Sweet

I started a cleanse so that I could try to detox my body. My back is always sore. My eating isn't always great, and let's face it. I need to lose weight. The cleanse I chose is a really easy cleanse. It only requires 30 days of no alcohol, no sugar, no caffeine, no soy, no dairy, and no gluten. Easy.

Here's what the days have looked like to far:

Day 1: Asleep at my desk by 2:30pm.

Day 2: Sneak bites of a ham sandwich while no one is watching, which forces me to stand in the corner of the kitchen facing a wall of cabinets.

Day 3:Drive around looking for a coffee shop because I am really about to fall asleep while talking to my clients and then become so ashamed of my lack of willpower that I decide to tell myself that I am just scouting local parks for summer camps for Doof and then go back to work and try to hang myself on my cube wall.

Day 4: Doing well all day until about 8:45am when I somehow ended up in the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru and I have ordered a small black coffee. I was WIDE AWAKE FOR ABOUT EIGHT HOURS and I did a lot of work stuff. Then soccer and pollen and sneezing happened for about an hour and when we got home, Doof brings me a bowl of ice cream. Then he brings out Travis' ice cream. The wheels came off, people. It took me a flat five seconds to consume my entire bowl of ice cream and then I notice that Travis' bowl has so much more than mine. I say to Doof, "Why does Daddy's have so much more than mine?" And guess what he says! "Yours has the exact right amount for you. Daddy's amount is right for him." What was I supposed to do? I waited until Doof turned his back and started to very slooooooowly reach toward the other bowl. I had it in my hand and I was taking just a tiny taste and it was almost in my mouth and I was watching the spoon get closer and closer. I looked up to see if Doof was still looking the other direction, but you should know by now that my luck had run out. Doof stares at me with mouth agape and starts running toward me screaming, "NO! NOOO! NOOOOOOOO!" I scoop the tiny bite of ice cream into my mouth and have another huge spoonful ready to eat and my motions are so methodical, so perfectly timed...dip, scoop, slurp, dip, scoop, slurp...and Doof comes and grabs the bowl and spoon right out of my hand as I polished off about half of the bowl of ice cream in the last remaining second. He looks at me and screams, "THAT'S IT!!! MOM!" And then he starts to refill Travis' bowl to make up for what I had scarfed, so as I walk past him in the kitchen I made the best sad and disappointed face I could muster. Doof looks at me and I look at Doof and as he scrapes the container clean he says, "Here, Mom. You can lick the scooper."

Abducted by Aliens

When I first met my husband I had no idea it had been so long since he had been to the dentist. I am a mostly-regular-visit-to-the-dentist kind of person. After nagging him, he finally went and he had one tiny cavity. After twelve years. Makes me sick. The point is that I went to the dentist after missing ONE regular appointment. 

Wait. Let me preface this with the fact that I have very little tartar on my teeth even if I don't brush and floss regularly. The dentist told me that I probably do not have the enzyme (or if I have it, I have very little of it) that turns plaque into tartar. So, I am SO INSANELY SMUG about this little fact that I literally stopped flossing. I wasn't even ashamed to admit it to the hygienist  I know it's not smart. I know it's gross. I know you still get inflammation if you don't floss, but I made it for an entire YEAR without flossing more than two or three times and guess what? NO CAVITIES! I was thrilled. But then my dentist retired. 

So I met the new dentist at the next cleaning visit and immediately I didn't like her because I was being a smart ass and she didn't think I was funny. Whatever. The next set of x-rays at my regular cleaning visit showed...TWO small cavities between my teeth. Ok. Fine. Guess what? I don't care. I am not even considering getting those filled because you are a new dentist I have never met and you just think you're so damn smart. So I went to the next regular cleaning appointment and she looked at the same x-rays (because insurance only pays for them once a year and I go every six months) and was all, "Yep, just the same problems we talked about last time. Have a nice life." Ok. That's not a direct quote. Well, guess what? I'm finding a different dentist and getting a second opinion because you just think you're so damn smart and you act like you don't have time for me. Well, guess what, lady! I don't have time for you! I'm taking my business elsewhere. Harumph.

So I skipped a visit just to piss her off. I know she noticed. 

