Heartache

Lately K, our darling girl, has been less than darling. She's been rude, abrasive, and just plain mean. We've been pulling our hair out loosing our minds, and frankly, wondering how the hell we're ever going to make it through the teen years if this is her at 10.

Finally last night, I pushed the issue - I told K she needed to talk to me, to tell me what's going on, that I missed my sweet little girl. She pushed back - she didn't want to talk to me. I told her I just wanted to help her. I asked her if someone was hurting her. She yelled. I held my ground.

Finally the dam burst. In between heart-wrenching sobs, K told me how sad she was. She told me how all the girls at school were making fun of her, mocking her clothes, telling her she's fat, shunning her because she doesn't do gymnastics. She told me she wanted to be thin, to be athletic, to have the right clothes. She said the girls ask her where she got her clothes, and when she said Goodwill, they reacted with disgust and more torment. When she wears the pants her grandma made her, pants she loves, they make fun of her. When she wore her red cowboy boots that her grandpa got her, they asked her where they were from, and when she said Garnet Hill, they told her it was a hillbilly store (for those of you who aren't familiar with Garnet Hill, it's a very high end store, not a hillbilly in sight. Clearly these terrible little girls have NO idea what they're talking about). It went on and on, every cruel word pouring out on a flood of tears.

I held her tight, and my heart bled a little more with every word. I had wondered why the beloved cowboy boots had only been worn a handful of times, why the cute clothes that she had once loved so much remained in drawers, forgotten.

One of the things we always laugh about is K's crazy sense. She has always picked out her own clothes with garish gusto. She has always told us she's an individual and proud of it - and I've always been proud of her because of it. While she doesn't do gymnastics, she is a natural horse woman, and has competed in shows with confidence and grace. It takes a lot of athleticism and skill to do that.

We do not have money. My husband has been out of work for almost a year now, and making ends meet sometimes takes a small miracle, and a lot of juggling. I have always taken a certain amount of pride in the fact that I've managed to give the kids everything they need, even if sometimes it's second-hand. And now, that pride has turned to anger and shame. I'm angry that I can't give my daughter the "right" clothes. I'm ashamed because these girls have chosen to embarrass my daughter because I'm to poor to keep her in style.

I also knew just how K felt. I was never popular growing up. I was always a little on the heavier side, and I never had quite the right pants, or accessories. I'll never forget the day in 7th grade when I went to sit down at the lunch table with my friends - and they all picked up their trays and moved to another table. It still hurts. My freshman year of high-school was spent at a boarding school because the teasing and torment was bad it was driving me to a nervous break down at 14.

Things got better in high-school. I embraced the fact that I was different and found friends who celebrated that. I even managed to have a "popular" friend or two. Things got better as I got older and learned what what really important. I think a lot of people have had similar journeys.

And so I do my best to impart this wisdom. I tell K that she is beautiful, and smart and talented. I tell her that these thin, fashionable girls pull other people down because that's the only way they know how to feel good about themselves. I tell her she doesn't have to answer to these girls when they ask her where he clothes come from. I tell her she needs to stick with the friends who love her for her, not for her brand name clothes. I tell her I love her and she's one of the most amazing people I know.

What I don't tell her is that I want to hurt these girls and their shallow parents who give them these standards of worth. That I want to shake them, and hurt them, and make pay for ever making her cry. What I don't tell her is that I want to buy her clothes from Justice, and a phone, and gymnastics lessons, and all the things she thinks will make it better, make it stop. Because as much as I value individuality and strength of character, I just want to fix it, make it all go away.

But I don't tell her these things. Instead I pour words of love and strength into her wounded heart and hope that it's enough to help her heal. She stops crying and tells me she feels better. I hold in my own tears until she's asleep.

I hope I have the strength to protect her heart and keep her smiling. I hope that I can give her the humor and support it takes to navigate the sharks.

And Now For The Down Swing...

It's been a long time since G has had a real, full blown fit. The summer has been smooth. Day camp has kept him stimulated, and left him pleasantly exhausted at the end of the day. He had a 9 day hiatus to Vermont to visit his grandparents and a gaggle of cousins.

