Halloween 09 . . .

What my life is like . . .

I thought I was write a post that is more for me to reference than anything else. I was overwhelmed with a few kind comments over on my facebook page both publicly and privately about my Marwage post. It actually opened my eyes to a few things.

1. I think that this blog and the vast majority of those in my google reader tend to keep me in a special needs bubble. What do I mean by that? Not that I don't love all my crazy moms of nutty kids, they help me beyond belief some days, but it does tend to keep me a little insulated. It helps me not feel so alone and it also helps me redefine normal for our family. But it also makes me forget that not everyone understands what we deal with on a daily, hourly, minute by minute basis. Some of the commenters made me remember that not everyone understands what it is like to live like this, and maybe I should do some more edu-ma-catin.

2. Even though we may try to explain that what "we" (families with significant special needs) go through daily, sometimes seeing it laid out in print makes the difference. I had a couple family members approach me after reading that blog entry and tell me they had no idea what I dealt with and understood it better. So, HURRAY for understanding.

I was invited to a really cool event this weekend. I would love to go. I felt awkward trying to explain to this kind person why it was impossible for us to attend. Sometimes I feel like just by explaining our circumstances it seems like I am looking for pity. I am not. I choose this life and I would do it again in a heartbeat. It is just simply not like most families. It does however make some people uncomfortable to hear about our issues.

Some of the blogs I read regularly keep their child's information private. I understand their reasons. I hope that the fact that I chose to share what I have does make me the "bad guy". I really think it is important for me and I think a reference point to look back at will be helpful in the future.

Here are things I commonly say, and what they mean for us on a daily basis. (I add some links to former entries until I got tired of reading so much info . . .)

"Dustin is a 4 year old in a 14 year old body." What does that mean? It means he would sit and watch Noggin all day. He chooses to play with blocks and baby dolls and tattle-tells constantly. He has difficulty with tasks such as hanging up clothing, brushing his teeth, and personal hygiene. He cannot separate good choices and bad choices. He is unable to see why holding a pillow over your sister's head is a horrible thing to do when she took your toy. He lashes out at people smaller than himself. He whines and cries constantly if he does not get his way. He cannot sit still or be quiet for any length of time. He rages. He pees on the floor, the shower, or the tub, or in cups, or . . . . you get the picture . . . when angry.

"He has organic brain damage from his mother drinking while pregnant." He has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. He has no corpus collosum. He is unable to process cause and effect. Does not understand consequences. Cannot relate consequences with behavior. Typical behavior modification is useless. Has no impulse control. He perseverates (obsesses) on particular things over and over and over. He never developed object permanence - if you didn't see him do it he has no idea how you could possibly know he did it, likewise if he doesn't see you, all is fair game. He has lessened pain receptors - he cannot feel pain at normal levels. He is unable to feel full and is constantly hungry due to lessened pain receptors. He is klutzy. He is unable to ride a bike due to balance issues. He will choose flight when things get too tough. He must always be supervised or he may hurt himself or others by making a poor decision and doing something stupid. He sleeps in our bedroom so he doesn't burn down my house, walk out the front door, or hurt the other kids while we are sleeping.

"He is moderately mentally handicapped" He has an IQ under 51. He will likely never read although he can do many hundred functional words (self-help, grocery, street signs etc.) by sight. He will never live unsupervised or be able to handle his own finances. He will never drive a car. He should be able to get a job with supervision and job shadowing. He is able to use a calculator and add money. He can tell time and he can count money. Most of the time he cannot tell you how old he is, what school he goes to, or what grade he is in, but sometimes he surprises me. He can do chores and participates in a chore chart at home, when not linked with behavior he does well.

"Dustin has schizophrenia." Without the aid of very serious anti-psychotics, Dustin does not live in reality. He sees things that are not there. He lives in a different world with his wife who is a dog. "Things" come to get him from the ceiling. Demons come to drag him to hell. He cannot separate reality from fantasy. He can argue with you that his shirt is wet when it isn't and he truly believes it. His "friends" tell him what to do and sometimes tell him to hurt people. His stomach talks to him. Stories are told that involve real people and real circumstances that never really happened and could not have happened, but he believes them. Because of this he cannot be left alone. He must always be supervised or he may hurt himself or others. medication helps most of this, but sometimes things slip through. His "friends" frighten me the most.

