C-Section: This Generation’s Dirty Medical Word

*sigh* C-sections.  It is the new barometer to gauge how good of a mother you are, before you actually starting, you know, parenting.  Oh, it isn’t that straight forward.  People, mainly on the Internet, tell you they understand, but secretly behind their computer screens they are shaking their heads in judgement.  Meh, who cares?  Well, I do and I don’t.  I care when misinformation is thrown about and used to pigeon hole everyone who has met their OB’s scalpel (yes, I know they use lasers. Work with me.) up close and personal.  Well, life and judgements are never that cut and dry.

I have had 3 c-sections.  Yes, you read that right, I had 3.  Many factors went into me going under the knife.  However, convenience and fear of pain was not on the list.  Matter of fact, I clearly remember sitting at the side of my first OB’s ( I would go on to have 3 more doctors for my births)desk wringing my hands asking him if he knew for sure if I would AVOID a c-section.  Damn doctors.  Sadly they aren’t God and he couldn’t tell me. Bastard!  You see, I had never been in a hospital, before giving birth, and I was deathly afraid….let me say it, again….DEATHLY AFRAID of having surgery.  I didn’t want it.  I took all the classes and I was prepared for a vaginal birth.  I knew I could push.  I knew I could breathe.  I knew I could do that.  What I didn’t know was what a c-section entailed.  All I knew was that they wanted to cut me open and move my insides around.  Last I checked my insides were fine where they were and there was no need to going poking around.

I researched.  I am here to tell you that there is such a thing as too much research. Another thing to pop up that would put the fear of modern medicine into me, pitocin.   From my research I learned that pitocin caused Autism.  WHA?!  Pitocin meant you were definitely, for sure going to  have a c-section. NO!  Pitocin hurt like a semi truck driving through your pelvic area.  *falls to the floor*  I prayed.  I begged. I bargained.  Please, oh please, don’t let me have pitocin or a c-section.  I guess I my message to God went to the wrong in box, because at 5 days pass my due date (which I never believe, because I never knew the last day of my period.  Who the hell keeps track of that crap?  It is here. I curse. It is gone.  The husband comes out of hiding.)  I was contracting and then I wasn’t.  Huh?  What is that you say?  That is not possible.  Oh really.  You want to have a conversation with my lazy uterus.  Go ahead, but I am hear to tell you she ain’t listening to no body.  So the pitocin drip starts, the contractions start to feel like an angry ape throwing luggage around in my uterus, but they don’t start getting any closer together.  The story of my life, I do well with one thing, but can’t pull it through to complete the transaction.  Here is where I tell you I take a nap and you go, “HUH, WHA?!”  Oh yeah, that contraction was a bitch, but once it passed I was all clear for my journey to sleepy town.  I would wake in another room with a doctor peering into my nether regions and liquid spilling all over the bed.  That is when the action started.  No, not contractions, medical staff bustling around like someone just set their collective pants on fire.  It was time for the baby to come out.  Whether she wanted to or not.  I have stubborn kids, especially when you are expecting them to do certain things, like, I don’t know, be born into the world.

I have gone over a million times what I should have done during Amber’s birth.  I have read on the Internet as people, some who have never given birth, say I had choices.  Oh really?  Let’s look at the choices I could have demand in all my non-medical knowledge glory:  I could have demanded to push.  That might be a little hard without contractions.  I mean I know we are women, hear us roar, but we do need all parts doing their, well, part.  I could have demanded to wait and see what might happen.  I mean my body, as a female, is made to give birth, right?  So it would have happened eventually, right?  Who the hell knows.  In the mean time Amber could have choked on her first bowel movement.  (Yeah, I can never spell that word right, so you get my 2nd grade description of it.)  So in the end I did have choices, but no one talks about the consequences of those choices or being in a situation where it might be a tad hard to make a completely rational decision.  You can try.  Here is what you do.  Invite about 10/15 total strangers into a cold, very bright room, while you lay buck naked on a hard surface.  Have about a million beeps going on, some of the people will be having a conversation with words you have no clue what they mean while someone tries to explain the situation to you quickly and then ask you for a decision.  Let me know how you fair.  I am not denying that I could have made the no c-section decision and come out completely fine.  I can’t tell you how Amber would have come out in that scenario.

I don’t know who is spreading the word that c-sections are fun.  I am here to tell you they ain’t no walk in the park on sunny day.  You are literally cut in half while you are AWAKE!  Yeah, that last part freaked me out, too.  And I don’t care what anyone says, they don’t get easier the more you have.  Each one carries it’s own risks.  What I am here to tell you is that until you are in that situation you can’t completely say with all certainty what you would do or not do.  Not to mention you suddenly have another human being who is completely dependent on you to make the right decision.  Remember the goal is healthy, happy babies.  So if I am out of the running for mother of the year because I had 3 c-sections then so be it.  I am sure there are many other things you could have used to take me out of the running.

I don’t really need to justify my other 2 c-sections.  I could tell you about the natural disaster I found myself in while 4 months pregnant with Sam.  I could go on and on about how I didn’t like nor trusted my OB, but what choice did I have in a city that barely had hospitals up and running?  My main goal with her was for her NOT to tie my tubes no matter how much she insisted.  Without medical records and hospital staffs at an all time low there was no chance in hell I was going to get a VBAC.  I would guess New Orleans after Katrina, even 6 mos after, was as close to a 3rd world country as I ever want to get.  Do you give me points for even asking at the beginning of my pregnancy and when I finally secured a doctor after my original one had fled?  By the time I got pregnant with Evie, I was done.  I would have let them extract her through my nose if that is what they said was the best way.  I was in the hands of my fully capable OB (a new one from the one that I had with Sam)and the Perinatologist who I saw every damn month.   That was a bit much, I thought, but hey, again, if it gets me a healthy baby so be it.

