Did that knock the wind out of you? Just me?

I don’t even know where to start. I go from being okay, doing housework, taking care of the kids, cooking, being a normal mom, to a complete full-on breathlessness and messy, ugly sobbing that I can’t stop. I can’t stop crying. I start crying all the time. This morning I had to get gas and the attendant was polite and I started bawling.

Over the past five years we’ve had so many problems with James. Over and over again, the same things, steadily escalating until they exploded this weekend.

Not normal issues, we’re starting to learn as we take a break from the constant chaos and unrest and strife he brought into our home. As we’re finally able to start seeing the forest for the trees, pieces are coming together that we weren’t able to see while we were in the midst of Just. Surviving.

Every teenager flips their parents shit. It’s a normal phase of life. And we were totally prepared to deal with that. But what James has pulled over the last several years has been anything but normal. I won’t go into it here because I want to protect his privacy and frankly I’m weary of talking about it.

Let me say this: abnormal becomes normal really fast. And no matter what we did, what activity we signed him up for, what church we went to, what people we tried to connect him with, what talks we had, what outings we took him on, it still happened. I still had to sign him into a locked facility where people are watching him 24 hours a day so he doesn’t hurt himself or other people.

It came down to safety. Sunday he did some things that finally took my blinders off that I’ve been wearing for so long. The ones that told me that I’m his MOTHER. I can FIX IT.

But when those blinders came off, and I saw what he was, what he was doing, and what it could do to our family, I had to act. I am not the mother of one, I am the mother of three, and when your children are in danger, you act. That’s just what you do.

No matter how much it rips your heart out.

We don’t really know what’s going to happen at this point. James is officially “severely disturbed”, which both breaks my heart and encourages me; encourages because it’s not just me being a failure. Well, actually, THAT little guilt trip is starting to gain steam and I believe it’s settling down for a nice long stay, but we’ll address that some other time.

Because the situation is so acute, he gets what amounts to a mental health Golden Ticket, which basically means that at this point, what happens is out of our hands. We can’t just show up to bring him cookies or a blanket and frankly at this point we don’t want to. Bad mother, right? Please, you can’t throw anything at me that I haven’t thrown myself.

We meet with the therapist next week to see what the next steps are. And all I can do is just take it minute by minute, praying for mercy and gasping for air.

So we got home from a really fun night, and lo and behold, he’s not up in the living room playing video games like he usually is. He’s nervous and flushed. I didn’t think anything of it, and then I got this weird vibe that told me to look out the window (mind you, it’s 9 PM. Why would I be looking out the window.). There goes his ex-girlfriend up the street in the pouring rain.

I turned to him and asked him what kind of backpack she carried. He started being very helpful, telling me she had a little dog backpack and how cute it was. I said well, she’s going up the street. BIG surprise face! Oh my goodness! I should call her and ask her if she wants a ride! I just stood there thinking “he’s really thinking I’m going to buy this bullshit?”

So I sit down and asked him why she was over here while were gone. He spins a big story and I just listened until he finally wound down and admitted that she had been over here but “nothing had happened!” Yeah, right. I was so mad that I just told him to go to his room for the rest of the night so I could figure it out.

The next morning, we make him go to church, aka Forcing Religion Down My Throat. He’s texting like mad during the service so we take away his phone. When we get home DH has an email from ex-girlfriend begging us not to tell her uncle (who she lives with) what they had been up to. Seriously? Oh, and she also was worried that Son was “beating himself up about it”. Well, cry me a river. Of course we called him, and we had to tell him that we didn’t think our son was a good influence for his niece.

Boy, that sure felt good! Stellar parenting moment, to warn another family about OUR CHILD.

But it doesn’t stop there. We kept getting weird vibes from him, so when he went to the bathroom, I started searching his backpack. He came back and initially I stopped, but then I was like ” you know what? I’m the parent here and if I’m going to find something I’m going to find it right in front of him.” First, I found our missing lighter that we had been looking for in order to light the BBQ that he told us he had accidentally broken. I asked him why he had a lighter in his backpack and he shrugged his shoulders.

