First Kiss

First Kiss, a photo by LifebyLisa on Flickr.

I Did It, and Here's the Proof

Hi, I'm Lisa, recovering workaholic. This is the moonlight meeting for that support group Ive heard about isn't it? Actually, I'd like to welcome you to my therapy session. You didn't know this, but you've been on my Bucket List for some time. But like with everything else, I consider myself a spontaneous procrastinator. I am dreaming of being a writer, in my mind it is a wonderful dream. My assignment from 2010 was to withstand 3 minutes of humiliation by purposely finding an open mic and letting it all out. Well, 2 days ago, I got called on my crap, so lucky you, I had to jump into action. and come up with something, anything. I spent the first 24 hours timing 3 minutes. It went from, "No problem to Holy Shit" the next 24 hours was spent trying to find humor in anything. That was the most serious, unfunny day of my entire life. The clock hit 9am which had me locked away for at least 30 minutes before "Shiny Object syndrome hit. I needed coffee, the dog needed food. Then with 4 boys home for the summer, it meant 1 request per child per hour. Off to hockey practice, open skate and Gretsky Hour. How could I possibly call myself a "Hockey mom" if I didn't show support. The neighbor's cats needed to be tended to. Every possible excuse I could find, I clung to. Oh, but I showed my effort, by dragging notebook, iPad, Comedy Bible with me throughout the day. Humor is never around when you need it most. It sounded like such a good idea when I told my buddy I was in. How hard could this be? Before I knew it it was 9pm, and man, I was wiped out from all the lack of humor that I searched desperately for. If I slept, I'd be refreshed and ready to work. Now, 9am, the day of my big moment, I am staring at a blank page. 3 minute? So, with that, welcome to my therapy session. Currently in our house, we're surviving first love, and it is just as corny as Twillight. I wondered where all the teenage angst came from in that movie...I now know it is REAL. Sure young love is cute for awhile, but after about an hour of the love birds, i find it difficult to be surrounded by pink teddy bears and i's dotted with little hearts. I've come to understand why my brothers beat the drama filled teenage girl out of me, and dang it, will have to thank them for their intervention. I'm having a tough time, being surrounded by boys all of my life. I recently, I overstepped my coolness factor. I don't know what came over me, but i thought I could fit in with the new "princess" generation. We have 2 little 5 year old girls in the family. They were dressed in all the Hello Kitty accessories, playing with the new princess line of Barbie dolls. I was a young girl, I had a barbie doll, what fun!?!? First, I had to ask a name of one of the princesses. Wasn't Aurora, Sleeping Beauty's name? Since I asked them who their favorite princess was, they asked me. I told them I actually liked Tinker Bell. Well, I must have sent them over the edge by my ignorance. One actually looked at me and said "OMG, (with eyeballs rolling followed by the sigh) Tinker Bell is NOT a princess, she is a fairy. I found the answer as to why all the schools have implemented anti-bully programs, those two were brutal. I've had a blast raising my sons, and am quite happy with that accomplishment. I base my success on the fact that they still don't mind being seen in public with me, well, that may all change in 1 minute or so. Even though, at times their inner drama queen emerges, and they have brought a few of them home to meet me, I can count on 2 of them to be more sensible in their choices. My youngest will have to find a "hockey girl". Yes, they do have a group on Facebook specifically for girls who like hockey. That'll be like eHarmony for him. He comments quite frequently about his annoyance with girls that wear too much make up. I've been on the receiving end a few times for that one. I actually hide out to apply make up when we have special occasions or have to been seen in public, other than the pet or grocery store. He's baffled as to why I bothered wasting so much money on braces for him, since his dream is to have his front teeth knocked out on the ice. I think Facebook is my greatest challenge with parenting. Although my kids are comfortable talking to me, laziness has led to many FB chat sessions and some scares. What is with parents that friend their kids friends. There are two women that have friended my kids, not because they know them, but because their child is friends with one of my kids. Like I mentioned, one son is a hockey FANatic, and his world collapses when the Sharks play poorly. I saw my son one night as he headed to his room, all seemed well. Suddenly FB notifications started popping up in my email box. Curiosity and my honed ability to procrastinate with my "Shiny Object Syndrome" led me to find out what was going on in the world of FB. This woman, a complete stranger to my son, who I've only met once, is trying to talk my son off the ledge. You've got so much to live for; don't let anything bring you down; life will get better. I jump out of my chair, sprint across the house, wondering what could have possibly brought my son to the brink, knowing I just saw him moments earlier. Only to be met with "what's wrong with you mom, are you OK?" I'm still in mother lion mode, so caught in the moment, I find myself spewing out words of wisdom only to find out that the game ended 10 minutes ago, he was upset and posted about his disappointment in the loss. Disaster diverted, however, it takes another hour for my blood pressure to return to normal, my heart to stop racing. So, have no fear, with his hockey addiction added with the immediate gratification of facebookDon't worry, I'm sure the pictures of his missing teeth as well as a close up of his toothless smile will be posted on Facebook within 2 minutes of it happening.

