Messin' with the Kids

Sometimes you just have to mess with your kids to have a little fun. 

Yesterday, Hubby and I had a date. We took the babies to daycare, sneaking out of the house while the teens were still asleep, and went to the beach.  We packed two small coolers with our adult, refreshing beverages, and parked on the beach. 

I have a new favorite drink--Smirnoff Ice Green Apple Bite.  Amazingly delicious.  Like a Jolly Rancher Candy in liquid form.  But I'm birdwalking.

We spent th eday sunning, swimming, eating, drinking and generally enjoying each other's company, reminding ourselves why we got married in the first place. 

After lunch, we went for ice cream. The problem was that it was over 100 degrees, and the chocolate ice cream kept attacking my husband's clothes. By the time we got home, it looked like dried blood stains on his shirt and shorts, so we went with it. 

Leigh:   What is that on Dad's shirt?
Me:   Blood.
Leigh:   What happened??  (Shock and interest)
Hubby:   Someone was hitting on your mom, so I handled it.
Leigh:   No way.  You hit someone?
Me:   No. He knocked someone's lights out.
Leigh:   Did the cops come? 
Me:   Not sure.  We left pretty quickly after that. 
Leigh, running from the room:  Danae!  Danae!  Dad got in a fight at the beach today and has blood all over him!!
Danae, coming out to look: OMG, Dad. Did you really hit someone?
Hubby just stood there, with his arms out, letting the girls get a look at the stains. 

It was THE topic of conversation yesterday.  Apparantly, word of my husband's alleged bar fight made it to my mom, twenty-three hours away, with the information that I'd gotten a tattoo.  They left out the part about it being henna. 

So now, Hubby has some street cred with the teens, I giggle everytime I think about it, and all is normal in our world.   I know it's probably against good parenting to mess with your kids like that, but it was just so amusing, we couldn't help it!

Lessons From Vacation

Vacation is not as much fun as when I was a kid. Or before I was a parent. Or before I became an adoptive parent to special needs kids.

In the interests of spending time on the beach and time with my brother, getting to know his preggo wife, I rented a two bedroom condo with a pool and beach view.

It was a lot smaller than the pictures, a lot farther from the beach than the pictures, and very over decorated. Yes, it’s a beach condo. We do not need to be reminded of this fact with a fish or boat motif-ed in every square foot. But I birdwalk.


Here are the things I learned on vacation:

1. Not all technology definitions are equal. Our landlord for the week assured me before I paid him that we’d have Wifi. My brother works from home on-line, so he had to have the internet. I’m taking an on-line class and wanted to blog and stuff. So it was a priority. Our landlord’s definition of Wifi was to use the neighbor’s. The problem was that the neighbor changed the password and wouldn’t return our landlord's call. Brother spent a lot of time in a national-chain overpriced coffee shop. I just turned my school work in late. Lucky for me, I have an online prof who is very understanding.

2. Not everyone has the same level of tolerance for crazy that I have. You have heard from my blog that my children are kind of special. We have lots of things going on, and lots of behaviors that are outside the realm of what others might see as normal. My brother and his wife—Don’t get me wrong, I love them—they don’t live my life, or near my life, so they don’t know what normal is for us. Our normal level of crazy, I think, might have made them twitch. There were several moments when I caught them looking at me like I was either crazy or, well, crazy.

3. Not everyone has the same gag reflex. I think nothing of changing a diaper on the floor in the middle of the living room. And honestly, I don’t care how many people are there. Or what they’re doing. A wet baby is a screaming baby, and ending the screaming humanely, without me going to jail, is way more important to me than the fact that you’re eating squash casserole. Which, I must say, looks remarkably like what was in the diaper. Which is probably why you started gagging and running from the room. I’d apologize, but you’re pregnant, and you needed to learn that lesson before you finish procreating. Baby poo is gross. Accept that fact and life will be much easier for you in five months.

4. Your intoxicated brother can and will tell your kids stories about you that you don’t want them to hear. I really didn’t want my kids to hear about me giving my brother and all his friends condoms when they were in HS (no pregnancies in that graduating class, thank you very much). I didn’t want them to hear about us rescuing my drunken father from the back office of a bar. I didn’t want them to know I smoked, or drank, or dated before my husband. I was a perfect, virginal pure young lady prior to my wedding day. (Yeah right, but you know where I’m going here, right?) My brother, after a few drinks, decided to tell them all about my sordid past of teenage infatuations with bad boys and cheap wine coolers.

