October 2008

Happy Hallowe’en!

This morning, after breakfast, I entertained myself by chasing Maymo around the house and drawling the word, “Braaaaaaaaaaaains!” as he screamed and screamed and screamed and ran like hell while screaming some more.

As I said, I entertained MYSELF. Not HIM.

The best part (for me, again) was when he was lying on the floor under my sewing machine table, quivering, and shouting, “MOM! MOM! WRONG HOUSE!” in response to my braaaaaaaain demands.

Oh? I’m at the wrong house? Are you sure? You mean there are no brains in this one?

Actually, that seems about right. Quite accurate in the morning, at least.

We shoved the kids out the door with their costumes in their backpacks about 20 seconds after Middle One said, “Um, Mom? When are we carving our pumpkins?”

Aw, shit.

Pumpkins. Right.

Go to school, children, so Mom and Dad can relish their parental deficits.

We grew pumpkins in our garden this summer, at least, so there are four of them in the yard waiting to be attacked with knives. Here’s hoping they haven’t rotted because I can pretty much guarantee that none of the stores in the country have any pumpkins left for sale and the only other produce around the house is a chunk of cucumber left over from feeding the snails.

Do y’s'pose there’s such a thing as a “spooky cucumber”?

(Seriously, we really DID pass those “parenting classes” that the agency made us take before we adopted kids. Honest.)

Oldest One made some comment yesterday about inviting his friend(s) over after school to “hang out and then go trick-or-treating” but was totally unclear about the details. Like, who was coming. Or when. Or whether his friends had already agreed to this (and their parents?). Or what I’m supposed to feed the kid(s). Or, y’know, anything really.

So, there’s a chance I’ll be entertaining a herd of children after school. D’y'spose I can serve them the “spooky cucumber” for dinner?

Middle One and Maymo are just giddy about going out, getting candy, and then eating themselves into some sort of sugar coma. It was suggested by Middle One that we could skip dinner altogether and dine on big bowls of candy. I have to admit, that has a certain amount of charm.

Or maybe I’m just feeling lazy about cooking?

Anyway, here’s hoping YOU have a fabulously spooky day and that your evening is full of candy.

I often wish that there was a film/camera crew following me and Maymo around when we’re together. I think there’d be a lot of fabulousness recorded that I could easily use in the future when he hates me for not letting him buy a motorcycle.

Take today, for example, as we strolled through the dollar store.

Maymo was in the “decor” aisle looking at some plastic figures made to look like crystal figurines. He touched them a little, turned them a little, then spied some really REALLY sparkly plastic “gems” in gift boxes.

Picking one up, he dropped down on his knee and said, “Mom, will you marry me?”

See? This is how I cheer myself up when I’m having a crappy day – I just go hang out with the Maymo.

Yesterday I realized that narwhals are… real.

I had always thought they were a science fiction invention (like unicorns) from some popular sci-fi book that I hadn’t read, or some long-extinct creature (like dinosaurs). And then I stumbled across a photo that did not appear to be some funky Photoshop job.

Then I checked wikipedia.

And then my head exploded because, seriously? How could I have lived for 33 years without knowing narwhals are.. real?!

WTF?

One of the good things to come out of the whole “knife at school” incident was a discussion about the importance of reputation.

The principal had noted to Oldest One that she hadn’t suspended him for his actions because he was not known for being a “bad kid” and, in fact, the opposite was true. He’s known for being a good, nice, quiet kid around the school.

It helps, too, that the boys’ school is quite small (less than 200 kids) and the principal knows each and every one of them by name and sight. As do most of the other teachers there, I’d imagine.

Reputation is important.

We talked about how the little things can add up to a good reputation – being nice, holding open a door, helping someone out – and how the same holds true for a bad reputation.

The difference is that a bad reputation is infinitely more challenging to fix because negative actions lead people to make negative conclusions about you that are much, much harder to break. It takes a long time to rebuild trust.

As we mentioned to Oldest One, he now has a strike against him – the knife – and that means that if he’s caught doing something else negative, it will begin to look like a trend. The, “Hmm, he brought a knife to school AND now he’s doing X and Y” will be harder to excuse or ignore. The benefit of the doubt will no longer be in his favour.

This is something we struggle with at home, too. Oldest One does something negative – shoves his brother, for example – and then doesn’t understand why we don’t believe him 5 minutes later when his brother again complains about being shoved and he claims to be innocent.

Or when he lies to us about something – something obvious! – and then doesn’t understand why we insist on checking up on things later. He doesn’t like it when we don’t just take his word for it.

Here is what I know: Oldest One is a good kid at heart. He is struggling with growing up, being more responsible, dealing with the world – all the things you’d expect from an eleven year old. He makes mistakes. He learns from them, slowly but surely.

He is also still struggling with the adoption itself and being in a family with specific rules and expectations that, in many cases, are not the same as what was expected from him in his foster home or in his biological family’s home – - as much as he denies that.

Right now, he doesn’t like me much and he feels safe enough with me to express that. It’s unpleasant for me, obviously, to have the majority of our interactions be full of sulking and yelling or crying or shouting or.. yeah. Every rule is UNFAIR. Every consequence is UNWARRANTED. Everything we won’t buy him “just because” is HORRIBLE.