Then I had the privilege of finding multiple condom wrappers in his backpack. But that’s not all! Nope. THEN, I found an empty pill bottle with pot residue. Come to find out, Son has been toking up for several weeks, every day after school.

More condoms in his room. More stolen food. Several bottles of alcohol hidden in an old suitcase.

We called the police and they told us we can’t do anything unless he has actual pot; since he’s already smoked it all, we don’t have diddly squat.

I’m not really proud of what happened next, but it needed to happen. We screamed at each other for a few hours. Turns out he’s depressed and anxious and still trying to get over girlfriend so he’s been using drugs and sex to numb away the hurt.

I told him that life sucks. And you can’t use drugs and sex to dull the pain. You have to face it head on and get through it and man up and stop being such a coward.

Not very loving or motherly, probably. But he needed to hear it. I’m tired of molly-coddling him and trying to talk him through things. Bringing illegal drugs into my house and having sex with anything that moves doesn’t earn my respect or tenderness.

So we made a chart of sorts, based on prison standards (kind of). Since he’s busted every rule imaginable, basically he’s in solitary confinement. No friends, TV, or phone. Home by 4 PM. Bed by 8:30. Not allowed to stay home without us. No house key. In order to earn each of these privileges back, he has to earn points. One point possible a day, and that’s with all rules followed. 30 points required to get to the next level. So, for example, to get  his phone back? At least a month of good behavior. Each privilege must be earned back. In order to stay home without us? He’ll have to go at least 5 months without incidents. And I HATE CHARTS, but I need something to point to and write down and check off because DAMN IT. I need to feel like we’re accomplishing something here.

It sounds strict and it is. His actions DEMAND IT. I can’t wait around and hope that he will eventually get his shit together because that’s not going to happen. Surprisingly he seemed very impressed by the Chart and is eager to earn privileges back. He thrives on structure, which is something I’ve forgotten in the mad rush to parent a severely disabled child, work, keep house, and do everything else. He also starts counseling on Wednesday.

Am I doing this right? I don’t know. Half the time I feel like I’m drowning. J. is severely depressed and abusing alcohol, drugs, and sex. H. is severely mentally and physically disabled. E. needs my attention and focus and most of the time she just doesn’t get it because I’m putting out one fire or the other.

If I had known that parenting was going to be this hard, you couldn’t have gotten me to do it for a billion dollars. Sometimes I think what my life would be like without kids. I know it’s politically correct to say “but I just couldn’t get through the day without their love! They’ve taught me so many lessons” bla bla bla. Usually I’m so thankful for my kids and I can’t imagine life without them, but then there are weekends like this.

It will get better, I’m sure. There are flashes of light in this very dark tunnel. But right now…….I’m just so tired.

I am choosing to love him, even though he treats me and his father like dirt. Even though he breaks all our (very easy to follow) rules. Even though he has broken our hearts more times than I can count.

Even though I can’t get past something that’s he’s done, that I’ve forgiven him for academically, but can’t emotionally.

Even though he lashes out at his siblings, whispering words of cruelty and poison into their ears. Even though we have to keep them away from him most of the time, because he’s just so mean.

I am choosing to love my 16 year old today.

One day, maybe we’ll get past this constant hurting and retreating. I hope so. For all of our sakes.

I’m growing weary of explaining to my daughter why her big brother is so mean. Because she asks. Every time. And it’s hard to understand, let alone explain.

I am choosing to love him.

Despite my disappointment. In spite of his indifference, his scoffing, his disrespect for everything we hold dear.

I am choosing to love him.

And one day, I hope that it won’t be something that I have to consciously choose to take on. I hope it comes naturally, instead of a choice I have to make.

There has to be light at the end of the tunnel. I am choosing to believe that there is light, somewhere down the road.

So I work from home, and I usually work at night for a couple hours after the kinder have toddled off to bed to lie their weary heads down and sleep peacefully dreaming dreams of puppies and lollipops and CRIPES WOULD YOU GO TO BED ALREADY, YA HOOLIGANS. Since my oldest received a completely inappropriate video game from his father for his birthday (hmph), I’ve been having to put up with watching post-apocalyptic zombies go after mah baby boy to try to hurt him.

STOP HURTING MAH BABY, ZOMBIES.

