A conversation with a 5 year old, laying on the floor

Some days, when Mommy’s back is sore from sitting on her butt too long at the computer, or from carrying around a chest that nourished both kids even for a short period of time, only laying on the floor seems to help.  My son fetched two pillows, one for me and one for himself, so that we could lay on the floor together.  We started off doing some back stretches, sticking legs straight up, when Brody decided it looked like we were walking on the ceiling.  And then, we decided to “dance” on the ceiling.  This apparently was so much fun, the 13 year old decided to join us.  So there we were, the four of us (because you know the cat has to be in the middle of it all) staring at the ceiling, when Brody informed us of his future plans.

B: “When I grow up, and adopt kids, you’re going to be a grandmother.”

M: “Adopt?  Why are you going to adopt?”

B: “Because I don’t want to get married.  I’m going to adopt 4 kids”

M: “Ok, that sounds fair.  How are you going to take care of your 4 kids?”

B: “I don’t know what job I’m going to have.  Amy will be an Aunt.  And Amy’s husband will be an Uncle.  And my Daddy Richard will be a Grandpa.  And my Daddy That You Don’t Get Along With will be a Grandpa too.  My kids will have two grandpas like I have two grandmas.”

Now, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to get married because he probably doesn’t even remember when his Daddy That I Don’t Get Along With were even together in the same house.  But I thought it was pretty interesting that he’s married off his sister in his version of the future. 

You say potato, I say craving

I just had french fries for the first time in close to two months.  As PMS starts to rule my world, and I start to bloat anyway, the cravings come.  Most of the time my potato cravings can be conquered by a baked potato, but today, that just would not do.  So the before-lunch debate began: who’s french fry would reign supreme in my day?

First of all, let me say that Burger King is out.  The only thing I can stomach there are the prepackaged pies and egg & cheese (no meat) croissanwichs.  I used to drive through there on the way to work in the morning to get a large sweet tea, but since I moved I don’t even do that.  And I made the mistake of trying that disgusting steak house burger a bit back.  That kind of sealed BK’s fate for me for a long time.  And Sonic, as much as I absolutely adore your drinks, and dig on the coneys when I’m in a sado-masochistic mood, your fries rank up there with BK’s on the scale of toleration.  And I’m not a tot person, not that a tater tot would do today anyway. 

My options were narrowed to the classic McD’s, the lesser-known-to-those-outside-the-south Whataburger, Wendy’s, and Jucy Burger’s.  For those of you unfamiliar, Jucy Burger is a local place that I have ridiculed for the ridiculous spelling of the name.  They’re an East Texas place, with one location as far west as Mesquite.  The burgers are good, but it’s the fries that rock.  Fresh cut, deep fried, dirty brown, greasy, non-crispy, and freaking incredible when you’re craving carbs & grease. 

Which brought up another debate – fry format.  Skinny, or chubby?  When the boss used to head to Jucy’s he would bring me back the chubby greasy delights.  Before trying to eat healthier, I would go out of my way for a Baconator & fries from Wendy’s, because the wide ones rule.  But today, it seemed, I was narrow-minded (get it?).

McD’s or Whataburger…If I were to choose McD’s, I could get some deep fried McNuggets to accompany my craving, and a sweet tea.  The sweet tea was the deciding factor, but not to send me to McD.  You see, there’s one particular Whataburger here in town, attached to a large convenience store, that has a slightly longer, larger, harder version of Sonic’s rabbit pellet ice.  So I drove through Whataburger, waited forever for my booty, and almost finished my fries by the time I got back to the office.  I even ended up tossing half a Whataburger because I was so ridiculously full, and the burger wasn’t my focus anyway. 

So to the french fry gods, I thank you.  You have been very good to me today.

 

Cher wants a food post

My wonderful friend Cher over at Cake for Breakfast said I needed a foodie post, since I told her I hadn’t had one in a while.  So I share with you my current obsession, making my own spring rolls!  There are recipes out there, but with a few simple ingredients, you can be like me, making sloppy fresh spring rolls. 

What you’ll need:  rice paper wrappers found in most Asian food markets, tiny rice noodles or bean thread noodles (I use bean thread, convincing myself there’s extra protein in there), something green and herbal such as cilantro (yum!), something proteiny such as shrimp, K-rab, tofu, or cooked chicken, and something yummy to dip it in.  In my current supply list is also shredded lettuce and carrots.

