A Fast Sunday

It's rare if I can get Kindsay to church.  And for some reason she seems to pick fast Sundays to attend, I don't know if it's to torture those of us fasting... probably.
She bought a new dress from Forever 21.  New rule in my house--daddy doesn't go shopping with Kindsay.  She got a gift card for her bday and I thought she would go nuts in their accessories, instead she comes home with a form fitting dress that has a wrap style so the front looks like two curtains over her legs.  And it is street walker red.  She puts it on for us....having an opposite hour glass figure wasn't really working in the dress.
I look over at Greg in disbelief that he would allow her to waste her money.  "It said LARGE on the size."  Ok...so buy it anyway?  The style was the problem, it could be circus tent size and still be risqué for a girl of her age.  I kept shaking my head...no way, no way.  Kindsay could tell I was lifting up my foot, ready to put it down and she began her temper campaigns.
"Mom!  I love this dress, I'm keeping it.  Too bad, dad lost the receipt and I took all the tags off!"  So, I tell her, you've simply wasted $20 because you aren't leaving the house in that.  Then began the fun...she started to threaten me with the cops, suicide, CPS, all of which I agreed to...take me away... Greg sat there like dopey-do-nothing.  Fine, I lament, if you wear a sweater over it people won't have to see the plunging neck line.  Now she was excited to go to church, while I dreaded it.
So fast Sunday--we fast for two meals and donate the money to charity what we would've used for the meals.  This means all the attending members had gone without breakfast as we sat in Sacrament.  I'm a glutton or an idiot because I sit in the center of the room for all to see Kindsay's Halloween picnic.  In her enormous backpack, that she carries everywhere and knocks people in the head with as she scoots down the bench to her seat, she has her Halloween bag.  She sits down next to a man and her legs are wide open, which means those little drapes on the dress are now open too...not pretty. I jump up to sit between her and the man, who is a friend of ours, so we can reduce embarrassment on all sides, but Kindsay is mad that I'm pushing her down the bench towards her father while trying to shut the curtains.  nothing to see here folks, just the usual.
Church is quiet, it's quiet, and while we are pondering the great sacrifice of our Savior I hear....riiiiiiiiiiip.....crunch crunch crunch.....riiiiiiiiip.....crunch munch munch munch.....riiiiiiiiiiiip....she's peeling wrappers away and eating candy like we are at the movies.  I give her the stern look and go to take her bag but she cuts me off and slides to the floor so she can continue in a more subtle way.
Sacrament finishes and we all head to Sunday School.  I sat on a bench to discuss ward business and Kindsay walks by as though church was her place and behind her is a man who points at her feet..."no shoes I guess!"  I look down...how did I miss her size 10 bare feet?  She was wearing nylons and we all know how she feels about pants, so nylons gave her the same icky feeling so they got the same rotten treatment of dismissal...into her bag they went and the hillbilly came out.  I look straight ahead as though I neither noticed nor knew her.  We then get to her youth class of which I am a part so she's in there with me.  She curls up on the seat in a ball somehow, barefoot, chocolatey lips, chewing on her fingers in anxiety.  It was only her 2nd time in the class, my 2nd as well, so we both stuck out looking like Penn and Teller.  Shortly after class began, Kindsay reached her limit and slipped away without excuse.  Bye.  Ooookaaay.  She was like a phantom or a dream because no one knew who she was, the adults didn't notice her, and she slipped away before I could show her off.  She was like the phantom chocolatey hooker hillbilly of the church.  There are now rumors circulating that she is only a myth....but we know how too real she is.

Siri--The New Bestie

Just when I thought things were calming down and gettng mundane, Kindsay manages to wear on the nerves of a computer.  She comes home from school crying because "so and so is not my friend!" and when I ask her about what happened she says, "My friend says she isn't going to forgive me!"  Oh brother...picking fights is her passion because it gives her a great reason to cry and carry on. 
But then she discovers Siri.
Thankfully, I think, Siri doesn't have feelings.  She can't get mad, she can't get her feelings hurt, she can't get annoyed--Kindsay can just go on and on and on and Siri will deliver every time.
Wrong. 
First of all, Siri is fine, thank you for asking.  Siri also has a favorite color.  Just ask her/it.  That was Kindsay's next question.  Siri actually sounded thoughtful and interested in answering the question.  But then the floodgates opened, and Siri regretted humanizing herself. 
After ten "what's your favorite..." questions, Siri began answering, "I am not allowed to say" or "this is about you not me."  Kindsay didn't care, she did not relent.  I'm making cookies while listening and I'm thinking, my daughter is actually aggravating a machine.
Finally, with desperation, Siri starts interrupting by picking out the weird noises Kindsay makes in between questions to say, "I am looking up ssshhh" or whatever sound Kindsay made.  Siri is desperately trying to redirect Kindsay.  Relentlessly, Kindsay keeps coming at her..."Siri, what are you doing?"  sigh..."I'm trying to improve myself."  Kindsay asks again--what do you like to do?  "I like helping you." 
Then Kindsay gets right to the point--I want to talk.  With her most monotone voice, Siri answers that she is there to help her.  Kindsay says, "Ooookaaaay" annoyed that Siri isn't playing anymore.  "Okey Dokey," Siri responds. I can just see Siri grabbing her mouth with her eyes wide--CRAP...why did I sound friendly??
Back to the "what's your favorite..." only for poor Siri to have to keep reminding her she can't say or wants to focus on Kindsay.  Finally, Siri just starts picking out words...Kindsay--what time do you go to bed?  Siri--"beds...I have matches for beds."  What restaurant do you like?  "restaurants--I have matches for restaurants."  Kindsay--what is the weather?  Siri, "it is 72 degrees."  Wow..that's nice, Kindsay says.  "Yes, I agree," Siri says...once again grabbing her digital mouth and displaying C-R-A-P on her mind's screen.  Kindsay goes off again with a slew of other personal Siri questions.  See...right when Kindsay finally understands Siri's lack of personality or personal information, Siri goes and makes human-like responses and sets Kindsay off on another trek of "Get to Know You" questions.  One might feel bad for Siri, having to succomb against her will to Kindsay's nonstop pecking...but I don't.  When the questioning stops I get her right back on it--"Hey, Kindsay, ask Siri how fast a chicken can run?"  Off she goes looking for the speed of every known animal.
Yeah, that's right.  I'm throwing Siri right under the cyberbus.  Yay me.

