Sparky is still going strong at 9:57pm. He wrote some apology notes hoping, I suppose, that he would have no consequences for his actions today. Unfortunately, something set him off and away he went again.
I unintentionally scared the snot out of him when he began picking at the paint on a door with a screwdriver that he's been using to try to jimmy locks. I made a grab for his hand and when he ran I followed. He gave me the screwdriver right away and then screamed at me for 20 minutes for scaring and abusing him. I think my pinky grazed his wrist but I can't be sure.
He's thrown the cushions off the couch and pushed the living room furniture all around. He's also refusing to go to bed and can't believe he doesn't get a "second chance" so he can stay up until midnight. As if he read my previous blog he told Ana "I'm going to be bad unless you let me stay up."
Squeaker also lost the privilege of staying up by getting mouthy when I asked her if she heard me tell her to pick up her shoes since she didn't respond. She and Sparky apparently compared notes and decided they earned the right to talk back and be as disrespectful as possible. Why does it surprise them that they'll be hailing the new year from their beds?
Ana and I are pretty wiped out and can't wait to say good-bye to this day and year. I would hate to give the impression that the kids act like turkeys all the time because that's not entirely accurate. "A great deal of the time" is pretty close to the truth. On the flip side though, Peaches has been helpful, loving, and fun over the holidays. Also visiting is one of our former foster kiddos who is now 17. We still get to enjoy her company often. It gives us hope to see the older girls doing well. These are really tough times for the middles and we continue to hang on and pray for change.
Monday, December 31, 2007
We Don't Negotiate with Terrorists
Sometimes the array of emotions displayed in this house astound me. A few of the kids can go from slappy happy to tearin' up the place angry in a time span counted in minutes. The problem is, sometimes you just don't know what you're going to get. On Saturday Drama Boy and Sparky were total pooters. They whined, they wrestled, they argued, called Ana names, slammed doors and complained. On Sunday we stayed home from church. We didn't think we could reconcile the bad behaviors with the long car trip. They were pretty good all day long. Today is Drama Boy's 11th birthday. It's putting it mildly to say that Sparky does not handle other people's birthdays well. He acted like a complete stinkweed on The Boss' birthday even though we didn't do much and and he didn't get any big presents. He thinks that other people always get something better than he has even if the other person hasn't gotten anything yet, as is the case today. He told Ana that everyone else got good presents and he got "sucky" ones. So Ana took all his sucky presents back and locked them in a closet until he decides to be grateful and writes thank-you notes.
He has been storming around the house all day opening and slamming doors and cabinets and the washing machine lid. He slammed the door to his own room enough times that it stuck fast trapping him inside and freaking him out. Good laugh for us though. He has pounded on my bedroom door where I am working trying to annoy me. He popped the screen out of his second-story window and threatened to climb out. He was spotted standing on the handrail to the stairs, jumping on the couch, and walking on the coffee table.
What's really funny is that somehow in his mind he thinks that this will get him what we wants. Of course, now that you act like a spoiled little urchin, let me give you a tv and dvd player for you room and let you play video games and eat candy all night and get it stuck in the carpet, and choose the best seat in the car and eat with your fingers and chew with your mouth open at dinner. By all means. The three middlers like to use not only bad behavior but the threat of bad behavior to try to manipulate situtations and get what they want. I realize they haven't been with us from the time they were little but you would think by now they would know that they will end up with the exact opposite of what they are trying to get.
He has been storming around the house all day opening and slamming doors and cabinets and the washing machine lid. He slammed the door to his own room enough times that it stuck fast trapping him inside and freaking him out. Good laugh for us though. He has pounded on my bedroom door where I am working trying to annoy me. He popped the screen out of his second-story window and threatened to climb out. He was spotted standing on the handrail to the stairs, jumping on the couch, and walking on the coffee table.
What's really funny is that somehow in his mind he thinks that this will get him what we wants. Of course, now that you act like a spoiled little urchin, let me give you a tv and dvd player for you room and let you play video games and eat candy all night and get it stuck in the carpet, and choose the best seat in the car and eat with your fingers and chew with your mouth open at dinner. By all means. The three middlers like to use not only bad behavior but the threat of bad behavior to try to manipulate situtations and get what they want. I realize they haven't been with us from the time they were little but you would think by now they would know that they will end up with the exact opposite of what they are trying to get.
