Idle, skinny bitches. DIE!

And while I'm bitching, some woman was on the TV news last night for having quadruple bypass surgery, turning her life around, and losing 90 pounds. The Husband was impressed. Oh sure! Retired, empty nest, no responsibilities, all the time in the world, and she can get to the gym, buy fresh greens, cook healthy meals, take yoga, practice stress management, and get 9 hours of sleep a day? Wow. How does she do it? And why can't the rest of us follow her example?

Apparently, her husband lost 40 pounds and her daughter lost 125 pounds. The Husband was awed. How do you lose 125 pounds without dying? Umm. Honey. If I lost 75 pounds, I'd still weigh 150 -- a full five pounds more than when I married you.

Idle, skinny bitches piss me off.

I'm fed up with my kids and homeschooling. My son has access to my Facebook account, so I hesitate to ask there.

We have another appointment with the psychiatrist today to raise his dose of Seroquel, which is supposed to make him sleep at night. But I think we need more. I think we need a psychologist to help him get his head together. If he'd go. Which he won't because he doesn't like people in his head.




Okay, I homeschool my 15-year-old twins, both on the spectrum. Since both are becoming uncooperative enough to make themselves a full-time teaching job, I'm considering sending one of them back to school.

My girl is 15 years old, almost verbal, extremely impulsive. Are any of the local ASD schools a good fit -- Blue Jay, Chase, Monarch -- or are they mostly full of small boys?

Having written this down, I now feel sure I don't want to do this. But something has to give. If I could just get my son awake during the day and mildly interested in just going through the motions with four classes, that'd work, too.

Thanks for "listening"!

Refrigerators and survival camp

Well, the Sears dude couldn't fix the fridge. Not that he didn't still charge me $75 for trying. He said for $250, he could get the part to repair it in two weeks, but I said something like "yeah, no", and sent him on his way. I got on frikkin' youtube and ordered the exact replacement part overnighted to me for $125 and installed it for free. After it instantly blew out (as the repairman hinted it might), I went to Lowe's, picked out a new fridge, made jokes about living with an ice box, and got expedited delivery. Shit.

But now, I can turn my attention back to my horrible kids and their equally horrible sleep habits and inconsiderate treatment of those of us who still know how to sleep like normal humans. Ahem.

The Girl has started sleeping midnight to six, then napping in the afternoon. The Boy either sleeps all the time or never -- I can't tell which. So I'm asleep a half-hour after the last kid and up again around... I can't even. They woke me this morning throwing things at each other. Apparently, he was in The Girl's way, so she poked him. She did it because she knows he hates it, and will freak the heck out and get out of her way. Then the fireworks start, and The Boy says I let her do whatever she wants and he's not the bad guy, even if he threw a flashlight at her. Apparently, no one is impressed with my screaming, "I don't care who started it, I will END IT! No poking! No throwing! GET IT TOGETHER!" I know *I* would have been impressed, what with my head exploding and all.

The scary part is *I*'m not sure what can be done. I think The Boy needs two weeks with a fitbit to see what he's actually doing for sleep. Then he probably needs a talk-therapist to figure out why he doesn't want to sleep at night. 'cause he doesn't. (He wants to sleep during the day.) I think it's mostly he can't stand The Girl, which is really sad. But you know how some people just grate on your nerves? Yeah. She chatters constantly and is just now growing out of the hands-in-the-pants stage. (He's also TOTALLY creeped out by babies and toddlers for the same reason.) Anyway, he refuses to try the fitbit, and the talk therapy isn't covered by any of our health insurance. So until I can get a nap, I'm screwed. Then I'll try again. It's what I do. :)

What they both need is survival camp for two weeks. Up with the sun, work hard, eat meals, sleep well. Bam. So what I need is a time machine to the 1800's during haying season. Honestly, I'd go by myself at this point. Sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. And the only cost is 14 hours of back-breaking labor. Sign me up.

Buddy can you spare a fridge?

Well, I'm thinking of starting a DIY blog. Hey, everybody else has one, so why shouldn't I? (Or a grammar blog, 'cause I just corrected that from "why not me?")

See, everything that gets fixed around here is fixed by yours truly. How do people afford to have someone else fix everything? The screen on the sliding glass door finally expires -- so I buy seven feet of screen and re-spline it. (Lucy! You got some splinin' to do!) The toilet clogs, overflows, and fills the bathroom with two inches of water? I remove the toilet, replace all the parts, buy a new wax seal, and re-install it. The valves on the sprinkler system fail? Just dig that crap up and replace it. The list goes on and on.

But now it's the refrigerator. So far, I've replaced shelves, ice maker parts, brackets, and, yes, the entire freezer door. But now. Now it has stopped making coldness. The lights are on, but no body's getting any colder. Crap.

The problem is, I work for Starbucks gift cards. I'm pretty sure the Sears repairman doesn't. Worse, I'm really afraid that it's not going to make it. I can't afford a new one.

Wish us luck.