Okay. Well, I didn't plan on going back to see her because I just don't like her and she's making up all these cavities and just wants my money, but I am starting a new job and I decided I needed to get this over with because my schedule won't be so accommodating. The hygienist lady comes in and takes the x-rays and cleans my teeth and then she calls the dentist in for the exam.  Guess what that bitch tells me. She has the gall to start writing all this crap down in my chart and then looks over at me. "Ms. _____ (me), let's see here. You have.... (looks down at the chart and starts counting out loud)...1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7... (then looks back at me with the most annoyed glare I have ever seen) ...seven cavities and you need a crown." And I am so pissed.

I'll just skip to the end at this point.

Three days later I find myself lying in this reclining chair with a bright light in my eyes, these weird sunglasses on, and these two people starring at me. I brought my iPod so I wouldn't have to hear the drilling and I asked that they make sure not to let me smell the burning bits of my teeth that they are grinding out of my mouth. All I can think is that this is what it is like to be abducted by aliens. They are using a DRILL...inside...my mouth. There's water spraying everywhere, there's clamps on my teeth, there's the suction thing that keeps sucking my tongue into it. All of it was horrible. And I laid there...white-knuckled, butt-cheeks clenched, shoulders and neck all tensed in case I have to hit someone and run out of there. But I just laid there without being restrained. Would I let a real alien do this to me? I guess so.

See? I think I am such a bad ass refusing dental care and being so smug about my enzymes and there I laid. Resistance was futile and I knew it. And that dentist thought she was so damn smart while she made Swiss cheese out of my teeth. I know she was smirking behind that mask. 

Backfire

My earlier posts about the creative ways in which I would get Doof to get ready for school in a timely fashion worked for a short while. I swear to God! He is the slowest kid I have ever met. I have tried everything I can think of and I consider myself to be a pretty creative person. I can stand there ticking off the minutes as they pass and reminding him to think about time passing as he's eating (pretending to eat).  I can threaten to take away things he really loves and then actually follow through and do that. I could try to think of things that he loves to eat and that I am positive he would just chow down...and that doesn't work, either. I cannot wrap my mind around the reason why he takes so long even when certain death is just minutes away. I had tried everything and was complaining to a friend when she suggested something she had heard or read. As I listened to this story, I knew I had found the answer! A mom who had the same problem with her son decided that she was sick of the kid missing the bus and being late to school. She decided that she would have him get dressed for school last and do everything else first. She would make him make his bed, brush his teeth, and eat breakfast and then get dressed. If he wasn't done in time, she would send him to school in his pajamas. It took two mornings of sending him in to school in pajamas and it was not a problem any longer.

YES! YES! YES! Shame AND embarrassment! At the same time!  This would surely work!

I prepped Doof the night before by telling him the routine would be switched up the following morning and that he would wear his pajamas to school when time was up and he wasn't dressed. He went to bed that night thinking a lot about how embarrassing it would be to be the only kid in pajamas and I know this because I heard him talking to himself that night in his room. "Doof. You can do this. Just get up and do all your stuff in a hurry. You can do this." (By the way, I think eavesdropping on Doof while he talks to himself at night might be my favorite thing ever.)

When I woke Doof up, I said, "Hey, buddy. Today is the day you get dressed last, remember?" He was so motivated to do things quickly that he hurried very quickly and did most of the things he is supposed to do, but then breakfast reared it's ugly head. All he had to eat was two (TWO!) teeny tiny Rudy's Farms sausage biscuits and take his medicine and vitamins. And he LOVES those things! I was doing him a FAVOR! A HUGE FAVOR! (Don't think it didn't cross my mind to make him eat cheese grits or scrambled eggs. Most people would prefer that, but not Doof. "Cheese grits AND eggs?!? MOOOOOOOMMMMMM!") Anyway, he actually ate his breakfast pretty quickly but it took him...I'm not kidding you...FORTY MINUTES to take two pills and two vitamins. But it gets worse! THE VITAMINS ARE CHEWABLE GUMMY VITAMINS, PEOPLE! Gummy. Chewy. Fruit-flavored. Vitamins.  Let me also say that the bus comes at 8:00 and I wake Doof up at 6:50. PLEN-TEE-OF -TIIIIIIIIME.

