Siblings saved his life

My older two children deserve a medal of honor.  Together they saved their brother's life (or maybe they saved their mother's life)...either way....all members of our family are alive and uh well.  Maybe that's a little extreme.  How about they saved us the expensive copay to commit me to Western State Hospital.

Our garage has turned into one gigantic garbage collector.  For some reason, when we ask children to take out the recycle or put something in the garage they hear, "Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah" and translate it to "Hey take this, and just throw it anywhere in the garage.  Anywhere is fine."  Needless to say, this interpretation combined with my lack of desire to make them ACTUALLY do what I told them to created one big disaster.  It was kind of like Hoarders with a small area carved out to park my car.  Getting in and out of the car was quite a feat, and we were always tripping over things trying to get in and out.  Yesterday Husband decided it was time to clean out the garage.  It was sunny (which is super rare in the Northwest), so it was time to end the procrastination.

Aaron was on the computer watching the same 3 second clip from a Veggie Tales movie, so we brought the older two kids out to break down some of the boxes.  BIG mistake.  I know better.  I know better.  I know better.  Why don't I listen to myself?  Oh I know--because no one else does!  My son goes back in the house to find a box of popsicles unwrapped and dipped in sugar, all over the kitchen counters and floor (nicely staining the grout on my counter tops and leaving the floor so sticky that three times over with a mop didn't even get it).  Since he saw the mess first, we made him clean it while we continued working on the garage.  (We were losing daylight, and the contents of our garage were all over the driveway).  A little bit later Daughter comes back out and says, "Mom, do you want me to clean your bathroom?  You should probably see it."  I tell her that if she wants her brother to live then she should clean it and not tell me what happened.  She can tell by the tone in my voice that I'm probably kidding.  Probably.  I didn't really want a recap because I pretty much knew what happened.  My trash can confirmed my suspicions, a full bottle of dish soap and shaving cream were completely empty.  Seriously!  I suppose the upside is that at the end of the day I had a clean garage, a clean bathroom, and a mostly clean kitchen with sticky floors!  It could be worse. 

My little shopper

After living in my house for a year, I've finally decided that it's time to start decorating it like someone lives here.  Thus, my need for curtain rods.  First of all, I suck at decorating, so trying to figure out what I want is a challenge.  But how hard can CURTAIN RODS be?  Husband has the day off so we decide to go take Little Monster to the store to pick out curtain rods.  We'll go to Ross and see if they have anything, and if not, Lowes it is.

For the most part I LOVE LOVE LOVE to shop (if I'm alone), but let me be honest--I hate Ross.  This whole "looking for treasures" is a bunch of crap.  My brain isn't wired to look for treasures; however, my brain is wired to see $9.99 curtain rods and decide that is better than the $32.99 curtain rods at Lowes--especially since I need two. ($20 or $65--I'm willing to treasure hunt for 3 minutes).  Husband, Monster and I walk into Ross, and Aaron immediately has an agenda.  My agenda outranks his, so we drag him through the store and find curtain rods that will work (for $9.99 each--nice).  Being the nice mom that I am, I decide to let him take me to where he wants to go--the toy aisles. Husband goes to one end of the aisle and I take the other so we've got him blocked off and he can't go bolting through the store.  It only takes him a minute to come up with this:

I'm so proud! Really!

I'm laughing and think this is absolutely hilarious, and who can refuse that face, so I let him take his treasures to the checkout.  Husband is looking at me like I'm crazy, and I'm like, "what?"  He says, "you're going to let him get all of that?"  I reply, "hey-they are toys.  Our son wants to play with toys.  Come on, let's get them."  Who can refuse me?  So we're standing in line, and he spots a package of Jelly Bellies.  "I want candy"  Ugh.  "I want jelly bean"  Awe.....so of course we HAD to get those too.  I pay for our "treasures"...IT WOULD HAVE BEEN CHEAPER TO GO TO LOWES.  This is why I don't take him shopping with me. 

The funny thing is, he picked out this piece of junk Transformers "laptop" (which even though I knew it was a piece of junk I still bought it for him--how's that for good parenting).  As it turns out, today he showed us on that junky "laptop" that he could type all sorts of things (most of which we knew he could, but he surprised us by spelling our names).  When Husband got home from work tonight I gave Aaron the "laptop" and told him to spell Cameron.  It didn't look like he was going to do it so I said, "c....a...."--which he typed and then ignored me and finished with "ndy".  Ha ha ha ha!  That kid makes me laugh!

