She’s just a bill, yeah she’s only a bill…
by Mir on October 31, 2013 in Offspring: ecstasy and agony
Today I am tired of all the ways in which my family of special snowflakes is so extra snowflakey and specialish. Today I just want to be a regular family with regular issues and all of the same stuff that everyone deals with because half-grown humans are dealing with hormone poisoning and incomplete frontal lobes.
This means you get to delight in the one way in which our family is just like any other, and that means that over at Alpha Mom I’m helping you to clarify when you’re allowed to exist and when your teenager needs you to just stop it, seriously, GOD MOM.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to shopping for a Cloak of Invisibility.
I don’t know if my life used to be more interesting than it is now, or if I just used to believe it to be more interesting. (Maybe don’t tell me. Allow me my fantasy that my life was once better than it is now.) I keep thinking, “I’ll write once something fascinating happens.” But guess what! I suppose this is middle age, yes? When you realize that your life is just not all that exciting…?
(To be fair, I actually had that epiphany over the weekend when Otto was watching Formula One and I plunked myself down on the couch next to him. The coverage cut to a new thermal imaging camera they’re using to show how hot the tires get on the track, and at the same time both of us went, “Ooooooooooh!” That was when I realized that what passes for excitement in your 40s is really nothing like what you imagined when you were younger. It was also when I realized that true love is also a far cry from what I once assumed.)
So until something thrilling happens (haaaa), you get snippets. (more…)
Back in the days of OH I COULD NEVER EVER HOMESCHOOL (haaaaaaaa!), my aversion to this idea was multi-pronged. Basically I was convinced that:
A) I am not patient enough to be my child’s main teacher.
B) Curriculum planning is probably hell on earth.
C) Spending all day, every day, with my child would strain our relationship.
D) Working and homeschooling are incompatible, even though I work from home.
E) There is not enough Excedrin in the world for this.
Spoiler: I was wrong. I mean, Excedrin comes in really, really big bottles (especially at Costco!), plus there are ways to deal with all of those other concerns. For example, we use virtual school classes, which means that my “curriculum planning” consists of going through the course catalog to pick classes, rather than actually writing syllabi. Also, when I need to get work done I just ignore Monkey for a while. Easy!
[As for patience, well, I still think I'm probably not patient enough, not really. But I'm a lot more patient than I was a few years back, which is just as good for me as it is for him. And when all else fails, there's that whole ignoring thing. Which I am totally joking about! Except not really.] (more…)
Some of the drama du jour ’round here has me thinking about what it means to be in the right, and how the older I get, the less important it feels to me. The kids, though, man alive. When they’re right they’re RIIIIIIGHT, and woe betide the person who tries to interfere with their convictions with pesky things like a differing opinion.
We’re working on it, and while we do, I started working on a piece for Alpha Mom, and then cracked myself up by titling it The Unbearable Rightness of Being. Get it? Get it?? It’s okay if you don’t agree that I’m funny, because I know that I don’t always have to be right. (See what I did there? SEE? Oh, nevermind.)
My toenails; more specifically, my inability to paint them properly.
I believe in painted toenails. I don’t know why, because I almost never paint my fingernails and rarely wear makeup. I’m not exactly a get-dolled-up-regularly type, is my point. And yet, to me, summer = painted toenails. And given that I am far too cheap/lazy to get professional pedicures—hey, I have polish and passable eye/hand coordination—I do my own feet here at home. I am never either drunk or blind before I set out to prettify my feet, AND YET! What the heck is my problem? I manage to BOTH slop polish all over my toes AND miss entire sections of nails altogether.
I have been painting my nails for something like 30 years. You’d think I would’ve figured it out by now…? And when I paint someone ELSE’s nails—like on the rare occasions when Chickadee will allow me to do hers—I’m fine. This leads me to believe it’s some sort of angle issue, but I’m pretty bendy and not tall, really, so it’s not like my feet are all that far away.
[Somewhat-related digressions: Anyone else keep buying pretty colors in different brands because they're cheap and then getting annoyed when they chip? OPI + MIR = BFF 4EVAH. I am currently sporting Lincoln Park After Dark both to pretend Fall has actually arrived and because the stuff I had on before this was a different brand and was all chipped up by the time I took it off. Also---random recommendation ahoy---am I the last person on earth to learn about Gooey? I appreciate how it keeps the (good) polish on my nails even while I'm scraping it off the surrounding skin.] (more…)
[Before I get into the actual post, a great big sloppy thank-you to everyone who responded so kindly to my last couple of posts (and the corresponding post over on Alpha Mom). I am emerging from the fog and hoping I never have to switch medications ever again. Thanks for being patient with me.]