First, soak the noodles in hot water to soften them.  It takes a few tries to figure out how long, but you don’t want crunchy noodles here.  Then, you’ll have to soak your wrapper in hot water to soften it up to roll.  Once that’s softened, add your yummies in the middle of the wrapper, and carefully contain.  This is a skill I have yet to master, but it doesn’t keep me from trying.  Even though a busted wrapper spring roll is messy, it still tastes yummy.  Serve with a great dipping sauce – my current fave is a spicy hoisin.

Now, I could eat my weight in these, and they’re super cool as it’s getting hot out here in East Texas.  My kids are not so crazy about them sadly, or maybe fortunately for me.  I’ve found you can store the leftovers in a zippy with a damp towel to keep the wrappers from hardening too much, and yes, I’m not above eating them again the next morning for breakfast.  The bad part is that I usually remember I have them in the fridge waiting for me after I’ve brushed me teeth, so I have to do a cilantro tooth check before I get to work.

Happy Memorial Day, my friends!

I must be out of my brilliant mind

I’ve referenced this song in the past, but I find it more and more applicable to my life each day.  Brilliant Mind, by Furniture:

I’m at the stage
Where everything I thought meant something
Seems so unappealing
I’m ready for the real thing
But nobody’s selling
Except you and yours
Saying open up your eyes and ears
And let me in

You must be out of your brilliant mind

You’re at the stage
You want your empty words heard
And everybody’s ready
They want to know your secret
But you are not telling
You’re just gesturing saying open up your arms and hearts
And let me in

You must be out of your brilliant mind

I’m at the stage
Where I want my words heard
When no one wants to listen
Because everybody’s yelling
About you and yours
And how I’d have the answer if I’d only open up, up, up
And let you in

They must be out of their brilliant minds

I said shame
Shame on you
Shame
Shame on you
Shame
Shame on you

You must be out of your brilliant mind
And they must be out of their brilliant minds
Everyone out of their brilliant minds
I’m must be out of my brilliant mind
My brilliant mind

More public school fun

Someone please explain to me how a child, that has been “gifted” her entire life, can all of a sudden not be.  Could it be because the tests of three previous school districts, and the independent tests of the family center at UNT were somehow flawed?  Or is it the system at her current school? 

If you’ve been following, you know that Amy had some bad grades last semester.  I’m very proud to report that she is currently making all As in her classes, including the advanced ones.  I know that doesn’t make a child “gifted” though.  And though at first I wasn’t going to, I do think I will call and ask about their testing methods.  Not to raise a stink, but to figure out what they are considering to have changed from her previous tests. 

I let her read the letter I recieved from the school district, and though she was tearing up, she didn’t take it too badly.  I told her also that in a year from now, she might get completely different results again, depending on what tests they use and who is giving them. 

So, share the love for my formerly gifted, now un-gifted child.

I’ve paid my dues

I hate that phrase.  How many times have I heard my mother use that phrase to justify her sense of entitlement.  Seriously, when do those dues come up again?  And what exactly do I owe her now.  When I hit 18, she pretty much said to my face, ok, I’m through, even though I had already moved out twice before then.  So if I owe her for 18 years, and my 36th birthday was last week, then I’m through, right?  I can stop pretending to the world that she was a good mother, a sane mother, and that we were a happy family.  And I can stop tolerating the guilt trips that have been dished to me at the proverbial family table. 

I was in my early 20s, before I was married, and I asked my mother to do me a favor.  I had a video due, and asked if she would return it for me her next trip by, since I was in the process of moving 40 minutes the opposite direction.  A month later, I got some scary calls from the video store.  She didn’t return it.  I went to retrieve the video, and made it known I was angry that she had made a commitment to do something and did not.  But I had no right to be mad at her, since it was a favor.  I remember being in my stepfather’s kitchen, and the man I would marry sitting there too, when she told me how grateful I should be to her for having me.  I remember my words too, something similar to ‘animals in the wild give birth, it’s not that big of an accomplishment.”  The woman backed me against the wall with her fist in my face.  I told her to go ahead, hit me, I wasn’t afraid.  I think it was my ex that got me out of there before she actually did get physical with me, even though, if I were younger, or had he not been there, I don’t doubt I would have been punched. 

There was a quote in the book I am currently reading,  If You Had Controlling Parents: How to Make Peace with Your Past and Take Your Place in the World that struck me as so poignant, I went back ten pages and copied it to text to my sister.  It’s attributed to Andrew Vachss, and can also be seen in context here:

They use guilt the same way a loan shark uses money: They don’t want the “debt” paid off, because they live quite happily on the “interest.”

My debt is paid.

 

My sister moves back in

Last October, I got the phone call from my sister.  She and her partner were having some very bad times, and she was pretty sure it was the end.  I was not surprised to when I got a call from her partner the day before Halloween asking me if I knew where she was.  I was a bit surprised to find that she and her three kids were at my mother’s house.  The next day, she loaded her kids in their costumes and headed for my home again. 