Playing in the Rain

Playing in the Rain, a photo by LifebyLisa on Flickr.

One of the coolest little girls I know preparing for rain.

LEGENDS: John Lennon

LEGENDS: John Lennon, a photo by LifebyLisa on Flickr.

8" x 14" charcoal portrait for my LEGENDS collection.

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.

Making Faces

You Can't Buy Math Skills

You can't buy math skills, God knows, I've tried. Since entering the ranks of college student, I've spent approximately five thousand dollars over the years and even with that sizable investment, let's just say my math skills will NEVER land me into a position that requires any sense of fluency in mathematical equations.

I thought I had paid my dues, and those days of public humiliation were behind me, a distant memory, OK, more like suppressed, nightmarish hell. My last attempt led to weekly pain. It never failed, the teacher would call on me, having changed the scope and requirements of the assignment as I walked from my desk to the front of the room. To add more humiliation he was ALWAYS sure to call on the "other" Lisa, who happened to work for NASA, and LOVED math. Every week she would exclaim "Math IS life!" I hated that statement. It grated on my last nerve much like Mrs. Smith's curled fingernails scraping down the blackboard. Much like a school girl, I found pleasure when others would mock her weekly declaration.

In the end of Public Humiliation 1 and 2, I received an A- covering material from Algebra through Trigonometry. To this day I believe the teacher graded me on my endurance, for my ability to hold it together. In ten weeks, he was unable to make me crack, not that he saw at least. I was built with an instinctual sense of not allowing others to see when they've hurt me, which he confused for spunk.

One week in class, he changed the format of the assignment, then added more than I had prepared for. That was a snapping point for me, when he suggested that I ENLIGHTEN the class. Not quite sure how to react, fighting back tears, seeing red, I glared back defiantly. "Once you have taught me, mater, to the point that I've reached mathematical enlightenment I'll be more than happy to share my experience. Until that time, this is the BEST you're going to get."

I figured I paid my dues by now, but I just received my latest schedule and lo and behold, they've signed me up for yet another math class. Maybe, just maybe this time around I will somehow get it, but I'm not going to hold my breath.

Dear Miss Manners

We have plans to visit a childhood friend of my boyfriend's. Everything was set, time and place. When the idea of visiting them was first brought to my attention it was more of a family get together. My boyfriend and his friend go back many years, to junior high school I think. Both now have kids, although our sons are much older than their children. It'll be a fun family time. To keep peace in my house, it sounds like a harmless idea. It keeps me out of the doghouse, and keeps that one issue that pops up with every disagreement. His one jab every time is that I NEVER like HIS friends. So, I told him I thought it would be great.

Well, that excitement for his reunion came to a screeching halt. Apparently he spoke to his childhood friend yesterday, and the guy announced that he paid for his wife to have a breast job. According to the conversation, it was well worth the $8000. However, as the conversation is being relayed to me, it seems THEY are quite proud of the new "additions". So proud of their investment that their conversation was interrupted because apparently her new girls were being displayed to and evaluated by a visitor that had stopped by. According to her husband, she just can't help it, she has to show them off to EVERYONE. So, being a good friend, he warned my boyfriend not to worry if she happens to flash the girls at him during our visit, she just wants EVERYONE to see and evaluate them.