"Dustin has a hidden disability." Dustin looks completely normal. If you pass us in the grocery store while he is throwing himself in the floor or running through the parking lot away from me you may just think he is horribly behaved. If you witness me making his salad for him at the salad bar like a toddler you may think I am over protective. If you overhear me threatening him to hold onto the cart and not let go because he refuses to stop touching everything is sight, you may think I an too harsh. He is charming. He is kind hearted and he is sweet. He looks typical!!

"Dustin suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." Dustin was seriously physically abused by his mother's boyfriends and other friends in the home. He had bones broken, was put in a dryer and had it turned on and had cigarettes put out on his back. Dustin was exposed to an older child who bit pieces of flesh off his body. Dustin was neglected and left alone. Dustin was also sexually abused by another foster child. He flinches if you come near him quickly. He has flashbacks where he remembers the abuse and if you with him at the time, your face gets put in the flashback. Dustin tells people that current people in his life hurt him. If someone asks Dustin if he is hurt by someone he will answer yes. He cannot separate future and present. He screams, "Don't hurt me!" If he is being reprimanded for something. We have had 3 CPS complaints on us because people do not understand this, heck I hardly understand it. He must always be supervised or he could perpetrate. He has hurt/killed animals before.

There it is in a nutshell . . . our life with Dustin. I'm tired just reading it.

Too True Tuesday (7) . . .

Today, Essie asks, What is the first thing you would buy if you won the lottery? . . . First thing you would spend your lottery money on! Tell the truth! Spare us the crap about buying your kids a Carousel or paying off your parents mortgage. The REAL truth!

Hmmm. I think it would be a really long trip to a private beach. No animals, no yard work, no laundry. Just a beach, my husband and my kids . . . who can run around our private beach (fenced in of course like a really large play pen) acting like urchins, fighting and maybe even beating the tar out of each other and NO ONE would care because we are ALONE. Ahhh, to be sitting there on the beach with my laptop, playing Farkle on Facebook, and sipping froo-froo drinks with no one to bug me. . .

Keeping the littles safe . . .

In a comment on Marwage . . . it's what bwings us togever today . . . Miz Kizzle asked . . . ."I was wondering, what would Dusting do to your other kids if he were not supervised? Has he hurt them in the past?"

I suppose I should address that since I keep saying he could be a danger. In the past Dustin has hurt our animals. He has popped the head of fish, and attempted to strangle one of our dogs. He torments the cat and has pulled feathers out of our birds. While these have been conscious decisions, he doesn't hurt them out of joy, each time they did something he did not like, or he was simply trying to love on them and it went wrong. So supervision around the animals is a must.

As far as the kids go, we are dealing with much the same thing. While I don't believe that he would do anything intentional to hurt the kids, he has no concept of cause and effect. In he past he has attempted to push his sister down the stairs because she "looked at him" and held a pillow on Harrison's face because they were "playing". Not good. Typically his anger is directed at us, but I am not prepared to take the chance that he will do something stupid without understanding the repercussions.

The other issue is that Dustin was sexually abused in our home by another foster child and that is always in the back of my mind. While he has never perpetrated, I still worry that he could be a danger.

Religious Ramblings . . .

Lat night I attended a Harvest Party that the church where I work was having. It was the church I grew up in. The church I was saved in and the church I learned Biblical truths in. I no longer attend there for several reasons. Many of which I really don't want to get into, but mostly because I can no longer attend a LARGE church that makes me feel awfully disconnected and that does not meet our needs as a family with a special needs child.

I was watching a presentation that was running in the large gathering area where we were eating. I came across a quote that struck me . . . "88% of teenagers raised in an evangelical home leave the church at age 18 never to return (Ray Comfort)" This has made me think since I read it last night. As I think about all the people I grew up with in the youth group (pretty large group) I have lost track with a lot of them, but the ones I still have contact with pretty much meet this statement. Why?

