Picture day

courtesy of forbes.alpineschools.org

courtesy of forbes.alpineschools.org

Picture Day….It’s coming next week.

It’s a big day, I think more for us parents than for our kids.

We can plan so much of this day, the outfit, the background, the hair….. but no matter how much we practice with them, we just never know how that picture day face is going to turn out.

I remember when the older kids came home after pictures…”Show me the face you did today! Did you smile?! Teeth or no teeth??”, and they would indulge with their best reenactment of the picture day face.

It doesn’t always turn out well.

You just never know. Possible future presidential candidate…. and they dig this one up:

face2

Ouch….

So, not knowing what the future holds… we do our best to practice our best picture face. Now, this will be Sammy’s first “real” school picture day. The first in a long line of picture days to mark his growth, his awkward phases, his acne phases, perhaps his bad outfit choices. My problem is, when I tell him to smile, it usually ends up looking like this:

face1

……. I’ve got a million of these faces from a million moments I’ve tried to capture as he looks so natural…until he’s told to smile.

But I’ve noticed something. Maybe you’ve noticed this too with your own kids. Sammy is always most photogenic when he’s not smiling, when he’s serious, pissed off, even crying.

I like to call this " Young Abercrombie" Taken as he is so mad at me for forcing him to look directly into the setting sun.... but SO worth it.

I like to call this ” Young Abercrombie” Taken as he is so mad at me for forcing him to look directly into the setting sun…. but SO worth it.

So we got a form from the photographer, asking for us to fill in the usual, background color choice, blah blah blah. With it came a little questionnaire asking what they can do to help my child attain a very “pleasant expression”, and do I prefer a serious face, or a smiling face?

Serious, definitely serious. And if you can get him teary eyed, but not actually crying, that would be great.

 

 

 

 

Crying in school

clipartbest.com

clipartbest.com

The 4 year old took to his new preschool unbelievably well. From the first day, he was happy to go. Then, last week he missed the whole week because the plague landed at our house and we were quarantined from society.

His first day back was this Tuesday. He cried for me several times during the day.

I spoke with him about it at home, and he seemed really fine after the fact. Told me “I’m just glad to be home with you”. No one was mean to him at school, he didn’t have any bad experiences….. and he didn’t say anything about not wanting to go back to school.

Today, I dropped him off and he was fine, excited to be there. Then his teacher called me later and said he was upset again. I had asked her to do this if it happened again.

He wasn’t screaming, yelling, unruly. He told her he just wanted to be with me, and was really tearful.

I asked to talk to him, not wanting to come pick him up and perpetuate the problem by giving him the idea that I will come every time he cries…. but I still wanted him to know that I KNEW what he was feeling and wanted him to feel better.

I heard his teary little voice on the phone, telling me he misses me and wants to be home with me. It was so hard to tell him that he needed to stay at school with his friends for now. I asked him if anything was hurting him, it wasn’t. I reminded him that I am coming to get him in a few hours and it would be way more fun for him at school than home with me and his little sister. I reminded him what a brave big boy he was, and I bribed him by telling him I would bring him a surprise when I picked him up. I asked him to make me a special picture to give to me today, hoping that would make him excited to surprise me with his awesome artwork.

I don’t know what “the right” thing to do is…. but I did what I thought would be best.

I then thought back to when my 17 year old went through a similar phase in preschool.

I put some kind of dark lipstick on, and then kissed a piece of paper to make lip marks. We folded it and put it in her pocket before school. When she felt sad, or really missed me, she could just bring out her kiss and press it on her cheek. Just like mommy kissing her. It seemed to work like a charm, some tangible evidence of my love even when we were apart.

I thought back even further… to my own first day or so of first grade. I missed my mom so much that day, I couldn’t help asking my teacher multiple times “when are we going home?” The day just dragged, and my heart felt so sick. I actually broke down and yelled “I want to go home RIGHT NOW!” and started sobbing after what I felt was the millionth time I got the brush off. I don’t remember how my mom handled it, or if she even knew.

So I feel for my Sammy. Hoping as I write this that he is having fun with his class and not still pining for me. As much as I love to know that I am loved, and missed…I don’t want my kids to be distressed.

I think these moments are not uncommon growing up, the world is a big and sometimes overwhelming place. Sometimes you just want to hug that one person who represents security, who you know loves you, to anchor you a little bit.

So I will hug and kiss him, and remind him how special he is to me. He has a little bag of surprises waiting, some glow in the dark necklaces for Halloween, a cool pirate accessory kit with eye patch and bandana. Jelly Belly’s of course. Just a few things to reward him for getting through the day.