Sweet 16

The day has finally arrived--LEVERAGE. 
It took a long time for Greg to convince me that Kindsay should have a cell phone.  After finding a text she sent from MY phone to my realtor "will you send me a picture of your daughter"...I was so against it...me..a pedophile?  geez.  There was no way that I wanted to be held responsible for the mass emotional destruction and nerve damage caused by Kindsay around the clock.  But, I broke down.
Kindsay thought 16 was it...she was finally going to get one.  Nope, I kept saying to Greg.  Greg then appeals to my softer side, which with Kindsay it's near the surface but still needs scratching away to unveil. 
"Yvette, she's been marking the calendar for a year now, she's researched all the phones, she's talked about this every day forever, she has few things in life to bring her joy.  We have to get her a phone."
Fine.
Got her a Galaxy S2...it's nicer than mine, my husbands, and all the services are in place.  Now, to give it to her.
Sixteen years ago yesterday I gave birth.  I had a false alarm once before, so when I woke Greg at 2AM on Oct 2, 1996, he told me to call him from the hospital if it's a go.  Yes, he was serious.  We lived 3 minutes from St. Agnes, so he didn't find a problem with it.  After giving him a form of hell in labor, he took me once my mom came to watch Rebekah.
The doctor said Kindsay would be delivered in less than an hour.  Oh no, I said, I want drugs!  I spent 12 hours in labor with Bek without drugs, I wasn't going to spend a minute with this delivery.  Okay--it'll push the delivery back an hour...uuummmm -- DO IT.
The needle is lifted in the air behind me and I watch Greg's face turn from "what the h*ll is going on" to "what the %#$@^ is that?!!??"  My gown slipped revealing my whole natural self to the entire staff which then turned his face to "ahhhhhhhhh!!"...of course a woman in labor willingly hands her body to everyone else, as long as they get the stinkin' kid OUT.  right?
But it was the point during delivery when the nurse yelled at Greg to grab my leg and put it over my head that I thought I was going to lose him.  He probably only got my leg over my head because he fainted into it while helping the nurse.  As fast as Kindsay can buckle a dog into an upright carseat, she was out.  We were overjoyed, we didn't know it was a girl.  My in-laws, my parents, siblings from both sides--it was a party in the recovery room.  Until the doctor came in and expressed his concerns and need to test her for Down Syndrome.  All was quiet.
And the rest is history.  No really...read the previous posts. 
She got her phone alright, but not without a little torture from me.  I told her that the gift she was getting from me was the party.  She had 3 girlfriends come and all our family.  She sat down at the pizza parlor and immediately her legs were shaking, her eyes were flitting.  Alright, go ahead and open your gifts.  Like the hurricane that swept Dorothy away, Kindsay had opened every envelope, not even counting the money that fell onto her lap.  Only stacked it up and smelled it.  The money literally stuck to her nose for a good 3 minutes.  She finally opened her purse, gave one last smell good-bye and tucked the money away.  $140...um, buying your own stuff for a while girlie! I let the whole party go by, and then I arranged for Rebekah to call.  The phone was buried in my purse in tissue in a bag, so I pulled it out and could hear the ringing. I put it up to Kindsay's face and said, "what is that ringing?"  It was seconds before she yanked the bag, pulled the phone out of the box, and had the phone flying through the air landing in 3 pieces.  "A phone!  I got a phone! Oh my gosh, I think I'm going to cry!  Oh oh oh oh...get the phone, is it okay?"  panic, mania, anxiety--all of it shooting through the roof of Me 'N' Ed's.  We got the phone back together and into her hands.  It was so fun to watch.  We all waited for that moment all evening. 

And you know what?  She's been the nicest sweetest compliant -- you name it-- child.  "Mom, I'm going to clean my room.  Oh oh oh, let me get my pills.  Hey Garon, you want to look at my phone?  Here...look at it."  All while I sit back in amazement, joy, and trepidation--who will she text first?  could be you...buckle up.

Take the Key and Lock Her Up

Can I get a show of hands who thinks locking Kindsay in her room at night is the best thing for her (us)?  No takers?  Allow me to plead my case.
How does waking up to fine, white dog hair all over the kitchen floor because your child took the Shetland and placed her on the kitchen table and took a pair of scissors to her fur?
How does waking up to a room full of knocked over table trays scattereed carelessly near your 67" t.v. sound?
What about realizing she left your $600 device on all night that if burns out will not be fixable, only need replacing?
How does waking up in the morning to dirty dishes in each room (3 total downstairs), stacked on your furniture along with all associated trash sound?
What about walking first thing into the kitchen in the morning, only to find every single cabinet door open like a scene from Poltergeist? 
Well, that was Greg's morning the other day...not one of them--ALL of them.  It's hard enough to get up in the morning and battle it out with a child who didn't sleep all night and won't get up willingly to catch a bus that comes at a certain time and only waits 3 minutes before it leaves, only to then add having to clean up after a wild night of subconscience reeling without having gotten up any earlier for work and your other two children. 
OK...now then...
Can I get a show of hands who thinks locking Kindsay in her room at night is the best thing for her (us)?
 
Well now, that's more like it.