One Flew the Cuckoo Nest

Since the boys were little, I thought all I ever wanted was for them to be happy, healthy, productive adults. Now that the time is here, all I want to do is call a time out. Mixed with my pride for them, is excitement for what they can accomplish, but also extreme sadness for their leaving. Couldn’t they have taken a bit longer to grow up? Maybe ease into the whole independence thing. It amazes me, some days seemed endless when they were small, but somehow the years still just seemed to fly by. Did it have to happen so soon? I’ve only been raising children for thirty-one years. I found myself filled with such mixed emotions as I spoke to a mentor and self-proclaimed big brother for my "Stevie" last week. Great news, great opportunity. He sold me so well, I ran to Steven's room to tell him about this exciting opportunity. I didn’t realize that within an hour I’d hear it was a done deal. So caught up in the moment I forgot to ask questions, like "What's the catch?" There's ALWAYS a catch. Ten hours separation between my son and his mom, oh and a mere 24 hours to prepare for this move. Friends always commend me for my toughness, my ability to hold it together, never one to let the sweat show. Little do they realize, behind the scenes I’m a blubbering fool, unable to face anyone with my puffy, reddened eyes, standing in a puddle of my own tears. Mixed with the excitement for his opportunity, pride in his ability to look past the hard work to what he can achieve in the long term, is sadness that he has to spread his wings so soon. Hopefully I can hold it together so that the last vision he has as he drives away will not be me resembling his brother’s face once swollen by multiple yellow jackets stings. I am proud of him, just not as prepared as I always thought I would be for him to spread his wings and fly the coop. A friend mentioned the quote about animals eating their young, relating to his experience with parenting, but I've CHERISHED every moment I’ve had with my boys. I’ve ALWAYS adored them, no matter what the situation. I went into parenting knowing that in the grand scheme, our kids are with us for a very short time. I ALWAYS love them. Never, even on the worst of days did I wonder what kind of seasoning I should use. To prepare myself, I found the name of the town, looked into what it's all about, to see for myself, it's not as dark and desolate as I imagined after speaking to Steven upon his initial arrival. I know once he acclimates, he'll be fine. I have the checklist in my head of all that I need to clarify with him. 1) I won't just show up, but if he needs me there, I'm there in a heartbeat, but I have to be invited, well I’ve already changed that to I’ll call before I show up at his door; 2) this is ALWAYS his home and the door is always open to him. 3) He knows he's my world, I love him dearly, and am so very proud of him, always have been and will be forever more. For added measure, I had a house key made on a special world key to symbolize that no matter where he may roam, he always has a HOME. While working through this transition, I realized much of my insecurity and fear behind this huge transition stems from my experience on the other side of this fence. I was constantly reminded that "once I left home there was no turning back; the door closed behind me. She promised to throw money in the rolled down window for the grandchildren on their birthday. Within a month of my departure, my bedroom became a den, new carpet and all. It was like she, signed up for eighteen years and when that time expired, we were on our own. It took 30 years and my father's deathbed for me to return. Why? I was never invited, never made to feel it was my home to return to. I can't speak for my mom on why she made things seem so FINAL. I'm sure she didn’t mean for it to be as harsh as I interpreted it, but there was never any clarification, so I took her at her word. Now at almost 80 years old, she feels alone, wishing someone would jump at her list of demands, while not wanting to be a bother. She pushed us a bit too hard out of the nest, and lives got in the way. She's set in her ways now, refusing to try new things, while expecting everyone to cater to her. She has earned that right, but as with any right, there are consequences. Mom and I have cleared the air since that time so long ago, and we’ve all tried to help her through her own transition. My brothers live 20 minutes away, so I suggested inviting them to Sunday dinner. Her response, “What, I HAVE TO cook?” I’m half way across country, so I suggested Skype, setting it up on her computer so she merely has to click on my picture. It’s too difficult to figure out, even after I set it up on her computer; email has too much junk, someone might steal her information on Facebook. She can’t hear well enough for the phone. I offered to buy her a ticket to come out here. She HATES flying. Train? Too long, she has problems with my bladder”. I even offered to send a grandson for a visit to help over the summer. “What, and stay at my house?” I'm sure the list goes on, but you can see the direction this is headed. Once I got out of my head, I realized her experience doesn't have to be mine, and I'm sure it won't be. I believe in give/take, and am a bit more open minded than she. I'll have a tentative ticket, with my finger on the mouse to click buy the second they ask me to visit. Because of my mom's tough nose approach, she is hurting now, because of the pain I felt over the distance within my family, and having felt as an outsider in both birth and adopted families’, I traveled to the opposite end of the spectrum. Family is my #1 priority. I've cherished every moment I've had with my boys. Even on those days that seemed they’d never end, I never once wondered what kind of seasoning would be best for kid stew. I made a conscious commitment when they were born that FAMILY was my absolute highest priority. I'm blessed. My kids have no doubts about my love for them, they know they are always welcome, and this is always their home. They have space to spread their wings, and I'll always be their biggest fan. They have a built in fan club with their brothers and mutual tight knit group of friends, which they've shared over the years. It would seem that my report card from my parenting adventure came in with flying colors. My boys are becoming those healthy, happy, productive, successful members of society that I had dreamed for them so many years ago, I just wish it didn't happen so quickly. I am OK, it's OK to cry. Some tears are of joy. So happy for them, excited for their new adventure. The tears are still flowing, but now they truly are joyful tears. Change and unknowns are scary, especially once they land inside my head, which can be the darkest place to venture to alone. The good news is as soon as I choose to be done, I hold the key to find my way out. Even with a 10 hour separation, we have ROAD TRIPS, Skype, phone, Facebook, Messager, Facetime...so many options. This is not the end, just a new chapter, new beginning, full of hope and excitement. No matter where their travels may take them, they always have a HOME.

