Tonight's Crazy Train, Part 1

WARNING: This post will not be lovey-dovey. Nor will it contain language you’d be comfortable saying around a pastor or your great aunt Tillie. Unless she hangs around angry, drunk sailors. I’m not drunk, but I wish I was. And I am very, very angry.


Tonight, Hubby and I were supposed to go to a concert together. I won the tickets, Dawn was supposed to babysit, and Leigh and Danae were supposed to help with the babies, so Hubby and I could have a date.

Yeah.

Clearly, if I’m blogging, it didn’t happen. Fuck. I wish I had a time machine.

It started at about 3 PM with Dawn trying to bail so she could go to the movies with Marie. I complained, she realized that you don’t bail on parents when they’re asking for your help to go to a free concert of a top 40 band without their kids.

Then, as we’re leaving, Leigh asks us to unlock the TV. Unlocking the TV means giving them complete access to cable TV and all its variegated glory. No.

We’re pulling out of the driveway, and Danae comes sprinting out of the house, complaining that Leigh called her a fucking bitch and won’t give her the remote so they can turn the TV off. I told her that Leigh had every right to watch TV and to leave her alone.

We’re driving down the street, as I call the house phone. Leigh answers. “What?” Loudly and rudely.
“Since I pay for that phone, you will follow my phone rules. I’m hanging up now, and when I call back, follow them.”

I counted to 20. Dialed. Better answer.

As I’m talking to Leigh about what lead to her sister being a fucking bitch, I hear Danae yelling, “You’re the fucking bitch! Give me the goddamn remote!”

Leigh’s response, “No! Quit being so bossy!” I hear muffled scrapes and grunts, and then Leigh wailing, Dawn trying to separate them. I tell Hubby to turn around. We go home to find Leigh in her room sobbing, Danae cranking up the stereo and Dawn straightening the furniture.

Danae and Leigh had gotten into a fucking FISTFIGHT over the remote. I told Danae to go to her room. She then had the complete lack of sense to argue with me and tell me that it was no wonder Leigh had such fucking problems.

Really? Because for the last nine years, I didn’t know why Leigh was so fucking crazy, because it’s been just SO MUCH fun living with her. Leigh has nothing to take away, so her being in her room is her punishment. I go to Danae’s room and tell her to give me her phone. She told me no, that it’s hers. Okay fine. You paid for half. I’m not going to wrestle. I’ll just turn the damn thing off. If I don’t get to have fun tonight, no one does. I said that out loud as I was walking away. “That’s part of Leigh’s problem, you’re so fucking selfish!”

I go to the living room, call the phone company, shut her phone off, and start cleaning. It was either clean or hurt someone, and I try at all costs to avoid violence. (Keep reading. There’s more of that.)

While I’m on the phone with the phone company, Danae comes out and asks if she can talk to me outside. I said, “I need some time to calm down. Give me a little longer.” She stomps off, “Well at least I can say I tried.”

In my “not my proudest mommy moment”, I called after her, “I didn’t tell you to fuck off! I told you to give me a little bit of time!” As I was saying this, the operator came back on, and we had a very awkward parting conversation.

Two minutes later, Danae storms into the living room. “DID YOU REALLY SHUT OFF MY PHONE?” yes. OHMYGOD THAT’S THE ONLY THING I CARE ABOUT SO YOU TAKE IT AWAY NO MATTER NO ONE WANTS TO LIVE HERE.She stomps to her room. I follow. i’m sorry you feel that way. Is there somewhere else you’d like to be? ANYWHERE BUT HERE! fine. I’ll help you pack.

She spins around and finds me in the doorway, and tries to move me using the door. I told her that it would be a very good idea for her to take two steps backward because going toe to toe with me was not a smart choice. She leaned in and started yelling in my face that we were stupid, that we never punish leigh, that we can’t control her, and generally going over all of our parenting failures. I turned around and walked away.

Why did I walk away?

It was either that, or I was going to hit her. Not just push her backward. I wanted to punch. Fingers curled in, nails digging into my palms, thumbs crossed over my fingers, pointer and middle fingers held as a flat surface… I wanted to punch. I know how to. I've taken karate, but I wasn't passionate about it enough to stick with it.

I joke about wanting to punch people a lot. But I have never actually done it. In my head, though, I could see my fist connecting with her face, and knew I had to turn away.

She slammed and locked her door. I went to clean some more. As I cleaned, I came to this conclusion: As parents, we cannot control our children. All we can do is distract them if they’re young, and guide them as they grow.