5. Whether or not the stories are true is beside the point. See number four. I deny everything. Those pictures are clearly photo-shopped.

6. Your time spent on the beach will decrease inversely proportionately to the number of children in diapers. I spent about $1000 on the condo, about $200 traveling, and about $400 on supplies from food to toilet paper to beach stuff. I spent less than two hours on the beach the entire week, despite the fact that it was less than a football field from our condo, and despite the fact that I was desperate for beach time. Two kids in diapers will do that. So will four teenagers who do not have any appreciation for the deeply brewing insanity inside their mom’s head.

7. If there is a chance for the crazy to come out in your kids, it will. We’d been there for five days. It was inevitable. Danae and Tonya (her “friend”) got into a screaming, yelling, cursing fight in front of the condo. Then it came inside where a table and chair got broken. It went back outside, and Danae and Leigh ended up in an actual physical fight. (I mentioned the place was small, right?)

There was lots of noise and yelling and stomping, as Leigh got more involved. CC just watched the whole thing, wondering what the heck she'd gotten herself into.  Security was called. I explained to the nice man with the patch on his arm that I have crazy teenagers, and they’ve almost got it out of their system. But that if they couldn’t settle down in the next ten minutes I’d be the one calling the police. Security didn’t seem convinced and Patch-man hovered under our balcony for about 45 minutes.

8. If the crazy comes out, and security gets involved, prepare to be embarrassed. Everyone around us looked at us funny for the two days left of our trip. At least back home, our neighbors can’t HEAR the crazy. In public, we usually take great pains to keep our crazy tucked away for later. And I’m sure that the stares had nothing to do with my openly gay daughter walking around holding hands with her sweetie, or Leigh’s friend CC, who is tatted and pierced and has pink hair, or our decidedly dark-skinned babies that none of us could have given birth to. I'm sure it was the ghetto-style brawl.  Right?

9. You will not want to cook as much as you plan to. We planned to eat out only once. My brother and his wife bought groceries for the rest of the week. We ate out four times. And they took the groceries home. Next summer, we just plan to only cook twice. It’s easier that way.

10.  Everything is more expensive the closer you get to the beach.  Brother and Preggo bought two back-pack lawn chairs from a Wings chain store. They spent $85.  Several giant chain stores sell the same things for about $20 each.  Gas was up 30 cents a gallon. And speaking of gallons, milk was outrageous at about $4 a jug. 

11. You will not be invited to rent again if any of the following happen: broken furniture, broken knick-knacks or complaints about your boogey-board and towel placement. I left the landlord a check to cover the damage, and asked him to call me. So far, my phone has not rung, and I am not holding my breath.

Oh well.

As Preggo pointed out, there are lots of places at the beach.

Natural consequences or a subsitute for cutting?

Today was blissful. It almost makes up for tonight. I took the teenagers to the beach, and as much as they are capable, they behaved. We saw dolphins and pelicans, a cute baby in a shark suit, and floated in the light waves chit-chattin about not much of anything. Danae held her sharp tongue in check most of the afternoon, and Leigh worked at being appropriate. Except where sunscreen is concerned. It was 96 degrees today. In the shade of my carport, with a light breeze. You can imagine what the temp was in the unrelenting sunniness of the beach. It was hot. I, being of Italian and Cherokee descent, could feel my skin baking through my SPF 60. Danae, who is 25% black, 50% Hispanic and 25% other, just got browner. Leigh, who's dark side only accounts for 25% of her genetic background, is not so lucky as to turn brown right away. She turns magenta. Painfully, painfully deep pink. Then peels. Then turns brown. I used my suncreen. Danae doesn't ever need it, and Leigh, who knows she needs it, refused it... despite the motherly warnings and reminders about the last time she didn't use it. And when one refuses to wear sunscreen, one must pay the inevitable consequence: Painful sunburn all over her chest, arms and face. Then tonight, as I was doing my chores and nagging at the whiningly red Leigh to do hers, these thoughts crossed my mind:

1. Leigh is on probation.
2. Leigh's probation is through juvenile mental health court.
3. Mental health court has ruled that self-harm is not allowed.
4. Leigh hasn't cut since being on probation, but she has done other things that "hurt," but that don't constitute cutting.
5. Could this be one of them?