My sister and I have lived together more than a few times in the past.  It started when she was 13, and my mother had decided that my sister was the one with the mental illness.  After the inpatient evaluation, I picked my sister up from the hospital.  My mom had very recently remarried, and my sister was the only one left in the household out of all of the offspring.  I was in a fairly stable relationship, and had the couch space, and agreed she could stay as long as she wanted. 

I remember the call from my dad very clearly.  I hadn’t spoken to him in maybe a year or two, so I was shocked he had a phone number for me.  He told me that if I wanted permanent custody of my sister, he would support me.  It seemed like neither of my parents’ spouses were up for raising someone else’s child.  He also told me that he understood why my sister was there, since, and I quote, “your mother is crazy.”  At the time, and for many years to follow, I didn’t understand the depth of his words.  I thought they were just used to strike out at the woman he divorced. 

What drove the conversation home permanently was the fact that twelve hours later, my mother called me to tell me that my father had died.  At first, I doubted her – irrationally I thought she was telling me this because she had found out that he was in favor of the current custodial arrangement and she was angry.  It was true, however.  My mother, the shallow human she is, didn’t even have the maternal instinct to tell my sister herself that our father was dead.  It was left in my hands, as many things concerning her well-being had been through our lives.  It was a short period later that my sister wanted to return home.  She had lost one parent permanently, and craved the presence of the other, as weak as the relationship might have been.

When my sister showed up again last year, kids in tow, I again fell into the position of caretaker, though not to the extent as the previous year.  I had already been working on boundaries, and set a few early on.  This was to be temporary.  My children would not give up their rooms this time.  I would not buy her children clothing or school supplies, though, with her being unemployed, I did buy a lot of groceries. 

Shortly after my sister moved in with me, and enrolled the kids in school, she recieved a call from the school nurse.  Without going into detail, my niece required an emergency room visit.  My sister happened to be at my mother’s house at the time, using her computer, and no one was at my house.  My sister had my daughter’s house key, since she would be back before the kids got off the school bus.  However, as the emergency room visit started to stretch out, as they all do, my sister called, worried.  She didn’t think she would be back at the apartment to let my daughter and her sons in the house when they got home.  And here’s where this gets even more interesting.  Instead of my sister driving her car from mom’s to pick up my sister and go to the emergency room, my mother, who I guess was bored, or needed the attention of a sick grandchild, offered to drive.

My mother was in the waiting room, doing nothing, while my sister was trying to calm my niece.  I told my sister to have our mother take the key and meet my daughter three miles away.  She wouldn’t even have to get out of the car – Amy could keep the boys occupied in the overlap time between when they got off the school bus and when either she or I could make it home.  My sister said that our mother probably wouldn’t do that.  Still at work, I recieved a voicemail from our mother: “Your sister is in the hospital with (my niece) and there’s no way she will be there to let the kids in the house.  It’s in your hands now.”

So I called our mother’s cell phone.  I started with, “I need you to get Amy’s key from (my sister), bring it to her,” before I was interrupted with, “Don’t you mean (my sister)’s key?  Your sister is scared to death that your going to kick her out and her daughter is so sick!”  So, before I could let the manipulation continue, I restarted, “I need you to get Amy’s key,” before I was interrupted a second time with, “Yeah, YOU NEED ME!” And she hung up.

In vain, I tried calling both her and my sister’s cell phone.  No answer, but I did get a call from my grandmother in a completely different state.  She said that my mother had called all upset about how I wouldn’t help my sister.  I attempted to set the record straight by telling her straight up that my mother had access to the key, but refused to help and instead hung up on me.

In the end, I left work early.  My mother, in her need for drama and pettiness, decided that it was more important to teach me a lesson about my responsibility to my sister and her kids, than to let her grandchildren out of the cold.

 

 

I would just like to take this moment

To say how ridiculously proud I am of my teenaged daughter.  She had a field trip this past Friday with her band to go to Six Flags.  She’s lucky enough to have two of her closest friends also in band with her, so the three of them buddied up.  After about an hour and a half, one of her friends tripped while running to the next ride (yes, I know they shouldn’t have been, but wait), and could not put pressure on his leg. 

She and her other friend rode with her injured friend on the little golf cart back to the infirmary, where she stayed the next six hours with him instead of riding roller coasters and eating salt-water taffy.  She told him that she wouldn’t feel right enjoying herself out in the park with him laid up and not having fun, so they stayed and entertained him there.  Her friend is on crutches now, and narrowly missed having to have surgery on a pulled tendon.