Friday, December 28, 2007
So Much for Peace on Earth
I guess Christmas is over. The novelty of new toys bought two days of relative peace and quiet. The three tweeners also did pretty well at the store redeeming gift cards. They lasted until yesterday afternoon. Drama Boy and Squeaker have been assigned to write essays on kindness following a gossip session in the front yard about how much they hate The Boss. After wrestling and flailing all over the house Sparky and Drama Boy refused to take it outside or go settle down in their room and chose to shout at me instead. Bad move. No computers for them for two days. No electronics for Squeaker until her essay is done and her room is picked up. I just heard an "I hate you" from down the hall and I don't know if it's serious or joking. Sigh. "Isn't nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet!" (L.M. Montgomery)
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Christmas Moods in Rhyme
Porky: How we felt after a lot of yummy Christmas goodies.
Dorky: How we looked in our santa hats.
Mad: How Sparky felt when he thought Squeaker got a better gift (and how the grown-ups felt about his display of ingratitude).
Glad: How The Boss felt about all his new jets,trains, trucks, and transformers.
Tired: How I felt after staying up most the night loading music on ipods and assembling a radio flyer wagon.
Wired: Kids+Sugar+Presents. 'Nuff said.
Geeky: Because one of our traditions is Christmas caroling (rather badly) for the neighbors and we're bummed because we skipped it this year.
Reeky: Because the kids slept in their clothes and then went straight outside to play with their new toys this morning.
Stressed: Because all three cars need work, our front door got stuck shut on Christmas day and our handyman can't fix it, we're broke until the beginning of the month, and we have a week and a half of vacation left with kids who think they should be entertained every waking minute.
Blessed: Because a Christmas bonus paid for our holiday dinner (I give you my boss, the founder of the feast!), members of our church family gave us a Christmas tree and gifts including an Xbox (our PS2 was among the things stolen on the Fourth of July while we were helping at a church event), Christmas was much more peaceful and enjoyable than we anticipated (the holidays being a very difficult time for traumatized kids), guardianship for Drama Boy and Sparky finally went through, adoptions for Peaches and Squeaker should be early next year. We're blessed with a lovely house and more than enough stuff (despite the boys cries of lack and neglect because we choose not to have cable); terrific, supportive parents; wonderful siblings/siblings-in-law who are also some of our best friends; healthy, (sometimes) happy kids; gorgeous and amazing nieces and nephews; a very sweet grandma; dear friends that we do not see enough but love and miss; and of course the very best gift of God's own son.
Dorky: How we looked in our santa hats.
Mad: How Sparky felt when he thought Squeaker got a better gift (and how the grown-ups felt about his display of ingratitude).
Glad: How The Boss felt about all his new jets,trains, trucks, and transformers.
Tired: How I felt after staying up most the night loading music on ipods and assembling a radio flyer wagon.
Wired: Kids+Sugar+Presents. 'Nuff said.
Geeky: Because one of our traditions is Christmas caroling (rather badly) for the neighbors and we're bummed because we skipped it this year.
Reeky: Because the kids slept in their clothes and then went straight outside to play with their new toys this morning.
Stressed: Because all three cars need work, our front door got stuck shut on Christmas day and our handyman can't fix it, we're broke until the beginning of the month, and we have a week and a half of vacation left with kids who think they should be entertained every waking minute.
Blessed: Because a Christmas bonus paid for our holiday dinner (I give you my boss, the founder of the feast!), members of our church family gave us a Christmas tree and gifts including an Xbox (our PS2 was among the things stolen on the Fourth of July while we were helping at a church event), Christmas was much more peaceful and enjoyable than we anticipated (the holidays being a very difficult time for traumatized kids), guardianship for Drama Boy and Sparky finally went through, adoptions for Peaches and Squeaker should be early next year. We're blessed with a lovely house and more than enough stuff (despite the boys cries of lack and neglect because we choose not to have cable); terrific, supportive parents; wonderful siblings/siblings-in-law who are also some of our best friends; healthy, (sometimes) happy kids; gorgeous and amazing nieces and nephews; a very sweet grandma; dear friends that we do not see enough but love and miss; and of course the very best gift of God's own son.
Good Morning, Sweet Prince
The Boss' first word's to me this morning were: "Can I have Christmas again today?"
