Today we went to The Pool.
There was a stop involved, before The Trip to The Pool.
We picked up some noodles.
Friend + Self + 4 kids + 4 noodles = inappropriately excessive pool fun.
For instance, Friend and Self could be heard to utter any of the following phrases at any time during our pool time:
Put that noodle down.
Keep your noodle to yourself.
Nobody wants to be whacked with your noodle.
Stop poking your noodle into other people, or I will have to remove your noodle.
I don't care why you just knocked a glass off of the table; 'My noodle just got too big' is not a very good reason for losing control of your noodle.
Put your noodle down in the car; it's dangerous to go waving your noodle around when people are driving.
If you don't stop touching his noodle, I will take all the noodles away from everyone!
I am not sure how I feel about everyone having noodles.
Showing posts with label mama-rama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mama-rama. Show all posts
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
He will never turn eight.
Tomorrow is Elijah's birthday.
He's not turning eight this year.
Tomorrow, Supergirl is also debuting as a flower in her school's production of 'The Wizard of Oz'. It's a big deal, if you didn't know. FYI, the flowers are the very ones who greet Dorothy when she arrives in Munchkinland.
And Bubbles?
He is doing just fine. He's working on distinguishing the differences between 'w', 'l' and 'r', and we are coming along nicely. He also loves music and has developed a recent interest in show tunes.
When I tell you that my son died (almost) 7 years ago, I expect you to understand, at this point, that this is just part of our family history. He's just like Supergirl and Bubbles. He lived in our family.
I am the mama of three.
I will also expect you, as a decent and selfless human being, to allow me to talk about THAT son and the things I miss about him.
Freely.
At any time.
Without offending or skeeving you out.
Seriously.
I am the mama of three.
At this point, it's not too much to ask.
Because I really, really, REALLY miss him.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Getting Through Another IEP
The IEP went quite well, actually. I was armed with data on Apraxia and likely comorbidity issues in education (phonological issues, dyslexia, dysgraphia...to name a few) , as well as the names and details of some tests which could be useful to determine his need and eligibility for services within the public school district.
His new and fabulous teacher, the principal, the new SLP, and I were all present.
We started with talking about Bubbles strengths. This is a typical component of IEP's in general, both in part to remind everyone of the child's strengths, and also to delay the inevitable delivery of something a parent may resist. The 'offer' of the school district for services is always the last thing to happen, right before the negotiations begin, that is.
Anyway, we all managed to have a peaceful and cohesive meeting. I didn't know how the principal would address this, and an IEP meeting can tell a parent a lot about a principal....so there was tension on my part leading up to this meeting. So much was at stake, having switched schools for the children this year and the unknown factor was high until I had some administrative proof.
I did remind the SLP at one point that Apraxia was not a developmental delay, because without treatment, it would not 'correct itself', nor would he simply one day 'catch up'. I was happy to hear the principal concur.
His K teacher talked about how he is so very young and we compared his abilities to his peers. We all agreed (principal included) that he should not really be in K this year, and anything he did this year (his first year of 2 years of K) was gravy, so there is no stressful performance emphasis on meeting K standards by the end of the year. The Independent Study program he is in (3 days classroom, 2 days home school) facilitates this better than we could ever have hoped. He is in a class with an 8:1 ratio. Better than private school. Another reason I really wanted this IEP to go well.
I asked about occupational therapy to work with his fine motor deficits. The boy can put together legos, but can't control a pencil well enough to write letters. The principal agreed to have him observed by the OT in the next few weeks. Wow. That was easy.
SLP suggested a 50% reduction in services, which I had been prepared to hear. I explained that, because he had such a rich history of speech therapy services, and because I was equipped to support his services with supplemental home program, I would agree to that reduction.
But then it got a little tense when the SLP pointed out that she had checked the 'individual' box as well as the 'group' box. Which is when I said that I was not at all prepared to agree to this aspect of the IEP, because we were already compromising the amount of time he had been receiving, and it would be too much of a change in meeting his needs. I felt strongly that being in a group would compromise the level of attention he needs and would be getting.
SLP suggested that Bubbles had received individual therapy in the years prior to K because the school didn't have anyone who could provide that therapy for him before age five. I suggested it was in fact, because the principal of that school district had acknowledged the severity of his diagnosis (moderate to severe apraxia) and had allotted him the recommended number of hours (3 per week) for a child that age with that disability. Which was, in fact, exactly why he is doing so well now.
The SLP even pointed out that he would need to show a delay to qualify for any change in services. Which is when I got a little pitbull. But I took a deep breath, dipped inside for some more reserve honey, and said, "But that's not what anyone at this school wants for Bubbles, is it?"
At this point the principal stepped in and said, "It sounds like Gwendomama is clear that Bubbles is not ready to transition into speech therapy in a group setting. I think that sounds fine. If you can ever fit him into an existing group then perhaps we can supplement his 1/2 hour per week with trying that out and we would then see if he can work well in a group. But right now he still needs the 1/2 hour of individual therapy."
I sighed heavily with relief and the SLP sputtered something about her full schedule, which pissed me off because hello? Bubbles' needs should not be compromised by her limited availability.
And that's the truth for any school district, remember that for me, will you?
I think I did pretty well, and I know Bubbles is going to do pretty well too!
His new and fabulous teacher, the principal, the new SLP, and I were all present.
We started with talking about Bubbles strengths. This is a typical component of IEP's in general, both in part to remind everyone of the child's strengths, and also to delay the inevitable delivery of something a parent may resist. The 'offer' of the school district for services is always the last thing to happen, right before the negotiations begin, that is.
Anyway, we all managed to have a peaceful and cohesive meeting. I didn't know how the principal would address this, and an IEP meeting can tell a parent a lot about a principal....so there was tension on my part leading up to this meeting. So much was at stake, having switched schools for the children this year and the unknown factor was high until I had some administrative proof.
I did remind the SLP at one point that Apraxia was not a developmental delay, because without treatment, it would not 'correct itself', nor would he simply one day 'catch up'. I was happy to hear the principal concur.
His K teacher talked about how he is so very young and we compared his abilities to his peers. We all agreed (principal included) that he should not really be in K this year, and anything he did this year (his first year of 2 years of K) was gravy, so there is no stressful performance emphasis on meeting K standards by the end of the year. The Independent Study program he is in (3 days classroom, 2 days home school) facilitates this better than we could ever have hoped. He is in a class with an 8:1 ratio. Better than private school. Another reason I really wanted this IEP to go well.
I asked about occupational therapy to work with his fine motor deficits. The boy can put together legos, but can't control a pencil well enough to write letters. The principal agreed to have him observed by the OT in the next few weeks. Wow. That was easy.
SLP suggested a 50% reduction in services, which I had been prepared to hear. I explained that, because he had such a rich history of speech therapy services, and because I was equipped to support his services with supplemental home program, I would agree to that reduction.
But then it got a little tense when the SLP pointed out that she had checked the 'individual' box as well as the 'group' box. Which is when I said that I was not at all prepared to agree to this aspect of the IEP, because we were already compromising the amount of time he had been receiving, and it would be too much of a change in meeting his needs. I felt strongly that being in a group would compromise the level of attention he needs and would be getting.
SLP suggested that Bubbles had received individual therapy in the years prior to K because the school didn't have anyone who could provide that therapy for him before age five. I suggested it was in fact, because the principal of that school district had acknowledged the severity of his diagnosis (moderate to severe apraxia) and had allotted him the recommended number of hours (3 per week) for a child that age with that disability. Which was, in fact, exactly why he is doing so well now.
