I blame it on the root-beer floats.

Last week was a hard week for us.  Filled with meltdowns, angst, and general anxiety, it wasn’t one of our better weeks.  Alex had a party in the classroom on Friday, and in hindsight, I suspect all things were leading up to that party.  I kinda sorta knew it, but couldn’t wrap my brain around all he was going through.

Suffice it to say, there were too many changes in one day, too much anxiety leading up to Friday, to the party that afternoon.  Long story short, one of the things that put him over the edge was that they were having root-beer floats for the class party.  I didn’t know that till we were home that evening and talking.

“Hey hon, how’d the party go?”  I asked, knowing my answer was going to be the shortest one possible….

“OK.”

“Well, did you eat something?  Don’t you usually have some kind of snack at these parties?”  I knew it was a pretty safe question and one he can easily answer.  It’s a straight out fact, so he does OK.

“Mom, they had root-beer floats but I didn’t have any.  I was very disappointed in the teachers and the other students.  They were drinking root-beer but I didn’t have any.  I didn’t think you’d want me to have it.  Mom, they were drinking beer,” he whispered, like he was letting their secret out.

He was upset.  He was near tears, exhausted and worn out.  He didn’t have a meltdown, he just was defeated, confused.

After a long day, this is what broke me—seeing him that exhausted, the literal thinking and all the anxiety that came with misunderstanding.  He thought it was real beer.  No one told him, they just assumed he knew….now I’m not assigning blame or fault.  I don’t think there is any.  Alex is not one to articulate much so I suspect he kept it to himself and when they asked if he wanted any, he just declined.  

I did send in a note to school letting them know what happened and later that night, I explained what root-beer was and how it’s good with ice cream.  That it’s really not beer and its OK to drink.  

We settled in for the weekend, stuck to our routine and slowly things turned around.  We watched the rain fall, watched the lightening and counted till we heard thunder and made a few of his favorite meals.

And later I asked, “Hey, do you want to try a root-beer float?”  He looked at me, flashed a smile and said, “Ugggh, mom, you know I don’t like carbonation.  It makes me throw up.”

This time?  He knew what root-beer was.

Note:  Today is Alex’s birthday, he will be nine.  I can’t believe how fast time has gone!  I’m going to be busy making brownies with chocolate icing, hanging the Happy Birthday sign but no streamers and wrapping the exact Lego’s he’s wanted, and seen, so there will be no surprises.  Hopefully, it will be exactly the way he wants it.  

I don’t have a daughter. I have a mule or a llama, whatever.

We were getting the kids ready for bed last night and the next thing I knew, Gracie bitch-slapped Alex across the back.  I guess he was doing something she didn’t want him to do.  I think it had something to do with not wanting him to ride her giraffe or some such nonsense.  Either way, bitch-slapping is not allowed in our house.

“Gracie, go say your sorry to your brother right now,”  I asked.  I promptly received the classic “up yours” look from the two year old.  She shakes her head and very clearly says, “No.”

“Say your sorry to your brother, right now.  You slapped him and that’s not nice, you apologize right now.”

Another shake of the head, another “up yours” and another, “No.”

“That’s it.  You’re in trouble.  If you don’t say you’re sorry but the time I count to thr–,” before I could finish Alex chimes in excitedly and says, “I’m waiting, Gracie….still waiting over here for my apology…  Hey Mom, can you spank her now?  I wanna watch you spank her.  Make sure you hit her good and hard where there’s no diaper.  That’ll teach her the best lesson.”

Seriously???

“Go on mom.  You just told me at homework-time to finish what I started.  You said you were going to spank her, so now you have to finish it.  Go on mom, finish it.”

So this is where I say a mental., “fuck me” for telling my son to finish his homework and beating it into his brain that we don’t give up and we try as hard as we can.  At homework I think I said something along the lines of, “You really have to finish what you started and if you don’t there will be no ice cream or i-thing after dinner.”  Since that got a luke warm reception I said, “I’m going to email your teacher you’re not finishing.  Would you like me to do that?”

He holds his teacher right up there next to God, and the creators of his favorite app Spice War’s, so he gave me a huff and the, “Sweet Jesus whatever you do, don’t tell my teacher,” look and got cracking.  

I knew when I said it, he was going to use my words against me at some point.  I just wasn’t ready to hear them back at me so soon.