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Think Twice
Squeaker apologized to me for her behavior saying, "Sometimes my anger is bigger than my brain". Yeah, no kidding. Her apologies are usually rehearsed and very thorough. Ana calls them "Anne Shirley apologies".
I had her write a two page research paper on the effects of crack abuse and why you should not call someone a "crackhead".
Her final paragraph stated: "Hey, mom, I am very sorry for my behavior. All this research will have me thinking twice before I call anyone a crackhead."
It's just too bad that before she thinks even once the words have already left her mouth.
I had her write a two page research paper on the effects of crack abuse and why you should not call someone a "crackhead".
Her final paragraph stated: "Hey, mom, I am very sorry for my behavior. All this research will have me thinking twice before I call anyone a crackhead."
It's just too bad that before she thinks even once the words have already left her mouth.
Misadventures in Parenting
Sometimes, I'm such an idiot. In my calm moments when all is peaceful and the kids are behaving (usually when they are in bed asleep) I am a perfect parent. Well, not perfect but pretty good. Okay, okay..at least adequate. I plan out my responses and resolve to keep my cool in the face of rages, defiance, and childish misdeeds. In those quiet moments in my mind I can be firm yet loving, handling each situations that arises with grace and humor.
Then they wake up. It's then that I discover that I'm not particularly patient nor particularly gracious in the heat of the moment. I'm probably not even all that nice. Humor? Well, some of the things that happen are hilarious later, even to me. You would think after caring for so many traumatized kids who don't want to be here that I would be somewhat immune to being lashed out at. I understand that many of their behaviors are a result of severe inner turmoil and emotional pain. I get that. I also know that it sometimes stems from self-centeredness, an inability to work things out and problem solve, and an out-of-whack way of looking at the world. In some cases, a big old heaping helping of mental illness also plays a part. As therapeutic foster parents, these are things we willingly accept as we continually equip ourselves to help them navigate and overcome their turbulent emotional states.
But the truth is there are some days I've had it up to HERE with being cursed at and called nasty names just for asking a child to comply with a simple request. I don't have a whole lot of stuff but it bums me out when it is stolen or broken. I get irritated and annoyed when kids are defiant and rude. I don't much care for being blamed for all the hurts and injustices in their pasts nor for being called "abusive" for requiring a child to do chores or to correct their behavior.
Sometimes that heaped up frustration and futility just makes me a parenting dork. Just this morning, Squeaker refused to put her shoes on. It was early yet, so visions of myself as firm, calm, and loving were fresh in my mind. I tried again. No go. Shouts of "Leave me alone!" instead and an unmoving child flat out on the bed. Finally, with much back talk, shoes were on and the resister was out the door. Another refusal, this time about getting in the car. Annoyance creeping in. I took her hand, firmly pulling (and maybe a little gentle pushing) towards the car. Nope. Annoyance rising. "Get. In. The. Car." You guessed it. No compliance, but I did get called "Crackhead" several times. That was nothing. I've been called every name in the book (including the appendices). I tried taking her by the hand again saying "Stop acting like a three year old". Abuse in the past causes her to react violently to being touched when she is angry. I should know better. More name calling, no help. Now thoroughly irritated yet still reasonably calm, I asked Ana to make my apologies at church since I was supposed to be helping in the toddler room and it didn't look like I would be going. Not without some snarky inclinations of my own, I commented that the offender's behavior was determining how her vacation time would be spent. Faced with the prospect of plenty of holiday "room time", the little defyer decided to climb into the car. No way. I grabbed her arm saying, "You're not going." Now I'm stuck at home. Again. Like I said, sometimes I'm such an idiot.
Then they wake up. It's then that I discover that I'm not particularly patient nor particularly gracious in the heat of the moment. I'm probably not even all that nice. Humor? Well, some of the things that happen are hilarious later, even to me. You would think after caring for so many traumatized kids who don't want to be here that I would be somewhat immune to being lashed out at. I understand that many of their behaviors are a result of severe inner turmoil and emotional pain. I get that. I also know that it sometimes stems from self-centeredness, an inability to work things out and problem solve, and an out-of-whack way of looking at the world. In some cases, a big old heaping helping of mental illness also plays a part. As therapeutic foster parents, these are things we willingly accept as we continually equip ourselves to help them navigate and overcome their turbulent emotional states.
