Enough Already!

It's been a rollercoaster week here at Casa Bedhead.

It was O's birthday on Thursday. She's 14. Which, what the hell, how did that happen? And I don't want to be jinxing things too much, but considering she's of an age when she's supposed to be impossible and defiant and difficult and all those other fantastic teenage characteristics, she's really a pretty good kid. Sure, she has her moments, but who doesn't? I know I have mine, in spades. I think my moments are more like days, but whatever. This isn't about me (for once).

O was supposed to have three friends sleep over on Friday night. I was going to rent them some movies, get them some pizza and some soda and make popcorn and it was going to be a nice, if loud and giggly, time. But then all three friends bailed on her. One girl had a wedding, one girl's parents wouldn't let her and the third got a last minute babysitting job. O was bummed. Very bummed.

On the fly, I decided that I'd take her out to dinner and a movie instead. She was happy with that. We were going to go to The Outback (her choice) and to see Journey To The Center Of The Earth on Friday night. This did not happen.

Why? Well, Boo woke up on Friday morning soaked to her knees with pee. Her preschool teacher had mentioned on Thursday that Boo was using the bathroom a lot at school and said that her breath smelled sweet and funky. Alarm bells started going off. I checked Boo's blood sugar on Friday morning. It was 160. As soon as they opened, I was on the phone to the pediatrician's office. They saw her that afternoon and found glucose in her urine. The pediatrician wanted to run more lab work, so we were at the office until after 6 p.m.. The results were inconclusive and I have to check Boo's blood sugars over the weekend and follow up on Monday.

So, no dinner and movie on Friday. We went yesterday and over dinner, I asked O if she would rather go to the movies or go shopping. Her grandmother gave her a $35 gift card to Pac Sun and I said we could spend about $30 in addition, since that's probably what we would have spent at the theater anyway. She, naturally, decided to go shopping.

She got a couple of shirts at Pac Sun and we went to Macy's to get some MAC foundation. She'd been complaining about her face, how she keeps breaking out and nothing covers it and I told her about the amazingness of MAC's foundation. Luckily we have the same skin tone, so we're going to share it. But ouch - it's $27.50 a bottle. Still. Since I STILL get zits (and what the FUCK is up with that?? I'm old, goddammit, I should not be getting zits like I'm some pizza-scarfing 15 year-old boy.) and know what a pain in the ass it is to try to conceal them (I've given up at this point. Jesus, parenthetical much, Julia?), I thought I'd splurge.

It was a nice night out. We had fun. O talked my ear off, which was nice, if somewhat exhausting. I'm really glad that she likes to talk to me and tell me what's going on with her friends and her life. It makes me feel like maybe I haven't completely screwed up.

Back to Thursday, though (man, this post is going to need editing). Her father called her on her birthday. Now, normally that would be a nice thing, but her father hasn't contacted her in 5 months and hasn't seen her in almost 2 years, so this was decidedly Not Good. He said he'd called to wish her a happy birthday and that he couldn't talk but he'd call her back later. O was in hysterics about this. She doesn't want to talk to him. She sent him an email telling him that 5 months ago - a shit or get off the pot email, saying that she didn't just want to have a phone relationship with him, that she wanted to see him, that she wanted him to make the effort to visit (he only lives an hour away). She emailed it and heard nothing. For five months. She thought she was done having to deal with him, only to have him come back again and throw her for a loop. It's really sucked. A lot. For everyone. I hate that I can't fix this for her, that I can't just make him go away and leave her alone. I hate that he keeps screwing with her head. And if he ever calls here again, I'm going to tell him that.

In other news, That Canadian Boy I Married may possibly have a couple of herniated discs in his back and has been laid up on the couch every night for almost 2 weeks. He has to get more x-rays done tomorrow and will be seen again on Thursday, but in the meantime, he's in awful pain. His mother has horrible back problems and I'm afraid he may have inherited her issues, which is worrying. Degenerative disc issues are not fun.

And The Bug is going to be evaluated by Early Intervention because she keeps falling down. I've taken her to the pediatrician, too, and there doesn't seem to be anything structurally wrong with her, so the pediatrician suggested EI. I'm fine with that, and although I don't know if she'll qualify for any services, it can't hurt to have her looked at.

I don't know what I did in a past life - maybe I killed babies or something - but I do wish this dark cloud of doom would move the fuck away from me and my family. It's sucking the life out of me.