And in Danae’s case, she LOVES control. She wants to be the boss. Always. And if she’s not, she gets mean about it.

I went to her room, tried the handle, knocked. When she opened it, I told her that there was no reason to lock her door. I asked her if she was ready to talk, and she rolled over on her bed. Okay, fine, I said. But here’s something you need to think about: ….. then I told her what my conclusion was.

She lit into me. She’s tired of Leigh always getting to do what she wants. She’s tired of never getting to do what she wants. She hates that her stress caused her to fail her classes and lose the one thing she’s always loved: school. She’s tired of me and Hubby not doing anything with Leigh and her behavior.

And I lost it. Nine years of frustrated parenting came spilling out. Among other things I told her are the following (and we were standing outside Leigh’s door, and since I was yelling at the top of my lungs I’m sure the people on the next block heard everything):

I tried this in all caps to emphasize that it was all at the top of my lungs, but it was too hard to read. So I put in reminders....

1. We have tried everything we know to do. Therapy, counseling, meds, absolute control, spankings, more therapy, threats of jail. Everything.


2. And when those didn’t work, we called caseworkers and experts and we were told to hospitalize her. We can’t because she’s not homicidal or suicidal.

3. And when we asked caseworkers for help, we were told to give her back, that we’d done all we could, that they’d put her in a group home and we could get on with our lives.

4. And when we asked the probation officers and the court to lock her up, we were told THAT her crimes (a broken razor blade used for cutting at school and one pot-smoking incident) weren’t enough to lock her up.

5. (and I’m still yelling) And when we adopted Dawn, and then again you(Danae), people told us we were stupid, fucking crazy, out of our minds and out right dumb. And those same people, when they have seen the issues you guys have, they have told us to take your asses back to social services and give you back.

6. (still yelling) but we didn’t. Because real families don’t ever give up on their kids. No matter how crazy, no matter how fucked up, no matter how mean, controlling, bitchy, scary, or just plain bad.

7. And you know why i walked away from you earlier? It’s because I wanted to hit you, but I walked away because I’m not that kind of person. I’ve never hit Leigh or Dawn in anger, and I’ve only actually “hit” dawn in self-defense. Do you have any idea what kind of self control it has taken for nine years not to beat the living shit out of you guys? You drive me batshit crazy and I swallow it and hold it back because I know it won’t do any good.

8. And I’m 38 years old and all I’ve ever really wanted to be was a mom and I fucking suck at it, which is one of the reasons we don’t think we want to keep the babies because if you look at our track record we fucking suck at being parents and we don’t want to set these babies up for failure because they deserve better than this. (Still yelling, now gesticulating like the crazed ranting Italian mama I am.)

9. So Danae, if you think you’re frustrated at being in this family, imagine how it feels to be us, knowing there’s not a fucking thing we can do to make it better. (Done yelling.)

At that point I turned around, and went in my room, and put my head into my pillow and cried. I didn’t lock my door, but I did slam the hell out of it.

Bitch Mom

Tonight, I unveiled the new Mommy Me... Bitch Mom. At least in Leigh’s eyes. She didn’t want to play nicely with others (i.e. make her room stop smelling badly and looking like a homeless man’s dumpster), so I told her to stay in her room while I was gone. And left. With the three other daughters.

She is fifteen, and I am tired of my life—of all our lives—playing second fiddle to her mental illnesses. Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Reactive Attachment Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Anxiety, Depression, Self-Mutilation, General Pain in the Ass Refuses to Do Anything She’s Asked or Be Nice to Anyone Syndrome.

She is so angry, with every breath it just oozes off of her, and I wonder when she’ll snap. She lies, with every word she speaks. And I'm tired of all of it.

So now, the answer is NO. To everything.

No. No. No.

No.

No, you may not _____, until you have _____. No ifs, no ands, no buts, no negations, NOTHING. Until you can be nice, feel free to stay in your smelly room. Feel free to sleep 24-7. Feel free to wear the same clothes day in and day out, and not bathe. But until you no longer smell like unwashed hooker clothes and look homeless, you will not get in my car to go anywhere with me.

I will not fight you about the cigarettes, alcohol and weed you sneak every chance you get. But if you indulge these on my property, by GodAllahBuddha, your probation officer will be called, as will the local PD and they will haul your ungrateful, ever-expanding ass to juvie.

I don’t care that I can’t have you committed anywhere. I don’t care that you aren’t suicidal or homicidal enough to get the damned insurance company to pay attention—eventually, mental illness or not, you have to make a decision.

