This is a quick one, but man--my son is going to be on a billboard someday. He has such grown-up thoughts and figures things out long before I ever do.
While cleaning the kitchen table, Garon was noticing all the stuff stuck in the cracks. I'm scrubbing and reminding him WHO is responsible for that... his response: Being a parent is kinda like payback for being a child.
Nailed it.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Kindsay Strikes Again
Does the fun ever stop with Kindsay?, you ask...after reading my blog I'll let you answer that. For you newcomers--NO! With children with special needs, being extremely specific to the details of little consequence, is very important.
Picture it--It's Sunday afternoon and Grandma has taken the children to her house for a "party"--meaning, she took my boys (of course Kindsay declined) and my two nieces and had them over to make cupcakes and popcorn balls. I was not going to turn that down--Sunday afternoon in silence? Beautiful. It wasn't until around around 6:00 PM that they returned, arms full of treats that will eventually make their way to my backside. Chocolate cupcakes and popcorn balls, along with left over pizza oh yeah. Well, actually, the cupcakes were done by the children so you can imagine the ghoulish concoctions they made. Chocolate heapings of icing topped with mounds of candy corn that disguised the cupcake altogether. The popcorn balls, however, were Martha Stewart's marshmallow versions, and I could eat my body weight in those. Won't tell you what that amounts to but it's enough to get a Christmas card from Orville. Man those are good...I immediately made my way to the bag which had about 6 in it. The boys were so thrilled seeing me enjoy their homemade treats. I placed the cupcakes in my cake dish, about eight in all. By the end of the night there were only 3 popcorn balls and 4 cupcakes left...just enough to get us through the next day! We all went to bed with visions of sugary goodness. Well, I usually do anyway, but that's beside the point.
Morning comes, and we wake to a Monday with the usual bustle--getting all kids ready to go to school plus Mom and Dad dressing for work. Feed the kids, get their clothes, get us dressed, find shoes and backpacks...blahhh! Kindsay, where's Kindsay? And where are all the cupcakes? I find her face down in bed, blankets skewed and twisted around her barely dressed body. Kindsay? moan, grunt. I look down at the side of her bed to find a box of poptarts along with wrappers scattered under her table. The boys are hollering, "Where are the popcorn balls?" and that's when I abruptly stop and look into the camera. She ATE THE POPCORN BALLS???? Kindsay, what did you do? "oooh, I don't know, I think I ate all the cupcakes and popcorn balls, I don't know why I did that. My teacher said if I get in trouble that I have to stay home from school. I think I'm in trouble." and the poptarts? "Oh, sorry." Talk about a midnight binge. The boys are wailing because they made cupcakes specially for themselves with extra sugary treats on top. I'm looking at Greg as though he should get in the kitchen stat..."the popcorn balls," I'm whimpering. Apparently, Kindsay somehow heard at school that if you get in trouble, you have to stay home. However, no one gave her enough details to know what that meant. "Kindsay, you only stay home if you get in trouble AT SCHOOL! And that's if you do something REALLY BAD!" She figured if she got in trouble at home she wouldn't have to go school. Au contrair! If that were the case she'd still be in pre-k. In a sugary hangover she lopes out of bed and pulls herself up looking like she'd been in a backseat with all the windows down, hair in all directions. Greg and I just stand there, once again, stumped and dumbfounded, hands on hips or folded and gaping at the amount of food she put away in one sitting. At least the poptarts were FiberOne. Combine that with all the sugar and she'll be empty and ready to go at it again by the time she gets home from school. I don't know how it all gets in there, but I know how it's all getting out.