You know, people should have a mute button for their lips, some sort of alarm goes off when they are straying off track and their brain is not activated to their speech, but unfortunately they haven't designed one as of yet.

Apparently while he was talking to me, I became distant, and he thought maybe the line had gone dead. He mumbled about that taking off as well as a lead balloon, and couldn't understand why I HAVE ISSUES? Hmmm...

So, let's recap, I am going to spend the day with a woman who happens to be maybe ten years younger than me, who has said, oh, maybe 2 words to me in the 5+ years that we've known of each other, and now has a tendency for showing off her chest to ANY guy who happens to be around, because she is just so damn proud of them. Her husband, as he put it, just doesn't know what to do about his wife's actions. One of the only reasons my boyfriend is still walking today is that he told his friend, you know, this could get awkward, I don't think Lisa will appreciate if your wife starts exposing herself while we're visiting. This was met with, well, I'll try to talk to my wife, but I can't guarantee that she'll listen. This great effort brought forth by the man who already was so excited to share the news himself including cost. Who watches as his wife is having them closely analyzed by ANYONE who happens to visit. Somehow that does not bring great comfort to me.

Now, I'm a pretty liberal thinker, I don't generally have issues with choices others make. Well, as long as those choices are not being flashed in the face of my significant other, or worse yet, my three teenage boys. Somehow, maybe it's just me, but I'm not seeing my issues in this scenario. If I choose not to accept this invitation, it is seen that I'm antisocial, and it'll justify his "see, you NEVER like my friends"; if I do go, someone WILL get hurt should the "girls" decide to make an appearance.

Exactly, how would Miss Manners handle this? Me, I'm just trying to determine who will be the first victim in my moment of rage, which is the one guarantee I can make.

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.

Death Brings out the Ugliness of the Living

What is it about death that brings out the ugliness of the living? There's been no talk of a will yet, no cash payouts anywhere at this point. The roller coaster ride of Lewy Body I thought had reached a stop, instead the car just changed direction and speed.

The family I generally have to tolerate for a couple of hours on Christmas Day, I now have had the experience of seeing 24/7 since Wednesday. If not with them face to face, I've listened to endless hours of conversation.

It was made very clear to me that I AM NOT a part of this family, I'm guessing I must have just been an intern. One relative, whom I already struggle with small talk with, walked away mid sentence without a word to retrieve something. Another relative thought it a good time during a trip to the mortuary to ask sordid details of my childhood. In essence I was told I turned out OK for an adoptee, how DID I work through all of my issues? When I walked away, which I did on several occasions I was followed, with questions ranging from were you molested as a child? How severe was the abuse? How did you come to terms with all of this? All the while, my significant other thought it was nice to see his aunt and I bonding, so he hated to break in.

I'm dealing with the death of a man, who at one time lived with me, hated me for some time, but finally learned to tolerate me. I've calmed him down during hallucinations, where he saw a plane crash in the living room, I've helped feed him, change his diapers. Towards the end, I helped carry him from chair to couch to bed to table. Now that he's gone, EVERYONE is full of kudos for all that THEY contributed to his care. One had only visited him once in the last 10 years, yet was thanked for all her support.

I've been pushed aside. I'm left to assume I was merely an intern, because to be hired help, I would have been compensated. Instead, I've been kicked to the side, while they BASK in the light of their greatness.

By Sunday, I was exhausted, I needed an escape. I found out, a locked dementia ward is hardly the place to hide. After leaving the chaos of family drama, I was met with residents who sadly enough have no one visiting them. One woman frantically waiting for her ride, sending me off to contact someone to find out their time of arrival, another adamant that they had left the oven on. I was able to walk divert their attention when I said I was going to get oven mitts. One even tried to escape herself. When I heard a caregiver say her name, I was able to help her turn around and return to the dining room.