From the Brink

Children will live up or down to our expectations. It’s all in the label. Educators should understand this prior to setting foot in a classroom. Unfortunately, our education system hasn’t kept up with current trends. Over the last 20 years, while the number of children diagnosed with ADHD has increased, the number of teachers with compassion and understanding has remained relatively low in comparison. An ADHD diagnosis can feel like a death sentence to a confused young boy. I felt helpless, my son’s young, fragile ego was crushed from the devastating blow. Why is ADHD a disorder? As an adult with ADHD, I see it as thinking outside the box. I stumbled across a list of traits. One by one we went through that list; “very observant, extremely curious, excellent reasoning skills, vivid imagination, ENERGETIC, asks “what if”? Down the list we continued; to his surprise we had described HIM. The moment of truth arrived; the list was titled traits of a “gifted” child. Two things to know about me; I am most resourceful, and a lioness has nothing on me when it comes to protecting my young. No label would destroy my child. A rambunctious young boy, with bright eyes and a warm smile, left teachers in either utter adoration or with complete distaste. During parent teacher conferences, teachers expressed their concerns and plans to assist with his low reading levels while he sat quietly reading the local newspaper. Imagine their shock when he was asked to read or summarize his reading. Surprisingly they would continue explaining their position despite the glaring example disproving their theory, dismissing me as a mere parent, lacking their education and experience. Countless battles have been waged with insensitive teachers. Junior High School delivered us a teacher that actually built a bond with and in the process uncovered his student’s motivations. Hidden inside this rambunctious boy was a huge heart with a knack for math. Cooperation and focus gave him the privilege of tutoring others; a win/win. This continued smoothly for three years, we finally saw light that looked like the end of a long, dark tunnel. All good things come to an end. Entrance to high school sent him back into Special Day Classes. Boredom mixed with micromanagement will increase the probability of misbehavior in children with ADHD. We found ourselves back at square one. Three years of the progress destroyed in less than one semester because of a checkbox. Apparently boxes are extremely important to teachers; one was inadvertently left unchecked on his final IEP from middle school. When questioned, no one felt comfortable vouching for him; the risk was too great; so much can change over one summer vacation. We’d make the best of a bad situation. I convinced him that if he proved himself, yet again to this new team, things would improve; we’d have him back where he belonged before he knew it. As parents, it is ingrained that we are a “team”, especially when it involves children with special needs. Team work is essential; it’s emphasized on brochures, posters, even written into behavior plans. Good and bad exists everywhere, teachers are no exception, some exaggerate, even instigate problems to make their point. In the process, a child was losing his way, becoming hopeless, with his world caving in around him, to the point of giving up. Hopelessness leads people to dark places in search of escape. Good intentions, spiraled out of control, a united front was destroying a teenage boy. THIRTEEN meetings with varying degrees of dramatics, the support of a member of the Board of Education, and a scathing blog was all it took to find the correct placement for a child they had all but given up on. Of course all other excuses also had to be exhausted, an acrimonious divorce, grief over the loss of his father, and the ever popular “mom’s fault”. After six months with a lost boy running away at every opportunity, family and friends desperately trying to reel him in, it seemed he would become a sad statistic. The one positive thing about hitting bottom is that there is nowhere to go but up. Our bottom finally arrived in the form of a near brawl, neighbors’ contacting the police due to safety concerns for all involved. A mandatory stay at a recovery home for troubled teens and countless hours of therapy brought my son home safe and sound. That was the past. Today, with a mix of tough love, support, compassion and most importantly forgiveness; a lost child is now thriving. He has an army of supporters, including former teachers and principals defending his rights and dignity. Everyone is held accountable for their actions, recognize the roles they play, and now know to play fair or risk another brutal attack. No child should be shocked to find out that they are smart. He was shocked to see solid B’s across the board. How could he never realize that? He has the mental capacity of a Master degree student. How does that slip through the cracks? I am hopeful that we can begin to see the many similarities between the “gifted” and “ADHD” child. It’s all in the label. Zero tolerance policies and labels placed on those that don’t fit conveniently into neat little boxes, are creating a lost generation. There has been an explosion of ADHD diagnoses of children over the last 20 years, plenty of time to understand and build programs to accommodate students’ needs. Maybe they should read their tagline “Prepare and Inspire for Success”. Labeling children or making them feel defeated falls under neither category.