But really, he was Jonesing for me to spank the shit out of his sister?  I hadn’t even gotten to three.  I didn’t even think of what was next.  My exact thoughts were more along the lines of, “Gaw, you little turdball, you blew it with ten minutes left in bedtime.  Shit, now we have to play a round of dodge ball and you’re as stubborn as a Tennessee mule. I’m going to be really, really pissed-off if you puke on me.”  That, right there, was pretty much what was going through my mind.

For the sake of argument, this llama will now be called a mule. It’s late, I’m tired. Work with me people, work with me.

I’m a deep thinker.  

Sure, it had flashed across my mind to spank her but I was thinking more along the lines of just chucking her in bed without saying goodnight.  We really don’t spank in this house.

“No Alex I’m not going to spank her. This is not really a spanking situation.”  And with that I set the bar pretty low and chucked her in bed.

She never did say she was sorry.

Fricking Tennessee mule, I’m raising a mule.

I have no idea where she gets it from.

It must be her father.

The mystery of the pine cones.

Over the past several days I’ve noticed strange things coming home in Alex’s pants and coat pockets.  He’s been bringing home pine needles, pine cones and the seeds from the cone. 

I pulled a pair of pants from the washing machine and out fell a bunch of pine needles.  I found pine cones in two other jackets, the pockets stuffed full. 

I asked Alex why I was finding pine cones and this is what he told me:

He was playing with them, by himself, at recess and a classmate came over and stated she wanted them.  And then she took them.  He told her he was playing with them and she took them anyway.  Ever since he’s been pocketing things and hiding them from her.

I asked him why he didn’t go to his para or teacher for help and said he couldn’t.  If a disagreement was a “small thing” the kids are supposed to try and work it out themselves.  Fair enough.  Under normal circumstances I actually think that’s a pretty good policy. 

I pushed him a little further and said something like, “But you told her you were playing with them and she took them anyway, that doesn’t sound small to me…”  Honestly, it sounds like she was bullying you, that little hussy.  I kept my mouth shut on that last part. 

He said, “No. No, mom.  The pine cones are small, so I had to work it out on my own.  Those are the rules…”

The pine cones were small and therefore couldn’t ask for help.  Such a literal interpretation of the rules. 

The next day I was in his resource teacher’s office (I swear I think my car could drive there itself sometimes) explaining the situation.  We have it all worked out now, but it just goes to show how something so simple can be misconstrued or misinterpreted.   How literal and rule bound he is.  How he held on to the other child taking his things and he did what he thought best which, honestly, was not the best thing to do at all.  It shows how vulnerable he really is.

I’ve not seen any more pine needles or cones come home yet.  I’m off to check the backpack…

Pretty cool!

I wrote this way back in December about having time off for the Christmas Holiday.  I thought it fit the bill nicely about the prompt of being cool.  Enjoy!  


Blog Gems – Air  Your Archives #18 is being hosted by Varda over at The Squashed Bologna while Jen over at The King and Eye tends to family.  


So my little Alex has been home one day and he’s already trying to get us on a routine and dominating the computer.  His go to things right now are Lego’s and (brace yourself) the computer.  Given a choice between the two, the computer wins hands down.  For whatever reason he’s mastering the game Farm Frenzy.  I think its because it has to do with making money and he’s interested in maximizing his returns on investments.  You know, like buying a cow and then maxing out how much milk it can produce so he can have a greater earning potential.  His words, not mine…

I’ve intentionally NOT put things on a routine so he can have more experience winging it.  He’s doing better than I thought.   Normally, first thing in the morning he has to put on school clothes and get the day started.

Today we got up and I asked, ” You still in PJ’s?”

“Yup!  Mom, today’s not a school day.  I do not need to put on school clothes right away. Duuhhh.”

“I know.  How cool is that?”

“Pretty cool.  I don’t need to put on regular clothes right away until January 4, 2011.  That’s when school resumes…in the new year.”

“Ahh.  That’s cool, huh?”

“Yup!”

Now I have to tell you it took almost 3 weeks for him to figure out the the phrase “pretty cool” had nothing to do with the weather or atmospheric conditions.  The first time I used it he replied it was most certainly not “pretty cool” and it was indeed quite hot.  That was last July.

I always think some of the best parts of other people’s blogs are the pictures.  So I leave you with an image from this past July. 


Way prettier than looking at snow, right?

And how cool is that?!?