I certainly don't. I would so much rather plunk down anywhere from $200-$350 to go to a doctor, have me tell them what's wrong with me, and have them hand me a piece of paper that I then give to someone else, and hand over another $100 or so for the privilege of getting my happy pills, that may or may not work but I'll have to give it a go for at least 3 weeks before I can go back and pay ANOTHER $200 and do it all over again. Oh yes, the joy that inspires in me. And I am so frustrated about all the different medication options. All I want is a simple, easy to understand web site that shows all of my choices, and all of their side effects, in a nice, easily comparable form. Is that so fucking difficult? Yes I know I should be letting my doctor decide which medicine is best based on my history and symptoms and blah blah. And maybe it's too much to ask that the medicine with the particular side effects I want to avoid would also coincide with the particular symptoms I have, but geez, I just really don't want to be stuck taking a medicine that causes more problems than it fixes. Most of the meds I have looked at list sleepiness/drowsiness and weight gain as the side effects. Well, I hate to say it, but if it's going to make me fatter and lazier than I already am, I'm better off just saving my money and sleeping without pharmaceutical aid. Yes, I'm irritable (OK, or in the words of my darling husband, "a raving fucking lunatic"), and I don't want to do anything, but frankly, having to spend that much money to feel as crappy as I already do is going to make me just as cranky, and if I'm broke, if won't matter if I want to do anything - I won't be able to afford it. Grrrr.
And to top it all off, John wants another baby. I do too, I just really wonder if this is the right time for it. Then again, this whole depression thing is something I've been dealing with for years, and it didn't really get any worse with the pregnancy and birth of my youngest, when I was the deepest in the pit of despair, so maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. And it would solve my insurance problem. The minute the line turns blue, I get free health care from the native hospital. Gotta love being married to an Indian. But if I go that route, then I really have depression issues, because I really really abhor the idea of taking a daily medication, of any kind, while pregnant. Maybe it's a completely irrational fear, but I was taking various types of medication (pain pills at one point, and allergy pills at another) during the year that I suffered through 3 miscarriages all in a row. That, and no one really knows what causes leukemia, and I just don't think I could live through having to bury another child, especially if it could in any way be linked back to a drug that I took while I as pregnant because I wanted to be a little less grumpy.
Why is it that there is never such a thing as an easy decision in life?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Post-Holiday Blahhhhh, and More Evidence of my Insanity
Is it just me, or has the blogging world seemed a little, I don't know, quieter lately? I don't know about the rest of the world, but I wonder if it's because of the typical after-holiday let down. Even without the alleged depression thing, I always feel like crap in January, after psyching myself up for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I almost always get sick this time of year, and I have no desire to do ANYTHING. I don't think I'm the only one, though, am I?
Or maybe it's just a girl thing, because John is the exact opposite of me. He has apparently decided that now that the holidays are over, he can start working on all of those house-cleaning and organizing projects he's been wanting to get done since we moved in August. Which essentially translates into ME doing all those house cleaning and organizing projects he wants done. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, and he's a great guy. He was raised in the very rural South, in the heart of the bible belt, and while he is very enlightened for his breed, he just doesn't have an organizational bone in his body. You should see him pack. Seriously, it gives me nightmares. I guess I am kind of a strange person, in that I don't care how much of a mess my house is (most of the time), but all hidden areas must be organized to the point of obsession. Toys, laundry, blankets all over the floor, couch and any other available surface? Sure, no problem. Dishes out of place inside the cabinets? I can't sleep until it's fixed. And so, when he says things like, "Let's go clean the garage," I know I'm in for a long weekend. His idea of "clean the garage" is clear a walking space by taking everything and shoving it in the first available box and sticking it in the crawl space. My idea of clean the garage is to bring all of the Christmas stuff back in the house, sort it out by type and pack neatly into the appropriate box (he took it all down, not me, or it would have been done right the first time). Then go under the house and move all the stuff around down there until I have a space large enough to fit the two new boxes we added this year, and bring up some of the other stuff needed for other cleaning projects he wants done. Then pick up all the hats, gloves, boots, and other winter ear, sort by size, style, and child, and find a nice, neat storage solution, appropriately labeled, for each item. Then, sort all of the food on the pantry shelves by type. Then, break down and throw away all the boxes left over from the large Christmas presents. Then sort all of the stuff I had been planning to either sell of Craigslist or give away on Freecycle and set them aside in neat, sorted piles, take new pictures, and repost. Then, clean out and reorganize the freezers. Then, go through the paints and cleaning supplies and other miscellaneous fluids stored in the garage and check for expiration dates and empty cans, then resort by type and size and put back. All of this while my kids are in the house, throwing toys at each other across the living room, ripping any paper they find to shreds, and chasing the cats through the house. I swear, it's a disease. I can't help it though, if it's a space no one is going to look in but me, it HAS to be organized. All the clothes hanging in the closet are arranged by type and color. My sock drawer has dividers so I can arrange by type. I have separate containers for the pens and the pencils on my desk, because pens CANNOT be in the same cup as pencils, they might crossbreed and then I would have some mutant pen/pencil hybrid, and the world would come to an end. So my weekend, yeah, it sucked. Because I have this post-holiday blah thing, and I didn't want to clean the garage. So I did some of it. And then I couldn't sleep all night, because I could hear the pantry shelves calling to me, begging me to come put them back in order. And I could hear the Christmas angel, under the house, crying, because I just shoved her in a box mixed with Christmas lights and placemats. And this is why I found myself up at 3:30 this morning, sneaking out into the garage to sooth all my precious shelves with a plan of attack and a promise to finish it all tonight when I get home. As long as John stays far, far away from me.
