The One I Forgot to Title Until Three Hours After I Posted It

This little space here is almost always about my boys. About life with my boys. Rarely do I just talk about me. And because I don’t do that often here, when life is … well, life… and it seems to be focusing more on me than them? I have to work to justify writing about it here.


Because regardless of what some alternate opinions are, and even some circumstantial evidence to the contrary, I really….REALLY….work hard at not making it all about me.

But……

Sometimes, despite the overall situation being about me, I’m fortunate enough to be able to see something in there that shows my amazing offspring to advantage. And there you have it. My justification for writing what I’m going to write.

I’ve talked about the fact that Bug struggles with Bipolar Disorder. I’m one of those parents who believes in using every possible tool available at my disposal to help him along his journey, as he learns how to control this disorder and integrate it into how he lives his life. That includes medication for him, and I’m totally on board with that. We’ve been fortunate enough to have doctors who don’t over prescribe, and who actually listen to me when I talk to them about how it affects him. And really, Bug has been fairly successful in learning to recognize when he’s headed towards a downward spiral, and works on getting through that with minimal collateral damage.

So, why is it he’s so successful? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because his mama is Bipolar, too.

The biggest difference between his struggles and mine is the medication. Oh, sure….I’ve had a lot more years to learn how to work with mine; but I’ve been slugging through mine without the benefit of medication. Not because I don’t believe in it, because I obviously do or I wouldn’t have my son on medication. But because at one point, the choice was literally “His medication or mine?” And naturally, his won. Now that we’re headed back to a point where I might be able to medicate us both, it’s absolutely something I’ll be talking to my doctor about. Especially after “that night” last week.

That night found me walking away from a pot of boiling water on my stove and sitting in my room in the dark, in tears, for no good reason that I could think of. That night heard me asking my sons to please not argue about one single thing, because mama was at the breaking point and I wasn’t able to recognize exactly what would be the shattering point. That night saw me explaining to Bug that I was feeling exactly how he does when his body feels itchy all over and like it’s going to break into a thousand different pieces if just one thing touches it. That night prompted my beautiful boy to come hug me anyway, and offer to make dinner so I wouldn’t have to. That night witnessed both of my boys to just come hug me anyway, trusting that I wouldn’t shatter into pieces so small that we’d never find them again. That night witnessed thoughts in my head going ‘round and ‘round, wondering what God possibly could have been thinking of, giving a mom like me to two amazing, wonderful boys like them?

I still don’t know what He was thinking, because I honestly don’t deserve them. But I’m more grateful than those boys will ever know.

Buy Me Some Peanuts and Crackerjacks

I love baseball season. I love almost everything about baseball season. Almost.

(Do I even need to clarify that I'm talking about BUG's baseball seasons?  Because as much as I love me some Colorado Rockies -- they hold a special place in my heart since their inaugural season was happening when the Teenager was born -- Major League Baseball just doesn't hold my attention in quite the same way.)

I love hearing the crack of the bat. 

I love watching amazing, miraculous, no one's ever gonna believe it catches.

I love hearing the cheers when he throws a ball from deep in center field, and it lands perfectly in the catcher's mitt.

I love watching him fit in with boys who forgive him his quirks, because they see him as valuable and just an awesome kid.

I even love watching him as he watches his teammates, because it's showing me that he's learning to pay attention even when the focus is not on him.

What I don't love, though?  Baseball dirt. I don't love how it takes beautifully white pants and makes them orange. And as amusing as it is, I'm not even overly fond of how it takes my handsome boy and turns him into an Oompa Loompa.

Very much like Pig Pen, actually, by the time the game is over.

But, mom.....baseball dirt makes everything taste BETTER.

Give up, mom. You're never gonna get it out of there. Besides, I don't want you to. I like it. Seeing all of that orange ground into the white? Really makes me feel like I'm doing my job out there, and doing it right.

*sigh*

Did I say I didn't love baseball dirt?  How can I not, when it has the power to give my baby another piece of himself back, when he struggles so hard to hold onto all that he can?

Not My Best Day

So I've been wondering a lot lately about what I could blog about. Between Facebook basically having a permanent vacuum tube firmly lodged in my brain, sucking out my thoughts and using them as status updates before they even have a chance to extend themselves into fully formed blog posts; and my boys growing up to the point that the rest of the world might possibly be seeing more of them than I am.....well, I haven't felt like I've had much to share.  Or worse, I get a fabulous idea.... at one o'clock in the morning, when I'm laying in bed unable to fall asleep but too lazy to get up and make my way to the computer to get it all out and on here.  I've even entertained thoughts about posting something about MYSELF. 

