Decisions, Decisions

  I took the girls to a dentist appointment after school. There I learned that I had rescheduled the appointment and we were 9 weeks early. Obviously I felt thrilled about this and drove home in a foul mood. Getting all 3 situated at the table to do their homework, I threatened all with slow painful extremity extractions if anyone ate Halloween candy, fought, cried or whinned while I went upstairs to take a shower to soak my head.  Sometimes all I have left is to wash anyway the anger, annoyance and general pissiness I feel when I stuff up my job. I've had quite a few stuff ups recently and while the co-owner swears he is not looking to restructure the organization, no matter how much I plead, I've been feeling really down lately and needed to quickly alter my mood.

While in the shower I opened the window so I could listen outside to downstairs for indications of anarchy and chaos. Some quite mutterings of "Kill you while you sleep" and "I'll tell everyone at school who you're in love with" floated up to my ears. This is a good thing. As anyone with a kid old enough to crawl will tell you, silence is never to be greeted cheerfully. Silence means they are actively trying to keep quiet so they can cover somethg bad up.  You drop and run when its quiet. The other end of the spectrum is total blood letting and keening, that's not good either.  It's painful on the ears, a bugger to clean up and the neighbors can get peckish.

This playful preamble to war is exactly what I need to hear to know that I still have 10 minutes until First Blood is drawn; plenty of time to do a hair treatment!

When the shower ended I was reminded again of the power of Mother Nature though.  I turned off the water and reached down and picked up my towel. I am not legally blind but I'm close. My vision is 20/400. Well in the US it is, I have no idea what the measurements are in Australia- damn metric system. Hold your hand up in front of your face and pull back about 6 inches (Aussies, use the many free conversion apps available to see what that is in centimeters) at about 6 inches things get fuzzy and beyond that its all blurry shapes. 

However I can see well enough in my light-colored tile bathroom when a black, fuzzy shape the size of a sausage roll goes scurrying across the floor and out the door into my bedroom.

I find that in situations like this while screaming doesn't help per say, it can be cathartic. If nothing else I exercised my lungs fairly nicely. When I stopped screaming and the sobbing subsided a bit I was able to crawl out of the tub and find my glasses and put them on. Ironically the cat chose that time to saunter in and demand supper. He and I seemed to have a failure to communicate as my stuttering, hiccuping, sign language gestures pointing him to my room didn't convey the proper message.  He took it to mean,"Crazy broad isn't pouring the kibble now, I should probably groom something" Ever eager to please, Monty began beautifying himself.  My hero.

I moved a few things around and made a half-assed attempt to find the creature...lizard, mouse, rat, land shark, whatever the Hell it is.  I couldn't see it. So as the only responsible adult in the house I did the only socially acceptable thing.

I went downstairs, found Teddy and made him go look for it. Sure some of you do-gooders might balk at me sending in a kid to collect something that scares the Hell outta me. You might even be a bit judge mental and say that I should handle it on my own, like an adult.

Whatever.

I sent my first born up the stairs and turned my back on the whole mess. I give him credit, he didn't flinch. Of course by this time he'd have walked across broken glass surrounded by all the Year 6 girls screaming One Direction songs in order to get away from his sisters. Yes, I took advantage of that. Judge all you want. I'll sleep just fine. Or at least I would have if another, fundamentally more problematic.

He didn't find anything. No creature at all. This creates a real difficult situation for me.

My dilemma isn't that he couldn't find it.  I can just sleep on the couch tonight until I'm sure the little bugger is gone, no problem.  No, my problem is figuring out whether or not to tell the girls about my intruder.  If I do, Connor will become hysterical and will be terrified that whatever is up there will get her.  She will fixate on the creature not being located.We are looking at least 3 or 4 nights straight of her waking up sobbing, which will slowly dissapate over the next few weeks. No one is going to be sleeping well for a very long time.

On the other hand...she will never set foot in my room again and my 6 am "Just wanted to say hi to the cat" wake up calls will stop. I will be able to take a shower without one of them barging in to see what I'm doing that's taking so long. I can go into hiding on the weekends with my iPad and not be interrupted every 30 minutes with," I miss you Mommy, I haven't seen you in weeks," My bedroom will become my own sacred DMZ.

As God as my witness I don't know what to do.

Yet Another Person Angry at Me

Once again I've angered a very important person. I'm starting to think its in my genetic make-up.  I really do have a talent . Although this time there are two major differences, 1. I am taking intense pride in my role and 2. This person is actually important.

When I dropped my son off at school this morning he was so angry he could only speak in muttering voicing and was incapable of answering his sister's baiting him to fight. That's some powerful anger.  My sin you ask? I had the unmitigated gall to have him change his sweater (jumper) and socks and sneakers to the school uniform ones.  Burning in Hell I am.

See after 5 years at Normanhurst Public my son has decided that the rules about the uniform don't really apply to him. He can choose which parts he agrees with and better yet, what he doesnt. For example, he can wear his bright burnt orange UT sweatshirt to school instead of the blue NPS one because he's cold and doesn't want to change it. Yes, Sydney has some blistery cold mornings, I think we've been averaging 10-12 degrees- thats 60-65 first thing when we wake up.  Surely its cruel to make him withstand those brutish temps for the 15 seconds it takes to switch the jumpers.  When I suggested that he could put the school one on to start with it was made abundantly clear that I was obviously missing.the.entire.point. I know that because he told me so.  

However today when I saw the white socks and sneakers and pointed them out I was told his class was partaking in a physical fitness program and he needed runners (sneakers) to wear. I gently and with love, lots of love, reminded him that at HIS insistence I paid a hefty fee for black runners that look like school shoes.  Then suddenly he didn't know where thhe shoers were. They were magically transported to the ever popular hidey hole for wayward shoes dimension. Oddly enough, I learned that the magic words to force the forces of evil to return the shoes to our universe are,"Find the shoes before I do, because if I find them, things precious to you are going away". And behold the apparence the the shoes! Truly this is the work of the Lord....

Surely at this point this boy who has worn the same clothes 4 days a week for 5 years,  understands I'm not screwing around and dresses in his uniform.  You would like to think that he was smart enough to assess the level of my annoyance and toe the line.  Yes, he toed it and then flipped the pinky toe right over it.  Walking past me I look down and the little snot still has on his white socks, not the uniform blue and gray ones.  WHY, you ask? Get this, he actually said this,"Um, we have Fitness today and um those school ones gets holes in them.". Riiiight, not his rock solid white ones, no those are are made from titanium I guess.

Evil Troll Mom sent him back to him room to try again.  Somehow he managed to survive his trials and emerged decked out impersonating an NPS student.  This all came at a high price I must say. A 17 minute ride to school with almost complete silence.  I'm crushed, just crushed I say.  Obviously I need to work harder on my interpersonal communication skills.

Baby's First Con

Sometimes something so devious happens all you can do is enjoy the show.

My girls' birthdays are in May and June. The one-two punch of birthday fever. I usually buy my little fashionistas a new outfit as a present. Connor got her assortment of clothes and accessories but I found out a month later that I missed a major desire of hers. Tessi got her clothes and boots. Boots are apparently the only thing Connor has ever wanted. Or more accurately she's always wanted them from the first second Tessi opened the box.

Connor has been suffering with her bootless feet for a few months now. Occasionally I've heard her justify her actions in a fight with Tessi by saying, "it's ok, cause you got the boots" Apparently, those are some damn fine boots.  I had no idea.  But then again, being the bad mother I am, I don't really care.  As much as my middle child may vehemently disagree I don't owe her fine footwear.  If she has to suffer this brutal Sydney winter of 18/60 degrees with simply socks and sneakers, so be it.  Life isn't fair...

Moving on, now it's a few months later and we are gearing up for the school's Education Week concerts.  Each class performs either a musical number or a play.  They dress up in fancy costumes and it's great fun for the kids.  I'm been hunting down Teddy's costumes for a few weeks, just found out that Tessi is the lead in hers (Jeez, that's another blog post in and of itself) and Connor has been bringing home bits and pieces of info about hers, no word on costumes.   Apparently they are doing some sort of rap; have no idea about what.  Alright, I'm up to my neck in bear and gruffelo costumes and helping get Tessi's entire class fitted, I don't really think about Connor's.

Now, here's when I should admit that I have a slight tendency to go a tiny bit overboard with costumes.  Halloween, dress up, plays, parades, whatever...I go a bit loony.  I sew a ton a crap, I buy the right accessories, I travel to 5 different stores to get the exact right shade of green thread.  I once spent 2 hours on the computer searching for the right Apollo 11 patches to print and sew onto to Teddy's costume when he played Buzz Aldrin.  I searched in 3 stores once for the perfect fabric to make Connor a zebra costume, then I hit 2 different op-shops until I found the khaki shirt Teddy needed so he could dress up as the hunter that shots the zebra.  I literally sewed my finger to to Connor's skirt with the sewing machine as I was trying to get the elastic in the waist.  I stopped, pulled the needle back up, swore, kept on sewing.