Or maybe it's just a girl thing, because John is the exact opposite of me. He has apparently decided that now that the holidays are over, he can start working on all of those house-cleaning and organizing projects he's been wanting to get done since we moved in August. Which essentially translates into ME doing all those house cleaning and organizing projects he wants done. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, and he's a great guy. He was raised in the very rural South, in the heart of the bible belt, and while he is very enlightened for his breed, he just doesn't have an organizational bone in his body. You should see him pack. Seriously, it gives me nightmares. I guess I am kind of a strange person, in that I don't care how much of a mess my house is (most of the time), but all hidden areas must be organized to the point of obsession. Toys, laundry, blankets all over the floor, couch and any other available surface? Sure, no problem. Dishes out of place inside the cabinets? I can't sleep until it's fixed. And so, when he says things like, "Let's go clean the garage," I know I'm in for a long weekend. His idea of "clean the garage" is clear a walking space by taking everything and shoving it in the first available box and sticking it in the crawl space. My idea of clean the garage is to bring all of the Christmas stuff back in the house, sort it out by type and pack neatly into the appropriate box (he took it all down, not me, or it would have been done right the first time). Then go under the house and move all the stuff around down there until I have a space large enough to fit the two new boxes we added this year, and bring up some of the other stuff needed for other cleaning projects he wants done. Then pick up all the hats, gloves, boots, and other winter ear, sort by size, style, and child, and find a nice, neat storage solution, appropriately labeled, for each item. Then, sort all of the food on the pantry shelves by type. Then, break down and throw away all the boxes left over from the large Christmas presents. Then sort all of the stuff I had been planning to either sell of Craigslist or give away on Freecycle and set them aside in neat, sorted piles, take new pictures, and repost. Then, clean out and reorganize the freezers. Then, go through the paints and cleaning supplies and other miscellaneous fluids stored in the garage and check for expiration dates and empty cans, then resort by type and size and put back. All of this while my kids are in the house, throwing toys at each other across the living room, ripping any paper they find to shreds, and chasing the cats through the house. I swear, it's a disease. I can't help it though, if it's a space no one is going to look in but me, it HAS to be organized. All the clothes hanging in the closet are arranged by type and color. My sock drawer has dividers so I can arrange by type. I have separate containers for the pens and the pencils on my desk, because pens CANNOT be in the same cup as pencils, they might crossbreed and then I would have some mutant pen/pencil hybrid, and the world would come to an end. So my weekend, yeah, it sucked. Because I have this post-holiday blah thing, and I didn't want to clean the garage. So I did some of it. And then I couldn't sleep all night, because I could hear the pantry shelves calling to me, begging me to come put them back in order. And I could hear the Christmas angel, under the house, crying, because I just shoved her in a box mixed with Christmas lights and placemats. And this is why I found myself up at 3:30 this morning, sneaking out into the garage to sooth all my precious shelves with a plan of attack and a promise to finish it all tonight when I get home. As long as John stays far, far away from me.
Friday, January 18, 2008
So very tired....
Well if today and yesterday's jumping up and down jubilation is anything to judge by, my depression is a thing of the past. Who knew comments and links would cause such extreme joy? Thank you Kim, Jeni T and Christie so much for making this week so excellent!
On a more serious note, I did call around to different doctors to see about getting some medication advice. Unfortunately, because I am between insurances at the moment, I am looking at a $300 office visit, plus the cost of whatever prescription I get, so I am holding off a little bit longer. Insurance should be up and running again by March, but depending on how I feel over the next couple of weeks, I may just bite the bullet and pay for it sooner. It truly sucks being the only person in the house without reliable insurance. My husband and children are covered all the time, because they are part Native American, but I have to rely on my husband's insurance plan, and since he only works half the year, I'm just not allowed to get sick or hurt during the winter. Oh well.
