Domestic Psychology

leaving them to starve

// March 18th, 2010 // 1 Comment » // food, teenagers

As a rule, I try to always be at *home on school nights and be a part of the evening routines. As frantic as the evenings are, I can’t imagine not getting to tuck my children in bed at night. It’s probably much more important to me than it is to them. Don’t tell the children I still peek at them while they are sleeping every night. Tonight, I am making a rare exception and attending a meeting. Instead of preparing a healthy meal before I leave, since I really hate cooking, I’m leaving two boxes of organic mac ‘n cheese for the babysitter (aka the 16-y-o) to prepare. The question is, will she-who-shuns-organic prepare the mac ‘n cheese or will the children forage the fridge for crusty leftovers? Place your bets now.

*Why, oh, why can’t the social media folks have their gatherings on the weekends?

domestic detective

// March 16th, 2010 // No Comments » // home, parenting

“What is this goo in your hair?”
“Who put a booger here?”
“Where is that smell coming from?”
“When did this get left on the counter?”
Why is that in the bathtub?”
“Which animal threw up?”

If I am going to spend all my time at the schools, maybe they will let me take some of their chemistry and forensic classes to solve the daily mysteries.

you’re my favorite

// February 13th, 2010 // 3 Comments » // kid quotes, parenting

We spent last weekend house sitting for a friend’s beautiful waterfront home. A weekend away from home, cute animals and deer in the front yard made it feel like a vacation. It was probably less fun for my family who had to endure the annoying whining about my knee, but they’re smart enough to ignore my bad behavior.

Evan made sure to touch every single stick in the yard surrounding the house. He climbed up and down the staircases endlessly. He fearlessly scaled the cliff that dropped off into the deep, cold water while Johnny Bartlett squeezed my heart. When Evan saw a boat in the water, he howled in terror. “Noooo!” Getting near a boat? Scary. Dancing on the side of a mountain? Fun. Evan is my favorite.

Amy wandered the house and grounds like they were a museum, ooohing and ahhhing at all the wonders. “Mom! Come look at this!” I followed her voice until I found her staring at the contents of a small table. “Isn’t this the coolest thing EVER? Why can’t we have one of these things?” I looked closer at the object of her desire. “This part is springy. What do you think it does?” “Amy, that’s a telephone.” “Wow! This is the coolest phone I’ve ever seen. When will we get phones with cords at our house?” Amy is my favorite.

Noah surveyed the half a dozen bedroom choices and announced that he would be sleeping on the deck. I dismissed the idea as much too dangerous due to bitter cold, wild animals and unknown environment. “I’ve slept in colder, more dangerous, less familiar situations with scouts and you never complained.” Ten points for Noah. Noah is my favorite.

Sarah spent the weekend doing what she does every day, doing her own thing. She is much more interested in being with her friends than hanging around the house. She’s too independent and social to play SpongeBob Memory by the fireplace. Even though I miss her, I’m tremendously proud of the person she has become. Sarah is my favorite.

Tommy didn’t go near the house by the water. “I don’t go to strangers’ houses.” Tommy has sorted an emotional and random world into a logical, but amusing book of rules. Sheldon Tommy is my favorite.

Doug: “Tommy’s not a B & B person.” Doug is my favorite.

Can I have a fill-in-the-blank?

// January 25th, 2010 // 1 Comment » // parenting, play

“Mom, can I have a clubhouse.”
<- insert tape #492 -> “Well, maybe this summer your dad can build something…”
“No, I mean a real clubhouse. Like in Up.”
<- blink, blink -> “Where?”
“Me and C are gonna make the empty house down the street our clubhouse.”
“No, you’re not. That house belongs to someone. You can’t go in there.”
“Nobody lives there. Nobody has ever lived there.”
“Someone did live there before you were born, but that house is still someone else’s house.”
“Well, they’re not using it. I think they lost it.”
“You might be right, but you still can’t play in it.”
<- sigh -> “Now we hafta find another clubhouse.”

from the cutting room floor

// December 29th, 2009 // No Comments » // parenting, preschoolers, teenagers

Two short anecdotes that didn’t make the cut:

In preparation for my youngest child’s first musical performance, we practiced songs daily. The day of the event, we sat near the front of the auditorium and waited. Our child’s turn on the stage was spent staring at his feet, rocking on his toes, wandering from his spot and having a shoving contest with the child next to him. He didn’t utter a single note. It was the only time his entire life that he has been silent while awake.