So after the forty-minute-vitamin-chewing-game I knew this wasn't looking good and I was secretly kind of excited and my adrenaline was pumping but I didn't remind him of the time crunch he was in because I wanted him to finally learn his lesson. He needed to know that I was serious and that I would keep my promise of sending him to school in his pajamas. But, you see, things got kind of tricky because he couldn't miss the bus because that was the best place to embarrass him, so I had to keep a close eye on the time. Well, I re-filled my popcorn and soda so I could watch the debacle unfold and have refreshments, too, and then when I looked up at the clock, I realized it was GO-TIME! I went to Doof's room to see that he was half-naked sitting in the floor on top of his blankets that were supposed to be folded nicely on his bed. "Uh-uh, Doof. You are supposed to get dressed last and your bed isn't made and actually, it's time to go to to the bus stop." You should have seen the shock on his face. He obviously absolutely does not have any concept of the passage of time! "ALREADY?", he said.

I just stood there in disbelief and said, "Put your pajamas back on. We're leaving." Then something horrible happened. I felt a wet spot on his pants. I am a social worker, people. This is already a risky plan, okay. I can send my kid to school in pajamas, but I certainly canot send my kid to school in peepeepajamas. UGH! He was ruining my plan! What was I going to do? Then it came to me. Check the drawer! Get clean pajamas! Right! And guess what was in the drawer. Only one pair of pajamas that were appropriate for the weather...and they were the coolest pair of pajamas he owns. They are superman pajamas. With a cape. (Thanks, Townsend Family.) So I had no choice but to make him wear his cool pajamas.

We walked to the bus stop. He avoided eye contact. He got on the bus. Nobody seems to notice right away. But, I am a proactive parent, so I decide to go to the school and talk to his teacher about his attire that day, so no special phone calls are made to any certain special child welfare people. I get to the classroom and Doof has just walked in from the bus and sits down at his desk. I whisper to the teacher the reason he's in his pajamas and she understands but then says, "Doof told me you sent a note to the office telling them that he was allowed to wear his pajamas today(....wait for it...)as a REWARD." My mouth dropped open and I looked at Doof. He was happy as a (why is "snake on a stump" coming to mind?) happy as a .... happy person could be. Just loving life in the second grade classroom while wearing his pajamas. I rolled my eyes and as I walked by him on the way out the door I whispered, "That might work today, but what are you going to say tomorrow?"

Well, the day goes by quickly and now it's time for Doof to come home. I anxiously await the arrival of the bus and when I hear it, I rush outside to get a look at Doof. I want to gauge how his day has been, you know, to see if he learned his lesson. He comes over the hill and I swear it's like something out of a friggin movie. He's running, his backpack held in his hand down by his side, his superman cape flying in the wind, and and great big ol' smile on his face.

Me: Hey, Doof! How was your day?
Doof: Mom! It was the BEST DAY EVER! All of my friends and even most of my teachers said they loved my shirt! The PE teacher even asked if I would let her borrow it! And my friend says he wants to wear it for Halloween!
Me: Oh. That's...great.

Major backfire. I don't have a Plan B, people. That was already by Plan Q. Shit.

Drunk People Aren't Known For Having Great Ideas.

You guys. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It's been a while. You must just be so...fond...of me by now.

Okay. Listen to this story from 2005.

I lived on the second floor of these old and crappy apartments that were within walking distance to both the downtown area and the football stadium when I was in college. Rent was expensive...but not as expensive as a DUI, which is why these crappy apartments were always full. As you can imagine, that complex was also full of drunk idiots.

One night, my four male neighbors from upstairs got really drunk while they packed their stuff up to move out of their apartment. Well, "drunk" doesn't really do justice in describing their altered mental state, but, whatever. Keep reading.

So, one guy had the courtesy to come to my door and ask that I move my car before they threw their sofa over the third floor balcony. I obliged, and then my friend and I watched from the sliding glass door as a full-sized sofa teetered on the rail of the third floor balcony and then crashed to the ground.

Drunk. Idiots.

Well, the story doesn't end there because simply sending the couch over the edge wasn't enough for them. I walked out onto the balcony with my friend as two or three drunk guys started dragging the sofa into the middle of the parking lot.

