Thursday, November 17, 2016

I don't remember sacrificing a goat

All is well. Killed her meds and prepared for the worst.

Lydia is on top of the world.


It was a non stimulant. She hated the feeling of a giant wet blanket holding her down.

She is a delight. She is a leader. She is happy.

Ok. Thrilled.


It must be my fault. Right?

Ps - when she saw me notably upset the day after elections, she said, Don't worry Momma. I can be the first girl president.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Medicine ups and downs for the ADHD kid with ODD on the side


So Lydia went on meds for the ADHD/ODD.  She switched meds As it wasn't working.

We took her off the second non stimulant last week.  Beastly at home.  Creature like.

Welcome to the Garden of Eden.


We had her 504/IEP meeting with school. Lydia does not qualify for either.  Want to know why?  She is a TOP mother fucking student.  Not just good.  TOP.  STUDENT.

Can I get a 504/IEP for home?

We continue to struggle, but she is remarkably better since stopping the medication.

Is it age?  Is it the regimen of school and activities?  Who the fuck knows.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Things I lie about to my kids

Have mercy.

The oldest asked if I ever had a boyfriend before daddy.  Peppering me with questions.  Laser focus, the hyper focus enjoyed by those with ADHD when they like a subject.

Rocco and I were married when i was 36.  37?  Had boyfriends galore and an ex husband by then.  Where in the world did she learn about this?  I dodged the question.

Is it time to tell them about dead end marriages with abusive alcoholics?

When do I tell them about the baby who died before they were born?

When do I tell them what medical termination means.

Incompatibility with life.

Now all of a sudden the donor egg question doesn't seem as scary.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

A good old fashioned Lexapro cry

Crying sucks.

I always try to stop it.  Since I am yakked up on 30mg of Lexapro I am usually successful. Always successful.  I feel the tears and I shut them off.

Therapist say cry = good.  Cry = release.  Cry = growth.

I say cry = surrender.  Cry = losing.  Cry = not in control.

This wkend was so long and so horrible.  Lydia is consuming all the oxygen in this house.

We walk around waiting for the bomb to explode.

It did and I sobbed like a momma should.  Man I really feel better but maybe it is because no one is home right now but me.

Saturday, September 3, 2016

She gets this shit show from my DNA

Raced home from Lydia's medication appointment (progress = good) and treated myself to a concert under the stars outside of Chicago.  It's the kind of place where everyone does their best to feel like a Crate and Barrel advertisement.  Electric candles, silver and china and classy shit like that.

I texted my best pal on the way there to see if I should hit a gas station for food and wine.  I had Big Intentions but didn't end up getting to shower that day.  All the more reason I EARNED this good time out.

Kind of forgot about this read everyone is talking about.  Kind of forgot how it stressed the living shit out of me.  Oh yeah, this post was a running in my head all week.  Until it wasn't. Eek.

I lived that shit out loud last night.  Dammit all.

I am mega stressed from Lydia's large and magnificent energy that just might choke the life out of me.  I am crazy exhausted from nursing for over 2 years.

Over in the suburbs
Her house looked like a bomb
Lived a tired, stressy mom
And her little kid throng.
"You suck!", said her family.  "I suck!", said the mom.
And the Sad momma cried in the wine, her favorite balm.

Living with a little regret for my choices that night.

Great show.  Great time.  Heading home.  Long wait for the shuttle bus.  Having fun admiring a cool Hillary Clinton shirt.  Laughing. The line is long and we've been waiting a long time.  Still fun for me, but notice some weary moms in line w littles asleep on dad's shoulders or in strollers.

And then Trashy Line cutters show up.  The cut in front of me.  Who cares.

They cut in front of tired mommas.  Mommas who very likely wanted to be kid free that night.  I was glad to have Rocco home so not to foot a $17/hour babysitting night.  Sometimes your kid comes with you for love, sometimes for the budget.  Not sure what the case was for these moms, but the Trashy Line Cutters said kids belong at home, not at a concert.

Short story, I stood up for your Uterus.  I challenged the Trashy Line Cutters.  Rumor has it there almost was a fight, but I'm damn lucky Trash didn't throw a punch.  I'd be on the ground.  But I was asking for it. Daring them.

I was angry.

Why would line cutters be so personal to me?  It was an electric wire on my spine.  The electric wire of injustice.  I suited up for battle.

I am my daughter's mother.

Monday, August 29, 2016

Sometimes you get what you need

Toddlerina, now the Elementary School Empress, started new medication late last wk.

Lydia came home from school grumpy and eye lids at half mast.

Asleep at 545pm.  She slept almost straight through the night, but woke briefly for me to shove another pill down her throat.

Ok, not really, she took it willingly, but someone should just cut my heart out with a spoon.

Cut my mother fucking heart out with a spoon because it will be painful and and it will be messy and it is a shit-effective tool.

Later that day I see my buddy pull up in the driveway.  She walks up to the door kinda slow motion like, bad ass, leaving her car running and the driver's door open as if to indicate "you cannot refuse me - see the International Signs I Won't Stay for Long".

She hands over a bag of every kind of chocolate treat currently available at Traader Jo's.  That is a lot of chocolate.

She hugs me, leaves the bag of SWAG, and drives off into the sunset.

Lydia didn't wake up when I ate the chocolate without even unwrapping it.