I’m so stinking proud of her that I could bite her cheeks!

Grandparent rights in Texas

According to Texas law:

§ 153.433. Possession of and Access to Grandchild

The court shall order reasonable possession or or access to a grandchild by a grandparent if:

• 1) at the time the relief is requested, at least one biological or adoptive parent of the child has not had that parent’s parental rights terminated; and
• 2) the grandparent requesting possession of or access to the child overcomes the presumption that a parent acts in the best interest of the parent’s child by proving by a preponderance of the evidence that denial of possession of or access to the child would significantly impair the child’s physical health or emotional well-being , and
• 3) the grandparent requesting possession of or access to the child is a parent of a parent of the child and that parent of the child:
• a) has been incarcerated in jail or prison during the three-month period preceding the filing of the petition.
• b) has been found by a court to be incompetent
• c) is dead; or
• d) does not have actual or court ordered possession of or access to the child.

 

 

 

I don’t have time for that sort of behavior in my life right now

Babysitting:

For a short period of time, my mother babysat my son during the day, and my daughter caught the bus to her house after school.  I was unemployed, and she would watch him while I looked for a job.  Now, my son is a pretty easy going kid.  Put on PBS, tell him when snack time is, set up a good routine, and he a content creature.  I had been employed for a bit when my mother decided that it was too much stress on her to have the kids each day.  I understood, and I respected that.  My daughter was old enough, and it was summer, so she and I worked out an arrangement where she could watch her brother at the house while I was at work a few miles away. 

The cell phone:

The year before I moved back to East Texas, my sister and her family had come to live with me.  After about six months, it was entirely too cramped, and I needed space for my family and I.  I needed a set of rules that worked with the three of us, and not eight.  I needed independence.  However, when my sister first moved in, I picked up a third line on my cell contract for her as it would be cheapest for her.  I was in that contract for a year.  When I moved to East Texas, and my mother was doing “favors” for me, like watching the kids, I told her she could use the cell phone since I still had a half a year left on it.  She cancelled her long distance service on her home phone since she was getting it for free. 

The plea for attention:

At some point after my mother stopped babysitting, and my kids were staying at home, my mother called to ask me if I wanted to meet her for lunch.  I wasn’t able to answer my cell phone at the time, so she left a message, and then a moment later called back and left a second.  I’m fortunate to have a job where I can adjust my hours to be with my kids as much as possible.  I called her back and left a message that I wasn’t going to lunch that day, since I was leaving early to be with the kids later.  This was not an acceptable answer to her.  You see, you cannot tell my mother no.  She called three more times, the last time I did pick up even though I was at my desk at work, and told her I had already left her an answer that I couldn’t make it.

She was determined I would see her that day.  The next phone call I got was close to midnight.  She was in the emergency room.  She wasn’t sure what was wrong, and neither were the doctors, but they gave her a pain pill and sent her home.  Well, she had taken an ambulance, so she couldn’t drive home.  Oh, and she had not brought her purse either.  I explained to her that both of my children were asleep, and I couldn’t wake them to go get her to bring her home.  She said, that’s ok, I’ll just stay here in the waiting room all night long.  Someone will get me in the morning.”  If I would have been in the place that I am now, I would have accepted that answer and went back to bed.  Instead, I ended up talking to the nurse at the er, and then arranging a taxi, paid for by my credit card over the phone, to take her home.  I called her for the next two days to find out how she was doing, and only on the third day did she answer.  She said she thought maybe it was a migraine.

The contract ends:

I knew I was being manipulated.  I felt like an object, not a person to her.  I started distancing myself, and then the cell phone contract was up.  I emailed asking for the phone back, since I could switch sim cards and my daughter could use the phone, after hers went through the washer.  Especially since she was now watching her brother, it was imperitive she have a phone to reach me.  My mother refused to answer the email requests for the phone, countering with, when I can see the kids.

I drove to her home to get the phone.  She claimed that she had put it in a bag with the charger, but she couldn’t find it anymore.  But I was welcome to come inside and look for it.  I was not going into that house.  She asked for a hug, and I declined.  She put on the hurt face, and said, “why won’t you let your mother hug you?”  I lied, somewhat, and said I didn’t like anyone hugging me.  In the end, I walked away from her front porch without the phone and only more frustrated than when I drove out there to begin with, and found a different phone for my daughter to use.  However, to her friends, I had taken away her cell phone, and how could a daughter do that to a handicapped mother.  She managed to manipulate another friend into picking up an additional line on their plan instead, so she still has a cell phone she isn’t paying for.

