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Tag Archives: parenting

I think I’ve reached my capacity on kids movies

25 Sep

For some reason, Maura HAD to have a copy of “The Lion King” – a movie that, until now, I’ve never actually watched.

I mean, I’m sure my kids have watched it, I know my boys watched the spin-off show “Timon and Pumba”, Miriam’s choir did the full “Circle of Life” song last year – but somehow, I missed actually viewing the whole movie.

Thanks to Maura’s need to watch movies 3928 times in a row, I have now watched “The Lion King” – or as I’ve dubbed it, “Simba Doing Stupid Things”.

Really Simba, your father is James Earl Jones, you shouldn’t be this dumb. And really? You’re gonna follow Uncle Scar around? And watch him kill your father and slap your mother around, only to trust him enough to walk away? His name is Scar! He has a British accent! Come on already!

Again – I shouldn’t be left alone with kids movies. Especially ones where one of the main songs is “I Just Can’t Wait to be King” – a happy song about eagerly awaiting your father’s death so you can snatch up all the power. How very Shakespearean.

And then I discovered that Matthew Broderick was the voice of grown Simba.

Matthew Broderick.

Matthew.

Broderick.

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My friends were all “How did you not know this?” and I was all “I DON’T KNOW!”

Seriously, I don’t know how I got through the past 23 years of this movie’s existence not knowing Matthew Broderick played Adultish Simba.

Proving that no matter what your age, there’s always something new to learn.

Like “Hakuna Matata” – sure, it means “no worries” but it also seemed to be interpreted as “Yeah, so your father just died and you ran away because once again, you listened to Uncle Scar and you’ve not thought once that your mother might think you’re dead??? You made your mother worry this whole time!”

Seriously, Disney, what’s with you having characters run off? Snow White…Ariel…Simba…Elsa…okay, Rapunzel took off, but she was literally imprisoned so I support her choice. Disney is just a bad series of “People making poor choices”.

Again, maybe I just need to stop watching them all seventeen times a week. Oversaturation is a bad thing.

I just feel bad for “The Lion King” – it starts off so gloriously…the choir, the scenery, the uplifting song and tiny lion cub, James Earl Jones. “Before sunrise, he’s your son.” – what’s not to love?

Well, besides 30% of the movie being Scar going on about how he’s going to kill everyone.

Yeah, I definitely need less cartoons in my life.

 

 

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For the Members of the Public – you’re welcome

2 Sep

Wednesday we went to Target.

I know, shocking.

The girls and I had gone out, done a couple things, and I needed things like eye drops, Keurig cleaner, and maybe new shoes for Maura. Target was chosen for its ability to give us all those things, plus maybe a Starbuck’s if we were all good.

Starbuck’s never happened. Instead, by the end of the trip, I was opening a bottle of Coke I grabbed while in line for the register, and said to Miriam “Momma’s gonna pour some rum in this Coke when we get home.”

#keepingitreal

Maura had a meltdown coupled with a battle of wills. Hers vs Mine. Damn fecking back to school section, the one that caused a serious meltdown the first time we saw it, but that we had overcome and were able to navigate, struck one last time in its death throes. To sum up – she wanted a backpack, I said no, cue 20 minute power struggle.

Several minutes into this, I called Josh for help because Maura was now hugging the backpack to her chest and I was determined to stick to my “I said we’re not getting the backpack.” Sure, I could have backpeddled, but I’m trying to teach her – like I taught all my other kids – that we can’t get every thing every time, especially if we have at least five of those things in our bedroom at home. So every time she put it in the cart, I’d take it out, put it on the shelf, and say “I said no.”

When Josh got there, we were actually right by the doors. Josh gave her the “I hear you’re not listening to Mom” speech, and told her she had to leave the store. We left Miriam with the cart, and I escorted Josh escorting Maura to the car. All the way, I would say things like “We have to leave because you’re not listening.” and “I said I wasn’t buying that for you, and I’m not.” and basically calmly narrating what we were doing and why in a tone that carried.

Not for me.

Not for Maura.

No, I was doing that for you, the public. You, the group of four adults catching up by the doors who paused to look at the scene we were creating. You, the single guy who paused to let us go ahead of him through the doors (btw, thanks). You, the couple walking in. You, the store associates who looked our way.

“We’re going to the car because you won’t listen to Mom. Mom said no.”

I walked with my husband not because he’s incapable of handling Maura, but to give him the presence of another female as he escorted his daughter, who was digging her heels in literally, to the car. A man escorting a teenage girl screaming to a car looks bad. A man and woman escorting a teenage girl screaming looks more parental. I wasn’t walking with him to help, I was walking with him to make sure someone didn’t call security on my husband and daughter.

Because you are all watching, you people in public. You all stop and turn and watch for a moment or two or three, and you watch us. Why? I don’t know, because we’re making a scene. Because the scene she’s making isn’t socially acceptable at her age and height? Because you’re curious or just plain nosy. Because it’s something to tell someone later. Because you want to make sure she’s okay?

I think mostly it’s because you’re nosy. So here’s some facts –

It’s a meltdown. A meltdown isn’t behaving badly, it’s losing control. My job with my daughter is to help her regain control. In this case, as in many, removing her from the situation is the most helpful – she doesn’t have the reminder of what caused the meltdown in front of her.

No, I can’t predict these things. That instance – just happened. She had been golden and responsive to my redirections just moments before. I think the feeding frenzy in the school section set her off. So really, public, this was your fault, not hers.

It’s part of Maura’s learning curve, so we roll with it. Yes, that means sometimes, it happens in public. No, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop taking her out because how the heck is she supposed to learn if she’s a recluse? Not to mention…

No one helped us.