Me: "Hey. Uh...what are you guys doing?"
One guy: "We're KILLING the couch!"
Other guy: "HAHHAHAAAA!"
Some other guy to the other other guy: "Tell him we're ready!"
One guy: "We're READY!!! Get your keys!"
Me: (crickets, then a thunderous noise of about ten people running down the cement stairs.)

They dragged the couch to the middle of the parking lot (you know, where the cars drive, not where people sit on couches and watch movies) and then another guy gets in his car and backs it out of the parking space and drives off. The idiots are all standing around and I start slowly realizing that they're planning on trying to run over the couch with the car. I mean, that's a brilliant idea, right?

I look further over the edge and see about fifteen guys watching and waiting to see how cool it's going to be to run over a couch with a car. Over to the right, I see the headlights of the old 1986 Honda Accord drawing nearer and finally coming to a stop. I hear the idiots urging him to "GO! GO! GO!" and like something out of a movie, he revs his engine a few times. I look over at my friend and we silently agree that we are about to witness something that could not possibly end well.

In slow motion, the engine revs one last time right as the drunkest idiot decides he wants to sit down for a second. You know...he obviously needs to rest. He was really too drunk so stand to even a minute longer. Actually, he can't stand up for even a second longer, so he decides to RUN and flop onto the sofa just as drunk driver guy puts the petal to the medal. I start waving my arms. "NO! STOP! OH MY GOD!!! STOP!!!" And then I see crash and the really tired drunk guy literally goes flying about 30 feet through the air before skidding across the asphalt on his face.

The cops showed up. People got arrested. Guys still have scars.

Drunk. Idiots.

I thought you needed to know this story.

Smarty Needs Some Training

Okay, so you guys remember Smarty, right? She's the sassypants girl who lives across the street and Doof's big sister-ish kind of friend. Good. So, Smarty's momma works her butt of providing for her family and I like Smarty because she provides great blog material is just as crazy as the rest of us. Anyway, I got the opportunity to pet-sit at a friend's house and this friend has a pool. A real pool. A really clean pool. (No way am I going to a public pool. All that pee. Teenagers doin' it in there. Babies without those tight plastic diapers. Sweat. Snot. Spit. Okay, I have to stop.) This pet-sitting gig was divine timing because it was hotter than a hundred hells this weekend and even the balmy water was better than no balmy water. So, I took Doof and Smarty and Stinks with me over to the house to swim and whatnot. Again, perfect because said house also has a baby bed for Stinks to nap in. Not sure why that's important to this story...but okay...Smarty needs some diversity training.

Exhibit A:
For some reason Doof has it in his mind that you cannot see him once he goes "under the dark water". Never mind that the pool is clean and the water is clear and the bottom of the pool is a pale blue or that Doof is BLACK. Smarty goes along with it for a few minutes. She likes to join him in his fantasy world from time to time. She is a few years older than Doof and I like to think she finds it freeing to go back in time a few years and play pretend. But, you know....there's only so much she's willing to put up with. So, there's Smarty on the diving board. She's looking toward the shallow end where Doof is sinking under the water and jumping back out saying over and over again, "Smarty! Can you see me? Smarty! Can you see me under the dark water? Smarty! Smarty! Can you? Can you?" Finally, she has had enough. "YES! I CAN SEE YOU, CHOCOLATE BROWN!!!! GAWD!"

Exhibit B:
Same day. Same pool.
Smarty: Hey, Ms. ______(oh my gosh. what am I going to call myself on this blog?)_____, did you say that your friends are going to adopt a brother and a sister?
Me: Yes.
Smarty: What color are they?
Me: Uuuuummm...you mean their skin color? They're bi-racial.
Smarty: What's that mean?
Me: Their mom is white and their dad is black.
Smarty: Oh yeah. I've seen those kinds of kids. They have weird, fuzzy hair.

Exhibit C:
Same day, again. Same pool.
Me (more to myself than anything): Man, Stink's ears are still so floppy. I wonder how long until the cartilage hardens.
Smarty: Well, at least his nose isn't connected to his mouth.