Maybe next week he will bring a kiss to school, we will talk about what will make it easier for him to feel my love from afar.

And he will grow, and this will pass.

One day I will miss this, the part where I’m the center of his world…but he and his siblings will always be the center of mine.

Bye-bye binkie

2312

Binkie. Pacifier. Plug.

That thing you stick in the babies mouth to get them to stop crying. When they need some nonnutritive sucking. When you need a break. I didn’t use one with my first 2 kids….so I must have thought I was doing something right, or better than those that did. Because I was stupid then.

So when I had the 4 year old, and my husband and his family really really encouraged the pacifier, and even the wearing of the pacifier with a string that clips to his clothes… I felt really uncomfortable about it. He was the first baby I successfully  nursed, and I thought maybe he needs the extra sucking practice? Maybe he needs that to be comforted? Lots of kids DO need it. I remember the actual day he really TOOK to the pacifier. Like, if I took it out of his mouth he would scream until I put it back. He didn’t want to nurse…he wanted the pacifier. I didn’t like it at all.

I saw that pacifier as a crutch, almost a drug. Baby Heroin. I didn’t like him NEEDING that. So I limited it’s use, after the newborn period and colic was over….only nap and bedtime.

I can’t tell you how  many fights I had with my husband about that stupid pacifier. I would go somewhere and come home to find Sammy running around with that thing in his mouth. I really, really had an issue with it. I strategized how to get rid of it, researched the best age to do it before the binkie becomes more of a “habit” than a needed comfort.

I preached to my husband about all the things I read, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He didn’t see the problem. Let the kid have a pacifier, geez.

I got rid of Sammy’s when he was 15 months old. I waited until Daddy was on a trip away from home so he couldn’t interfere….I knew he could never stand to see the baby upset about it. Truthfully…. we had a couple nights of waking up a lot…and then nothing, he was fine.

So here comes the last one. baby number 4. As any parent of multiple kids will tell you, your standards seem to be a lot less rigid with each new addition.

I made sure with Jenna that we had plenty of pacifiers. I no longer saw it as my enemy, and sometimes I had to pop it in to buy 10 minutes before I could feed her when I had a screaming toddler to settle down first.

But… 15 months went by, 16, 17….20, 21…. and I am telling myself that I need to get rid of that thing… but I admit… I am so lazy now. Beaten down. Tired. I don’t WANT to deal with what might happen if I take it away. Now that she looks for her binkie at bedtime. although it does nothing to keep her sleeping all night, and she still ends up in bed with me, or loudly whispering that she wants to go downstairs at 6:30 in the morning.

Well, hubby was on a trip this week. I prepared to dispose of the binkies. I did nothing the first couple nights… and finally 2 days ago just brought her to bed without it. she asked for it. I told her it was broken and yucky. She slept. Now, I’ve collected the binkies around the house…and they are all in a cabinet and have not been used in 2 days.

this feels so weird.

Are we really done?

I guess so…

I don’t feel super excited or relieved to have the horror of the binkie behind us. I feel like it’s not real yet. I need to throw them away, but I’m afraid. Maybe it was just too easy. If I don’t have that, what else can I hyper-focus on??!!

I’m sure I’ll think of something.

The baby will cure cancer….maybe

genius

courtesy of huffingtonpost.com

I find it funny that the almost 22 month old knows ALL of her letters (capital AND lower case) and can name them faster than her big brother, prompting him to either stomp away or try to hurt her without me seeing it.

The 4 year old, like his older brother before him, enjoys running, jumping, playing, hiding, throwing, and HATES to be sat down to practice writing his letters. He never wants to “play school”, yet he does enjoy school while he is there. If I let him watch TV, he begs for sponge-bob. NOT anything educational.

The toddler begs to watch this Youtube video I found about letters, initially meant for the older one. She’s obsessed with it and if allowed, will sit at a kitchen chair and stick her face in my laptop until I force her to go play. She knew her letters before I even  knew she knew…. showing my sister pieces from a letter puzzle and reciting them correctly “A….U….R….”. My sis was shocked….. and I acted of course like it was no big deal, then made her do it for me over and over when we were alone together.

4 year old can count….but often skips important numbers like 15, 18, and it gets pretty shady after 30. Toddler has learned to count to 15…she does not skip numbers. She will also start where you leave off, which is how I found out she could go past 10…when I heard her little voice saying “11….12….13….” I learned this week that she can also count to 10 in Arabic.