YOU have to decide if you want a life, if you want to do more than just live. Or not. And nothing I do or don’t do will fix that. I will continue to lay out your meds in the morning. I will continue to buy food. I will continue to make sure you wake up to get on a bus. I will continue to love you no matter what. But I have learned that I don’t have to like you. And I don’t remember the last time I really liked you.

But from now on, if you want something, the answer is no, unless you meet my terms. I don’t care how crazy you are, it will be my way.

Because I AM the mom, and I’m in charge, damn it, whether you like it or not. And if you don’t?  Oh well. You’ve survived worse.

And I can lock my bedroom door.

Weekly Wrap-up

Weirdest feeling: Being peed on by NaNa as I was carrying her from their bedroom to the bathroom for a bath.

Biggest Frustration: Leigh spent most of the weekend in her room because we've asked her to clean it a gazillion times and it still hadn't gotten done. We aren't neat freaks, but she has really, really odiferous feet.  The smell like backwoods road kill in August.  And she doesn't clean her shoes. So they smell like death forgot to shower for a few days after shoveling manure on a pig farm.  And when she wears socks, they smell just as bad. And since she doesn't do her laundry unless we threaten to call her probation officer, her room just reeks.  And when I have to put a towel across the bottom of her door to keep the stench in her room, it's time to do something about it.  It would probably help if she would wash more frequently, but that's another blog post, one about the delights of living with a teen-aged RADdish.

Biggest TMI Moment: Danae asked me if she could get a Brazillian wax.  Did I really need to know that my 16 year old is unhappy with the hair situation down there?  And do I want to contemplate WHY she thinks she needs a Brazillian wax?

Stupidest Work Moment: A student at my school got arrested for throwing his federally-provided free breakfast toast at the school resource officer. 

Most Irritating Moment: Realizing that Lizzie the Hobo Dog STILL has fleas.  We have tried everything and can't get rid of the damn things. 

Meanest Mom Moment: Dawn called last night.  She has a horrible double ear infection, sinus infection and cold (brought on mostly from living in a 40 year old camper with five other people who don't clean.) The infections were so bad that her ears were bleeding.  Anyway, she called because she and the dirtbag she ran off with are crashing at some distant relatives of his, and insted of staying home to take care of his still-feverish sweetie, he went off with some friends to listen to a band and drink a lot of beer. She called me, crying, because she didn't feel good, dirtbag left her with people she doesn't know, and she hates being sick with no one to take care of her. 

Instead of offering to rescue her, I said, "What do you need from me tonight? Advice, someone to vent to, or something else?" She tearfully admitted that she wanted me to come get her so she could sleep at home. I said, "Then you need to ask." She didn't.  Still won't ask for help.  I gave her a healthy pause.  When I'd paused long enough, I added, "If you decide to ask, don't wait too late because I can't drag the babies out in the middle of the night unless it's an emergency."  She quietly told me she loved me, and that she'd let me know. I haven't heard from her since.

Other frustrating things: 

1. DFCS (Department of Family and Children's Services, pronounced Dee-Fax) still hasn't paid us for February and March.  This isn't a money-grubbing thing. For each baby, we get reimbursed $10 a MONTH for diapers, and paid $14.60 a day.  Diapers are $20-30 a WEEK, and that daily stipend helps cover the rest.   
2. The babies saw birth mom for the first time in about three weeks on Monday, and MoMo was a wreck.  For three days.  Nightmares. Clingy.  Complete pain in the ass behaviorally.
3. Steph still refuses to do a chore to completion. Hell, most of the time, we can't even get her to get started.
4. My kitchen is still dirty. 
5. My laundry is still not done.

(I know I should clean more. Do chores more. But there is only so much time in the day, and energy in the bank.  I have found that I have been a happier EVERYTHING since I started writing again, so now I'm in search of ways to find a balance between what I need to keep me sane and what me children need to avoid E-coli.)

Positive Notes: 

1. Marie's new haircut looks amazing. 
2. Leighdidn't break anything this week, and has not self-mutilated that we can tell in about a month. 
3. Danae did apologize for her completely bitchy behavior.  I'm not sure if it was genuine or not, but I'll take what I can get.
4. I broke down and bought a pair of Sketcher's Shape-ups.  Jury's still out on whether I like them or not.
5. MoMo is getting better with ThankYou, but still completely refuses to say please, and throws a temper fit if you ask.  She is a strong-willed little thing. 
6. NaNa will carry on a cooing and giggling conversation with you after feeding.  It's so damn cute it makes up for all the other crap, pee and barf she dishes out. 

So there you have it. Way more about my week than you probably wanted to know.  Admit it, you Peeping Tom you, you LIKED it!