If You're Trying to Reach God, Please Leave Your Prayer Requests After the Tone

It's amazing what can happen to the mind while playing video games. It seems to consume portions of the brain, and transforms a usually mild mannered child, into Mr. Hyde.

Earlier today, he wanted to trade his brother because of the perceived lack of skills and understanding of the game. He protested that his brother was cross checking. When Rocky responded he had no idea how to cross check in the game, the argument turned to "See, you don't know HOW to play this game." I intervened and believe I do get to keep both children for the current season, however, I can't guarantee Rocky's contract with the SOC's if he doesn't pick up his gaming skills.

Later I hear him calling out to God. This is the picture I got in my head after hearing his tirades. "If you're trying to reach God, Please leave your prayer request after the tone. God will be sure to get back to you as soon as possible. It's seems the creator of all is busy right now, using all the energy available to rigging video games to assure that my youngest child doesn't have a chance to win at NHL 2010." I've heard him say "Oh my Freakin' God" way too many times, and apparently the omnipotent has decided to show Daniel his wrath for such statements.

Only 15 years and 90 hours to go...

I just came across a quote recently that said it's only the first 40 years of parenting that are difficult. Great, that means I still have so many more to go before I can have a true evaluation of the job done. My son is soon to be 15, believe in about 90 hours from now, according to his calculations. I love the boy dearly, but as I've probably mentioned many times before, he can warm or crush my heart so easily depending on the situation.

Last night he had one of his "You really said that out LOUD?" moments. He's always been one that may have a short circuit between brain and mouth. I know, because I've spent COUNTLESS, PAINFUL hours at schools over the years behind this syndrome. He is probably a typical teenager, phone in one hand, computer in the other, texting friends from noon til nightfall. He chose to mention to me at 11:30PM that he needed to wash clothes. Needless to say my reaction wasn't the Donna Reed type motherly response, but more suitable for One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. He then proceeded to tell me that this was MY FAULT because if I had bought him MORE clothes at the beginning of the school year, I would somehow have avoided this dilemma now occurring. Hearing that caused the quote about mother's eating their young, and it made sense to me.

