This is basically a giant whiny rant and not up to my usual standards (whatever that means). I'm just giving advanced warning.
Gutsy and I saw the doctor yesterday. I told her I didn't know why he's not sleeping well or why he has anxiety issues that are this severe. I told her we've tried everything. Everything. I told her we just don't know what to do anymore. I had to hold back the tears because I figured she probably didn't want to give me a hug on account of being a professional and all, so it might just get awkward if I fall into her arms sobbing.
And then I remembered she's seen my vagina, which is basically third base, and therefore I deserve at least a hug, if not some flowers and a steak dinner.
Gutsy and I saw the doctor yesterday. I told her I didn't know why he's not sleeping well or why he has anxiety issues that are this severe. I told her we've tried everything. Everything. I told her we just don't know what to do anymore. I had to hold back the tears because I figured she probably didn't want to give me a hug on account of being a professional and all, so it might just get awkward if I fall into her arms sobbing.
And then I remembered she's seen my vagina, which is basically third base, and therefore I deserve at least a hug, if not some flowers and a steak dinner.
"This sounds serious, Maven," she said, seriously. "Let's get him in here and talk. Also, can I just say you're a pretty incredible mom? Raising special needs kids is not easy! I have a trophy in my desk drawer I'm going to give you on your way out. It's shiny and bedazzled and super heavy, like all worthwhile awards. Way to go!"
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| Great! I can add it to my stack of trophies: "Best in Show: Prematurely Grey Mothers of North America" "2nd Place: Costco Weekend Crowd Surfing" "Honorable Mention: Tina Turner's Amazing Hair Club" "Lifetime Achievement Award: Biggest Procra...........stinator." |
Gutsy came in and they started talking about his days. It took her five minutes to come up with the following observations:
1. He doesn't get enough exercise. (True.)
2. He uses screens too much every day. (Also true.)
So, apparently, we haven't tried everything. And just like that, I went from feeling like a proactive parent to one who can't see what's two feet in front of her.
"Both those things can affect his ability to sleep. Reduce the screen usage significantly, especially before bred, and put him in a sport. We'll see how he's doing in two months. If things haven't improved, we'll go from there. Also, I'm keeping this bedazzled trophy until you get a clue. You are not very incredible after all."
Ok, there might have been no actual mention of trophies or calling me Captain Not-So-Incredible. Still, I left with my tail between my legs and an upset child, who, even 24 hours later, has not entirely forgiven me for agreeing with her suggestions.
If we're being completely honest - and we are, minus the whole trophy thing - I've been trying to cut down everyone's computer and TV time for a while now. I've also been wanting to enroll the younger boys in a sport of some kind. But you know, I've been wanting to do a lot of things.
I have a pile of parental duties that's growing faster than my waistline at a gluten-free bakery. I have other precariously-stacked piles of things too, like domestic things and work things and extracurricular things. (I don't get to that last pile very often.)
I have a pile of parental duties that's growing faster than my waistline at a gluten-free bakery. I have other precariously-stacked piles of things too, like domestic things and work things and extracurricular things. (I don't get to that last pile very often.)
I thought I had this mom stuff mostly figured out, you know. Our eldest is about to turn sixteen. I've had a lot of practice. I should be the Jodi Foster of the parenting world by now, but I'm more like the Lindsay Lohan. I still can't keep up or keep track. I have yet to concoct a system that works. We still scramble to dig out winter gear on the first snowfall five minutes before school starts, forget to do homework, miss the note from the teacher that tomorrow is "wear red day" and send our kindergartener off to school in yellow, and arrive to class late.
The kitchen can go from spotless to a cluttered culinary warzone in a matter of hours, even if I make nachos for dinner (which I do more often than I'll ever admit.). The rest of the house isn't far behind. And this is despite the fact that I work from home.
I want to be that amazing mom who keeps it all together. I want to make great meals, great crafts, and do it all in a fantastic environment because of my great housekeeping skills.
Stop laughing. Right now.
No, seriously. You're going to get yourself fired or drop a baby or something.
Fine. I won't be held responsible. Onward.
I want to be that mom who doesn't forget to pack a water bottle on track and field day.
I want to know my children so well that I can guide them through any bad situation, pick up on their cues, know just what to do, and not feel overwhelmed when they do.
Stop laughing. Right now.
No, seriously. You're going to get yourself fired or drop a baby or something.
Fine. I won't be held responsible. Onward.
I want to be that mom who doesn't forget to pack a water bottle on track and field day.
I want to know my children so well that I can guide them through any bad situation, pick up on their cues, know just what to do, and not feel overwhelmed when they do.
And while I'm at it, I'd like to look good in a bikini. You know, since we're imagining things.
I'm really trying not to whine, here. Trying and failing, I realize, but it's the effort that counts. I'm having a bad day. I can't be funny all the time. Besides, aren't blogs all about bitching? It's why they start with the letter 'B'. Bitch Log. True story.
Ok, not a true story. I made that last part up. Like the trophy.
The minute we got back into town - which was not a moment too soon, I might add, as half an hour is a long time to hear a child complain loudly and fervently about things and people he does not like (me being one of them) - we hit the local karate dojo. I signed up Gutsy and Spawnling, they got their adorable little uniforms and started class a few minutes later. They'll be going two or three times a week, which is awesome, because those are 45-minute chunks of time where I can feel like a half-decent mother who has things under control. Also, I'll be able to drink coffee without interruption. I foresee this as a win/win situation.
I'll get out of this rut soon, I promise. Mavens can't possibly feel like crap for too long, as it will cause universal instability and time/space continuum issues or some such. Far be it for me to ruin the universe. I'm not that self-centered.
And, hopefully, by being the mean mommy who sets stricter time limits on the internet, Gutsy will be able to shut off his brain more easily and get some sleep. He'll more focused at school and less anxious.
I also hope he's happier. I just want him to feel good in his own skin. He's a really incredible little boy who deserves several genuine smiles a day, not a belly and head full of worries too big for him to carry.
I may be far from perfect, but this nacho-making mama is pretty determined to make things better for that boy. And if I get a bedazzled imaginary trophy as a result? Excellent.
Disturbing, but excellent.
The minute we got back into town - which was not a moment too soon, I might add, as half an hour is a long time to hear a child complain loudly and fervently about things and people he does not like (me being one of them) - we hit the local karate dojo. I signed up Gutsy and Spawnling, they got their adorable little uniforms and started class a few minutes later. They'll be going two or three times a week, which is awesome, because those are 45-minute chunks of time where I can feel like a half-decent mother who has things under control. Also, I'll be able to drink coffee without interruption. I foresee this as a win/win situation.
I'll get out of this rut soon, I promise. Mavens can't possibly feel like crap for too long, as it will cause universal instability and time/space continuum issues or some such. Far be it for me to ruin the universe. I'm not that self-centered.
And, hopefully, by being the mean mommy who sets stricter time limits on the internet, Gutsy will be able to shut off his brain more easily and get some sleep. He'll more focused at school and less anxious.
I also hope he's happier. I just want him to feel good in his own skin. He's a really incredible little boy who deserves several genuine smiles a day, not a belly and head full of worries too big for him to carry.
I may be far from perfect, but this nacho-making mama is pretty determined to make things better for that boy. And if I get a bedazzled imaginary trophy as a result? Excellent.
Disturbing, but excellent.