On most days I would have sadness for those individuals abandoned by family, however, today I was quite envious of their situation. I'm afraid of the meetings to discuss any financial windfalls for people. Their sense of guilt and insecurity knowing they threw their family member to the side, sure shined through showing some true, deep down ugliness. I must have been exhausted from the blinding light of their true self showing through. I KNOW it wasn't their halos.

Selective Stupidity is a Dysfunction Not a Disorder

I know I should be a pro at handling manipulative personalities. I faced Family Court repeatedly until one judge FINALLY told my ex to stop trying to use the system to harass me. I've watched teacher drool over a man showing up at school to make sure my sons' shoelaces were tied, while rolling their eyes at me for ONLY putting together a school yearbook. I've watched while a loved one slips away and his own daughter claims she didn't show up because her brother seems to WANT to handle everything. I still haven't a clue how to battle it and WIN. Sure, I have a wicked tongue, am the Queen of grudges, and have mastered silent treatment for a short reprieve from their games, but key terms here, SHORT REPRIEVE, not CURE.

Although I have plaques, email, spoken, formal and informal accolades for a job well done, I have a thorn in my side. The latest, I found out through a very upset, angry caller, while they were blowing off steam, that apparently I must be a untrustworthy moron, because I hadn't bothered to change an outdated voicemail greeting on my phone. It threw me off a bit, put me off guard, and left me feeling embarrassed by this apparent lack of attention to detail.

So, after apologizing to the woman, I decided to figure out what she could have possibly meant by her jabs. Lo and behold, I went to voicemail on my phone, going to settings. Instead of being the greeting that took some time to reach my acceptance, it was a stranger's voice, giving information for a different department, lacking relevance to the group I work with.

Well, I've dealt with this culprit now for almost two years, I've talked to her, email, formal letters, conferences. No matter what approach it seems to be forgotten or just fallen on deaf ears to begin with. I decided, this time would be different. I'll kill her with kindness. Isn't that what my mom always told me? So, I send her a Thank you note, for taking on the duty of updating my voicemail greeting, however, possibly should she choose to do this again, maybe, just maybe she might mention it. In return I receive this apologetic, "It will NEVER happen again" response. I hate those, because I feel bad when I think I might have hurt someone's feelings.

Today, I find an email from this woman, delegating my job to me, with the comment of I KNOW you LIKE to be aware of all that is happening, so I'm passing this along in case you want to do something with it. If and when I confront her on this, I know, as she's done repeatedly, for WAY TOO Long, she'll shrug, giggle and say she didn't mean it. She'll get yet another hand holding meeting to make sure she feel okay, and this pattern will just continue on.

You'd figure with unemployment figures being as high as they are at the moment, that maybe, JUST MAYBE companies would tire of these individuals that suck the life out of an organization, put morale in the gutter, while they pick off effective, efficient, team players through frustration.

I just don't understand. IF there is a method of battling this behavior and truly make it stop, please, PLEASE let me in on the secret. Selective stupidity is NOT a disorder, it's merely creates dysfunction. Help me make the madness STOP!!

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.

Time to Grow Up, Let Go!

During a recent visit to an elderly friend, I saw photos all over the room of his granddaughter. In any normal situation that would be expected, however, since the child's birth others have bought gifts for the girl since her mother wanted NOTHING to do with her father.

As his health has declined over the last few years, everyone has pitched in to assist with his care. He's lived with us for a time, then came to visit weekly. Now that he is reaching the final stages of his condition, his daughter has visited him once, after thinking it was all made up, exaggerated to get her attention. She showed up with pictures of her daughter, whom he doesn't recognize or remember. He cannot remember his daughter's name at this point because the distance has been so long between them.

I was appalled when I walked in to find pictures she supplied, yet the photo he's had for years of his mother, is set sideways on a table behind a box of tissue, while her daughter is on display for all to see.

How can people live with themselves when they have absolutely no substance at all. Everything in life to them is a SHOW. That's what I see when I think of her. I'm angry with her because my family has put their lives on hold to care for HER father, without even a thought to involve herself. The only involvement I've seen is when there is an audience, when others might think badly of her behavior. More so than angry, I feel sorry for her. She thinks the world revolves around her existence. She believes the world falls for her public persona, that the world is HER stage.