The Whining Stage of Grief and (Weight) Loss

I just got an email that all pizzas ordered online from Domino's are 50% off for an entire freakin' week! No way!!

Oh wait. See? This is what gets me in trouble. I don't mind eating Brussels sprouts (with bacon) or kale shakes (with blueberries),but I DO love me some pizza. And blueberry cobbler ice cream. (Thanks kids!) And Klondike Bars. (Thanks, husband!)

For me, it's not a matter of eating healthier. I have all that carrot juice and broccoli thing going. It's the "no more sucking chocolate sauce out of the bottle in the evenings while the kid is (finally) in the shower" thing that gets me.

In fact, most of the calories I eat are consumed between evening and bedtime. I'm tired, stressed, bored. Maybe a cookie will perk me up and make me feel happier.

It's like quitting smoking. There are time/place triggers. I'd look up strategies for stopping smoking, but you know they'd say things like, "Go for a walk." And then I'd have to kick someone. Cause walking in my McNeighborhood is boring and depressing. Bah humbug. And pass the mincemeat pie. With whipped cream, please.

Did Kubler-Ross mention anything about the whining phase?

On the Five Stages of Grief and Weight Loss

Okay, so I only use this blog when I'm upset and no one else wants to hear about it. Like now.

Turns out that I'm not just overweight -- I've crossed over into obese. Mind you, I'm six feet tall, so I coasted for quite a while. I have places to hide fat that you don't even know about. But eventually, I hit a tipping point, and become roly and poly.

Hi, I'm Mom... and I'm fat. ("Hi, Mom!") Yes, fat. The kind of fat that causes Scandinavian children to stop, gawk and take pictures of us in American airports. (Ooh. I just Googled, "I Sinterklass thin?" and got an eyeful of Swedes in black face. Ooh. Bad.) Yes, I'm not just fat, I'm American fat. Greatest-Nation-In-The-World fat. Fat.

I did the math. If I give up all white foods, sugars, and fried foods, I can lose a pound a week, and be only "overweight" by, say, September. If I keep it up through Christmas, I may sneak into the top of the "healthy" range by spring of 2016. Then what? Then, I get to keep it up for the rest of my frikkin life? How much does that suck?

Unless I'm mistaken, I've moved past the "denial" phase of weight loss and straight onto the "anger" phase. Next up? Bargaining: "If I go gluten-free, will that take care of it?" And everyone's favorite, depression. "Oh God, how much does this SUCK?! Kill me now!"

So, bear with us here. I'm hoping we get to acceptance soon...

Who knew?

The go cart racing went just fine. He only nearly ran over an attendant once. And he only almost threw up once. And it all worked out. WHO KNEW?!

But I had a really weird high school dream this afternoon. But more later. Headache...

Baby Steps and Stomping

So I've been trying to baby-step my way into the fall semester. Every day this week -- with varying success -- I have gotten up at 7:00, drunk coffee until 7:30 while watching Wild Kratts, taken a shower, made breakfast at 8:00, and been semi-ready to do battle by 8:30. I haven't had as much luck with getting to bed by 10:30 pm, so today, I got all dressed and breakfasted, and took a two hour nap on the couch. Baby steps.

The Boy was invited to a birthday party at the go-kart track for this evening. This is the boy who never, ever wants to learn to drive, so I was intrigued. Then he asked if it was dangerous, so I described it in a non-Mario-and-Luigi-style. He decided he had to wear long sleeves and long pants so he looks like a race car driver. *facepalm* He's making Plans. Weird Plans.

Just when I thought he was starting to become a cool teenager, he pulls this spit. I have given him the "You are not the center of attention here" speech along with the "please just try to blend in" speech, but he's sticking with it. I had The Husband casually drop by the track with him while they were were out buying a small present, just to see that it wasn't the Daytona Speedway, but no. So, in 90-degree heat, this child is wearing black warm up pants and a long-sleeved Montreal Canadiens t-shirt. I guess it could be worse, but it's not boding well...

You should see some of his "This is NOT how it is supposed to happen!" meltdowns, complete with stomping, screaming, and lying on the floor an doing both. They're legendary. There was the explosive nosebleed in the car meltdown after his sister threw his rock out of the window. (Apparently, he had made life plans involving that rock that we could not possibly have anticipated.) There are others -- about one every three or four weeks, but you get the picture. We try not to let him see us sweat, but you know we do it.

I see a meltdown in his near future over his lack of mad skills and some serious mortification on my part. Maybe I'll send The Husband. Nah, that would just be mean-spirited. On the other hand, I'm letting him sleep as long as he wants, and maybe he'll surprise me.

Wish us luck!!

Creatures of Habit (and other small woodland beings)

Well, The Girl puked a stomachfull of Mirilax just after I posted yesterday. *sigh* So we went on to other nasty concoctions to drink, and I think "things" are moving right along now. I'm actually a little afraid to leave the house with her just yet! 

So, I'm returning to the essential question of the week: Is it possible to consciously become a creature of habit?  