As I see it, I think it has to do with sheltering and tolerance. I suppose that I think that because it is my experience, and others may have a different thought. I think about a couple kids in particular that I was quite close to . . . they were very sheltered girls. They were not even allowed to watch the movie Adventures in Babysitting because they "said bad words". These girls were taken out of public school and put in a local christian school. They knew nothing other than what their parents chose to expose them to. When the oldest girl was a Freshman in high school, they allowed here to go to her neighborhood high school. She was exposed to the world . . . she rebelled. She smoked, drank, did drugs, slept her way around our friend base. She did all the things her parents were afraid of. She was free and she was thrilled. She still went to church and went through all the motions. She appeared to be the perfect, beautiful child.

I, on the other hand, had always attended public schools. I was always exposed to the "evil world". It was not new and exciting to me. We had the same friends and we were close so we were exposed to the same things. I didn't make the same choices as she did. I didn't sleep around, I rarely drank and I did not smoke, and remained drug free. I was probably the most "goody goody" of all our friends. Why were we different . . . for one thing, I was a consequence oriented kid and always worried about being caught. Secondly, my parents never tried to hide the world from me. They allowed me to experience it and guide my choices lovingly and with patience. Once her father told me that he didn't like me hanging out with his daughter and "exposing her to all the evils the world has to offer". I was traumatized, but I didn't tell him that it was perhaps the other way around.

She and her family is what I think make up that 88% for the most part. These kids are sheltered from so much that life has to offer and told it is BAD over and over that it becomes something they cannot wait to do. They also think that in evangelical homes, everything is BLACK or WHITE and there is no middle ground. I think so many of those growing up in evangelical homes think that once you screw up you might as well keep going because what's done is done. In my experience there is so much guilt and condemnation involved with screwing up that you just turn your back on everything.

As for me, I think that tolerance plays a huge issue. Having tolerance for other people and their ability to make choices for themselves is something was not taught in my years growing up in the church. I don't believe you have to agree with their choices, but they are their choices to make. I cannot make someone chose my beliefs. I cannot make people follow my God's rules and regulations if they do not accept my God's omnipotence. This is something I think the church fails in. I have no issue with telling people what you think is the absolute truth, but they still have the ability to accept it or not. Here's where I struggle with the church in most instances . . . just because they don't accept it, doesn't make them less of a person.

I think that once teens realize that someone who doesn't believe EXACTLY like they do and yet they are a good and generous and happy person, their entire belief system is rocked and they turn away from their evangelical roots.

So what is the solution? I don't know. I hope I raise my kids with tolerance of others and their views. I hope to instill in them the truth that just because they don't accept what we believe that it does not make them bad people. If they indeed are bad people, it is not because they do not believe what we do. I also hope my children value justice and fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I hope they learn to stand behind what they believe in and while they may not back down they will still appreciate other's opinions. I hope they are good listeners and are respectful of others and their views. I hope they treat others as they would want to be treated. And lastly I pray that they learn Biblical truths and know that Jesus died to save them. I pray they act more like Him than most of his believers do.

The hubby . . .

The hubby's new blog . . . . Freeze Dried Gray Matter. Go on over and check him out.

Lindenwood Nature Preserve . . .

I went on McCartney's first field trip today. We went to a local nature preserve. It was gorgeous!

Marwage . . . it's what bwings us togever today . . .

Princess Bride anyone? Okay, maybe not . . .

Can I be frank with you? Having a special needs child who needs constant supervision sucks the life out of your marriage.

There.

I said it.

There is only a small window of time each day that Robert and I are together without Dustin near. Very near. We have been giving him his nighttime med at about 6:30 which means he goes to bed at the same time as the other kids about 8:00pm. We shut the door to our bedroom and turn on the door alarm so we know he is inside, safe and sound, away from the littles. Could he be peeing in a water cup on the side of my bed? Most probably, don't laugh it happened yesterday. Could he be injecting cologne into every surface in our bedroom with a stray diabetic needle we forgot we had? Yep, could be, don't laugh it happened a while back. Could he be jumping from his bed to our bed just waiting until he breaks his leg? Sometimes, yes he has to share a room with us because of his issues. Is he hurting the other kids? Nope.

So that means that from approximately 8:45pm when the kids finally give it up for the night and Robert comes back downstairs, until 11:00pm-ish when I go to bed, I get to spend time with my husband. That is, if the laundry and the dishes and the other "stuff" of life gets done in the 45 minute window that I get alone. Yes, I get 45 minutes of my day ALONE.