Remember how last summer Monkey got glasses and there was much rejoicing? There was also some self-flagellation, because he’d been having trouble seeing for a while, and I hadn’t kept up with yearly exams, but all of you assured me that these things can happen and the important thing was that it had all been resolved and it could’ve happened to anyone. I like you, have I even mentioned that?
So a couple of weeks ago when Monkey started complaining (again!) that he was having trouble seeing, I was all, “Oh, we’re probably due for your yearly exam very soon,” and then I went and checked and, yeah, His last exam was in June. Whoops. I like how I totally learned my lesson from before, don’t you? I went ahead and made him an eye appointment. And then listened to a week of “Mom! HEY MOM! Can you read that from here? Because I can’t! I can BARELY SEE IT!” (more…)
Yep, I know what today is. Nope, not gonna talk about it. There are plenty of places you can go to get that, today.
What I’m offering, instead, is two different distractions if you need ‘em. Because YAY, shiny and less-depressing things!
First: My latest post at Alpha Mom is all about teaching teens to think about money, even though mostly what my teens think about money is, “Mom should give us more of it.”
Second: I’ve been given the privilege of doing some collaboration with the National Center for Learning Disabilities, which does all sorts of awesome things (and I would say that even if I wasn’t working with them). I think that when you say “learning disability” most people think “dyslexia,” even though there’s a plethora of learning differences which includes things like ADHD, Autism Spectrum disorders, and more. The NCLD is interested in hearing more from other parents. If you have a child with a learning difference, what types of resources would you find most helpful in making sure your child receives the best education possible? Everything shared here will be passed along to the NCLD to assist them in improving their offerings. (Please share this feedback opportunity with others who might have something to say, too, even if they’re not blog readers. All input welcome!)
The adjustment to the new school year has been… well… a little rocky. It’s been a month, so you’d think things would be evening out about now. Of course, if you actually knew my children, you’d realize that one month is about enough time for all unaddressed issues to come to a glorious, face-melting head of WOE and GNASHING OF TEETH, and that’s pretty much exactly how it went.
[Related: I have never wanted a long weekend to end as badly as I did this past weekend. Instead of feasting on charred meat, we spent our extra day wondering if we could, perhaps, just move away when the kids weren't paying attention. But apparently that's "bad parenting" or something.]
Anyway! We are ALL ABOUT the now-dreaded phrase “skills building” here at Casa Mir. It is SKILLS BUILDING to work on consuming your dinner as if silverware is not a foreign concept. It is SKILLS BUILDING to be instructed in the fine art of putting dirty clothing IN the hamper instead of NEXT TO the hamper (I have never understood that). And it is most definitely SKILLS BUILDING to learn how to make checklists for yourself if you have the attention span of a fruit fly and are constantly in trouble for forgetting to do things. (more…)
Because I know everyone is terribly concerned about the state of my bladder, I’m happy to report that all is well. I am also somewhat perplexed to report that—after going to the doctor first thing last Wednesday morning for this issue—I didn’t get a call from the doctor’s office until the following Monday evening to confirm that yes, indeed, my urine culture had grown bacteria and I had an infection. (To my credit, I didn’t respond to that with, “No, REALLY?”) I mean… nice of them to let me know… three days after I finished the antibiotics. When I questioned the need for the call at all, the nurse said, “Uh, well, we wanted to make sure you were feeling better.” Thanks?
In other, unrelated, news: Nothing in the world makes me feel dumber than parenting teenagers. Seriously, Mother Nature is a stone cold bitch, making babies all adorable and kids intriguing and delightful and then being all, “HAHAHAHA, you’re all invested in these people who just TURNED INTO SOUL-WITHERING ALIENS! Suckers!!” I hear I’ll become smarter again in a few years, but in the meantime, oof. Sometimes I write about stuff to remind myself that I am not a complete failure when it comes to them. For example, today on Alpha Mom I share that I am pretty good at getting my kids to do their chores, and I don’t scream or beat them or anything. So I’m still stupid, but at least we don’t live in squalor. (I’ll take my points wherever I can get ‘em.)
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