The SLP even pointed out that he would need to show a delay to qualify for any change in services. Which is when I got a little pitbull. But I took a deep breath, dipped inside for some more reserve honey, and said, "But that's not what anyone at this school wants for Bubbles, is it?"
At this point the principal stepped in and said, "It sounds like Gwendomama is clear that Bubbles is not ready to transition into speech therapy in a group setting. I think that sounds fine. If you can ever fit him into an existing group then perhaps we can supplement his 1/2 hour per week with trying that out and we would then see if he can work well in a group. But right now he still needs the 1/2 hour of individual therapy."
I sighed heavily with relief and the SLP sputtered something about her full schedule, which pissed me off because hello? Bubbles' needs should not be compromised by her limited availability.
And that's the truth for any school district, remember that for me, will you?
I think I did pretty well, and I know Bubbles is going to do pretty well too!
Monday, October 25, 2010
Apraxia in Action; Continued....
Tomorrow is Bubbles' first IEP at his new school. In fact, it will be his first IEP in elementary school. It's late October, and I still try and wrap my brain around the twisted fact that he ended up in kindergarten this year.
I've already been warned that he will lose services. The school, bless their budget-deficient little soul, set me up nicely by suggesting at first that he will no longer qualify for any speech services, as a result of having made so much progress in the past three years. Now, I love this school, and I get it that they have no money, but there is no way I am going to accept that he is cured of Apraxia merely because they don't have funding for speech therapy.I had a blunt talk with the SLP and let her know that I do not like surprises, and would hope to not expect any at the upcoming IEP.
To her credit, she called me last week making her recommendations. I cringed at the number of times she ignored my 'motor planning' questions and cringed again each time she peppered her recommendations with the phrase 'articulation disorder'.
BECAUSE APRAXIA IS NOT AN ARTICULATION DISORDER!!!
(Sorry for shouting. But it's not.) (Inability to articulate is a SYMPTOM.)
Anyway....I don't expect to be surprised when they tell me they are cutting his services in half, down to 1/2 hour session per week.
Saying he is 'almost all better' would feel great.....if it were actually true.
But the truth is, California is broke, and the educational system is broken. I hope some administration employees in Sacramento are having a lovely lunch out today. I bet the tab could be close to $90! Which is EXACTLY what an hour of private speech therapy costs. The VERY SAME speech therapy which my child is about to lose.
Hmmmm.
With that said, I am able to push aside the doom and gloom and for a little while the oh-so-many-concerns I have about his future learning challenges.
Why? Because I am grateful to have this child beyond belief. I am grateful to be able to watch the layers of his intelligence be revealed as his expressive language capacity increases. It is the most amazing process. It's not developmental, technically, because he is being treated for something which would not correct itself with a delay. But it is developmental as I watch him achieve communication milestones and make the connections.
His brain appears to be working overtime as his capacity for intelligible speech increases.
This weekend he came running up to me.
"Mommy!!! Mommy!!!! LISTEN TO THIS!!!! 'Plane' you go somewhere! 'Playing' you have fun! 'Plain', with nothing on it. OH MY GOD!!!"
OMG indeed, little man. You managed to blow my mind yet again.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Happy Birthday, Dear Supergirl
Dear Supergirl;
Today you are nine.
You deserve all the great things that have happened for you in your recent past, and none of the horrific things.
You deserve kittens, rainbows, silky things, cake and candy, and all the love the world has to give you.
You are strong, you are unique, you are brilliant, you are creative, you are kind, you are startlingly gorgeous, you are so very you.
Without you, the world would be 9 shades more dull in every color.
You are amazing, and I thank you for giving me the greatest two gifts in the world:
Yourself. And motherhood.
I love you.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
Sighting of A Boy
The family walks past the long window and through the door of the taqueria. The mother leads the way. She is undeniably who I first think she may be; her wild kinky black hair and beautifully pumpkin shaped body have not been altered by the seven years which have passed, and she is easy to recognize.
She is followed by her short, shuffling and grumpy husband, and I lean forward to catch a glimpse of the one I want to see so dearly and at the same time am afraid....and in another short, interrupted breath - he bounces in, buoyant in spite of his father's shadow.
He is tall, considering the stature of his parents.
His hair is like hers, and his smile is hers.
He talks animatedly about black beans or pinto; turns his excitement towards the soda fountain. He is seven.
The mother notices me staring and looks at me suspiciously for a moment before a flicker of recognition.
I wait for her to go first.
"You look familiar...do I know you? I know I know you from something....swim classes? The library? Music class?"
I let her trail off before I decide to answer.
"The NICU. We met in the NICU. Our babies were in together."
She looks at my children, sizing them up...wondering...
So I say, "No. This is my daughter. She was not even two at the time. This is my son, and he is four. It was Elijah who was in the NICU."
"Oh yes, now I remember. How is he doing?"
I shake my head, realizing I got myself into this by staring at her son.
I don't think she wants to hear.
The silence with which she waits indicates she is expecting the rest of the story.
"Well, he died when he was thirteen months old."
We go through the usual dialogue.
"Oh wow. Oh. I am so sorry."
"I know. It's okay. It was terrible. We really miss him. But now it's our family history."
"Oh wow. I am so sorry. I don't know how you....I could never....I don't know what to say...."
"So, your son looks great. Congratulations, he's wonderful."
"Oh wow....the NICU....wow. Oh the NICU...I hadn't thought about it in so long."
"Sorry."
I gather up the scraps of my kids' quesadillas, and herd them out the door. When I turn to wave goodbye, her elbows are propped on the table, her head is in her hands and she is staring glassily into the orange booth in front of her.
"I'm sorry." I toss out, by way of 'goodbye'.
I really was.
She is followed by her short, shuffling and grumpy husband, and I lean forward to catch a glimpse of the one I want to see so dearly and at the same time am afraid....and in another short, interrupted breath - he bounces in, buoyant in spite of his father's shadow.
He is tall, considering the stature of his parents.
His hair is like hers, and his smile is hers.
He talks animatedly about black beans or pinto; turns his excitement towards the soda fountain. He is seven.
The mother notices me staring and looks at me suspiciously for a moment before a flicker of recognition.
I wait for her to go first.
"You look familiar...do I know you? I know I know you from something....swim classes? The library? Music class?"
I let her trail off before I decide to answer.
"The NICU. We met in the NICU. Our babies were in together."
She looks at my children, sizing them up...wondering...
So I say, "No. This is my daughter. She was not even two at the time. This is my son, and he is four. It was Elijah who was in the NICU."
"Oh yes, now I remember. How is he doing?"
I shake my head, realizing I got myself into this by staring at her son.
I don't think she wants to hear.
The silence with which she waits indicates she is expecting the rest of the story.
"Well, he died when he was thirteen months old."
We go through the usual dialogue.
"Oh wow. Oh. I am so sorry."
"I know. It's okay. It was terrible. We really miss him. But now it's our family history."
"Oh wow. I am so sorry. I don't know how you....I could never....I don't know what to say...."
"So, your son looks great. Congratulations, he's wonderful."
"Oh wow....the NICU....wow. Oh the NICU...I hadn't thought about it in so long."
"Sorry."