Not one offer of help, or a kind word. There were a couple moms who told their kids to keep moving, nothing to see here, but there was also one mom who didn’t notice her child laughing and pointing at my daughter (she got a stern look and a head shake of “No” from me though.) There were a lot of you going around us, giving us a quick glance or three, and then you went into the backpack section to buy backpacks, thanks a fecking lot for that. Okay, you didn’t know, but inadvertently, you didn’t make it easier.

No one made it easier on us, so why do we have to make it easier on you?

I told my therapist about this incident. She asked how I felt during it all.

“Well, I had to remain calm.” I said.

“Yes, that’s a given. But how did you feel, knowing all those people around you were watching?”

“Honestly? I ignore them. I’ve learned to put on blinders.”

My therapist was impressed.

But I have. I’ve put on blinders to most of the looks, the stares, the whispers and glances. I’ve had to, because none of you matter in that moment. This time was harder because we were in a main aisle, and people had to walk around us. I caught more than I usually do.

Besides, I don’t need to see you there to know that you are there, watching, judging. Everything I do in public to help my daughter is tinted with the personae I put on for your sake. The loving mother not showing frustration – that’s for you, the public. The wife walking with her husband and daughter – for you all. The calm mother stating firmly but never ever angrily how we have to leave the store because we can’t scream in the store – all for you, Members of the Public.

If I had my way, I’d probably be more “OMG kid, really? Get up off that floor now, move!” But I’m not allowed to do that. I’m also not allowed to sit on the floor and cry with her. Just like I’m not allowed to open up a bottle of wine and drink it through the store, even though the store sells wine. I have to embrace the role of saint in public when my daughter’s having a meltdown because my daughter is disabled, and parents of disabled kids are either saints or monsters.

So I’m a friggen saint.

And most of you don’t even appreciate it.

 

 

 

Life Interrupted

7 Aug

“No excuses!” life shouts at me.

“But…you see-”

“NO EXCUSES!” society shouts, cutting me off.

And there is my excuse.

“You keep saying you’re cleaning your house but…” they say as they wave their hand to note the piles of crap everywhere, waiting for the final sorting and putting away phase.

“You keep saying you’re going to lose weight but…” they say as they eye my not-decreasing waistline and the cake in my hand.

“You keep saying you’re a writer but…” they say as they imply that I’ve yet to be published.

“Well…you see-”

They interrupt me. “NO! NO EXCUSES! JUST DO IT!”

And therein lies the problem.

My life is a series of being interrupted. Not only that, but Maura’s latest thing is to start a show, watch five minutes of it, and then switch to another show, watch three minutes of that, switch to another show, watch 27 minutes of that and flip shows five times in five minutes. I already have a list of things to do that’s a mile long and now I have to figure out how to break Maura of her tv addiction. And yet I have curtains that I need to hem that have been sitting there for six weeks but I can’t do those yet because we rearranged Maura’s room and in doing so, she got into all the stored winter clothes, so someone moved them all into the laundry room and started washing the already clean clothes, so now I have to finish that, but I also need to wash my clothes because it’s been so hot here that I haven’t been doing laundry because I’ve been avoiding turning on the dryer. But I also need to get Maura out of the house, but I also need to go grocery shopping, but Maura and grocery shopping don’t always mix. I could have groceries delivered, but that costs extra money and I’m trying to be thrifty. But then we have no food and so I end up ordering pizza, which is not a healthy diet food, and at that point, I just don’t care.

And then, because of all this, I have to get down on myself for having the messy house, the disorganized life, the lack of writing, the lack of weight loss. Then I start feeling I can’t do the “fun” things like writing or sewing because I need to do the cleaning or the laundry, but I really don’t want to those, but I feel like I should, and then I end up not doing either thing and just surfing the internet feeling overwhelmed, or reading and ignoring the mess around me. Which is a step up from laying in bed binge watching shows.

I’m overtired, overwhelmed, and overweight. I am, apparently, also my own worst critic. My new therapist has named her Mean Phoebe, and Mean Phoebe is actually quite mean. She is comprised of all the people who have been over-critical and not accepting enough of me throughout my life. I need to work on that as well.

I keep forgetting to though because people keep interrupting me to shout “NO EXCUSES!” Or to fix the batteries in the remote. Or put Maura’s hair in a pony tail yet again, even though I put it in a pony tail ten minutes ago, and she keeps pulling it out just for me to redo it. On top of normal daily interruptions.

And to be honest – being super busy just isn’t my style. I need down time. Probably because with Maura, I always have to be on.

My life is chaotic in ways others don’t understand. It’s normal chaotic family life topped with the unpredictability of life with Maura. I crave organization these days. If everything is organized, then maybe I can stop having to choose between cleaning and writing. Maybe if everything was organized and hidden away, Maura would stop pulling everything out and depositing it all over the house. If everything is organized, maybe the visual of neatness will bring order to my brain. I walked through Ikea the other day and all those little show rooms, where everything was laid out just right and shelves were full of little boxes of things organized….it was so tantalizingly delicious.

Reality is, I could be all Kon Mari organized and Maura will still create a mess. I will still be interrupted. Laundry would still be backed up. But at least I’d look like I had my shit together, and that’s something, right?

But I have to start. And starting is hard. Especially when Mean Phoebe is muttering about how we’re just a slob, we’ve been a slob our whole life.

And society yells “NO EXCUSES!”

And I flip off both society and Mean Phoebe, and start a list. Not a bullet journal. Not a 40 bags in 40 days challenge. Just a list. A little list. Do my laundry. Do Maura’s laundry. Change the sheets on our bed. Baby steps to the laundry room. Baby steps to the kitchen. Forget meal planning for two weeks, just figure out what we’re eating tonight.

Because some of us have excuses. Some of us have lives interrupted.

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