And on to the bone-crushing exhaustion - Chunky decided that when we told him to go to bed last night, that was just a suggestion, not an order, and he had other plans. We put him to bed at 8:30, he and Peanut were still up giggling and playing with the lights until after 10:00. They finally fell asleep, John went to bed at 11:30, and I laid on the couch reading a book until 1:00. I had just gotten to the point where I was so sleepy I kept dropping the book, when all hell broke loose up in the boys' room. Chunky started screaming at the top of his lungs like he was dying, so I race up the stairs and get him out of bed. He has a very soggy and very stinky diaper, and a raw, sore tushie. So I fix him up and his cuddles with me on the couch, but apparently, he couldn't get comfy enough to sleep because he kept flipping around, kicking me in the face, the stomach, and any other part of me he could find. After fishing his foot out of my nostril for the fourth time, I finally gave up and made him go back to bed. All is good until 3:00am, when the screaming begins anew. No bad diaper this time, just a very upset baby. After calming him down, he decided this time, heck with that sleeping business, it's time to play! So despite all my best efforts, the little demon was awake until 5:00. Finally get him back to bed, and guess what? 6:00am it starts all over. At 7:30, I call into work to be late because I need a nap, forgetting that our bookkeeper has a meeting this morning that will prevent her from being able to fill in for me too. Oops. Luckily, it was a really dull morning. At 10:00, I wake up to a very wet baby patting my face with his very wet hands, and a very annoyed 3 year old informing me "Chunky bwoke TB, Mommy, fitsit PWEEEEEEASE." Apparently, Chunky woke up feeling just fine, and decided to go fishing in the toilet, his new favorite pastime (you through in a truck and fish it back out, sounds fun, doesn't it?), after pushing every button on the remote he could get his fat little fingers on at the same time. And where was John during all this you ask? Well, I THOUGHT he was outside working on the truck, and although I wanted to kill him for leaving the boys essentially unattended, I thought at least he's in the driveway, and probably going back and forth from in to out hunting tools and other miscellaneous stuff. So I get ready for work, and walk out the door to inform him I'm leaving, and I notice something funny about my driveway. What could it be? Oh yeah, there's a car missing! So I try calling him. 4 times. No answer. An hour later, he strolls in, saying he had gone to the library and the parts store, trying to find a repair manual for the truck, and that he had told the boys where he was going and to go wake up Mommy before he left. Umm, excuse me? They are 18 months and 3 years old. Somehow, I don't think they've quite got that whole relaying messages thing down pat yet, but thanks for trying! Idiot. So now, I am sitting at work, trying to look busy while avoiding any possibility of real actual work, and all i really want to do is crawl under my desk and take a nap. Oh yeah, and my head hurts. But hey - the good news is Chunky learned a new skill this morning - he can now fish for TWO trucks at the same time. Go baby!
On a more serious note, I did call around to different doctors to see about getting some medication advice. Unfortunately, because I am between insurances at the moment, I am looking at a $300 office visit, plus the cost of whatever prescription I get, so I am holding off a little bit longer. Insurance should be up and running again by March, but depending on how I feel over the next couple of weeks, I may just bite the bullet and pay for it sooner. It truly sucks being the only person in the house without reliable insurance. My husband and children are covered all the time, because they are part Native American, but I have to rely on my husband's insurance plan, and since he only works half the year, I'm just not allowed to get sick or hurt during the winter. Oh well.
And on to the bone-crushing exhaustion - Chunky decided that when we told him to go to bed last night, that was just a suggestion, not an order, and he had other plans. We put him to bed at 8:30, he and Peanut were still up giggling and playing with the lights until after 10:00. They finally fell asleep, John went to bed at 11:30, and I laid on the couch reading a book until 1:00. I had just gotten to the point where I was so sleepy I kept dropping the book, when all hell broke loose up in the boys' room. Chunky started screaming at the top of his lungs like he was dying, so I race up the stairs and get him out of bed. He has a very soggy and very stinky diaper, and a raw, sore tushie. So I fix him up and his cuddles with me on the couch, but apparently, he couldn't get comfy enough to sleep because he kept flipping around, kicking me in the face, the stomach, and any other part of me he could find. After fishing his foot out of my nostril for the fourth time, I finally gave up and made him go back to bed. All is good until 3:00am, when the screaming begins anew. No bad diaper this time, just a very upset baby. After calming him down, he decided this time, heck with that sleeping business, it's time to play! So despite all my best efforts, the little demon was awake until 5:00. Finally get him back to bed, and guess what? 6:00am it starts all over. At 7:30, I call into work to be late because I need a nap, forgetting that our bookkeeper has a meeting this morning that will prevent her from being able to fill in for me too. Oops. Luckily, it was a really dull morning. At 10:00, I wake up to a very wet baby patting my face with his very wet hands, and a very annoyed 3 year old informing me "Chunky bwoke TB, Mommy, fitsit PWEEEEEEASE." Apparently, Chunky woke up feeling just fine, and decided to go fishing in the toilet, his new favorite pastime (you through in a truck and fish it back out, sounds fun, doesn't it?), after pushing every button on the remote he could get his fat little fingers on at the same time. And where was John during all this you ask? Well, I THOUGHT he was outside working on the truck, and although I wanted to kill him for leaving the boys essentially unattended, I thought at least he's in the driveway, and probably going back and forth from in to out hunting tools and other miscellaneous stuff. So I get ready for work, and walk out the door to inform him I'm leaving, and I notice something funny about my driveway. What could it be? Oh yeah, there's a car missing! So I try calling him. 4 times. No answer. An hour later, he strolls in, saying he had gone to the library and the parts store, trying to find a repair manual for the truck, and that he had told the boys where he was going and to go wake up Mommy before he left. Umm, excuse me? They are 18 months and 3 years old. Somehow, I don't think they've quite got that whole relaying messages thing down pat yet, but thanks for trying! Idiot. So now, I am sitting at work, trying to look busy while avoiding any possibility of real actual work, and all i really want to do is crawl under my desk and take a nap. Oh yeah, and my head hurts. But hey - the good news is Chunky learned a new skill this morning - he can now fish for TWO trucks at the same time. Go baby!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Ummm, wow...