I gather up the scraps of my kids' quesadillas, and herd them out the door. When I turn to wave goodbye, her elbows are propped on the table, her head is in her hands and she is staring glassily into the orange booth in front of her.
"I'm sorry." I toss out, by way of 'goodbye'.
I really was.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Guess what we did today?
She is very concerned, as you can see from this picture:
She waited so long for this day....
And look at her.
She is gorgeous - a superstar.
And I thanked her for picking out the least expensive (but most adorable) teeny tiny cobalt blue beads....
She waited so long for this day....
And look at her.She is gorgeous - a superstar.
And I thanked her for picking out the least expensive (but most adorable) teeny tiny cobalt blue beads....
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Gwendomama's Mom Car Fund
You asked, I listened.....Y'all are too kind.
If you can help Gwendomama's family obtain a mini-van, please donate.
Here's the full story on why we need one....
If you know of anyone selling their mini-van, I will pay the donations forward to the seller.
Thank you.
If you can help Gwendomama's family obtain a mini-van, please donate.
Here's the full story on why we need one....
If you know of anyone selling their mini-van, I will pay the donations forward to the seller.
Thank you.
Monday, May 03, 2010
In Which I Attempt to Sell Myself out for a Mom Car:
So here I go, whoring myself out on the innernets......
Bottom line:
Gwendomama needs a mini-van.
Yes. I do.
Most of you know that Xdude left me with about 4k debt along with some bruises.
There was an amazing fundraising (I bow to you, Shannon) movement, and my family was able to stay in our house because of you.
Now it's a matter of staying in our state.
In November, Xdude was ordered by a judge to begin paying child support in December (noting that he had not volunteered a cent until being ordered by a judge to do so). He ignored the amount ordered for both children and decided to just pay whatever he wanted, which is half of what he was ordered to pay. So he pays about $250/month/per child, which is embarrassingly insufficient in this area of the country. Except I spend approximately $125/month driving them to and from visitation, so it's more like $187.50/month/per child.
Xdude continues to ignore child support obligations, and has also continued to ignore my many pleas, my attorney's negotiations, and the Judge's stern recommendation that he sign over his interest in the car. See, the car is in his name, yet it has already been proven in court that I own 50% of it. Yes, I am embarrassed to tell you that I allowed him to keep the car in his name alone, but not nearly as embarrassed as I was telling you that I allowed the situation of power and control to get to a point where he attempted to kill me (or at least scare me into submission by choking me?) a year ago.
I recently moved into a wonderful little dollhouse owned by friends, who are allowing me to work some of the rent off in childcare trade. I am trying to work as much as possible - even when my children are with me, and I have a number of other families who are interested in paying me to do after school care as well. But I have 'his' damn car- which I hate and it only has three seats suitable for children, as the passenger seat airbag cannot be turned off manually. My children take up two of those seats.
I have explained this to the Judge; Xdude totally knows I want a larger car just so I can work more and do what he is not doing - support our children. (He does, however, live in a fabulously large house.)
Even the Judge pointed out that I needed a mini-van to work more and why would he sabotage my efforts to work more when it could result in a higher child support payment from him. But Xdude feels he is above the law and doesn't need to pay any more child support than he wants to...so he remains unmoved by any requests or persuasion.
I can't sell the car for a mini-van unless he signs over the title.
Nope, he just won't.
He feels no compulsion to do the right thing for his children, because he is incapable of seeing beyond his own anger and vitriol.
I need a mini-van.
So.
If you live in California and can afford to part with a mini-van, please consider me.
I have a friend who can work on Toyotas if it needs work...he is willing to help too.
Maybe you are willing to sell me the van for a low monthly payment and I will turn whatever I get (when he finally DOES sign it over....justice will be served eventually but the wheels of justice are powered by a 2 yr old on a tricycle) over to you when I can sell this damn car.
If you can sell me a mini-van SO VERY CHEAP or consider me a worthy cause for a charitable donation, I will be ever so grateful. I will make you cupcakes. Or chocolate sushi!! Yes, you will certainly be worthy of the chocolate sushi!
Yes, you are right - he SHOULD pay for his kids. Why should I have to ask YOU to help?
Well.....I hate to beg, but I am watching my California residential status become less and less realistic. I can't count on Xdude for anything except a constant argument.
I need to support these kids, I am trying to maintain our family in this area, and he is trying to sabotage any efforts I make to try and get ahead.
Thanks......now I am going to go hurl up the last little bit of pride I had.
3/5/10 EDITOR'S NOTE: Okay, there is kindness in this world.
Some of you asked me to put up a donation button, and now I have.
Bottom line:
Gwendomama needs a mini-van.
Yes. I do.
Most of you know that Xdude left me with about 4k debt along with some bruises.
There was an amazing fundraising (I bow to you, Shannon) movement, and my family was able to stay in our house because of you.
Now it's a matter of staying in our state.
In November, Xdude was ordered by a judge to begin paying child support in December (noting that he had not volunteered a cent until being ordered by a judge to do so). He ignored the amount ordered for both children and decided to just pay whatever he wanted, which is half of what he was ordered to pay. So he pays about $250/month/per child, which is embarrassingly insufficient in this area of the country. Except I spend approximately $125/month driving them to and from visitation, so it's more like $187.50/month/per child.
Xdude continues to ignore child support obligations, and has also continued to ignore my many pleas, my attorney's negotiations, and the Judge's stern recommendation that he sign over his interest in the car. See, the car is in his name, yet it has already been proven in court that I own 50% of it. Yes, I am embarrassed to tell you that I allowed him to keep the car in his name alone, but not nearly as embarrassed as I was telling you that I allowed the situation of power and control to get to a point where he attempted to kill me (or at least scare me into submission by choking me?) a year ago.
I recently moved into a wonderful little dollhouse owned by friends, who are allowing me to work some of the rent off in childcare trade. I am trying to work as much as possible - even when my children are with me, and I have a number of other families who are interested in paying me to do after school care as well. But I have 'his' damn car- which I hate and it only has three seats suitable for children, as the passenger seat airbag cannot be turned off manually. My children take up two of those seats.
I have explained this to the Judge; Xdude totally knows I want a larger car just so I can work more and do what he is not doing - support our children. (He does, however, live in a fabulously large house.)
Even the Judge pointed out that I needed a mini-van to work more and why would he sabotage my efforts to work more when it could result in a higher child support payment from him. But Xdude feels he is above the law and doesn't need to pay any more child support than he wants to...so he remains unmoved by any requests or persuasion.
I can't sell the car for a mini-van unless he signs over the title.
Nope, he just won't.
He feels no compulsion to do the right thing for his children, because he is incapable of seeing beyond his own anger and vitriol.
I need a mini-van.
So.
If you live in California and can afford to part with a mini-van, please consider me.
I have a friend who can work on Toyotas if it needs work...he is willing to help too.
Maybe you are willing to sell me the van for a low monthly payment and I will turn whatever I get (when he finally DOES sign it over....justice will be served eventually but the wheels of justice are powered by a 2 yr old on a tricycle) over to you when I can sell this damn car.
If you can sell me a mini-van SO VERY CHEAP or consider me a worthy cause for a charitable donation, I will be ever so grateful. I will make you cupcakes. Or chocolate sushi!! Yes, you will certainly be worthy of the chocolate sushi!
Yes, you are right - he SHOULD pay for his kids. Why should I have to ask YOU to help?
Well.....I hate to beg, but I am watching my California residential status become less and less realistic. I can't count on Xdude for anything except a constant argument.
