Perfect…

Perfection.

This word has become an instant headache in the world of Monsters.

Kaleb needs things to be perfect.  Everything from Legos to toilet paper.  Yes.  Toilet paper.  Every day I find squares of toilet paper in the bathroom sink.  Because they were not torn off the roll perfectly.  One tear, one rip, one corner less than perfect and in the sink it goes.  It isn’t even good enough to throw in the toilet.  Because it’s not perfect.

Need a paper towel to wipe your hands?  If it’s not ripped perfectly it’s trash.

Want to color?  One mark outside the line and you’re looking at a brand new piece of garbage.  Before you know it there are twenty pieces of paper littering the floor, all ruined.

Of course, this isn’t just Kaleb anymore.  It’s Mason too.  He will painstakingly line those cars up along the edge of the table before dinner.  If I should accidentally bump one while trying to give the kid his food – take my word for it, DUCK!  If you move the balls lined up on the window sill there will be consequences.

And oh, you might as well just punch me right in the face if you should accidentally trip over the boobie traps they both frequently set up in front of their bedroom doors.  Meticulously placed blocks, legos, trains, dinosaurs – all arranged in a certain order – and should your toe so much as nudge one… well.  Let’s just say that’s a day you’ll find mommy hiding in the closet.

If a potato chip is broken, it will not be eaten by either child.  Are you kidding me??  It’s a chip!  I’m letting you eat junk!  Nope.  Not if it’s broken.  Do you have any idea how many unbroken chips there are in a bag of Ruffles?  Somewhere around… six.  Bananas must be peeled evenly.  Apples must be sliced evenly.  Love to get dirty – hate to be dirty.  Hands must be clean.  But heaven forbid they actually keep a room clean.

And here I thought my OCD was bad.  We all have some degree of it in the house.  But this is ludacris.  The volume on Kaleb’s T.V. must be set at an odd number.  Or he will stack as many toys as needed to pull down the remote (which is held to the hallway wall with velcro) and fix it himself.  Mason will sleep with no less than three non-sleep related items in his bed at night.  Daddy has his particularities, heck, even the dog won’t lay down without spinning in three full circles.

Yes, I’m guilty of it as well.  All of the CD’s, DVD’s, and books must be alphabetized.  And yes, I will notice.  I’ve had enough friends in my lifetime who have randomly moved a book from it’s natural location just to see me go nuts – I check them every day.  The dishes need to be put in the dishwasher a certain way (or they won’t get clean!!  I am not a lunatic for this!!).  All of my clothes must hang in my closet facing the same direction, and the hangers must match.  So, I can get where they are coming from.  Mostly.

I try so hard to teach the kids that nobody is perfect.  I mean, really.  Mommy is pretty much as far from perfect as you can get.  More like ‘a hot mess who has completely lost her mind and still hasn’t figured out how to match her clothes’.  But to no avail.  Do I want them to strive for perfection?  Of course.  Who doesn’t want a kid with straight A’s and matching clothes?  But more than that – I want kids who are at least somewhat grounded in reality.  Life is messy.  It’s chaotic, often unfair, and expecting perfection is just setting yourself up for disappointment.

But, I digress.  Screw reality.  With all the lunacy attached to this pursuit of perfection – it’s still worth seeing their faces light up when they finally get it right.  When that little square of toilet paper is just right – everything else is too.

Those little Monsters are just perfect.  Booby traps and all.

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Bad Day…

What is it that causes one day to be great, and one to be terrible?

I don’t mean some big action, or sequence of events.  I mean right from the second you open your eyes.  Your day is decided right then.  Good or bad.  At least, in my experience anyway.  Sure something could happen (and often does) to alter the mood of your day.  Usually something random and unexpected.  But at the heart of it all, I can’t help but think about the determining factor at the start of your day.  It’s like the Sandman flips a coin while you’re sleeping.