In short, I'm out of my buggering mind.  I know that.  It's ok.  I'm fine owning that crazy.  Most people around me accept it.  A few shaking heads but really if someone isn't shaking their head in confusion at me I don't know how to act.  What I was not aware however was how easily my neurosis could be taken advantage of by an eight year old.

Yesterday Connor got in the car after school sighing that the class had to dress up as cartoon super heroes.  Hmm, that sound like fun.  "Yea," she said, "All my friends are dressing up as Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, Spider Girl.  But I don't want to do that.  I want to be different"  Really?  Connor, Miss do anything to fit in with her friends, God Forbid any one see that there is anything different about her - SHE wants to be different.  Hmm, ok.  I'm driving, trying to drown out Tessi reading "The Gruffelo" so I'll go with it.  Connor then announces that she is going to be Black Widow. 

Alrighty.  I can work with this!  During the run of the Avengers here I was pretty vocal of my love for Black Widow.  Finally a female character in a action movie that kicks ass, doesn't need help, isn't wearing 4 inch heals and has boobs the size of basketballs.  Natural of course.

Black Widow.  Cool, my daughter wants to be an independent woman who can take of herself and everyone around her.  I'm thrilled.  Immediately I start planning the outfit.  I rule out the black catsuit.  Sure, it's awesome but not practical.  Too expensive for one-time wear.  I will get a long sleeved button down black shirt and black leggings.  Yes, this will work.  My brain continues to spin, no longer hearing anything about Tessi's weird bear-like creature and his fears and morph straight ahead into authentic costume design.  I an hear Connor chanting in the back, "Black Widow is cool.  She's a real hero, she doesn't need any guy to save her"  It's just feeding the fire in my blood.  Hey!  I know it!  She's an Avenger, I'll put a large red letter "A" on her chest.  Wait a minute...a large Scarlet "A" on my daughter's chest.  No, I will not be doing that.  I read Hawthorne, I know what happens to Hester....Maybe I'll put it on her back.  Yes, that will do. 

Ok we're almost home buy now and I have the outfit planned.  I need the shirt, pants and what else?  Yes, boots she needs boots.  Nice flat, no stupid high heel, sensible ass-kicking boots.

Did you notice that?  Connor has just gotten me to say she needs boots.  You know, for the costume.  Not because she wants them.  No, no.  The costume needs the boots to be authentic.

I fell hook, line and sinker for her cunning plan.  She didn't give a rat's ass about Black Widow but she KNEW how much I liked the character and how much I'd want to make sure she looked as much like her as possible.  "Yes, Mommy, I would love to get the catsuit but that's too much money to spend on something just to wear once.  I think the shirt and leggings are perfect.  I'll need boots too, don't you think?"

Now as someone who appreciates a good con I am applauding not only her sheer tenacity, but her patience at pulling it off.  She planned this.  Choose her words carefully; timing the delivery so I would be off guard in the car.  She played me like a violin and it was brilliantly done. Now she could have been Bat Girl but there was no guarantee on boots.  Now by combining my interest (ahem, ridiculous obsession) in  accurate costume design with my joy at my girl not wanting to be one of these fake token female heroes she cemented her chances of success.This is the first step in the 12 steps of playing the system to win as far as I'm concerned.  She will need this skill to overcome the truly stupid people she will encounter in her adult like.

As a parent it is more than a little terrifying to realize how much she's been paying attention and learning how to manipulate me.  She has been stewing on these damn boots for months.  Connor has been covertly paying attention to my likes and dislikes and actively concocted a plan to ensure that she would win.  This is only the first step towards a future teeming with ways and means to drive me totally insane.  I will have to wear mirrors on my shoulders so I can watch my back with this one.

Well played, Madam.  Well played.

Another Reason to Hate Bugs

 ****Edited because apparently I was so strung out on kids this morning I forgot to add the pictures.  Yep!  That's me, the one my friends call Techie...."*******



I have issues with insects.  Well, I'm not really sure issues is the right word.  I hate them.  Always have.  My dad is a major bug lover so I can only imagine the massive disappointment it is for him to have such an avid and vocal bug hater for a daughter.  Such is life though, we can't always get what we want.

For me bugs are either gross, annoying or downright terrifying.  Moving from the Northeastern US to Texas was a real eye-opener for me.  I encountered more weird bugs and crazy looking things than I ever thought it possible they could exist.  Then I moved to Australia.  A place that Evolution said, "Nah, nevermind.  Even I can't figure out what to change you into so I'm just going to take off"  There are things here that are simply insane.  Either in size, color or just weirdness.  I spend a great deal of my waking moments wondering, "What the Hell is that and how long do I have to live?"

As you can guess, bugs are big part of my conscientiousness.  I bitch about them constantly.  There I said it.  Now people can't complain about my whinging if I own up to it right?  No, they can but it was worth a shot.  I bring this up because I do blame a lot of my problems on bugs.  I blame my heart palpitations, my sore throats from screaming, the pain in my head from all headaches and I blame the large scar on my leg caused by last year's sick tick bite.

However this morning, I'm blaming my children's crazy behavior on a bug.  Normally even I wouldn't do that.  They've earned the right to take responsibility for their own stupid-ass actions but no, today, I blame this moth.

I saw this moth up high in my kitchen curtains the other day.  I made Teddy climb up on the counter to see what it was - yes, he is my personal canary in the mine - and low and behold it's a blue moth.  Now I'm not afraid of moth's, they are classified as simply annoying to me.  This one was blue though, something I'd never seen so I posted a picture on Facebook because this weird stuff still gets me.  This morning I noticed though that Mr. Moth is now an Ex-Moth.  Note following picture.

It seems he didn't notice the BIG ASS spider web web 6 inches from where he was resting and flew into it and Madam Spider got her some breckie....Circle of Life.  No tears on my part, one less bug in the universe.  As Agnostic Front used to say on their whirlwind metal music tours, "Kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out"

I mention to the kids that the blue moth has bit it.  No big deal, right.  Nope,  this is when the Hell begins.  Connor comments that it's not blue.  It's orange.  Both Teddy and I turn to look at it.  No, it's blue.  "NO!!!" Connor insists, it's orange!!!  Then Teddy fires back that she's blind and doesn't know what she's talking about.  I, with a bit more tact, state humbly that the moth is in fact, blue.  Connor yells, "No, from my distance, it's ORANGE!"  Meaning, I assume from her perspective, but I haven't had any tea yet so I could be wrong.  Teddy takes this moment to lay straight back, on top of Connor, forcing her to fall back to keep boy cooties from touching her.  He does this, again with the assumption to look at the moth from her "distance"

This is when it all snowballs straight to the fiery pits of Hell. Connor kicks Teddy in the back for touching her, Teddy yells at her for being stupid about the moth and for kicking him.  I point out that he was laying on her and with a Tessi worthy snarl he turns to me and spits out, "I.wasn't.on.her.  I.was.over.her"  Tessi starts laughing, Connor is glowering.  I blink heavily and spit back with more venom, "I'm.looking.right.at.you.  You're.laying.on.her.right.now. DUMBASS"  He storms out, Tessi is laughing uncontrollably now.  She gets up and says, "Mommy, you know how you decorate our chairs on our birthdays? Well, you know how Connor got to pick the colors for her chair?  I want light blue and light green."  Great, now I have to hunt the shops this morning for light blue and light green crepe paper, on top of making 25 cupcakes, a cake, wrap presents, 4 loads of laundry.  No problem.

I turned to Connor and said, "YOU!  I blame you for this.  Every other year it didn't matter what color crepe paper I used and now I have to take custom orders!"  I would like to mention that this was a joke.  She was laughing....and then stopped.  The sobbing started and she ran from the table shouting, "YOU HATE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

This all happened before 7:02 this morning.

All because of a dead Australian blue bug...and 3 crazy kids.

Parenting VS Music

I have a wicked head cold today and MUST be up and moving tomorrow and Saturday so I'm spending today doing nothing more constructive than sitting on my ass and reading.  So blogging of course came to mind.

Teddy presented me with another dilemma yesterday.  He asked me to get him the song Whistle.  Sure, I thought no problem.  As the song was downloading I noticed that the singer was Flo Rida.  I'm not into hard core rap but I have heard of him.  So I listened to the song.  Pretty, catchy, well bubble gum music.  Hmmm, very odd considering this dude's rep.  I have a hard time catching all the lyrics so I searched Google and came up with the lyrics.  Here they are case you don't know the tune.


Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

I'm betting you like bebop
And i'm betting you love creep mode
And i'm betting you like girls that give love to girls
And stroke your little ego
I bet i'm guilty your honor
But that's how we live in my genre
When I hell I pay rottweiler
There's only one flo, and rida
I'm a damn shame
Order more champagne, pull it down hellstream
Tryna put it on ya
Bet your lips spin back around corner
Slow it down baby take a little longer

Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

Whistle baby, whistle baby,
Whistle baby, whistle baby

It's like everywhere I go
My whistle ready to blow
Shorty don't leave a note
She can get any by the low
Permission not approved
It's okay, it's under control
Show me soprano, cause girl you can handle
Baby we start snagging, you come in part clothes
Girl i'm losing wing, my bucatti the same road
Show me your perfect pitch,
You got it my banjo
Talented with your lips, like you blew out candles
So amusing, now you can make a whistle with the music
Hope you ain't got no issue, you can do it
Give me the perfect picture, never lose it

Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

Whistle baby, whistle baby,
Whistle baby, whistle baby

Go girl you can work it
Let me see your whistle while you work it
I'mma lay it back, don't stop it
Cause I love it how you drop it, drop it, drop it, on me
Now, shorty let that whistle blow
Yeah, baby let that whistle blow

Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Let me know
Girl I'm gonna show you how to do it
And we start real slow
You just put your lips together
And you come real close
Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby
Here we go

Whistle baby, whistle baby,
Whistle baby, whistle baby


Okay - yes this song is about exactly what you think it is. Since my mother-in-law reads this blog let's just use the polite terminology and say oral sex.  Teddy wasn't trying to pull a fast one on me and sneakily get me to get him a naughty song.  I know this because I talked to him and I saw his face when I asked him if he knew what, "blow my whistle" meant.  Horror doesn't quiet describe it.  He really just heard the song and thought it was catchy.  Like a Bruno Mars song.

Here's my dilemma.  I like all different kinds of music.  ALL kinds, Hell there are even 3 or 4 country songs I listen to.  I listen to some pretty out there kind of stuff too. Songs I don't think people would associate with Mom Crowd. Rob Zombie, Godsmack, Rammstein and the like.  I also love songs with obscene lyrics.  Cee Lo Green, LOVE THAT SONG!  I also love Monty Python and South Park songs.  My husband used to be a serious thrash metal devotee.  Is this one of those times I should be hypocritical and deny my son a song he likes simply because the lyrics are a bit risque?  I know I have to be a hypocrite about drinking, speeding while driving and some of my computer keyboard antics.  I get that.  I'm constantly temding Ted, "Don't laugh at that!! We are not on his side any more!!!" Also I have NO problem about cutting out songs because they extol the virtues of "beating the hoes"  No problem whatsoever.  I also ban music because in my opinion it sucks.  Sorry, step back Boy Bands, just not cool with it.

Where is the line drawn in the parental hypocrisy?  I'm not for censoring music.  Be who you are.  If I don't like it I won't drink the cool aid.  I WANT my kids to be that way.  I want them to grow up and have them want artists to be free.  I want them to scream against injustice.  Champion the little guy.  Be superheroes...no capes though.  Incredible taught me that was dangerous.

On the other side I really don't want my kid learning about sexual techniques yet.  He's not even 12.  He has his whole life to be a grown up and deal with grown up issues.  I want him to be a kid, a real kid for as long as it's helpful to him.


Of course what's sticking in my craw is THIS song:

Come out Virginia, don't let me wait.
You Catholic girls start much too late.
Aw, but sooner or later it comes down to fate.
I might as well be the one.

Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray.
They built you a temple and locked you away.
Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay
for things that you might have done.
Only the good die young.
That's what I said,
only the good die young.
Only the good die young.

You might have heard I run with a dangerous crowd.
We ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud.
We might be laughing a bit too loud,
aw, but that never hurt no one.

So come on Virginia, show me a sign.
Send up a signal, I'll throw you the line.
The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind
never lets in the sun.
Darlin', only the good die young.

I tell ya,
only the good die young.
Only the good die young.

You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation.
You got a brand new soul,
mmm, and a cross of gold.
But Virginia, they didn't give you quite enough information.
You didn't count on me
when you were counting on your rosary.

They say there's a heaven for those who will wait.
Some say it's better, but I say it ain't.
I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints,
the sinners are much more fun.

You know that only the good die young.
Whoa, oh, baby.
That's what I said,
I tell ya,
only the good die young.
Only the good die young.

Said, your mother told you "All that I could give you was a reputation."
Aw, she never cared for me,
but did she ever say a prayer for me?

Come out, come out, come out Virginia, don't let me wait.
You Catholic girls start much too late.
Sooner or later it comes down to fate.
I might as well be the one.
You know that only the good die young.

I'm telling you baby.
You know that only the good die young.
Only the good die young.
Only the good,
only the good die young.

Only the good die young.
Only the good die young.



I remember the furor this song caused. People went bat-shit crazy about this song. A song about a young guy desperate to hook up with his girlfriend. I remember even years later when I was in high school hearing how this song was banned in most schools-are these really the people I want to line up along side?

The Effect of TV on a Normal Mind.

Being a child of the seventies I have watched a fair amount of TV.   Alright, a LOT of TV.  I grew up watching wholesome (because it was the only thing on) family entertainment.  Well, at least what passed my mother's eyes as wholesome.  I only watched Happy Days, Laverne and Shirley and Brady Bunch behind her back because she hated those shows.  I saw All in the Family, Soap, MASH, Masterpiece Theatre, Monty Python, Battlestar Gallactica, Star Trek, and re-runs of the the classics, Leave it to Beaver, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeanie and some other shows in black and white, I just can't remember.  Hmmm, maybe that list of shows does explain a bit about my personality.

It's true, what you see does influence you.  Watching those shows I saw family life portrayed in ways that were hideously NOT like my life.  One would think that would have taught me that TV is not reality but no.  Instead I grew up hoping to have that idyllic setting in my house.  At least that's what I think I did.  I have no conscience memory of pining for this Utopian lifestyle but I think I must have.  I mean why else would my reality drive me so damn crazy if I wasn't secretly wishing for a better way.  If I knew and understood that in reality kids are psychotic - especially in the morning, wouldn't I have accepted years ago that it will not be any different? 

No.  Obviously, deep seated in the recesses of my mind there was a message implanted that gets triggered like the sleeper agents in Battlestar Gallactica, the new one, not the old one.  Yes!  That's it.  Messages get turned on and off in my brain telling me that families don't have to act like this and if I keep struggling like the stupid spawning salmon I will achieve the goal..the Harmonious Family.  That must be it.  There is no other possible rational explanation for me to keep trudging along trying to correct this insane destructive  behavior and instead embrace it and just try to keep the house standing.  It's TVs fault.  Whew.  What a load off of my mind.

So tomorrow when Teddy and Connor start sniping at each other 30 seconds after waking I will just sip my tea.  10 minutes later when they are still going at it I will casually play on my phone.  I'll do that instead of what I did today which was snapping, "Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph you two!  Stop talking to each other.  Don't look at each other, don't stand near each other, don't touch each other, DO NOTHING!!"  See that got me nothing because not 2 minutes later Teddy starting griping at Connor for dropping the bread bag on the floor and Connor retaliated by yelling back.  See, I would have saved myself the aggravation if I had just accepted the futility of it all.

This is liberating.

The next time Tessi starts sobbing because Connor never lets her talk instead of me replying, "Pot, meet Kettle, nice of you two to meet"  Now the sarcasm is funny but it doesn't help.  Because deep inside I'm hoping that Tessi will some day realize, "Hey, does she mean that I do that too?"  Of course she won't.  And why?  Because life is nothing like TV.  Real kids don't learn life lessons in 22 minutes.  It takes YEARS, if ever.  Right now, I'm voting on never.  I've had Teddy in my life for 11 1/2 years and after all this time he still doesn't understand that whatever he does I will find out about it and I will get angry when he gets caught.  He honestly believes he can fool me.  Teddy is utterly baffled when I know that when he's been sent to his room to clean and 20 minutes later he stumbles out and it looks the same I know that he hasn't done anything.  I'm not exaggerating.  He stood there yesterday seething with anger when I told him I knew he was lying about cleaning.  He could not imagine how I had figured it out.  But now I see what my mistake was...it was when I yelled threatened and argued with him.  Now I know that watching happy  TV families has led me to believe that when you tell someone to clean their room they will do it.  What I should have done was walked in, seen the filth and tell him to try again.  When he starts to sputter that he has been cleaning I will just use the Air Horn app on my phone.  Then I will say, try again and walk out.  Rinse, lather, repeat.

See, no yelling.  I accept that he's going to lie and I get to use my iPhone in a fun way.  This could work. I have a constant battle with sore throats and headaches.  Maybe implementing this acceptance of lunacy will help me cut down on that.  Just walking around the house tripping on Littlest Pet Shop pieces, the Nerf bullets and more Barbie shoes than Mattel ever meant one household to have I see that all my yelling and cajoling have not helped.  Because I have been searching for that Norman Rockwell picture of the life I've ended up with physical pain and a near permanent eye-twitch.

So join in with me people.  It's time to lower your standards.  When you feel the need to ask, "Are you out of your mind?"  Remember the answer is yes.  It's them, not us.    Accept the lunacy and ride the wave of stupidity.  You will have to remind them flush the toilet 4 years after they've started using it.  They will pour milk into the bowl until it overflows for no other reason than they can.  Your two oldest children will get into a screaming match with each other over who has to turn the TV off AND then glare at you and say they weren't fighting.  As sure as death and taxes these are the absolute truths of life with kids.

Save your sanity people.  Speak softly and carry the Air Horn App.  And watch TV about psychopaths.  THAT'S reality TV.