But the truth is there are some days I've had it up to HERE with being cursed at and called nasty names just for asking a child to comply with a simple request. I don't have a whole lot of stuff but it bums me out when it is stolen or broken. I get irritated and annoyed when kids are defiant and rude. I don't much care for being blamed for all the hurts and injustices in their pasts nor for being called "abusive" for requiring a child to do chores or to correct their behavior.
Sometimes that heaped up frustration and futility just makes me a parenting dork. Just this morning, Squeaker refused to put her shoes on. It was early yet, so visions of myself as firm, calm, and loving were fresh in my mind. I tried again. No go. Shouts of "Leave me alone!" instead and an unmoving child flat out on the bed. Finally, with much back talk, shoes were on and the resister was out the door. Another refusal, this time about getting in the car. Annoyance creeping in. I took her hand, firmly pulling (and maybe a little gentle pushing) towards the car. Nope. Annoyance rising. "Get. In. The. Car." You guessed it. No compliance, but I did get called "Crackhead" several times. That was nothing. I've been called every name in the book (including the appendices). I tried taking her by the hand again saying "Stop acting like a three year old". Abuse in the past causes her to react violently to being touched when she is angry. I should know better. More name calling, no help. Now thoroughly irritated yet still reasonably calm, I asked Ana to make my apologies at church since I was supposed to be helping in the toddler room and it didn't look like I would be going. Not without some snarky inclinations of my own, I commented that the offender's behavior was determining how her vacation time would be spent. Faced with the prospect of plenty of holiday "room time", the little defyer decided to climb into the car. No way. I grabbed her arm saying, "You're not going." Now I'm stuck at home. Again. Like I said, sometimes I'm such an idiot.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Four Years Old
The Boss is four years old today. We celebrated last night with my sisters and their families. The Boss was thrilled with the whole celebration entertaining his fans with funny exclamations of delight at each of his presents, especially the "transforners" . He was funny and delightful the entire evening, enjoying spending time with his older cousins. Actually, he generally is funny and delightful when he wants to be. Sometimes he would rather be demanding, ornery, stubborn, and unbelievably strong-willed. To be fair he's had a lot of modeling of not-so-cooperative behavior spending his whole life with a long succession of traumatized kiddos who often make him the target of their misplaced anger.
He's always been a little bitty guy, born premature and playing catch up ever since. He didn't sit up until 9 months, walked at 19 months, and on his second birthday had a whopping vocabulary of 5 whole words (His first word was "kitty". "Mama" would have been a nice choice). He's very particular about his clothing and food, being overly sensitive to textures and smells. He's still working on some motor skills that Seamonkey has been adept at for some time and on his 4th birthday is yet to be potty-trained. Despite his delays he is very fortunate. His, birth mother was incarcerated for most of her pregnancy sparing him the difficulties and disabilities that afflict most of his five older biological siblings. It is likely, given the family history, that he was prenatally exposed to drugs and alcohol at some point prior to his birth mother's imprisonment.
Yet, especially at this time of year, it's hard not to think about and pray for his birth mother. Case worker reports state that she had "loving concern for all her children" even though she was unable to parent them. Nurses' notes following his birth document their very few days together. He was released on Christmas day and placed in two different foster homes before coming to me at 7 days old. His birth mother never saw him again. He was an unexpected blessing I thought would only be with me for a few months. I thought of her often as I held him when he was so tiny and it made me sad. I wonder if she wonders about him and thinks of him on the day of his birth. I can't help but think of how different his life would be if he had stayed with his original family who stuggle with decades-long drug addictions. I thank God that he has a new family who love him and can't imagine life without him and who will to the best of their ability raise him to love Jesus. Although it is a wonderful and blessed thing, adoption always involves loss. Loss of dreams and expecations, of heritage and biological history. And so I pray for his first mom whose many children are being raised by others, that her loss would be eased, that she would be freed from her addictions, and that any other children that may come after would be protected from the debilitating effects of drug and alcohol exposure. Most of all I pray that she will know Jesus so that when we meet her again one day we will all be part of the same "adoptive family".
He's always been a little bitty guy, born premature and playing catch up ever since. He didn't sit up until 9 months, walked at 19 months, and on his second birthday had a whopping vocabulary of 5 whole words (His first word was "kitty". "Mama" would have been a nice choice). He's very particular about his clothing and food, being overly sensitive to textures and smells. He's still working on some motor skills that Seamonkey has been adept at for some time and on his 4th birthday is yet to be potty-trained. Despite his delays he is very fortunate. His, birth mother was incarcerated for most of her pregnancy sparing him the difficulties and disabilities that afflict most of his five older biological siblings. It is likely, given the family history, that he was prenatally exposed to drugs and alcohol at some point prior to his birth mother's imprisonment.
