I Take Back What I Said About Mother's Day...or The Disappearing Summers

Recently I read and reviewed a book that may be made into a movie soon called Just 18 Summers. It was about a concept I'd been pondering a lot lately: that we have a limited amount of time with our kids to teach them, to make memories, to prepare them for life. That's been hitting home to me because my oldest will be 14 and entering her last year of middle school in the fall. My time with her is waning. And her sister is only a year behind her. I struggle with the constant battle of wanting to seize and savor every moment yet being tired from the constant pull of every day life in contrast to the bleak job of every parent: to make themselves obsolete so their kids can enter adult life independent and prepared.

I've always been big on summer fun. Since my oldest started kindergarten, I looked at summers as a way to spend time together and make memories she'd carry with her for a lifetime. And summers from school are a poignant reminder of the clock ticking. When they are preschoolers, each day rolls into the next day and before you know it, a year has passed, then two. But once they go off to school and summer comes, you know you have 3 months (or less) to have fun, make memories, take vacations, teach them things they can't learn in school and just enjoy them.

In recent days/years, I've been guilty of counting down til school starts back. I'm tired. My son has special needs and requires a huge amount of attention. And because I've been so diligent about trying to make all things equal between my kids, the girls expect equal attention and I get overloaded.

Last summer, I'd planned to get back to my usual summer fun and planned out some activities, made a calendar of events, etc.  But then I had surgery and recovery was harder than I expected. We did go camping in Branson and had fun but I wanted more.

The last post I published on this blog (I've written a couple of others, especially explaining our life right now, just haven't hit that "publish" button yet) was about wanting to boycott Mother's Day because I felt disrespected by my children and didn't want fake, expected tokens. I can assure you I was forced to eat my words later. I think the day after I wrote that blog, my son's therapist recommended long-term residential treatment. The guilt for what I'd written about Mother's Day was nearly as bad as the pain of the idea of sending my 9-year-old off to the care of strangers. To say I was inconsolable is an understatement. The series of events that have followed have left us broken. Financial difficulty, difficult decisions, two short-term hospitalizations for my son, my daughter struggling with inner demons as well as high blood pressure we can't get control of, custody court battle, and job chaos, just to name a few. The list doesn't do justice to the amount of turmoil it represents.

I had high hopes for this summer. My girls were in summer school to get ahead and prepare for advanced classes that would give them high school credit in middle school. They also went to camp. But, in the 6 remaining weeks of summer, I had plans, lists, calendars, and even a Pinterest board. Let the fun begin! Memories and life lessons!

But, I hurt my back. My son injured my back a couple of months ago but I somehow re-injured it so that it became excruciating. Top three on my pain repertoire. 8.0 on the Richter scale. So, my mobility was severely limited. The past couple of weeks, I've been going to doctor/chiropractor appointments, taking meds that knock me out, and laid up in bed. But, now that it's starting to get better, I've been chomping at the bit to get out and do some activities! My daughter even has a Pinterest board called her "summer bucket list."

Yesterday, though, my summer was sucked away in an instant. Without going into too much detail, what I thought would be a routine pre-trial court hearing that my lawyer said I didn't have to attend turned out to have massive effects. With the exception of our already scheduled vacation, the kids will spend the rest of the summer with their dad. I won't even go into how my lawyer didn't bother to tell me, I had to hear about it in a text from their dad the day before they are supposed to go or that she won't call me back to explain what happened or some of the other nonsense this included. Or that this was sprung on me last minute and I have to scramble to get them ready or that they have appointments scheduled that dad will likely skip. Or that the kids don't like this at all (but no one seemed to care or even ask) or that Billy will miss meet the teacher night at his new school or Arrena will miss volleyball meetings or Kimberly will miss another month of karate (after missing a month when she injured her foot).  Our summer just kicked the bucket. Except for our vacation window, one more summer down.