Who do we blame for this?  Do we blame those nasty money hungry medical doctors?  I really don’t think ALL doctors are assholes.  And if you find yourself faced with an asshole, then, um, here is your choice: Find a new one.  I have many times and didn’t feel bad at all.  However, when I do find a new doctor I discuss my medical care and ask questions.  My first clue that you are an asshole doctor is if you get annoyed at all my questions.  I am here to tell you in any profession there will be good ones and there will be bad ones.  Your job is to find a good one and then trust them.  Do we blame health insurance?  That one I am not touching.  If you think insurance companies don’t want to pay for your regular visit to the doctor, what makes you think they are all gung ho to pay for your c-section.  My belief is that insurance companies are going to fight and go over with a fine tooth comb just about every claim put before them, because they are trying to make money.  It is a pain for us, but we have a choice, we can pay out of pocket for our medical care.  Go ahead and ask, I am sure your doctor or hospital will take cash.  I know they took mine.  We can blame lawyers, but what can’t you blame lawyers for?  Hmmm, I am not sure how to defend lawyers on this one, but I will say that I would venture a guess that someone came to them with a grievance regarding their birth and the lawyer did his job.  Maybe a little too well, but he did his job.  You can blame malpractice insurance that all doctors and hospitals must have to cover their asses.  Having a mother, who is a nurse, who got dragged into a lawsuit, because a family didn’t want to accept that their elderly mother died of natural causes, it is frightening to be on the shit end of a lawsuit, especially if you have never been involved in one before .  And I am sure doctors and hospitals would much rather put the money they spend on malpractice insurance to better use, but alas it is a necessary evil much like car insurance. There are many places to put the blame for the c-section rates.  Dare I say, yes even those mothers, who I believe are very rare, that pressure their doctors for a c-section out of convenience.  I have heard of them, but have never met one.  Does it do anyone any good?  Not really.

We live in a society where many things are available to us, medicine, medical advancement out the ying yang and the Internet that can scare you with one small Google search.  I don’t think the answer is beating mothers, who have already had their babies, over the head with the fact that YOU think they didn’t birth right.  I think the real solution is an open dialogue that dispenses with the scare tactics (I am looking at all you old school moms who just love your war stories) and share an experience that can be learned from.  I think there needs to be included in those birth classes (keep in mind my last one was 10 yrs ago. ) a real discussion about c-section, stalled labor and pitocin.  I might have heard a blip about these things in the birth class I took, but nothing substantial. What I really think is that the medical community doesn’t know everything about pregnancy and birth.  Yeah, I said it.  And they are still learning.  When my daughters are ready to give birth I am sure I will be sitting at the kitchen table with my mouth gaped open amazed at what they are telling me is going to happen.  That is what we do people, we live, learn and move on.  Each generation will learn something new about the process of being born  and will be a little better off.  And the generation behind them will sit there and wish they had that when they were about to give birth.  It is the circle of knowledge.

 

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The Revolt

I wish this was about all the chaos going on around the world, but nope.  It is just about the machines around me and their desire to drive me freaking insane.  I have gone on and on about how crazy it makes me that things only have a life span of less than 10 years these days.  Yeah, that’s me and I fully accept that I  sound like an old man.

Our washing machine has been leaking water from underneath.  I could handle if it was spraying me everytime I turned it on, but nope it is on sneak attack.  It doesn’t leak all the time and you only discover the leak when you walk in to move laundry to the dryer and you get a sock full of wet.  I hate wet socks!  So I did the logical thing.  I gathered a forum of mothers and discussed it.  They had the answers, except SoHubby didn’t cooperate.  He did lift up the washer machine,  matter of fact he had it up on blocks only not in the front yard, and found nothing.  Did you know that there is nothing to see under your washer?  I didn’t.  Now, I do.   So the next logical step was to call a repair man.  He arrived and found nothing wrong.  Did you get that?  FOUND. NOTHING. WRONG!  Unless you count his observation that I had too many clothes in the washer.  Damn thing still leaks, just not as much.  Yeah, that was $87 well spent.

{Let’s stop for a moment.  I have a washer with a small, medium, large, extra large and super setting for the water levels.  And you guessed it, I packed that bitch like there was no tomorrow.  Do you know how much laundry 5 people make?  Correction. Do you know how much laundry the 3 little people make?  Amber is auditioning to be the next Cher, because she goes through multiple costume changes for the day.  I try to make laundry go as fast and efficient as possible.  Well, the repair man said that this is what was causing the leak.  I relented and started doing the half loads, which makes me shake my head, because what the hell are the last 2 water level settings for it I can’t stuff that bitch?  I would, also, like to point out this would be the time SoHubby decided to call me lazy in front of the repairman. The laugh was on him, because the repairman was impress that I was a wife that cooked.  I stopped the conversation there, because I don’t need anyone else’s drama.  We are all full up here. }

Next to go down was my laptop.  I still blame SoHubby for this one.  If he wouldn’t have touched it, it would still be alive today.  I sent it over to Geek Squad and they gave me the call.  Miss, your laptop is fried and we can fix it for about the same amount as buying a new one.  I would have been more upset about this if 1.I haven’t wanted a new computer for a long time. and 2. I didn’t save all the pictures on an external hard drive.  See there is some movement upstairs.  Still sucks having to learn new things and recreate the few Word docs that run my life, because, again, I am an old man and hate change.  I will scratch my butt and grumble about it for days just to prove it.