On another day, I asked my oldest daughter what time her performance would begin. “You’re not going to come watch it are you? It’s terrible. You should skip it.” Later that week, as I walked to my car, I texted the same child to let her know that I was heading home. “Already? Did you see my performance? How did it look? Did you get pictures?”

again with the body fluids

// November 6th, 2009 // 2 Comments » // health, parenting

Wednesday, Amy had to visit the dentist for a small filling on one tooth and sealant on a molar. My job during this adventure was to be reassuring and stay out of the way. Amy hopped in the dental chair and they leaned the chair back to work on her mouth. The assistant pulled Amy’s shoulders and slid her until Amy’s tiny head rested squarely on the head cushion. This parked her bottom on the area of the chair designed to be a back rest and her legs magically floated over the fold in the chair where booties belong. An orange mask was gently draped over Amy’s nose and two assistants busily applying a sealant nearly blocked my view. I sat in my chair against the wall and watched what I could see, Amy’s feet.

Amy’s feet looked completely relaxed during the sealant procedure. Then, the dentist switched places with one of the assistants and I watched him pick up a metal syringe. Amy’s feet turned in and one went on top of the other. As quickly as Amy’s feet and my entire body tensed, it was done. Her feet relaxed. I sat in my chair on the wall and tried to look like I didn’t feel sick about what was happening. I closed my eyes for a count of ten and then I resumed my feet watching duties. I stared and the feet remained still.

The feet started tapping, like a little tune was playing in Amy’s head. I tried to decide if she was playing or restless. Then, her toes pointed straight down and I tried to make a motion that would get the assistant’s attention without distracting the dentist. When Amy’s hands grabbed her crotch, I made an announcement. “We need to go potty.” The dentist said he was finished and quietly asked Amy if she could wait a few minutes before she tried to sit up. Amy nodded. I began mentally abusing myself for saying “we” instead of “she” while wondering how long Amy could hold it.

The dentist left, the gas was switched to oxygen and I scooted in close to Amy’s face. “I need you to take big, deep breaths so you can get your land legs back.” Amy stared at me as she took exaggerated breaths. The assistant popped the mask off and I helped a very wobbly Amy to the bathroom. Amy did her thing and I lifted her up to the sink to wash her hands. Immediately, I felt the moisture seeping from the seat of Amy’s pants to the leg of my jeans where Amy sat to wash her hands. A few questions determined that by the time Amy grabbed her crotch in the chair, it was too late to make it to the bathroom. We left the office and made it to the car as quickly as possible.

The tears began almost immediately. Giant, Keane painting eyes silently dripped a steady stream of tears. I tried to convince Amy that the medications just made her too relaxed to hold it, but my words didn’t help. I knew that if we could get home and out of the soggy clothes, she could get past this. I just didn’t know how we were going to make it home. “Amy, if you don’t stop crying, I’m going to pee in my pants so you won’t feel alone.” “What?” “I’m going to pee in my pants. Right now. I’m going to do it. Hold on, I need to concentrate to do it.” Quiet giggles replaced the sniffles and sobs. “It’s too hard to pee while I’m driving. Should I pull over up here and pee in my pants?” “Moooommy. You’re silly.” I’m happy to report that I made it home with dry pants. However, Doug will be the foot watcher on the next visit to the dentist.

Halloween gets tricky

// October 30th, 2009 // 4 Comments » // holidays, parenting, teenagers

What is the Halloween version of the Grinch? Me. Well, if you ask my teenagers, it’s me. Tommy hasn’t gone trick or treating for years, but suddenly he has started mumbling that trick or treating sounds like fun. It’s only mumbling though. He is happy with the long-standing deal that when you stop trick or treating, mom treats you with a bag of candy.