Give Props When its Due

I haven't written for a few days because I really couldn't think of anything interesting to say.  Does Writer's Block only apply to professional writers and students the night before a paper is due?  Not sure.  The school holidays are upon me and I've been up to my neck in kids who have been acting their normal psychotic selves...nothing extraordinary to write about.  In 2 days we're leaving for Melbourne and I know I'll have a ton to write about then.  I really haven't wanted to start writing the, "I made the kids do chores and I washed the dishes" type of  riveting entries so I've been waiting for something worthy to happen.  And may I say was this morning worth the wait.  So here's to you my son, truly you have inspired me today.  Yes indeed, you really hit it out of the park for the team.  I'm actually still a little bit in awe of you.  Your efforts have not gone unnoticed and I promise you there will be a reward waiting for you once I can unclench my fingers and and get the eye twitch to go down enough that I'm not permanently winking at everyone.

So let us begin....Teddy started catching a cold yesterday.  That's a pain in my ass for 2 reasons. 
1.  He's asthmatic and colds turn to asthma quickly.
2.  We leave for Melbourne in 2 days and it will SUCK if he's sick.
3.  Wait!  Thought of something else, I need his help around here trying to get stuff cleaned and packed and ready to go and if he's sick he has too good of an excuse not to help.

This morning he was feeling a little better but he said his chest hurt a bit.  Ok, that's my first warning that things are kicking up a notch and I ask where his puffer (inhaler) is.  This is when the joy starts.  "Ummm,  I"m not sure...."  Great.  He's had a couple sporting events lately so it could be in one of several kit bags.  Not good.  So I trot off to his room to find it.  This is when the joy starts to hit the fan.  His room is a cesspool.  No, I'm serious.  It's vile.  He has candy wrappers stuffed into the book shelf, dirty clothes and clean clothes all over the floor.  Water bottles and cups everywhere.  Those god damn Nerf bullets shoved in places that the laws of physics can't explain.

What.the.Hell.is.going.on?

He has been sent to his room at LEAST 2 times in the past 6 days to clean.  He's gone in and spent a good 30-40 minutes in there.  Maybe it shouldn't be perfect but I shouldn't be able to use the words fetid and rancid in describing it.  That's when I hear him walk up behind me.  I didn't even turn to look at him.  I just said, "Let's go for honesty here...when you can in here to clean, you just sat down and did nothing, right?"  "Ummm, no.  I cleaned for a few minutes and then sat down and did nothing."  Me:  "A few minutes?"  Himself: " Well, I moved some stuff around"

Let's hear it for honesty.  I can honestly say that my eye started twitching at that moment.  But then he coughed and then I knew I was out of time so I start diving into the swill.  All the while I keep saying, "You know I love you right?"  "RIGHT?!!"  I want it said out loud in case I'm questioned about this later on.  As I'm picking through the rubble I stumble across a lizard.  No, a small one.  Still annoying so I told him he felt well enough to get it the Hell out of his room.  Captain Genius then tells me it's been there for a few days and it doesn't bother him.

Wow.  It doesn't bother him.  I'm so happy for his bonding with Nature moment, I really am.  However I felt the need to remind him that it DID bother me and to get up off of his ASS and get the damn lizard OUT.  In a calm, caring and full of respect kind of tone.  Lizard is removed.  Very humanely, I promise you Nature loving, spider worshiping, cicada cheering wackos out there.  You know who you are...

Back to the fun.  Rejoice!  I find not one but both of his inhaler chambers.  BUT the actual medicine tubes are gone.  I turn to Teddy and ask where they are, since they are not in the bags with the chambers.  This is the good part, wait for it....

HE ACTUALLY ADMITS THAT HE RAN OUT OF THE MEDICINE AND HE THINKS HE THREW THEM AWAY AND DIDN'T TELL ME!

I was so proud of myself...I very calmly say that I'll have to get new medicine as soon as the chemist opens in a hour or so. 

Then I say that he needs to eat something so I can give him his Tylenol/Pandol, and have him rest a bit and then he needs to actually clean something up in his room.

That's when all Hell breaks loose.  He exploded.  Sobbing furious tears, flinging himself down onto his bed and screaming into his pillow.  As god as my witness I have to idea what's happened.  I looked around to see if Connor was in the doorway making obscene gestures or something.  Nope, no one there.  I was kinda hoping she was there because honestly, I had no idea what the Hell was going on.  It took me 30 minutes to get him calmed down enough to get him to say that I hurt his feelings by saying "I loved him" over and over and then daring to say he needed to clean the room.  Wow...teen hormones?  Um, if they could be bottled I swear the body builders could give up the steroids.  I've seen guys suffering from 'Roid Rage and they have NOTHING on my kid.

So I explain to Himself that I say "I love you" repeatedly like that when I'm pissed off because I don't want to say something that could be held against me in a court of law.  Judges are famous for frowning on custodial parents uttering, "I can't &$%#&# believe you &^%$#* did this and I swear to *&^#*^% God I could take these *^%#$*$ Nerf bullets and shove them up your *^%$*^$*^% rear end until they come out your %$*^% nose.  So I try to censor myself...you know, be the adult in the room.  Since I don't do that a whole lot I'm actually quite proud of myself for being able to accomplish that in some small way. Chalk one up for Mommy!  Or so I thought.  Apparently it was just another one of my Evil Troll Mom mannerisms designed to destroy his life.   I really need to start using my powers for good as well as evil.  He starts to calm down and that's when I notice that the sobbing and hiccuping has been replaced with coughing.  Croup-like coughing.

Son.of.a.bitch...he's having an asthma attack and I have no medicine.  Bloody, bloody buggering Hell.  Now this is where the twitch combines with rapid blinking.

I race the the cabinet and can't find any prescriptions for the meds.  I did find an asthma card in my purse so I put Teddy to bed, grab the girls and drive like hell to my local chemist.  The girls of course are panicking and crying that Teddy is dying.  I'm trying to park the damn car inbetween 2 jackasses who don't get the park in the middle of the lines concept while trying to calmly tell the girls to knock it off and stop sobbing.  I get the Ventolin and race back and give him his inhaler.  It works straight away and now 2 hours later he's up and driving me nuts going to check the mail as he's waiting on his Xbox Chat pad to arrive. 

***Before I get inundated with hate mail asking if I've heard of an Emergency Room, his asthma is mild.  He was coughing but was still breathing with NO wheeze.  The chemist is 4 minutes away by car, 3 if you don't give a damn about speed limits.  If I had any concerns about his ability to breathe or the ability of the medicine to work I would have driven him straight to ER...***

I mention him be up and around because I want everyone to know that I have not killed him.  He is alive, breathing on his own and there are no marks on him.  I have successfully contained my rage and have not released the wrath of Khan onto him and I've done this because I channeled my energy into plotting his demise.  The entire drive to and from the chemist I plotted how I was going to beat his ass into the ground...after I save him with the medicine.  When I was stuttering to the chemist about why I needed the medicine - fabulous lady by the way, really hauled around to get what I needed - I was visualizing printing out every naked baby picture I have of him and handing them out at assembly at school.  I mentally locate the class list in my mind and pick out the phone numbers of the girls I'm going to call and discuss Teddy's initial disinterest in potty training.  When you're driving like Hell up and down a long road you can come up with a lot of revenge options. 

He's fine and now my blinking eye twitch is reduced to faint THWAB behind my left eye.  Now I can look back and see that my first mistake was 2 weeks ago when he came home from his school cricket game and I didn't say, "Put your puffer in the cabinet" and dealing with the lack of meds then.  My second mistake was finishing off the last bottle of champers last night and having to go through the rest of today sober.

Happy Anniversary

Five years ago today my family stumbled blear- eyed off of a 14 hour flight and woke up in Sydney.  A new country, a new continent and even a new hemisphere.  Within 24 hours of travel time we left the mild temps of Spring in North Texas and arrived in the mild temps of Fall in Australia.  Looking back I marvel at our audacity and stupidity.  My husband, being a military brat, grew up around the world.  So moving wasn't new to him.  I moved all over the Northeastern US as a kid so I wasn't a slouch either.  But moving as a kid is VERY different than moving as an adult.  I developed a new found respect for my parents and my in-laws.

Moving is vile.  Moving with kids is horrific.  Moving internationally with kids is beyond words.

In our arrogance Ted and I thought we'd be fine because 1) we've moved before, many times and 2) Australians speak English.  We figured we would just have to learn to drive on the other side of the road and all would be good.  I don't think its possible for us to have been any more wrong.  From learning about subtle,  yet important culture differences to learning to drive on the other side of the road to finding out they are serious about closing stores at 5:00 to constantly being the US representative for every damn thing that happens - "I don't know what George Bush was thinking, that's kinda why we're here" - it was all right there...in our faces every day.  On top of that mountain there was the minor task of raising 3 young children; 2 of which were within a year of being diagnosed with Autism.  Every night I knew, I just knew it was all going to Hell and we weren't going to be able to pull it off.  When it takes 3 months to get a telephone installed you know things aren't looking good for the home team.  My mother had died 4 months before we moved and I was still reeling from grief...no matter how old you are when you're scared, alone and lost you just want your mom.  I still do.  If I sit very quietly and concentrate I can smell her perfume...Emmeraude.