I bawled yesterday at this news for a lot of reasons I won't list here. I know all the pat answers and cliches, that God has a plan. But my heart still hurts. I'm mom and I should be able to fix things. But I'm powerless and impotent.  And even worse than that, even though I know God is in control, I need direction.  I need answers on what to do now.  What is the correct response?  How can I tell what the right decisions are?  And with my anxiety attacks, I need boldness and clarity and discernment.  I am notorious for wallowing and mourning at tough things, but after I have my cry and time to process, I pull up my big girl panties and strap on my boots and get busy and become the force to be reckoned with.  I research, I come armed with knowledge, I won't take no for an answer, I fight to the end for my kids.  I need to be that right now.

I'm trying to look on the bright side: that I could use some respite (from Billy's 24/7 demands and for my back) and that I'll be able to get some things done (writing the play for the drama team, working on my book, working on my Etsy shop and my blog), but they all fall short of seeing those faces every day.  And just when I think I have set myself to accept this, the response of one of the kids knocks my feet out from under me and makes me feel like dirt.  How can a mom not protect her children?  And how can a court ask that of me?

I am also trying to remember Romans 8, that God will use this experience for the kids to make them more like Christ, to mold them and shape them into who He has planned for them to be.  And that He is with them always and loves them more than I could ever imagine AND has the power to protect them that I don't possess.  There's the possibility that they could be witnesses to their dad or their step-mom.

I have been angry and confused and upset and asking God why, but in the end, I do trust Him.  Nothing can shake that.  Like Job said, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him."

While our summer vacation has been cut extremely short and what little time we do have is up in the air, depending on a lot of factors and variables, this reminds me that we are not promised a tomorrow.  We may count 18 summers, but we aren't promised that.  A court may order the kids to their dad's for the summer.  A friend lost her four-year-old to a brain tumor.  A woman at our church died of cancer, leaving behind her five-year-old son.  We are not promised any tomorrows.  All we have is now.  The plans, the calendars, the Pinterest boards--they are great, but today is the day to hug your kids and tell them you love them.  Teach them one life lesson.  Talk about God.  Tell them a family story.  Spend time with them.  Make a memory.  I know we are busy, but tomorrow may be too late.

Feeling Sorry for Myself Parenting Rant

(written 9/17/13)

I was contemplating how hard parenthood is today and trying to remember a time when it was easier.  The further I reached back into my memory, the more I realized that it has never been easy.  Then I began to wonder what am I doing wrong?  I read stories on Facebook or blogs or news outlets about moms with the perfect husband, the perfect children who always behave, the perfect house that is always immaculate, the perfect job (or if she is a stay-at-home-mom, more than enough income to make it happen), the perfect school/or the perfect temperament to homeschool, the perfect body, the perfect wardrobe, the perfect friends, the perfect family, etc.  So, why am I divorced, constantly struggling with my children whether it be a behavior issue or a dire problem that we had no control over, my house is always a mess despite the fact that all the kids are in school and I am home all day due to the fact that I had to quit my perfect job and my self-employment isn't paying the bills, my finances are always critical, I don't have the desire to homeschool yet I can't get the public school system to give my children the education they deserve without being exposed to filth and violence and can't afford private school tuition, finally on the losing weight side of the teeter totter I've been riding for 14 years, and had to suffer hellish in-laws before I was blessed with the ones I have now while being cursed with cousins who hate me for who knows what.

Happy New Year

So, if you know me or my family or have read this blog before, you know that my son has ADHD and ODD and we are in the middle of counseling for that, as well as medicating him. It has been a VERY bumpy road, but over the last four years, I've grown accustomed to most everything. I get tired and frustrated, but mostly, it's nothing new. This week has shown me that I ain't seen nothin' yet. Welcome to the new year....

Billy, as you may know, is six years old. He and his sisters went to visit their dad on Christmas day and stayed until the 27th. Billy came back a new boy. It was amazing. I thought maybe they had found a look-alike to switch him with or maybe he had been hypnotized or something. The only real answer was that his dad had given him a PSP (Play Station Portable) for Christmas and he was told that if he didn't behave with us, he would lose it at his dad's. As an added incentive, he was also informed that his dad would buy him some new games for it, if he was really good.