A few of the other things that decided to say screw this working nonsense and go on early retirement: the mighty Suburban blew it’s water pump. It has served us well, but choosing the time I am dropping Amber off at school was not the time to let me know it needed a little attention.  I think I blogged about the MayTag refrigerator .  If not, it is because  I have blocked that whole situation out.  Ice chests maybe okay for vacation or a hurricane, but not on a daily basis during regular times.  Smoke still comes out of my ears when I think of it.  Freakin computer blows.  In a freakin refrigerator.  You know the thing that keeps food cold.  Why the hell does my refrigerator need a computer.  Maybe if it was so smart with it’s computer and all it could make a dinner that my kids would actually eat.  It took everything I had not to beat the repairman when he suggested a surge protector for the FREAKIN REFRIGERATOR.  The oven which decided to stop, you know, heating.  Like the only reason you have an oven.

I just can’t take anymore revolts.  I mean if you have grievances, come to me, let me know what you need for us to work in harmony and I will take it under consideration before I laugh in your face.  You bitches work for me and I don’t like when things don’t work.  My kids learn new words when things don’t work.  Okay, they may learn new words other times, too, but that is not the point!  Machines were put here to serve and serve they shall.  Or maybe I will just cry in a corner and pray that the next thing to go doesn’t actually blow the house up.

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Changes

Oh GOD! how I hate changes.  I am a routine kind of gal.  I need to know what is going to happen when and how each day.  Throw a monkey wrench into that situation and I can cut you quicker than a cat  on a mouse.

I am not good at this “going through a rough time” thing.  I keep thinking if this was just squared away things would be much better, but the this never end.  There seems to always be another this waiting around the corner to take over the this we just took care of.   And my worse trait is I get angry at those that seem to have pulled out of their rough time, whether I know for sure they have or not.  I pout and think when is my turn to pull out of  the rough spot.

I even got angry at God, yesterday.  Oh yes, I looked up to the heavens, put my hands on my hips and said in a really pissed off tone, SERIOUSLY?  Because, SERIOUSLY, what is up with this shit.  And why should God be immuned to my attitude and tirades.  If anything he should consider himself lucky, because He can probably see them coming.  And what is any relationship without turning to the other person and saying, “Seriously, if you don’t stop I am going to poke you in the eye.”

What was the one more thing that just got piled onto this pile of shit that is growing higher and higher with each waking moment, the A/C in SIL’s house was broken, after we thought it was fixed, and leaking water everywhere.  Why is this our problem, because SIL is no longer here to have the problem.  She passed away on June 17.  I wonder if Amber will ever notice that bad things have started happening on or around her birthday in the last couple of years.  I was hoping it wasn’t a trend, but I am getting really scared.  Last year, a friend was murdered on her birthday.  It is just hard to be happy and sing when you know bad shit has gone down hours before.  Anyway, SIL seemed to fall ill rather suddenly and then pass.  Basically, she had the same kind of cancer that her mother and father had, but she fell much earlier than they did.  She was only 56 years old and no one, NO ONE, expected her to go this early.  The real fucked up thing about all this was that her life finally seemed to be where she wanted it to be.  She was doing something that she loved.  She had an entire community helping, laughing, and living with her and then BAMMED, like a blast to the head it is gone.

So needless to say this has not been the summer I have hoped.  It never is, really, so I don’t know why I keep hope alive.  I should smash it and get it over with.  It has been a summer filled with anxiety, stress, trips to the hospice, making sure nursing homes were treating her well and general suckiness.  It has been hard with the kids, because they have been asked to do and go places that children really shouldn’t go, but I think they have handled it all pretty well.  Amber spoke at SIL’s memorial and did a great job.  Sam asked questions, although sometimes inappropriate and did his best to understand as much as he could.  It really wasn’t that hard when he got plied with ice cream everytime we went to the hospice.  Now, we are dealing with our household and trying to figure out how to dismantle another one.  That is the hardest thing about death, LIFE.  Life continues on whether you are ready for it or not. There is no breather. No time to just grieve and settled for a moment until you continue on with the disposing and selling of people’s things.  The last couple of times I was at the house I could swear I could hear SIL scream at me that what I was about to throw away was really important.  But nope, she wasn’t, it was just me and George faced with what to keep and what to throw out.  To be honest we haven’t even made a dent.  There are many other things that seem to need to be done first.  OR maybe we would just rather the uncomfortable part of going through someone else things and being the final decision makers would go away.

I am in a state of unrest, because I feel our life is in the same state.  And the only reason I believe that is because I have no control.  Like that is any surprise to anyone.  Things run better when they run MY way, unforuantely, the man upstairs tends to do things His own way.  Although, people keep telling me that what is happening is part of the plan and that out of bad times come good ones.  The problem is that I want the good times, now.  I am done with the bad times.  I wish I was one of those people that could push all the crap aside and just smile through it, but I am not.  I am the worrier that plans for the worse.  And now, the worrier is losing hope that good times may ever come.  The light at the end of the tunnel keeps getting further and further away.  I guess it is good that I can still see the light, eh?

I know this all sounds dark, gloomy and call the hotline stuff, but really it is not.  It is just life and we are living in it’s world.  We will continue on doing one thing at a time and doing it to the best of our ability.  We will fall, get angry, say some not so nice words (maybe just me) and pout.  Only to get back up, relax a bit, apologize for the words (again, just me) and try to find the small goodness that life brings along with the mountain of shit.  One day we will look back on this time and wonder how we got through and be happy that we are out of it.  At least that is what SoHubby keeps telling me and I am holding him to his word.

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Update to Now it is Personal.

I was going to put this as a side note on the Now it is Personal post, but I feel there needs to be more information regarding how our government is running these days.  It goes much further than not reading immigration bills, but deeming them racist and unconstitutional, or pricing capping ATM fees or other products and services.

