I am so behind

I think I'm first. Especially with blogging about happy, sunny, fun subjects.

I went to an organized breakfast on Saturday, for local bloggers, and realized how much a whiner I really am. It seems that this spot actually becomes the last spot for me to just drop the bomb when everything else has already unraveled.

I am so sorry to my five (or fewer readers) that I've lost my whit or any ability to say anything remotely interesting.

It was during the breakfast, while whining to Zoom about my not liking my kids, that she asked me why I had them if I felt that way. My only answer was that it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I've given extensive further thought to this. I didn't ask for these kids. When I looked in the catalog, I asked for the well behaved, pre-molded, academically competent good ones that they showed on the cover. At least, that's what I thought I want. I didn't expect to get:

THE DIVA
A too soon to be teenager, who's got learning and social issues that put him in the range of maybe a ten year old. And that's a maybe. I don't know were his learning/social issues end and being a boy starts. (Grandma Tim suggests that a lot of what I'm going through is just boy shit.)

His choice to distance himself from the rest of the family doesn't help because I tend to leave him alone way to long (my opinion, not his) and he's falling between the cracks, 'cause he's not demonstrative they way his sibs are.

THE FAVORITE
This is my academically successful pre-teen who has everything - brains, beauty, can sing, can dance, can act, and is just the tiniest bit under-motivated. She expects things to just drop into her lap as she's capable of batting eye lashes and manipulating people into doing and getting things for her (kind of like her bio-dad). She pulls one hell of a huff when some one actually pushes back and says no. (Her tantrums are nothing compared to the next one though.)

This kid is the easy kid. Very very likeable. She gets elected to do the fun stuff with others (like when some one wants to go shopping) in place of me because she's fun and agreeable most of the time. She's got good social skills and is highly communicative. Everyone who meets her remembers her for good manners.

THING 3
When I'm mad, or irrasable, I refer to my children as Thing 1, 2, 3 and 4. We're having a bad night tonight with Thing 3. She had a fun day out at a birthday party. Came home. Got to have a TV dinner (dinner in front of the TV watching Ace of Cakes) and then went out for a walk. When we got to Bridgehead (near our original destination), she started spouting off about wanting one of their amazing cookies. Although I can sympathize with her, the answer was no. I'd baked today. Pretty freaking amazing chocolate chip cookies, I think, and she could have those at home. The tantrum starts. We get her home in one piece, thanks to my surrogate son (the kid who lives down the street and has almost moved in with us because of his regular prescence in our home). At home she starts up again. The Huz actually put his foot down. She decided to do what she does best, push the envelope. She took a cookie and stuffed it into her pie hole.


We had a similar issue last week where she decided to whine at me for the time it took for her to leave the school and hit Giant Tiger. I told her she had a choice between whining or eating her snack that we'd just got. (Chocolate is very cheap and very fresh at GT.) She whined her response. You can see where this is going.

At home, while putting away the groceries, I remarked to The Huz that I couldn't find the chocolate I'd paid for. He said that Thing 3 had asked if she could throw out the wrapper in our garbage can in our bathroom (hide the evidence). There was much shrieking and gnashing of teeth and all-in-all, it resulted in one of the toughest penalties I've handed out yet.



The Huz sends Thing 3 to bed. The cycle begins. Thowing herself into full physical tantrum and shrieking, The Huz tags off on me. (Thing 4 has already done damage to him - back strain.) The look of terror that comes across her face when I give her the look. "I want Daaaadddyyyyyy!" is repeated over and over and over again while I giver her options of walking or being hauled up the stairs over the shoulder, fireman style. She's no longer such a small thing and me getting pitched backwards down the stairs is becoming a reality. Doesn't help when she holds onto the railings. Daaaadddyyyyy comes up behind me for reinforcement and pries off her curled fingers from the railing.

Upstairs, she's deposited in her bedroom, where she kicks out her legs under her, doing a hell of a lot more harm then I could do. She's peeled from her day clothes, all the while screaming "I'll listen." (We actually do give her chances to change into her jammies by herself, or with help. It really doesn't help our side of things because she starts back into the broken record about wanting what ever got her into trouble in the first place.)

Teeth are brushed and fingers are pointed to the bed. That we've all suffered through the change of day light savings and it is her bedtime seem to be pointless.

Doors are closed as a period to end the sentence of the day. Eventually things do quite down. Not without a lot of reassurance that tomorrow is a clean slate and we'll start again then.

THING 4
AKA the juvenile delingent? How about the runaway? At just 2, I'm getting a taste for what to expect later on I guess.

Last night the mother-ship was over giving The Favorite a bit of one-on-one time. They spent part of the day cleaning up Favorite's room (what'd I tell you about the manipulative side of things?) and deciding that because she wasn't happy with her bedding, maybe she should get some new stuff. (Eyes rolling here. New? OMG, I can't remember the last time I bought brand new bedding! It's usually more of the new-to-me kind.)

Post-dinner hour, I was getting the tour of the After, being all too well familiar with the Before. I get a call from The Huz: is Thing 4 upstairs? A quick check. Nope. What's up? He's not downstairs either. WTF?!

The Huz runs onto the back porch and sees a 2 1/2 foot thing bobbing down the street. After assuring himself that it wasn't the racoon, he calls back up to me to say we've got a runner. I skim over the 11 stairs, body check The Huz as I get out the back door. He's still trying to pull on footwear. Silly man. Why do you think I'm always wearing some kind of appropriate for outdoors footwear?!

I run like a Clidesdale with bad bladder control issue down the street. It's dark and he's on the wrong side of the street, outside of the lamp range. I still reach Thing 4 before The Huz does, though he's not far behind. Unbelievably, Thing 4 is completely dressed for the occassion. Boots, polar fleece and a coat. (The polar fleece is overkill - it was still quiet warm out from the day.)

The Favorite has followed out of the house. Did I say before that she's also known as the responsible one? Diva is clueless. Thing 3 is already in bed, we hope asleep. The Huz carries Thing 4 home. I change.

Life goes back to its regular rythm.

Pick a day, any day and add to this mix anything something different. I don't know head licem, a municipal bus strike, general illnesses, weather, school issues, a non-responsive co-parenting household, aging parents, language training, day light saving time, Spring.

Hi. My name is Mirigo and I have a <> problem.

I feel that I could have managed three ok. Possibly with fewer problems. Four is what I've got now. When the older kids are more functional, it'll probably be ok. Right now it's rough. It's been a rough winter. And I'm a whiner. At least I've got my own blog ;-).