It was a nightmare.  And it was one of our own choosing to add insult to injury.

But then things change.  I made friends with some of the moms at Teddy's school.  I got the girls into a pre-school.  We bought a car and within 6 months I could drive without feeling nauseous.  We were the Yank family - I started feeling like there were things I could do.  Things I could handle.  Connor and Tessi were in their therapies and while I'd be a massive liar if I said it was easy or even not horrible...it was working.  Both my daughters are in a mainstream school. Many people don't even know they are Autistic.  Teddy is doing well and is known as Texas Ted by some, well people who like to annoy him.  We laugh that he's bilingual because he knows the words nappies and diapers and can use Imperial and Metric.

So what I have I learned in 5 years.

1)  People are people no matter where you live.  In a group of 3 people, 2 will talk about the 3rd.  The gaggle of moms at the school is the same everywhere.  Kids are vicious little monsters to each other one minute and then offer unconditional love the second.

2)  Americans have a really bad reputation outside the US.  Some of it deserved, some of it not.  Yes, we have our share of rotten jerks in government and many mistakes have been made.  However racism, bigotry, greed and cowardice were not invented in the US. What has YOUR government done to stop injustice?

3)  The Pacific Ocean is NOT warm.  I freeze my tush off every time I get into the water at the beach.  Seriously, 1000 degrees in the shade and I step in the water and my teeth turn blue.  Insane.

4)  Australians are the BEST at understanding that you work hard and you play hard.  I mean this with the utmost respect.  When they are on holiday work can stick it.  I love that.  Americans really could learn from this ideology.  I bet the number heart attacks would plummet.

5)  They have weird beautiful terrifying and ridiculous insects here.  Seriously.  I thought most of this stuff was made up.  It's not.  See some of my previous posts.

6)  Australians are fiercely independent but have a weird tie to the Crown.  Americans will NEVER understand any reason why a county would allow another country to have say over their government, recognize their holidays or have the Queen on their money.  Australians will never understand the American need to be on it's own and turn it's back on a fundamental part of it's history.  Deal with it.  We're just going to have to agree to disagree.  By the way, I will NOT sign an allegiance to Betsy when I become a citizen in a few years.  The Australian Govt now has another form immigrants can sign because there were so many objections.

7)  The Australians have treated their indigenous population just as horribly as the Americans treated the Native Americans.  There is no restitution strong enough to rectify that fact.  The horrors were just too great.  I think apologies are needed from the governments (Australia has done so) but the indigenous people need to give up thinking that they will get enough repayment to make amends.  Both sides need to move forward.  The future generations deserve peace.

8)  I will never fully understand Cricket.  I swear to God they change the rules just to mess with me.  5-6 hours to play 1/2 the game?  Stopping for tea breaks?  Professional games that can last 5 days and end in a drawl?   Nooooo,  that's weird to me.  I like AFL as it makes more sense to me.  You run, kick the ball and hit people.  That is a sport I can relate to.  Rugby is growing on me.  But to be honest, I miss my Steelers.  Go B&G!!!!!!!!!!!

9) I miss my family in the US and I miss cheap shopping.  Christ Almighty things are expensive here.  But I don't want to live in the US again.  I'm not a True Blue Aussie but I'm not a Yankee Doodle Dandy anymore.  Not sure what that makes me.  Perhaps a little of both?

Happy Anniversary Tencza Family!

Time for the Talk

No, no.  Not the sex talk.  I'll never be old enough for that talk.  I prefer my children learn about that in embarrassing school classes and secret discussions with their buddies....like decent people.  I'm referring to the talk with the girls about not doing things because a boy told them to do it.

I had great hopes that we were moving beyond this as a society.  A man says it so it must be true.  Utter crap.  Sadly though, with the plummeting status of woman's rights in the US coupled with the most bizarre women's costumes in video games, seriously, doesn't the law of gravity have any standing in games and comic books?  Has anyone seen the "new and improved" Wonder Woman's outfit?  Yea....MAJOR changes there. It's become apparent that I have to start at the beginning with my girls.

Right now I'm most concerned about my youngest.  Tessi from about age 18 months until age 5 was one of the toughest broads you would ever be scared to meet.  And I say that with love.  She wasn't scared of damn thing and if you crossed her, well if I can be blunt for a few minutes....Tessi could put the the fear of God into an Atheist.  Seriously, this little chick used to follow me room to room just so she could kick me.  She is the one who started the fistfight with Connor (knock down, roll around on the ground, hair-pulling donnybrook) over who got to name their baby doll Baby Zoe, after my friend's daughter.  Teddy's friends learned early that even though the package was pretty she would snap you like a twig and spit in your grave if you annoyed her.  Really, she was tough.

Now however there is a new Tessi.  She cries over.every.damn.thing.in.the.world.  Sobs over dead fish. Wails over injustices and keens like a banshee if she feels slighted in the least possible way.  Tell her that her shoe is untied and then spend 20 minutes getting her to stop hiccuping and sobbing.  It's seriously aggravating.  I've been hoping it's just a phase, one of those annoying quirky things that you go through to test out your feelings and identity.  Connor was a whiner too ...still is but it's not so bad.  So the past year I've been hanging on by my fingertips waiting for her to realize what crap it is and go back to the fun of being an uber bitch.

That's not happening.  To my horror it's getting worse.  The final straw for me is now what Tessi wears for her sports uniform.  Tessi has always preferred dresses.  Honestly, I don't care.  Really I don't.  You want to flash your knickers at everyone as you tumble around, hey I don't judge.  Mainly because I don't have to see it and as I've mentioned, I really don't give a damn.  Tessi has ALWAYS had the most insane fun with wiggling her bottom at you.  I figure no one has called the cops yet so I've put it low on the list of crap I have to deal with immediately.  So Tessi started off in the skirt  in Kindy and then at the end of the year she decided that she wanted shorts.  The knickers thing really does get old.  That's cool.  Connor's been wearing shorts for almost 2 years...I'll buy shorts.  What the Hell, it'd been 20 minutes since I'd last forked out money on a kid.  No problem.  Tessi starts her shorts and then she's happy as a clam.

Fast forward from December to the beginning of March.  I noticed on Friday's that Tessi was wearing her skirt again.  Well, it took me a while to notice.  Just a bit.  See, I'm not always on top of my laundry so most Friday's start with a yell, "Mommy!!!!  I don't have any uniforms!"  To which I usually gleefully race to do laundry or sometimes, just sometimes, say, "Oh Jesus Christ, check your laundry basket or dig deep in the back of your closet!"  Or something like that.  Anyway, Missy is back to wearing skirts and today I noticed that her shorts were in fact clean and in her closet.  Why Tessi, why aren't you wearing them?

"Well, um...you know Muskan?", she tearfully mumbles.  Muskan?  The pretty little girl from your Kindy class last year?  Yes, I know her.  This puzzles me.  Muskan always has a bright smile on her face and is famous for her sweetness, really it would be sickening if it wasn't so damn genuine.  "Um well, her little brother, um he said when I was wearing my shorts I was wearing BOY CLOTHES and girls can't wear BOY CLOTHES"

Okay.  So the little brother of a girl who isn't even in your class anymore tells you that shorts are boy clothes so now you won't wear them.

REALLY?  REALLY?  And you bought that crap??!!!  

Oh Hell no.

I can not believe that I am going to have to sit Miss Thang - the former terror of the street down and and explain that we do not let other people tell us what we can wear....especially boys.  I have put up with this mamby pamby, wussy, oh whatever you want dear crap long enough.  She has the stones to fight with her sister who is a foot taller than her but not a kid a year younger and 6 inches shorter?  Like Hell.  I feel like the the designer from the Incredibles shouting at Elastic Girl, "What is this?  Fight, Win!  Confront the problem!"

Wear the skirt because you want to.  Not because some boy says you should.  If I hear one more line in a book, on TV, in a conversation with a friend or overheard on the playground  about "cause a boy said" I am going to do something extremely unpleasant.  I thought the days of marches and bra burnings were over but it seems like it might be time to bring them back full steam.  Me being a strong woman does not mean that I want to make men weaker.  My husband is a very strong man and he strength is not dependent upon my weakness.  And I love him for that.  This is the message I want to convey to my girls...my son too.

So when Tessi gets home we're going to chat.  It's time for the ball-busting, I'll make YOU cry Tessi to come back.  At least at school.  Nothing would make me happier than to get a call from the school saying, "Ummm Cecelia, could you come in for Tessi...she's hung up Samreet with her sports skirt...again"

"Why, yes, I'll be happy to bring her shorts"

Desperate Plead for Help with Translations

I don't mean to sound dramatic but I could desperately use some help right now with translating words and phrases into English.  Please look at the following pictures.  They are pictures of a chart I put up to explain what needs to be done in the morning before school.  We always put visual aids to explain things to be done.  Both Connor and Tessi have always done better when they see pictures.  It's one of the many things therapists teach parents when you first learn your child is Autistic.  I've always been amazed at how much better they work than using speech with the girls.  Actually not just the girls, all kids.