For two days, he was an angel. I was dumbstruck. He didn't get in trouble for anything. He was sweet and pleasant and I really enjoyed him. I was recovering from being sick, so it was nice to be able to sleep in, my husband gave him his morning medication, and then I woke up to a happy family.

We were running low on his morning meds, which are his primary ADHD medication. His psychiatrist had had to cancel his appointment and couldn't fit him in again until the end of January. They went ahead and wrote a prescription to make up for the month. His doctor's office is in Leawood, KS and we live in Raytown, MO, so I waited to pick it up until he had his counseling appointment in Overland Park, KS on Friday. While his behavior for two days had been exceptional, his counselor predicted it would be short-lived. Judging from the behavior we had recorded before Christmas, Billy obviously wasn't taking us seriously and it was time to up the ante. He brought Billy in and explained to him that he cannot continue to treat his mother the way he has and outlined the new rules, which allow very little wiggle room for him. And, sure enough, the good boy started to unravel later that day.

I didn't think to take the prescription in immediately to have it filled. He had his last dose yesterday morning. About 5pm, it dawned on me that it was New Year's Eve and the pharmacy might be closing early. I called and it was already closed. I thought I might go out after the kids went to bed and find a 24-hour Walgreen's to get it filled.

Billy ended up having a meltdown. It all started because he took a bite of a sandwich that had been sitting on top of the trash can. I said that was gross, so then he wanted me to kiss him, to gross me out further. When I refused, he picked up a can of Febreze and aimed it at me. I told him to put it down several times. He ignored me and sprayed me in the face with it. He not only got me, but also the chicken I was cutting up for dinner. I told him to go to his room and since this was his second strike, he would be getting a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, instead of eating with the rest of us. He refused to go, so he was escorted to his room. He returned with a boxed game and threw it at me, hitting me in the back. My husband got up then and dealt with him while I finished dinner. It sounded like a major battle in there, but Scott eventually got Billy calmed down, but not before Billy tore down the shade in the window.

However, after bedtime, Billy started banging on the door, which is a no-no, according to his counselor. As per the counselor's instructions, I went in and held him down for 15 minutes (once he gets riled, he continues to escalate--the holding seems to "reset" him), during which he fought me constantly, spitting on me, etc. After that, I found that he had broken a CD I had let him borrow from the library, so now he not only has to use his Christmas money to replace the shade, but also the CD.

I was so wiped, I didn't want to get out again, so we decided we would get his meds filled on our way to church since the 24 hour Walgreen's is about a block from the church. But, we slept in and missed church. When we woke up, we were laying there, discussing what the game plan was for the day when the house phone started ringing. The only people that ever call our house phone are the kids' friends and telemarketers, so we didn't run to answer it. But, then I heard sounds of a child skirmish, so I immediately went to check it out. Billy's hands were covered in what looked like glitter glue. His oldest sister was screeching about how he had dumped out all of her makeup and something about prank calls they had been getting. I was in the bathroom, trying to wash Billy's hands when the doorbell rang. Our middle child looked out the window and yelled, "Oh my goodness! It's the cops!" I could hear my husband let them in and talking to them and I gathered that Billy had somehow called 911. The "prank calls" the girls had been referring to was the 911 operator trying to call back. It came up as blocked and the girls wouldn't answer it.

I finished cleaning Billy up and sent him to put some clothes on since he was running around in his underoos, for some unknown reason. Then he went to face the two police officers in our living room. They were very nice and understanding, but the woman lectured him on the difference between an emergency and playing with the phone. He looked scared while they were there, but after they left, he was laughing like it was no big deal. We were NOT amused. We sent him to his room.