The Fine Line Between Self-Control and Self-Abuse

O's relationship with her father is strained at best. At the beginning of November, O got a phone call from her step-grandmother, informing her that her dad and stepmother were splitting up. Again. Her dad didn't bother to call her about this for another month. Her step-grandmother, meanwhile, has kept in touch with O vial email and the occasional phone call. She's even made a couple of trips out here to take Olivia out to lunch and hang out for a couple of hours. Her father has made no such effort and aside from a five minute meeting to hand off some of O's diabetes supplies, it's been over a year since she's seen or spent any time with her father.

The run up to this break in relations was stormy and coincided with us moving about an hour away from him, when we bought our house two years ago. They saw each other infrequently during that time and it was usually fraught with tears and hollering matches. There was an idyll of about 6 weeks, when her father and stepmother split up the first time around, but they soon reconciled and O was out in the cold again. She had no desire to spend time with her stepmother and I wasn't exactly anxious either. K, the stepmother, had been needlessly cruel to O over the last year prior to the first break up, at one point even locking O in her bedroom when she thought O had been snotty towards her. Now, O can be snotty with the best of them, but locking her in her room is excessive. And dangerous, considering O has type 1 diabetes. Being locked in a room for a couple of hours, with no access to juice to treat a low, could have turned into a bad scene. Thankfully nothing happened, but still. Who the hell locks a kid in their room? Talk about epitomizing wicked stepmother.

Since her father and stepmother have split up again, O has been making an effort to talk to her father. He moved back in with his parents, so she calls there. Most of the time, her dad isn't home and so she chats with her grandparents for a bit and leaves a message for him to call her back. This rarely happens. She's disappointed, but resigned to the fact that her dad is like this.

This past weekend, she saw her step-grandmother again, for lunch. When O came home, she was a bit down and I asked her how things went. She told me that P, her step-grandmother, had finally told her why her dad and K split up - that it was all because of alcohol. That K was an alcoholic and that her dad was, too. That instead of paying the bills, they were spending all their money on beer and at the bars. And that her dad and K hadn't planned to split up, but when they got evicted from their apartment, her dad said they could live with his parents. On the day they were supposed to move in there, he told K that his parents didn't want her there. She moved in with her mother, but they still talk and still see each other.

I was sad for O, but not surprised. This is the same reason that he and I split, lo these many years ago. He drank away the rent money and got us evicted from three apartments in the space of 16 months. The third eviction was the final straw and I moved out and never looked back. He admitted at the time that he was spending the rent money at the bar and that he had a drinking problem. When I tried to get him some help, he didn't want to hear it. Since the marriage was on its last legs anyway, I didn't push too hard.

But it seems nothing has changed. He's still a drunk, he's still getting evicted from apartments and not paying his bills. But this time, he has his parents to fall back on and they keep letting him move in there, allowing him to spend all of his money on booze.

I talked to O about all of this and told her that's what broke up our marriage, too. She can't understand how he can prefer alcohol to her and I couldn't really help her because I could never understand how he could prefer it to the little family we had either. I know alcoholism is a sickness, but for some reason, I don't have the capacity to be forgiving about it. Maybe that's a failing on my part, but I honestly don't understand how you can wreck two marriages and your relationship with your only child and not realize that the booze is controlling you rather than the other way around.

I'm not quite sure what to do for O at this point. I don't know if Al-Anon would be helpful for her or not. I don't want her to make excuses for her father and I think she has every right to be furious with him, but I also don't want this to make her bitter. I don't want her walking around angry at the world because of her father's failings.

I could kill him, though. With pleasure. I don't deal well with this sort of thing. I find it to be weak, like he's looking for a crutch, an "Oh, I can't help myself, I'm an alcoholic." Not that he'll ever admit that. Nothing is ever his fault, it's always someone else's fault, someone's always out to get him, to screw him over, to throw him under the bus. He refuses to see that his actions have consequences and he refuses to take responsibility when he fucks up.

It's just a shame he can't see that he's also fucking up his daughter, causing her pain and creating irreparable rifts in an already-rocky relationship.

A Big Thank You

I got 48 49 comments on de-lurk day, which just blew me away. Thanks, everyone that commented. It was lovely. I'm going to call that one a success.

And now on to the random crappe.

Today is MUCH better than yesterday. Much. Boo's not doing her Regan imitation any more and I don't feel like consuming beverages out of craniums. It's all good.