I got my first ever, shiny, pretty link in someone else's blog. Holy cow, can we say excited? Yay me! Umm, but wait, I haven't written anything in weeks... and ummm, all my whining over here is kinda, I don't know, whiny. Umm, must post quickly and pore over previous entries to make sure nothing too horrible has been said...
So anywho, how was Christmas and all those over lovely holiday type events for you? Mine was surprisingly, not too bad. A little disappointing, considering my dad decided to take advantage of the 4 day weekend by getting so completely drunk he didn't even sleep for 3 days, forgetting my daughter's birthday completely, and falling on the ice numerous times, but not really feeling anything until he sobered up, briefly, Christmas morning (by briefly, I mean he woke up in horrible pain, and by 10am was trashed again), so he didn't show up for Christmas either. And all of our friends that come over last year for Christmas had their own plans this year, so we didn't have any visitors. In a way though, it was nice, not having to get dressed and look nice for anyone, not having to worry about wrapping paper strewn all over, not having to make a meal because we said we would by any particular time, just whenever we got hungry. The boys loved their beds, Princess loved her litter box, and all was right with the world. I was incredibly spoiled this year by John - he is really good at the Christmas thing, I however, suck at it mightily. At least I'm consistent I suppose.
New Year's was kinda crappy. We don't normally do anything anyway, but John was in a lot of pain and was incredibly cranky, so he was in bed by 9, and I stayed up and read until 3. That was pretty much the extent of the day. Exciting, no?
For the past few weeks, everyone around me has been in pain or sick, so that's been fun. John fell down the stairs and dislocated his ankle. My dad ended up in the ER New Year's Eve on a morphine drip because of his back pain. I got some funky headache/laryngitis thing that made me miss 3 days of work, and I NEVER take time off for being sick. So that was fun.
And now, nothing much new happening, the kids are back in school, everyone's pretty much healthy and mostly pain free, and Murphy continues to slap me in the face every chance I get. My car broke down in Anchorage yesterday, not once, but twice. The first time, I was halfway in a parking lot, halfway in a small side street, and sat there for 3 hours before anyone could come rescue me and get my car running again. The second time, I was at a light in the middle of town, just barely outside of rush hour traffic, and it took another 20 minutes to get moving again. I had been on my way to make a delivery for work, and by the time the car was running again, the business I was delivering to had closed, so I figured I would do it today. Turns out, it had to be there yesterday to make it on an emergency flight to the Bush last night. So now I'm in trouble for not getting it there. And the best news? I didn't have to deliver it at all. The company had sent a courier to us to drop off some stuff and pick that up, but they didn't do it until after I had left to go deliver. And someone was supposed to have called me to see what the delivery status was. If they had, I would have been able to have the courier come to my broken down car and pick it up. But no one called, so here I am today wondering how deep of trouble I'm going to be in. Sigh.
In case you were wondering, the reason I am linked in someone else's blog today is because of a post about depression. I have been struggling for the last two years, mostly since my son died, to deal with this overwhelming case of blah that just never really seems to go away. Don't get me wrong, I have good days. But most days, I'm just exhausted all the time, and I really don't care about much of anything. And I'm angry, so freaking angry all the time. And for the longest time, I have thought, well, maybe it's just the grieving process, and then I had a baby, and I thought, well, I've never had PPD before, but maybe I do this time, and then I thought, maybe I'm just sick or something. But I think I need to face that this just isn't going to go away. And to be completely honest, this isn't the first time. Granted, it's worse now than ever before, but when I was younger, I had a lot of issues like this, times when I could barely get out of bed every day, times when I was so angry at everyone and everything that I did really incredibly stupid stuff, just to feel SOMETHING. But I always pictured depression as something different. Literally being unable to get out of bed, crying all the time, not being able to eat, or even hold a conversation. I'm not like that. I get out of bed, just really reluctantly. I rarely cry, and never for no reason at all. I function, I just feel nothing most of the time. So when I read Kim' description of depression, especially her "death by a thousand paper cuts," I thought, well, hmm, maybe there is something to this depression thingy after all. So now I am researching medication. And I'm just waiting for the day I have insurance again so I can go to the doctor. Which should be in about 2 more months, so we'll see what happens between now and then. I think I'm going to try to find an alternative before then though, I just feel like, if this is what's really wrong with me, I want to fix it now, I don't want to wait. So I'll update as soon as I'm able.
And now, back to work I go.