Even though deep down I knew it couldn't last, I chose not to think about it. One of the most unpleasant aspects of his Asperger's was in a kind of remission, and I was enjoying the ride.

And then there was Tuesday.

Tuesday morning, I was frustrated to discover that not only had G forgotten to bring his bathing suit home for the billionth day in row, but he had also forgotten his water bottle and lunch bag. In a fever of pure desperation, I told G that if he forgot to bring home the forgotten items, as well as the alternate bathing suit I was packing for him, then he wouldn't be able to play his Game Boy after camp.

The Game Boy, a 13-year-old antique he inherited from my brother, has been G's most recent, and most enduring obsession. I knew it was the one item I could use to my advantage.

When I went to pick him up that afternoon, I checked his backpack, and, low-and-behold, only the lunch bag had made it into the bag. With a deep sigh, I told him no Game Boy for the night. And that was that.

G's face screwed up and turned red in an expression I was all to familiar with. The tears began to leak, and the angry grunts and growls issued from his throat. I tried to get him into the car as quickly as possible, but he refused. I told him if I had to carry him to the car, he wasn't going to enjoy it. Finally, with many whispered prompts, he stormed to car. As I began to drive off, he kicked the seat, and punched the window. I stomped on the brakes (I was only going about 5 miles an hour in the parking lot) and hollered for him to cut the crap.

I swallowed down my boiling anger and embarrassment, and tried not to squirm from the guilt of my own outburst. Apparently the patience that I had worked so hard to build had been made weak from lack of exercise.

The rest of the night was a wash, and there have been touchy moments ever since. I'm working on rebuilding my fragile patience, and trying not to let the other life stresses eat at it. G is who is, and there's no changing it, only making the best of the bad moments, and enjoying the good. Bearing it with bravery when he screams that he doesn't want to go home in front of all kinds of people I don't know. Basking in the amazement of people who can't believe how smart he is. Smiling at the bewildered cashier when G begins firing random math equations at her. Holding on to the tender, heart trembling moments when he asks me to chase away his bad dreams at night, or hugs me, without me having to force my affections on him. Loving him with all my heart.

Princess of Thieves

This past week has been a veritable crap storm. A few highlights include:

- After having my "Service Engine Soon" light come on, my car broke down and required a lengthy tow and a new starter. After it was repaired, the engine light went back off.

- Yesterday the "Service Engine Soon" light came back on. I'm afraid. Very afraid.

- I didn't get the promotion I applied for at work. Instead, my best friend got it. I've diligently choked back sobs as I tell her I'm happy for her, and listen to her ramble on and on about how great life is going for her.

- GH has still not found a job, and with each day that goes by, I worry more and more that I won't be able to go to graduate school.

With all of that lovely garbage going on, one more incident was enough to send me straight over the edge. As if the universe knew this delicate calculation, ti decided to send me one more thing.

Yesterday, on a rare Saturday off, I took the kids out to lunch, (which I couldn't really afford) and then to the local craft store, which was doing a free craft project for kids. G and K had a great time decorating bookmarks, and picked up a super duty craft epoxy I've been needing with my handy-dandy 50% off coupon.

Since the day was going so well, and it was so beautiful outside, I decided to take the kids to the park. Sitting on a nearby bench, I watched the kids play, squealing with delight, lost in the dusty melee of other screaming, flailing kids. A short while later, the kids discovered their favorite friends were there, and their mom soon joined me on the bench for a rare adult/mommy moment.

After some time, K came over to the bench with her little friend and sat beside me. That's when I noticed something clutched in her hand. It was a gift card from the craft store we had just been at. With a few questions, it was revealed by K that she had taken it from the store. Seething with embarrassed fury, I told her she was in a world of trouble when we got home. She hid under the slides while I gathered up G and headed home.

When we arrived home, I told GH what had happened, and we had a very serious discussion with K about how serious stealing was. We told her how it hurt and embarrassed her family. We told her that it hurt the store and it's employees. We told her that if she was an adult she could go to jail, that stealing was a very serious crime. We talked, she cried, and eventually we sent her to her room for the evening.