Picture it--It's Sunday afternoon and Grandma has taken the children to her house for a "party"--meaning, she took my boys (of course Kindsay declined) and my two nieces and had them over to make cupcakes and popcorn balls. I was not going to turn that down--Sunday afternoon in silence? Beautiful. It wasn't until around around 6:00 PM that they returned, arms full of treats that will eventually make their way to my backside. Chocolate cupcakes and popcorn balls, along with left over pizza oh yeah. Well, actually, the cupcakes were done by the children so you can imagine the ghoulish concoctions they made. Chocolate heapings of icing topped with mounds of candy corn that disguised the cupcake altogether. The popcorn balls, however, were Martha Stewart's marshmallow versions, and I could eat my body weight in those. Won't tell you what that amounts to but it's enough to get a Christmas card from Orville. Man those are good...I immediately made my way to the bag which had about 6 in it. The boys were so thrilled seeing me enjoy their homemade treats. I placed the cupcakes in my cake dish, about eight in all. By the end of the night there were only 3 popcorn balls and 4 cupcakes left...just enough to get us through the next day! We all went to bed with visions of sugary goodness. Well, I usually do anyway, but that's beside the point.
Morning comes, and we wake to a Monday with the usual bustle--getting all kids ready to go to school plus Mom and Dad dressing for work. Feed the kids, get their clothes, get us dressed, find shoes and backpacks...blahhh! Kindsay, where's Kindsay? And where are all the cupcakes? I find her face down in bed, blankets skewed and twisted around her barely dressed body. Kindsay? moan, grunt. I look down at the side of her bed to find a box of poptarts along with wrappers scattered under her table. The boys are hollering, "Where are the popcorn balls?" and that's when I abruptly stop and look into the camera. She ATE THE POPCORN BALLS???? Kindsay, what did you do? "oooh, I don't know, I think I ate all the cupcakes and popcorn balls, I don't know why I did that. My teacher said if I get in trouble that I have to stay home from school. I think I'm in trouble." and the poptarts? "Oh, sorry." Talk about a midnight binge. The boys are wailing because they made cupcakes specially for themselves with extra sugary treats on top. I'm looking at Greg as though he should get in the kitchen stat..."the popcorn balls," I'm whimpering. Apparently, Kindsay somehow heard at school that if you get in trouble, you have to stay home. However, no one gave her enough details to know what that meant. "Kindsay, you only stay home if you get in trouble AT SCHOOL! And that's if you do something REALLY BAD!" She figured if she got in trouble at home she wouldn't have to go school. Au contrair! If that were the case she'd still be in pre-k. In a sugary hangover she lopes out of bed and pulls herself up looking like she'd been in a backseat with all the windows down, hair in all directions. Greg and I just stand there, once again, stumped and dumbfounded, hands on hips or folded and gaping at the amount of food she put away in one sitting. At least the poptarts were FiberOne. Combine that with all the sugar and she'll be empty and ready to go at it again by the time she gets home from school. I don't know how it all gets in there, but I know how it's all getting out.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Kindsay's Island
Some people have heard me say that if Kindsay was left on a deserted island, she could survive just fine. She can't tell you what day it is, what she did last week, answer anything abstract at all, but she can swing a deal. I'm telling you--RESOURCEFUL.
Her birthday was Oct 2, and we gathered as a family at a restaurant. I offered her cash or a friend party and she threw her friends out the window without a tear in her eye or a glance backward. She pretty much made the rounds with my family that she wanted cash. Hi--how are you? yeah, yeah..for my birthday I want cash. Bye. End of conversation. My brother, my sister, my parents, everyone was included. There we sat at lunch on her birthday--Kindsay of course was in a ball chewing her nails off. After we ordered we handed her our gifts--all cards. She knew what was inside. One by one she ripped them open, smelled the cash that fell on her lap, glanced over the card for politeness sake, and went on to the next. By the end she had $115 in all kinds of bills, and she smelled them in their fullness throughout lunch as the rest of us ate. She didn't touch her lunch, didn't even give her cake (a Cold Stone cake, mind you) the time of day, but smelled the cash that would soon go into the little change purse she brought strapped around her wrist. Why, after the cards/gifts/money, she was done and over with her party--"take me home!" That was the end of her birthday.
or was it?
