Family tree

A few weeks ago Ladybug stated she wanted to make a family tree. I asked her what she meant (just in case I didn't understand) and she told me exactly what I was thinking.

And then I had a (small) burst of creativity. Wouldn't it be nice to have a family tree that actually looks like a tree? We could draw a tree. We could use real leaves. It is fall.

So after several weeks Ladybug finally harassed me enough and we created a family tree today -- just in time for Thanksgiving.



It is hanging above the kitchen table -- it has only crashed to the floor once so far.

You may notice that there is something missing from the family tree. Yep, the family. The idea is to take a picture of each family member ( just the ones coming to Thanksgiving and my brother and sister who can not make it) and paste them in the tree.

She is quite the little artist.

Mean Mama

sometimes it is scary to get what you want

Last night I put Ladybug to bed and she immediately started coughing. That wet productive body wrenching type of cough. I listened for a little while but then I got the meds. I had to wake her up and have her sit up. I don't know how she sleeps through that kind of coughing.

She went back to sleep. For a minute. She got up wanting some cuddle time. She cuddle for a few minutes and the coughing continued. Until I realized that it was getting to the point that she was likely going to puke. I was lucky enough to get her to the bathroom before she spewed. YEAH!!!!

So I settled her back in bed. Crisis averted. She cuddled under the blankets. And promptly puked all over her pillow which dribbled down onto her sheets and blanket. Of course. Sheets changed and back in bed for the night.

I silently told said to myself -- please let her sleep through the night.

When I woke up this morning at 8am I realized I was alone in bed. I was alone all night. And it was 8am. Neither happens. Ever. I stayed in bed for a few minutes listening. To nothing. No coughing. No beds clinking. No singing. Nothing. And then my imagination got the better of me. Why? Why hadn't she crawled in bed with me? She does every night. Why wasn't she up? She never sleeps to 8am. What if something was really wrong? What if she was really ill?

So I got up and checked on her. She was sleeping. Sweetly. So I went back to bed. For about 30 seconds before she came and joined me.

Mean Mama

Any wonder why she is sick

I hopped in the shower this morning. I asked her to clean her room, get dressed and brush her teeth.

I got out of the shower. She was dressed. The room was mostly picked up. I ask her to get a trash bag because I need to get some of the trash out of my house today. I asked if she brushed her teeth. She said yes. She lies about this topic all the time. I ask to see her teeth. There is chocolate packed into her teeth. So I tell her to go back in and brush her teeth.

Chocolate? Where did she get chocolate. It is morning. I would never give her chocolate. She stole it. I need to get rid of the junk food in the house.

Go brush your teeth.

I get dressed. She is brushing her teeth. But I don't hear it. I bought her one that runs on battery and threw away her old one 2 weeks ago.

2 weeks!

I got to the bathroom. She is brushing her teeth. With the tooth brush I threw away 2 weeks ago.

That is what I get for asking her to help with the trash.

Mean Mama

Totally Wine

The holiday frenzy starts. I am having Thanksgiving at my house. In a moment of weakness I made the offer. My first. Well, with family. I have had several with friends.

One of the things that I had to do was buy wine. I don't drink much. I once had to take a lie detector test for a job. They go over the questions with you prior to administering the test. They don't want to register a surprise. They want to register an untruth. When it got to drinking habits he laughed at me. He asked me to categorize my drinking habits. Alcoholic? Heavy drinker? Social drinker? Non drinker? I told him I was a social drinker. He asked me to define social drinker. 3-4 drinks per month? 3-4 drinks per week? 3-4 drinks per day? I told him maybe 6 drinks per year. He laughed. I mean roll on the floor, tears rolling down his cheeks laughing. Once he calmed down he explained that would make me a non-drinker.

I hate beer. Hate. All. Can't even pretend to choke down the stuff. I have tried wines. And people laugh at me about that too. I like sweet wines. Ridiculously sweet. Grape juice with alcohol. Not very sophisticated. But it is what I like. I also love sweet drinks. But for the holiday dinner I need wine. So I headed out to the wine store. With a list.

I need a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc or Pinot Grigio for my step mom. I need a bottle of Cabernet or Malbec for my dad. I can do that. So I go to the wine store. Not a liquor store. Not a grocery store. A wine store. There is a whole aisle devoted to each of those types of wines. A whole aisle. For each. Luckily each one has a description of the taste. Unfortunately that means nothing to me. Do I want oak or citrus or... I don't know.