Fishing for fishies

I'd like to say that the reason I haven't posted in months is that my ball of trouble is no longer trouble; however, that is not the case.  I've thought about posting often, but haven't been able due to terminally ill parents.  Well, we're back.  I'm hoping I can get to my storytelling again and make you all feel better about your lives.  Here goes.

Tonight I went to my first support group meeting for parents of children with disabilities.  I have never ever had a desire to do such a thing, but it was the first night and I volunteered our church to host it, so I figured I'd better go.  It was actually a good night, and the most repeated comment was "I just want to be somewhere where other people 'get it'.  That I can tell them what my kid is doing and they won't judge me".  I'm so glad there is a safe place for them to do that, and I promise I won't be telling you any of their stories.  It's ironic that as soon as I get home from my first support group meeting, with people who just want to be around other moms who "get it", that my sweet monster gave me another notch on my belt.  Seriously people--you can't make this stuff up.

I come home and Aaron is still awake (it's 10:30 PM mind you).  He has confiscated my laptop and is in his bedroom with a bowl of goldfish crackers watching one second of a YouTube clip of Baby Neptune over and over and over...obviously it's late and it's time for him to go to bed, so being the responsible parent that I am, I tell him it's bedtime.  The next two minutes unfold like this.

Me: "Aaron, it's time to go to bed.  Let's go potty and brush your teeth."  We walk to the bathroom.  Stop reading right now if you have a weak stomach. 

Let me first quickly back up.  Aaron has been neglecting to pay attention and "aim" while he's going to the bathroom, so we've had to back up and actually follow him into the bathroom and give him the direction "pay attention".  Seriously?  He's 11. 

Anyhow.  We walk to the bathroom and he's carrying his bowl of fish crackers.  He walks up to the toilet and I go to take the bowl of goldfish crackers from him as he's standing over the toilet.  He won't let go of them so I say to myself "fine, he can hold them, it's not that big of a deal".  True to the way we roll in this house, he accidentally drops the entire bowl into the toilet.  I was on top of my game (or so I thought), so I immediately grab the bowl out of the toilet (thankfully he hadn't actually started going yet) and flush it because I know what was going to happen and I didn't want him grabbing fish crackers out of the toilet.  As the fishies are going down the drain, he decides he going to help them on their journey by peeing on them.  Fine.  Well...ummmm....this is the part where I'm not on top of my game.  He grabs the bowl he dropped into the toilet (that I had put on the tank) and drinks the toilet water that was left in it!  I'm grossed out, and calmly rip it out of his hands and say "gross"!  I know, I know, you're not supposed to react--but COME ON!   You know how the toilet bowl drains, and then fills back up again?  The toilet fills back up and some of the fishies come back up...so naturally he reaches into the toilet to grab them out TO EAT THEM!  NASTY!  I was able to grab his hand after he stuck it in the water, but before he was able to get one of those fishies in his hot little hands.  I'm standing there helpless.  I've got a toilet water contaminated bowl in one hand, Aaron's hand in my other hand, and I can't flush the toilet again because it's still filling back up with water!  Aaron is trying to squirm out of my death grip to grab the crackers, and I'm rattling the handle to get those suckers down!  Needless to say, I got him out of there, had him wash his hands, brush his teeth and off to bed!  It took FOUR flushes before the toilet was free and clear of the crackers.

And THAT is how I ended my day! 

Humility

There are very few places like church that provide wonderful opportunities for humility.  While going to the store with Aaron often turns head with people judging me for all sorts of reasons, I don't have to see those people every single week.  I have fairly thick skin, but there is still a little part of me that would like to put on a front that I am a good mother who doesn't let her children leave the house looking like Pig-Pen from the comic strip Peanuts.  Is this too much to ask?  Apparently it is.  Let me back up for a moment.  If you've been reading this blog, you know that ANY functional language should be rewarded IMMEDIATELY by doing what is requested.  We have also been working very hard on answer questions with "yes or no" (more importantly choosing which of those words he wants, and not answering the question with the phrase "yes or no"!!!)  Over the past 3 days Aaron has made some pretty cool gains by answering yes and no questions appropriately, and making brand new requests (with words he hasn't used before) that we have acted on.  Fast forward to this morning.  I wake Aaron up and tell him to get dressed for church.  Naturally he goes for the nasty, pizza smeared clothes he wore yesterday.  Our conversation goes like this:

Me: (Taking the dirty shirt away from him)  No honey.  You can't wear this shirt today.  It's dirty.

