Sometimes, I just need a Bat Cave of my own

So, apparently, The Boy thinks he doesn't think he needs to go to bed until I do. The problem is that, while I may stay up late, I'll be up in the morning, gettin er done. He sleeps 10 hours. And that's a problem for all of us, especially if he's up until 3:00. (I'll give you a minute to do the math.)

Since I apparently still have to model appropriate behavior, now I have to set up a TV/reading nook in the bedroom where he can't see me. (Hey, sometimes a girl just needs to watch Bones!)

We just don't have one of those family dynamics where I can say, "Do as I say, not as I do," and get away with it. Because of my kids tenuous grasp of social skills and self-care skills, it all has to be taught. And modeled.

So, that walk-in closet? May become my Bat Cave. How freakin' weird is that? Probably too weird. Other ideas? (Ones that don't involve my going to sleep at 9:30 at night?)

A stranger in a strange land

Yet another epiphany dawns. The reason I feel so alone is that I'm a stranger in a strange land.

I was raised by a liberal-minded, college educated, professional working woman in the 60's and 70's -- by a true feminist. In 1968, she became all that and a divorcee. Whatever the men had, that was what we were supposed to want. Junior high summer  school: shop class or home ec? Puhleez! She put us in shop class. How I watched those sweet girls chatting over sandwiches while I was stuck with stupid boys. Story of my life.

So there I am, caught between the two worlds, neither fish nor fowl. My mother was the same, which is kind of ironic in a way.

But we gained some serious skills. And we learned how to talk to boys. And we went on to marry men we don't need for home repair. I guess.

Still, it's kind of lonely.

My son, the house pet

The boy wants to know why he can't live like the family pet for the rest of his life. I have two questions. What do I tell him? And where, oh where, did I go wrong?!

I blame video games for giving him a false sense of achievement and excitement. He is so lazy lately that he can't be bothered to make his own mental images if I read to him. Seriously lazy.

They say that sleeping too much and lethargy are signs of depression. Hmm.

I tried to explain the whole contributing to the planet, humanity, and the American economy thing, but he's against the idea. What now?

I'm thinking of boring him into submission. He'd have to get off his ass then, right? All I need to do is take a pair of garden shears to all the cables in the house.

Oh! I just imagined the ensuing carnage. It wasn't pretty.

This pediatrician on Thursday better have some good ideas or the phone number of a really good shrink.

But in the mean time, any ideas?

Uncommon courtesy?

Okay, tell me if I'm missing something here. I told my homeschool girlfriend that The Boy was cleaning out his closet and asked if she wanted me to save the t-shirts and shorts for her son. She said, "Sure thanks," and she offered Tuesday or Friday of this week to get together. Since the boys haven't gotten together in a long while, I offered a play date at the (free) splash park right near her house. We agreed on: Tuesday, 10am, splash park, three boys. Okay, so far, so good, right?

On the way over, The Boy had a massive nosebleed, so I had to pull over and deal with it. I called her to tell her we'd be five minutes late, and she said, "Well, my son had a leg cramp last night and doesn't feel well. We may not be going." I said I understood, asked if we could just drop off the clothes, and told her we'd probably go on to the park by ourselves anyway. ( I figured that'd give her an "out" for having bailed -- we could salvage a 20-minute trip across town.) We stopped at their house and found them having a quiet morning at home. We chatted for a bit and left the clothes. No big deal.

My only question is, "When was she going to tell me she wasn't coming -- when I called her from the park at 10:30?" My kids were in swimsuits and half-way across town. She and her kids were all just hanging at home. I understand that homeschoolers are notoriously flaky, but I don't think I'm going to call her again soon. I went out of my way to make a play date at 10am, and she didn't have the bare-minimum courtesy to call and cancel at the last minute?

Is civilization in decline when courtesy means "calling and cancelling at the last minute"? Or is it me?

paradigm shift needed

Trying to keep in the habit of blogging. Hm.

The cat is on my kneeling chair, trying to brutally murder his tail and/or the chair. The boy is sleeping. (Apparently, there is a difference between awake and rested, as his Algebra work this morning demonstrates.) And The Girl is making a whistling-wind noise with her mouth. She'll do this for another five minutes and then start gagging. No one knows why.

See? La vida loca!

I've already looked at the Calvert package I got for 8th grade. Oh my. This is like... real school. You know, where the kid mostly does it all day and gets evenings and weekends off? It can no longer be just something he does in his spare time when he feels up to it. It's his full-time job to do school. Yikes. That's going to require a paradigm shift. Responsibility and diligent work. During the day. Oh dear. What do I do now? First stop: the sleep clinic, to pick up a quart of ether for school nights. Oh, okay, the pediatrician on Thursday. Fine. Sheesh.

On the verge...

It's strange, but lately, I feel like I really on the verge of something -- again. But I don't know what.

The kids are now 13 and becoming teenagers. They're not my little buddies anymore. Well, to be honest, The Girl never really has been -- autism has a way of making that sketchy at best. The Boy is becoming a teenager, sleeping all the time, getting almost as tall as I am, getting a fashion sense. In ways, though, he's still socially a ten-year-old. Asperger's has a way of making that sketchy at best.

Either way, I'm getting lonely again. No buddies here anymore. And I really can't afford to be The Boy's buddy anymore anyway. He has to stand on his own, order his own fast food, learn to talk on the phone, that sort of thing. Time to toughen him up a bit, I think. He's not a baby anymore. Note to self: stop asking if he has to go pee before we leave the house. ;)

On a brighter note, my sister may be moving down, at least part time. Seems that all those years in Our Nation's Service has paid off handsomely for her and her husband. She's retired on 30% pay, and he's retired at 50% pay -- they're making more than The Husband does, just on retirement money. Note to self: don't tell husband. Anyway, they're both telecommuting for some contractor right now, doing technical writing I think, and they're feeling exceptionally rich. So rich, in fact, that they're buying a house here that's selling for $50K more than ours. Mixed emotions.

Yeah. The Sister's kids are all grown and flown mostly. The Niece is 25 and finally in college. The Nephew has recently joined the same branch of Our Nation's Service that his parents did. (I think he wants to clean guns for a living. Hoo-kay.) Anyway, they're just waiting for the last dog to die, and they're free.

I'll never be free. Ever. Autism has a way of making that sketchy at best. But if I can avoid trying to suck the life out of my sister, maybe I'll have a buddy here. My girlfriends that just "pop out to the movies" don't understand. I'll never be free until I put The Girl in assisted living. And maybe The Boy, too if I don't get on the stick. Too scary to think about.

But the back-to-school shopping is finished. (Hey, homeschoolers need a good deal on shorts, too!) The curriculum is all ordered -- Calvert, and Life of Fred for The Boy, and Paths of Exploration, Science Odyssey, Math-U-See for the Girl.

I've spend the last year trying to jump-start The Girl's reading comprehension, but it hasn't clicked yet. We read, ask, re-tell, imagine, rinse, and repeat. But still no huge improvement. Still waiting. But while I'm waiting, we're going to go ahead and learn something. Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!

So. Eighth grade, eh? Yup. Buckle up.