 The tea sets:

Years ago, my mother put a few boxes of tea sets that my father had given to her in storage at my ex-husband’s house.  These sets, she insisted, were for us girls to have when she died.  I don’t have a good relationship with my ex, and would choose to never speak to him again if I could.  However, she decided it was my responsibility to get these sets back for her.  I didn’t want to.  I did it anyway.  The entire situation was insanely awkward, and put me in a situation where I was asking for something from someone who had hurt me physically in the past.  Once I had the tea sets in the trunk of my car, they were promply forgotten about my mother.  I had done her bidding, and was small and insignificant again. 

I emailed her to get the sets out of the back of my car.  And what followed was her emailed projection of my issues:

Toni Jo, you are filled with self-pity and I hope this will help you.
This is NOT a “been there-done that”.  This is experience.  Years ago,
when your dad and I seperated I was in therapy.  I had no money, no food
and no car.  I had three children that depended on me and I was scared.
Pappy and Grammy were there to listen to me and to give me rides when I
needed to go someplace.  Well, one weekend, they went to Birmingham.  I
was devastated!  I didn’t understand how they could leave me when I
needed them so much.  Well, I managed  to get through the weekend and the
following Monday I saw my therapist.  I told him how angry I was with my
parents for deserting me.  He smiled.  Then he asked, “Did your parents
force you to marry that man?”  Of course I said no.  Then he asked, “Did
your parents force you to have children?”  Again I said no.  Then he
said, “Why do you expect so much of them?  You made the adult decisions
and you (and only you) are responsible.”
Toni Jo, you seem to be thinking like I did.  You expect me to be helping
you more than I am.  Please try to understand what he said to me and what
I’m tryng to explain to you.  I wish I could remember his exact words.
But he made me realize that I couldn’t depend on anyone.  I made the
choices.  They were my choices.  Do you understand what I’m saying?
I never knew I was manipulating you.  I still don’t see how I did. I
tried to help.  I baby-sat for you even when you went shopping.  I tried
to have a hot meal for you to eat after work.  I did these things because
I wanted to, not because it was what I was suppose to do. I lost my
Grandmother relationship with your children and I want that back.  They
grew to think of me as a baby-sitter, not their Gran.  My health was
drained. And I’m not blaming you  for that.   Again, I did these things
because wanted to.  I simply couldn’t do them long enough for you.   I am
very conscious of your situation.  I have been there.  You are handling
it much, much better than I.  And yes, your first responsiblity is to
your children.  That’s the way it should be.  I am working on finding
someone to help me get the boxes.  I will email you as soon as I find
someone that can help me with them. I wouldn’t want you to be in pain for
me.  I don’t expect  that at all.  What kind of a mother do you think I
am?   I will also work on finding someone else to pick us up at the
airport.  It’s my decision to go and my decision to bring my mom back
with me, right?  I love you, Mom

And my response:

First of all, I am not pitiful – I am quite proud of who I am, what I’ve come from.  I’m damn proud of the fact that I would rather work my ass of to support myself and my children than live off anyone else.    I hope I instill in them the same sort of ethic.
 
And second, I expect nothing of you.  I have learned from the past, or should I say, I keep learning, that you are unreliable, and will flake out on anything that is not “fun.”   Just when I think that maybe you have changed, I am brought back to reality.   And the truth is, I’m not asking you to change, just as I would hope you not ask me to change.  But just know that I don’t have time for that sort of behavior in my life right now. 

I was never angry at her for not helping me.  I don’t know how to stress that enough.  I had done very well as a single parent for years before moving out here, and continue to do well without her in my life.  She wanted to badly to make me like her, that she even painted her therapy sessions on me.  It made me sick to my stomach how she could try to use guilt to manipulate me, and the people around her.   How she could continually complain about her health, but in moment she now denies, admit that she was afraid to take her medication properly because she might get better and have to work again.  I lost so much respect for her, watching her manipulate the system that way.  This wasn’t a value I wanted my children to learn as acceptable, that they should get all they could from anyone or anything without earning it.   Now, don’t get me wrong, I understand why welfare programs exist.  For the first year when I was on my own with the kids, I had a daycare subsidy that I don’t know whether I could have made it without.  I have utilized the state children’s health insurance when I was unemployed.  But I knew that neither would be, nor should be a permanent solution.  My mother, who is only 61, lives off of food stamps, government subsidized housing, disability, and my father’s social security check.  She has refused to do physical therapy.  She has a breathing treatment machine by her bed that is dusty.  She had gastric bypass surgery six years ago, and still keeps a bag of cheetos by her computer.  I could go on, but I’ll stop there, and save it for another day.