I need to support these kids, I am trying to maintain our family in this area, and he is trying to sabotage any efforts I make to try and get ahead.
Thanks......now I am going to go hurl up the last little bit of pride I had.
3/5/10 EDITOR'S NOTE: Okay, there is kindness in this world.
Some of you asked me to put up a donation button, and now I have.
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Apraxia in Action; Continued
Today we were sorting through the old toy collection.
'We', being myself + the NDN (NextDoorNeighbors) who are also the BFF (BestFunFriends), also known as the LL's (landl'owners) and PWIHKF (People Whom I Have Known Forever). So let's just go with the NDN for now.....
'We' were all quite busy.
I had many 19th century 'spells' during the sorting, but managed to survive. (Oh I didn't tell you about the Pleurisy? Just waiting to contract 'The Vapors' next.)
We crossed paths with boxes and our children co-mingled with the discarded treasures.
Each child was allowed to keep one new toy from each others' donate pile.
Bubbles found himself particularly interested in a small toy cell phone with a 'John Deere' logo. He told me he wanted this toy because it was 'a deer phone'.
I said, "Yes, it has a John Deere on it. John Deere is a kind of tractor."
He said, "Yes! I have a deer attractor and I am gonna use this to catch a deer! Cause I have a deer attractor! I press this red button and I attract the deer!"
~~~~~~...............................~~~~~~~~
Mmm...............Okay.
'We', being myself + the NDN (NextDoorNeighbors) who are also the BFF (BestFunFriends), also known as the LL's (landl'owners) and PWIHKF (People Whom I Have Known Forever). So let's just go with the NDN for now.....
'We' were all quite busy.
I had many 19th century 'spells' during the sorting, but managed to survive. (Oh I didn't tell you about the Pleurisy? Just waiting to contract 'The Vapors' next.)
We crossed paths with boxes and our children co-mingled with the discarded treasures.
Each child was allowed to keep one new toy from each others' donate pile.
Bubbles found himself particularly interested in a small toy cell phone with a 'John Deere' logo. He told me he wanted this toy because it was 'a deer phone'.
I said, "Yes, it has a John Deere on it. John Deere is a kind of tractor."
He said, "Yes! I have a deer attractor and I am gonna use this to catch a deer! Cause I have a deer attractor! I press this red button and I attract the deer!"
~~~~~~...............................~~~~~~~~
Mmm...............Okay.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
I Barely Flinched (and then I had to giggle, because this is what my life has become)
Yesterday morning as I dropped her off at school:
Supergirl: Mama! I told just one person about how you and Daddy had a big fight and then Daddy hurt you, is that okay?
Me: Umm, it's okay. But who did you tell?
Supergirl: Jeff. Because he sits next to me. Are you mad?
Me: No, ummm....it's fine. (note to self to call Jeff's mom)
Supergirl: (as she is running away from the car to class) Oh Mom? I also told Kaleb. He sits on the other side.
Me: .... (note to self to call Kaleb's mom, and also the teacher to ask her to please leave her at that desk for a while.)
Supergirl: Mama! I told just one person about how you and Daddy had a big fight and then Daddy hurt you, is that okay?
Me: Umm, it's okay. But who did you tell?
Supergirl: Jeff. Because he sits next to me. Are you mad?
Me: No, ummm....it's fine. (note to self to call Jeff's mom)
Supergirl: (as she is running away from the car to class) Oh Mom? I also told Kaleb. He sits on the other side.
Me: .... (note to self to call Kaleb's mom, and also the teacher to ask her to please leave her at that desk for a while.)
Sunday, September 13, 2009
One Goof, Seeking His Ball...
While walking the 1/4 mile down the road to the fire team picnic (thanks for saving our mountain!), Bubbles heard the music and announced that his ears were singing, his mouth was singing, and his feet were singing. When I pulled out the camera, this is what he had to say about it.
And then, while we were at the picnic, I found Bubbles and a bunch of girls. Girls of all ages. But his favorite was my friend's little darling, Marz. I walked up with the video camera right after he had allegedly told Marz that she had a pretty dress, thus initiating the flirting. Which was returned.
Edited: I forgot the most endearing part of all! At the end of the picnic, both Bubbles and Marz had red balloons. Marz lost grip of hers and cried, "OH NO!" as they watched it gain altitude. Bubbles, being a quick thinker and still wanting to impress his new girlfriend, said "Hey LOOK!" and then he let his balloon go too. Marz watched in amazement and then they both dissolved into giggles again.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Teaching Responsibility in the Throes of Upheaval
Supergirl has had some problems with responsibility lately. I guess not so much 'problems' as it would be 'slow to learn', and I realized that I need to tighten up on that end, or she will be 'Responsibility Challenged', and I would like to know that I tried.
There are the small things, such as 'forgetting' to pick up something she was asked to take care of hours ago, leaving popsicle wrappers and sticks in the yard (this one makes me nutty and has prompted a popsicle boycott on my part), leaving nice shoes or a new jacket in the yard to be ruined or at a friend's house never to be recovered.
Then there are the big things, such as 'forgetting' to give the pets fresh food or water when asked repeatedly, and losing expensive gifts and then refusing to actually look for them.
"Daddy can get me another one." She says.
"This does not mean you will be allowed to use it until you earn it." I reply, more calmly than I want to.
Not one cent in child support, not one cent in restitution for the amount of debt with which he left me, but gifts are showered on them at each visit. I am very careful in my response, but one can imagine the amount of self-control it requires to take the high road at that fork.
We discussed a plan for looking for the missing items; namely, a Flip video camera which was a Christmas present, and an iPod clone video player which her father gave her for her birthday. I had already found the stylus for the video player, smashed out in the driveway, and the two-piece charger in a basket of her pajamas. "It was from a sleepover," she protested, "I just emptied my backpack into the jammie basket!"
I frowned.
We worked on organizing her clothes more. On reminding that her toys each have their own place...not a random place.
I offered to clean her room with her. She whined, and writhed on the floor while I sorted and got frustrated. Finally, I quit. I was tired of doing it for her. She knew the rules, and she certainly knew how, and she also knew what it would take to earn back the right to even play with my camera.
She quit.
"Fine," I said, "If you don't care about that stuff, I am certainly not going to!"
I lied.
She went to school, and I cleaned her room. And when I peered into yet another brown paper bag with twine handles, I saw a pile of scraps of paper and few tiny plastic bobbly head animal accessories. The kind of bag which every mother loves to just throw away because the kid will not notice anyway, and we're just going to have to clean it up again or pick it out of our vacuum. We know.
I shook the bag to see if there was anything solid rattling around in it. Lo!
The birthday gift video player.
HELLYEAH I WAS MAD! Two seconds away from the trash.
Lucky for her, she was at school, so my eventual reaction was mild and invisible to her. I simply hid it up high. Next to Elijah's ashes - nobody every looks there.
I told her that I found it in a bag of trash and trinkets and that she would need to earn it back. We have set up a new chores chart and there will be a clear and concrete system to earning back access.
She has not yet earned it back (it has been a week).
Today, she was packing for a sleepover. I recently re-appropriated an old storage closet into a kids fort, and thus some backpacks and duffels were retrieved. She had grabbed my backpack which I had not seen since she had used it in our 'safe-house' week long couch surfing back in April.
"My backpack! I haven't seen it!" I love that backpack. It's old and perfectly sized for a day trip!