Yet, especially at this time of year, it's hard not to think about and pray for his birth mother. Case worker reports state that she had "loving concern for all her children" even though she was unable to parent them. Nurses' notes following his birth document their very few days together. He was released on Christmas day and placed in two different foster homes before coming to me at 7 days old. His birth mother never saw him again. He was an unexpected blessing I thought would only be with me for a few months. I thought of her often as I held him when he was so tiny and it made me sad. I wonder if she wonders about him and thinks of him on the day of his birth. I can't help but think of how different his life would be if he had stayed with his original family who stuggle with decades-long drug addictions. I thank God that he has a new family who love him and can't imagine life without him and who will to the best of their ability raise him to love Jesus. Although it is a wonderful and blessed thing, adoption always involves loss. Loss of dreams and expecations, of heritage and biological history. And so I pray for his first mom whose many children are being raised by others, that her loss would be eased, that she would be freed from her addictions, and that any other children that may come after would be protected from the debilitating effects of drug and alcohol exposure. Most of all I pray that she will know Jesus so that when we meet her again one day we will all be part of the same "adoptive family".
Good morning, Sunshine
Ana's first words to me this morning were: "If someone wakes me up on a Saturday morning it better be to throw me a surprise party not to show me frog poop."
Morning Drama in Two Acts
Act 1
I woke this morning to frantic knocking on my bedroom door. My first response to knocking on my bedroom door is to ignore it, hoping it will go away. Let's try that. Nope. More frantic knocking. Finally, I answered in my most cheerful morning voice (sarcasm), "WHAT?" Drama Boy answered, "Can you come here really quick?" Silly boy...I can't do anything really quick in the morning. "There's something really weird here," he continued.
I followed him to the bathroom and found him examining the tree frogs' soaking bowl. "I don't know if (Sparky) put rocks in here or if those are eggs!" No doubt he was excited about the prospect of even more amphibians to clean up after. Sorry to disappoint you, sweetie. "That's poop," I told him.
After giving him instructions to dump the bowl downstairs because the bathroom sink doesn't drain well, I went off to my sister's room and woke her up so I could complain about how rude it was for Drama Boy to wake me up on a Saturday morning.
Act 2
Walking through the hall back to my own room, I glanced in the bathroom to see dirt and standing water in the sink so I said to Drama Boy, "Do you actually listen to me when I talk to you?" He said that he did so I asked him what I had told him. "You said to clean the bowl downstairs." Exactly. So I asked him, "How did that (gesturing to the now-clogged sink) work out for you?" "It didn't work out at all."
Twenty minutes later, when I went to to take a shower, the dirt and water were still in the sink...now joined by a wad of blue chewing gum.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The True Meaning of Christmas
I had this heart-warming conversation with my 9-year-old yesterday:
Sparky: How come we only get three presents for Christmas?
Me: We love to give you kids gifts but that's not what the focus is. Christmas isn't about what you can get. We celebrate by spending time with the people we love and remembering the real reason for Christmas.
Sparky: (dramatic sigh) I know the meaning of Christmas! It's all about giving...so how come you're only giving us three presents?
Tis the season to be greedy.
Sparky: How come we only get three presents for Christmas?
Me: We love to give you kids gifts but that's not what the focus is. Christmas isn't about what you can get. We celebrate by spending time with the people we love and remembering the real reason for Christmas.
Sparky: (dramatic sigh) I know the meaning of Christmas! It's all about giving...so how come you're only giving us three presents?
Tis the season to be greedy.
Do the Math
According to Barna Research Group there are approximately 18 million adult evangelical Christians in America.
There are approximately 114, 000 foster children in America currently eligible and waiting to be adopted.
"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress..." James 1:27
There are approximately 114, 000 foster children in America currently eligible and waiting to be adopted.
"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress..." James 1:27
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
There Arose Such a Clatter
The littles have been arguing, tattling, begging, and making demands loudly every day, all day, all week.