Oh...the shame.  *hanging my head*

However, when something happens that just spins itself out of control in my head? That's the story you get. You can thank me later.

Yesterday was ..... well, it sucked. It sucked great big fuzzy donkey balls.  I know I don't really talk about my job here on this little blog, and I don't really intend to start now. But the Great Suckage that was yesterday can totally be laid at the feet of what I do for a living.   I had to do something that isn't pleasant on the best of days, and yesterday wasn't the best of days.  The situation ended with a Very Upset Person throwing an entirely full bottle of *what we're repeatedly saying in order to convince myself its true* water at me; dousing my hair, face and clothes. Followed up by being attacked by the same Upset Person's Evil Cat.

Who knew that being doused by an unidentified liquid and acquiring a scratch on the back of my hand when fending off an Evil Cat would necessitate being sent to the clinic for a "Work Related Injury"? And that said injury and subsequent clinic visit would result in a forced vacation, because company policy dictates that ALL work related injuries require a drug test be completed and the employee can NOT return to work until the test comes back clean?

On the positive side, I got to take my very first breathalyzer test, and I didn't even need to abandon my vehicle on the side of the road and sport some very attractive and shiny handcuffs to do it!

Internet Porn and Happy Blogiversary to Me!

I'm sorry to tell you, at least one of those things will be ongoing until my boys move out and have their own computers to violate.  And it most likely will not be my blog. Wait.... my blog will still be here. I talk too much to ever entirely shut this down.

Seriously, though, having boys...well, having boys that are captivated by the more interesting and visual aspects of human anatomy... the internet porn thing will be ongoing. BUT... here's how I address it with my boys. And it generally curbs the activity for some time.

First, I make Coach leave the room. There is a part of most dads, no matter how moral and upstanding they may be, that is always 17 years old. That part of them would rather high-5 their son and make their own google-eyes at the screen. That part? Is not a helpful parenting partner. It's very difficult for them to talk about responsible Internet surfing, when their testosterone-laden brains are sidetracked with the thought, "Oh wow.... who cares if they're real? They're SPECTACULAR!", or with "Huh. Wonder if my wife can put HER ankles behind her ears?". So yeah. He gets to leave. I hate to reward him that way, but it really makes things easier.

Then I remind the boys that as embarrassing as it is for them to be hearing their mother say anything at all about naked bodies on the computer, it is equally embarrassing for me to be saying it. But since they chose to use MY computer to look, they get to listen to ME. This produces enough eye rolls that they are usually relaxed enough to talk seriously. So I take that opportunity to reassure them that it IS normal to be curious, it IS normal to push the boundaries I've laid out, and it IS normal to already be planning how they can do it again.

But then I also remind them that it is EXPECTED that they RESPECT the fact that it is a FAMILY computer. I ask them how they think their grandmother, or young cousins, would react if they sat down at our computer screen to play a game or open an email, and instead got a pop up of someone popping open? I have found that putting my children in the position of reflecting on how their actions can spread out and affect someone not actually in our immediate family works well. Let's face it. They don't care how it affects each other, and they live to embarrass and shock their parents. But grandma or the 5 year old cousin? Suddenly things aren't quite as exciting.


And, being no dummy, I frequently and with no warning whatsoever, check the history and the cookies on my computer, and call them out on it if something IS found. :) And then I tell them that I don't care which one of them it was, EVERYONE loses computer privileges if it happens again. They police each other then, and I usually get between 2 weeks and 6 months of "clean" computer time.

Poor Bug, though, when the Teenager moves out. With him gone, and dad never really home, there will be no one else to blame.

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And? Today is apparently my Blogiversary!  I *think* I've been doing this for about 4 years now. Wow. I would ask "Gee, who knew I had so much to talk about?", but then everyone who knows me would start jumping up and down, saying "Me! Me! Me! I DID!!!!", and that would cause such a rumbling that people from California to New York would think it was some very odd, very troubling earthquake happening. So, since I do NOT want to be the cause of any sort of major mass hysteria, I'll keep that question to myself.

Besides.... it would be redundant, anyway. After all, I knew I had this much to talk about. It's why I talk about it, after all.