Crazy Lying and Epiphanies, II

Today, she wants her phone back. Now. Period. It's hers and she wants it.  End of story. Woke me up from a nap (which also ended up waking up NaNa). Got in my face and very VERY L.O.U.D. 

Lots of cursing and yelling ensued after I told her no. 

Here are the highlights:

1.  She did ride the bus home, she just didn't ride it all the way, and the fact that she was late was not her fault. (Do I need to point out the logical stupidity in that, or are we all smart enough to figure it out on our own?)

2.  I'm trippin' because I have no reason to be mad, and reminded me that I said I'd think about giving it back to her. ("I did think about it, Danae, and decided not to.")

3. She's smart enough to know that she learned her lesson (I'm pretty sure that doesn't make sense to anyone...)

4.  We only buy stuff to hold it over their heads.  (This from the same child who tried to argue yesterday that because she bought the phone we couldn't relieve her of it.)

5. We never punish Leigh, and never punished Dawn.  (For the record, our punishment actually put Dawn in jail, and Leigh has no friends, ergo no life, so breathing in and out is pretty much a punishment for her.)

6.  She'd stick it out until she was 17 and then she was leaving because we were the reason no teenager ever wants to get adopted. (My two replies:  She did want to get adopted.  It wouldn't have happened had she not have wanted it.  And, we don't need to wait til you're 17.  If you want to go back to your group home, call them up and make the arrangements.)

7.  You don't know what you're talking about. (Duh.  Since you've been lying about your whereabouts we might as well be talking about how Windex and lotion do the same thing for as much sense as that makes.)

8. At the top of her lungs, and at this point two neighbors have come out of their houses to see what's going on, "I DIDN'T FUCKING DO ANYTHING WRONG TO BEGIN WITH!"

Really?  I must have dreamed all that.  To quote Bina....  What-EVer.

Can I make a "you'll get your phone back when you're nicer" rule?  Can I make a "it's okay to punch her teeth in when she acts like this" law?

An introduction

So here I am. 
Waiting for inspiration.
Or like the kid on "The Incredibles" for something amazing.

In the meantime, let me introduce us. 

I am Mom.  Wife.  Teacher.  Unofficial social worker.  Unlicensed, smart-ass therapist.  Writer-wannabe. 

The other players in this silliness are as follows:

Hubby--Husband.  The tall bald guy, and a big cup of awesome sauce.

Marie-- Oldest daughter. Age 23.  Mother of Grandson. Married to JC. We never officially adopted her, because she aged out of foster care when her younger sister moved in with us. However, the only thing missing is the paperwork.

Dawn-- Next daughter. Age 18.  Bio sister to Marie.   We got her when she was 12, and she is currently surfing other people's sofas because mom and dad won't let her shack up at home with her Dumbass Boyfriend.  She just got a job as a waitress.  It's been two whole days and she's kept it, so we'll see how that goes.

Danae--Next daughter.  Age 16. Cheerleader, artist, wants to be a doctor.  Generally, a smart kid with a HUMONGOGINORMOUS attitude. But then, after 18 different placements, I think she's earned the right to be pissy from time to time.

Leigh-- Next daughter. Biosister to BB. Age 15.  We're her tenth set of parents, and we got her when she was six.  She is a self described freak, who cuts, cusses, and generally carries on as much as possible without visiting the Gray Bar Hotel.   She attends a "special school" for people who have problems behaving in regular school, has a probation officer and a standing appointment with juvenile court every three weeks. However, she too is very smart and a talented artist.

Momo-- 18 month old foster baby.  Cute as a baby penguin and about as coordinated. She has eyelashes that could start a small supermodel riot, and the most engaging smile I've ever seen.

NaNa- 9 week old foster baby.  Just learned how to smile this week. 

And in that mix of beauty, brains and general mayhem, we have two half-mexicans, two mostly black, one mutt of unknown origin and one who claims to be a quarter black. As for the parents, we're very white, and mostly look nothing like our kids.  We have fun with that sometimes.

Mixed in there also are several cases of Reactive Attachment Disorder, PTSD, a sprinkling of bipolar, the possibility of borderline personality and some galloping cases of depression, self-mutilation and anxiety.  Needless to say, life is never boring. 

So here we are ...  our little, made-from-scratch-trying-to-be-happy family. 

I think I've found my amazing. 
How about you?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some things I'll post here will be daily doses of the craziness that is my life. Others will be random stuff I've written in response to my life-- some old, some new. 

Enjoy the popcorn, prop up your feet.  It's an interesting show.