He took my car. He hit me. You be quiet. Get off my bed. That was you. That was not me. No you can't. You took my spot. Don't say that. Stop it! No you stop it! Right now! What the heck? Don't talk to me. You can't go right there. I want a cookie. THERE'S A SPIDER! Open the door! Shut the door! I don't want to take a nap. I want to eat. I don't want to eat. I'm going to FREAK out! You give me juice. I want Transformers/Thomas/Bob the Builder/Spiderman/skateboard. That's not yours. NO! YES! NO! YES! Heeeeeyyyyy!!!! He's pushing me. You can't do that. No you not. Yes I can. I can't. Ewwwwww....he farted. That was not me that was you. Get OFF!
We're a pretty loud household. I guess everybody thinks they need to yell to be heard over the others and the little guys are no exception. They argue loudly over everything including, this week, a pair of dirty socks that they both thought was theirs. We, of course, get to enjoy the accompanying whines, shrieks, squeals, growls, raspberries, and shooting/blowing up noises that go along with their conversation. They also mimic perfectly the name-calling and "tone" from the older kids. Charming.
The rest of the kids continue to recover uncustomarily quickly from outbursts (can anybody say "Christmas is coming"?) but are still originators of almost constant noise. Drama Boy playing video games and guitar, Sparky drumming on every surface he can reach, Squeaker talking and/or singing during all waking hours, the boys wrestling and chasing one another up and down the stairs and all of them bantering, arguing, bargaining, chatting about thier friends and their day at school.
However the winning argument of the week went something like this:
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
DON'T SAY THAT!
Yep. I don't even know what that means. Are my ears bleeding?
He took my car. He hit me. You be quiet. Get off my bed. That was you. That was not me. No you can't. You took my spot. Don't say that. Stop it! No you stop it! Right now! What the heck? Don't talk to me. You can't go right there. I want a cookie. THERE'S A SPIDER! Open the door! Shut the door! I don't want to take a nap. I want to eat. I don't want to eat. I'm going to FREAK out! You give me juice. I want Transformers/Thomas/Bob the Builder/Spiderman/skateboard. That's not yours. NO! YES! NO! YES! Heeeeeyyyyy!!!! He's pushing me. You can't do that. No you not. Yes I can. I can't. Ewwwwww....he farted. That was not me that was you. Get OFF!
We're a pretty loud household. I guess everybody thinks they need to yell to be heard over the others and the little guys are no exception. They argue loudly over everything including, this week, a pair of dirty socks that they both thought was theirs. We, of course, get to enjoy the accompanying whines, shrieks, squeals, growls, raspberries, and shooting/blowing up noises that go along with their conversation. They also mimic perfectly the name-calling and "tone" from the older kids. Charming.
The rest of the kids continue to recover uncustomarily quickly from outbursts (can anybody say "Christmas is coming"?) but are still originators of almost constant noise. Drama Boy playing video games and guitar, Sparky drumming on every surface he can reach, Squeaker talking and/or singing during all waking hours, the boys wrestling and chasing one another up and down the stairs and all of them bantering, arguing, bargaining, chatting about thier friends and their day at school.
However the winning argument of the week went something like this:
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
Don't say that!
Guy.
DON'T SAY THAT!
Yep. I don't even know what that means. Are my ears bleeding?
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Somebody Don't Get the Door
Before I had kids I rarely responded to the doorbell. When I'm home I don't like to be bothered. Part of the reason may be that when someone is selling something I often buy it. I don't need it but I buy it. I just bought a set of books to help the kids with study time. They are beautiful and full of all kinds of interesting bits of information that would keep me amused for hours. They are well-organized and easy to use. I think only one of the four school-aged kids has actually cracked into the things. I don't answer the door anymore.
Since adulthood, I've only ever had one friend who really lived close enough to drop by and even she knew to call me first to let me know she was coming so I would answer the door. I rented a house for while that had huge windows along the wall where the front door was located. One day Ana and I were snoozing through some movie on the living room couches when a salesman came to the door. I looked up and saw him and he saw me seeing him. Even though it was obvious we were having a little afternoon siesta he STILL knocked on the door. No, I didn't answer it. I don't even know what he was selling and I don't want to know.
Nowadays when the doorbell rings there is a massive stampede for the front door complete with arguing, shoving, and sharp thrusting elbows. The running of the bulls probably isn't as noisy and violent. The bell ringer is often a friend of the kids. Sometimes it's our gardener. On rare occasions it's the UPS man. I don't want to know.