The game is Fallout 3, or Fallout Boy, or Fallout of the Fridge? Something? I don’t know. All I know is that there are many creatures wondering around with some seriously bad facial fungus, and they all want to harm, maul, or otherwise wound the guy holding the big machine gun. Which would be James.

Last night, I’m watching him play this game out of the corner of my eye, and to put out some background I’m super tired, it’s hot, and I’m getting a little punchy. James goes after some bad guys and after a brief firefight, they kill him.

TEH ZOMBIES, THEY DONE KILLED MAH BAYBEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!111!!!!! OH THE HUMANITIEZ!!!!!

I actually got upset about this. Like, started tearing up and getting all emotional. “Oh, my gosh,” I stuttered. “They just, did you, did you just get killed?”

(In my defense, the graphics in this game are like seriously good so when the camera panned to his character lying on the floor it was a bit disconcerting.)

(Actually, that explanation doesn’t really help me out at all and makes me look like even more of a wuss.)

James looks at me and realizes I’m getting all verklempt. “Um, Mom?”

“Yessssss……” >>>trying to pull it together because SERIOUSLY, WOMAN.<<<

“You know it’s just a game, right?”

“YES I know it’s just a game. I’m fine. I’M FINE.” >>types furiously and articulately in a completely non-emotional manner MAH BAYBEEEEEEEEEE<<<<

__________________________

Wow. Reading this several hours later I’m still shocked and embarrassed at the pure, unadulterated PAP and DRIVEL that is contained in this post, but I’m too busy watching Mommy’s Pwecious Wambie defeat soldiers dressed up in cute little yellow outfits to change it.

Good Lord, can I really be the parent of a 16 year old? Am I really that old DON’T ANSWER THAT QUESTION.

16 years ago, my water broke explosively all over our bed at 5:30 in the morning. Audibly. Like somebody had just popped a balloon. I yelled “I think my water just broke!” and Dean jumped out of bed ready for action. I was a woman in labor, and Dean? Well, he followed me around for three hours while I peacefully made sandwiches, took a shower, cleaned the house, you know, normal woman in labor stuff.

It was so CUTE how he was writing down all my contractions and timing me and shoving me in the car because he couldn’t take it anymore! CUTE!

Once we got to the hospital, things progressed quite nicely. I was on a bed listening to Phil Keaggy over and over and over again. Doing the whole labor thing for 17 and a half hours, which I like to bring up if he gets sassy. Once he finally appeared after an hour (!) of pushing, I remember thinking two things very vividly. First, holy HELL how did that thing come out of me I am a super woman and seriously, how did that get out of me? and second, I need to remember his face so I don’t bring home the wrong kid.

Gosh, I’m glad I brought home the right one. Love you to pieces, sweetheart.

So Emma got a haircut yesterday. She is naturally gorgeous (OF COURSE) and doesn’t need a haircut for people to realize this fact (OF COURSE), but something about the way the stylist crafted her lovely blond locks made everyone in the salon do a double-take. Like on cartoons! That really happens! Kind of makes you wonder what else in cartoons is due to happen in your life; I’m guessing the piano dropping on your head is probably not something to look forward to, but I do long for the day when Foghorn Leghorn is prancing around my yard (getting plenty of breading and vegetable oil ready….just sayin’……little bit of garlic, maybe…..).

Anywhodles, she’s like drop-dead fantastically beautiful. We get home from the hair salon, and she decides to take her new look on the road, aka, across the street at the neighbors’. There are three little boys there ages 8-10, and normally, these boys are the kind featured in Family Circle cartoons: loud, dirty, obnoxious, nuisance to society, etc. Emma saunters over there, and here’s what happens:

Boys: “……….”
Emma: “Uh, hi?”
Boys: “………”
Emma: “Hello?”
Boys: >>>whispering to each other<<<
Emma: "Uhhhh...."
Boys: "YOU'RE HOT!"
Emma: >>>blushing furiously<<
Boys: "Will you marry me?"
Emma: "EWWW! NO!!!"
Emma: >>runs home screaming hysterically<<

Her newfound status as Beauty Queen of the ‘Hood was almost immediately canceled out when she simultaneously sneezed AND tooted, extremely loudly, and then fell off her chair laughing about it. (Which I’m very thankful for.) (The laughing about her tooting, not the falling off the chair.) (Although that was funny, too.)