Smarty, really? So, I jokingly mention this to Smarty's mom and her response?
"She said CHOCOLATE brown. That's a compliment. She loves chocolate."

Wonder where she gets it.

There's Something You Should Know About Me.

I have been told many times over the years that I like bad music. Actually, the first time I ever heard this, I was in the sixth grade. There was a kid who called me "Murphy Brown" because I guess Murphy Brown likes bad music, too? Some comments were made in high school that it was strange that I knew all the lyrics to strange songs. When I would drive and flip through stations, I usually landed on some old lady station. And Travis thought it was funny when I cried the first time I heard Tesla's Love Song. If you ever see me sitting in traffic singing into my cell phone, I'm probably not singing anything current. 

I always think it is fascinating that personalities are so enduring. My dad once gave me a recording of myself at age 3 talking talking about a hippopotamus and singing Up On The Housetop and some other such nonsense. It was really odd to hear my three-year-old self saying "Noooo, I'm gonna spank YOU!" with the exact same tone and inflection as I use today. I guess what I am getting at is that I was probably enjoying bad music back then, too. Some things probably don't change much.

In my childhood, us kids had absolutely no radio rights in the car. We listened to what my mom and step-dad listened to and that was all there was to it. While my mom was single, we always listened to (i guess you would call it) light rock. Lots of Christopher Cross, Debbie Gibson, Bryan Adams, Peter Cetera...all really nice, if you ask me. Air Supply was also a favorite. (I am such a dweeb. I know, but  am embracing it.) I actually got to see Air Supply in concert when I was in undergrad. I was embarrassingly excited to go and eagerly asked my really awesome roommate (who liked some kinds of bad music), but Air Supply was just too bad for his taste. I had just met my husband and we were at that point in dating where he should be trying to please me and make me happy, so I just knew he would go with me. Nope. No one...not even one person I knew...would go with me to this concert. I won't lie. I was disappointed but I was not going to miss the concert even if I had to go by myself. 

I did some soul-searching and started wondering if my taste in music was really that bad. How could I be so off-base in my music selection that not a single person I know would take me up on a FREE ticket to see Air Supply? I mean...we all know the songs. So now I COMEEEEEE to YOUUUUUUU with OOOPPPPPPPEN AARRMMMMMSSSSS. Come on. You ALL know that one. Even Mariah Carey covered it because it's GOOD. Sigh. Whatever.

Anyway, I finally found someone to go to the concert with me. I packed a bottle of wine, a blanket, some fancy cheese and crackers and me and my mom had a great time and I even got to kiss Graham Russell on the cheek. Now all you haters are sad you missed it, aren't cha? Humph.

Why Didn't I Think Of This Sooner?

Every. Single. Morning. I have to fight with Doof to (a) get up (b) get dressed (c) eat (d) eat faster (e) OH MY GOD HURRY UP AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH BEFORE YOU ARE TARDY AND I LOSE MY MIND!!!!! I have tried everything I could imagine to get him just to, please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...MOVE YOUR ASS!!!  I mean, what is it with this kid? I have found myself asking if this is just a personality trait I will have to accommodate. Will Doof ALWAYS be leisurely? Will he NEVER care about hurrying the hell up for anything? I have even asked myself if it's a black thing. Would black mothers be as crazed as I am about getting things done on time, being prompt? Is he on "black people time" and I just don't get it?

I'm not kidding you when I say that I have, on more than one occasion and by 7:00am, grabbed him by the shoulders and shaken him until I heard his teeth rattle. It takes that much escalation and effort just to get his attention and to let him know that I am serious about whatever it is I am saying to him or asking of him. Am I proud of doing this? No. Am I human? Yes. Am I a perfect parent? Yes. Really? Yes. Perfect. I'll prove it in a few paragraphs.

It is so irritating to have to tell him over and over to do things. It is frustrating to me that he waits until he is told to do the things he knows he has to do. We call this "Learned Helplessness". And it is all my fault. He acts like he's helpless and I continue to treat him like he's helpless.