When does brand conscious begin. I have a child that willingly, wants nothing more than to walk around in sweat pants and tee-shirts, the other would walk around in hockey pants and gear 24/7 given the opportunity. This one, however, is VERY brand conscious. What he seems to forget in his moments is that his brothers can create an entire wardrobe with the cost of one outfit for him. Between skater jeans, shoes and tee-shirts, especially those he feels only worthy or ready to fall apart every 6-8 weeks. For his birthday, he needed a new cell phone. Again, his renewal was up, and he could have chosen a phone that would have been inexpensive, but instead wants an iPhone.

Before an argument could ensue, his comments must have circulated back to his brain, and he quickly decided to detour off the path of self-destruction he was heading. Thank God for both of us. So, now with his birthday countdown I'm beginning my own...in a mere 15 years and 90 hours, I may find out if I was successful in this whole parenting role. My only hope now, is that WE survive long enough to find out.

All Grown Up

Children grow up no matter what, no matter how much we want to hold on, they grow wings and soar. Granted, I've had a few extra years on this creation, however, some of those years were tarnished through his drug use, and my tough love. He's recently returned from the edge, having faced consequences for choices he's made.

For many years, he remained distant...his friends knew much more than I could ever hope. Those same people caused so many problems in his life. It was so difficult as a mother to close the door, wish him the best, pray for him often, but not allow his misery to inflict pain and suffering as well as the destruction of the remaining family unit.

He was our weakest link, not him, the child I knew and raised, but the addict. Many times showing up for a meal or a shower. Countless times, calling, begging me to loan him money, my time, my energy; me only willing to offer a prayer that he find his way back to the light of life.

That day FINALLY has arrived for him. He's now been sober for six months, and not only because incarceration forced sobriety on him, but by his own choice. He just bought a car, is employed and set to return to a local college this fall.

It's been one of the toughest journeys I've had to hike, but without the tough love, he'd most likely still be in jail or worst, dead. By the grace of God, I have my son back, and it's been such a rewarding process watching him open his wings and soar, as hard as it is to see him all grown up, becoming a mature, productive member of society. The "real" him is finally reaching the surface, and what a beautiful spirit he was hiding deep within, in the darkness.

It's funny, as parents, we really don't know what the final product will become. Our children go through so many different transformations before our very eyes. No matter what we do, we can only do the best with what we have to work with, add all of our love, try to nurture and guide. Sometimes they take a beaten path, but the true spirit will finally emerge, given time, sometimes tough life lessons. We can't beat ourselves up for the paths they choose, we are merely here to guide, love them unconditionally, sometimes that requires tough love to break through, and support them when they do come through the other side.

Today, I sigh with relief, that although I realize he's all grown up, he'll always remain my little boy.

When Mom's Go Wild!

If you heard of a small 3.2 earthquake in San Jose, have no fear, it was merely me, snapping as my last nerve had been stomped on, ripped out and torn to shreds. I'm usually a very mild mannered individual, kind and caring. That all changed at about 11:04 AM. After two non-stop hours of "stop touching me!" STOP!!! Stop it. Follow that with stalking their prey; meaning older brother chasing after his younger brother to torment him further. It amazes me, Pavlov's dogs learned at a much quicker rate than I witnessed this morning.

I grew up with two older brothers, so I can sympathize, to a point. I don't recall chasing my brothers after they tormented me endlessly. I also was able to read them well, knowing exactly at what point I could push an issue before they exploded in rage. It benefited me, survival skills I believe is what most would consider them.

Ironically this morning I saw a post about sibling rivalry, and just four simple steps to stop it. Please! Apparently, if the expert was a parent, she must have only one child. I can buy that sibling rivalry is "normal", but to what extent before it is completely over the top.

It would be considered insane by some, but I finally had to point out to a child that one of the benchmarks for my success as a parent was helping them survive to adulthood, and that I was going to need his help in reaching that milestone. He had pushed every possible button in each and every brother, and honestly, I didn't realize how many buttons they actually had until this point. I saw rage like never before in three people, I thought I actually did see the steam coming from the ears of one, another looked like he was having a fit much like seen in Roger Rabbit.