Especially with the kids.  It’s like dancing some insane ballroom dance that nobody actually knows the steps to.  One good day.  Three bad days.  Two good days.  One bad day.  One good day.  Four bad days…

And I cannot find a common factor.  Some days I know in advance it’s going to be a bad day.  Nightmares.  Night terrors.  Bad days.  Then again, peaceful nights can end up bad days too.  And there are even some good days following bad nights.  It really is just random.

Take the past few days for example.  Sunday was rough for Kaleb.  His friends came to play and he just wasn’t having it.  He was having one of those days where his things are set in a particular way, and nobody – absolutely nobody – can touch them or the sky starts to fall.  And to Kaleb, it isn’t like you can just fix it later – you can’t.  Once it’s out of place, or it’s been touched, it’s ruined.  Nevermind that a Mr. Potato Head is pretty much designed to fall apart.  The same thing happens with just about anything depending on the day.  The worst part of it, was that Kaleb came out of his room an hour after his friends left completely heartbroken.  He told me he was so sorry for hurting his friends’ feelings.  It kills me, those days absolutely shatter me.

Some days I think we’re really making headway.  Mason will grab something, or I’ll knock something over, and when I freeze to wait for the reaction it doesn’t come.  He’ll just say “Oh, we need to fix it!”

Those are the days I want to hoot and holler and run around with a torch of triumph.  Yesterday was one of those days.  He did great!  Aside from waking me up at 5am to inform me that there was no school (“It’s President’s Day!  You have to go and get me my Lego Police Station to build because it’s a lot of pieces that need to be builded!”).  All day long he was a bit rambunctious, was a bit too ‘in your face’ with the kids, but otherwise he was really good.  Some whining here and there (until mommy started walking around making Beaker noises – which drove him crazy enough to stop whining), a couple of small issues, but overall a good day.  No giant meltdowns over anything.  I asked him to move his ‘parade’ of potato heads and little people out of the middle of the doorway – it was a bit of an argument, but eventually he did it. I’ll take the win.  Of course, those days are rare.  Most days something that simple would be a complete disaster.

On the other hand, Mason was in a great mood Sunday.  He was a little demon child most of yesterday.  His speech therapist arrived, and he had fallen asleep – much to my dismay.  For thirty five minutes he had one meltdown after another.  Screaming, flailing, kicking, scratching, crying, throwing, shrieking.  All with his eyes closed, so for a while I was worried he wasn’t even awake and we were perpetuating a night terror.  No.  He was awake.  He was just really not happy about it.

Some days pressure helps.  Some days I can grab ahold of Kaleb while he’s having a meltdown over a broken Lego, I can wrap myself around him, and within minutes he’ll be calm.  Some days that just exacerbates the situation.  I never know which it’ll be until it’s too late.  Some days I can rock Mason out of a meltdown, other days it will just make it worse.  Again, I never know.

This not knowing – it’s a real pain in the neck.  Or back, nose, throat, stomach… wherever else a flying elbow or foot may land.

I’d give just about anything for way to prepare myself for the day ahead.  Every day we try to set them up for success.  Every day we do our best to make sure that everything starts off right – but it really isn’t up to us.  It’s up to the stupid Sandman with his stupid coin toss.

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Late Morning Lullaby…

Kaleb rode his scooter yesterday.

I mean, he really rode.  He rocked it.  He didn’t whine, complain, or fall down on purpose.   He did fall down once – and at that point he had done so well for so long, I wasn’t about to push the issue.  That wasn’t a ‘teaching’ moment.  That was a ‘mommy gets it’ moment.  And I did.  I got it.  I got to watch my kid forget his worries.  Forget the anxiety, the worry, the things that I have watched steadily become ingrained in him – he just let them go and he had fun.