She’s a genius, right?

Surely, she will find a cure for cancer….

The fact that she already knows shapes like diamond, triangle, and star, and the difference between an square and rectangle means she is absolutely the smartest toddler on the face of this planet, right??

she speaks in full sentences, makes jokes, expresses herself so well…. There can be no doubt of her greatness, and future of even more greatness….right?

I don’t know, really.

I do know this…. my oldest was a lot like the baby is now, talked early, and amazed me with her abilities. When my second was born… the first boy…. I wondered what was wrong with him. Why didn’t he talk? Where was that breezy recognition of the world, so effortless for the first? He was so different, and we worried….maybe he wouldn’t be as smart??? Is that terrible?

But now, so many years later…. you would not know they ever started out so differently. Both so intelligent, avid readers, and the 13 year old scores impossibly high in math and science. He was not, and is not a dummy. He just took longer to focus, to slow down.

So with the second two…. I’m not so concerned about the 4 year old not reading on his own yet… or still mixing up some letters. I work with him, and play with him too. He’s a smart kid, but right now he would rather wear his Halloween costume all over the house, fighting bad guys and saving the world…it’s more appealing to him than writing out his “R’s” in a nice neat row. he will be fine.

The toddler is just fun right now, and I’m enjoying how much she can absorb. I expect that with the passage of time, she will prove to be a smart little girl, the regular kind, not the genius kind. I won’t lie though, yesterday I was playing a math game with the 4 year old…”If I have 2 apples, and daddy gives me 2 more apples, how many do I have?…. I was seriously expecting the baby to start jumping in with correct answers. That really would have freaked me out.

Now that I am in this parent gig, 4 kids deep…. I’ve learned that things usually have a way of evening out… so I’m not going to plan for the youngest to take over the world just yet…..but I still like to catch her singing her ABC’s on video, and sharing those little moments with my friends.

I hope people don’t find me obnoxious when I post these video’s on Facebook. Because I still can’t help it, I find it so adorable, and I want to catch everything she does and share how happy she makes me. I love that she surprises me so often, and can communicate so well with me.

She’s my last one people!! Let me have that. I am just so happy with her I sometimes want to squeeze her until she pops.

jennaj

Dear Puke:

The “puke bowl” which has remained puke free while the house is christened with vomit

Was it necessary to lure my son into a false sense of security…… allowing him to eat hard boiled eggs, black olives, hummus, and pickles RIGHT before you decide to make a grand entrance??

Was it necessary to wait until he was cuddled up in the middle of my bed for a nap, surrounded by fluffy pillows and all of his little blankets?

Have you also been thinking that it’s time for a new bedspread? And sheets? And pillows? And mattress???

You probably think I’ve gotten soft, a little too comfortable, since you’ve been away for the past 10 months. Did you think we’d forgotten you?

I assure you, you will never be forgotten.

All the times you’ve erupted from an unsuspecting child, into my lap, my hair, down my back (remember that time??), sometimes the sink or the toilet…. I promise, I will not forget you.

All the times I’ve held my sick baby close to me, and then you decide to show up and make it a party. Thank you. I love laundry. The kids love the pretty colors, you never look the same twice. It’s a neat trick.

Now, the 4 year old seems pretty excited to see you again today. He just asked me for another pickle, and I asked him if he was on crack. We both said no.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the random beauty of your nature. It’s a gift that you can ALWAYS catch us off guard. But, I can’t make it that easy for you. Despite the years we’ve known each other, the odd situations we find ourselves meeting in…. I can’t say you are a “friend”. But, I will acknowledge you when we meet, and treat you with the very careful respect you deserve. You can be sure, I will never ignore you.

And thanks, really, for keeping me on my toes.

And for the new bedding I will be purchasing, as soon as I know you are gone.

Get down with PPD

courtesy of newbornhub.com

courtesy of newbornhub.com

I wrote a while back about the fact that I had post partum depression with each of my children, here.

Now that they are getting older, you would think that I could forget about those feelings, since I am not planning to have new babies anymore. Well, it’s true that I do feel a huge sense of relief, because that was one of the reasons I resisted having another child and actually fought for a year before agreeing to have the last one.

Because I was terrified of feeling that way again. Because when you are going through it, you can’t imagine ever feeling better again. It’s a constant cycle of emotions and anxiety, at least it was for me. And the shame, for not feeling the way I was supposed to feel, the way I wanted to feel…. I hate remembering it.