Anyway, here is the chart.

 I went ahead and took some close up shots of the pictures and instructions for you.

 Does this seem easy to read?  Lower age vocabulary?  Easy to understand?

Are the images clear?  Any ambiguity on the meaning?

Good.  What I need help with is understanding the double meanings that some of these phrases or even pictures have.    See my kids are having problems following this chart.  Can anyone point out the phrases that actually mean, "chase the cat up and down the steps?"  Does "eat breakfast" translate to"needle your sister until her head explodes" or is it the picture of the sandwich that shouts, "forget to put on socks!"

Now, I 'm quite serious.  I have taken several linguistics classes in college, even one in high school so I am fully educated in the principle of hidden meanings and double entrendres.  I know EXACTLY what it means when a female says, "Fine, go ahead and do it" and trust me it is never that.  Imagine my confusion then when I can not find the extras in this chart.  I really must be as stupid as my children have been accusing me of being.  So be honest, it's the picture of the backpack that is a hidden cult message that screams, "Don't remember that you wear the same frickin' shoes every day and for Chrissake, don't remember where they are"  No?  Too obvious.  Man, they are clever little SOB's.  It's the "do hair" phrase isn't it?

Ok, I've got that now.  Where is the code hidden for, "be unable to.do.a.single.god.damn.thing. without your mother repeating it 12 times?"  Now that one I'm going to have to fall on my hands and knees and beg you people to find for me.  Unfortunately, that one is causing my eye twitch to return. As well as a colossal headache.  Apparently it's also in there that they should not remember how to find a spoon in the drawer for the cereal or where we keep the milk.  No I'm not kidding.  Where we keep the milk.  One more time.  WHERE THE DAMN MILK IS KEPT.  I was asked that today.  Twice.

Please let me know what you can find out for me.  I'm afraid I didn't bring my A game to parenting this morning and Mommy had a little meltdown.  I have informed all 3 that tomorrow I will come downstairs, set out breakfast items and items for lunch.  I will do hair if asked and I will listen to readers if requested. That is the only part of the normal morning routine I will participate in.  I WILL get a single freaking cup of tea drunk in UNDER 20 minutes if it kills me.  At 8:20 I will announced that I am leaving to drive them to school.  Anyone still in their jammies or knickers and unfed will have an UNPLEASANT day at school as they will STILL BE IN THEIR GOD DAMN JAMMIES OR KNICKERS AT SCHOOL.

I'm going back to bed now as I'm sure you can imagine, my head hurts.  If I'm not at school pick up whatever you do, DO NOT CALL ME.

Description of Parenting

Parenting is never like it's supposed to be.

That's a stupid statement.  How can raising a child be supposed to be like anything?  Each parent is different.  Each child is different.  Each environment in which the family is in is different.  So what do we mean when we say it's not like it's supposed to be?  I think that's it's different than what we THINK it should be.  When I'm faced with a disastrous parenting moment - really disastrous, not the daily catastrophes - Christ...those are EXACTLY like we all think they will be...I mean the BAD moments, nothing goes like I think it will.  The reason is because, well, if I thought there was a chance in hell it would be like that I never would have signed on for the gig.  Hell, what rational person would?  Seriously, I have walked away from jobs when a boss acted inappropriately.  I get pissy with strangers who imply I don't know what I'm doing.  I am the QUEEN of smart ass remarks when people cross boundaries with me.  Yell at me?  Get real...no one yells at me.  Lie to me?  That's comical.  Piss me off?  I am famous on two continents for my abilities of exacting brutal and public punishment.

My father taught me well, "Get me once, shame on you.  Get me twice, shame on me"  It's a guide to life for me.

Parenting though...that's jumping up and screaming, "Oh Me!  Pick me to step on tacks during the night!!"

Why in God's name would I willingly sign up to have the emotional equivalent of my intestines being ripped out of my body through my ears and having my heart stamped upon by stiletto wearing spawns of Hell?  That spawn of course coming from Ted's side...we're all normal on my side.  No really...trust me, Welches and Michaels' have a long history of normality.  We just accept radically different things as normal, but that still counts.  At least that's what we'll told all the doctors, police and social workers  over the years.  But I digress.

There is nothing you can read, no tv show you can watch no scenario you can act out that will accurately prepare you for the reality of parenting.  There's simply nothing like it in the world.  And the worst part is KNOWING this.  I really had it drum into me this weekend that I know nothing about how to do this job.  I am swinging for the cheap seats with every.single.step. to the plate.  Who on earth thought this was a good way to teach parenting?  Such an important job left up to novices, idiots and mild neurotics.  And those are the ones who get the good presents and Mother's and Father's Day.

Who did?  No one.  No one set this system up.  That whole free will thing is in play and that leaves all of us swinging in the breeze, hoping to raise kids and help them become less neurotic than you.  Most days I know it's a good thing that Big Brother isn't out there yet and there is free will.  Some days though....some days I would LOVE a big manual with large page numbers to give me the simple instruction, "When ____ does ____ you do ____ and then everyone shares a cookie and it will be alright"

But there's no book though.  There is no Hitchiker's Guide to Parenting and anyone who claims to own it is a big fat liar.

Yet, knowing that here I am.  Mother of 3.  I'm still here, despite all their best efforts.  Why indeed.

Because not being the mother of 3 is 100 times worse.  Even the thought that it might be gone is enough to drop me breathless to my knees.  I think I'd forgotten that a bit lately.  I remember it now now.

So what is parenting supposed to be like?  It's the kick the teeth you weren't expecting and then you find out you can't live without it.  But...on good days, there are cookies.

Changing Job Title but Keeping Job Description

A few weeks back I said that I had finally defined my job. A mission statement if you will.

I reject your reality and I substitute my own.  I stole it from Adam Savage from Mythbusters.  Proudly so I might add.

I think it sums up a lot of what I've been doing the last 11 1/2 years. A toddlers reality is pitching a fit in the store to get a toy, I reject this reality by thumping  a tush or ignore and move on. My daughter at 6 is still pulling the same crap because in sense of self-development she still is a toddler -another joy of Autism, you get to have a 2 year old for YEARS!!!, for her I use the latter technique. I say that because while the darling expert parents insist that all these brats pretending to be Autistic just need a good ass-kicking, sadly it doesn't work that way. I know, it's a shock you people are wrong, what with all your years in early childhood education, but there it is. Sorry, learn to live with disappointment.

The next reality to be crushed is the little girl "bitch" movement that sadly is starting earlier and earlier with our daughters. My girls will pick on someone to make themselves feel better and I crush that reality by demanding apologies, saying same crap to them and ask how they like and of course the classic, "You can't make of her shoes because you are all wearing the same black death school shoes...you twit". In a loving caring kind of way of course. It's awful to watch and I LOATHE gender stereotyping but it's true.  Girls, even the nicest, sweetest ones will turn on each other like feral harpies looking for a slow painful kill.  And they'll do it over jewelry and hair bows.  Several of my mom friends and I are on constant patrol for Bitchygirlitus and work with each other and sometimes the teachers against the girls and crush their plans.

Now onto my current reality rejecting job. The crushing of coolness and awesomeness. It is Connors reality that at 7 she knows she must own and wear strapless dresses. This I have compromised and have only partially crushed. Yes, I caved and made the dress but she can only wear it around the house. That way it can constantly fall to her waist in relative obscurity. She feels adult and fashion forward and I feel like I've done my part to keep away the pedophiles.  The other coolness I crush is Teddy's self perceived awesomeness.   Arrogance doesn't really accurately describe his behavior.  I'm starting to believe that he believes he would walk on water but right now he doesn't feel like doing all the exercise.  He thinks he is too evolved to do chores and speak to his sisters in a civil tone. I crush that reality do my best "the Lord Giveth and Mom Taketh away" spiel.  It's a pretty good spiel.  I can't stand uppity prats so it's fairly easy to come up with ways to torment them.  Hell, I've been doing THAT JOB since I was a teen.

But enough about job titles descriptions.  I am slowly learning that my actual title of MOTHER is changing and I can't seem to do anything about it.  If I was in a paying job I would at least have the recourse of filing a complaint with HR or more subtly talk to my boss about the change in my title and or duties.  Now my job title is being altered by the people who work for me.  This is a shift in management dynamics that I never knew was an option.  I know a lot of companies are doing the whole, "We are all equal on the same team nonsense" but in the end, NO ONE is telling the boss to change their title to SUCKY BOSS....at least not to their faces.  See I've gone from MOTHER to BAD MOTHER.  By that I'm not talking about the piddling, "I don't like my mother, she makes me eat veggies"  No, no.  I'm talking about the, "My mother is a bad person.  She hates me and it's her or me and I chose me"  The writing on the wall in my house is that Teddy is in terrible torment because of the oppressive rule of the MAN.

That last statement should be WOMAN I know but the historical context of the MAN just was too good to pass up.  I say, let's take a little poetic license, live Life on the edge and be done with it but hey, maybe you want to add to my list of crappy things I've done today.  That's cool.  The list is growing longer by the minute.