I remember as little as a year ago sitting here worrying.  Is he never going to be afraid?  Is he just going to keep on doing these things regardless?  Is he going to break his neck while I’m trying to change a diaper or wash a dish?  Because that was a problem.  A really, really big problem.  Kaleb was fearless.  Plain and simple.  He has proprioception issues.  His spacial recognition is… lacking.  He would swan dive off the back of furniture face first on to tile.  I would spend countless hours staring at him trying to determine if he just broke a bone in his face.  He didn’t react to pain unless it was a seriously intense, severe kind of pain.

And then something changed.  Suddenly, he’s afraid of everything.  I don’t get it.  Now I’m worried because I can see how anxious he is making himself.  Freaking out over getting blood drawn because it will hurt – when the needle has been in his arm for close to a minute already – so I know he didn’t feel it.  Afraid of the bike he was so excited about.  Afraid of the scooter.  Afraid of bugs and pavement.  Where is this coming from?

I am sure part of it is coming from us.  We’ve spent years trying to install in him not a sense of fear- but a sense of danger.  I don’t want you to be afraid of this, but I want you to recognize that it could be dangerous if you don’t follow the rules.  A big part of that is not coming across.  I see that.  What I don’t get is the drastic change.  Three months ago he had to have the same blood work done.  Three months ago he ask questions, watched, and was fine.  Is he becoming afraid of the world?  Anxiety, I get that.  Concern I get.  But he’s actually making himself scared.  And by doing so, he’s making me scared.

But – aside from all of that.  Kaleb rode his scooter.  Rocked my socks off.  Mason kind of half rode, half walked, and totally cheated with his scooter.  My niece switched between the trike and just running around like a loon.  I am thrilled.  I am thrilled because my kids felt comfortable enough with a group of friends to go and do something ‘dangerous’.  And they loved every second of it.  I am thrilled because not only did they step out of their comfort zones – they forgot they even existed.  So did I.

Good grief is it nice to just be comfortable.  To watch your kids play with other kids, and by the end of the day not jump at every sound.  To be able to talk, and gripe, and laugh – while listening to a herd of crazy laughing happily in the background.  Friends are important.  I’ve always counted myself blessed when it came to my friends – and I’m lucky enough to still do that.  But it’s hard.  When you grow up, and your friends have families, and no matter how much you love each other – you’re still comparing kiwi to grapefruit.

It’s really tough to connect on that level.  I can’t imagine what my friends think.  What they don’t say, or share.  Because they feel bad, or it seems like a taboo subject.  Because my kids aren’t doing that.  And I’m dying to congratulate them.  To tell them how proud I am of them and those kids for being just so awesome.  But I don’t.  Part of me thinks I can’t.   I’m too busy preventing wars, starting wars, and mediating peace.  By the time I’m done it’s midnight, and that’s too late to call.  Then again, I know there’s another part of me.  The one that doesn’t want to make my friends feel guilty, and that’s what I’m afraid I do.  Oh, your kid had a bad day?   Really?  Did he kick another kid in the face?  Cause mine did.  And then I wonder what’s wrong with me?

Why do I do that?  To myself, my friends, anyone?  What’s with the comparison game?  Truth is – it’s become habit.  A really selfish, unpretty habit.  Which is horrible.  Because I’m not that person.  I’m not that negative, competitive (unless we’re playing video games, or Jeopardy!) person.  But it’s not about what kind of person I am or what kind of person you are.  It’s about the fact that you’ll never know my life any more than I will ever really know yours.  But being selfish in personal relationships becomes natural when you have kids.  Because you can’t be selfish in life anymore.  You can’t just do something because you want to.  You can’t just walk away and say I didn’t want to play with you anyway (which by the way, I have said, as a parent, on more than one occasion, only to walk around the corner and tap my foot for ten seconds until returning to try again.  Point.  Game.  Match.  Congrats kid).

I’m finding it more difficult as an adult to actively keep friendships than I ever did as a kid.  Yet I look at my kids and see the struggle, and am baffled by the resilience.  The unwavering determination.  The faith and hope.