This morning the doorbell rang at 8:30. We were out until midnight last night after visiting family and seeing "Alvin and the Chipmunks". All the kids were still in bed. No one rushed to the door to answer it. Maybe they've got some sense after all. Who rings a doorbell at 8:30 on a Saturday? I don't even want to know.
The doorbell rang again at 9:03am. The kids are up. Watch out for the stampede.
Since adulthood, I've only ever had one friend who really lived close enough to drop by and even she knew to call me first to let me know she was coming so I would answer the door. I rented a house for while that had huge windows along the wall where the front door was located. One day Ana and I were snoozing through some movie on the living room couches when a salesman came to the door. I looked up and saw him and he saw me seeing him. Even though it was obvious we were having a little afternoon siesta he STILL knocked on the door. No, I didn't answer it. I don't even know what he was selling and I don't want to know.
Nowadays when the doorbell rings there is a massive stampede for the front door complete with arguing, shoving, and sharp thrusting elbows. The running of the bulls probably isn't as noisy and violent. The bell ringer is often a friend of the kids. Sometimes it's our gardener. On rare occasions it's the UPS man. I don't want to know.
This morning the doorbell rang at 8:30. We were out until midnight last night after visiting family and seeing "Alvin and the Chipmunks". All the kids were still in bed. No one rushed to the door to answer it. Maybe they've got some sense after all. Who rings a doorbell at 8:30 on a Saturday? I don't even want to know.
The doorbell rang again at 9:03am. The kids are up. Watch out for the stampede.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Who's the Boss?
My almost-four-year-old, "the Boss", is bossy (hence the nickname, get it? and on a side note that is my first and hopefully last time using "hence" in a blog). He's not just a little bossy...he's a LOT bossy. He tries to boss the older kids, the younger kids, the adults, and the dog. He even bosses the toys, the tv, and the flies that land on his lunch.
We've had at least three conversations that have gone something like this:
Me: No, Nicky, please don't ___________. (fill in the blank with something annoying)
Him: Why not? (Doing it again.)
Me: I said no.
Him: I said yes.
Me: You need to do what mama says the first time.
Him: You're not the boss. I the boss.
Me: No, mama is the boss.
Him: No, I the boss.
Me: Okay, if you're the boss then you can get a job and buy the food and make dinner and do the dishes and clean the house and do the laundry and make sure everyone gets to school and help with homework and supervise chores and kill the spiders that come into the house. (This is a good one...we've had some giant, hairy spiders.)
Him: No, I not do laundry and spiders. You the boss.
Me: Okay, that's all I'm saying.
Ana likes to interject that mama is the boss because God said so. Oh yeah, that too. But there's nothing like a little spider-killin' to show the kiddos who's really in charge around here.
We've had at least three conversations that have gone something like this:
Me: No, Nicky, please don't ___________. (fill in the blank with something annoying)
Him: Why not? (Doing it again.)
Me: I said no.
Him: I said yes.
Me: You need to do what mama says the first time.
Him: You're not the boss. I the boss.
Me: No, mama is the boss.
Him: No, I the boss.
Me: Okay, if you're the boss then you can get a job and buy the food and make dinner and do the dishes and clean the house and do the laundry and make sure everyone gets to school and help with homework and supervise chores and kill the spiders that come into the house. (This is a good one...we've had some giant, hairy spiders.)
Him: No, I not do laundry and spiders. You the boss.
Me: Okay, that's all I'm saying.
Ana likes to interject that mama is the boss because God said so. Oh yeah, that too. But there's nothing like a little spider-killin' to show the kiddos who's really in charge around here.
Do as I Say Not as I Not Do
Squeaker used to have a very difficult time keeping her room clean. Not just messy, I mean truly disgusting. So now that we have been blessed with a nice house, I have been on her about keeping the room clean and sanitary. Some of her belongings are in storage because she became overwhelmed with too much stuff (which also became missiles launched during tantrums) and she has been doing a fair job of keeping things neat.
MY room on the other hand has become a storage shed for the kid's outgrown clothes, assorted books with no home shelf to return to, unwrapped Christmas presents, unfiled filing, and toys that "the Boss" brings in here for convenient and noisy playing while I am working. Since the vacumm cleaner needs a new bag, there are also diamond shaped scraps from the paper snowflakes I have been making for our Christmas eve festoonery. SO....my project today is to get everything put away and in order so I don't have to feel that twinge of hypocrisy whenever I tell the kids to get their rooms picked up. Of course, if they would take over all the cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundering, taxiing, yardwork, not to mention my work-at-home job then my room would be spotless.......NOT.