I know perfectly nice people (like The Husband) who are happy as ducks to get up at the same time every day, make coffee, get a shower, dress, make a lunch, pack up the coffee, and head out the door on the exact same schedule every day. They find it reduces the stress in their lives by eliminating just a little uncertainty from their day. They find it comforting. 

I find ritual and routine intolerably confining and tedious -- and that's where the problem lies. I NEED to be a creature of habit for this homeschool year to be a success. The Girl's work must be done every day and on schedule, or it won't get done at all. God knows when The Boy's work will get done, but I guarantee it won't be at midnight, since I have to be up at 7am to get on my morning routine. 

So, it comes back to this. Can I become a creature of habit? Probably not.

Can I behave like a creature of habit? I just don't know... I guess I have to, but don't know how. I get cranky just thinking about it. 

Yikes!

Our lovely pediatric gastroenterologist has ordered me to clear The Girl's colon. I'm supposed to give her a full dose of Mirilax every half hour until, well, she only has liquids in her colon. Yikes.

So far, she's had SEVEN doses in three hours, and nada. The suspense is killing me...

Stand by...

We're having something of a mid-life crisis, a bout of existential angst with homeschooling.

The Boy is starting an online high school with Calvert. He refuses to take Spanish.

The Girl still reads at a second-grade level. Her vocabulary, spelling, and grammar are at least sixth grade, and she reads with inflection. Without any comprehension at all. Not sure if she's just being stubborn, doesn't have the verbal skills to form her answer, or if she simply doesn't make movies from words. Either way, reading and being read to are equally difficult for her.

So, I'm back. Back to square one this year.

I'm looking at Charlotte Mason for The Girl, which means short bursts of work and having her re-tell what she learned. I've set up one big messy event for each day of the week -- art on Monday, weird science on Tuesday, etc. But botany, Africa, decimals/percents, reading, etc. come in quick bursts all morning.

The first real question that MUST be answered is, "What makes me think that this year will be any different from the other times you tried to get her butt working?"

And the second question is, "When is The Boy going to get any work done?"

And the third is, "Can we become a family school that runs on a schedule?"

And finally, "Why couldn't I have been  born a creature of habit?!" Man, would that make this easier...

Stand by for details.

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.

Too much...

Has anyone ever had to *force* themselves into sleep for more than, say, ten nights in a row? The Boy has gone all nocturnal on us, and now I'm starting to slip. So, I get in bed at 11pm and *force* myself to sleep. And every time he wakes me up, I do it again. I now hate sleeping.

I read (somewhere on the interwebs) that if you lie absolutely still and don't move a single muscle for 15 full minutes, you *will* fall asleep. It does seem to work eventually, but now I hate sleeping. But not as much as being practically unconscious every "waking" hour...

I'd go to the doctor about either of us, but he'd say, "Exercise an hour a day, don't eat junk, avoid caffeine after noon, turn off all the electronics two hours before bed, don't nap, make your bed room soothing and restful." Shit, man, if I could do that, I wouldn't be at the doctor's office EVER AGAIN! All I want to do is sleep when I'm tired. Is that too much to ask?

On a more fun note, I'm making tacos for twenty Christian teens tonight. I found the perfect dessert -- Choco Tacos! So knew such a thing existed!? Ain't America grand...

Spit!

Finished packing all my shorts and sandals for summer vacation, then checked Monday's forecast at the lake:

Ahh, spit. We're going NORTH, aren't we...

Bodies...

Well, our trip starts day after tomorrow. I've passed the fluttery-nervous stage and have moved on to bone-crushing panic! HELP! There's too many things that can go wrong, and The Boy has some kind of virus thing. He insists that it's Ebola and he's not going on the trip, and it's stressing me out! And I'm SURE there isn't room in the car for everything!! What if I lose the name of the hotel we're staying at on the way up? Or forget the DVD player for the back seat?!

I did manage to get the utilities set up at the Lake House, and my sister-in-law swears it's all ready for the renter coming tomorrow. I still have to get trash pickup arranged, but I don't have to change over my homeowner's insurance now because my August renter (yes, she had reserved all four weeks) has cancelled. My current insurance won't let me rent for more than six weeks a year, so no problem now! Of course, I can't afford to pay the insurance, but that's another story...

I've got all the stuff that I need to get the car packed, but haven't actually packed anything yet. I've tested out the position of the bins and cages, etc., and it all fits, but I'm sure we're going to have too many clothes. The car's been fixed and set up for the trip. I've even got fresh batteries in the irrigation system. I've got all the mail forwarded in the right direction, but I haven't dealt with the newspaper or lawn. I need to finish a quilt and clean the house. The problem is that I just can't move.

At least the lawyers up north have finished my LLC. By tomorrow, the checks I deposited in my LLC's bank account will have cleared and I'll be able to pay the lawyers.

So, tonight I have a university awards dinner for The Husband, and then the final push begins. I think I'm going to die. The Boy and I can just be buried in a duffel bag in the back yard. K?