My mom asked her to go to the movies with her, and Kindsay declined every invitation and went right to her room, door shutting behind her. Greg and I shrugged and went off to take our weekend naps. Sunday rolled around to business as usual, until Monday morning came. Now, a typical school day morning consists of Kindsay face-down in bed, parents begging her to get up, parents threatening her to get dressed, and shoved off out of the bathroom, where she now spends half her day, and onto her bus. This particular Monday morning wasn't a typical day. Greg and I got up to find her already dressed and pacing the house. We looked at each other with puzzled bewilderment (is there another kind?), but began the morning routine. We were so baffled, though, that we stopped her pacing and asked what the deal was? The deal...well she blew up at us as though we took away a teenager's cell phone. "Just because I bought a dog--You said I could have a puppy--you said someday! I'm not having this--this is getting old!" Puppy..dog? wh..? WHAT? What puppy? "I bought a dog and he's coming in the morning from Cassie!" Cassie? Who is Cassie? "It's $25 and it's my money--I'm tired of this--stop talking to me!" Love how she turns her bad deeds into my fault, right? We had a little "no you aren't getting a dog" talk, finished the morning routine, and all of us went off to school, except Bek who doesn't have school on Mondays. Greg and I felt like we'd dodged that one...and what was she talking about anyway? Beats both of us (please, with a stick), so we went on as though it was typical Kindsay ranting in La-La land (remember, she's good friends with Justin Beiber too.)
then we got a call.
Greg called me about 10AM that morning. He is terrible when it comes to breaking news. He hesitates, beats around the bush, like a horrible suspense movie that makes you topple out of your seat in anticipation. "We have a...um..well, there's a new...uh--Kindsay bought a dog." What? When? How? Apparently, Bek heard whimpering in the house and found the dog shut away in Kindsay's room. It was a 3-mo-old rat terrier that had peed itself and was starving. What...were we never going to discover this? Bek took care of it while Greg and I scrambled to uncover the mystery of how this deal went down. I phoned her teacher who could get Kindsay to admit to shooting JFK, and she was on it. Turns out, Kindsay got on Craigslist, found a dog she liked, texted the woman, made arrangements to meet out front our house at the crack of dawn, and had cash ready for delivery. I was, as you can well imagine, livid at the idiocy of a grown woman. and livid, terrified, and impressed that my special needs child who has a cafeteria of disabilities could pull off such a stunt, and without us knowing! The school psych even had to talk to her to get her to understand the very dangerous thing she had done. After the long talk, reviewing scenarios of what could-have-been, Kindsay gushed, "do you want to see my puppy?" Teacher and psych exchanged looks of concern, knowing that I was in for a real treat that night. Even if I wanted to keep the dog, I couldn't because I can't affirm the actions Kindsay took. It had to be a life lesson for her. I phoned the woman and told her she sold her puppy to a child with disabilities who killed her last four pets. "I'll be by after 7 to pick it up." 7:30 PM she came, apologizing profusely, and exchanged puppy for cash. No, I did not chew out the woman. I figured she'd never forget this incident and learn to ask for an adult next time. Besides, her punishment is the fact that she has to live with the kind of rationale that says, "sell to a minor without parents' permission." Scary. I can't stand the thought of another dog, especially with short hair that gets left on EVERYTHING. And a puppy? Chewing, potty-training..ugh. The dog, named Brandon/Shadow/Midnight (yes, they went through all those names in the time of about 3 hours) had peed on multiple things in my house, which confirmed my convictions NOT to keep it. Kindsay cried the first part of the afternoon, called everyone to tell them what a bad mother I am, but was chewing her toenails off in typical nervous fashion by the time the dog left...oh well. So long. Unfortunately, picking up the dog so late allowed my four children to bond, and left me with the original yet unfairly appointed nickname "Cruella"...a short-haired rat terrier fur coat? Hmph...I don't think so.
Her birthday was Oct 2, and we gathered as a family at a restaurant. I offered her cash or a friend party and she threw her friends out the window without a tear in her eye or a glance backward. She pretty much made the rounds with my family that she wanted cash. Hi--how are you? yeah, yeah..for my birthday I want cash. Bye. End of conversation. My brother, my sister, my parents, everyone was included. There we sat at lunch on her birthday--Kindsay of course was in a ball chewing her nails off. After we ordered we handed her our gifts--all cards. She knew what was inside. One by one she ripped them open, smelled the cash that fell on her lap, glanced over the card for politeness sake, and went on to the next. By the end she had $115 in all kinds of bills, and she smelled them in their fullness throughout lunch as the rest of us ate. She didn't touch her lunch, didn't even give her cake (a Cold Stone cake, mind you) the time of day, but smelled the cash that would soon go into the little change purse she brought strapped around her wrist. Why, after the cards/gifts/money, she was done and over with her party--"take me home!" That was the end of her birthday.
or was it?