Finally I have calm, for a moment. I'm relishing the silence, as I know it's not long lasting. One thing that does concern me with the timing of the fits of rage; the phone company is tearing out our driveway to solve one of their on-going phone line issues, and I saw children with a measuring tape trying to scope out the size of the hole. I'll be really concerned if they also start measuring their brother's proportions to see if it's a fit. More concerned should be the child that caused the complete meltdown of all around him, but he's having too much fun, I'm sure plotting out his next attack, and sizing up possible victims himself.

So, if any of you figure out how Pavlov's whole system worked, let me know...I'm running out of creative solutions to the sibling rivalry that seems to be raising our roof.

Good vs. Evil

In my attempt to teach my children to treat others the way they’d like to be treated, I feel maybe I’m doing them a disservice. I’ve battled for a few years now with Eddie Haskell. This kid is a heartless, game player, that messes with the minds of other kids just for the fun of it.

I’ve had plenty of “chats” with this child, to no avail. Sure, he’s scared of me, now overly polite when he sees me, but still as conniving as ever. Seems he has a difficult time with odd numbers, meaning, loves to find 2 people to pit against each other for his pleasure. Since there are one of him, three on my side, and a few other stragglers that have a break from him through joint custody agreements, more often than not, his victims come from my house.

We’ve seen him get a guitar, because they became popular in our house. Skateboards, he’s had a few, as you guessed it, we have avid skateboarders here. Usually one of my sons brings home friends, he sniffs out his prey, and attacks, takes credit whenever he can and latches on to people much like the dreaded leach.

I’ve had the opportunity to watch all the neighbor kids on skateboards, having been designated the honorary cameraman on many of their park adventures. Well, let’s just say this kid is more like Bucky Dent than Bucky Lasek on a skateboard. With a few of the kids it’s their passion, and they have no fear to try new tricks. Suddenly he’s put in a competition with my son, who has absolutely no fear and practices for an average of five hours any given day this summer. His latest victim is the judge, and miraculously he pulls off victory twice over my son, and declared the “BEST” skater on the team.

Why can’t kids just get along? Is it necessary to complicate everything in life, beginning so soon? The saddest part of this is I’ve seen what floats to the top in the corpporate world, and don’t think this kid will ever figure it out. Why? This behavior of his will benefit him through his whole life.

So, I’m stuck. Do I abandon trying to teach my kids good values and trade it all in game playing 101? Personally I cannot stand those who play those games, have absolutely NO RESPECT for them. Maybe another little “chat” will do the trick, or just buy me a few days of serenity. The problem with this whole parenting thing is you just don’t know how you’ve done until it’s too late to correct any mistakes you may have made.

Solution to the Energy Crisis!

I've just solved the world's energy crisis. It was actually quite easy in theory. I've seen a natural form of energy that has endurance, definitely generates heat, works well for cooling, very cost effective especially comparing to the monthly energy bills I've seen lately. Tomorrow I'll begin writing my grant to begin work to harness this energy. Nothing else comes close to comparison.

We need to go simplistic here. For those who remember Flintstones, you can't get much simpler than that, which will now be my spring board for my experiment. Please, before you think I've lost my mind, I know that dinosaurs are extinct, so I'm not thinking of a woolly mammoth dishwasher, or anything ridiculous like that.

After spending the day with nine very active boys, it dawned on me, let's harness some of this hyperactivity rather than medicate it. Win/win if you ask me. No more pesky side effects of unstudied medication, while a more natural energy source, that's available anywhere in the world where hyperactive boys thrive.

Bottle some of their energy. I've seen speeds rarely witnessed in a NASCAR race this weekend. I personally have seen enough of this energy source to supply the state of California just within five blocks of my house. It's the most cost effective solution I can think of. No more warring factors over the world's oil supply, no more bragging rights for Chevron at their board meetings.

I'm off to begin writing my grant and begin recruiting great scientific minds to help with this solution. I'll keep all those who visit here in mind when it's time to roll out a pilot program.

When Did Eddie Haskell Become the Poster Child for Normal?