45 minutes.

That's all.

Let's add that to the fact that when the littles are home we have to keep Dustin away from them for the most part. So for the vast part of the day one parent has Dustin near them and one parent has the other 2 kids near them. My kids have very little time upsupervised because of the dynamic Dustin brings into our home. Add that to the fact that we have NO ONE right now that will take Dustin for a couple hours. NO ONE to watch him when we need a night out. NO ONE . . . (my step dad has been ill since July, and my mom really struggles with Dustin's behvaiors so I don't feel like I can ask too often and burden her)

It is no wonder we get grouchy. It is no wonder we snap at one another. It is no wonder we fight like idiots last night sometimes. It is hard. It is draining. And, it takes a toll on any marriage. Right now it is doing a doozy of a job on ours. . .

We are fine. The issues we have seem to dissolve with a good night's sleep. They do seem to rear their ugly head more often when it is particulary stressful, like NOW. But, rest assured, we will make it. We have to for the kids. I refuse to let IT get the better of me, of us. I love Robert with every fiber in my being. It will work, it has to.

I don't regret the adoption. Someone had to give the boy a home, and it might as well as been someone who loved him. He is better off for being in a loving home and not an institution that EVERYONE in the medical field who has contact with us thinks should have already happened. But, it is hard.

If I am being HONEST, sometimes I wonder what it may have been like living as a typically family with 2 typical children. Just as often as I mourn the life Dustin could've had, I mourn the life I could've had. Would my littles be better behaved? Would Robert and I have a better relationship? Would we do many more things in the community and have many more (as opposed to none) friends? I can imagine the answer is a reasounding YES!

But then I have to sit and wonder if Dustin had never been a part of our home would other things be different. Would the littles have the tolerance I know they are developing? Would I have learned to advocate for my kids and spread that information to other families who are struggling? Would I be as good at my job, understanding children and their unique temperments? Would I love unconditionally as deeply as I do now? I don't think so. . .

That is what makes it all worth it.

Escalation . . .

. . . and NO,I am not talking about last week when I went to Kohls and the escalator was broken and I had to hoof my fat butt up the stairs. I am talking about escalating behaviors with our kids.

I have come to the realization over the past few months that I escalate my child's behavior more often than not. Let me give you one quick instance where I didn't . . .

Sunday Dustin had pants on because he had been helping me in the yard and taken trash to the street for pick up. Typically we don't let him wear pants in the house because he runs away. I figure if he continues to run without pants on, the police will understand he is nuts mentally handicapped and I am not some stark-raving lunatic mother trying to keep her 14 year old in the house. Anyway, I told him to take a shower. He did not want to take a shower. He told me no. I insisted that it was a school day the following day and he needed a shower. He got up from his chair and headed toward the door. I said, "Dustin! You win. No shower for you." He turned around and sat back down. All was well with the world. I let it go for a while.

Did I give in? You bet your sweet bippies I did.

Did I win? Yep, he didn't run out which is win-win for all of us.

But Oh my Gawd, Sheri, what about the shower? Later (about an hour) I sent him to the kitchen for a treat, while he was in there (close to the bathroom) I said, "Oh I forgot, you can have a treat when your shower is done." I had him in close proximity to the bathroom, there was nowhere for him to run, and he complied easily. I didn't discuss it earlier, we didn't talk about appropriate behaviors. There was no need to learn from it, he knew he should shower, I knew he wouldn't right then. There was no need to argue. Later, I gave him no warning, he had no idea it was coming. I didn't chastise him over the earlier event. I simply made him do it. After the shower, I simply said, "Dustin, did I tell you to do this earlier?" He said, "Yes." I said, "I always win." And it was over.

This was not the case in the past. I had to explain my position. I had to tell him the consequences. He argued some more. Then I piled on more consequences. He didn't do it and ran out. Blah Blah Blah. Too many words! I escalated and in the end I lost. He lost! We all lost!

Now, some of you may be thinking "Well, that's fine for your mentally handicapped boy, but in the real world my child will have to make choices and he needs to learn now." Really? All they are learning is you are the drill sergeant and they rebel against you even more. I know that when I am angry there is nothing you are gonna say or do that will make me back down. I would argue the sky is green and not back down. But give me a chance to calm down and I will see your point in a heartbeat. That is all I am doing for Dustin.