First, the amendment to the Finance Reform bill that was to cap ATM fees at $.50 was blocked.  According to what I read Senator Harkin couldn’t get it to the floor for debate, because there was more important issues to be discussed.  Although, the time it took for 2 Senators to go back and forth regarding what is important or not was ironic, but I am never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.  So good for us.  That high lasted all of a few hours when we were later informed that there was a new amendment to have the Federal Reserve regulate ATM fees and make sure there was “reasonable” rates.  Okay, this is the same shit just different smell.  It is another way of having ATM fees capped under the illusion of protecting the consumer.  Let the worry begin all over again.  Then today SoHubby calls me to let me know that I can stop building that ulcer in the pit of my stomach, because the Senate has voted on cloture (that means closed) of the Finance Reform bill and nothing regarding ATMs is in the now closed bill.  *phew*  We must not relax those shoulder muscles too much, because this bill has a few more Congressional travels before it reaches vote and a much longer journey before it reaches the President’s desk.  But for the time being it looks as if we are safe from the long arm of the Federal Government reaching into our business and shutting it down.

Second, I came across this article on Twitter and found it interesting.  Basically, it explains how some Senators don’t even use ATMs, even though they walk by an ATM in the basement of the Capitol building which charges $2 a transaction, unless you have an account from the U.S. Senate Federal Credit Union, on their way to vote on the Senate floor.  The most interesting thing is that Sen. Harkin admits to using an ATM (I would venture to guess the one in the Senate building) about every 2 weeks.  First light bulb illuminated that maybe Sen. Harkin and his ATM fee cap amendment was for purely personal reasons.  Which begs the question is he looking out for his best interest of those of Americans?  I will let you decide on that one.  You can probably guess my answer.  The next question is how can these politicians look out for our best interests when they don’t even have the slightest clue of the workings of the everyday of the average American?

Senator Ben Nelson, admitted that he doesn’t even know how to use an ATM and 2 other Republican Senators admitted to only using an ATM a few times in their lives.   Sen. Ben Nelson says he is not totally ignorant regarding everyday experiences of Americans because he knows about “holograms’.  He using them offer when going to stores and checking himself into his own seat when boarding an airplane.  I had to stop, because I was wondering what the hell he was talking about.  What holograms is he using when shopping at Lowe’s or the grocery store?  It is clarified that Sen. Nelson is talking about the bar codes that are scanned when making a purchase or pretty much everywhere out here in the real world.  Where he got holograms I have no idea.  Shouldn’t every person that has ever bought anything in this country know about bar codes?  I mean we have the infamous video of the first President George Bush not knowing how to buy groceries for God’s sake and now we have Senators who don’t know how an ATM works.  How can these people look out for our best interest when they have not one clue what it is to live our daily lives?  I guess that is what you get when you are scooped up as a young lad and spend the rest of your life in the bubble of Washington D.C. Where money just appears magically from the taxpayers pockets and you are not held responsible for how you spend it or anything else.  I think many of these politicians will be very shocked come this November.  Americans are fed up with our government making busy work to make themselves seem useful, not keeping with the clear outlined duties in the Constitution (Article I Section 8), and listening to their real bosses, the American people.  Too long we have  gone unheard and now it is time for a job performance review which will have many high government officials  joining the currently high unemployment rate.  No one is safe, Democrat nor Republican.

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Parenting Sam

Sam has been alive for 4 years and from the minute he was given to me swaddled in the hospital blanket he has left me confused, defeated and completely tired at the end of each day of his life.  Sam is full of anger.  About what, I am not sure.  Is it because I was a stressed mess for the last half of his pregnancy due to Katrina?  Is it because he has inherited my anger?  Did he learn my anger?  Is it because we still don’t understand him 100% of the time? (We are still waiting to hear from the parish about his speech therapy.)  Did his shyness turn into anger?  Sad to say I think it is a combination of all these things. 

I am not a calm person.  I try my hardest to go with what life hands me, but it is just not my nature not to worry and stress over pretty much everything.  I have found a few things that I can throw into the wind and not mind where they go, but the big things still weigh heavy on my shoulders.  This amount of stress cause little things to get to me.  I know I have a problem when I start to think, if YOU would just do what I tell you then MY world would be so much better.  It doesn’t help that many of the little things that I have learned to let go of, SoHubby tends to fight to the death on the battlefield.   My point is that all this stress leads to me losing my shit on a daily basis.  Oh I start out on a good foot each morning.  I plan not to go apeshit over the papers strewn across the kids’ table or the dust gathering in the corner, but it never fails by the end of the day I am yelling at someone, anyone, to just pick up the mess or stop questioning when I ask them to do things.   Back to if YOU did what I said MY life would be better.  And I think Sam has picked up on this. 

Since it seems that Sam has my anger I try to deal with him opposite from the way my parents dealt with mine.  I want to stay calm, even though the blood is boiling in my veins.  I want to hug him instead of yell and raise both of tempers.  I want to understand him, instead of just demanding that he listen to what I say.  The problem is that when he, or anyone, is in these rages they can’t and won’t hear you.  All they want is to yell and kick until their energy level is down to where they might be willing to listen.  The problem is that is not an proper way to go through life.  One must learn to control oneself, no matter how angry one is.  But how do you ask a 4 year old to do something that a 37 year old has trouble with sometimes.  I have gotten better over time, but I would like to spare my son a lot of the “learning” I went through to get to this point. 