I had a patient about a month ago who reminded me of those feelings, because she seemed to be going through something similar. Her newest baby was just a week old, and she also had a toddler at home. We chatted a bit, and somehow got on the topic of new babies, and then somehow got talking about how overwhelming it was right now for her.

I remember being her.

Filled to BURSTING with this anxiety, this unrest, this NEED to talk about it with someone. Even a stranger. The attempt made at making light of her feelings, nervous laughter as we mentioned the word Zoloft. People are scared of being judged…. I know, because I was scared too. When I felt so bad, and everyone expected me to feel so good. Not many people could understand the WHY. Me included.

Where I live in Ohio….. there was very little in the way of group support for this type of depression. With my second child, I at least knew what was happening to me when that grayness descended…. and I wanted to get help somewhere. I found a support group for general depression at a church not far from home. I got my aunt to watch the baby for an hour and went to the meeting. Feeling very vulnerable, almost in tears, I remember entering the room with other women already seated together. I met some nice women, and listened as some shared difficult moments encountered during the week.

I started to feel comfortable with a couple women there and shared a little bit about how I was feeling with having the new baby, overwhelmed, anxious, depressed…. and they were very supportive. We talked more and I mentioned my plan to return to work in a couple months….and experienced the wrath of one of those women, who berated me for ever choosing to leave my baby to go back to work. She walked away in a huff, and I was devastated.

I learned a very good lesson that day. As explained to me by one of the women who witnessed that encounter.

“Honey”, she said, “we all have our own issues, you just have to understand that her actions are about HER, not you.”

That is so true, and something I have remembered. We ALL have issues, and I have done my best not to pass judgment on others because I don’t know what things look like from their side of the fence.

I did however, decide that it might be a better option to find a group of people dealing with the same issue I was, who I could maybe better relate to. Great idea. Too bad there were no groups like that anywhere near me. I ended up reaching out many times to find disappointment. The most help I found was online.

There is a group on facebook called Postpartum Progress, they have links to all sorts of information and events you can participate in with other women who have experienced PPD. It’s nice to belong to a group of people who know what you’re going through, what  you’ve been through, and offer support.

There is another organization, Jenny’s light. This group was founded after a new mother with a seemingly perfect life and a beautiful new son took her own life, and her son’s. She suffered silently with PPD, and her family has made it a goal to help prevent such tragedy by educating others about perinatal mood disorders, and offering a forum for support. I remember finding this site during my online searching for a “cure”…. and it helped so much just to read the stories of other women expressing how they felt during their depression. Some were spot on for how I felt. I knew I wasn’t alone, and that was huge.

I also did a lot of reading on babycenter.com, finding women in my birth club who were posting on the message boards. You can join your birth club and speak with people who have kids the same age as yours, and even check out the archives of previous posts on topics/conversations that may help you. If you search post partum depression on their site, it brings you here, and you can scroll to find quizzes to check if you qualify as having PPD, and links to articles and other sources of information or help. It again reinforced that I wasn’t “the only one” who felt this way, and even allows you that chance to connect with other moms, give support to each other and learn how other people are coping with their depression.

Anyway, my point is…. if you are someone who has gone through it, or is going through it… I get it, it sucks. And there are others out there who can relate, reach out and find us. Sometimes just knowing you are not alone helps.

And the best piece of advice I ever got, ever.

Was from a social worker I had called in my attempt to reach out for help, this was with my second child. Kindest woman, although I have never met her…. she called me back that evening and just talked to me…for like an hour, maybe longer. Listened to my pressured speech as I poured out all the anxiety and distress of the day. She listened to me talking about how I hoped to feel better the next day.

“Don’t hope… Just cope.”

It was a little tough love. She told me I may NOT feel better the next day, or the one after that. I was setting myself up by just hoping. So dig in there, and do what you need to do. Don’t hope, just cope.

Those words, I have said to myself so many times since then. It was what I needed at the time, and it helped me during moments of weakness, as I struggled through every mundane task even though doing anything left me feeling exhausted.

And I did cope. Four times. And no, I didn’t lose hope….but it made me realize that wishing to feel better wasn’t going to be enough to make me feel better. I had to participate and not give up.

 I pray that everyone with PPD finds their way back from that scary place. Because it sucks there. If you know someone with PPD, or you suspect they have it, because they truly may NOT know what’s happening to them…..don’t judge them. Offer your hand, lend an ear, talk to them and be willing to listen. Let them know they are not alone, you will be helping more than you can possibly know.

The joy of having a 13 year old

jake6jakejjakej5

Truly, an unparalleled experience.