And don't even get me started on piling on consequences, that just makes the child angrier and you feel more powerful. That doesn't get anyone anywhere. That is no way to build a relationship. Children thrive on relationships, especially traumatized children who have been removed from their homes, forsaken by family and had their life turned upside down. Am I saying give them what they want? No! I am saying give them a break. Give them a chance to breath. Give them some leeway. Treat them as you would've wanted to be treated. Act as though they have a choice even when they may not. Did Dustin walk away thinking he won. . . maybe, what's so wrong with that? In the end he got a shower, that's what he will remember. Maybe next time I can impart some skills and teach him to say, "Can I do it in 10 minutes?" because he knows in the end a shower will be done.

Does my 14 year old know that running out is not acceptable. Sure. He still does it. I don't need to discuss it every single day. I don't need to constantly rehash behaviors. I don't need to chastise him over and over. Let it be! He is impulsive (you don't have to have a diagnoses or a mental illness to be impulsive). Just because he knows it is wrong is not going to stop him from doing it. . . especially if it is attention grabbing and that is what the child wants.

Seriously, I was there. I know the vicious circle. I still do it and catch myself. Please take a look at your reactions and try not to escalate . . . trust me. . . it can be different.

Nice . . .

What . . .

What does one do when their child is still exhibiting some symptoms of schizophrenia and you just want to hide in a hole and never come out?

What does one do when your stepfather is in the hospital for the 5th time since July? He had a heart attack initially, but got one of those super-bugs from the hospital and he has been terribly ill ever since.

What does one do when your grandfather is dying from cancer and you just want to give cancer the big ol' finger because there really isn't much you can do?

What does one do when you have a friend who is going through hell from the stupid decisions a man made and you want to fix it all and you know you can't?

What does one do when you are dealing with all these things at once?

Apparently one colors their hair blue. . .


. . . because that's how I roll.

Grandpa . . .

I wrote about my grandpa a while back. He is dying from cancer. We have not been as close as we once were and I had come to terms with that. Today we had a small get together at his girlfriend's grand daughter's house with some of their family, most of ours, and his brother Dick who lives out of state. I really did not want to go. I had a super-migraine when I woke this morning, and I knew that having my kids (especially Dustin) go to an unfamiliar house would be bad news, but I knew that I must. I am so glad that I did. . .

My gramps wouldn't let go of my Uncle Dick.
It meant so much to him that he came.

Gramps and his brother Dick.

My mom and my gramps.

Me and gramps.

I will cherish thes pictures. I will mourn that kids don't even know him well enough to want to take a picture with him, but I will be happy with what I have. I will forget that I was chided for "not being fair" to Dustin by a complete stranger and I will cherish the afternoon I had with Gramps.

I don't wanna go there . . .

I don't even want to talk about the pediatric Gastro-Intestinal doc we saw today. It was just me and Dustin. The doc didn't listen to anything I said. He would ask me a quetion and then interupt. He was an ass. AND he apparently thought he knew more about FAS than I did. He got schooled by me and I think his nurse found it amusing. If I recount what happened I may get angry . . . again. I didn't like him in the least. Robert will be doing those appointments from now on.

On a lighter note, I was tired of McCartney's clothes falling off the kid hangers in her closet. On Sunday night I decided it was time to get adult size hangers. Sniff, Sniff my baby is growing up. Much like her mother, I think she may be OCD. We had to buy all the same color hangers and she informed me that I better make sure she always, only has dark red hangers in her closet! Crap.

Too True Tuesday (6) . . .

Go on over and visit Essie, author of this wonderful idea!

Today's assignment was to write about "what is the worst gift you ever got. A gift so bad you would have never believed it could have even happened had it not happened to you!"

When Robert and I got married, we got some really nice gifts and a bunch of moola! It was shocking to me how much really nice stuff we got. Since we were married in the summer some people missed the reception since they were on vacation and what-not. For several weeks afterward, every once in a while, we would get a gift dropped off at the church where I worked. It was always a pleasant surprise and exciting to open another gift.