Today I took K back to the craft store, stolen gift card in hand. We returned the coloring book I had bought for her yesterday, and asked for the manager. Pulling her aside, I had K explain what she had done, and give the gift card back to manager. I explained that K had to return her coloring book and was grounded for a week and that she understood what she did was very wrong. The manager was very kind and understanding, and we agreed that K would write the store a letter of apology, telling them what she had learned from this experience.

And now I stew, in embarrassment, hurt, and a permeating feeling of crushing failure. This isn't how I raise my children. I know that this happens with most kids at some point, but I guess I didn't think it would be my kids. Does anyone? After all, my kids know how hard we work for every dollar. They've been brought up to respect hard work and the value of everything. Could I somehow have done it wrong?

Since it appears my life has gone completely white-trash this week, looks like I won't be quiting smoking this week either. Maybe I should just grab a Budweiser, turn on WWE and admit defeat....

*UPDATE*
Only a few hours later now, and GH has discovered two more stolen items in K's room. One, a container of bubble gum from Blockbuster. The other, a tube of lip balm from Wal-Mart. She's 5 for God's sake! What is going on with my child?!?!?!

Tomorrow, we're removing the toys from her room for the week, and she will be spending her time in there after school and after dinner. We're hoping a week with no toys at all will teach her to appreciate what she has. She's also not allowed to come with me to the store for a long while. I'm just not sure what to do.

If anyone has any suggestions, I'd really appreciate it. Until then, I'll be watching Jerry Springer and preparing for my future.....

Melatonin, You're My Hero!

Wednesday night, we began G on Melatonin as his doctors' suggested for his sleep problems. Every night since has been a small miracle.

Two nights, G was asleep on his book before his reading time was over. Last night, after G bumped his head in bed, I laid down with him, and rubbed his back gently. Before I knew it, he was asleep, breathing deeply, his body still beneath my hand. I was completely stunned.

Even though there have still been meltdowns, G's overall attitude has improved. Last night when he was on the verge of a fit, he even removed himself to his room for a few minutes to shout it out, returning shortly. I've seen him sit quietly, relaxed, instead of spinning and hopping around like a mad man. He has shown me affection I haven't seen in ages, even making me a get well card for my head cold.

It's amazing what a few good nights rest can do. Now if I could only figure out how to get one myself.....

Home Is Where The Food Is

I knew GH was my soul mate the first time we cooked together. His enthusiasm, his infectious joy, and his obvious love for food made the whole experience new and exciting again. Even now, after cooking together for years, it's always better when we do it together, and not just because it divides the work, but because it's one of the times when we connect the best. We share, we love, we eat.

Food has always been a major part of my life. Me and my brothers and sister were raised in a house centered around food. My parents have been involved in the food industry our entire lives, from serving it, to cooking it, to selling it. For a while they even owned their own catering business. I can still remember the whoopie pie assembly lines and the night my dad spent on the kitchen floor, his hands encased in ice, after slicing fresh jalapenos without gloves. It's these food centered vignettes that pepper my childhood.

I was a good cook from the time I could stir. I made my first, lattice topped pie at age 10 (my parents still exclaim over the photos proudly). Every new recipe was a chance to explore, experiment and best of all, eat. Food was a playground, and I was the queen of the monkey bars.

After I had kids, food took on a different roll in my life. No longer could meals be skipped, eaten irregularly, or consumed purely for pleasure. Food was now Important. It was now the building blocks of tiny minds and bodies, something to be balanced and carefully considered, something to be planned and scheduled. In short, it became work.

When GH came into our lives, one of the greatest gifts he gave to me, was giving me back my love for cooking. Now, food wasn't just something to fret over, just another chore. Weekends became a time of elaborate, ethnic meals, of baking, and laughing, and stuffing ourselves silly as we cooked. Food was recognized once again as something that binds people together. Feeding friends and family is something with so with true gusto and flair.

K embraces this passion for food with open arms. She's one of the only 5 year-olds I know who will scarf down calamari, heap her plate with steamers, and polish off a bowl of spicy seafood gumbo. We encourage her pure delight at trying new things, her pride at tackling a new food experience.