The most important thing I hope for my children is that they stand up for themselves, think independently, not just follow someone blindly. Apparently that is not the model of today's education system.

I've observed what today's teachers classify as "normal". It is Eddie Haskell. Who'd think that a conniving, sneaky, kiss up would be the model for the next generation, but that's what I've seen.

Watching the kids together, you see an innocent enough looking boy. She is blinded by his halo which seems to disguise the horns that are just below the surface. The teacher's head turns, I'm assuming because looking too long would burn the retnia of the eye, this same angelic child uses foul language, pushes others, and bullies those around him.

How can the teachers be fooled by this child? How can they truly appreciate a child like this; kind to your face, bully behind your back? My theory, they see what they want to see, and it makes their job easier.

Maybe it's not such a bad thing that my sons are not classified as "Normal". For the longest time I beat myself up. I'm healthy, intelligent, socially accepted. How could my kids be anything other than normal. Now, after witnessing the new standard of normal I'm relieved. I'd much rather have a child that stands up for himself, treats others fairly, and kisses up to no one; instead staying true to himself. So, until we can reach a common ground, I am NOT raising my boys to be what educators may see as "NORMAL".

Parenting: Boys vs. Girls

Parenting has become the longest job I’ve ever held. I’ve been raising children for 22 years now. For the sake of children, the pain of childbirth lessens with time. I’ve raised an only child, and now am raising three more. Through all of these years, when anyone asks if I’m sad not to have a daughter, I quickly reply NO. I’ve seen girls today, and don’t believe I have the strength to endure the intensity required to fulfill that mission.

Sure, boys have their moments too, they are rowdy, make very strange noises in public and have disgusting choices of pets. Consider this as getting purgatory out of the way with the terrible two’s.

I’ve seen the prim donna training. That phase can last an entire lifetime. Sure you might get a couple of good years, but it can start as early as two, and escalate from there. If you’re new to parenting, there is no room for error with girls. The damage is done quickly and early on with no hope of repair. With sons, you can make mistakes with possibility of survival. If you find your parenting style is ineffective, you can make adjustments along the way. Boys seem more flexible.
Girls learn to rely on their innocent looks as youngsters, which then becomes an ingrained habit before pre-school begins. Boys are looked upon with suspicion, due to their curiosity and general activity level. Because of this labeling, they generally don’t form the same long lasting habits of manipulation.

Young girls are more likely to follow one around saying “Gee, that is my favorite.” “Mmm, that looks good”, instead of just asking if they could have something. I was once followed an entire afternoon by a cute, sweet, innocent looking girl, that continuously told me everything that caught her eye was her favorite. I’m used to the boys approach, which is straightforward; if there is something they want or need they have no fear of just asking. Quickly, painlessly their request is taken care of.

Then come the teenage years. There’s a very good reason for the term DRAMA QUEEN. I’ve witnessed them in action, and it is not a pretty sight, nor does a picture of royalty spring to mind. It’s amazing that some of these fine examples can accomplish much through THESE years. In all fairness, there are a few DRAMA KINGS as well.
How many grown men brag with vanity plates stating “Daddy bought this, but It’s all mine now?” Another true example that left me flabbergasted was “My Daddy will need to buy this for me.” The previous statement came from a co-worker who happened to be a 42 year old woman at the time. I don’t see why anyone would think this a bragging point. Can that truly be helpful in the mating game? It seems like that would become tiring for anyone trying to enter that picture.

This disorder begins early in life. Girls seem so precious, so fragile, in need of constant praise and protection. Girls learn early how to play on this thought process by the good intentions of their doting fathers. I was once Daddy’s Little Girl, but through intensive intervention I’ve broken my dependency on him. We are now friends, and much closer than we would be had I not grown up.

There are a few good, strong, independent women in the world, and I applaud them. However, there are too many examples of prim donna's and Drama Queens, that tend to give us all a bad image.

Where's The Owner's Manual?

It seems to me that we’ve not made any progress on the “owner’s manual” for children. I’ve been searching for the past twenty years, my mother searched before me, and I recently went to a baby shower, and although on the registry, not one copy was found.