MY room on the other hand has become a storage shed for the kid's outgrown clothes, assorted books with no home shelf to return to, unwrapped Christmas presents, unfiled filing, and toys that "the Boss" brings in here for convenient and noisy playing while I am working. Since the vacumm cleaner needs a new bag, there are also diamond shaped scraps from the paper snowflakes I have been making for our Christmas eve festoonery. SO....my project today is to get everything put away and in order so I don't have to feel that twinge of hypocrisy whenever I tell the kids to get their rooms picked up. Of course, if they would take over all the cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundering, taxiing, yardwork, not to mention my work-at-home job then my room would be spotless.......NOT.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
All Quiet on the Western Front
It has been uncharacteristically calm (although never quiet) around here this week. Helping this along is that fact that Drama Boy (11 this month) has been gone for a few days to science camp. With half the wrestling duo gone, Sparky (9) has had to content himself with standing on the furniture, drumming the walls, and sneaking candy off the gingerbread houses rather than going for the ultimate pin....apparently garnering more points for an unsuspecting victim and a tackle that results in screeches, tears, and crashing belongings all over the room. He had a storm cloud over his head last night over a homework assignment and no dessert but managed to squash it before it let loose. That's progress, folks. These guys are in guardianship with Ana and, although we share the house and I think they are great, I'm happy to let her wrangle these two wild monkeys.
My kids have also had a relatively calm week. Squeaker (12) had a good day at school yesterday which followed a not-so-good day. I had to pick her up early on Tuesday to avoid an outburst escalating into a third suspension. We had to endure a little bit of attitude afterwards when she had to stay in her room (except for lunch, chores, snack, and dinner) and was required to write an apology note to her teacher. Some stomping on the stairs, a few door slams and snarky comments were mild and mangeable compared to the raging tantrum it could have turned into. She did write a very nice note to her teacher and pulled herself together to have a "great" day despite her vow (decorated with some choice "colorful" words) that she would NEVER go back to that place. She's making a tremendous effort and I'm very proud of her. She has a 4.0 this year, albeit in a special classroom, but she is doing the work and mostly behaving pleasantly in class. Again, progress. Major progress, even.
"The Boss" (4 this month) and grandson (2 1/2) have been squabbling all week in preschool fashion over whose toys are whose and tattling about who is being naughty. They have been blaming each other for things that I find hilarious.
Everyone in our house seems to have a pretty gnarly edge...except shaggy pooch, Cooper, who is about the nicest dog on the planet. I don't think any of the human types in our house would classify as plain old "nice" like he does. But as a friend of mine says "Nice is not one of the fruits of the spirit". Not that we all couldn't use a lot of work on the real ones! But for now, the blessed reprieve from tantrums, cussing, and bad attitudes is good enough for me!
My kids have also had a relatively calm week. Squeaker (12) had a good day at school yesterday which followed a not-so-good day. I had to pick her up early on Tuesday to avoid an outburst escalating into a third suspension. We had to endure a little bit of attitude afterwards when she had to stay in her room (except for lunch, chores, snack, and dinner) and was required to write an apology note to her teacher. Some stomping on the stairs, a few door slams and snarky comments were mild and mangeable compared to the raging tantrum it could have turned into. She did write a very nice note to her teacher and pulled herself together to have a "great" day despite her vow (decorated with some choice "colorful" words) that she would NEVER go back to that place. She's making a tremendous effort and I'm very proud of her. She has a 4.0 this year, albeit in a special classroom, but she is doing the work and mostly behaving pleasantly in class. Again, progress. Major progress, even.
"The Boss" (4 this month) and grandson (2 1/2) have been squabbling all week in preschool fashion over whose toys are whose and tattling about who is being naughty. They have been blaming each other for things that I find hilarious.
Everyone in our house seems to have a pretty gnarly edge...except shaggy pooch, Cooper, who is about the nicest dog on the planet. I don't think any of the human types in our house would classify as plain old "nice" like he does. But as a friend of mine says "Nice is not one of the fruits of the spirit". Not that we all couldn't use a lot of work on the real ones! But for now, the blessed reprieve from tantrums, cussing, and bad attitudes is good enough for me!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