I can say from experience, that losing a parent with unresolved issues is a painful path to take. Lack of closure wounds deep, and for some doesn't heal. I know that we'll be hearing from her after her father is gone, wondering what happened. Until now, everyone has given her the pity she is looking for, listened to her excuses for not being there in a time of need, all the while talking about her, wondering what happened to her. I don't envy her or anyone in that situation, but I have no compassion for those whose own selfish behavior leads them to this position in life. I've been very clear, that I won't say anything to her, but I don't plan to help pick up the pieces for her self-induced, destructive ways.

I would hope that people would realize sometimes there are no second chances, and actions DO SPEAK LOUDER than your words. If found in this situation, don't fool yourself into believing that everyone is falling for your world of make believe. Realize YOU are the fool, not everyone else. Better yet, get over whatever it is that happened in the past, let it go, and forgive. Try to hold onto the notion that they did the best they could with what they had at the time as there is no way to turn back the hands of time.

The New DT's; they are not pretty

DT’s are commonly known as “the shakes”. They happen when someone is withdrawing from alcohol as well as other drugs. Bad, bad things…I would never, EVER make fun of such a dilemma. The DT’s I’m speaking of would be those Deslxyic taggers. If you can not spell the word properly, don’t pick up spray paint to send a message.

It costs people money to clean up your mess. Have you not seen the budget crisis lately? Most of the taggers probably aren't concerned at this point about the financial impact of their actions.

Honestly, what’s the point. What is the purpose of vandalizing property? The
"rush"? Please, someone explain this to me. I'll be sure to disguise your voice, blue out your face, whatever it takes to get the answer to that Million Dollar question.

Take all that free time you have, and enroll in an English class…grammar IS important. Help us all!

It’s an eyesore. Unless you are a MC Eichler, Norman Rockwell, Thomas Kinkade, I can assure you there are NO art collectors waiting to "FIND" you and offer you an exhibit.

How can you possibly hope for respect, if you are the laughing-stock of the entire ommunity?

If you plan on pursuing a life of vandalizing public property with spray paint, the least you can do is pick up a dictionary to assure you are expressing yourself in the best grammatical fashion. Without that your "talent", message, whatever you choose to call it falls on deaf ears.

Beware of Shift

I was told recently that the dynamics in my home may shift a bit…I’d hardly notice it. Yeah, I didn’t feel Loma Prieta either, but then again I was in Illinois when that small shift occurred.

I now have a 75 year old toddler, who on most days assumes that I’m a nurse at the hospital, wonders when they created a policy of allowing employees to offer accommodations to patients. Followed by “when am I going to get out of this hell hole?” Occasionally there are pet names dolled out to me…”hey, what’s your name?” “What a Bitch” or the “Who died and left you in charge?”

Countless hours have been consumed looking into resources. I begin explaining what I’ve found available only to hear a new set of demands. Every day is a new crisis, unknown, drama.

Just two short months ago, I was a mild mannered, easy going individual. Because of this small shift in the dynamics, I no longer sleep, have a uncontrollable twitch, and the patience span as short as the short as my children’s attention spans. After weeks were spent visiting many senior assisted living sites, conferences held, insurance agents notified, I heard the statement “why is everyone implying that I am moving anywhere…don’t they know it’s IF I MOVE.”

At least with the “Big One” it only lasts a few minutes, you watch for aftershocks for a short time, then you rebuild. With this small shift, everytime you think it’s safe yet another aftershock jolts you back to reality.

Thursday's Child

Who wrote that poem about children and the days of the week? I want to know what he used as his reference…high priestess, devil? How dare you label a child at birth? That poem though seems more accurate than any horoscope I've ever read. I recently spent an evening introducing myself to a caregiver support network. As they posed questions, I responded quite honestly on any relevant life experience. Their response was a unanimous, Don’t you do anything in a simple manner? All I could say was, what do you expect, Thursday child.

I remember that poem as a child. My mom repeatedly told me I was from the school of hard knocks, then she’d recite that verse again to me “Thursday’s child has far to go”.