And apparently I look like I don't know. Because not one but 2 sales people come at me offering help. One backs off and the other one helps me. He is preppy and peppy. I think he needs some of the wine he sells. But he is also 12. NO! I swear. Okay, maybe 13. He definitely hasn't started shaving yet. I am so old. I am taking alcohol advice from a 12 year old. But I swallow my pride and listen to him. He finds me a Sauvignon Blanc and a Malbec. You will have to wait a week to see if they are any good.

I then decide that I need a bottle of wine for myself too. I can at least play sophisticated for a day. So I tell him I need a ridiculously sweet wine. He takes me back to the tasting station. Who knew! I can have samples of wine before I make a decision. He pours a red. I taste. It is good. He drinks it too. Maybe he isn't 12? He pours me a second wine. White. Oh my!! Talk about ridiculously sweet. It is like drinking syrup. It is good. But a little too sweet. Even for me. I opt for wine number..... 1.

And right before I leave my preteen wine genius I remember that my bottle opener is in storage...at my mom's...700 miles away. So I ask my boy genius where I can find a bottle opener that does not require a college degree to use. I figure he must know that since he is 12. He hands me one and tells me... "I have been using this one since I was 11." No joke. Direct quote. Must be good. He has been using it for an entire year. So I bought it.

One holiday errand done -- too many to count left to do.

Mean Mama

My first child

I know I am a single mom of an only child. But Ladybug wasn't my first child.

When I was in college I decided to major in social work. When I did my internship I immediately picked a group home for teenagers. No hesitation. I could not have been more excited.

It was TERRIBLE! I hated it. I dreaded every single moment I had to be there. Until I quit. I couldn't believe how wrong I had been. And I was left with wondering what to do with my life.

About 6 years after graduating from college a friend of mine (who is no longer my friend -- but that is another story) came to me glowing about her job. She loved it. She worked for a group home for teenage boys. Juvenile delinquents. Sex offenders. Drug users. Aggressive and violent. And she told me I had to apply for a job there. I had to. I didn't want to. I could not go back to doing that work. Six years was not enough time to make me forget how miserable I was during my internship. She convinced me that I had to go for an interview. I could do that. It didn't mean I needed to take the job.

But I took the job. And I loved it. I loved going to work. I looked forward to talking with the boys. I felt competent. I had a purpose back. It was like I had found where I was suppose to be.

There was a 15 year old boy in my unit. He was quiet and shy. He rarely talked. He was tall and gangly. He made friends with the other boys. He did what he needed to do to work the program. He didn't make waves. He didn't get attached to the staff. But he decided he liked me. I didn't know this was significant because I was new. The other staff understood. Maybe I was the person who was going to get through to him.

He became my first child. I fell in love. And I do not mean that inappropriately. We developed a tight bond. Parental. He blossomed. He came out of his shell. It turned out he was a really funny kid. He got a job. He did well in school. He committed to his therapy. I could not have loved that kid more if he had actually been my child.

In the year and half I worked with him I met his parents twice. I took him home for a visit. For an hour. And his parents stopped by the unit once for about 20 minutes. I was really his only parent. They didn't call him. They didn't visit. They didn't know him. I didn't know his parents. I know he was in the unit because of his actions. But he was such a fabulous kid that I didn't understand how they stayed away.

Eventually all of the staff and treatment team decided he was ready to move into independent living. He was ready to graduate from the program. I disagreed. He was doing great. But he was young. He had come a long way but it didn't mean he was ready to fly the coop. The team disagreed with me. I knew him better. But it didn't matter. He was going to move on. And it was my job to make him believe he could do it. I never told him he wasn't ready. I never told him I was scared for him. I never let him see my doubt that the team was wrong. I encouraged him. I told him he was ready. And I let him go.

For a year he called me. For a year he leaned on me. For a year I continued to do my job with this kid. I was right. The team was wrong. But I would not let him fail. He stumbled. He failed. He struggled. And each phone call I helped him figure out how to pick himself up. For a year I watched him question himself. For a year I watched my boy slip. And at about a year after leaving the program, he got it. He got stronger. He made better decisions. He made life work for him. And I lost him. He left his new program. I left my job. My boy had grown up and left me. Because it was what was right for him. But I still loved him.

