shy at first but by the end of the visit was giddy and playful.

It helped that Abbie fell completely and totally in love with him.  A man that is good with dogs – especially serious, jumpy dogs – is a man I’d trust to advise my kid.  I trust Abbie’s judgement and she never barked or growled at him.  She went right up to him and put her nose under his hand.  Abbie just does not do things like that.  After she responded so well, LJ started responding well.

Anyways, a CSI is like a mentor with a degree and experience in therapy.  Chickpea has one and the results have been mixed, but she likes having the extra support during the school day.  I also get more reliable information ABOUT the school day from her CSI.

I like this program quite a bit.  Mentors are a great thing but with special needs kids you need trained professionals with experience in the hard things.  You couldn’t take a normal person and ask them to deal with the things my kids go through.  Gentle support and unwavering availability won’t work.  They need advice and coping skills that WORK.  They need more than an older friend.

LJ has needed a male mentor for a while.  Shaun and I are great geek parents but as far as making friends or building social skills, we suck pretty damn bad.  We grew up wanting the same things LJ wants – friends, to be a part of something, someone to talk to who really knew us and had our backs.  We never really figured that out.

We also needed someone for LJ who could show him that he could be a sensitive male and still have male friends.  Boys at this age are assholes.  My response to boys (as a very small girl and later, small woman) was to “man up.”  I took my respect and kicked ass along the way.  I made sure that I could do anything they could do, and then I did it better.

In school, Shaun made sure he was the biggest threat around and then those who could stand up to him and WITH him got to see the real him.  The part that is smart and funny and kind.

LJ just doesn’t have that sort of camouflage.  I don’t know if I want him to get hurt badly enough to build it either – to learn to separate who he is from who he seems to be.  It’s a hard lesson and I’m not sure it’s necessary.

However it turns out, it will be fine.  He’s got a good brain and learns incredibly fast.  He’ll figure it out but now he’ll have a new tool.

Chickpea had her meds changed and she’s doing better.  She’s not as belligerent and restless, which is very nice.

I went to her parent/teacher conference a couple weeks ago and saw her work.  Now I know why her teachers aren’t that concerned with her.  Her work is head and shoulders above other kids her age.  Her handwriting is perfect.  Her Spanish is PERFECT.  Her writing skills are amazing.  Her comprehension skills are spot on.

It looks like she’s sloppy about things at home but I guess that’s just because she’s already bored with it.

She’s in a special school BECAUSE of her intellect and her knack for causing trouble if she’s not challenged.  (Sounds a lot like me, doesn’t it?)  She’s gone and blown it all away and now her challenge is in social skills.  I don’t think she cares, though.

When she got home from school that day I told her “if you keep doing work like I saw today, I don’t really care how you act.”  I’ve always believed that if you’re good at it, you don’t necessarily have to be good.  If you’re not that good at it, then yeah – your behavior is what your survival depends on.

Oddly, since that conversation her behavior at school has dramatically improved.  It may be the medicine or it may just be that she knows it won’t get a rise out of me any longer.  Oh, the joys of attachment disorders…  now she’ll have to come up with a new plan to piss me off.

The boys spent the night with my dad and we took her to get her hair cut and nails done as a reward for the good work.  She ended up having enough hair to donate to Locks of Love and she LOVES her new haircut – a chin length bob.  We went to dinner and had an actual conversation with her.  It was amazing.

This morning as we waited in line to drop her off at school, I was showing her my new purse.  Shaun was totally unimpressed with it, so I needed some girly reassurance. ;)  She saw my little rollerball perfume – Fracas – and wanted to smell it.  I dabbed some on her and now she’ll smell like Mommy all day.  She giggled and blushed.  I dabbed some on me too and I’ll smell like Chickpea all day!

The youngest had his intake to the therapy group last week and will meet with the therapists and psychiatrists in the coming weeks.  Hopefully it makes a change for him.  He’s having a lot of trouble at school in just about everything.

Last night I caught a glimpse of the little guy I held when he was 2 and first came to us.  He fell asleep in the floor before bath time and when I woke him up he was so cuddly.  His little angel face was just precious.  I got him bathed and then got his lotion on him and he kept falling asleep in my arms.  He’s so big and I can tell he wants to be small again and curl up in my lap.  It’s moments like that – moments where he’s completely trusting and relaxed – that I savor.

This morning he was snuggly.  He loved on everyone and gave big hugs and just wasn’t as mad as he’s been lately.  It seems like falling asleep in Mommy’s arms is what a lot of us need.

It’s definitely what Mommy needs!








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