This is the second time I’ve had a 13 year old. I have 2 more to go after this one.

There are just so many amazing and wonderful things that go along with this age. Some things I remember from my first child at that age, and some new things I am just learning. For instance…

There is a need to be right, and always have the last word. It’s not even a need to be right, who am I kidding. He’s right. that’s IT. I just NEED to accept it.

There is a potential argument for everything. Because he is always right. And by speaking to him, I might somehow be questioning his awesome rightness, so he must assert himself yet again.

the whole idea of good personal hygiene is still a bit hazy….the need to take a shower after football practice does not strike him as urgent, although the rest of us are gagging every time he comes close to us and begging him to clean himself.

Deodorant is still considered optional.

He will still take walks with me and the little kids to get ice cream, and even pull the wagon without embarrassment.

If he is required to make his bed and keep his room clean, I have no right to expect him to help vacuum the living room. because that is borderline abuse. And the start of a text argument.

He plays amazingly well with the 4 year old, then fights with the 4 year old, then gets mad at me because I expect one of them to be more mature than the other in these situations. Apparently the 4 year old should know better.

He still lets me kiss him goodnight, and tells me he loves me.

hairy legs and baby face. (him…not me)

All discussions (arguments) will end in me losing. Because no matter how wrong I believe he is….. he simply reminds me that  I am the one who chose to bring him into the world. And since he couldn’t have done anything bad if he didn’t exist…..that clearly makes everything my fault. (he’s a philosopher.)

He will be a man…tomorrow. But still clings to his childhood today, as do I. The day I can’t excite him with some fake tattoos or bubble tape will be a sad one indeed.

Drive Thru Phobia

courtesy of: hautemealz.com

Sometimes I am out in the car, alone or with kid(s) and decide to drive through someplace for food.

I don’t do it often, and maybe that’s part of the reason I have such a hard time doing it.

My drive through experiences often end up with me frustrated, disappointed, anxious, and still hungry for…..something. Sometimes if there is another person in the car with me….we argue.

Why?

Well, it goes something like this:

A vague conversation about getting lunch…..or me thinking I should stop somewhere if I’m driving around for work and know I won’t get another chance to eat.

I pull into the drive through.

Sit behind several cars, not able to read the menu, not able to remember specific things I might like on the menu.

Get anxious because I don’t know what I want and I need to think of something……what was that chicken thing I liked that one time????

Squint, and try to read the menu from back here….impossible.

Ask people-if I’m not alone- what they want. If they are older than 4, this can be helpful, because they might actually know what they want. If they are under 4, they might ignore me completely, stare at me blankly, or tell me something not remotely close to what is offered at this place.

Get closer. Am I sweating?

Why don’t they make the menu bigger, so I can read it before I have to order?

Why can’t I think of ANYTHING????!!!

Shit. I’m next.

Do I want a baked potato? Salad? Fish sandwich?

I pull up to the speaker, stuck in the middle of a huge menu wall. Frantically trying to find something, anything that looks like I might want it.

via fontsinuse.com

via fontsinuse.com

TOO MANY CHOICES.

My brain shuts down.

Oh god, it’s been 14 seconds, I ask for a minute….. the person says yes…. but I know they are rolling their eyes, and probably muting their microphone as they tell their friends what the hell was this lady doing the whole time she was in line, she still doesn’t know what she wants….. and the cars are just sitting there, waiting behind me.

So I just order. Blindly and often stupidly. Things I don’t eat, things I won’t eat. Just to ease this panic welling up because everyone is just waiting for me to make up my damn mind! I feel very unsatisfied as I pull up to pay for the bag of things I don’t want. The girl at the window looks smug. I’m pretty sure she knows I just freaked out back there.

If there is anyone else in the car with me, we might argue about why I only ordered one milkshake, or some tiny thing off the dollar menu for two of us…. or how I embarrassed them by asking for a minute when everyone in the world knows you just DON’T ask for a minute at the drive thru and obviously I’m just not fit to be out here, driving around in society like this…

But usually this happens most when I have no one old enough to guide me through this awful experience and I am forced to rely on my own decision making abilities. Which are pretty bad to begin with, but add a little anxiety and they just go away….

As I pull away, I glance into the bag.

Right.

And look for anther place to try again.

 

 

 

She’s leaving me

Proof...she loves me!

Proof…she loves me!

My 17 year old is gleefully counting down the days, no, the HOURS until she leaves for college. Leaving the rest of us behind as she forges ahead into her dazzling future.