So I have tried the ignore, let him get it out of his system approach.  That just leads to more and higher pitched screaming.  Not really something you want to let go on, say, in the middle of Burger King, right before the tour of a possible school for your little demon sweetie, where the elderly population has decided to gather for a quiet breakfast.  I have learned long ago not to show embarrassment when dealing with my children, because that means they have won the power in that situation. And I am here to tell you that once those little darlings have seen that they can embarrass the parent or the parent will discipline differently in public than at home, they have the upper hand and known how to wield it.  My kids know that I treat them the same no matter at home or out in public and when I start to count they either shape up or deal with the consequences.  Amber usually straightens up at the mention of 1, Sam waits for 2 to see how serious I am.  Do you see my problem? 

I had stayed away from spanking in the past, because 1. I didn’t want to spank out of anger and 2. I didn’t think it helped a child in the throes of a rage with more rage.  It has taken some time, but I think I understand when parents have said they spanked but not out of anger.  I have heard the majority of thoughts on this issue and all I can say is, I pick and choose when to use it.  I know it has power and I try to save it for the times the kids really need an attention grabber.  Also, I do my very best to not spank during those times when I am so angry I could spit nails.  During those times, I am more than willing to give myself a time out, which gives Sam much pleasure.  Often times when we are out, Sam will get angry at me, point his finger and say, “Mommy, when we get home you are going to YOUR ROOM!”  Problem is I am more than happy to go to my room.  He hasn’t really caught on that this is not a big threat to me as it is for his sister and him. 

My efforts  haven’t seem to have made an impact with Sam.  The biggest concern at the moment is how will he do at school?  The number one school on my list of Catholic schools, said that they try to weed out behavioral problems.  So I have to ask is Sam a behavioral problem or does he just act like this for our benefit.  I have seen him around other people in authority and it goes 2 ways, he is shy and stands off a bit before interacting, the key here is for the adult in question needs to not be pushy or if the person in authority approaches him in just the right way (and that can change from minute to minute) he can be the sweetest most talkative little boy you have ever met.  My plan for this interview of the school, if we choose it, will be to make sure he is well rested and in a proper food stupor before.  As I see that some of Sam’s rage stems from being tired (waking at 6am to get ready to bring his sister to school and then fight his afternoon naps) and his constant need to have snacks in his mouth.  That is a whole other post in itself, but the short of it is that on the one hand I am trying not to make food an issue, but on the other trying to get his diet to consist of something more than chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, goldfish and cookies.  And yes, I have tried all the tricks since the day he put solid food into his mouth the boy ain’t falling for it.  That was clear the day he spit his peas back in my face.  He hasn’t touched them or any other vegetable since.  He won’t even eat the food he helps me make, unless it is mac and cheese, from the blue box like Applebee’s make. *sigh*

I have been told by seasoned parents that the kids who are so difficult at such a young age usually turn out to be a bit easier to handle at an older age.  That gives me comfort and immense fear at the same time.  Amber is a pretty easy going kid, which means that I should expect black fingernails, piercings and tattooed boyfriends.  Sam is the exact opposite of easy going to the point that he needs therapy and a heavy dose of coddling just to buy new tennis shoes, which means I can expect that he will be all calm and reserved as he gets older.  So, basically no rest for me until I am in the grave.  The only thing that I am sure of is that my grey hairs will multiple, my frown lines will get so deep that you will need a pirogue to across them and once the children leave our house to set out on their own SoHubby and I will have to really fight the urge to pack up and leave without a forwarding address.  All I do know is that being a grandma is going to be so sweet.  I will finally be the good guy and the moment the kids start acting up away they go to become their parents problem.  Yes, mom I do understand and you were right I would once I had kids.  Pay back is a bitch and she usually brings an army with her.

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One Day She Will be in Charge of the Dynasty

This week I decided that Amber would do her book report that is due on December 8.  I am doing this more for me than her, because I know how I will have to push, plan, explain, yell, and curse under my breath just to get this project done.  [An aside: What ever happen to reading a book and writing a page or two book report?  Why are the kids required to be creative, which means the parents have to be creative, which then means money spent on things that may or may not be used and can not be used for anything else?  Just asking.] I need time for all of that to take place and, of course, I like making my daughter’s life a living hell.  You know, because it is just so much fun for me.

 I took time on Saturday to reread the directions, to confer with SoHubby on what might be needed and ideas, and made a list of things to get.  Then on Sunday, we did a bit of running around trying to find all the supplies that Amber would need for HER project.   Amber wanted no part of this; she was mad that we didn’t let her go to her friend’s house.  How dare we make her do her homework.  And how dare her homework be something that took more thought than the 10 minutes a night she usually spends.  Amber is a smart girl.  It is proven every semester with her report card of straight A’s.  It is further proven that she doesn’t study, more like I am too busy being a human pacifier that I don’t know she had to study until it is too late, but she still makes A’s on her test.  However, she tends to hurry through things and makes silly mistakes.  It is pure torture to make her stop, think and take her time on things.  So while in Target as she stomped away with arms folded scrawling that if she got an F on this project it would be her father and mine’s fault.  I lost it.  LOST IT!  I had taken time out of my weekend to help her and how DARE her  sassing me.  I bent down, grabbed her arm, got in her face and explained to her in a stern voice that if she didn’t be quiet and show some interest in this project then I was going to put everything back and she could just find her own way to the store, get her own supplies with her own money and do her own DAMN project on her own. 

Sounds like a good idea.  I mean I don’t remember my mom putting much effort into my projects.  She might have bought some poster board, but the rest was up to me.  My only instructions from her was to get it into school on time.  It seems that these days schools are requiring so much more than just some graphs on poster board.   Amber has to recreate the book she read for her book report.  That’s right she needs to read it, write it in her own words and then be creative enough to make it look like a book.  Don’t tell me there are second graders out there that can do that totally on their own.  Hell, I needed SoHubby’s help  just for ideas on what supplies she might need.  This is only the beginning, too, I have seen the future and it ain’t pretty.  One of  our friend’s daughter had to make a car that ran on its own.  WTF?  Seriously, WTF?  If I would have known about the cars that needed to be built out of nothing, nursing bras that needed to be snapped while holding squirming babies and complicated train tracks that I would be required to put together I would have forgotten about that Liberal Arts degree and got something more useful, like an engineering degree. 