First, who is Mia Kirshner? Only one of the most gorgeous, talented actresses on the freaking planet. You might have seen her in a little show called “The L-Word”, where she played a compelling psycho hosebag named Jenny Schecter. I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to smack her or invite her over for a girls night where we painted our toenails and watched “Little House on the Prairie” together. See what I mean? COMPELLING. Here’s a picture:

Anywho, I had the weirdest dream last night. It was one of those where you wake up completely convinced that it totally happened, like the ones I have all the time that Dean did something stupid and I’m mad at him, and he has no idea what I’m talking about, so I sulk for a while and he walks around bewildered throwing his hands up in the air saying “what did I do? IT WAS A DREAM, WENDY” and I’m all like “yeah, but that’s my sub-conscious working stuff out so there’s a grain of truth in there somewhere” and he’s all “whaaaaaa? DREAMS ARE NOT REAL please stop being mad at me oh goddddddd helpppppppp”.

Back to the Mia Kirshner dream. I’m standing outside in the driveway, and James, my 15 year old, is very earnestly talking to me about how he’s going to go on a road trip with this lady in the beat up green Volvo. For some reason I’m totally fine with this, and I’m nodding my head and asking him if he packed his toothbrush and enough socks. Then all of a sudden he says:

“We’re going to Philadelphia. Mia wants to visit her family there.”

THAT’S when I freak out. “What? NUH UH. Nobody’s going to Philadelphia. I thought you were just going to the coast or something.”

(Sidenote: Why was I okay with a 15 year old going on a road trip to the coast with a woman twice his age? Why? This deserves close examination.)

So then Mia climbs out of the car looking all gorgeous and leggy and I totally don’t even register that this is MIA KIRSHNER taking my kid, mah widdle pwecious lambiepie, I’m just mad that they’re going to Philadelphia. In a Volvo.

Pretty much that was it, the alarm clock went off at that moment and George the Cat jumped on my butt, claws (thankfully) not extended. Moral of the story: Watch out for beat up green Volvos and MIA KIRSHNER if you have a 15 year old in the house.

P.S. I think this story is why I must have been thinking about Mia: Malawi Gay Couple To Be Imprisoned: I Will No Longer Keep Quiet. Weird dream aside, this is an important issue that needs our support. I love that she’s bringing attention to the plight of this poor couple, and I hope that enough people join the cause and voice their support that the government of Malawi hears and realizes that they are being HUGE buttheads and lets these guys go and just live their life.

Of course, we got to play with the baby. James especially liked that baby:

This is Baby Lance.

I just met you, but I love you.

I'd like to feel your teeth. You're okay with that, right?

What - there's a TONGUE in there too? I am a happy baby.

Green plastic bowl goes WHACK in the face. Fun!

I'm tired of these antics and shall move on to the next thing now.

Or not. HELLO EYEBALLS. Meet my finger.

I shall endeavor to look cute now. And I shall succeed. WILDLY.

You got purty hair. (What little of there is of it.)

Baby on the loose! Watch out!

And now the student has become the master. Or something.

Ishnt he the schweetest widdle baby in de WOILD?!?!?!?

Babies. They just kind of make everyone go a little nuts, don’t they?

Image by Doc_Brown via Flickr

Got back today, with a leisurely afternoon of Star Wars watching planned (we do that when we get back home early during the day from a long break). As we were finishing up Attack of the Clones around 9 PM, I suddenly had a prickly feeling like “did I forget something?”

Lo and behold, I had forgotten just a teensy little detail. I had misread both today’s date AND the first day of school, and guess what? All those times I had told the kinder that they were starting school on Wednesday? Well, not so much. They’re starting school TOMORROW.

They weren’t too happy (understandably) at first, but they quickly came around to it, and were actually flipping out excited within about five minutes, THANK YOU GOD. So school supplies, lunches, snacks, and cute outfits are all ready.

I think we’re good. Even with a severe calendar malfunction.