My kids have new friends.  I have a new friend.  And we are all so much better for it.  So much better, in fact –

Kaleb rode his scooter yesterday.

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Happy Valentine’s Day

Love to Sleep…

So – it’s Valentine’s Day.  The day of love.  Or some such thing.

They day to do what you love, or be with who you love, or celebrate love…

So, since I can’t be with any of my loves (Kaleb is at school, Mason is asleep, and Daddy is at work) I’m lovin’ on myself.  I’m sitting here, with all the doors and windows open (slightly chilly), wrapped in my favorite couch blankie, drinking a cup of coffee, and eating mini-cupcpakes with little hearts on them.  Now that’s what I call love!

Yesterday was a really good day.  Daddy got me tickets to go see one of my favorite bands in concert (this means I actually get to go rock to something other than pirates?!).  Then I got some stunning news.  About a month back I entered Amazon’s breakthrough novel award.  I figured I didn’t have a shot in hell, but why not give it a try?  I submitted all of my stuff – and then forced myself to get away from the discussion boards as I was driving myself up a wall.  Yesterday was the day they announced the 400 people from each category that made it through the first round.  That’s 2,000 people total – 8,000 cut.  And I made it!!  I don’t really care what happens after this – I just can’t believe I made it!!

Then, a friend and her little ones came over to play yesterday after school – and it was AWESOME!!  They ran and ran and ran like little Energizer Bunnies.  By 6 o’clock, Mase had put himself to bed (lights off, gate closed, no notice – just done), and my niece was passed out on the couch half sitting, half slumping around her sippy cup (though she was sleeping in my lap till my phone rang).

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Then of course – there was Kaleb.  Who was over tired.  Beat.  Drained.  Jumping around his bedroom like he ate a box full of sugar coated jumping beans.  

All it took was that one scream.  That one shriek, hitting the right octave at the right time and bam! Mason was up.  No.  No way.  Nuh-uh.  Diaper.  Milk.  Bed.

Oooooooor not.  By 1am he was running around his room like a complete loony toon.  Trying to strip out of his clothes, trying to swing from the curtain, trying to climb his dresser… oh you have got to be kidding me!  I finally got him settled down and ready to go back to sleep at 3:30.  Then at that precise moment – fate intervened and decided to be unkind.  A plane flew over the house.  Mason flew out of bed, ran to the window, and proceeded to smack the glass and scream for fifteen more minutes.  Seriously.  It was like he was a monkey in a glass cage.  I just about curled up on his bedroom floor, who cares if he’s not wearing any clothes or a diaper?  I’ve got to be up in two hours anyway…

He finally passed out about 4am.  I was toast by 4:02.

Kaleb got up with no problem this morning – SUPER excited because it’s Valentine’s day.  He gets all dressed up, can’t find one shoe.  Just one.  That’s it.  There is a shoe missing, and we need it.  NOW.  He runs around behind me while I’m looking for his shoe – as well as telling him to stop following me, and go look!  Eventually we find it in his room.  How it got there is beyond me.  But he got on the bus with his bag of Valentine goodies as happy as could be.

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So, here I sit.  Waiting for Mason to wake up with a bit of dread in the pit of my stomach, knowing he is so not likely to be pleasant today.

Oh, and would you like to know about the adventures I’ve had post bedtime this week?  While waiting for this little monkey to fall asleep?

A couple of nights ago, I lost my glasses.  I was really getting irritated over it.  I remember when I was a kid and someone would say “I can’t find my glasses”.  My first thought would be how can you not find your glasses? You need them.  How could you lose them?  Now I’ve lost my glasses three times this week.  So I get it.  I lose my phone at least once a week, and I lose my coffee at least three times a day.*  Being a grown up kinda sucks (not that I’m all that good at it anyway!). But I can’t find my glasses.  I’ve looked everywhere, and I just can’t find them.  Mason is still up running around, so I take him in to change his diaper.  Look in the mirror – and they’re on my face.  Awesome.  Just wasted an hour of my life proving that I’m an idiot.