I thought the Target incident was a one time thing.  Amber was mad that she had to do homework, spend time with her oh so boring parents when she could have been at her friend’s house having a grand time.  I mean, even though the house is similar to ours, it is way better and so much cooler.  Not to mention her friend’s mom is so great that Amber would sell her right arm if she would just adopt her.  I would soon find out that Amber is trying on a new attitude and we are simply disagreeing about its fit.  She thinks her britches are fitting just fine and I think that her they  are way too big for a 7-year-old girl.  Along with the too big britches comes a sense of entitlement, a smart mouth and the attitude of a 16-year-old.  It takes every fiber of my being not to scream and shake her.  Somehow I am thinking that shaking her might just shake that smartass right out of her.  It hasn’t been proven, so I will continue to grit my teeth and try to be civil. 

Today, we stop at Wal-Mart for some Christmas shopping. [And yes, I know some of you will see only this and give me the "YOU go to Wal-Mart?" speech.  Yeah, yeah, times are tough all over.]  I stopped in the Wal-Mart salon (Can you call it that?) to see if they sell a certain hair product that I use.  The “lady” (a transgender stylist) asked if we needed help.  Amber took a liking to her and begged for me to get her bangs trimmed.  This pissed me off for a couple of reasons: 1. I have been asking her to get her bangs cut for months, now.  She had decided she was going to let them grow out, because one of her friends doesn’t have bangs. and 2. We just came from having pictures taken.  When I told Amber that we could get her bangs trimmed for half the price at Wondercuts she went into the whining,” buuuuuut Mooooom” voice.  Here is where everyone tells me you should have stuck to your guns.  I admit I kicked myself wondering why I didn’t just say no and be done with it.  Mainly, I didn’t like being put on the spot like that in front of another person and didn’t you just read I had just come from having pictures taken with three kids.  And one of those kids was Sam, who I apparently tortured by taking his shoes and socks off.  I was worn down to the nub.  After we left I explained to Amber that we need to be frugal with our money and that she can’t be so impulsive.  When I got the “it’s only money” look, I grabbed her face and told her that she needs to leave that princess attitude behind.  We ain’t living in no castle.  Can’t you tell, we are at da Wal-Mart?

These instances just make me scared for the future.  When Amber was younger we could afford to buy her anything and I practically did.  Once Sam came along, I started curtailing the frivolous spending and teaching the kids that we can’t have everything we want right when we want it.  It was sinking in, but it is a hard fight against peer pressure and the power of commercial TV.  Let’s face it, my kids may not have everything their peers have, but they are not suffering one bit.  I thought by giving Amber an allowance, requiring her to buy certain things  and making her save would do the work for me, but I have to be a constant reminder that money doesn’t grow on trees and there is hard work behind every dollar that is spent.  It is a hard road and I hope that one day she will get it.  I have already started the talk that if you are in our house after you graduate high school then you need to work or go to school.  Hell, maybe even both.  I hope the entitled sass talking little girl that is here, today, will be a much wiser girl in the future.  It is making me rethink any preconceived ideas I might have had for when my kids become teenagers.  That beat up old Chevy that they pay for themselves is looking better and better with every sass talking entitlement word that comes out of her mouth.  Her brother and sister are going to be pissed. 

 

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Evil Lurks

 I wasn’t ready for when Amber went to school and other kids picked on her.  I wasn’t ready when she would tilt her head back, bat her eyelashes and claim how cute Troyis.  I wasn’t ready when she recently requested to TiVo Zack and Cody, because they are sooooo cute.  I wasn’t ready to explain that her beloved cat wasn’t coming home.  BUT I really wasn’t ready to have a conversation about evil with Amber.  Last weekend we were informed that there was a child predator in our midst.  He lived across the street and recently two little girls had come forward to talk about his actions.  The worst part of all of this is that this man lives with his sister who runs an in home daycare out of their home.  I am disgusted by both, but more with the woman, who I believe help this man in attacking these children. 

There were many things that disturbed us about this “family” when they moved in across the street after hurricane Katrina, but most of it was swept away because it seemed to just be a difference of what our idea of how polite neighbors were suppose to act and theirs.  Then came last Halloween.  We had made it half way up the drive way when a deep voice in the dark yelled ” We are out of candy!”  A simple statement, but a statement that told me everything I needed to know.  That voice sent chills down my spine and I was more than happy to move on to the next house.  I told no one of this, because I had nothing but my gut to go on.  Besides, there was no reason for my children to go to that house.  We don’t let them play outside unattended and Amber only went across the street to play with her friends, who live in the house next to the Predator’s house.  She only went when arranged by her friends’ mother and me and I watched her as she crossed the street and entered the appropriate house.  Even then it wasn’t often because those girls were older and had older friends. 

SoHubby and I were stunned in our tracks that Sunday after church when approached by another neighbor, who didn’t know the whole story, but wanted to warn us.  I had checked the websites and made sure that my kids were safe, but because they are predators you don’t always see them coming.  That is the scariest part.   That night I would have a conversation with Amber about not going to THAT house and how she should never go to anyone’s house unless she tells us first.  Another bomb would fall when Amber informed me that she had been in that house.  Apparently, her friends and her went into the playroom at the house in question.  I immediately told SoHubby to call the girls’ mother and ask what was going, because Amber was melting into tears at the fear that she had done something wrong.  Mistake one on my part.  It was later cleared that, yes, the girls had gone over for a minute, but it was before the Predator had moved in.  It was frightening to say the least, that my daughter could have gone somewhere and I didn’t know and that she was in possible danger. 

