Friday, March 30, 2012

R.I.P., Naughty Poodle

Penny died last week. The annoying, yapping, biting little shadow of mine got sick--very, very sick-- and looking at her advanced age, advancing blindness, horrendous personality, and tendency to bite, we decided that it was best to let her go to doggie heaven.

This happened right in the middle of the kids' spring break. Wiley & Princess were completely unaffected by it, but Superman was pretty upset. Penny has been around longer than Superman, so he has never experienced life without her. A few days ago, he was petting the cat and said, "Mom, I think the cat thinks she's the queen since Penny is gone"
I agreed, and then he said, "*Sniff* I wish I hadn't thought of that. Now I am sad. Really sad." -pause- "Now my eyes are watering."

Heart=Broken.

In non-sad but still worrisome news, the school is working on putting together a 504 plan for Superman, which is an IEP. I've been in close contact with the school psychologist and I am hopeful that now that his name is officially crossing some of the right desks, we will get more help/testing and make some progress.

Latest memorable quote:
While lying in the floor, petting the cat, "MOM! The cat just yawned. UGGHHHH, and it smells like fish sticks!!"

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Tied Up

I am blue. So very very blue. I start and stop posts because my thoughts just plop out haphazardly onto the page, with no direction and no point.

I can’t seem to do Superman any justice in my writing anymore. He is the light in my life, the best part of everything, but I worry so much about him. I get so frustrated and upset at things that he isn’t doing, isn’t mastering, the way he seems to be behind every other kid.

I am worried that his lack of progress/success in school is going to sour him on the world. He already has a stubborn reluctance to participate in anything resembling competition. He wants to play baseball again, but when I asked him about Tae Kwon Do, he said, “Oh no. I don’t want to do that. You have to do tests in that.”

I’m afraid that my constant yammering about being brave and being stronger than anything and being proud and taking care of ourselves is not getting through to him.

I’m afraid that he listens more to that kid who’s always saying, “I’m better than you at this. I beat you. I can beat you at everything. I know more than you…”

I want my boy to be happy. I want him strong and independent and successful at whatever he chooses to do. I want him to look in the mirror and know that he can take care of it. Whatever it may be.

I don’t want him to end up like his father. Bitter, angry, self-pitying, using the excuse that “I can never get a break” to dismiss his behavior.

Wow, I’m a ray of sunshine. It’s just so scary, especially the older he gets. I can’t take care of everything for him anymore. He’s not my chubby-cheeked little punkin, and I can’t swoop in and pick him up and forget about everything else. He’s growing up into this world, and so far it hasn’t been an easy ride.

Walking out the door the other day, I didn’t recognize my own child from the back. He is tall and lanky in his jeans and hoodie. That backpack slung over one shoulder looks way too grown up to be going to third grade. What is happening here?! I got him some new tennis shoes a few weeks ago, and they had those dumb rounded shoelaces that won’t ever stay tied. We went to get new laces, and he knew exactly what he wanted before we even got there.







Superman. Hang onto your shoelaces, Baby.

Friday, December 2, 2011

My Poor Parenting Extends to the Dog

Today my dog got kicked out of the groomer.

I feel, I think, much the way that one would feel were their child to get kicked out of preschool: You realize that your kid is a total hellion sometimes, and you are embarrassed and question your parenting, but you also expect that a place whose BUSINESS it is to deal with children could...well...DEAL with children.

Aren't dog grooming places equipped to handle dogs that bite? Especially when they have known this dog for a year and I openly discuss her bitey-ness and her nasty poodle attitude at EVERY dropoff? And can a 6-pound dog bite through a muzzle? Because that is what they tried to tell me. I'm not sure if I'm more annoyed with the groomer or the dog. What I AM sure of is that I have a ridiculous looking, half-shorn, smug little wench that dropped tufts of cut gray hair all over the seat of my car when I took her home today. She has alot of nerve, that one.

In news of Superman, things have been going....well, they've been going. He takes anxiety medication now in addition to the ADD med. He's been doing much better at getting his work done at school, and he's got a really great teacher this year. She's really good about communicating with me and I feel like she genuinely cares about him. A few weeks ago I was talking to her and she said, "You're SUCH a good mom," and so I promptly burst into tears. Guess you could say I've been taking everything pretty hard lately.

Superman follows me around the house chattering away like a monkey, most of the time. He came into the closet with me the other day and said, "Mommy, when I have a computer of my own, I'm going to have a password. And I will tell you what it is." So I bite: "Oh really? What will it be?" "S-MAN ROCKS!" skip a beat, "Most of the time. Except when I have incompletes..."

