I'm mom to 4 boys, might-as-well-be-but-umm-NOT wife to one man, sometimes writer, newbie blogger and mild Twitter-holic.
We're currently wrestling our way through depression, anxiety, PPD, ADHD, possible EOBPD, unemployment and
a mild amount ofinsanity.
Yes, I still have my sense of humor. ;)
Join me for the adventure!
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His face was etched with malice. She cringed. Why was he always so angry? He approached slowly, intently. She backed away with equal intent. Too slow. He lunged.
This post was written in reponse to a prompt by Write On Edge.
Your text must elicit or express fear.
We have set my 7 year old up with therapy appointments.
I’m pretty sure, at this point, that the ADHD comes from both sides of my family, having had the time to reflect on things.
The woman doing my son’s psychological evaluation called me out on my potential affliction because of the way I speak and the way I jump from subject to subject simply by sidetracking myself with a simple, meaningless, comment.
He explained it to me the other day perfectly: “I hate when I’m trying to listen or think and then my eyes get all blurry and I’m just staring somewhere.”
His focus is gone, no matter how much he wants to (or knows he should) listen (or think). And by the time he gets back to the subject at hand, he has no idea what he was even thinking about that distracted him.
It sucks. Trust me, I know.
And I know how much more frustrating it has to be for a kid.
He wanted to go back on his Focalin about 3 weeks ago after the teacher moved the kids’ seats around and he was placed next to other second graders who were already working on multiplication (!!); he said it would “make him smarter.” I let him because I wanted to see how he would do in a new grade, a new school, with a pill on which his former teacher at his former school had said she noticed no change.
I see some changes. Some good. Some just a badly magnified version of what we were already dealing with simply because of fatigue at the end of the day.
There is no easy answer in this ADHD puzzle, and I wish there was.
There are pieces to it that have the same image as the rest of the pieces around it, but the shape is slightly different.
And I can’t force them in.
All I can do is sit and wait for them to reshape themselves through the proper channels of therapy and medication and pray that, someday, they will fit the way they were meant.
The way that will make him happier than he is. More focused. More self-assured.
We will get there.
We have to.
Anyone who has seen my Twitter rants knows that I was less than pleased with the phones that we had purchased last year. coughSamsungAcclaimcough
Finally someone listened and helped us along with a trade-in for two new phones… which are a vast improvement over the old ones, but which also come with the lovely autocorrect feature.
I thought it would be fun to post a collection of all of our massive autocorrect fails here. Enjoy!
As I’m getting ready to renew my driver’s license:
Jeff: Getting ready for your big test this afternoon?
Me: Test???? There’s a TEST?? Tell me you only mean of the eye variety. And, yes, psychedelic OUT! LOL
Me: Psyched, not psychedelic. That’d probably duck with the vision test.
Me: Dammit. I CALL FOWL!
Me: Haha.. see what I did there?
After I sent a picture of a pile of plaster chunks on the garage floor that I had dumped out of a vaporizer.
Me: That was all the crap that fell out when I turned it upside down to get one of the kid’s toys out of it.
Me: The whole inside is just faked in plaster dust. =/
Me: And by faked, I mean caked. Stupid autocorrect.
Jeff: LOL Nut gross.
Me: LMAO What was that???
Jeff: Should have been but gross not nut gross.
Jeff: Spent 45 minister trying to put music on my phone this morning with no luck…..
Me: Minister eh? That’s what you get for always misspelling minutes. =P
Me: Holy crap. Netflix has a streaming app and it actually works!
Me: I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THAT!
Jeff: No likking!
Me: Um. Ok.
Jeff: Damnit! That was supposed to be no kidding.
Me: What the help is GeekBuddy?
Me: Hell, not help.
Me: Stupid phone. Why would hell not be a saved word already??
Jeff: Geek buddy was something that came with cpmpdo.
After Jeff had spent 45 minutes (or minister, whatever) fixing all the duplicates in his contacts list:
Jeff: BTW my contacts are all ducked up again. Grrrrr
Regarding the phone’s speed both on and off the WiFi:
Jeff: Hadn’t really tried it before but these things are blazing tasty even off the wireless.
Me: I can see where this autocorrect feature is going to keep me amused for a long time.
Jeff: Ah fuck.
I watch as the water runs in a compilation of rapid rivers from the kitchen faucet.
My wrist reveals what I’d already known from the thousand times I had checked it before: not too hot; not too cold.
The tiny bundle in my other arm peers up at me, forehead wrinkled in the questioning calm that running water never fails to bring. His eyes are a deep granite with slivers of blue cutting through to his pupils. I always feel, looking into them, that eyes as deep as his must know something that I do not, especially now.
He simply stares at me, never doubting or questioning me as I remove his diaper and place him gently in the swirling liquid. The sound of water parting as petite baby flesh is placed within captures me and I watch him as he absorbs his new environment, awaiting the cries of angst I had heard from many a previous sibling.
He is, instead, silent. Complacent. Observant.
Tiny toes, skin still peeling from their adjustment to a much less liquid environment, flex and curl above the water as I run a shampoo-covered hand through dark hair, my other placed beneath him to keep him from sliding on the white porcelain. The clean scent of his baby bath reaches my nostrils as I lather him.
I watch as the bubbles form in the water, surrounding and clinging to his skin. He stretches within my hand and I can’t help but marvel at how someone so tiny can still show the telltale signs of cellulite when flexing his thin limbs.
I smile at him while he looks up at me, bubbles etching patterns around him that he won’t begin to notice for many months. His fingers flex and fan in the space between us as his water begins to cool.
Making sure I have his towel ready, I reach beneath him to pull the drain from the bottom of the sink. His fingers grasp at one another, locked together in their exploratory struggle, as the water drains below.
The moment I begin to lift him from the sink, his silence starts to dissipate. There is no longer trust on his face; no longer calm in his eyes.
Anger reddens him as cooler air hits his wet skin and his mouth forms a perfect oval of disdain.
At first, there is still silence.
And then… his opinion is heard.
Loud and clear.
My Dearest Little Boy,
It is about 10:30 in the morning on the day of your first birthday.
One year ago today, at exactly this time, I was sitting in the emergency room, my hands clasped across an enormous belly, terrified that we would lose you. You see, you weren’t supposed to be here until October 16th. Instead, due to circumstances beyond anyone’s control, your safe haven had suddenly become a place that was threatening your very existence.
We were so unprepared for this early debut that we didn’t even have a name for you until your second day of life. But I’m thankful, in the grand scheme of things, that you showed up when you did. Had it been any later… I don’t like to think about how differently things could have gone. We were and are truly blessed to have you as a part of our family.
I will never forget those initial moments of fear and heartache, just as I will never forget the flood of love and relief when you defied the odds that had been set against you.
Despite everything, you made it here safely. And you were beautiful and so very perfect. You still are. Even in all of your frustrating moments, you are you… and there is nothing more perfect than that.
My sweet boy, may your first birthday be filled with all of the happiness and joy that you have brought to us all over this past year. And may you never forget how very much you are loved.