The very last gift we opened was a doozy! It was dropped off by a wealthy couple in the church. The husband owns a lucrative business and has for many years. Their kids were friends of mine and were always well dressed and did not want for much. The entire family drove really nice cars. The family was a large supporter of the church. I was excited to open it and called Robert to tell him I was going to do it without him. . .

Inside the medium size box were 2 powder blue oval shaped plaques. On one of these plaques there was half of a plastic toilet replete with tiny toilet paper and magazines. The other plaque had a half of a sink on it with little tiny soap and some towels. The middle decorations were ringed in mauve ribbon and eyelet lace. At the top of the ring of ribbon were dried baby's breathe glued in a bunch, tied in more ribbon.

But wait, there's more . . .

The plaques were covered in a thin covering of dust. You know, that greasy, stringy OLD bathroom dust. The eyelet lace was spotted and icky. Ewww!

I. Swear. To. Goodness.

Eeeewww! . . .

I HATE bumpy things. I have no idea what it stems from, but it has been that way my whole life. I get all freaked out and my skin crawls. I get shivery and I my breathing changes? Why? I don't know. Some things gross me out more than others. Have you ever seen the little bumpy spore things on leather leaf? (that green filler plant that they put in fresh flower arrangements) Nasty! Those barnacles that "grow" on the piers in the ocean. Eeew! Just talking about them makes me itchy and tense.

This crazy thing I have about bumpy things has been hereditary. My kids do not like bumpy things either. It is not because I have talked about my craziness or freaked them out because I really don't even like to talk about it. When Harrison was little and he found that his hands got prune-y in the bathtub he would gag! Tonight McCartney ran away when I was taking the picture of the gourds above screaming, "I don't wanna TOUCH them!"

The one thing that nasties me out more than anything is bumpy gourds. It gets me mad fun of all the time! My husband laughs and points them out to me, girl's a work buy them and put them on my desk. Ha Ha! Real funny! I won't even touch them to put them in the trashcan!

The picture above was a real step for me! LOL I had to actually stand close to them, look at them and take the picture. Seriously, I maybe making fun of myself, but it truly was a stretch for me to do it! I am proud of myself! :)

The picture illustrates the levels of ickiness! Let me explain . . . 1. Gourds that have some bumps. These used to really creep me out but as I have forced myself to look at them they bother me less and less. They remind me of zits. They are the lowest in the creepy factor heirarchy. 2. Gourds with the flappy things. Even though these aren't exactly bumpy, these are worse than the minor bumpy ones. Why? Dont know, but they make me more creeped out than others. It just seems so unnatural to me. (and they remind me of ears) 3. Gourds that are covered with bumps. Major creepy! When the bumps are many different sizes they are bad, but ones that have little bumps on larger bumps are the worst! There was a really gross one in the bin that described the worst of the worst, but I couldn't bring myself to take that picture. (see I am nuts!)

For reference, corn does not gross me out. I think it may be becuase all the bumps are uniform and neat. Maybe that is what it stems from . . . my OCD. Which reminds me, I heard a funny joke today. . . I am not OCD, I am CDO. I'm so OCD that my disorder has to be alphabetized!

Karma . . .

In a comment on the post "I would be a bad mother . . . ", Miz Kizzle said,

Karma.
And on a serious note, running is good for moving the mail (as my late father used to say.) The rapid movement gets things going. Now maybe D. will associate running away with crapping his trousers and stay put.

Actually that may explain why the exact same thing happened this afternoon and thanks be to heaven I was home to witness it. Do you think that me falling on the ground and laughing until I almost had an asthma attack may have scarred him for life? You do? but LORDY I couldn't help it and I so needed a laugh!

He got mad because we wouldn't let him eat something really heavy and he took off out the door. He was in pajama pants and not socks or shoes. It is cold and rainy today. I knew he would be back soon because he hates his feet being cold. As he went out the door I hollered, "Don't poop your pants!" Because I am going to hell already.

He went to the edge of our yard and began hollering, "Help! Help!" As he shuffled back up the steps and across the porch he was saying, "Aw man! I pooped my pants again!"

Later he said he is "never running again since he keeps pooping his pants". Would we be horrible parents if we told him a gypsy put a "pants-pooping" curse on him to keep him in the house? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

I wonder how long this will last?