Sarah didn’t go out for the past two years because of school. This year, Halloween is on a Saturday and she is adamant that she will be trick or treating with her 17-y-o boyfriend. I am equally determined that my child who is old enough to work and drive is too old to knock on doors to beg for candy.

Noah is still my baby, but he is taller than me and he has a Gomez Addams mustache. The people handing out treats at Boo at the Zoo visibly disapproved of Noah’s trick or treating and he was scolded by one of them. I suggested to Noah that he is a good age to transition to Mom’s treat bag. Now, he walks around looking at me like I took Christmas away from him.

So, I have less than 24 hours to pull a rabbit out of my hat to make everyone happy. That hat looks mighty empty right now. It looks like this is going to be the year that mom ruined Halloween. Sometimes, being a mom is no fun at all.

running into a wall

// October 28th, 2009 // No Comments » // aspergers, parenting, school

While I don’t question that Tommy was ready to leave high school when he graduated, I am now firmly convinced that he needed something after graduation and before any attempts at college. He needed a year of being taught “how” to be a student. Because of the Asperger lenses that filter his view of life, Tommy thinks that just showing up for class is enough. It worked in high school. He has forgotten the teacher and aide who constantly hovered over him and nudged him about doing assignments. He has forgotten his family sitting at the table with him for hours and hours to get projects completed. All he remembers is showing up for class and absorbing enough to stumble his way through tests.

He can’t keep track of assignments and due dates. He misses small details in class discussions that turn out to be vitally important. He doesn’t feel an urgency to get assignments completed. He doesn’t feel any urgency at all. He just shows up. There is no drive, no interest and no connection. What he lacks in motivation, he makes up for in anxiety. The blank disinterest in exhibiting any desire to do well doesn’t begin to hide the stress and misery he is experiencing. My pushing him to try harder is part of his misery.

Other Aspie parents have already experienced this. Some reacted by deciding to take one single college class a semester until they find success. Some reacted by putting college aside and focusing on employment. Some reacted by going on a quest to find the special interest that sparks a fire inside their child. We all want the same thing. We want our extremely bright children to be happy, functional adults. Unfortunately, that which makes them happy, hinders their opportunities to be successful.

I don’t want to keep fighting college with a child who is content with C’s and hope that something will eventually interest him enough to ignite his engines. I am equally unwilling to let him settle in at his current level of immaturity. Sometimes, it all feels pointless. After I am gone, nobody will push him to step out of his comfort zone and interact with the world. So, I search. I search for a new path. The longer I stand still, the deeper I sink into a hole that will slow down Tommy’s journey. Now, how do we get past this brick wall?

vandalism is not school spirit

// October 8th, 2009 // 2 Comments » // parenting, school, teenagers

Bearden High School has some new art today. It’s NSFW, but the images are here and here.

When I toured the local high schools, I looked for and asked about vandalism. The schools in West Knoxville clean and repaint constantly to reduce its’ presence. The scars it leaves behind are still visible on the fences surrounding the football fields and elsewhere. In the rural schools with less community resources, vandalism is the exception instead of the norm. To paraphrase one of the rural school Principals, “Our students don’t think property loss is inconsequential.” I’m sorry that I can’t remember his exact words. He mentioned that it’s not because everyone in the community knows who is doing what, even though they do. It has more to do with the fact that they know the time spent scrubbing with a power washer is time that should have been spent elsewhere. The paint that must be purchased could have purchased something better. The school, parents and community understand that resources are scarce and they don’t take what they have for granted. Sure, they have the occasional declarations of love scribbled on walls and desks, but not obscene and vulgar aggressiveness toward specific schools.