Sure, they offer child’s first year, to help you deal with colic, fevers, breast-feeding or bottle, finding a pediatrician, but that is hardly my idea of an Owner’s Manual. I’ve seen more detail from the auto manufacturers for their new models than is available for the most important investment known to mankind.

With all the self-proclaimed experts, no one has cornered that niche. I would, except honestly even after twenty years in the field I have no clue as to any tried and true techniques that work in all scenarios. I have three boys with the same genetics, and they couldn’t be any more extreme without being from foreign galaxies. What works for one only aggravates the situation with the others. I have the gentle giant, whose calm demeanor is a gift from heaven at times. On the other end of the spectrum, I have three boys that have all been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder with hyperactivity thrown in.

I’ve often asked my mother if when she placed the “curse” upon me, as all parents do, she in fact hired a High Priest to oversee the ceremony to assure that it stuck. What are the odds…three out of four hyperactive children? I’ve wondered at times, could I have been that terrible to my parents. I grew up too afraid to act out. I had two foster brothers tell me that no one would want to adopt me since I was no longer a baby, and if they did, I had better be perfect or they would ship me back. That stuck, as a child, I spoke back to no one, don’t recall throwing tantrums, very polite and respectful to all adults that crossed my path. It wasn’t until I turned seventeen that I realized it was useless to send me back by then, so I let go, and rebelled, with a capital R. It is my curse though that brought about the short attention span for the boys; I can’t even attempt to deny that. If I tried, I’d be humiliated by the roar of laughter coming from those I tried to convince.

I think I understand why no one wants to corner that niche…no one has a clue as to what works and what doesn’t. We are all grabbing at straws when it comes to raising children. The experts give us their words of wisdom; find out it didn’t work and try Plan B on the next generation.

I remember when my eldest son was younger, the rage for all the experts was to avoid at all cost damaging a child’s frail sense of self. See where that led. Now, if there is no answer, a new acronym is created as an answer. Any current expert would be sure to annihilate their hopes of a career if they were to step out on that limb. It would be suicide for their career to even attempt to claim to have the answer to raising children.

Sure, we can act as if we have answers, but as the saying goes, we find the answers and the question changes. So, I guess until some brave soul is brave enough to find the answer and share it with all of us that are grappling at trying to raise children, we’ll all keep moving along, doing the best that we can with what we have available to us. If a manual does surface, I’d like to pre-order mine today.

The Attack of the Ryanites

We’ve had an invasion in our neighborhood…worse than any alien species known to any experts, more terrifying than the accounts written in the tabloids. It's even worse than roof rats, ants, or any other pesky creature. It’s the attack of the “Ryanites.” Infestation takes a mere 24 hours, and eats away the brains of those it targets, turning them into zombie like followers.

The fearless leader is about four foot tall, blond haired, blue eyes, an only child. He targets young, impressionable children, who just want to fit in and be accepted by their peers, and being cooler than their siblings. He is destined for greatness; just ask him, he’ll tell you. Ryan’s more than happy to share his stats in baseball, football, school, or anything else. The realtor neglected to inform us that we live in HIS neighborhood and in doing so the kids should BOW to his wishes.

We’ve faced this invasion before, and went to great lengths to break this cycle. Our assistance was requested due to the incessant whining of the unfairness, the bullying, and the torment. His game plan is divide and conquer, leaving nothing intact.

The boys have not played with Ryan all summer. Withdrawal was a difficult process at first; they would eye him to see if he was having fun without them, trying to see who might be playing with him. Our intervention worked, after a short time they were no longer concerned about what he was up to. They were introduced to other neighborhood kids, having fun, without the friction. Then it happened. Word got out that Ryan is playing Jr. League football. Just when I thought the world was safe, their idol has returned. He is once again COOL, as he has football practice. Within 24 hours the whining has started, the bridges are being burned, and the faithful Ryanites have returned. Lock your doors, board your windows and pray that it doesn’t attack your neighborhood too.

Ewww...Creepy Crawling Creatures

What has happened to me? I was one of the dainty little girls that screamed and cried at the sight of anything slithery or slimy in nature. My brother used this fear to his advantage many times as it was a sure way to excuse himself from a pesty little sister that wanted to tag along.