I know I’ve never been one trapped inside of the box, most days I have problems finding the box. Have I really been that bad in life? Have I really been so bizarre?

For many years I assumed my life’s struggles were due to addiction, but that hasn’t been an excuse in over 15 years. I definitely have some vivid experiences, but not all of my doing. Not all have been self-inflicted.

I was just taken back a bit when I heard their comments about my life after my introduction. I expect it from some sources, ie. PTA meetings, Parent Teacher Conferences. I just never expected a room of caregivers to ridicule me about the way I’ve lived my life.

I’ve grown accustomed to my unconventional methods, I enjoy life searching for the box that so many cannot reach outside of. I intend to live my life to the fullest. As Erma Bombeck wrote, when they take me out, I will have used up every last bit of gifts given to me in this life.

Would I be this way if I had been born on any other day of the week? Who knows. Thursday’s child may have far to go, but in the process may have more to offer others.

Just Wait Until Next Lifetime

First and foremost, I’d like to thank those who still came by to visit during my absence. It was completely unintended, however, I’ve just experienced what must be the longest two weeks of my entire existence on earth. Usually time flies right by for me, and oftentimes I pray for just a couple of extra hours in any given week. Mental note, it is true to be careful what you wish for. I had hopes of those extra hours coming during a vacation, weekend getaway, even an office holiday. Instead it came in the form of having an additional person moving into the already chaotic house.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family dearly, they mean the world to me, but…My time has been filled with repeated conversations with my father in law, who bless his heart is reminding me of ten second Tom from Adam Sandler’s Fifty First Dates. Then when I think all is lost, he catches me sneaking his payment back for ice cream. He remembers that he meant to buy gas each and every time he gets in the car.

It’s been an interesting ride I must say. We haven’t always gotten along all that well. He’s not always been my advocate. I am the one who stole his son away from him, and he reminds me of it frequently. Well, not as frequently these days. Next lifetime, I’m coming back as a high strung, high maintenance blond bombshell. Watch out, a hang nail will be the end of my world, and EVERYONE will endure my pain.

I recently read a book by Sylvia Browne that says we create our charts before we enter a life. Mine must have been full of fine print, and I must have still had my ADHD on the other side and therefore did not fully comprehend all that I was signing up for. My astrology reports all mention my early childhood trauma, but with that I thought that would free up the years that I would be fully functional. They claim that I’m to be a teacher, writer, psychologist or a community leader, all very noble vocations.

Today I don’t feel like any of those things. Instead I feel I’ve been beat up, washed up, everything but hungry. Life has been moving at a high rate of speed yet time is standing still. Next time I’m opting for the kiddie coaster of life…the Merry go round is more my speed.

Mothers' Curse

The mother’s curse is the most powerful, potent spell that can be placed on anyone. I didn’t realize growing up just how mystical my mom was, and am still trying to figure out just what it was I did to her to cause her to place this ominous voodoo on me. I really wish I could have focused better as a kid.

Hindsight, yeah, it’s true, always 20/20. I’ve asked her if she had the same High Priest out for my brothers, but all I get is a nervous laugh. I’ve begged for answers. All she’ll tell me was I was a good kid, a quiet little girl. I’m wondering if her fingers are crossed behind her back when she says that over the phone. There is no sign of hysterics in her voice.

I know for a fact that my brothers caused so many more problems than I did. I got a late start compared to them. I couldn’t even begin to cause havoc until I was six, so she missed the terrible twos, diaper changes, sleepless nights that my brothers put her through. That alone should have counted for something.

I’m so confused, you could not find a more mild mannered individual than myself. Low maintenance, well balanced. Never am I Chicken Little, no sky is ever falling. I handle life’s lessons as they arise, with little fuss. So how is then, that I have four very high strung children, boys at that, that can make any daytime soap opera seem like a sitcom. “Oh My God” begins nine out of ten sentences. With them, I save money on the annual stress tests with a physician, but I’m sure the cost is much higher for their daily doses.