As this saga continued we would get more and more information.  It was strange when there was a police car stopped right in front of our house watching the predator’s house.  Later we would hear that more police cars swarmed in to issue search warrants and arrest the predator.    SoHubby did his part by contacting the police chief for more information and then the article in the paper would come .  All of this has unfolded in a matter of 2 weeks and it has me thinking what else don’t I know about my neighbors or anyone else out there.  It seems there is just SoHubby and I between my kids and the evil that is intent on hurting them.  Sure we have had several talks with Amber, but does talking keep her and her brother safe?  Sure I have my eagle eye on them when we are out, but what happens when I blink?  I get to know the parents of the kids whom I entrust my kids to, but do we really know anyone?  The biggest question is can we really leave the safety of our children in their own hands?

SoHubby and I have both told Amber, Sam is a little young but we are starting, that there are bad people out there that hurt little kids and she has every right to say NO.  Is that enough?  According to the news article when one of the little girls told the Predator, no, he slapped her.  What child wouldn’t comply after that?  Then there is the fine line between having respect for your elders and knowing when not to.  Also, if us, adults, are hard pressed to know a predator how can we expect our kids to know?  Is the answer to be overprotective and never let our kids become independent?  No, no matter how much we wish we could.  At some point, pretty early these days, we send our kids off into the world by themselves.  How do we keep them safe without scaring the crap out of them?  And that is the big question that SoHubby and I have asked many of the seasoned parents out there.  We have done what they have said, but it gives me no security, because there is none to have.  So I was definitely not ready to sit my 6, almost 7, year old daughter down and tell her about the evils in the world.  And I am less ready to send her out in that world that I have no control over.

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Now, That’s a Protest

 

In honor of our new President and his recent porkulus bill.

And the kids enjoy it, too. 
Let’s hope it doesn’t cost them their future.

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Animal Control is a Joke in Our Town

*Update at bottom of post.

It all started with this incident.  Well, it has been going on for much longer than that incident, but it all came to a head with the vicious death of our cat.  Our neighbors across the street believe that it is perfectly okay to let their dogs run free, even though there is a law that says that all dogs must be on a leash.  Now, we are not so uptight that we will call animal control just because there is a dog that is allowed to run free, however, when that dog is aggressive things change a bit.  This dog has charged at our assistant getting into her car, SoHubby getting in and out of his car or getting the mail, the kids and I when getting into our car, our neighbor’s daughter when getting her mail, another neighbor when getting her mail and the various kids playing in the neighborhood.  The worst part is that this dog has picked up a gang, so we have a pack of dogs running around that keep us trapped in our homes.

SoHubby has been on the phone for days, now, and each time he has run into road blocks with animal control and was even told that this sounds like a neighbor dispute.  To me it sounds like some people out there that like collecting a paycheck, but would rather not do the work.  We have done all that they have asked,  gotten letters from the other neighbors and met with the animal control officer when she came out, but we are constantly being told that nothing can be done.  What does it take for something, anything, to be done?  A kid attacked?  Does it really have to get to that point, especially when there is more than just one person on the block complaining about an aggressive dog?

I understand that dogs kill cats, circle of life and all, but when did it become okay for a dog to have more rights than the humans living and paying taxes in the community?  SoHubby was literally told that the officer could not take the dog in and it is a “friendly” dog.  This woman has been around this dog all of a couple of hours and has determined it is not a threat, yet we all have to lived in fear of this dog for over a year.  I guess she is the expert, right? (/sarcasm)  SoHubby was, also, told that maybe he should stay in his house.  Really?  That sounds logical.  We should stay sequestered in our homes and let the dog roam free.  Sorry, but that doesn’t fly in my book.  The dog needs to go, especially since the neighbors won’t keep it in their FENCED IN BACKYARD. 

This all boils down to being a good neighbor.  We shouldn’t have to have laws to dictate our behaviors.  We should be able to conduct ourselves in a decent manner where we respect those that live around us.  I don’t think it is asking a lot to keep your dog, who has shown aggressive tendencies on a leash, especially since IT IS THE LAW.  Sure it would be nice that the dog and his little doggie friends wouldn’t leave 50 pound craps in my yard, but  I could live with that more than having my kids or I being offered up as a Scooby snack.  Believe me, SoHubby is not thwarted that easily.  Just because he has hit a road block, or two, doesn’t mean he is willing to drop it, matter of fact, that makes him more motivated to get something done.  He is moving up the ladder and will eventually annoy the public servants of this community enough to actually do their jobs.  All we are asking is that an aggressive dog is not allowed to roam free threatening our way of life.  I don’t think that is too much from tax paying citizens to ask.

The dog is gone.  He was picked up this morning after the very long ordeal, last night.  I am talking hours and the whole neighborhood in an uproar.  Other neighbors came forward stating that the dog had been aggressive toward them and that they are afraid to have their children play outside.  Also, we were served a summons for public nuisance.  Apparently, our dead cat was annoying the people across the street and the stress of their dog killing our cat was just too much for them.  My heart bleeds for them. (/sarcasm)  It is laughable at best and I have no worries.

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I Wasn’t Going to Say Anything, but I Can Never Keep the Nasty to Myself.

This weekend has been as exciting as sticking red hot needles in my eyeballs.  Apparently, I am a glutton for punishment, because I just kept right on going with the whole needle in my eyeball thing, instead of the ever popular let’s stay home and disconnect with the world thing. 