Later on, Kaleb had a nightmare.  I was halfway to his room and something caught ahold of my toe.  I panicked.  Really, really panicked.  It was a spider.  I just know it was a spider.  It had to be a spider, and it was going to bite me, and lay eggs in my foot, and I was going to have baby spiders in my foot (wow.  BTW thanks mom for making me not at all crazy paranoid about baby spiders.  Thanks a lot.).  I was screaming in the hallway, kicking my foot furiously, desperate to get the spider off my toe.  Um, no.  It was part of a helmet for one of Kaleb’s Lego dudes.  I really don’t like 3am.  Or Lego dudes.  Or baby spiders for that matter.  I’m still having little panic attacks at the memory.

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I hope you all have a Valentine’s Day filled with all the things you love!!

*I mean my actual fresh, hot cup of coffee.  I actually lose my coffee about 15 times a day, but that’s a bit embarassing.

Bruises…

We, as parents, know how to take a few punches.  If your kids are anything like mine, you know I mean that literally as well as figuratively.  We take the blind left hooks that life throws our way with barely a flinch – because that is parenthood.

Raising a special needs kid is kind of like stepping out of the boxing ring and signing yourself up for the Ultimate Fighter.  You have no bloody idea what you’re doing, and you’re probably going to get the snot beat out of you.  But you’re sure going to have fun anyway.  Because raising a kid with special needs is like being an adrenaline junkie.

Every time you turn around there is something HUGE.  Monumental, unexpected just waiting to peek out and say “gotcha!”.  Little things become big things – big things become Mt. Rushmore.  Seeing a smile.  Hearing “I love you”.  These are the things we live for.  The adrenaline rushes.  The highs.  The jumping from airplanes (which, by the way, I did pre-kid and LOVED), the I-never-thought-I’d-do-this moments.  That kind of rush is unique.  It’s addictive, intense, all encompassing, and it completely rocks your world.

Then your adrenaline stops pumping.  The rush wears off.  And suddenly you can feel those bruises.  Those beaten and battered parts of you that you were able to ignore before.  And unlike the real life adrenaline junkies – you can’t just walk into a doctor’s office and say “fix me”.  Because there is no fixing you.  You’re not broken – you’re just beat up a bit.  And you most certainly can’t let anyone see just how beat up you are.  So you paste on your PTA face and brave the world like some sugar addled Mary Poppins.

But it’s the deep bruises that nobody else can see that get you in the end.  At the end of the day, when you are blissfully alone, in the quiet (even if this means hiding in the closet – which post-kid I’ve done a time or two), that’s when the pain sets in.  The deep, searing, all encompassing pain.

The fear.  The worry.  The guilt.  It eats at you in the dark.  Am I doing something wrong?  But look how far we’ve come!    Did I do something to cause that?  Did I say that?  Do I sound like that?  Do I make that gesture?  What if this is as good as it gets?  Am I strong enough to take that?  Am I doing enough?

Well I clearly can’t be doing enough – if I was, they would see it, wouldn’t they?  People would see how spectacular, brilliant, funny, and all around wonderful my kids are.  

And that’s where I get mad.  Screw them.  If they don’t see it- that’s their fault.  If all they see are the bruises – the little spots that don’t fit in with what they deem to be ‘good’ or ‘normal’ or right’.  That is on them.  Because my kids take special to a whole new level.  They are beautiful and charming.  They are (sometimes a bit too) energetic, insightful not-so-little miracles.  They bring light to every dark space in my world.  When the fears creep under my closet doors and I start to question everything, they show up, with their special Monster capes, and they make it right.

My kids are different.  Take it or leave it.  If you haven’t got the time to see just how incredible they are – I don’t want you around them.  Because they need people to help polish them, to make them shine brighter.  They need people to give them feathers, so they can grow wings and fly further.  What they do not need is closed minded assumptions.  They do not need to be underestimated – because boy is that ever one serious mistake.  If you can’t love them, they won’t love you.  And you’d be missing out on a one-of-a-kind beautiful, brilliant love.

