halfb8ked: never finished

Last night, I could tell there was a near miss. M wanted to argue over pants (AGAIN!) Probably the hundredth time since August.

Here’s the story. In August, we bought him 6 pairs of blue jeans that fit. That he liked. That he tried on. He got even more pants (green, red, blue camo) in the middle of the school year. Green have disappeared completely. Blue camo ripped a button. In February, I bought him another pair of gray jeans (Hawk). They ripped in less than 2 weeks. I got him another pair in March, and they ripped in late April, same place. He couldn’t wear them to school (big fight). I gave him 2 pair I’d been saving for the day when they all were bad, because he was having a good week: camo and plain green. Plain green went missing. Camo are wearing out very quickly.

So, let’s count: plain green, camo, red, and 6 pairs of jeans left to be able to wear to school. Gray for skating only.

“I don’t have any pants. Where are my gray ones. I can wear those.”

“No.”

“I promise. I’ve talked to the principal. He said…”

“Nope. No arguing, against the …”

“Stop interrupting me. You don’t know! The principal said…”

“I don’t care. Remember the dress code rules? Do you want me to rip them up so they’re completely unwearable?”

“What about the red ones? You love those.”

“They don’t fit!”

“They’re the same size as the others.”

“No they’re not! They don’t fit!”

“Put them on. I’m not trying to be a dick, I just want to see so I know for the future.”

(They fit fine. They’re skinny jeans.)

“They hurt!”

“That’s the way they’re supposed to fit,” I say, hiking them up to where he’s supposed to be wearing them, still way below the waist.

“Ouch, that hurts!”

“Bullshit. That’s the way skinny jeans are supposed to fit. Just say ‘I don’t like this fit anymore’ and I’ll make sure they go away.”

“Well, what am I supposed to wear tomorrow?”

“One of the 6 other pairs of jeans you have.”

*starts digging through the junkpile that is his room*

“I don’t even know where they are!”

“They’re somewhere in that room that I’ve asked you several times to clean and that you haven’t put clean clothes away for 2 months. You’ll have to find them”

(T closes his door.)

M comes walking out and hands me 2 pair of jeans, unacceptable for school, and 2 pair that will do. So, we’re minus the blue camo, and a pair of normal jeans, and the red ones.

That leaves 4 pair of blue jeans, the green pair, and the camo pair. Still, 6 pair of school appropriate jeans. And a calm child.

“I want another pair of these camo ones. And the gray ones.” (which are starting to fall apart.)

“We’ll have to try to find some that will last longer. Finding these styles again might be hard.”

He closes the bathroom door, and I gather the rags. I made sure I said “Thank you for showing me which ones were bad and helping me get rid of them.”

Today, he wore shorts anyway.

This week has been relatively good, aside from the half-truths.

Wednesday was psychiatry appointment, and it went well. T even said so.

Saturday (tomorrow) M and I (and actually his teacher and another family in the neighborhood) march in the city’s gay pride parade. It’s my first. It goes against everything I’ve ever said/believed/wanted, but M asked me, so I’m doing it.

And now, since his friends (in the other family) were marching, too, he’s decided to march. With them.

My college has a booth, and I’ll see them there.

So glad this week is over.

And remind me to tell you about the research study M is in.

M has been promoted to high school! That was a long, long graduation ceremony, but he’s done.

Grades were less than stellar, and he knows I’m disappointed, but still proud he made it.

It’s been an odd couple weeks. He graduated, I left for a conference, and when I came back, he was good.

Really good. Scary good. Not good in doing chores, but good overall.

M and I went to the big neighborhood yard sale where my parents sell, and came home to a VERY grumpy T after a great morning. Nothing in particular was different, but he was fed up. He cleaned the entire downstairs because it got so bad he couldn’t take it anymore. He put up a sign saying anything left out that didn’t belong there would be thrown away.

M left. We fought. I told him he could NOT expect that. He said, “then I can leave and you can have the house payment, and M, and never see me again.”

I have a difficult time with loved ones dealing with depression. I always have. My dad deals with it in a very specific way (or did… til he realized it was killing him). Internalizing it until you burst is not a healthy way to live. My first stressful moments came during freshman year of college, and I didn’t do well with myself, either. I break stuff. I throw stuff. I scream and yell and jump up and down. Mostly the screaming and yelling and eventual sobbing.

I know what it’s like to have a father stuck in a job he hates. I know what it’s like to be stuck in a job I hate. I have a new admiration for my parents now.

Honestly, if a clean house keeps T from flipping his lid, then so be it.

BTW, we upped M’s meds again, and he seems to be doing just as well. No adverse effects, so I think he’s good. Maybe the grumpiness was a fluke.

Vacation is planned.

M wants to go to the skate park this weekend. His friend C- is grounded, though, and we’re pretty sure it was because of M. Haven’t followed up yet. Is said he was ungrounded, and was over for dinner last night. His mom came looking for him at 8, because he was supposed to be home by 6. Dinner at our house was after 6, so … *sigh* teens.

One week til Summer School. This is not going to be fun.

I really don’t know what I expected. I should’ve guessed that M didn’t do his homework, AGAIN, at all. The assignment that was due Monday, worth 30 points. The one I ran to OfficeMax for, over my lunch break.

So, when, after he had told me he was going to work on it, for 2 hours, and showed up at dinner time with nothing done, I was pissed. And he was argumentative.