Just a few minutes of research would produce images similar to the ones above at the other West Knoxville high schools. It’s not just students vandalizing other schools in a misguided understanding of school spirit. Detached and oppositional students do it to their own schools as well as at other schools. Yes, the schools in West Knoxville have students with the same limited resources as those in more rural schools. Still, their behavior is different. Instead of respect for property, many of them are angry and alienated by the privileges that their classmates have been given. Far too many of the students of privilege have their misbehavior encouraged and excused by their families.

I do not want to hear that criminal charges have been filed against anyone involved in this incident. This is a parenting problem. I do not want to hear that anyone involved has been suspended or expelled. You do not reward bad behavior with a school vacation. I do not want to read the names of the offenders or the school they attend published anywhere. I want the students who know about this to tell an authority figure. I want the authority figure to arrange for the guilty parties to clean up the mess that they made. I do not want anyone to write a check to get out of this one. I want the teenagers responsible to physically scrub and paint away all of this mess while their parents sit and watch. It is only the beginning of what the consequences would be if it were any of my children. In the absence of the culprits cleaning up their own mess, it needs to be students instead of school staff who clean this. Require all students to do maintenance on their own schools and watch them become more conscientious about how they treat property.

This school rivalry as an excuse for vandalism has got to stop. It is wasteful, but more than that, it is inexcusable from the young people who are about to leave home and enter college. Privilege without respect and responsibility is a tragic waste of potential.

if on phone, then bad parent

// October 6th, 2009 // No Comments » // parenting

After completely biased and unscientific research, I have come to the conclusion that the maximum amount of time my children can survive when I am on the phone is exactly one hour. I’m not talking about normal, unexpected calls. Normal phone call survival time is actually much, much lower. I am talking about expected phone calls for which I have filled sippy cups, put out snacks, turned on a dvd, taken the youngest potty, assigned a younger child to each of the older children, locked the doors and hidden myself in a bedroom closet. Apparently, as the clock approaches sixty minutes, little timers go off in my children’s heads and they instantly neeeeed me for something.

First, the 7-y-o comes in the room and stares at me. I point at the phone and she nods her head in understanding. She leaves and I try to pretend I know what the other person on the phone just said. A few minutes later, the oldest child, the one who should know better, walks in the room and starts mouthing something. I try the point at the phone trick and the eldest just continues talking with his mute button pushed. I stare and get the theme of what he’s trying to communicate. I put my hand over the phone and quickly answer him while pointing at the door to exit the room. I don’t even attempt to understand what I’ve missed on the phone conversation. I guiltily ask the innocent person on the phone to repeat themselves.

Before I am relaxed from the lip-reading interruption, the 7-y-o returns. She sits down happily beside me and hums as she amuses herself with a notepad and crayons. I smile and rub her head even though she hates it. Then, the 4-y-o enters with his mouth on fast forward. “Oh, there you are Amy. Let’s jump on the bed. What you drawing? Mommy, Noah won’t let me play Lego Star Wars.” I poke one finger in my ear and try to focus on the phone call. The 13-y-o enters the room, looking annoyed. I point from the 4-y-o to the doorway repeatedly while 13-y-o tilts his head and silently mouths, “What?” Without looking up, the 7-y-o interprets for me. “Mom says to get Evan out of here.” Noah scoops up Evan and takes him elsewhere. Evan screams indignantly the entire journey.

My nerves are now on top of my skin. Then, the notes begin. The 7-y-o has spent this entire time composing one sentence notes for me. She hands them to me one at a time and as soon as I nod my head, she gives me another note. If I wait too long to nod, she just keeps handing me notes anyway. In the middle of the blizzard of notes, the 16-y-o enters the room with an evil look on her face. She points at the 7-y-o and then at the door. The 7-y-o wraps her arms around me like a vise and her older sister repeats the “get out of this room” gesture until I wave her off. By this point, the conversation is either finished OR the person on the other end has given up trying to compete with the show at my house.

The next time we buy an animated dvd (it will be Up), I think I’ll reserve it for watching ONLY when mom is using the phone. Either that or I’m going to buy a lock and soundproof tiles for the bedroom where I hide to talk on the phone.