A love that is completely worth every bruise.

 

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Beautiful Day Part 2…

Okay, first of all, Kaleb was suspended again today.  I mean, seriously.  Again.  I was just at the school for two hours thursday for a manifestation meeting – he didn’t go to school yesterday, and again he was suspended.  Apparently he got upset in line and kicked another kid.  My question is – where were the adults?  And how did that kid’s face get close enough to Kaleb’s foot for him to kick?  I know that sounds kind of silly – but it’s not like Kaleb is Chuck Norris.  He can’t kick above his head.  He can barely kick a ball.  So how did he manage to squarely kick another child in the chin??  Luckily, the other kid is okay, or I’d be considerably more freaked out right now.

So, yet again he has been suspended.  The worst part of all of it- the part that makes me sick to my stomach?  When I asked him what happened, and walked him through the day, we got to the part where he went to the vice principal’s office and he said “Then I got to see you and we got to go home!”

Do you not see WHAT YOU ARE TEACHING MY CHILD?!?  What am I going to say?  No, seeing Mommy is supposed to be a punishment?  Give me a break!  No matter how mad the kid gets at me – I’m still Mommy!  I’m his safe person.  I’m his comfort zone.  I am his reward.  Congrats.  Way to completely ignore the collective five hours we have spent in meetings over the last two weeks.

Alright, clearly I’m a bit worked up.  And yeah, I’m angry.  And I’m terrified of what this is teaching him.  I mean, what do they want me to do here?  Do they want the lawyer involved?

Of course, it wasn’t but an hour later that I got a phone call from transportation requesting he no longer bring Legos on the bus because they cause huge meltdowns.  Oh lady, if you only knew the trouble I went through this morning to try and prevent that, you wouldn’t be calling me.  However, I guess from now on the Legos have to go away while he’s sleeping until after school.  *sigh*

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On a totally separate note:  did you know it costs a minimum of $400 to file a new business for tax exempt status?!?!  Four hundred freaking dollars!  Who charges that much money for two pieces of paper!?!

I know this now, because I filed the paperwork to incorporate Monster Marchers over the weekend, got our EIN, and we are officially a business!  Now we just have to wait for the official documents, meet with an accountant (Uh yeah, no way am I filling out those forms alone), and file for tax exempt and Monster Marchers will be up and running!  I’m super excited about this.  We figured out what our percentages are going to be – and I figured I’d share here to get some different takes on it.

About a month before an event (Like the chicken BBQ we’re going to have this summer) we will notify a local autism service provider that they will be the recipient of a grant, and a local family that they will be the recipient of a scholarship.  After the event, 50% of what we bring in will go to the provider to help pay for everything from updated equipment to overtime and mileage for the therapists.  30% will be given to a family (though whatever provider they are using) to help them cover out of pocket therapy expenses.  11% will go to our Autism Speaks walk (because no matter what I think that’s hugely important) – including setting up at the resource fair, and 9% will go to cover our overhead.

I’m really excited!  We’ve talked about doing it for years – but all of this IEP stuff and suspension with Kaleb has really lit a fire under my butt – someone has to change something, and it might as well be us!  So we’re also working on setting up an IEP resource page on the website (which I spent all of Sunday night re-doing), and we want to hold training/support type sessions to help parents navigate the murky waters as well.

So, there’s my news!

Beautiful Day…

I am going to go insane.

Okay, maybe it’s a little late for that, but whatever.  My last five sane brain cells are completely rebelling against this morning already.

First of all, I woke up with the Sophia The First theme song stuck in my head – which is NOT at all, in any way, good.  I’ve played four of my “happy” songs – only to discover that nothing is going to rip this absurd little tune out.  I’m stuck with it.  The kicker is, we haven’t had Disney Jr on for days – so where this is coming from, I have no idea.  But it’s making my brain hurt and I want it to stop.