And he wanted dinner. RIGHT NOW. Make it himself. Nachos. (cheese and chips). When I explained that there were no significant protein or vegetables, he said he’d add those. When I explained he’d give up his Friday dinner choice, he wasn’t having any of that. BECAUSE I NEED TO EAT RIGHT NOW.

“We’re having pasta.”

“I don’t want pasta.”

“It’s not your night to pick.”

“WHAT KIND OF PASTA?”

“Whatever kind is in the freezer, that I cook in the pan.”

“*GRUMBLE* HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT KIND OF PASTA?!”

“M, it’s whatever I bought. I don’t remember.”

“I DON’T WANT PASTA.”

“That’s what we’re having,” I say, pulling out the freezer.

“SO WHAT KIND OF PASTA IS IT?”

I angrily tossed a bag of pasta to him. He did not catch it.

“I’M OUT OF HERE. JESUS.” *storms out door* “YOU DON’T HAVE TO THROW THINGS AT ME.” (to friends outside:) “HE’S THROWING THINGS AT ME.”

(friends heard the whole discussion)

“M, I did not throw it at you. Do you want me to throw it at you so that you know what that’s like?”

“WHATEVER. I’M NOT EATING DINNER.”

Whizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. BANG.

“There, how’d you like having things thrown AT you.”

(he laughs and starts walking away. Friend starts crying.)

“See what you did? You dented the garage door.”

“Nope. I didn’t. That was like that. One of you kids hit it a while ago. Is-, you need to go home. I don’t need you getting in more trouble with your mom.”

(more friend crying. Is’s little brother, D, says “what was this all about?”)

“M decided he wanted chips and cheese for dinner.”

Is-, now no longer sobbing: “That’s not dinner!”

“M, I’ll finish cooking dinner, but you need to work on homework.”

“I’m not doing homework. Why should I. I have summer school.”

“If you’re going to be part of this family, you need to do what needs to be done. If not, you can leave. Those are your choices.”

“So, you want me to go back down to the library?”

“Sure, and I’ll come with you.”

“NO. I will do it myself.”

“No, I’ll come with you. How can I trust you? You said you were going to do it and didn’t. Again.”

“I WILL GO BY MYSELF.”

(starting to get angry again)

D: “I’ll go with him and I’ll tell you if he doesn’t do it.”

Is: “He will. D doesn’t lie about stuff like that and always keeps us accountable.”

Me: “Fine. Be back at 8:30. Get it done. I will still have dinner waiting for you.”

—–

8:30. M walks in the door. Is and D are with him. (Is isn’t allowed to hang out with M). Is asks to use the bathroom, D asks for a drink. All are winded from the walk from the park. “Did you get it done?” I ask… Expecting the correct answer was my mistake.

“I got some of it done. I got two poems typed. I saved them though.”

“Where? They don’t save what’s on the library computers.”

“Yes they do. They were still there. They’ll be there tomorrow.”

“What happens when they aren’t?”

“Then I’ll have to type them over again.”

“Why didn’t you just print them? You had the money.”

“I forgot.”

(at this point, I gave up. I had a conference call and needed to round him up for bed.)

I should now be known as the Flying Penne Monster. I sacrificed my dinner to prove a point. (M and T got to eat… and they both said it was good.)

The last couple weeks, I’ve been slow to get out of bed. I’ve been tired, tossing and turning a bit due to pain in my shoulder. It’s old pain, something something… I forget what it’s called. Between that and the foot, and now pain between my 2nd and 3rd knuckle on my right middle finger… I’m guessing there’s a bit of the arthritis going on.

And don’t get me started on my lower back. OW. That I blame on trying to carry some 100# neighbor kids on piggyback.

This morning, I actually had a dream about getting out of bed, after T got out of bed. It was as if I got up, did my morning routine, and even featured an appearance by M, who was running late. When I finally woke up, T had gotten up, but I was roughly 30 minutes behind schedule, and M was ahead of schedule.

That wasn’t the weirdest dream lately.

Did you watch the CBS Sunday Morning about prefab houses/trailer parks? Some of them were amazingly beautiful. I’m dreaming about architecture again. From the dreams about retrofitting downtown in my hometown, to living in a century-old mansion, renovated to the studs on the inside, with modern amenities and salvaged details.

Dear dreams: knock it off, unless you know something about a lottery ticket that I don’t.

I actually had the thought this morning, what I would do if I ended up winning $400M. I know everyone says “pay my debt, pay for my kids’ school, go back to school, buy a car, buy a nicer house,” etc. But what would I do, really? I know I’d leave a legacy for myself, my family, T’s family. I’d make sure my favorite university programs were funded in perpetuity. I’d campaign to change the outlook of my small Ohio hometown. I’d establish an environmental technology incubator there, associated with the university. And yeah, I’d probably work to make the city what they tried to, a few years ago: a place that future generations could be proud of, and be healthy living in. I just don’t want to see it implode. I’m sick of seeing the residents dying. I’m sick of them selling out their health for a quick buck.

They need to become something greater. Their “green zone” which was established around the city, is now in jeopardy of becoming a radioactive dump.

So, say I had $100M after all the rigamarole… I’d probably take $10M to buy up some properties. Throw $1M at fluffy student programs. Throw another $10M at wind farms to power the town, eliminating the impact of the town on the local coal-fired plants. And then comes the research arm. How’s $40-50M to establish a local environmental research/technology incubator and university program, with the ability to incentivize household conversions to distribute efficient, clean tech? $10M to endow school improvement. That’s $81M, right? $19M to spare. That should be enough to protect my entire extended family’s future for the long run.

Oh, dreams.