Our cat Nicki sits in the hallway and meows like a siren when she wants attention. Instead of waddling her fat cat ass into the living room to sit with us, she wants someone to come and join HER. Needless to say, this can get very annoying. At dinner the other night, Superman was telling Best Fella that he didn't want him to have to work late, that he wanted him to be HERE, at HOME. When Best Fella asked why, he said, "I just want you to be here all the time, so you can say, 'SHUT UP NICKI!' to the cat when she meows." Best Fella and I appreciated this, but I'm pretty sure Nicki did not. I'm just speculating, of course,but she left a trail of cat barf in the office for the next couple of days.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Cloudy With a Chance of Insane

I attended Superman's first parent-teacher conference of third grade last week. I had high hopes...but alas, they were dashed. This conference turned out to be just like every other conference that I've had since first grade: disappointing, disheartening, frightening.
On the one hand I know how lucky I am that I've got this awesome little boy who is happy and funny and friendly and the biggest joy of my day. On the other hand, it's really fucking hard to hear that your kid doesn't keep up in class, doesn't get his work done, most of the time has no idea what's going on, and that the teacher is genuinely worried about what will happen to him in the next nine weeks.
We visited his pediatrician again last week after an epic meltdown over loud noises, with me thinking surely there is some developmental or sensory issue going on here--there has to be some explanation and effective treatment for these issues. The pediatrician diagnosed him with an anxiety disorder, and stated that anxiety and depression go hand in hand with most ADHD personalities. SUPER SWEET.
So we're trying an anxiety med for a month, in hopes that it will help him have more confidence and in turn be able to try/persevere at new things instead of losing interest immediately if he's not great at it. I'm also having the teacher fill out an evaluation for the pediatrician so that we can see if we need to up his ADD med. LAWD, this sucks. I'm trying to keep it in perspective. But I am terrified of what his future holds--or doesn't hold.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Good'n Disjointed

Yesterday was Superman's first day of school. As we drove down the street, he counted down: "We will be there in 10..9..8.." once we drove into the parking lot, he exclaimed "FINALLY. I have been waiting to go to third grade for like my WHOLE LIFE!"
And guess how his first day went? "Awe-SOME!"

He was slinging his messenger bag around on his shoulder this morning and asked me which way looked cooler-- this side, or THIS side. sigh

As we reached the stop sign to leave our neighborhood this morning, I happened to look at the front door of the house across the street. There was a little pug standing on its hind feet looking out the door. The house was dark inside, so there was this little light dog with its perfectly round black face peering out at us. You really had to be there, but Superman laughed and said that is HILARIOUS OHMY GOSH I WISH MAWMAW WAS HERE SO SHE COULD SEE THAT I WANT TO CALL HER AND TELL HER ABOUT IT!!!
So when I told him goodbye at school this morning I grabbed him and said oh wait, forgot to tell you something (whisper in ear) "PUGFACE!!" A great sendoff for the second day!

As he was petting our obese cat Nicki and she repeatedly rolled over on her back, he informed me:
"She just always wants to have her fatness rubbed."
To which Best Fella replied, "Hey, there's nothing wrong with that..."

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Just Because He's Awesome

I’ve been full of angst and sadness and anger and feelings of bitterness and inferiority lately. But with summer (finally, Thank God) coming to a close, I am going to turn over a new leaf, as they say, in my attitude. No more dwelling. No more taking everything to heart. No more giving of a fuck what certain people say/do/don’t do.

I am Superman’s Mommy! Hear me roar!

Ahem. Yes. So anyway. I am so grateful for the awesome little human that is my boy. I’ve never been able to type out a birthday tribute to him. I always end up dissolving in tears about two sentences into all of the wonderful ways that he is Superman. Therefore, I am going to throw out a few of the things that make him so funny to me. Some of the Supermanisms that give him the quirk that I love so much, but that also worries me endlessly.

Superman thinks the part of the song ‘Abracadabra’ that says black betty with an angel’s face actually says Blackberries with a Ninja’s Face.

He loves muscle cars, and thinks they are all called Mustangs. He is also dying to have a motorcycle, but won’t ride his bike or on the four wheeler with Best Fella.

I asked him what was wrong because it looked like he was in pain. He said, “Nothing. My butt just itches ‘cause I farted too loud.” Charming!

He likes to turn the volume on my phone all the way up and have the noise of his game and a song playing at the same time, but fireworks make him cry because he says they hurt his ears.

If he had his way, the boy would eat corn dogs three meals a day, seven days a week.

From the bathroom: “Mommy! I just threw up!” I walk in and he’s still sitting down, not pale or clammy or any of the signs that usually say ‘throw up’…..Skeptically, I say, “What?” (because I’m eloquent like that). “I did. I threw up from my butt.” Oh.