I don’t know what came over me to have Amber’s make up gymnastic class on Saturday.  Secretly, I thought here is a chance to see how those athletes work for Olympic gold.  Then I woke up at 7am, rushed two very confused children out of the house by 830am and sat in a large, noisy gym for an hour questioning why I thought this was a good idea.  Amber enjoyed it once her class got started. Sam just sat and demanded to eat at Applebee’s, finally putting his little hands together and shaking them while saying, “Pwease, go to Aplebeeee’s”.  The woman next to me asked how I could say, no, to that and I simply thought, oh it is easy when you have seen that cute little face scream, “You rude!” at you a hundred times when you simply ask him to eat his dinner or stop sitting on the dog.  I will say I am proud to learn that my son can work it, but I think he is sad to learn that he has one jaded and knowledgeable mamma.

The next brilliant stop on my day of pure hell was to do our grocery shopping at the nearest Wal-Mart.  Oh my god, how my hate has grown since I have started shopping here, again.  By the end of this trip, I asked if my sanity was really worth the $30 I saved and Superbad movie I was able to get due to falling prices.  I think we should all follow the advice of the honorable Clark County Officer of Superbad: “I am going to assume that you all have guns and crack.  And when you walk into Wal-mart you should ask for yours, because there is no other way to get through this shopping experience unless you are high or heavily armed. 

Someone was smoking crack that day, because every aisle was jammed packed with shoppers and stockers.  Now, I am no dummy.  I know how the food gets from the PETA’s worst nightmarepristine country to the grocery store shelves and it involves hard working stockers.  However, what I don’t understand is what FUCKFACE MORON thought it was a wise idea to fully restock a store the size of a small country on one of the busiest shopping days of the week.  Not only did I have to keep my kids from being crushed by  large, teetering boxes of heavy large canned items, but we had to wait our turns while stockers crammed the middle of the aisle and threw vile words across our heads.  So basically, Wal-mart will save you money, but will totally break your spirit to the point that you don’t expect any type of customer service at all, anywhere in their facility.

Next stop the cashier.  A perfectly lovely woman until she told me point blank to bag my own shit.  Okay, she didn’t say shit and she said it with a smile.  I guess my direction of put the cold things in the grey bags was too much for her to handle and she turned it over to me.  Attention Wal-Mart, I would like a 20% discount the next time one of your FUCKED UP cashiers tell me to BAG MY OWN SHIT.  I am trying to be good.  I am trying to keep the ugly deep inside, like many tell me to do, but holy crap being kind to the environment doesn’t mean I am wanting to do everything myself.  Next thing you know they will be asking me to shuck some corn and kill the steak in the back.  In the words of anyone that has worked at a Wal-Mart, NOT MY JOB, MON!  What gets me the most is that Wal-Mart, like everyone else, has jumped on the environmental bandwagon and is selling REUSABLE GROCERY BAGS.  Well, who knew that with the privilege of saving a landfill from plastic Wal-Mart bags, I would have to do all the work on my own I would like my right of choking the earth to death, instead, please.  Once we got home, I vowed never to leave my house, again. 

So Sunday appears and we are out for the day with big plans.  Only Fay has come for a visit and she just pissed on the whole day.  It wasn’t so bad, if you think screaming at a 6 year old to keep moving and to stop stabbing you with her little Strawberry Shortcake umbrella or having to bring a non-pant wearing 2.5 yr old into the nearest Old Navy, because he hasn’t figured out curbs yet, isn’t so bad.  The best part was fighting with Sam to actually put the new shorts on.  How dare I try to cover his recently wet ass with a brand new pair of shorts.  I am such a monster. 

Next stop Sam’s.  Oh Wal-Mart’s larger and slightly not as bad cousin.  You know going into Sam’s you are on your own, so you don’t expect anyone to help you and no bags, EVER, so no worries there.  Except when you suddenly and totally unexpectedly get about 20 people to turn their heads and stare at you while their finger is on the dial waiting to call CPS.  Amber has a little hearing problem.  It seems that all her tests come back good, but when something other than, “You are so beautiful or Let us buy you anything and everything your heart desires” comes out of her parents mouth, she doesn’t hear us.  I can scream, “YOUR HAIR IS ON FIRE!” and she will turn to me and ask, “Huh?”, then only to get mad at me for not telling her her hair was on fire.  I had just told Amber to move out of the way, because I have this funny thing of pushing the shopping cart forward and not running over small children, mine or others.  And yes, I was slightly irritated, because we had just run through the rain with me the trying to teach Amber the fine art of tilting your umbrella when there is a whipping wind coupled with a pissing rain and her screaming that she was getting all wet.  So, I hit her with the cart.  Not on purpose, but because I was in motion and told her to move and she didn’t.  She screamed in murderous pain and I turned and said, “Well, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY NEXT TIME!”  Oh, can you feel the love?  Can you feel my great parenting skills?  George, then,  told me that all eyes were on me, where I gently and casually said, “So the hell what!  Let them parent her for one day and see which one survives.” 

The rest of the day was marked with whiney and wet kids, parents who felt that ever tug to drop their kids off at the first hospital they see only to remember that they are far beyond the return date and reaching your house, only to claim NEVER TO LEAVE, again.  Except, there is school, tomorrow, along with gymnastics, homework, catechism and a million and one other things that can’t be accomplished in the course of 24 hours, but MUST BE DONE RIGHT THIS MINUTE!  I thought the end of summer brought smiles and happy dances, because school is here and my life will get easier.  Only to find out that once again, I have been duped or someone is putting something funny in my Kool-Aid.  There is no down time with this parenting thing and when one feels the noose tighten every so slightly, one must remeber to just push through and ignore it, because this too shall pass.  Or kill you, but, at least, it will come to an end.

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