Why I love my husband. . .

Footie Madness . . .

My kids LOVE footie pajamas! Harrison was begging to wear them in mid-July. I have acquiesced over the last couple weeks as the temperature began dropping and tonight they came up with a new way to wear them. . . Cute huh?

Silly Noodles!

Poop doesn't always happen . . .

Remember back in May when Dustin was admitted to the hospital with what they thought was a small bowel obstruction? Well, it wasn't a true obstruction so they did not do surgery. It never really completely resolved itself either. He has complained off and on for months that his stomach hurts and he needs to go back to the hospital. Usually this happens when he is mad at us, so I have largely written it off to whining. Well, it seems it is back.

Here's where you should stop reading if you don't want to hear about bathroom issues. . . he was sent to the hospital on Tuesday evening with bad diarrhea and vomiting. For those of you who don't know, diarrhea commonly accompanies constipation and is not good at helping things move through the system. He began vomiting as soon as things hit his stomach. Like 10 seconds after he would drink water even, he would projectile vomit.

They did Xrays and bloodwork and sent us home. The pediatrician saw us in the morning and thinks there is something going on in his small bowel that is not allowing things to move through. He wants us to see a pediatric GI doc ASAP. Apparently ASAP to the GI doc means a full week. My 5'5" 92 pound child has had nothing in him for 36 hours and will not be able to eat or drink until things move. I cannot wait a week, but apparently I have no choice. Nice.

We have a couple minor meds to maybe get us through but last night was ugly. He is STILL sleeping at noon today. When he wakes up if it is bad, I will have to take him into the hospital. . . UGH! I have a call into the Ped GI's nurse. Maybe a crying mama will make them see him faster . . . I don't think it will work. If we end up in the hospital we will likely see the doctor we saw last time and he does not listen well. I hate doctors who do not listen.

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On top of all this I am an emotional mess right now. I am sure it is a combination of craziness at work because my mom (the boss) has been out as my stepdad has spent 9 out of 14 days in the hospital again, kids adjusting to new schoolyear, and Dustin's delusional episodes lately, but I am spent. I cry at the drop of a hat. I am so tired I can hardly see straight. The other day I clocked out and slept on my office floor! No matter how much sleep I get it is never enough. I am just plain whooped.

I would be a bad mother . . . .

I would be a bad mother if I would tell you that today a certain child ran out of the house as he has done pretty regularly.

I would be a terrible mother if I told you that this child has been horribly constipated and I have been giving his medicine to move things along.

I would be a horrible mother if I would tell you that this child came home faster than ever before after running out because he crapped his pants.

I would be the worst mother on the planet if when I got the call at work to tell me the situation I laughed so hard I nearly pee'd myself.

I am going to hell.

Ho Hum . . .

I am boring. I have not posted anything as of late because I am boring. Dustin's delusions seem to be fading with the increase in medication, but he is not feeling real well. Super constipated . . . he cannot read so I guess I am safe saying something so embarrassing here. . .

Other boring tidbits:

1. I have an addiction to football. Last night I said something to Robert about football and he said, "You watch more football than I do!" Last year I gave him a pillow that said, "We interrupt this marriage for football season". . . too true. Go Bret, squash those Packers!

2. The weather is getting really fall-y here. I love it!

3. The littles are settling into school well. Harrison's teacher appreciates his humor and his gumption. McCartney's teacher is experiencing her never-stopping-mouth, but really seems to like her.

4. I have decided I have crafting ADD. I pick up crocheting last winter and go through yarn like it is water. I made about 6 blankets and 10 scarves, and then I can hardly imagine picking up a needle. I decide I want to sew, I buy a new sewing machine because mine died and I whip up like 10 bags and get burnt out. Then I order this cool glue stuff to make notepads, make like 6 and then burn out. Then I decide I want to make earrings for a fundraiser at daycare and I make like 200 pairs of earrings and never want to look at needle-nose pliers again. Now I think I wanna scrapbook. Lord help us!

I want to do a give away because everyone else does it, but I am afraid no one will enter. I think I am going to work on that this week . . . Hmmmm, what new craft can I pick up to give away?