"I packed my overnight stuff in it. It had a bunch of toys I dumped out."
Ahh yes...when we moved back in, she must have tossed it into the storage closet instead of unpacking it!
"Let me look in it before you go."
::::::::::drumroll, please:::::::::::::::::::
I rifled through some small plastic bobbly head animals, only to pull my hand out of the bottom with this prize:
,Oh yeah, Mama scored.
Supergirl first jumped up and down, then felt embarrassed, then begged for it back.
HA!
FAIL.
"No way," I told her.
I had not one smidge of remorse about that.
Clearly, if she had wanted to find these things, she could have putsome more effort into the search.
We are both excited that these 'toys' are recovered, but for different reasons.
She gets the prospect of using expensive electronics again, and I get leverage in the responsibility education process.
Win::Win
There are the small things, such as 'forgetting' to pick up something she was asked to take care of hours ago, leaving popsicle wrappers and sticks in the yard (this one makes me nutty and has prompted a popsicle boycott on my part), leaving nice shoes or a new jacket in the yard to be ruined or at a friend's house never to be recovered.
Then there are the big things, such as 'forgetting' to give the pets fresh food or water when asked repeatedly, and losing expensive gifts and then refusing to actually look for them.
"Daddy can get me another one." She says.
"This does not mean you will be allowed to use it until you earn it." I reply, more calmly than I want to.
Not one cent in child support, not one cent in restitution for the amount of debt with which he left me, but gifts are showered on them at each visit. I am very careful in my response, but one can imagine the amount of self-control it requires to take the high road at that fork.
We discussed a plan for looking for the missing items; namely, a Flip video camera which was a Christmas present, and an iPod clone video player which her father gave her for her birthday. I had already found the stylus for the video player, smashed out in the driveway, and the two-piece charger in a basket of her pajamas. "It was from a sleepover," she protested, "I just emptied my backpack into the jammie basket!"
I frowned.
We worked on organizing her clothes more. On reminding that her toys each have their own place...not a random place.
I offered to clean her room with her. She whined, and writhed on the floor while I sorted and got frustrated. Finally, I quit. I was tired of doing it for her. She knew the rules, and she certainly knew how, and she also knew what it would take to earn back the right to even play with my camera.
She quit.
"Fine," I said, "If you don't care about that stuff, I am certainly not going to!"
I lied.
She went to school, and I cleaned her room. And when I peered into yet another brown paper bag with twine handles, I saw a pile of scraps of paper and few tiny plastic bobbly head animal accessories. The kind of bag which every mother loves to just throw away because the kid will not notice anyway, and we're just going to have to clean it up again or pick it out of our vacuum. We know.
I shook the bag to see if there was anything solid rattling around in it. Lo!
The birthday gift video player.
HELLYEAH I WAS MAD! Two seconds away from the trash.
Lucky for her, she was at school, so my eventual reaction was mild and invisible to her. I simply hid it up high. Next to Elijah's ashes - nobody every looks there.
I told her that I found it in a bag of trash and trinkets and that she would need to earn it back. We have set up a new chores chart and there will be a clear and concrete system to earning back access.
She has not yet earned it back (it has been a week).
Today, she was packing for a sleepover. I recently re-appropriated an old storage closet into a kids fort, and thus some backpacks and duffels were retrieved. She had grabbed my backpack which I had not seen since she had used it in our 'safe-house' week long couch surfing back in April.
"My backpack! I haven't seen it!" I love that backpack. It's old and perfectly sized for a day trip!
"I packed my overnight stuff in it. It had a bunch of toys I dumped out."
Ahh yes...when we moved back in, she must have tossed it into the storage closet instead of unpacking it!
"Let me look in it before you go."
::::::::::drumroll, please:::::::::::::::::::
I rifled through some small plastic bobbly head animals, only to pull my hand out of the bottom with this prize:
,Oh yeah, Mama scored.
Supergirl first jumped up and down, then felt embarrassed, then begged for it back.
HA!
FAIL.
"No way," I told her.
I had not one smidge of remorse about that.
Clearly, if she had wanted to find these things, she could have put
We are both excited that these 'toys' are recovered, but for different reasons.
She gets the prospect of using expensive electronics again, and I get leverage in the responsibility education process.
Win::Win
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tastes Like Chicken
Supergirl's friend, Emily, walks into the house with a chicken (the one we call 'Nugget') under her arm, calling my name.
"Emily! Stop! Stop!"
"But Gwendomama..."
"No, Emily! Please no chickens in the house!"
"But Gwe-..."
"No, honey, really! Back up, you need to go out of the house with that pooping chicken and come back to ask me!"
"Buuuuuuuutttttttt..............."
"NO! Emily, I am serious; you need to go put that chicken back right now!"
[........................................................................]
Forty three seconds later, Emily walks back in the house, this time without the chicken.
"Thank you, Emily. Now what was it you wanted to ask me?"
"Umm, yeah.....I was wondering if I could take Chicken Nugget out to play."
"Emily! Stop! Stop!"
"But Gwendomama..."
"No, Emily! Please no chickens in the house!"
"But Gwe-..."
"No, honey, really! Back up, you need to go out of the house with that pooping chicken and come back to ask me!"
"Buuuuuuuutttttttt..............."
"NO! Emily, I am serious; you need to go put that chicken back right now!"
[........................................................................]
Forty three seconds later, Emily walks back in the house, this time without the chicken.
"Thank you, Emily. Now what was it you wanted to ask me?"
"Umm, yeah.....I was wondering if I could take Chicken Nugget out to play."
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
And This Is a Day I 'Don't Work...'
5:51 am - Wake up to Bubbles plaintively issuing his morning credo, "Mama. No say 'no ootine milk'! I want ootine milk.:
5:52 - remind Bubbles for the 18th time that no, I will not get him ootine milk because it is too early.
5:53 - Tell Bubbles that ootine milk has sugar bugs which will get on his teeth.
5:54 -6:18 - Repeat above statements until, after thrashing and protesting, Bubbles finally sobbingly settles on a pathetic bottle of water and falls back asleep.
8:25 - Wake up in panic that I must be at work early. Wrong day. Children both conspicuously asleep....hmmm. Try to sleep more.
8:31 - Unsuccessful with more sleep, turn to the idea of fresh pressed coffee as antidote.
8:32 - Sneak the ootine milk upstairs for the prince to find upon his awakening and lord save us all this morning.
8:45 - Enjoy OMG yum Steve's French with copious half&half and check email.
9:00 - Supergirl is up and ready for business.
9:02 - Cereal and toast with jam for Supergirl.
9:03 - More coffee and creamy toppers for mama.
9:04 - 9:24 Supergirl and I chat and I respond to emails until Bubbles wakes up (happily, because the ootine is there).
9:24 - 9:28 Chase Bubbles around the house with clothes and put them on his body.
9:30 - Brush teeth of Bubbles; attempt to brush his crazy hair but usually only one thing gets brushed on Bubbles at a time.
9:34 - Hand Bubbles some breakfast: juice, vitamins, and cereal in the car, as I buckle him into his carseat to go to speech therapy over in Beach Town.
9:35 - Beep horn for Supergirl to stop brushing her hair and get in the car already!
10:05 - Arrive at speech therapy five minutes late.
10:10 - Back into the car with Supergirl to run errands (boring hardware store and then, if there is no whining, a croissant!).