I have a review of Peyton Place, of all books, up over at New England Mamas. Have you ever read it? I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I'm taking O shopping in town tomorrow. She wants to go to Faces, Deals and Steals and to Steve & Barry's for jeans. We'll probably go for pizza and possibly for desserts at La Fiorentina. TCBIM is staying home with the Shriek Sisters. I can't wait.

The Eyes Have It

Moral Of The Story: Never turn your back on a child with a glue stick and googly eyes.

In other news:

It was O's birthday on Tuesday (and thanks for all the good wishes for her) and her fuckwit of a father never called her. Not on her birthday, not the day after her birthday. Not one single person in his family called or sent a card or anything - not even his parents, her grandparents. Not one. I really wish they would just fall off the face of the earth. What kind of grandmother doesn't even acknowledge her first grandchild's birthday? O has made the effort. She's called her grandparents, she emailed and called her aunts and uncles and nothing. They'll email her back, but they don't make any effort to see her. They only live an hour away, so it's not like it's a chore to visit. They just don't seem to care. And O's heart is getting harder and harder towards them. She still gets a bit upset, but it's not like it was before. Now she just shrugs and says "Oh well. What do you expect from that family?" She's so jaded about them. It pisses me off. I just keep telling her that some people are just like that and there's not a lot you can do about it. If you want to make all the effort, they're happy to let you, but if not, then they won't. O says she's sick of making the effort, sick of being the bigger person. As she puts it, "I'm a kid, mum. I'm not supposed to have to be the bigger person here." It's hard to argue with that.

A Post In Pictures

Answers on the back of a $20, please.

The Kid Is Alright

Last night, while we were driving to my mother's, I was listening to All Things Considered. I enjoy that show but rarely get to hear it because I'm usually at home when it's on, wrangling babies. If there's one thing I know, it's that trying to listen to NPR while small children are around is a Very Bad Idea.

Last night, though, the kids were quiet for an entire five minutes and I got to listen to the story on Congress and the Senate's approval of the FISA bill. The host was talking about the bill a bit. Uncharacteristically for me, I wasn't swearing or throwing things at the radio. I just listened. Apparently, so did O. The report ended and she said, "Pfft. And here I thought America was a free country. Now they're going to be able to read emails and listen to phone conversations whenever they want."

I love my kid. I love that she got it, that I didn't have to explain anything to her, that she listened and drew her own conclusion on the report.

I don't like Oprah*

But this guy is amazing. I've watched it again and again and it's just breathtaking.







*O has always called Opera Oprah. It cracks me up, so it's Oprah now. (Sorry, Oprah.)

Eating

O is starting to worry me.

I bought a box of stuff that flavours tap water. I'm always trying to get O to drink more water, especially during school and I thought this might help. You add a packet to 22 ounces of water. It only has 15 g of carbs in it, so I didn't think it would mess with her blood sugar that much, if she just sipped on the water all day.

I bought these on Sunday evening. I noticed this morning that they're all gone. It's only Tuesday. This isn't the first time I've noticed this kind of behaviour. If I buy a cereal she likes - and I'm talking Grape Nuts or Life, not Captain Crunch - she'll eat it up in a day or two. Rather than have a sandwich for lunch or get a piece of fruit for a snack, she'll have cereal. It's like she has to consume whatever it is because it might not be there tomorrow and she might never get it again.

I have st0pped buying most snack foods because she inhales them. I do buy Goldfish for the little girls, but I have to hide them. If I buy Kix for them to snack on, O eats them.

I don't get it. I buy fruit. I buy the fruit she asks for - apples and grapes, mostly - I buy other healthy snacks - I cut up peppers and cucumbers, I buy yoghurt, and she will eat them, but if there's anything else in the house, she wolfs that down, too. Even when I ask her not to eat something, she does anyway. I bought myself a pack of gum a few weeks back. I had one piece and she took the rest.

She's almost 13, so she tends to get her own snacks. Short of putting locks on the cupboards and starting a huge power struggle over food, I don't know what to do. She's putting on weight, which embarrasses her, but when I talk to her about it, she gets mad. She's sneaking the food and she almost always gets caught, but she continues to do it. Even when I say "Look, I don't care if you have X food, just TELL me about it." If she does ask, and I know she's already had a not-so-healthy snack, I tell her to get fruit. She never does - she'd rather go pout in her room.