So anywho, how was Christmas and all those over lovely holiday type events for you? Mine was surprisingly, not too bad. A little disappointing, considering my dad decided to take advantage of the 4 day weekend by getting so completely drunk he didn't even sleep for 3 days, forgetting my daughter's birthday completely, and falling on the ice numerous times, but not really feeling anything until he sobered up, briefly, Christmas morning (by briefly, I mean he woke up in horrible pain, and by 10am was trashed again), so he didn't show up for Christmas either. And all of our friends that come over last year for Christmas had their own plans this year, so we didn't have any visitors. In a way though, it was nice, not having to get dressed and look nice for anyone, not having to worry about wrapping paper strewn all over, not having to make a meal because we said we would by any particular time, just whenever we got hungry. The boys loved their beds, Princess loved her litter box, and all was right with the world. I was incredibly spoiled this year by John - he is really good at the Christmas thing, I however, suck at it mightily. At least I'm consistent I suppose.
New Year's was kinda crappy. We don't normally do anything anyway, but John was in a lot of pain and was incredibly cranky, so he was in bed by 9, and I stayed up and read until 3. That was pretty much the extent of the day. Exciting, no?
For the past few weeks, everyone around me has been in pain or sick, so that's been fun. John fell down the stairs and dislocated his ankle. My dad ended up in the ER New Year's Eve on a morphine drip because of his back pain. I got some funky headache/laryngitis thing that made me miss 3 days of work, and I NEVER take time off for being sick. So that was fun.
And now, nothing much new happening, the kids are back in school, everyone's pretty much healthy and mostly pain free, and Murphy continues to slap me in the face every chance I get. My car broke down in Anchorage yesterday, not once, but twice. The first time, I was halfway in a parking lot, halfway in a small side street, and sat there for 3 hours before anyone could come rescue me and get my car running again. The second time, I was at a light in the middle of town, just barely outside of rush hour traffic, and it took another 20 minutes to get moving again. I had been on my way to make a delivery for work, and by the time the car was running again, the business I was delivering to had closed, so I figured I would do it today. Turns out, it had to be there yesterday to make it on an emergency flight to the Bush last night. So now I'm in trouble for not getting it there. And the best news? I didn't have to deliver it at all. The company had sent a courier to us to drop off some stuff and pick that up, but they didn't do it until after I had left to go deliver. And someone was supposed to have called me to see what the delivery status was. If they had, I would have been able to have the courier come to my broken down car and pick it up. But no one called, so here I am today wondering how deep of trouble I'm going to be in. Sigh.
In case you were wondering, the reason I am linked in someone else's blog today is because of a post about depression. I have been struggling for the last two years, mostly since my son died, to deal with this overwhelming case of blah that just never really seems to go away. Don't get me wrong, I have good days. But most days, I'm just exhausted all the time, and I really don't care about much of anything. And I'm angry, so freaking angry all the time. And for the longest time, I have thought, well, maybe it's just the grieving process, and then I had a baby, and I thought, well, I've never had PPD before, but maybe I do this time, and then I thought, maybe I'm just sick or something. But I think I need to face that this just isn't going to go away. And to be completely honest, this isn't the first time. Granted, it's worse now than ever before, but when I was younger, I had a lot of issues like this, times when I could barely get out of bed every day, times when I was so angry at everyone and everything that I did really incredibly stupid stuff, just to feel SOMETHING. But I always pictured depression as something different. Literally being unable to get out of bed, crying all the time, not being able to eat, or even hold a conversation. I'm not like that. I get out of bed, just really reluctantly. I rarely cry, and never for no reason at all. I function, I just feel nothing most of the time. So when I read Kim' description of depression, especially her "death by a thousand paper cuts," I thought, well, hmm, maybe there is something to this depression thingy after all. So now I am researching medication. And I'm just waiting for the day I have insurance again so I can go to the doctor. Which should be in about 2 more months, so we'll see what happens between now and then. I think I'm going to try to find an alternative before then though, I just feel like, if this is what's really wrong with me, I want to fix it now, I don't want to wait. So I'll update as soon as I'm able.
And now, back to work I go.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Awesome movie
John came home the other night with a movie that he said he got just for me, because it looked "girly-ish," and therefore, I would watch it and love it so there. It was a movie I had never even heard of, but apparently just came out of video this week. And let me tell you, it was excellent. I even paid laid fees on it so I could keep it an extra days and watch it again. And now I must go buy it. How is it that I never heard of this movie? I never saw previews for it, never saw it advertised at our local theater. But it was sooooo good. It's called Stardust, and it was so reminessent of The Princess Bride, but better, that it was just incredible. So go, watch ti now yourself!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Worst Gift Ever
OK, can I make a confession to you people? I am the world's worst Christmas shopper. I hate it, the pressure to find the right thing, the desire to buy what you KNOW will be appreciated, but you can't afford it so you find some cheap alternative that almost but not quite is the same but it's just not as good as what you wanted to get... It's enough to drive a person crazy. And my poor children. I feel so sorry for them, because they have to go to school after Christmas and hide their heads in shame whenever anyone asks them "So what did Santa bring you?" Arrrrghhhh. And it doesn't help that my John is the cheapest man on the planet. I mean he makes Scrooge look like Santa. (Seriously, we bought a car once, paid less than HALF of what the guy was asking for it, didn't like it, so resold it for halfway between what we paid and what the guy asked for originally, even after it had a major mechanical fault. And he was mad, because he didn't get "full price" out of it. Imagine this man Christmas shopping. Go ahead, I dare you.)