10:51 - SUCCESS! Croissant!
10:59 - Arrive at speech therapy just in time.
11:04 - Back in car, drive back to downtown for kids' counseling.
11:30 - Drop off child #1 for therapy while kid #2 and I get bagels across the street.
12:20 - Pick up child #1 and drop off child #2 for therapy.
12:25 - Take child #1 to nearby favorite park for some exercise and playtime.
12:26-12:46 - Try, unsuccessfully to do some coursework for school.
12:46 - Give up and chase child #1 around park and spin her on spinning things.
1:05 - Walk back to therapist office to retrieve child #2.
1:12 - Buckle up everyone, it's time for Trader Joe's now.
1:20 - 2:00 - Shop and argue with Supergirl about treats.
2:06 - Drive back up mountain.
2:07 -2:27 - Lively car conversation with such topics as: marriage, divorce, apologies, and consequences. And ear piercing.
2:28 - Pick up Supergirl's playdate.
3:00 - Finally back home.
3:01 - There is begging for treats. Much begging.
3:07 -Quiet now, as they consume sandwiches in order to win treats.
3:15 - Popsicles are dispensed, kids sent outside.
3:16 - Realize, as popsicles are returned to freezer, that the freezer isn't frozen. In fact, the whole fridge is dead.
3:18 - Hand out the rest of the popsicles.
3:20 - 3:30 - Clean out old fridge in garage.
3:30-4:00 - Shuttle salvageable food from giant magnet holder in my kitchen to working fridge in garage.
4:01 - Realize that there is a conference call for my class tomorrow for which I was supposed to have put in 3 hours of study time.
4:02 - Have a tiny little cry.
4:03 - 4:30 - Play on trampoline with Bubbles; attempt super stealth speech therapy techniques.
4:31-4:35 - Convince Supergirl and her friend to walk the full garbage cans up to the top of the road with me (Bubbles needs no coaxing).
4:38 - Get bribed (we'll rake! we'll fold clothes for you!) to take kids to the school playground.
5:20 - Come home, start dinner. Oops. Half the food spoiled in the freezer demise. What will we eat?
5:45 - Dinner: Cream-cheesy eggs, bacon, francese toast with homemade strawberry jam, watermelon and peaches. Side of carrots offered to appease my guilt.
6:10 - Send children outside to have adult phone call.
6:12 - phone call interrupted by chicken chasing.
6:14 -Phone call resumes.
6:16 - Phone call interrupted by Bubbles latest splinters.
6:17 Phone call resumes.
6:21 - Phone call aborted after chased chicken runs in house and poops in living room.
6:35 - Water new plants.
6:41 - Discover the fresh mud that the kids tracked in through house. Decide to water plants later.
6:45 - Playdate's mom arrives to collect her.
6:50 - Kids in bath.
6:51 - Vacuum. Again.
6:54 - Wash kids' hair.
6:58 - Hand out towels, drain tub.
6:59 - 7:15 - Dinner dishes.
7:16 - For the last time, we are out of popsicles, remember?
7:18 - PLEASE PICK OUT A MOVIE
7:19 - Attempt to pay bills.
7:21 - Change the movie.
7:25 - Requests for popcorn shall be answered.
7:30 - Popcorn delivered.
7:31 - Whining admonished (too bad you don't like nutritional yeast. eat the popcorn or don't.)
7:35 - MAMA - BUBBLES DUMPED THE POPCORN...
7:36 - 7:40 - Vacuum. Again.
7:41 - No, you may not have more popcorn. Or chocolate. No.
7:42 - Open Big House Red. Pour.
7:45 - Try to do some coursework. This is a multi-step process.
7:48 - Have all notes, CD's DVD's, laptop and piano keyboard ready.
7:52 - PLEASE LET ME DO THIS FOR JUST TWENTY MINUTES PLEASE!!!
8:00 - (pause) MAMA! I want OOTINE MILK!
8:02 - (play) Resume....
8:03, 8:05, and 8:06 - Ignore phone calls.
8:07 - (pause) Phone again. Answer. I've got nothing but love for the relentless caller.
8:08 - (play) Resume....
8:11 - MAMA! Bubbles peed on the floor!!
8:11 - (pause) Run out of house and hide in the garage for three minutes.
8:14 - Clean up Bubbles. And his pee.
8:20 - Brush kiddos teeth.
8:24 - Tell Supergirl to wash her hands again after putting the chickens to bed.
8:30 - Lights out and blankets for rest of movie.
9:04 - JACKPOT! Bubbles passed out on couch, transfer to bed.
9:05 - 9:12 - Read one book to Supergirl and tell her she can read for 1/2 hour (it's Summertime!)
9:12-9:30 - Clean bathroom next door and clean out some cupboards. Wonder why he saved 23 empty shampoo bottles.
9:30-9:45- (play) Resume.
9:46- (pause) Turn off lights for Supergirl.
9:46-9:50 Snuggle; fight sleep.
9:51 - 10:02 - Make lesson plans for tomorrow's music classes, for tomorrow is a Work Day. You know, unlike today.
10:02 - 10:40 - Enjoy late night and very humorous phone conversation with the BOS.
10:45 - Load up car with instruments, keyboards, drums, parachute, CDs and lesson plans.
10:50 - Pack breakfast snacks for the kids who will most likely try to sleep later than I need to leave.
10:59 - Attempt to write but give up and read blogs instead.
11:21 - Brush, wash, snuggle, sleep.
Prepare to repeat.
(Other than the fact that child support would be awesome.....we're managing just fine....)
5:52 - remind Bubbles for the 18th time that no, I will not get him ootine milk because it is too early.
5:53 - Tell Bubbles that ootine milk has sugar bugs which will get on his teeth.
5:54 -6:18 - Repeat above statements until, after thrashing and protesting, Bubbles finally sobbingly settles on a pathetic bottle of water and falls back asleep.
8:25 - Wake up in panic that I must be at work early. Wrong day. Children both conspicuously asleep....hmmm. Try to sleep more.
8:31 - Unsuccessful with more sleep, turn to the idea of fresh pressed coffee as antidote.
8:32 - Sneak the ootine milk upstairs for the prince to find upon his awakening and lord save us all this morning.
8:45 - Enjoy OMG yum Steve's French with copious half&half and check email.
9:00 - Supergirl is up and ready for business.
9:02 - Cereal and toast with jam for Supergirl.
9:03 - More coffee and creamy toppers for mama.
9:04 - 9:24 Supergirl and I chat and I respond to emails until Bubbles wakes up (happily, because the ootine is there).
9:24 - 9:28 Chase Bubbles around the house with clothes and put them on his body.
9:30 - Brush teeth of Bubbles; attempt to brush his crazy hair but usually only one thing gets brushed on Bubbles at a time.
9:34 - Hand Bubbles some breakfast: juice, vitamins, and cereal in the car, as I buckle him into his carseat to go to speech therapy over in Beach Town.
9:35 - Beep horn for Supergirl to stop brushing her hair and get in the car already!
10:05 - Arrive at speech therapy five minutes late.
10:10 - Back into the car with Supergirl to run errands (boring hardware store and then, if there is no whining, a croissant!).
10:51 - SUCCESS! Croissant!
10:59 - Arrive at speech therapy just in time.
11:04 - Back in car, drive back to downtown for kids' counseling.
11:30 - Drop off child #1 for therapy while kid #2 and I get bagels across the street.