My mom asked her to go to the movies with her, and Kindsay declined every invitation and went right to her room, door shutting behind her. Greg and I shrugged and went off to take our weekend naps. Sunday rolled around to business as usual, until Monday morning came. Now, a typical school day morning consists of Kindsay face-down in bed, parents begging her to get up, parents threatening her to get dressed, and shoved off out of the bathroom, where she now spends half her day, and onto her bus. This particular Monday morning wasn't a typical day. Greg and I got up to find her already dressed and pacing the house. We looked at each other with puzzled bewilderment (is there another kind?), but began the morning routine. We were so baffled, though, that we stopped her pacing and asked what the deal was? The deal...well she blew up at us as though we took away a teenager's cell phone. "Just because I bought a dog--You said I could have a puppy--you said someday! I'm not having this--this is getting old!" Puppy..dog? wh..? WHAT? What puppy? "I bought a dog and he's coming in the morning from Cassie!" Cassie? Who is Cassie? "It's $25 and it's my money--I'm tired of this--stop talking to me!" Love how she turns her bad deeds into my fault, right? We had a little "no you aren't getting a dog" talk, finished the morning routine, and all of us went off to school, except Bek who doesn't have school on Mondays. Greg and I felt like we'd dodged that one...and what was she talking about anyway? Beats both of us (please, with a stick), so we went on as though it was typical Kindsay ranting in La-La land (remember, she's good friends with Justin Beiber too.)
then we got a call.
Greg called me about 10AM that morning. He is terrible when it comes to breaking news. He hesitates, beats around the bush, like a horrible suspense movie that makes you topple out of your seat in anticipation. "We have a...um..well, there's a new...uh--Kindsay bought a dog." What? When? How? Apparently, Bek heard whimpering in the house and found the dog shut away in Kindsay's room. It was a 3-mo-old rat terrier that had peed itself and was starving. What...were we never going to discover this? Bek took care of it while Greg and I scrambled to uncover the mystery of how this deal went down. I phoned her teacher who could get Kindsay to admit to shooting JFK, and she was on it. Turns out, Kindsay got on Craigslist, found a dog she liked, texted the woman, made arrangements to meet out front our house at the crack of dawn, and had cash ready for delivery. I was, as you can well imagine, livid at the idiocy of a grown woman. and livid, terrified, and impressed that my special needs child who has a cafeteria of disabilities could pull off such a stunt, and without us knowing! The school psych even had to talk to her to get her to understand the very dangerous thing she had done. After the long talk, reviewing scenarios of what could-have-been, Kindsay gushed, "do you want to see my puppy?" Teacher and psych exchanged looks of concern, knowing that I was in for a real treat that night. Even if I wanted to keep the dog, I couldn't because I can't affirm the actions Kindsay took. It had to be a life lesson for her. I phoned the woman and told her she sold her puppy to a child with disabilities who killed her last four pets. "I'll be by after 7 to pick it up." 7:30 PM she came, apologizing profusely, and exchanged puppy for cash. No, I did not chew out the woman. I figured she'd never forget this incident and learn to ask for an adult next time. Besides, her punishment is the fact that she has to live with the kind of rationale that says, "sell to a minor without parents' permission." Scary. I can't stand the thought of another dog, especially with short hair that gets left on EVERYTHING. And a puppy? Chewing, potty-training..ugh. The dog, named Brandon/Shadow/Midnight (yes, they went through all those names in the time of about 3 hours) had peed on multiple things in my house, which confirmed my convictions NOT to keep it. Kindsay cried the first part of the afternoon, called everyone to tell them what a bad mother I am, but was chewing her toenails off in typical nervous fashion by the time the dog left...oh well. So long. Unfortunately, picking up the dog so late allowed my four children to bond, and left me with the original yet unfairly appointed nickname "Cruella"...a short-haired rat terrier fur coat? Hmph...I don't think so.
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