I did the college visits, kept harping on her to start the FAFSA, and the early application process. Sent emails and made phone calls to people working in the profession she wants to study, trying to find out where the best colleges are for that sort of thing. Talked about getting a job, being responsible, growing up…..

All the while seeming to forget that I was working on her ticket OUT of here. Away from me. Like…. away as in not planning to live with me in a permanent way anymore.

I must have been refusing to face that part of it for a while. After our trip to PA to check out a school there, I was telling a friend about it. I got a concerned sounding “and how are YOU doing?”…”Well, I’m…fine…. how are  you?”  I wasn’t sure why I was being treated so carefully and considerately. But I get it now. Because I’m going to fall apart, and my friend was just checking to see if I’d started yet.

I think now that the flurry of activity is over, I have time to really think about this.

And here come the random episodes of blubbering and panic, the desperate wish to freeze time, the happiness for her and sadness for myself.

I feel very much like a certain Greek father asking his daughter “Why you want to leave me???” with his teary, tortured voice.

yourtango.com

My Big Fat Greek Wedding, 2002. Best Movie Ever. courtesy of yourtango.com

I’m far from an empty nester, with three other kids who will be staying home for years yet. But she will leave a void and no one else can fill that spot. She’s my daughter, but also sometimes I feel like she’s my only friend in this house, like she’s got my back in a way that no one else can. She makes me smile on days that I am so fed up with the world, even if she tempers her greatness with moments of being a pure teenager.

I love that girl.

And it’s hard to know that she won’t be here with me every day anymore. She will start to change. She will come home on breaks, some weekends, and she will be itching to leave…she won’t tell me what she’s up to, at least not while she’s doing it.

And I will watch her transform into a real adult. A woman. Independent. And I think I’m allowed to shed some tears for that, because I’m so full of emotion I can’t seem to help but cry a little when I think about it.

I can sit here and say, she is EVERYTHING I could ever have hoped for in a daughter. I have worried from her infancy that I wouldn’t know how to “do this” right. To keep her close to me. I know what I wanted, it was not the relationship I had with my own mom…she and I did not have an amazing bond, and still struggle to understand each other. But I think I got it right, somehow, with my own daughter.

So of course I hate to see her leave, as much as I love to see her embrace her future.

And so, we turn to our usual comfort measures…

little chocolate donuts. The cure for all ills.

little chocolate donuts. The cure for all ills.

Not my best week

I’ve never been the most graceful person on the best of days…. and I’m downright dangerous on the worst of days…

This past week has, for some reason, been especially difficult for me. Difficult to stay upright. Difficult to avoid being injured. Was it a full moon? I don’t know…..

I started the week out wearing a pair of heels to work. I’ve had them for years, they are not high….but they are skinny. I usually wear flats, but certain pants need a little more, you know?

So I wear them. All is well. I can walk decently.

Then I decide to take the stairs on my way home. One flight. Concrete stairs. As I’m texting.

the stairs.

the stairs.

Yes, I fell. Somehow ended up holding myself up on the railing after an impressive knee scraping and double ankle twisting. Sadly, the left shoe also suffered a scrape that removed the color and I don’t have a marker to match that….

The next day, I’m back at work. I hop up onto a desk to sit for a moment. I do this ALL THE TIME. Suddenly, this time, a cabinet came out of nowhere and whacked me in the side of the head. Then acted like it was there the whole time.

This time I had small audience. Embarrassing, but what can I do but laugh, and hope I don’t have a concussion.

That same night.

I am sitting, doing homework with the 13 year old who broke his right arm and needs me to write out his math, longhand. So….I’m not in the best mood, trying to get his math and then social studies questions done….and the little ones need a bath…. thinking of all the things I need to do before I can get to bed that night…..

17 year old comes home from work. “Hey mom, I got your favorite candy!”

I turn my head.

21food.com

21food.com

INTO a Twix missile. Launched at my face, and it strikes me square between the eyes.

Really, intensely painful. Why would you throw that at my head??

After I took some deep breaths. Warned everyone to just not talk to me for a moment…. I got up to look at my face. Come back…where is that Twix?

She let the FOUR year old eat it.

Next day. Same 17 year old is doing dishes as we clean up from dinner. In her fun mode. Acts like she’s going to throw a plate at me. With wet, soapy hands.

So…. she threw the plate.

Shatters ALL over the floor in front of me.

Had the presence of mind to beg for mercy before I could react.

This is not everything. But you get the idea.

courtesy of graphite.org

courtesy of graphite.org