Monster: Shirt.

Me: (Quite happy that he has correctly identified the object in my hands, as he has never done this before, but still standing my ground).  You can't wear this one.  It's dirty.  How about this one? (Holding up another shirt).

Monster: (He takes the shirt out of my hand and puts it back in the drawer, and then tries to grab the dirty Captain America shirt out of my other hand).  Shirt.

Me: (Standing my ground.  So I put the DIRTY Captain America shirt between my legs and pick out two other shirts.  I hold them up.)  Your shirt is dirty.  Which shirt do you want to wear, this one or this one?

Aaron:  Dirty!

I've been defeated.  This boy has never verbally told me that he wants to wear his dirty nasty clothes (although he has let me know in screeching and whining in the past).  So I have to go by the "rules" and let him wear the nasty, dirty, pizza sauce smeared shirt.  I figure I would outsmart him by having him put a sweatshirt over the shirt and then people wouldn't see the nastiness.  I tell him he needs to put on a sweatshirt, and he does.  As we're walking into church I see that the stupid sweatshirt is dirtier than his shirt!  And so, I walk into the doors of church with Pig-Pen.  The only thing we were missing was his nasty blanket and my pride.

It's been a while

Well hello again--it's been a while.  I think about writing often; however, life has been a little crazy around here.  Both of my parents have ended up critically ill within days of each other, so my siblings and I are taking care of them as well as our own families.  This whole "sandwich generation" crap is ridiculous!  ANYHOW....I've had a few stories that I've wanted to write about but haven't had the time/energy to get it out.  Well.  The other night kicked me in the butt with a story that I just HAD to write about.

I went over to a friend's house for wine, snacks and a visit.  I left about 8:15 (PM--I at least wait until the evening-ish to enjoy a nice glass of wine), and asked my daughter and her friend to put The Little Monster to bed at 8:30 for me.  15 minutes.  No problems.  Right. 

8:42pm--phone call from daughter.  I hear some sort of noise in the background, and I can't tell if it's crying or laughing.  I'm worried. 
Daughter: "Mom.  I have two things to tell you."
Me: "What's wrong?"
Daughter: "Well, there are two things.  First of all J*** (friend) and I put on a pomegranate face mask and it burns--"
Me (interrupting and possibly agitated): "Well wash it off."  (I was going to add "stupid" to the end of the sentence, but caught myself as I remembered that 13/14 year-olds lack common sense, so it was unreasonable for me to expect her to problem solve something this difficult).  "What else?  What's wrong?"
Daughter: "Well, I put Aaron to bed like you told me to, and he didn't want to go.  He went to his room whining.  He kept whining and then about 20 minutes later he was banging on his door.  I put him back to bed and he was mad.  All of a sudden Cameron (brother) came running upstairs asking us if we knew what Aaron was doing.  Cameron was walking toward the house and saw Aaron push the screen out of his window, and was throwing his toys out of the window (which happens to be on the second story)."


At this point two things are going through my head: 1. That's hilarious!  I totally wish I could have seen it.  I can only imagine what was going through his head.  2.  Holy Crap!  What if he jumps out the window???


Me: Call your father (who happens to be 30 seconds away) and then call me back.


The remainder of the evening I exchanged phone calls and texts with both of my children so I could stay on top of the situation.  Husband came home and was able to put Aaron to bed without incident.  I'll admit I didn't sleep as well that night because I was worried that he would jump out the window to escape in protest--he didn't.  Whew!

I'm the favorite

I'm not gonna lie, I LOVE being the favorite.  It stems from being the favorite child in my family.  (Ok, well maybe that's not entirely true--the part about me being the favorite).  Since it didn't work in my family, I tried to tell my father-in-law that I was his favorite.  He agrees (with a stipulation), but he adds "oldest" into it--so I'm his favorite "oldest" daughter-in-law, guess I'm not the favorite there either.  What's with all of this equality business anyway?  Just like there is sibling rivalry (in order to be at the top of the parental favoritism list), I would argue that there is spousal rivalry as well.  (I think I'm going to see if they will include that as a disorder in the upcoming DSM V).  Even though adults should be mature enough to not play the "favorite game", the reality is--I'm not that mature.  It's true.