Back to our story.  By oppression I mean he is completely disheartened and downtrodden by my insane insistence that he stop trying to argue with his 6-year old, mildly Autistic sister as he does with his peers and me.  He thinks those last two terms are synonymous but that's part of that reality crushing gig I have going right now.  It's a work in progress.  Teddy actually thinks that it's reasonable for him to tell his sister to "Stop being a slacker" and "hang up more clothes on the line" even though he is 1. A good foot taller than her and she can't reach the line like he can and 2.  Because of her glasses she can't see as well as he can, certainly not rows and rows of thin clothes line and 3.  He needs to hang up the damn clothes too.  For me to actually insist on telling the both of them to knock it off and hang up the damn clothes before I find more chores for BOTH of them to do is blatant favoritism towards his cunning sister and an obvious attempt on my part to extract free slave labor from his sensitive hands.

If that isn't enough I had the gall to suggest that if he slammed one more thing or rolled his eyes or flipped up his shoulders I would keep finding chores for him to do.  The Hell never ends.  Then dear God, I did it.  I ACTUALLY saw him answer yes when I asked, "Is anyone still planning on being crappy to each other?" and I sent him outside to sweep the leaves off of the steps .  Then, the bitch I am, I went outside and declared publicly, where everyone in the world could hear the shame, that he continued with this crap that was fine with me I'll find chores for him to do all damn day so we didn't have to be around each other.

What.the.Hell.is.going.on.here? Truly it is a world gone mad.  Hmmm, that's actually what BOTH Teddy and I keep saying.

What I find most amusing and no, there isn't a lot, is that what I'm doing isn't really that different.  I've always been an pain in the kids' asses....collectively speaking.  I have always expected certain things and come crushing down down like the fist of God when the expectations haven't been met.  Hello?  Is he new?  When have I EVER let him get away with being an ass to me?  I'm the mom who tore him a new asshole in front of half the school when he was 7 and he tried to run away from me and make me chase him down the street.  I destroyed his soul that day,  I did it publicly and I was happy to do it.   About 6 months ago I overheard a friend of his ask him why he didn't have Minecraft yet.  Teddy replied that I had said no.  The friend said, "Just keep asking her, she'll cave"  - yes he did.  He really said that.  I heard Teddy snort and whisper, "Are you crazy, you know what she's like"  and yes, I AM LIKE THAT.  Nag me for crap I've already said no to?  I'll get it for everyone else in the family BUT you.   I'm the one one who just a few weeks ago froze his computer, xbox and tv privileges and laughed at him while I did it.

However now, doing the exact same things has given him the authority to think me even more monstrous, more evil.  OK...well...I'm afraid Teddy, my darling Love that it is you or me and I chose me.  See, if I don't spend the next few years being the enemy from Hell for you I'm afraid that you are going to turn into the arrogant, megalomaniac, snot-nosed, "The World Owes Me" and "all should kneel before Zod" type of jerk that no normal person can stand.  I can't handle a lifetime of that.Apparently we get to have you back in a few years.  I've heard several moms say the kid you have as a child returns as an adult if you can survive the teen years.

7 1/2 more years to go.  Until then my darling, ask not for whom the bitch tolls, the bitch tolls for thee.


I wonder if John Donne was a bad parent too...

An Update for the Basketball Problem

Since so many people responded to my plea for help about the young boy on Tessi's basketball team I felt I should post a bit of an update.

I did send an email to my friends whose girls on the team.  Both reacted not only kinder than I anticipated but exactly in kind with the Aussie "fair go" feeling that I have come to love.  Both moms responded that I shouldn't approach the little boys mum, she should enjoy her happiness as long as possible.  Were there ways they could help?  Since it was obvious this was a case of a child needing some extra help, rather than extra parenting, both ladies jumped on board full force asking how best to help out.

They humble me.

We had our first practice session this morning and it was great.  Instead of this glaring "US" vs "THEM" feeling it was about what it should be - teaching all the kids to do as well as they could on the team.  We decided to teach the kids to stick their hands out in a "low 5" position when he come by trying to bang into them.  This way he gets his sensory fix (the need for contact to get his bearings) and the other kids are a part of helping with that without getting body checked into the ground.  To help with

To help with the frustration caused by changing baskets we are going to have 1 parent stand at the end underneath the basket holding a red card.  If the child gets the ball and starts charging down the court and no red card, they are to turn around and head for the other basket.  That's really for all the kids, not our AS kid.

We talked about rules about subbing on the court.  Every child has to come out at least 2 times to let a team mate play and if they whine, cry or ignore the coach they are off for 2 rotations.

We are going to practice in the uniforms so all the kids can see their team mates and learn to recognize them and then not steal the ball from their own team.

At the end of today's practice the mom of the little boy gushed with all the effort put into making this work for the kids.

It's the best I've felt in a long time about working with kids with extra needs.

This feeling isn't permanent, there will be many tales of woe with this team.  There's nothing easy about any aspect of life on the Spectrum.  However, it least there is hope.  Some days the worst part about living on the Spectrum is that there is no hope.  Well, not today.  Not with the 6 and 7 year old Screen Shots.

I'm so proud to be a part of this group.  Thank you.

Rejecting Realities

I have canteen duty today and sometimes I like to wear a funny t-shirt.  Something that amuses me and usually makes people stare at me a bit.  This is getting harder and harder to do as 1) I've already worn my cool ones and haven't bought  more and 2) it's harder and harder to raid Ted's closet 4 out of 5 shirts are Atlassian ones with jokes that only Atlassian employees get.

I found this one this morning, "I reject your reality and substitute my own"  A classic Mythbusters one.  As I was debating it's merits I realized that it was more than a funny saying, it's my damn job description.  That's the stage I've reached with the boy, formerly known as my son.  I'll type his name again when I can stand to see it or his face without gritting my teeth.

Yesterday, nope still too pissed to type it all, let's just say he did something so stupid that it's almost impressive.  The impressive part lies in his reasoning for doing it and his thoughts for being sure he'd get away with it.  Mainly that he forgot that I get email conformations when he buys games and he was sure he could convince me that he actually bought it months ago with his dad's approval.

See his reality now is that he can lie and get away with it.  He doesn't like something and he will lie.  He lies when it makes more sense to tell the truth.  It's bizarre to watch him spin his web of deception and think that another human being will believe him.  He really becomes quite enraged when I am so discourteous as to not only point out the lie but then have the gall to call him a liar. 

Mainly because the more he says it the more it becomes real.  His reality.  My job is to reject it.  And oh I am.  I told him yesterday that we both knew I could not force him to stop lying.  It's silly to even suggest that I can.  What I can do is make his life a living HELL when he is caught.  He tried to be cool and come back with, "My life already is Hell"  Funny, that one is.  That one almost made me smile.  He really believes that this is the worst part.  I'm not going to do what that parent in North Carolina did and shoot his computer...but I do plan on making him wish for it.  At least then it will be over.

So from now on when someone asks what I do as a Stay at Home Mom I will answer with an official, t-shirt sanctioned job description.  I reject your reality and substitute my own. 

I need to get it printed on different colors though....constant black might be intimidating.

I'm Afriad I'm Becomming One of THOSE People

I have a problem.  I'm in between two groups of people and I have to make a decision as to what to do and I really don't know how to handle it.

Tessi is on a basketball team of 7 and 8 year old girls and boys.  She has 2 of her super BFF's on her team and not one kid knows the first thing about basketball.  That's ok.  They are all out their doing really silly stuff but they are having fun.  Some of the time anyway.  A lot of the time, no....they are not having fun.  There in lies the problem.

Two of the boys are aggressive.  They are both constantly banging into each other, pushing and shoving. They push and shove everyone else, regardless of ball position or floor position or well, anything.  The ref whistles and they will run down the court with the ball long after the whistle has been blown, taking time away from the game to set back up.  They will not leave the court when time to sub out and they take the ball out of the hands of their teammates.  Neither boy seems even aware any one else at all, kids or adults.

Both boys are on the Autistic Spectrum.  I know this because yesterday I recognized one of them.

When I realized the boy was familiar I looked to the sidelines and sure enough, I saw his mother.  A very sweet lady I met at Lifestart, an early intervention service here in Australia that I took both Connor and Tessi to.  Tessi was in a group with this little boy.  I remember him well.  I walked over and started chatting to the mom and she remembered me and was excited to see me.  She was thrilled to hear that both my girls were in mainstream schools and elated to see her boy and Tessi reunited on the team.  She said that her son was doing well at St. Lucy's - a local private school for kids with special needs.  She went on and on about how she had been worried that he couldn't do basketball because he didn't know the rules but none of the kids knew them so it was ok, right?  She was so happy...her son...on a regular team.  The glee, relief and pride.  It was all there on her face.  The other little boy, another boy from Lifestart and from St. Lucy's.  They are friends.  Or at least they understand that they recognize each other and neither one yells when they hit each other.