I'm looking at my latest addition to our household...Jaba. She believes that she is a fericious beast, staring with her menacing eyes. When that doesn't create fear in those who dare to approach her kingdom, her tail whips wildly, lashing out at anything that approaches.

For the longest time I had people convinced that my reptilian friends were pets of my sons, looking at people in ridicule for not putting that basic deduction together. Somehow my secret was leaked unsuspectedly to the outside world. Since then I've become proud of my fascination with those four legged creatures I once loathed. I've overcome my fear, and can now enjoy those moments when my sons' bring some new animal they've found in the nearby hills.

Our latest adventure has been watching the birthing process of frogs. Watching for weeks as he transformed from fish to amphibian. I would have never been able to stomach that had my sons' not helped me overcome the fears of days past.

Don't congratulate me quite yet, my newfound confidence is evident only with some four legged creatures. I've once been stranded, frozen in fear, terrified of the fericious branch in the grass. To my defense, I swore it moved, slithering up the hill towards my youngest child and myself. His older brothers were slow to rescue us. I'm not sure what kept them, maybe it was the uncontrollable laughter of seeing my dire situation.

Ozzie and Sharon?

I always had such lofty goals for family life...move over Beav; Ozzie is no match. I was thinking of Ozzie with Harriett, not Ozzie and Sharon. Noticing changes with my sons, which saddened me recently. The two that were closest couldn't be farther apart now, the one I thought a people pleaser, is VERY independent, the shy one is now Mr. Popularity, while the one I always saw as a leader, is turning into such a follower.

Call it my mother's intuition, my sixth sense so to say, I could feel the distance last night. Things just not quite right. I saw the "outcast" with his arms crossed, mumbling under his breath, rolling his eyes in frustration. Closing himself off. With my full fledged paranoia, I start questioning, and requestioning trying to make sure everything was fine. Although I heard agreeable answers to my many questions, I wasn't convinced.

As they began wrapping up the day, making their way towards bed, I slipped quietly into each room for a final check. That's when it was brought to my attention the miscommunication and the walls that can be built because of it. The outcast chooses his friends over his brothers because he ONLY likes skateboarding and NO ONE will go with him. Why won't they go I wondered...duh, because everyone else has two left feet. So, why doesn't he play guitar with his brother anymore...again, duh, because he doesn't have the musical ear shared by his brothers. The one with the most natural gift, takes control of iTunes learning new songs at an astounding rate. Instead of choosing songs that they both know, he finds it as his time to show off.

It's my hope that they can all just learn to get along...all inclusive. No matter what happens in life, you should always have your siblings. Hopefully they figure this out. Until then, I guess I'll have to get used to the modern day Ozzie and Sharon.

Hats Off to Stay at Home Moms!

How do stay at home mom's do it? I now must take my hat off to them. I've been home for two days and I'm ready for a heavy dose of Prozac. Just last week it seemed that summer vacation was shrinking in size, today I'm counting down the days until school starts.

Maybe it was that obsessive quest of becoming the "cool" parents that has backfired. I don't think that was my idea to begin with, but an idea forced upon me by one that I share parenting responsibility with. Today, he is safely tucked away behind his desk, having full fledged conversations with other adults. I'm listening to the ever popular chimes of "STOP!' "Don't touch me." "I didn't do ANYTHING" "Wasn't me" Much of which I laughed at when the boys were two, but now that their voices are changing, it's just not as cute or funny to me these days.

When did the footsteps become so heavy too? I swore AMTRAK passed through ten minutes ago. The screeching sounds could have easily been mistaken for breaks of a freight train. The heavy breathing of anger sounding much like a locomotive in motion.

The good old days of parenting, where did they go? I remember being shooed out of the house at the crack of dawn, returning for short periods known as lunch and dinner. Our alarm was the sight of the streetlights which announced the end of yet another full day.

Now, it's the sound of three boys with friends forgetting how to take turns, sitting for hours in front of a screen, with controllers in hand. One more day down...how many days until Fall?