And so for Christmas this year, my children will be getting the following items:
And so for Christmas this year, my children will be getting the following items:
- The boys made out very well, they both got new beds. (Peanuts' toddler bed was just plain ugly, and Chunky has been fighting his brother every night to sleep in the big bed instead of his crib.) They are very cool beds, the Little Tikes toddler beds, one in the shape of a train, one in the shape of a fire truck.
- Tons of movies. There were a lot of really cute movies that came out this year, so we bought a bunch (namely, the Spiderman trilogy, Ratatouille, Surfs Up, and many more I can't remember). We don't have cable, and the kids rarely watch TV, so I have a pretty big video collection. I'm pretty sure my daughter has caught on to what I've done though, because we usually buy a couple of movies a month at least, and lately I haven't bought any in their presence. She keeps asking to get different movies and we keep telling her no, with no reason. Unfortunately, she's not stupid, so I'm betting she's figured it out.
- Socks. Everybody got new socks for Christmas. I HATE folding the boys' socks, because they have 50 pairs of socks that are all different, so it takes forever to match them up. So I bought each boy 2 jumbo packages of matching socks, and I'm giving all their old ones to charity. No more sock matching for me. Yay! (Socks - the gift that keeps on giving... not only do they get new stuff, I get less stress. It's a win win!)
- Stocking stuffers. John bought a bunch of crap to put in their stockings, you now, the kind of toys you get out of vending machines, or buy for 88 cents at Walmart? I HATE these things, the sponge animals that "Magically expand!" in water, or the cheesy glow light bracelets, but this is the crap he picks up every year. He will get about 5 items per kid, and then stuff the rest of their stocking with fruit. An odd tradition, but one I do actually agree with. It just makes the stocking so heavy we can't hang them after they're full.
- A video/MP3 player for my daughter. Not an Ipod, I can't afford that nonsense, but a very cute little reasonably priced mp3 player. It's way better than the one I have, darn it.
- And now, for the worst gift ever - John has decided that at 10, Princess has reached the age where gifts can no longer be toys, but must be useful in some fashion. And so, since the animals are her responsibility, and we now have 2 cats, he got her one of those automatic self-cleaning litter boxes. I have mixed feelings about this. For one thing, I have been begging for one of these things for over 5 years, ever since we got the first cat. So it seems as though this should be a gift for me, rather than her, but she took over litter box duty about a year ago, so maybe not. She also has decided that the cats need gifts this year, so it seems as though this should be a gift for them, not her (but over $100 for a gift for a cat just seems obscene). I don't know why, but for some reason, I just cannot wrap my head around getting this as a gift for a kid.
So, what do you think? Am I the worst parent ever? Or at least, the worst gift giver? What are some of the worst gifts you have ever received?
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Liar Liar Pants on Fire
I haven't written in a while because I've been dealing with something at home that just has me floored. I really, really don't know how to cope with this one, so I am putting it to you, the blogging world, to help me out here.
My daughter is a liar. She lies about EVERYTHING. I expect a kid to lie to get out of trouble, but she will lie about what she ate for breakfast, even if you made it for her. And she's persistent. Even faced with irrefutable proof that she's lying, she'll stick to that story. I can find no rhyme or reason for the lies - the only thing I know is that 90% of the time, you can't believe a word she says. Always in the past, these lies have been about mostly minor, inconsequential things. Until the BIG ONE.
A few weeks ago, I'm sitting at work, doing my thing, when my cell phone rings. "Charly Brown? This is Holier-than-thou Snob at Children's Services. We'd like to advice you that your daughter has filed a complaint." Umm, what kind of complaint? "She claims to have been sexually abused by her step brother." OK, pardon me for a few moments while I pick myself up off the floor. And I'm sad to say, the first thing that popped into my head was, "Why would she lie about THAT?"
Here's the thing, as I have said before, I have had some trauma in my life. I was molested when I was 12 by a man who I called Papa for years, and had known sine I was in diapers. While his wife was in the house, and my mom was across the street at the grocery store. I remember going to the police station, and the humiliation of telling that story, over and over and over. And I remember sitting in court at the preliminary hearing, having to tell that story again, to him, while he smirked at me and his wife mouthed treats at me behind him. It was horrible. I wanted to die. And I damn sure didn't tell anyone about it. None of my friends knew what had happened, and when I had to go to court, they all thought it was because I had done something wrong, and I let them believe that rather than correct them. I accepted his plea bargain just so I wouldn't have to do it again at the trial. When I was 15, I was raped by a man I babysat for, while his daughter was sleeping in the next room. I never told anyone, because I didn't want a repeat of last time. And the one thing I have always tried to drill in Princess's head is that NO ONE has the right to touch her, and she should tell me if anything like that ever happens. She's never said a word to me, so the first thought I had was she was lying. And then I immediately felt horrible, and rationalized that there's no way she would lie about this, never. So I get a little more of the story from Children's Services lady, and she makes it pretty clear that she thinks it was a lie. Her only concern right now is to make sure that she has no contact with the alleged offender. Well, that's not going to happen anytime in this lifetime - her step brother lives 4000 miles away. He came to visit us for a few months a year ago, made our lives living hell, and went back home to his mom. I have never in my life felt anything close to the anger I feel every time I think of what that kid did to our family while he was here. Long story for another day, though. Part of the Princess's story though, was that this happened very very recently, like a few weeks ago. First tip off some thing's wrong. Second tip off, in her story, she said she told me and John about it, and we told her it was no big deal, it happens a lot and just to get over it. WTF???? I would NEVER say anything like that. Another tip off - we never left him alone with any of the kids, specifically because we didn't know what kind of person he was. (We don't have a lot of contact.) We had heard he was violent, so while I wasn't looking for this particular type of abuse, I did have a lot of concerns about him beating up on the littler kids, especially her because while the boys are able to entertain themselves for the most part, she has to be the center of attention all the time, and will annoy people endlessly when given half a chance.