Now I silently stalk him on facebook. He doesn't know it. He joined the military. He married his high school sweetheart. And he recently found out he is going to be a dad. It has been 10 years since I have had contact with him. He did it. He made a success of his life. He beat the odds. And I am a proud mama. But he doesn't know it.

Mean Mama

Pity me

Will you please take pity on me? I am a single woman. With an only child. Who sits at a computer desk all day. Dealing with clients whose lives are falling apart. I have no social life. I need a change.

When you visit my blog -- and I know at least one or two people are -- will you leave me a comment so I know that I am not alone?

Fix my problems.

Laugh at me.

Commiserate.

Ask me questions.

Give me blog ideas.

Let me know that you are out there.

Anybody....

Bueller???

Mean Mama

Too funny

If you need a good laugh check out one of my favorite blogs. She cracks me up. She has been gagged on certain topics but you can still read the adventures she has not been gagged for.

Snarky Mom


I really like her most recent blog.

Mean Mama

Murphy's Law

I pulled up to Ladybug's after school program today with my fingers crossed. Please please please let her have had a good day. I know it is not good that I get emotionally involved with her behaviors. But she has had a few hard weeks and I want it to be better. Please

And it was! 11 out of 11 points. Yes, that means she is back on the other chart. But it works. I know most parents want their children off the bad behavioral chart. I want her on it -- she does better on it. And she is happy to see me.

The school is having another fundraiser. This time it is at our favorite pizza place. And it is healthy pizza. If she was good today I was willing to forgo cooking dinner (HA!) and go out for pizza. So we drive across town and get pizza. We apparently go here a little too often because all the waitresses say hello to Ladybug and notice that she has a new hairstyle this week.

She starts to get a little frantic. She is shoveling pizza in. She can't sit still. She is touching everything -- with her greasy, dirty hands. She is picking her food apart. She is talking and not listening. I am just hoping she holds it together long enough to get home.

We leave the pizza joint and we are crossing the parking lot heading to our car. She is singing and dancing. And I am vividly aware that the car parked next to ours is about to back up. I start talking to her. Asking her to wait. Asking her to stop. She is ignoring me. I know she won't listen and I reach out for her to stop her but she is a little to far away from me and I can only grab her hoodie and yank her back to me. At which point she spins on me with all the attitude she can possibly muster and yells at me to stop. I yell right back as I am pointing at the mini van that has now backed out and would have hit her. But she doesn't back down. She yells that I could have just told her. And I lose it. I did! She didn't listen. She would have been hit. Now get in the car.

She gets in and buckles up and promptly falls asleep. I know she is tired. She has been sleeping like crap this week. But I know she has fallen asleep because she is shutting down because I yelled. But I use the ride home to calm down. We are about 3 minutes from home when she starts coughing in her sleep. She has been fighting a cold for a couple of weeks. Not really sick but coughing in her sleep. She has grabbed my shawl and is holding it up to her face as she coughs. I tell her not to hold it in. Cough -- clear it out.

I pull into our parking lot as she coughs into my shawl. I turn and look. Oooooh! I know that look. Nooooo! Don't throw up. Not into my shawl. NO!

She does. Of course.

I park. I tell her not to move. I unlock the front door. I unlatch the car seat. When I had an older car unhooking the car seat was easy. One button. Now that I have a newer car it is more complicated. I have to crawl into the hatch back and dig under the bedding to unhook it. Then I have to crawl into the back seat and unhook it. It is safer. But not nearly as easy at the end of a hard day in the dark to deal with.

It is all unhooked. But I don't want her to stand up and walk out of the car. I don't want puke all over the car. I don't want to clear the car. I don't even want to clean the car seat. So I make the decision to remove the now unlatched car seat from the car with her still in it. I mean, how difficult could it be? To remove a large car seat with a 56 pound child covered with puke from the back seat without hurting the child or getting puke on me. Sometimes I hate being single.

But I managed to do it. Not gracefully. Then she unbuckles herself. Of course she has puked right down the front -- covering the buckles. She wants me to do it. I don't want to do it. She does it. Yeah, I know ... Mean Mama. I drag the car seat to the front door and leave it outside. I let her jut inside the front door. Standing on the linoleum. I ask her to strip. She starts to. But she starts to follow me. Dripping puke on the carpet. I walk her back to the front door. She strips. I send her upstairs to shower. I start grabbing the pukey clothes and taking them to washer.