I went out to get his meds refilled. The pharmacy we usually go to was closed for the holiday, so I went to Walgreen's. They told me they don't accept our insurance anymore! Since when? I get his nighttime meds there every month because our other pharmacy doesn't carry it! And it isn't as though we have some weird insurance--it's Blue Cross Blue Shield! She said that they made a deal with CVS. Lovely. I DESPISE CVS! Now, I'm wondering if that's the only place I can fill at now. If so, that's ridiculous! And thanks for changing our insurance without telling us!

So, I headed over to CVS, reluctantly. Of course, instead of a 20 minute wait like everywhere else, it's going to be an hour (guess that's better than the time I had to go there for meds for an allergic reaction I was having--don't get me started). So, I go to the store to get a few things and kill time. While there, my phone rings. It was CVS calling to tell me that they couldn't run my discount card. Our psychiatrist gave me a 50% discount card because the meds are so expensive. Even with insurance, the copay is $60 a month. The card makes it $30 a month. It's still a lot when you add in that he has two other meds (not as expensive, thank goodness) and the copays for both a psychiatrist and a counselor (the latter he sees once a week). Well, I guess I didn't realize he had been on it so long, but it's only good for a year and guess what? The year is up. Of course it is. They told me that if I can get the info for another card over the phone, they can process it that way. But, it's Sunday and it's New Year's Day, so there is no one in the doctor's office to give me numbers off a new discount card. So, now it's a decision of whether I buy the groceries in the cart or buy Billy's prescription at full-price. My husband and I decided since it was getting so late anyways, we would just give him his afternoon pill and try to call the doctor in the morning.

So, I finished my grocery shopping and came home. We were putting away groceries and cleaning up when my husband found that Billy's bottle of nighttime meds (anti-depressant) was empty. I just filled it about a week and a half ago. I nearly lost it. Billy denied it at first, but eventually cheerfully confessed to pouring it down the drain because it tastes yucky. I'm looking into the face of this adorable 6-year-old, who is telling me that he just wasted some more medicine that I am sure the doctor will not refill this soon. He is smiling, like he he has had the best day ever, despite the police showing up, the absent meds, the glowering twitching parent in front of him. Then I notice the blue fish stamps all over his face. I look around the room and see green marker on the carpet. I demanded all the crayons, markers, stampers, anything that marked. I confiscated them all. Then I gave him an hour to get his room clean or I would clean it for him.

An hour later, my husband and I came back and filled up two trash bags. Billy acted like he didn't even care. How do you work with a child that doesn't care and doesn't have any remorse?

It's like I have an overgrown two-year-old. I feel like I need to sleep in front of his door or handcuff myself to him so that I know where he is and what he is up to every second of every day. He sneaks out of his room at night and pours liquid soap out into the bathtub or hydrogen peroxide all over the floor. He mixes soaps with bath fizzers. He scratches "No Girls Allowed" in the paint on his wall. He finds scissors and cuts large holes into his pajama bottoms and pillowcases. He squirts his sister's body lotion all over the basement floor. He put her lip gloss on all the doorknobs. And that's just the mischief he gets into.

There's the spitting and the punching. He calls me an MF. He calls his sisters the B-word. He calls everyone idiots. He throws things at his grandma. He tears up everything, or tries to, when he has a temper tantrum--from kicking car seats and windows when we're in the car, to tearing down blinds and throwing things when he's at home. He bites. He kicks the cats. He ignores me and tells me "No!" He runs and hides from me when he's in trouble or doesn't want to do something. He tells us he hates us and wishes we were all dead. He tells me he's going to kill me.

Calgon doesn't take me far enough away. If I were a drinker, I'd be an alcoholic for sure. His counselor says it's going to be slow progress, but times like this, I swear I can FEEL gray hairs and hear my life clock ticking backwards: there's another year off my life. I don't think MY antidepressants are strong enough for days like these. I hope that in a few years, I can look back on this post and laugh and thank God for how far Billy has come. But, I really hope it doesn't take years.