So she gets home from school, and I ask her if there's anything she needs to tell me. I can see the panic on her face, the desperate "Oh god, which thing did I get in trouble for this time?" as she searches for an excuse. Eventually, I tell her that I got a phone call from a lady who said she had a very important story to tell me. You can see the little light bulb go on, and then the tears start. Between gasping sobs, she tries to tell me something about Jerkboy and being scared, but I can't understand a word of it through the fit. So I stop her and tell her that I can't understand her and if she wants to tell me the story, she needs to compose herself a little so I can understand. It's like someone flipped a switch. I've never seen tears cut off that quick outside of a drama class. The tone of voice completely changes, the tears are gone like they never happened (which, honestly, I don't think they did, there's no wetness, no sparkle, to nothing). Then she says, "Well, really, I just made it up." And I am flabbergasted. I wonder if she's just saying that because she doesn't think I'll believe her. I wonder what kind of sick, twisted kid I am raising that could just nonchalantly make up a story like this about someone. She goes on to tell me that she chose Jerkboy as her target because he lives far away, so he couldn't get in trouble, and that she never really thought they'd do anything about it anyway, she thought that telling someone at the school was safe, but if she had told me, I would take it to the police. And she tells me that she had to use the tears when she was telling me the story because I'm not "soft" like her teachers at school, I don't believe her all the time so she had to make it more dramatic. So I ask her why in the world she would do something like this. Her answer? Because her teacher doesn't call on her in class often enough when it's time for them to share stories about the topic of the day. She raises her hand every day, but her teacher only calls on her about once a week. So she was jealous. And not very many others were raising their hands on this particular day, so she figured she'd make the best of it.
What kind of monster am I raising? I swear, she has no conscience. I am scared for her, I really am. She has no impulse control. It seems like the second a thought enters her head, she acts on it, without ever stopping to think it through. I know a lot of kids this age are like that, but not like this, not to this extreme. She doesn't care about anything in this world but herself. She is so smart, and a beautiful girl, but it's never enough for her. She has to be the center of attention all the time, and she will do ANYTHING to be there.
So my dilemma has been, what do I do with her? How do you punish this? How do you force a child to see that everything they do affects the people around them, when they just don't care? I kept her home from school for a while, made her sit at the kitchen table by herself all day and write lines (the old "I will not tell lies" drudgery). I grounded her from everything I could think of. I took every toy, book, CD, everything but clothes and school supplies out of her room. And none of it matters. She still acts like nothing ever happened. Every night, she would still attempt to lie about something else before she went to bed. I seriously don't know what to do here. I am failing as a parent, I know that, and I don't know how to make it better. I've read every book I can find about discipline, and attention seeking children. I've put her in counseling, and TWICE she has been removed, by the therapist, because she wouldn't participate. As they put it, it was a waste of their time and a waste of my money until she decided she wanted to put forth the effort to understand and change. And she certainly doesn't seem to want to change any time soon. I've looked into military schools and intervention boot camps. (There's nothing in this state for her age though, I can't do anything til she's 16, which is going to be way too late, if it isn't already.) So here I am, asking for help. Does anyone have any ideas? Anything? Any insights? Please help me, before I raise a sociopath.....
My daughter is a liar. She lies about EVERYTHING. I expect a kid to lie to get out of trouble, but she will lie about what she ate for breakfast, even if you made it for her. And she's persistent. Even faced with irrefutable proof that she's lying, she'll stick to that story. I can find no rhyme or reason for the lies - the only thing I know is that 90% of the time, you can't believe a word she says. Always in the past, these lies have been about mostly minor, inconsequential things. Until the BIG ONE.
A few weeks ago, I'm sitting at work, doing my thing, when my cell phone rings. "Charly Brown? This is Holier-than-thou Snob at Children's Services. We'd like to advice you that your daughter has filed a complaint." Umm, what kind of complaint? "She claims to have been sexually abused by her step brother." OK, pardon me for a few moments while I pick myself up off the floor. And I'm sad to say, the first thing that popped into my head was, "Why would she lie about THAT?"