Let's look at the evidence. In the past six months, since the entrance of the court in our lives, Leigh (who tests borderline gifted) has:

1. Cut off all her hair and some of her eyebrows (and "accidentally" some skin) with an eyebrow shaper razer stolen from my room
2. Pierced her lip, nose and both ears--with pins and earrings she had in her bedroom
3. When those piercings got infected after we made her take them out, she had lots to pick at.
4. Purposely worn too small shoes to the point of blisters.

Hmmmm.... I guess I'll add this to the ever expanding list of behaviors to discuss with the therapist, and practice my aim with the spray sunscreen. Because let's face it, finding a babysitter for a 15 year old RAD kid is impossible on the very best of days.

Weekly Wrap-up, May 16

Not as much story telling tonight, folks, as I'm very tired after an emotionally exhausting week. I'm also facing teenager and baby duty by myself for two days this week, as I have sent hubby to hang with his family on his two days off. 

So here you have it, in all it's abbreviated glory:  My life.

Silly Goal of the Week:  Get sunburned by the end of the weekend.  I succeeded.  I even have a weird video of my neck, but that was too personal.  Suffice it to say that where the sun hit, I am the color of a lovely red thing.  And on the pale side, it's just pale ol' me.

Best day:  Today.  Spent the wee hours with the wee babe, NaNa, whilst she slurped away on the formula.  (FYI:  That crap STINKS!!) Then went to the beach, to work on my only goal of the weekend, which was to get a sunburn.  (Yes, I know it will make me look like someone's old SUV seat, complete with cancer and chemo, but dammit, fat looks better tan!!)

Today at the beach, I convinced MoMo (thats her cuteness in the pic), who HATES the water, to get wet...  if we redefine "convinced" as "picked her sandy body up, toted her out into the water told her to take a deep breath, pinched her nose closed and dunked her."  She put up a little fight, but after that, she became Barnacle MoMo, and was pretty quiet.  Terror, maybe?  But my friend LC says it's the only way she'll get over her fear of the water.

We watched an entertaining show of Danae and Annette trying to put up a sun tent.  That's Danae wrapped in the tent, as she tries to figure out how it hooks to the ground while the wind was blowing, and the rest of us were laughing. 

Then we snarked under our breath as a school of dolphins scared the crap out of a bunch of tourists who were certain that there were sharks getting ready to attack. 

On a positive note, the jelly fish that scared the crap outta me was dead.  Positive for me.  I'm guessing not so much for him.

Worst Day:  Any day, Monday through Friday, last week. I teach a lot of seniors, and this is the time of year when their heads fell off. And me being the softy that I am, cried with at least one student per day last week. 

Some of it is "OMGWhatAmIGoingToDoWithMyLife?!" terror, some of it is family drama (one girl found her bio-dad; another, at the tender age of 18, just had hers sent to a nursing home because she couldn't care for him any more.) 

Some of it is gang-related (two groups of boys ready to fight and go nutso because "someone said he heard that this other dude had saw Tookie talk trash about Lil Mike.) 

Some of it is just nerves. Some is poor planning (Why haven't I heard from XYZ College yet? I sent them my application a week ago!)  Some of it is a complete lack of a plan, so they start to tank graduation, in order to have more time to think about it and not have to leave the relative comfort of high school.  I had a NICE "Come to Jesus" meeting with that boy on Friday. 

"Can't Wait til All the Kids Are Gone" Moment: When we threw away all the mismatched plates and glasses and bought styrofoam and plastic.  What's the point of having nice dishes when the kids break them, and the adults have to wash them.  So buh-bye glass!  Hello environmental degradation! Plus we're hoping it will create a little more time for Mom and Dad.

Proof that Gorillas do Indeed Still Eat Bananas:  When one of  our kids acts like themselves, and we get irritated, we go back to a phrase I heard somewhere.  Don't buy a gorilla and expect it not to eat bananas.  So my pet goril.. I mean daughter Dawn, showed up today wanting to borrow fishing poles. This as I was hopping out of the shower and into clothes at 3:35 for a tutoring session at 4:00 with some of my kids who are taking End of Course Tests tomorrow.  I told her that I was running, late, didn't have time to look, and that she and DA couldn't because Hubby had started his project already. 

She took this as "Mom hates me, doesn't want me around, so she's being mean." And she and DA left.  then she told Danae that she didn't understand why I was "trippin." I asked Dawn what that meant. She said I was acting funny and was rude to her.  I told her that she showed up unannounced when I was running an hour late-- I wasn't rude, I was trying to get un-sandy and semi-clean to go to a meeting.