Yesterday was one of the more precious Aaron days.  It started at school where I attended a crack for kids Valentine's party.  It was the end of the day and I was getting ready to leave.  Aaron grabbed my hand with a death grip that turned my hand white.  I was planning on taking him anyway, but I enjoyed the sweet pain of my hand being crushed because I knew that he wanted me.  It only got better from there.  It wasn't even bed time yet when Aaron said, "Mah, coh hewe" (Mom come here) and grabbed my hand to lead me somewhere.  I stopped my whatever non-important thing I was doing (my euphoria of having him want me erased my memory), and I let him drag me through the house. It turned out that he wanted me to put him to bed, so we went through his bedtime routine, and I left his room a happy "Mah".  Husband, Daughter and I settled down in my bed to watch The Voice when I noticed that his door was open.  I found him and brought him to my room to lay down.  His hot, sweaty body fell asleep during the show, and I subjected myself to the inferno because he was just too sweet.  (Sleeping kids are the best!).  After the show, Husband woke him up to put him to bed (long gone are the days of carrying him anywhere).  They got all the way to his room when I hear "Mah, Mah.  I want Mah."  How can I resist that?  So without gloating too much (ahem), I repeated Aaron's bedtime routine, and both of us fell asleep happy.  

Fast forward to this morning.  [If you've read this blog, you may remember that Husband hates all animals (especially our two golden retrievers).  Hold on to this information--you will need it in a minute.]  It's time for Aaron to get on the bus.  Husband is walking out the door for work, so he yells that he'll take Aaron out to the bus.  Well Aaron doesn't want Husband to take him.  He wants ME to take him (oh yeah baby)!  In the midst of this exchange, Husband leaves the front door open.  Not good.  The golden retrievers seize this amazing opportunity and go FLYING out the front door. Chaos has now ensued.  Luckily(?) the dogs went running onto the bus.  The bus driver grabbed them, and Aaron and I are walking towards the bus.  She sees us coming, so she lets the dogs go.  Son and Daughter come running out to get the dogs, but the dogs have other plans.  They go bolting off down the street.  I know that Husband is most likely pissed at this point (especially since it was his fault--not that I'm assigning blame or anything).  The dogs are headed for the woods, and the kids are running as fast as they can after them.  I'm not sure what my emotions should have been at this moment, but I was quite satisfied that Aaron wanted me to put him on the bus.  Long story short, Husband ended up corralling the dogs in his car, brings them home, and drives to work.  He calls me to let me know how ironic it is that the boy wanted me, and the dogs wanted him (the sarcasm in his voice was thick).  I leave the conversation with a deep sense of gratification--it's going to be a good day.       

Scissors

What did you do this morning?  I bet you didn't spend 20 minutes with a tiny pair of scissors trying to get a tag off of the elastic band on underwear.  Yeah.  I didn't realize when I bought this package of underwear (for Aaron--just for clarification) that they would have tags.  Who puts tags on clothes anymore?  Everything is supposed to be tag-free now.  I can't believe Fruit of the Loom doesn't know this.  Anyhow, thankfully I didn't wait until the last absolute minute to get Aaron dressed for school (not that I've ever done that)--otherwise he may have been ripping his underwear off at school--not cool.  Husband apparently ran into this problem before I did, and his solution was to cut the tag out of the elastic, so now there is a big cut out of the elastic of another pair!  I at least "saved" the elastic from being cut to shreds!

After Aaron got home from school he comes downstairs, whining, saying "scissors, scissors".  I am SO thankful that he didn't find some on his own otherwise there would be one funny looking kid running around! 

Peanut butter saved the day!  He was quite unhappy with the process, trying to wipe the peanut butter out of his hair while I was trying to work it through the gum.  I tried to have as much compassion as possible (which isn't much), but COME ON!  Don't put gum in your hair!  Thankfully the peanut butter worked, and after some apple Suave he was back in business!  Although his hair smelled confusing...Is it apple? Is it peanut butter? Who cares--he only lost a few hairs in the process, and taking scissors to his hair was avoided!