And yet I know my job here is to remain consistent. To remain steady and firm and with my feet well-planted.

It also means, however, that I’m focusing all of my strength in that area (so as not to cry, yell back, etc) and other, seemingly minor, things make me feel totally overwhelmed. In that regard I am most definitely off-balance. I’m not myself. I take everything a bit too personally at the moment and I’m feeling ridiculously self-protective.

There’s a huge urge to just hide, though, and I’m pretty confident that isolating myself won’t solve anything at all.

I feel worn down and weary and exhausted. It’s hard work not being liked!

I called my family doctor yesterday to see if I could get a referral to his in-house therapist (the same one I saw for anxiety) to talk to her a bit about how to restore my joie de vivre. I’ve been trying to spend a bit more time by myself each day, playing Wordjong on my DS or reading a book.

I’ve been trying to spend happy time with the other two kids as often as possible because, man oh man, they love me (most of the time).

I am taking a lot of deep breaths.

This is not because Oldest One is a terrible kid. It’s because I’m.. a bit sensitive. I always have been! And I have to work very hard to not let my issues interfere with his bonding and his own need to work through issues.

I’m so grateful for Coffee and his sane, calm mannerisms. That he loves me. That we agree on parenting stuff.

This too shall pass.

I want Obama to be the next president of the United States of America.

I’m apparently occupying this strange, empty space inside my head at the moment. It’s very quiet, at least, which is a nice thing given how loud things have been around the ol’ homestead lately.

Today I’m grateful for my stay-at-home Mom gig, since I can avoid other human beings and not have to make small talk or conversation.

The school called this morning to let me know that Middle One appeared there without a winter coat. Did I mention that it snowed last night?

When I appeared at the office to hand said child his coat, and asked why he didn’t wear it, his response was, “Eh, I don’t really LIKE my coat. Why didn’t you just bring me a sweater?”

*thud*

So Oldest One is mad at me (because of my unreasonable “no knives at school” rule), Middle One thinks my “wear a coat when it snows” rule is unfair and.. well, at least Maymo and Coffee seem to still like me. A 50% approval rating has to count for something, right?

Yep, I think it’s safer if I stay inside my own head today.

Well, first, if anyone asks you, please say, “She had an eleven year old? Really? I think you must be mistaken..” Bonus points if you can maintain eye contact!

No? Fine.

Oldest One’s story about how the knife got to school and how anyone saw it is SO full of holes that he clearly thinks we’re “retarded” (to use his favourite term). It doesn’t add up and his responses to questions were not what I’d call “forthcoming”. He hemmed and he hawed and he averted his eyes.

Obviously he no longer owns anything pointy and will not be permitted to own anything pointy for the rest of his life.

And we still haven’t decided what the consequences of this will be, other than a handwritten letter to the principal of the school thanking her for not suspending him and stating, clearly, that he realizes he broke the rules and will not do anything so “retarded” ever again.

But seriously, if someone calls and asks how many kids we have over here, could you just say, “Two”?

“Hi, Violet? This is [the principal] from [your kids' school]”

“Oh! Hi [principal's name] How are you?”

“I’m okay. I wanted to let you know that Oldest One brought a knife to school today and was flashing the blade around. As you know, we have a zero tolerance policy for weapons at school…”

“Oh sweet jeezus. A knife?”

“Yes. We wouldn’t have known he had it there if he hadn’t been flashing it around and opening it and showing all the kids the blade… Anyway, we have a mandatory suspension for kids who bring weapons to school…”

“A KNIFE? REALLY?! A KNIFE?! HE BROUGHT A KNIFE TO SCHOOL?!”

“Um, yes, and..”

“A KNIFE? HE? BROUGHT? A KNIFE? TO SCHOOL?” (commence muttering under my breath)

“So, um, anyway, I have the knife here.. Since he’s normally a good kid I’m going to bypass the mandatory suspension this time, but I’m going to tell him that his parent(s) have to come and get the knife. Is that okay with you? I won’t tell him we’ve spoken..”

“I’ll have to be at the school tomorrow anyway.. A KNIFE? HE BROUGHT A KNIFE TO SCHOOL?! OHMYGOD.”

“I… yes.. a knife.. but.. Um, anyway, it’ll be at the office, ok?”

“Oh, that’s fine. Yes indeedy. And thank you VERY much for calling me!”

“No problem. Have a good, uh, well, I’ll see you tomorrow ok?”

“Sure thing! Thanks again!”

I cannot WAIT for Oldest One to get home. I just cannot wait.

There is, apparently, a plague going around.

I don’t know the name of it. I just know that I want to go lie down for a very long, ultra-extended period of time rather than do all those other tasks I’m supposed to do – like make dinner and drive a kid to Cubs tonight and prod everyone into doing homework and check that homework and, well, yeah. That STUFF.

If this were the Sims, my energy would be so close to the bottom line that I’d be weeping in a corner.

Ugh. Stupid McDonalds Playland germs.