How do I tell this proud mother that the other kids on the team and a few of the parents want her son beaten to a bloody pulp? Right now everyone just thinks they are ill-mannered, rude little monsters.  They have no idea that the boys have special needs. They don't know he has problems regulating his emotions and he has no idea about the differences between appropriate behavior and not.  He can't discern between being ok to take the ball from one kid but not the other.  He NEEDS to feel the contact of banging into people because it's how he keeps in sync with his surroundings.  Just the fact that he is able to participate in a mainstream game is bordering on miraculous.

Why am I in the middle?  Just announce to the other teammates that the boys need extra help or go to the mom and tell her that the parents are about to revolt?  It's not the simple.

My girls have always held a dubious place on the Autistic Spectrum.  Because they are mild when we would go to groups and therapies other people would look at us like we really shouldn't be there.  I used to comment that I felt we weren't Black enough for them.  Meaning that the other parents looked at each other with this, "This is our club, why is SHE here?"  No one was blatantly rude, but the condescension, ooph, that was present.  It would be supremely annoying to try and get help for our problems only to hear from other parents that they wished they had it so good.  Now my girls are in a mainstream school and can participate in some activities, but we all worked hard for that, it wasn't easy. It still isn't easy.

Now I feel like my girls are "passing" for normal.  I do not hide that they are Autistic, NEVER.  I say it upfront to parents when I feel they need to know.  If they don't need to know than I don't tell them.  Acting this way now has me feel like I'm with the cool kids looking down on the different kid.  And it shames me.

I don't want to be that person.  That parent that acts like they've forgotten what it's like when other kids stare at your kids and wonder what the Hell is wrong. That parent that doesn't remember getting glares from other parents with the, "Do you even know how to discipline your child" look.  I am always watchful for kids reactions to things and I try to act understanding until I find out the situation.  I remember every scornful look I've ever received.  Every glare, every pitiful look.  I have all the pictures I took of the girls to help make visual cue cards for them.  I can see every look of disappointment on Teddy's face when we said we couldn't' do some activity because the girls couldn't handle it. 

I haven't forgotten a God Damn thing.

But where is the balance?  Don't kids deserve to just play a game without being afraid of being pummeled for no reason?  Doesn't a child who has worked for YEARS deserve a chance to play a simple game?

I will talk to the mother.  I don't want her to be blindsided by people she doesn't know.  I will take my daughter's close friends parents aside and talk to them.  I don't know the answer.  I'm pretty sure it's one of those situations where someone is going to end up crying and it will be adult.  I'm positive I will be one of those adults but still not sure which side I'll be crying for.

Satan's To do List

So endeth one of worst parenting weeks of my life.  This past week reads like a diary Satan's to-do list.  I'm starting this off with a diet coke or tea spit take warning.  Not because I'm confidant in my humor but I suspect the sheer horror of the amount of Hell this week will be shocking.

Satan's Calendar of Events:

Monday - Ted and I drive the girls to piano and basketball, which is tricky since they both start at 5.  While in on our way I get a phone call telling me that Tessi's game has been moved to 5:45.  The mom offers for me to drop off Tessi to her and she'll take her so Ted and I can get to piano on time.  Great!  Never been to her house so I get her address 19 whateverthename and we drive straight there.  Only the house doesn't look right.  The gate is padlocked and there's a dog and I know they don't have a dog.  I can't call her back as her number was blocked.  So we turn around and race off to piano.  I start calling everyone I can think of who has her number and then I remembered that she too has an iPhone and email her to call me.  Turns out I'm an idiot and her house number is 99.  Ok, no problem, drop Connor off, head back and first house we find is 99A.  Then 99B.  Which is it?  I refuse to call again but we're in luck, one more house and we're at 99.  Also, I'm sporting a massive sinus headache and holding my head together with my fingers.

That night I went to the school P & C meeting which lasted to 10 because of arguing over parking 0 got to speak to the mayor.  WOOO HOO. and heated discussions about offering ethics classes in school. I ended up volunteering to help start up and run the class at our school.  WTH?  How did that happen?

Doesn't sound too bad right?  Just a little stuff up and run around.  Not really worth mentioning.

Tuesday - 5 minutes before we leave for school Teddy announces that his teacher can see me right after school. I've been trying to meet with her so while I wish I had more notice, I figure I'll make it work.  Now I'm taking my kids and 2 others to see the stupid Star Wars in 3 damn D movie at 4:20 so I race around getting snacks and dinner made for the kids to eat in the movie since I know I won't have time after school.  This is of course after I spend almost 2 hours in the car taking Teddy's cricket bat back to the store to turn it in to be repaired.  No biggie.  No problem, I don't mind.

Except when I get to school one mom asks if I could take her daughter too.  Yes I had offered but it was late notice and I had snacks and drinks for 5.  But no matter, will make it work.  I tell the kids to come up to top quad and not muck around while I meet with the teacher.  Only I get to the teacher's room and she's in another meeting.  See she sent a note home with Teddy which he never gave me.  He decided that I was too busy on Monday and without telling either of us scheduled the meeting for Tuesday.  Yes, there were words said about that to him.  None of them pretty.

Then at the movie.  Jesus God.  The 2 boys sat by them selves, the 4 girls off by themselves and me guarding the door.  The girls lost their ever loving mind.  Seriously GONE.  They spilled popcorn, soda and candy all over the floor.  Someone took marshmellows and ground them into the seats and stairs.  They ran up and down the isles.  They yelled and carried on disrupting the theatre.  After the movie Connor's glasses went flipping off into the seats and were GONE we held up the next showing 10 minutes trying to find them while the manager of the theater was yelling at me for the mess.  I yelled at the girls, "I once took 6 three year old boys to the movie and they behaved better than you!"  Then had to tell their mothers, who were in a state of shock that the girls did this. 

I took one my pretty colored pills, had some champers and went to bed at 7:00 that night.


Wednesday- I learned that I had messed up Teddy's chance to sit for the Selective High School Entrance exam.  Badly.  I had 2 days to get the principal of Teddy's school to agree to sign the appeal form, and I have to write a letter explaining why I'm a dumb ass and too stupid to read a website correctly.  Lovely.  While this is spinning in my head I head off to school to pick up kids, including an extra one and take the girls to gymnastics.  Only as I'm waiting for Teddy to show up Tessi and her friend ditch me.  They are gone.  So I have to walk around the school screaming their names to find them.  When I did find them they were playing hopscotch so I gave them Hell for leaving me.  As we're walking back Tessi's friend held onto her new wishing stone and said, "I wish Cecelia wouldn't be rude"  Yep.  And me being me, I LOST MY MIND.    So many tears later we end up at gymnastics, I tell her dad and he's horrified.  He hives her Hell and yes, more tears.

Didn't take pills but did drink a LOT of cheap french champers.  A LOT.  Again, in bed early.


Thursday - Am in serious funk.  I can not believe I've screwed up Teddy's chance at getting into selective school. I should mention also that it's the anniversary of my friend's suicide and I am feeling very down about that.  I can not believe such a sweet and nice girl I adore called me rude and then I get txt from her mother apologizing that my feelings were hurt and they would following up with her and her behavior.  I took this as Sonia was upset with me, thinking I keeping tabs on her parenting.  This led to some frantic texting and one long phone call to get us both on track again.  That's when I learned that her little girl thought the word rude mean cross or angry.  Sigh...I made a little girl cry because she wished I wouldn't be angry.  Any puppies around I can kick?

Race into school to learn that principal and Teddy's teacher are bending over backwards to help get application ready.  Serious effort people.  Really in awe of them.   Principal mentions that she's sorry but I'll have to drive app to dept. office.  When I agree she says, "Oh what a good mum!"  I just looked at her and said, "I've made 6 kids cry this week and only 3 were mine"  There was a giggle in the staff room and mutterings of offering me a job there.  As Ted said when I relayed the story, "Making kids cry is a feature, not a bug to teachers"


Friday - I drive the application to Bankstown.  Now if anyone in Sydney had any idea how to draw an accurate map this would not be a problem.  However since it seems to be a sick joke to make sure only the most convoluted, inaccurate pictures are displayed in maps here I drove around quite a bit. 

TIP to map makers! - It helps if the same name on a street in a map is the same one on the sign along the road.  Also building numbers being sequential is a plus.

I finally get there and deliver my package of pleading.  I wrote a very nice, "Yes, I am a dumb ass and you owe me nothing, but dear God PLEASE let him take the test" letter.  The lady who read the letter actually chortled a little bit.  That's fine, I would have prostrated myself on the floor in front of her chanting, "Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa" if it would have helped.  Something must have been good because they accepted the app and on Mar. 15th Teddy can fail the test to get into the schools!   At least this way his future is on him and not me.

So that was my week.  I don't know if there is any alcohol left in Dan Murphy's.  I'm spending part of today building some furniture.  It's an Ikea hack so not creative but will involve heavy duty glue and power tools so there's a real element of danger.  I'm going to spend some time tomorrow planning some goals for the week.

Goal #1 - Only make children I've given birth to cry.
Goal #2 - No more Star Wars 3 damn D movies
Goal #3 -  Take control of my schedule away from Satan and Teddy
Goal #4 - Stay up beyond 7:30 two nights this week.

Goals are important but it's a good idea not to set the bar too high.