Me: Hey, Doof, put your clothes on.
Doof: Ok.
(fifteen whole minutes later...I mean, really, the kid has to put on three items that have been predetermined that he would wear. They're already laying there waiting to be worn. Three items. That's it. Five counting socks and shoes.)
Me: Doof, really? Where are your shoes?
Doof: In my room. You didn't tell me to put them on.
Me: (collapse to the floor and begin banging head)
Doof: Whhaaaattt?
Me: (now sobbing): How many days have you gone to school without shoes on? Do I have to tell you every single time what every single step is?
Doof: (standing there)
Me: OH MY GOD! GO GET YOUR SHOES ON! (then realizing I forgot to mention socks...) AND IF YOU COME OUT OF YOUR ROOM WITHOUT SOCKS ON BOTH OF YOUR FEET I AM GOING TO....(thinking, thinking, thinking)...GIVE ALL YOUR TOYS TO THE FOSTER KIDS AT WORK!!!

Mornings are bad. After school is terrible.

Doof RARELY has time to play after school because gets home at 3:00pm and he spends SO MUCH TIME on each task that by the time he is done bitching and finally doing what he needs to do,  we have dinner around 6:30pm (then he sits at the table for an hour eating so incredibly slowly) that after dinner, he goes straight to getting ready for bed.  Still, THREE AND A HALF HOURS is enough time to have a snack, do homework, pick one chore, and then play before dinner. It's ridiculous (right?) that he can't do these things in that much time. And then guess what happens? I get to listen to him moan and whine that he didn't get to play outside AFTER I have listened to him moan and whine about not getting the snack he wants, not wanting to do his homework, not understanding his homework, not being to pronounce the word "would"/"marble"/WHATEVER, and then complaining that he doesn't know how to "fold his blanket"/"find the trash bags"/WHATEVER. It is an understatement to say that I am sick of it. Sick to death.

I consider myself to be somewhat intelligent. I have a degree in psychology and a graduate degree, too. So why is it that I am so dumb when it comes to my own kids? I had this idea (okay, it wasn't really technically my idea, per se) that I would make these lists on small dry-erase boards for Doof. I would make a list of the tasks he needed to complete for each section, if you will, of the day. Each day he would choose the list and go through the tasks he needs to complete and check them off one by one.

Honestly, I put off doing this little kid-organizing task because I didn't want to have to go through all of his lists with him and double-check his work. I mean, that's like adding another baby to the mix...following him around, looking over his shoulder all the time, double-checking his work and most of all, listening to the whining!!! Plus I'm...kinda lazy and all...so, yeah, that's why this took so long. But, do you want to know what jump started this process? Frigging Target had the dry-erase boards for a dollar. Naturally, I bought ten because I have a lot of lists in my head (Poor Doof). Then I bought these Velcro strip thingies that would adhere to the wall, but would also make it possible for Doof to easily remove the board and carry it with him if he needed to do so and then put it right back on the wall.

We started yesterday afternoon after he got home from school. He was super excited to have a list and a dry-erase board! I couldn't believe it myself! He eagerly checked the items off the "After School" list and then...dun dun dun...HE HAD TIME TO PLAY OUTSIDE. Actually, a lot of time. It wasn't all great. The Before Bed segment was a cluster fuck challenging, but this morning....oh, PRAISE GOD, this morning was A DREAM COME TRUE! Doof got out of bed, dutifully went through his steps, checking them off proudly and running into the kitchen to make sure I knew when he had completed one, needed only a little bit of supervision, and got ready for school (including eating breakfast and brushing teeth and putting on socks and shoes) in TWENTY minutes. Twenty. We even made it in enough time for Doof to catch the bus! THE BUS!!!!!  I praised the heck out of him and made a HUGE deal about how GREAT he is and how I AM SO IMPRESSED and OH MY GOSH!! YOU JUST EARNED YOUR TOYS BACK!!! And he was just glowing. Smug. Proud of himself.

AND while we were waiting for the bus, I nicely asked Doof to put on his sweatshirt. A simple task and a kindly phrased direct order (not a choice).  Ugh. I could see it coming...the negotiating, the whining, this perfect morning was going to end in the typical fashion; Doof arguing with me over something so dumb. But...Doof surprised me again. He started to shake his head no, then stopped, then started to give some excuse, then stopped, finally took a big breath...and then a miracle happened.

He said, "Okay, mom. Yes ma'am."

See? Perfect Parent.