I got a "whatever mom" message back. And so, all is right in the primate world.  When it doesn't center around my little gorilla, she gets grumpy. 

Can't Find the Words Moment:  Tonight, as I was burping NaNa, I realized that she is the perfect fragrance.  The top of her head tonight smells happiness.  It is a combination of so many things-- kid playing outside, sunshine, sand, baby wash, a hint of sweat, some powder.   I wish I could do it justice, find a way to make it come alive for you, but I am not talented enough for the task. Or maybe it's not talent; maybe its one of those things you have to experience a few times so that later in life you can overcome the urge to kill them.  But it is amazing. I just want to hold her against me, and breathe through her hair. Not creepy at all, right?

Question for my readers: Do you tweet? Would you read tweets if I became a twit? And why is facebook such a pain??

This is weird:  Is it possible to become "addicted" to the drama and arguing of your children?  This weekend, Leigh was exiled to her room until it, and she,  magically becomes clean.  And as a result, there was so little arguing around the house that one could almost say there was none.  And I missed it.  Or maybe I missed her. Or the idea of her. Or the daily hope that THIS on will be different. 

Guilty Moment: I got another pedicure.  But I didn't have my Adult Refreshing Beverage, so maybe that balances out somehow.

Navigating Teen Sexuality:  Shopping tonight. Picking up a few things I couldn't live without this week (mascara, sippy cups and panty-liners)

Danae:  Mom, what is dow-shay? (Rhymes with Ow! As in, that hurt.  And hay.)
Me:  Huh?
Danae: That stuff, the dow-shay. 
Me:  Oh, that's douche. 
Danae: No it's not. That's not how you spell it!
Me: I'm pretty sure that's what it is. 
D.: So it's French then?  (Points for public schools!) What's it do anyway?
Me: You shoot it up into your hoo-ha and it's supposed to clean you out, make you feel fresher.
Danae:  I thought you told me they didn't sell sex toys at The Big Store That Sells Everything!

And on that giggly moment, I'll to bed.

Bitch Mom, Update 1

Leigh called me today while I was at the mall with the babies and Danae, her girlfriend, and a bunch of their friends.  She was very upset to wake up and find that my hubby had gone to work, all of us were gone, and she wanted to know why I didn't wake her up to bring her along. 

I asked her if she had read the paper her dad had given her earlier.

She said yes. 

I said, "There you have it."

She hung up.

I brought home dinner, we all ate, and while I sat down to type, Danae was cackling to Jeff Dunham.  Leigh started to lie back on the sofa, and I asked her what she was doing. "I'm watching TV with ya'll."

I asked her if she remembered reading the paper Dad gave her. " Man, what is with you?"

"Leigh, your room is still a mess, and you're wearing the clothing you wore Wednesday to mow the grass, and have been wearing everyday since then."

"Whatever Mom." Stomping off to her room. 

Here's the notice she got from us this morning:


Boot Camp GSC Style
Basic rules:
1. You live in the house we pay for, eat our food, use our electric, water and trash pick-up, and wear the clothes we buy. Therefore, you will follow our rules until you no longer reside with us.
2. You will strive to be responsible, respectful and fun to be around.
3. You will put forth effort.

Boot Camp Goal 1: CLEANLINESS
1. You will clean your room Grandma Style.** You must have it inspected AFTER everything has been piled on your bed.
2. You will wash and dry all your clothes. Anything that is pajamas or undergarments will go in your dresser. Everything else will be hung in your closet.
3. Your shoes will not smell.
4. Your room will not smell.
5. Your body will not smell.

REWARD:
1. A job well-done.
2. Your phone and MP3 player.
3. Possible out of the house privileges based on attitude.
    ***Pile everything from your floor and the surfaces of your furniture onto your bed. Sweep/mop/dust/wipe down. Begin putting everything away. 



Hubby said that when he gave it to her, she tried to slam her door. Which she can't do because she has slammed it so often and so hard that the board where the doorknob latches into the wall is long gone.  Teehee. I refuse to pay to fix it.  If she makes it through this boot camp of ours, she'll eventually have to earn some money to pay for the repairs.

So we have finished day one of Boot Camp GSC. Nothing has been done in her room.  But she's slept a lot.

And when she wakes up tomorrow and realizes we've left her at home while the rest of us go to the beach, she will be beyond irate. I'm not even sure there's a word to describe what she'll be when this happens.

But I'll be at the beach, and therefore will not hear her. (And my bedroom will be locked.)

Ha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!