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exceptional children and adults often believe that the true level of
their abilities is revealed on their bad days, and that they are faking
it on their good days. Linda Kreger Silverman, Ph.D.
My son Hollis' Montessori teachers, who started out so full of energy and understanding, have become reasonably tired of his antics. I certainly see where they are coming from, I had just hoped throwing obscene amounts of money at the problem would solve it.
In the fashion of the true narcissist, Hollis' problems this year have led me to remembrances of my own childhood, and struggles with being sensitive, different, and very, very lonely. When my son hugs the dog beyond the point of affection, and to the point of desperation, I remember clearly doing the same thing. In fact, as a child, I made my cocker spaniel ride in my bike basket. That could not have been good for the dog.
As I renew my struggle to find an appropriate fit for Hollis in school, it calls into question what I truly want for my child. I so often find myself thinking "Goddammit, why does everything have to be so complicated" and at the same time experience the same immobilization when too many choices are presented to me. When choice after choice is available to me (like THE WHOLE DAMN MONTESSORI CURRICULUM – WTF WAS I THINKING), I will invariably choose the easiest choice that allows me to get back to daydreaming and goofing off. Self-discipline is not my best quality. So why do I expect more from my six year-old than I do myself?
So my choices for next year are EP Todd Elementary, Houston Elementary, Jesse Boyd Elementary, the new Spartanburg Charter School, and the Spartanburg Day School (that choice comes with its own new 2nd shift job of whoring at construction sites to pay the tuition!). Any public school will most likely want to involve him with their special education program (emotionally disabled is how they put it), but when pressed, they admit they are not used to special ed children with such a high IQ.
I renew my plea for someone to begin the Jedi Training Academy. This kid's metachlorides are off the frakkin scale, and I am not sure he will indeed bring balance to the force. I think we all know what a less than ideal training situation can lead to, especially if, as Yoda says, there is "much fear in the boy."
So as many of the four readers of my blog know, my older son has been, how shall we say, "inspired" with his choice of behavior this year. But many of you wonder, hey, what's up with the little one?
Max is turning three in one month. He is cute, friendly, and completely normal. Or so I thought.
Tonight I was reading a book to him while he was on the potty. At the end of the book (Do Pirates Take Baths? if you must know!) the pirates are dreaming of their mothers'. So I ask Max very sweetly if he dreams of me. He says no. So I then as if he dreams of pirates. He says no. So I ask what he dreams about?
Max is obsessed with Velma from Scooby Doo. He makes me call him Velma, and he calls me Freddy when I drive our minivan. Every time we pass First Baptist of Spartanburg, Max looks for the "Mystery Machine", which is really the Hangar Z Christian Scion car.
So, my sweet, sweet little boy tells me that he dreams of Velma. I smile. Then he tells me that he dreams of "fighting her down!" I still smile. He then tells me he kills Velma and throws money on her.
What the fuck?
So apparently my soon to be three year-old dreams of being a killer pimp????
Sometimes I spend way to much time on Youtube, and it makes me cry.
PZ Myers, my "high priest of science" started this off today by posting a video of a horribly stupid young girl who was "challenging" evolution and therefore atheists. Truth be told, my 4 year-old son came up with more challenging questions about evolution, and rationally came to the conclusion that the scientific evidence made sense. While he is VERY smart, almost freakishly so, it is sad that a 4 year-old gets it and she does not.
So after watching the video, I continued to go down the rabbit hole of creationist videos. After the above mentioned lovely idiot, I came across this man, who scares the beJesus out of me! He starts off by saying that since the big bang was basically a rock that exploded in space and created all the planets, WHY ARE THEY ROUND? Seriously, I went to a liberal arts college, have a degree in Business, only passed astronomy because I was banging the TA and I still understand the complete stupidity of that statement. It shows that there are indeed stupid questions.
He then says that evolution must mean that hammerhead sharks evolved that way because of their annoyance at local fish, that scientists do not understand tornados and twisters, and that first generation atheists make him the most sick because that means that "you are saying your mother is a stupid retard and your grandfather is an asshole." Hey, my grandfather is an asshole, but that does not disprove evolution.
This man should be blacklisted from any public events where atheist are present, because he is about to pop, and I bet he is packing heat.