His favorite songs, in no particular order: Eye of the Tiger, Country by Jason Aldean, Bad to the Bone, Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars, and The Joker by the Steve Miller Band.

A limousine and a movie room are the ultimate measures of wealth to him.

Superman can watch the same movie(s) or TV shows nine thousand times in a row and never get tired of them.

He is pretty sure that when he grows up he will be an actor, a boxer, or a ninja.

When we’re in the middle of acting silly and laughing at each other he will either say, “Mom, I love you.” Or “I just want a big hug!”

He can’t stop himself from looking over our shoulders or asking what we’re doing the second we pull out our phones or ipads. When I say, “You know what?” He’ll answer with, “None of my beeswax.”

When I pick him up after work I always ask him how his day was. Ninety percent of the time, he answers with a singsong, enthusiastic “AWE-some!”

This boy of mine. Magoo, McGillicutty, Sneezy McGee, Superman, Rocky Balboa, Geebs. The coolest kid in my world. My most favoritest ninja ever.



Thursday, July 28, 2011

Hello, my name is Repressed, and I'm a Rageaholic...

I took the kids to our neighborhood pool yesterday after work. A little girl was playing with Princess in the water, and they were chatting about what school they go to, etc.
Princess pointed at me and said, “She’s not really my mom. She’s my stepmom. And that’s just my stepbrother (pointing to Superman). HE’s my real brother.” (pointing to Wiley)
Ouch. Comments like this have been made before, and although I realize that they are true, they still hurt.
This summer has been really hard for me. I’m feeling the division in our families more than ever. It seems like Superman and I are on one side, and Best Fella, Wiley, Princess, and Their Mother are on the other. This is not a good way for me to feel, but I don’t want to say anything, because I am trying not to be the shrill harpy bitch that I am would sound like if I say what I want to say.
The truth is that I am sick to death of Their Mother. I hate her never ending phone calls, text messages, photos when we have the kids. I hate how she quizzes them on the phone about what they did (or didn’t do) and what we had for dinner, and the leading questions that I know she is putting to them. (Example from Wiley’s side of a conversation the other night: ‘Oh pretty good. We just played. No, we didn’t have a field trip today…Yeah, that’s all we did. We had chicken pizza. It was good. No, chicken on pizza. Yeah. I had never heard of it either…)
What the fuck, whore? I don’t make deep fried fat and lard gravy every night like you do, okay? I actually get off my ass and go to work every day, then come home and get something on the table so we can get into bed at a decent time. I know you don’t know what ‘bedtime’ is, but we do. And just because I made the food doesn’t mean it was wrong. Bitch. (Who me? Bitter? The hell you say!)
So anyway, I’m still feeling like a pretty horrible person, and knowing that she’s driving home the point that Superman and I are LESS THAN Princess & Wiley’s ‘real’ family just drives me over the edge.
I guess that’s probably the hardest part of being a stepmom. You still have to do all of the things a mother does (and more, because you are trying SO FUCKING HARD to be perfect) but you get no return on it. Oh sure, you get the return of knowing that you’re doing the right thing for these children who deserve it, but you don’t get the love that you get from your own child. Superman thinks I’m awesome. He is happy to see me, happy to spend time with me, wants me near, loves everything that I do for him (with the exception of that idiocy I call ‘being responsible’…he could definitely do without that!) But with the other kids, no matter how much I do, it’s usually just wrong. Because I’m not Their Mother. And I couldn’t be more different from her if I tried. Thank the Sweet Lord. Ahem.
So the other night Princess was being a major…um…princess. Best Fella had sent her to her room for whining and griping and (fake) crying about everything from the moment we sat down to dinner she wouldn’t eat all the way through after dinner TV. Then Their Mother calls, and Princess has a tearful extended conversation with her in her bedroom with the door closed. Afterward, T.M. talked to Best Fella. Princess had told her that her daddy was mad at her because she wanted to see T.M. To his credit, Best Fella did not raise his voice or even get angry. He calmly told her that that was a lie, that had never been brought up, and the real reason(s) that Princess was in trouble, which he had also explained to Princess when she was sent to her room. This bothers me to no end, because I feel like the kids have picked up on the whole playing sides against each other, and that is horrible. However, Best Fella said nothing about it, and for me to ask about goings on with T.M. pretty much makes him uncomfortable, so I am holding it all in. Wonder how many calories internal seething and turmoil burn?
Whew. I sort of opened up a floodgate there, didn’t I? My blood pressure is high just thinking about all of this again, but I feel a little better. Hopefully I will hold onto my sanity, and count days off on the calendar until school starts (twenty). ARRRRRGGGHHHH.