The one cog in our foodie family wheel is G. To him, food is "plain" or "not-plain". Guess which one he prefers? To G, the perfect meal is cheeseburgers or tacos- anything else is up for debate on a daily basis. Most days he rejects breakfast no matter how much we plead. When dinner's placed in front of him, it's usually greeted by grumbling, complaints, and sometimes tears. This frustrates GH and I to no end. Though we parade a bright rainbow of food in front of him, he can't be threatened, bribed or cajoled into trying a bite. How we ended up with such an extreme picky eater, we'll never know.

This weekend, my parents are visiting. I'm always thrilled to cook for my parents, to garner the praise of two such wonderful chefs. Tonight we will cook a dish GH and I invented last weekend- a Gorgonzola and white wine cheese sauce with cherry tomatoes over penne pasta, topped by broiled scallops that have been marinating in olive iol, fresh garlic and minced basil overnight. I drool just thinking about it. Tomorrow night, a roast chicken with GH's Ultimate Mashed Potatoes, and all the fixins. Everyone will eat drink, talk, and generally make merry.

G is sure to request a bologna sandwich both nights.

School Daze

It's almost that mystical, magical time of year- The start of the school year!

Most parents of school-age children approach this time with a mixture of apprehension...and sheer joy. Apprehension over the new teacher, the new materials, the new kids in their class, etc. Sheer joy over the banishment of summer camp fees, and early mornings trying to throw together an impressive bag lunch for the latest summer field trip.

For our family, this school year represents two, very profound milestones. The first, is that K, my baby will be going to kindergarten. This officially makes both of my children school-aged, in school, full-time, big school, school attendees. It makes me feel both old and sad. How on earth did I get to be old enough to have two kinds IN SCHOOL? Oh yeah gods, I'm a mom, a truly, true to life mom.

It's always a little disorientating when these "mega-mom" moments hit. I mean, of course I realize I'm a mom every day. I'm a mom when I carefully apply After Bite to each and every one of my children's bug bites. I'm definitely a mom when I find myself patiently instructing my son on the proper to technique to wipe his backside (something he still hasn't quite mastered at 7 *sigh*). I'm a mom when I do laundry and make dinner after a full day of work. I'm a mom when I softly kiss smooth foreheads at bedtime and feel my heart swell each and every time. However, there are always events and occurrences that hit you harder, make you pause and take a moment to fully feel the magnitude of your mom-ness.

I admit, having K enter kindergarten this year has caused me a surprising amount of anxiety. This will be G's third school year in this particular school, and has escaped each year whole and happy. K even has the same kindergarten teacher G did, and we loved her. Why is then that I find myself hyperventilating when I think of K getting onto the bus herself (kindergarten has it's own bus, so she won't be able to ride with G)? Why is it that I worry that K, my little warrior princess, my stupendous social butterfly, will have a hard time going to a new school and making new friends? I try to tell myself I'm being completely irrational, but these nagging doubts remain, lurking just under the surface as I shop for a new pink backpack, glue sticks and pencils.

The second milestone may not seem as momentous in comparison, but it will represent some huge changes around out house all the same- We've officially left our daycare, and will have a neighbor girl watching K and G after school. This girl is the daughter of a close neighbor of ours, and since she will already be watching her younger brother, a close friend and classmate of G, our families agreed that it would be a perfect arrangement for her to watch G and K after school until I get home from work. Since I have Mondays off, and Generous Husband has Tuesdays off, and possibly Thursdays soon, neighbor girl A will only have to watch the kids two or three days a week. This arrangement equals a few important changes:

1. The kids will be able to be home after school and relax, rather than transitioning to the hectic scene of after-school care after a long day of school.

2. My commute home will shorter minus the stop at the daycare, which equals more quality time with the kids.

3. We will be saving TONS of money. This means less stress and more opportunities to do all of the fun stuff we've been putting off for so long.

All of these things combined equals a healthier, happier home life for all of us.

All of these new changes all at once may be a bit hard to digest. They may require a cocktail to chase away the anxiety, and the purchase of a trashy tabloid (which I may now be able to afford :) ) to distract from panic attacks, as K's first day of kindergarten approaches. It may require a tight leash on the credit card and Amazon account when I'm caught up in the fever of extra spending money, and my long wish list of new books.

All that aside, things will work themselves out, as they always seem to have a way of doing in the most unexpected ways. I'll just keep my seat belt on, and try to remember to enjoy the ride.