Finally, I get to Sister Sunshine, the video I posted above. Her main concern is that if we descended from "monkeys, apes, simians, or whatever you want to call them" then why don't humans occasionally produce full monkey babies from their recessive genes. She also wants us to know that she has taken MANY biology and anatomy courses, so that she knows about science. Who wants to guess that she took these classes at the Discovery Institute, Bob Jones University, or Jerry Falwell's Liberty University?
Although I think that my son Max might sway her that occasionally monkey babies do come,
this dude does it so much better than me!
Now I just need to getPat Condell on their case! He can truly open up the can of atheistic whoop ass, and do it in such a classy voice you will thank him when he is done.
but I enjoy raising my children.
As I read other women's Facebook posts on the "25 Random Things"
about them, I feel somewhat defensive and isolated. Most of the women I know
with children mentioned them extensively in their posts, going on about how
life-changing motherhood was to them, or how much they love their children. In
fact, several women I know WITHOUT children felt the need to note that they
felt their lists were boring or incomplete because of their childlessness.
I went back to my list, and was floored. I did not mention my children once.
I wrote that I enjoyed pregnancy and breastfeeding, but hate all of the other
traditional female roles. However, I did not mention my children, or the joy
that they bring into my lives, once.
What the hell does this mean? Although I am smart enough to acknowledge a
certain level of narcissism in myself, am I truly SO self-absorbed that I
neglect to mention my children? Have they not changed my life? Isn't being a
mother the hardest, and most important job in the world?
Uh, no. Its not. If our society really thought that, we would give stay-at-home parents social security for their years at home.Being a mother is a descriptor, not a job. It means that you reproduced. If you have looked around lately, you'll see that it is so easy to do, even teen pop stars can do ot. However, it does not guarantee any certain behavior or expertise.
Having children has changed my life because LIFE CHANGES! It changes for me, and it changes for the childless. I am not a better or less-selfish
person because I gave am a parent. I am a better person because I am trying to learn from mistakes. Getting pregnant, nursing, and raising
children did not make me more patient, more loving, or more kind. I did not
stop cursing like a sailor (although I do not curse in front of them), getting
angry at the drop of a hat (although it convinced me spanking is not for me),
eating way too much and exercising too little (although many magazines have
admonished me to do so "for the children") or enjoying the talents of
Jenna Jameson, Belladonna, Tristan Taormino, Susie Bright, Annie Sprinkle, Nina
Hartley, Greta Christina and a variety of other gifted performers and artists
(if you don't know who these ladies are, you probably should NOT google them.
Especially Belladonna – her talents are, how shall we say, unusual!)
My sister worked for years with a group called the
National Advocates for Pregnant Women. This group has fought long and hard
for women in South Carolina who have been arrested for child abuse for using
drugs while pregnant. Not possession of drugs, but child abuse for
"delivering"drugs to the fetus. While I certainly don't believe
cocaine or heroin is GREAT for babies, research has now shown the "crack baby"
epidemic to be bullshit. In fact, some of the greatest damage done to fetuses
is done with legal substances, i.e. tobacco and alcohol. Also, poverty.
That's right, being poor can damage your fetus!
What people do not understand about pregnant drug addicts is that these
women are drug addicts first, pregnant second. None of these women got pregnant
and THEN decided to start experimenting with drugs. They were drug addicts who
got pregnant, and NOT by themselves (it is not a crime to impregnate a drug
addict. Seminal emissions seem to be a protected activity.)
What does that matter? A lot actually. If we stopped expecting pregnancy and
the cult of motherhood to change women we might be able to actually look at
what DOES work to effect real change. When I was pregnant, one might think that
I suddenly became extra careful of my food, and or too up exercising to stay
healthy. Again, not so. I was a slothful glutton before, during, and after
pregnancy. The only thing that has made me rethink exercise is a herniated
disc, and the fact that regular movement seems to reduce the excruciating pain.
When a woman marries a man, she becomes a "wife" in our society.
The role of "wife" has many different responsibilities that come with
it, and if you do not consciously choose these, they can take over your whole
life. I have spent my entire marriage fighting this, and probably always will.
A mother's role, though, has even more significance. With this graduation
into "true womanhood", a certain skill set is supposed to arise. From
the ashes of your old identity, a new, self-less mother is then born. Wild
women are suddenly tamed, promiscuous women are now content, career women gain
"insight" into what "really matters", and selfish women
learn that it is not "all about them."