I’m going to make sure to read all the fine print before coming back for my next life, as I must have missed something this time around. My consolation, I can use the same motherly power to pass this curse since the dawn of time down to the next generation. When they are at wits end, I’ll be laughing hysterically, and will just have some excuse when they want me to babysit their spawn.

Let's All Play Make Believe

We’re back. Spent the week in far away places with so many imaginary friends, we could fill a coliseum. What do you do when the person you’re caring for is bothered by the infringement of his privacy because of his grown children crawling around his house as babies tinkering with the phone cords and television cables? If you’re me, you ask how long have they been doing this? Is everything working better now, and how do I go about hiring them for my own home repairs? Honestly, I could use all the help available, and hey, imaginary children can’t cost nearly as much as licensed professionals.

Then, we went to a ballgame with the Cosby clan. Apparently the Angels won the game. I wonder how many letters Bill Cosby gets thanking him for his kindness, and where he finds the time to hang out with all the people that remember him as Mr. Huxtable. I really could use some time management tips.

The great part in all of this. Somehow I intuitively did what the professionals get paid the big bucks to teach people. I guess all my years of constant daydreaming as a child have finally been found useful. Won’t my mom feel bad about all the times she told me I just needed to apply myself and STOP the daydreaming. I can tell her I was in training for the future.

I’m thinking today maybe to bring him and all of his imaginary friends over. I have a difficult time with clutter building up, and am trying to get the house in order for him to move back home with us. I can either single handedly tackle two bedrooms belonging to young boys that don’t understand that in the civilized world people expect to see a floor, not just blindly walk through a foot of whatever could happen to be in the path, or I can use the help of at least five imaginary children as well as a few adults. That should help me keep the youngsters focused on the task at hand.

I can’t seem to find a way to welcome him to our reality, so I might as well make the best of his. So far the hallucinations seem to frustrate him more than frighten him, so I might as well just kick back and enjoy his game of make believe for awhile. Luckily my inner child is hyperactive, and could use a bit of play time.

Another No Hit Wonder We'll Never Hear

The music industry is brutal. This week alone brought the break up of yet another new boy band before they had the opportunity to rise to success. Egos running amok destroyed these two upstarts much quicker than any video killed any radio star.

It should have been obvious once the host read the rules for practice. NO AMPS ALLOWED. How can one truly be a “rock star” without the ever cherished amplifier. That was followed by the limited practice times. Everyone knows being a rock star is a full-time job, with practice being a major component for success. Ok, so I know it can be done if you run around skimpily dressed dancing to your professionally choreographed songs. They are very serious, aiming for lasting success, plus, I’ve seen their dance moves, and no choreography could work if they lacked musical talent.

The arguments ensues while trying to name the band. All the cool names have been taken. Sure, they could try to combine names of the greats, but honestly the only one that would be suitable is “The Clash”. Hmmm, is that where their name came from? I’ll have to check on that. Possibly instead of the Temptations, they could try the Temper Tantrums. Nah, that name sounds like a group on Seasame Street, which they have completely outgrown. Besides that, I took one of the guys to see Elmo. When he realized Elmo was over five feet tall, he was traumatized.

They’ve decided to throw random names in a hat. Maybe they should try the best out of three, I just know one of them will throw in a word describing some bodily function. I don’t see the Fartheads as being a very marketable name.

Shhh, practice has begun. All the greats have inspired yet another generation, Clapton, Hendrix, Zeppelin, Walsh. One problem is it sounds much different when they play their songs over each other. Melting pots can be great, however, music is not one of those times.

Oops, the no amp rule has already been violated, leading to very heavy penalties. Practice is over and it only took 15 minutes to complete. The arguing continues while vying for leadership of the band. What, their first bar room brawl, and none of them are eligible to drink yet. The bass player just stormed off , the drummer threw his sticks down and one of the guitarist just called everyone a name that I don’t think would be suitable as a band name.

Another no hit wonder has bitten the dust. That’s it, I’m sticking with my air guitar. No fights, no noise, no one can say shut up, turn it down or worst. I wouldn’t last a day in the music industry with all of the pressure.