12:20 - Pick up child #1 and drop off child #2 for therapy.
12:25 - Take child #1 to nearby favorite park for some exercise and playtime.
12:26-12:46 - Try, unsuccessfully to do some coursework for school.
12:46 - Give up and chase child #1 around park and spin her on spinning things.
1:05 - Walk back to therapist office to retrieve child #2.
1:12 - Buckle up everyone, it's time for Trader Joe's now.
1:20 - 2:00 - Shop and argue with Supergirl about treats.
2:06 - Drive back up mountain.
2:07 -2:27 - Lively car conversation with such topics as: marriage, divorce, apologies, and consequences. And ear piercing.
2:28 - Pick up Supergirl's playdate.
3:00 - Finally back home.
3:01 - There is begging for treats. Much begging.
3:07 -Quiet now, as they consume sandwiches in order to win treats.
3:15 - Popsicles are dispensed, kids sent outside.
3:16 - Realize, as popsicles are returned to freezer, that the freezer isn't frozen. In fact, the whole fridge is dead.
3:18 - Hand out the rest of the popsicles.
3:20 - 3:30 - Clean out old fridge in garage.
3:30-4:00 - Shuttle salvageable food from giant magnet holder in my kitchen to working fridge in garage.
4:01 - Realize that there is a conference call for my class tomorrow for which I was supposed to have put in 3 hours of study time.
4:02 - Have a tiny little cry.
4:03 - 4:30 - Play on trampoline with Bubbles; attempt super stealth speech therapy techniques.
4:31-4:35 - Convince Supergirl and her friend to walk the full garbage cans up to the top of the road with me (Bubbles needs no coaxing).
4:38 - Get bribed (we'll rake! we'll fold clothes for you!) to take kids to the school playground.
5:20 - Come home, start dinner. Oops. Half the food spoiled in the freezer demise. What will we eat?
5:45 - Dinner: Cream-cheesy eggs, bacon, francese toast with homemade strawberry jam, watermelon and peaches. Side of carrots offered to appease my guilt.
6:10 - Send children outside to have adult phone call.
6:12 - phone call interrupted by chicken chasing.
6:14 -Phone call resumes.
6:16 - Phone call interrupted by Bubbles latest splinters.
6:17 Phone call resumes.
6:21 - Phone call aborted after chased chicken runs in house and poops in living room.
6:35 - Water new plants.
6:41 - Discover the fresh mud that the kids tracked in through house. Decide to water plants later.
6:45 - Playdate's mom arrives to collect her.
6:50 - Kids in bath.
6:51 - Vacuum. Again.
6:54 - Wash kids' hair.
6:58 - Hand out towels, drain tub.
6:59 - 7:15 - Dinner dishes.
7:16 - For the last time, we are out of popsicles, remember?
7:18 - PLEASE PICK OUT A MOVIE
7:19 - Attempt to pay bills.
7:21 - Change the movie.
7:25 - Requests for popcorn shall be answered.
7:30 - Popcorn delivered.
7:31 - Whining admonished (too bad you don't like nutritional yeast. eat the popcorn or don't.)
7:35 - MAMA - BUBBLES DUMPED THE POPCORN...
7:36 - 7:40 - Vacuum. Again.
7:41 - No, you may not have more popcorn. Or chocolate. No.
7:42 - Open Big House Red. Pour.
7:45 - Try to do some coursework. This is a multi-step process.
7:48 - Have all notes, CD's DVD's, laptop and piano keyboard ready.
7:52 - PLEASE LET ME DO THIS FOR JUST TWENTY MINUTES PLEASE!!!
8:00 - (pause) MAMA! I want OOTINE MILK!
8:02 - (play) Resume....
8:03, 8:05, and 8:06 - Ignore phone calls.
8:07 - (pause) Phone again. Answer. I've got nothing but love for the relentless caller.
8:08 - (play) Resume....
8:11 - MAMA! Bubbles peed on the floor!!
8:11 - (pause) Run out of house and hide in the garage for three minutes.
8:14 - Clean up Bubbles. And his pee.
8:20 - Brush kiddos teeth.
8:24 - Tell Supergirl to wash her hands again after putting the chickens to bed.
8:30 - Lights out and blankets for rest of movie.
9:04 - JACKPOT! Bubbles passed out on couch, transfer to bed.
9:05 - 9:12 - Read one book to Supergirl and tell her she can read for 1/2 hour (it's Summertime!)
9:12-9:30 - Clean bathroom next door and clean out some cupboards. Wonder why he saved 23 empty shampoo bottles.
9:30-9:45- (play) Resume.
9:46- (pause) Turn off lights for Supergirl.
9:46-9:50 Snuggle; fight sleep.
9:51 - 10:02 - Make lesson plans for tomorrow's music classes, for tomorrow is a Work Day. You know, unlike today.
10:02 - 10:40 - Enjoy late night and very humorous phone conversation with the BOS.
10:45 - Load up car with instruments, keyboards, drums, parachute, CDs and lesson plans.
10:50 - Pack breakfast snacks for the kids who will most likely try to sleep later than I need to leave.
10:59 - Attempt to write but give up and read blogs instead.
11:21 - Brush, wash, snuggle, sleep.
Prepare to repeat.
(Other than the fact that child support would be awesome.....we're managing just fine....)
Monday, June 15, 2009
You Have the Right to Remain Silent (hint hint)
Today, the father of my children, the man who choked me to the floor (TWICE!) two months ago while telling me how long it was in coming, the man who has told anyone who will listen about how he just 'wants to do what it takes to be a family again', told a judge that he believed what he had done in this domestic violence case, was defensible. Sure, he understands that what he did is 'defined' as battery under the CA state law, and sure - he'll even admit that what he did was stupid! But in this case, he 'only restrained me' because he was just trying to stop a violent situation from escalating. The judge asked him what kind of violence he was attempting to stop
He replied, "Verbal."
The judge audibly sighed.
The original question that he had been asked by the judge?
"Is there anything in these documents with which you disagree?"
Xman replied that he disagreed with the term 'battery' in the criminal court case.
We were in family court.
The judge told him that that had already been decided by another judge.
He continued to say that his actions were justifiable.
I cringed and had to be reminded to breathe.
I felt a bit sick. Two months later, and he has already determined (in spite of what a judge determined) that his actions were not battery, and his actions are defensible.
If he hadn't choked me to nearly passing out the second time...he might be able to get away with that.
Hearing it was terrifying.
He really believes it.
He truly believes - really, truly believes - that his actions were defensible.
Holding me in a violent headlock while his sister took verbal shots at me, while I screamed bloody murder to be let go....letting go and then doing it again as I tried to run away....
Defensible actions?
I requested that a therapist be present for initial supervised visits, as our children have been full of nightmares and questions since the incident, and it is only fair to them if someone who can help them all with those questions is present when they are reunited.
I would like nothing more than to have them see their father again in a healthy way.
Hopefully, Xman can find himself a therapist as great as the ones I have found and get back on track.
The judge agreed, and asked to see us back in court in six weeks, when the children's therapist can provide a more involved letter of recommendation for the court (she just met them).
This caused some sputtering from the other side of the courtroom, and he protested that the reason the children were having emotional difficulties was because he had not been in their lives every day for two months.
Wow.
That was his main concern about our children.
Wow.
Narcissistic much?
He replied, "Verbal."
The judge audibly sighed.
The original question that he had been asked by the judge?