Does anyone have any suggestions? I don't really know how to deal with this. It almost seems like obsessive behaviour, like she has to eat it now because there may not be any food available later.

Maybe I'm not so bad

Girl's Gone Child has thrown down the gauntlet, bidding people to discuss how they are good mothers (and good fathers, too, I'm assuming). If you haven't read her post, go read it, and if you're so inclined, tell how you're a good mother.

This is a tough one for me. I am full of self-doubt. I question my sanity, my abilities, my competence on a daily basis. I constantly worry that I'm screwing up my kids somehow. That because I can be such a mess, mentally, at times, that I'm dooming my children to a bad childhood and an adulthood full of therapy.



But if I think rationally, I know that, for the most part, I am a good mother. I cook, fairly well, too. The cleaning...well, we won't go there. But the cooking bit, I love and I love to show my kids how to cook. O enjoys helping out in the kitchen and I love showing her how to make things that are more challenging that PB&J or Kraft dinner. We've made pancakes and cookies and about 87 loaves of banana bread and she's eager and willing to spend time with me. I've yet to let her slice an onion or dice a carrot but that's because I love my knife almost as much as I love my daughter and I don't want her to dull the thing hurt herself. Boo loves to cook with me but only if she gets to lick the spoon. And really, it doesn't get much better than licking the spoon, now, does it?

I dunno, mum, there's alway smearing
peanut butter all over yourself.
That's pretty fun, too.

I kick ass at taking care of a child with a chronic disease. I've done it for 9 1/2 years and I've done a great job. I log, I stay on top of site changes, I keep on top of trends and variations and I change things as needed. I take her to the endocrinologist and the ophthalmologist and the pediatrician. I print out reams of information for caregivers. Most importantly, I know who to go to when I'm stumped, where to get an answer to a problem that invariably crops up at 2 a.m. on the Saturday of a long weekend. I'm not afraid to ask for help, to admit when something has me stumped. And I'm not afraid to listen to, and implement, answers I might not want to hear.

I go to parent-teacher conferences and IEP meetings and talk to the nurse on a regular basis, making sure that O has a medically, at least, as stress-free a school experience as possible. I'm good at it. I know how to go in prepared for battle, but with a smile on my face. I never give an inch - I want what's best for her and I am prepared to fight tooth and nail for her to get it. I've found that going in with a smile works better for everyone - the staff, me and especially O.

I've helped her deal with the boatload of shit that her father has heaped on her. We've talked about it and decided, together, what to do about it. It's been difficult and there have been a lot of tears, but we're dealing with it together and each time it happens, I come away from it feeling like I really helped her. I'm really proud of the way I handle this mess - and it is a mess. I hug her while she cries and rants and raves. I let her vent, but then I bring it back to the dilemma and we talk about it. Talk about what to do, how to handle things and just generally sort it out. Sometimes I'll type out what she wants to say to her dad, so that she can have her thoughts sorted out for the next time he calls (because there's always a next time with him).
And we can actually talk. I listen to her blather on about this friend and that friend, who said what to whom and while I sometimes have to stifle my giggles (god, was I this intense at 12?), I do listen. And I tease. Just a little.

I falter more with the babies. Perhaps it's because I'm older, more self-aware, something, I don't know, but I have far more doubts with them.

Boo, though, is smart and as happy as a two and a half year-old can be. She knows almost all of her letters, she can count to 13, she can sing a bunch of songs and talks a blue streak. I can reduce her to a puddle of giggles just by tickling her under her chin. She loves to be read to and I love watching the delight on her face when we read Green Eggs & Ham, easily her favourite book. She loves to sit on the couch with me so we can watch Blue's Clues together (Steve only. The only Joe at my house is in the coffee maker.) We sing the songs and follow the clues and she loves it. She loves when we go outside to play. She loves that I let her sit in the dirt and pour it all over herself. It's only dirt. She's washable.

The Bug is a happy little thing, until bed time, but I don't think I had a hand in that problem. She's just stubborn. She grins at me and says "mamamamamama" and when I go out without her, she wriggles all over and smiles with glee when I come back thru the door. She's not very verbal yet, but going by the body language, I think I'm doing ok with her, too.

As long as you keep giving me Kix, mum, we'll be just fine.

So while I'm sure that I'll still rant and vent and complain and worry and fret and obsess over just how badly I'm fucking up these children, I think, deep down, I know I'm doing ok. At least, I hope so. Because I can't afford therapy and college tuition.