She is in the shower singing and giggling. I am outside trying to yank the cloth off the car seat. It requires that I take the whole seat apart. I am trying to do this without getting puke on me. I get puke on me. It starts to rain. Of course. The good news is that it will wash away the trail of puke from the car to the front door. She sounds happy. I am not.

I get the cloth in the washer. Now I must wash the car seat. But I don't want to do it outside. It is raining. So I decide to put down my down blanket on the carpet and place the car seat on it. It can be washed. And I have been thinking it needs to be washed. Really. It could use a washing. I try not to breathe too deeply. The smell of pizza, doritos, and stomach acid is not good. Luckily most of the puke is on the cloth part of the car seat. Which is in the washer.

When the washer is done I realize that one piece of the car seat had too many folds in it to get really clean. So I send it back through the wash. With the blanket. At the end of the cycle I pull it out. The 2 have tangle into each other. Probably because of the hooks in the car seat. I untwist. I rotate. It is not coming free. They are now one. So I get the scissors. And cut my blanket. I need the car seat parts.

I am waiting for the parts to finish drying and then I would put it back together. And then tomorrow morning I get the joy of latching the car seat back into the car. And I am not a morning person. I just hope the car doesn't smell like puke in the morning.

Mean Mama
PS. I should add that the blanket shed all over the cloth car seat parts and I had to use a lint roller on it before putting them together. Luckily I had a lint roller. And I could find it. Unfortunately I apparently had the bright idea of storing the sticky lint roller in a plastic bag.

Frustration

I would just like to express a moment of frustration.

Back in August I had an interview. Of a job I wanted. And for the most part I would be good at. There are parts of the job that I would need to learn. I have my worries about the job. But I can deal with them. I also realize that since I am hoping to be moving into a small town that my job options are limited.

The interview went well. I hate phone interviews. I mean, I have a lot of experience working on phones and I can get the information I need over the phone. But so much of communication is non verbal. I like seeing people. The little facial expressions. The twinkle in the eye. The nod. It helps me read the person. But without all that I still felt like the interview went well.

In September I got an email from the HR department saying that I had been selected for a second interview. See, I was right. The interview went well. I was excited. They said the second interview would be another phone interview and that they would be scheduling soon.

In October I began to get worried. I still had not heard anything and I was beginning to get worried. So I took the bold move and contacted HR again and asked for a status update on the interview process. I got a very nice email back saying that they had just met with the board the day before and were beginning to start the process for scheduling the second interviews. So I relaxed. And waited.

It is now November. NOVEMBER! Still no word. No interview. Nothing scheduled. Nothing. I know they haven't hired anybody. Yet. But it raises questions. My options for employment are limited. But all they need to do is schedule a telephone interview. And that has taken about 3 months. Maybe they aren't sure they want to hire? Maybe they are having budget issues? Maybe they just operate slowly?

I just want a new job. So I can move. Start fresh. Buy a house. Change my life. But I guess that is not their focus. It is mine.

Mean Mama

795 pounds!

No not me! I am down to 267.8. I had hoped to be down to 265 (again) by Thanksgiving. That is only 1.5 weeks away. Time is flying. I don't think I will be there by then. But I will keep my fingers crossed.

A few weeks ago I got sucked into a show on Discovery Health about a man who weighed 795 pounds. It followed him in preparation for his weight loss surgery. The show ended just weeks before his surgery. He had spent about 6 weeks in the hospital waiting for his surgery and he lost about 60 pounds prior to his surgery. I was so sucked into the show that I stayed up way past my bedtime -- not that that is rare. I wanted to know what happened. Actually -- to be honest -- I wanted to know that he succeeded. I wanted to know he lost a ton of weight and made a difference in his life. But it just ended. I have no idea what happened. I tried researching on the internet but I have had no luck.

There are days when I don't understand. I mean how do you get that big? And then I realize that there must be people who look at me and wonder the same thing. And then there are other days when I realize I could just keep eating and get to that size in no time at all. I do realize that is not a good option.

Once I hit 265 again I promise to update with body measurements.

Mean Mama