"Is there anything in these documents with which you disagree?"
Xman replied that he disagreed with the term 'battery' in the criminal court case.
We were in family court.
The judge told him that that had already been decided by another judge.
He continued to say that his actions were justifiable.
I cringed and had to be reminded to breathe.
I felt a bit sick. Two months later, and he has already determined (in spite of what a judge determined) that his actions were not battery, and his actions are defensible.
If he hadn't choked me to nearly passing out the second time...he might be able to get away with that.
Hearing it was terrifying.
He really believes it.
He truly believes - really, truly believes - that his actions were defensible.
Holding me in a violent headlock while his sister took verbal shots at me, while I screamed bloody murder to be let go....letting go and then doing it again as I tried to run away....
Defensible actions?
I requested that a therapist be present for initial supervised visits, as our children have been full of nightmares and questions since the incident, and it is only fair to them if someone who can help them all with those questions is present when they are reunited.
I would like nothing more than to have them see their father again in a healthy way.
Hopefully, Xman can find himself a therapist as great as the ones I have found and get back on track.
The judge agreed, and asked to see us back in court in six weeks, when the children's therapist can provide a more involved letter of recommendation for the court (she just met them).
This caused some sputtering from the other side of the courtroom, and he protested that the reason the children were having emotional difficulties was because he had not been in their lives every day for two months.
Wow.
That was his main concern about our children.
Wow.
Narcissistic much?
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Tongue-Biting FAIL
Trying to bite my tongue here, but seriously being tested.
He won't move his stuff out - basically refuses to get his things - which makes no sense to me as I am being beyond patient and what does he plan on doing with them if they are there?
And why the refusal to move out? Does he think he can store his things here for three years and then....come back? Does he not understand that if he doesn't do this willingly he is only asking for more conflict?
I don't get it.
I do know that it's a big EFF YOU to the court to list your contact address as the one from which you have been ordered to stay away, and as my friend says, "Let me pull another little bit of shock and surprise out of my ass!"
But for a man who claims to be doing 'everything possible' to see his kids, I wonder if he really gets what is going on for them?
Does he understand that because of his arrogance and delusion and refusal to cooperate or list an address is reason enough for his daughter to lose playdates? Does he realize that three parents have said to me that Supergirl is welcome to play at their house, but because of the volatile situation and the mystery of his whereabouts, they will not allow their children to come to our house. Explain that one to your daughter. And tell her she means the world to you as you share your own agenda and ignore hers. Because there is no other agenda.
I am so disgusted.
He won't move his stuff out - basically refuses to get his things - which makes no sense to me as I am being beyond patient and what does he plan on doing with them if they are there?
And why the refusal to move out? Does he think he can store his things here for three years and then....come back? Does he not understand that if he doesn't do this willingly he is only asking for more conflict?
I don't get it.
I do know that it's a big EFF YOU to the court to list your contact address as the one from which you have been ordered to stay away, and as my friend says, "Let me pull another little bit of shock and surprise out of my ass!"
But for a man who claims to be doing 'everything possible' to see his kids, I wonder if he really gets what is going on for them?
Does he understand that because of his arrogance and delusion and refusal to cooperate or list an address is reason enough for his daughter to lose playdates? Does he realize that three parents have said to me that Supergirl is welcome to play at their house, but because of the volatile situation and the mystery of his whereabouts, they will not allow their children to come to our house. Explain that one to your daughter. And tell her she means the world to you as you share your own agenda and ignore hers. Because there is no other agenda.
I am so disgusted.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Art By Children; Special Edition
Bubbles, in his new obsession with superheroes, has taken to drawing on himself.
We have to hide all the markers.
It started out innocent enough - he drew on himself at school and told everyone he was Spiderman. Which? Almost believable! Because actually, if you look at Spidey's costume, it appears (to a three year old, anyway) to be a web drawn all over him.
Still, I asked him not to draw on himself anymore, and his preschool teachers kept a close eye on him at school, for any marker he found, he would lift up his shirt and draw on his tummy (since he knew everyone was now on to him)!
The other night I was cleaning. Busy, distracted, serious cleaning. And then I realized how quiet it was.
Way.
Too.
Quiet.
The kind of quiet I hate more than anything.
I dropped the rags, darted upstairs, and sighed with relief when I heard surprised giggles upon my fast and furious entrance.
But then....what did I see?
This is just a small percentage of what he colored. Basically, his entire body. With a black 'washable' marker. From the bottoms of his feet to the one dot in each ear, full belly button coverage...anything he could reach was colored.
"Bubbles!" I said sternly (smothering my laughter of course), "You are not Spiderman! And another thing...Spiderman absolutely does not cover himself in marker!"
Bubbles looked up ever so innocently, then looked at his arms and his eyes got huge, with a look of absolute surprise coming over his face, he was thinking, thinking....
:::::pause::::::
:::::pause:::::
and then.....
"MAMA!!! OH NO! BAD GUYS DID THIS TO ME!"
Okay, so he's a quick thinker.
That was a good one.
We have to hide all the markers.
It started out innocent enough - he drew on himself at school and told everyone he was Spiderman. Which? Almost believable! Because actually, if you look at Spidey's costume, it appears (to a three year old, anyway) to be a web drawn all over him.
Still, I asked him not to draw on himself anymore, and his preschool teachers kept a close eye on him at school, for any marker he found, he would lift up his shirt and draw on his tummy (since he knew everyone was now on to him)!
The other night I was cleaning. Busy, distracted, serious cleaning. And then I realized how quiet it was.
Way.
Too.
Quiet.
The kind of quiet I hate more than anything.
I dropped the rags, darted upstairs, and sighed with relief when I heard surprised giggles upon my fast and furious entrance.
But then....what did I see?
This is just a small percentage of what he colored. Basically, his entire body. With a black 'washable' marker. From the bottoms of his feet to the one dot in each ear, full belly button coverage...anything he could reach was colored.
"Bubbles!" I said sternly (smothering my laughter of course), "You are not Spiderman! And another thing...Spiderman absolutely does not cover himself in marker!"
Bubbles looked up ever so innocently, then looked at his arms and his eyes got huge, with a look of absolute surprise coming over his face, he was thinking, thinking....
:::::pause::::::
:::::pause:::::
and then.....
"MAMA!!! OH NO! BAD GUYS DID THIS TO ME!"
Okay, so he's a quick thinker.
That was a good one.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Super-Spider-Bat-Man Hero Boy
My boy has been obsessed with superheroes lately.
He works through the good vs. evil; the right vs. wrong every day now in his play. This is sudden, and fierce, and awesome.
(And, considering the circumstances, highly appropriate!)
He is serious about this stuff.
If a costume isn't handy, then a thrift store superhero superfind will do....
MAMA! I SAVE YOU!!!
You save me?
Yes!! I SAVE YOU!! I.....WESCUE BUBBLES!!!
Everyone should have a resident superhero.
He works through the good vs. evil; the right vs. wrong every day now in his play. This is sudden, and fierce, and awesome.
(And, considering the circumstances, highly appropriate!)
He is serious about this stuff.
If a costume isn't handy, then a thrift store superhero superfind will do....
(Emo-Batmanesque pose....hopefully someday soon I teach him that superheroes love to fold laundry)
MAMA! I SAVE YOU!!!
You save me?
Yes!! I SAVE YOU!! I.....WESCUE BUBBLES!!!
Everyone should have a resident superhero.
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