Here's the thing, as I have said before, I have had some trauma in my life. I was molested when I was 12 by a man who I called Papa for years, and had known sine I was in diapers. While his wife was in the house, and my mom was across the street at the grocery store. I remember going to the police station, and the humiliation of telling that story, over and over and over. And I remember sitting in court at the preliminary hearing, having to tell that story again, to him, while he smirked at me and his wife mouthed treats at me behind him. It was horrible. I wanted to die. And I damn sure didn't tell anyone about it. None of my friends knew what had happened, and when I had to go to court, they all thought it was because I had done something wrong, and I let them believe that rather than correct them. I accepted his plea bargain just so I wouldn't have to do it again at the trial. When I was 15, I was raped by a man I babysat for, while his daughter was sleeping in the next room. I never told anyone, because I didn't want a repeat of last time. And the one thing I have always tried to drill in Princess's head is that NO ONE has the right to touch her, and she should tell me if anything like that ever happens. She's never said a word to me, so the first thought I had was she was lying. And then I immediately felt horrible, and rationalized that there's no way she would lie about this, never. So I get a little more of the story from Children's Services lady, and she makes it pretty clear that she thinks it was a lie. Her only concern right now is to make sure that she has no contact with the alleged offender. Well, that's not going to happen anytime in this lifetime - her step brother lives 4000 miles away. He came to visit us for a few months a year ago, made our lives living hell, and went back home to his mom. I have never in my life felt anything close to the anger I feel every time I think of what that kid did to our family while he was here. Long story for another day, though. Part of the Princess's story though, was that this happened very very recently, like a few weeks ago. First tip off some thing's wrong. Second tip off, in her story, she said she told me and John about it, and we told her it was no big deal, it happens a lot and just to get over it. WTF???? I would NEVER say anything like that. Another tip off - we never left him alone with any of the kids, specifically because we didn't know what kind of person he was. (We don't have a lot of contact.) We had heard he was violent, so while I wasn't looking for this particular type of abuse, I did have a lot of concerns about him beating up on the littler kids, especially her because while the boys are able to entertain themselves for the most part, she has to be the center of attention all the time, and will annoy people endlessly when given half a chance.
So she gets home from school, and I ask her if there's anything she needs to tell me. I can see the panic on her face, the desperate "Oh god, which thing did I get in trouble for this time?" as she searches for an excuse. Eventually, I tell her that I got a phone call from a lady who said she had a very important story to tell me. You can see the little light bulb go on, and then the tears start. Between gasping sobs, she tries to tell me something about Jerkboy and being scared, but I can't understand a word of it through the fit. So I stop her and tell her that I can't understand her and if she wants to tell me the story, she needs to compose herself a little so I can understand. It's like someone flipped a switch. I've never seen tears cut off that quick outside of a drama class. The tone of voice completely changes, the tears are gone like they never happened (which, honestly, I don't think they did, there's no wetness, no sparkle, to nothing). Then she says, "Well, really, I just made it up." And I am flabbergasted. I wonder if she's just saying that because she doesn't think I'll believe her. I wonder what kind of sick, twisted kid I am raising that could just nonchalantly make up a story like this about someone. She goes on to tell me that she chose Jerkboy as her target because he lives far away, so he couldn't get in trouble, and that she never really thought they'd do anything about it anyway, she thought that telling someone at the school was safe, but if she had told me, I would take it to the police. And she tells me that she had to use the tears when she was telling me the story because I'm not "soft" like her teachers at school, I don't believe her all the time so she had to make it more dramatic. So I ask her why in the world she would do something like this. Her answer? Because her teacher doesn't call on her in class often enough when it's time for them to share stories about the topic of the day. She raises her hand every day, but her teacher only calls on her about once a week. So she was jealous. And not very many others were raising their hands on this particular day, so she figured she'd make the best of it.
What kind of monster am I raising? I swear, she has no conscience. I am scared for her, I really am. She has no impulse control. It seems like the second a thought enters her head, she acts on it, without ever stopping to think it through. I know a lot of kids this age are like that, but not like this, not to this extreme. She doesn't care about anything in this world but herself. She is so smart, and a beautiful girl, but it's never enough for her. She has to be the center of attention all the time, and she will do ANYTHING to be there.
So my dilemma has been, what do I do with her? How do you punish this? How do you force a child to see that everything they do affects the people around them, when they just don't care? I kept her home from school for a while, made her sit at the kitchen table by herself all day and write lines (the old "I will not tell lies" drudgery). I grounded her from everything I could think of. I took every toy, book, CD, everything but clothes and school supplies out of her room. And none of it matters. She still acts like nothing ever happened. Every night, she would still attempt to lie about something else before she went to bed. I seriously don't know what to do here. I am failing as a parent, I know that, and I don't know how to make it better. I've read every book I can find about discipline, and attention seeking children. I've put her in counseling, and TWICE she has been removed, by the therapist, because she wouldn't participate. As they put it, it was a waste of their time and a waste of my money until she decided she wanted to put forth the effort to understand and change. And she certainly doesn't seem to want to change any time soon. I've looked into military schools and intervention boot camps. (There's nothing in this state for her age though, I can't do anything til she's 16, which is going to be way too late, if it isn't already.) So here I am, asking for help. Does anyone have any ideas? Anything? Any insights? Please help me, before I raise a sociopath.....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)