Anyway, I go to get Kaleb out of bed for school and am met with resistance.  A LOT of resistance.  What the heck kid?  You pitched fits all day yesterday because you didn’t go to school, and now you won’t even stand up??  We had to keep him home yesterday, his teacher and aide were going to have subsitutes all day – and that’s your typical recipe for disaster.  Kaleb A La Meltdown if you will.  Of course, yesterday was no walk in the park.  I mean, it was going to be.  I was literally going to take the kids to the park, but uhh no.  That didn’t happen.  I put Mase and my neice in the stroller, grabbed my roller blades, and spent twenty minutes arguing with a five year old over going outside to play.  He wanted to go out back.  We were going out front.  He didn’t want his bike or scooter because he was going to fall down – fine.  Put on your shoes, get your butt off the floor, and you can walk.  I don’t care, we are going outside.

Of course, he then spent the better half of an hour infuriated at me because I was going too fast and he had to pump those legs to keep up.  Halfway through our route I realized I was talking to my kid like some weird sort of Bob Harper/Jillian Michaels mix.

“I don’t have any more walk left on my feet!”

“Oh yes you do.  Dig deeper.  Lets go kid, push!  Come on!”

“Mommy!  No!  You have to stop right now!  I can’t go any more.”

“Kaleb.  You’re five.  You’ve got more energy than a brand new star.  Stop whining and walk!”

This went on for nearly the entire hour we were outside.  It would have been funny if he hadn’t kept grabbing onto my pants to stop me – which was awesome because I was wearing a pair of work out pants that very easily slid down, and I was on roller blades for crying out loud.  It wasn’t like I could just come to a screetching halt – I’ve only been using the things for a month!

Anyway, he didn’t want to get up this morning.  I used my super powers (bribery with a sugar free cookie) to get him up and dressed.  Then came the fight about the shoes.

“We’re going to learn how to tie your shoes during spring break.”

“No mommy!  I can’t!  I’m only five.  I will tie my shoes when I’m six.”

“Where did that idea come from?  Five year olds tie shoes Kaleb.  And we’re going to teach you.”

~~> Insert screaming here.

Get his backpack loaded up, go to walk out the door, and he grabs his Lego fire truck.

No.  No no no no no no NO.  You are not bringing that to school.  A piece will fall off, someone will touch it, it will break – and you will end up getting suspended again.  No firetruck.

~~>Insert running wildly into the street screaming like a lunatic here.

Try to explain.  No dice.  Try to convince him to let me keep it safe.  No dice.  Put it in the car – meltdown.  Huge, screaming, rolling on the ground (why did I have to put him in a white shirt today?) meltdown.  Runs away when the bus turns the corner.  Oh my God fine.  Take the firetruck.  But I don’t want to hear it when you come home with that thing in a hundred pieces.

In the meantime, I glance over and see Mason standing at his bedroom window.  Kaleb gets on the bus, pulls the whole ‘I’m not going to cooperate because mommy made me mad and now I’m going to be a meany-face butthead to you’ move when the aid starts to put him in his harness.  Bus takes off, I wish them luck, and turn to go get Mason, who I’m guessing was awakened by the sound of his brother shrieking like a B-level actress.

Turn on the lights, open the window, pull the whole “Good morning sunshine!” routine… and the little snot goes back to bed.  Refused to get up, get a diaper, nothing.  Back to bed, with the lights on and the window open.  Well… I guess I have some time to write now!  If I don’t strangle the poor dog first. I bought him the wrong food, and we’re pretty sure he’s allergic to it since he’s basically licked all the hair off his back over the past week.  I have to go get him new food today before the licking drives me up a wall.

Oh, and I switched the laundry last night, only to forget to turn on the dryer.  Yeah.  That’s how awesome I am.