Or not. I am the same person in 2009 that I was in 2001, the year my first
son was conceived. His birth provided no answers to the questions in my head;
his presence filled no gap in my soul. His arrival created a storm of stress
that caused severe anxiety, and left me wishing for the days when aristocratic
women farmed their children out to wet nurses. In fact, during his most severe
colic episodes, I handed him off to his father and went to bed.
The second child's arrival was pretty much the same, although I traded
mental stress for physical stress. My body "gave out" and I decided
that was it for the pregnancy and childbirth experience. I experienced less
stress because this time I was not waiting for "mother's instinct" to
kick in. I knew that it would not, and that my vagina made me no wiser when it
came to the children. When I "knew" things that my husband did not,
it was due to research, not intuition. When I was able to soothe our children,
it was because of lactating breasts, not womanly wisdom. I pawned our children
off to my husband as much as possible in the early months because 1) I can't
stand infants under 6 months old and 2) I had carried them for nine months! He
could suck it up and deal.
How come when my husband and I are equally good parents, it makes him a
brilliant father, and me a shitty mother? I prefer to think of myself as a
co-parent, rather than a mommy, although this often makes me feel like an
outcast among women. When friends find out that my husband is the one who
bathes the children at night, and that I have my own bedroom, and that he got
up with the kids when they were babies, some are jealous, but many look at me
like I am shirking my duties.
Because after all, if I was a "good mommy", I would
WANT to do those things. Amd god forbid I not be a "good mommy!"
Bless my poor husband's heart!
Things at Montessori were going so well for Hollis, I had almost let go of the trauma trigger of the cell phone ring during school hours. Until yesterday.
The day started off as usual, with me having to drag him out of bed and literally put his clothes on him. Not exactly normal for a 6 1/2 year old. He said that he wanted to stay in bed the whole day. I told him that we needed to get up and get ready for the day. What I was thinking was "Get your ass up now – we are spending $718 per month on a private Montessori and and ungodly amount of money on therapy and doctors trying to figure out what is wrong with you, so GET YOUR ASS UP AND GO EAT A POPTART." Whoever said I should "parent by instinct" was a lunatic. My instincts tells me to beat my children in Wal-Mart.
So I drop both of the kids off, and begin my day of saving women from violence. Ironically, I then get an ominous ring on my cell phone (seriously – my ring is the alarm sound from Kill Bill!) with a caller ID I had yet to see on my phone "Montessori". Oh fuck. And what has the son of the savior of women done at school? Wait for it folks . . . he punched a girl in the face. Oh yes, my son is a batterer.
So I go to the school, where they have taken him to the office. He has pulled all of the books off the bookshelf, and is in a corner of the director's office with his coat over his face. I guess that means he is not a sociopath, because he has obvious shame over his actions. Right ??????
I sit down on his level and ask him what happened. As we talk, I begin to put things back on the bookshelf and ask him to help me.He does. He tells me that he and his only friend at school (another boy who seems to be in his own little world) were playing something called the universe game. This game required that they have possession of the school's houseplant, whom they called Timmy. Well, a little girl came over, and not knowing the game, or trying in any way to hurt them, took the plant. So Hollis punched her. In the face. Without trying to talk to her first. Just punched her.
Have I mentioned at this point that we don't spank, so the child has never been hit in his life??
So the office bookshelf is once again in order, and I invite the Director and the teacher back in. They very seriously tell Hollis that they CAN NOT allow him to hit other children, and that some of the parents are starting to get worried about this new little boy who hits (WTF – first I am hearing about other hitting episodes). He looks very sad and ashamed and says he will try better and wants to stay at Montessori. He goes back down to the class. I go back to work, shut the door of my office and cry.
Two hours later, I was in a co-workers office talking about this, and the office phone rang and was for me. I had cleverly attempted to avoid the situation by leaving my cell phone in my office, but it turns out when your child punches two more children to bring his daily total to 3, they will call your work number.
Before I had children, one of my biggest fears was of passing on "damaged" genes. There is a long and painful history of mental illness in my family and it seems that almost no one escapes it. Two of my paternal grandmother's sisters were placed in mental hospitals in the 40's and 50's, and one remained there until her death. With depression, bipolar, and substance abuse issues on both maternal and paternal sides, I am getting it from both sides. My sister was one of the bravest people in our family, facing her bulimia and alcoholism head on at age 17. That's right, 17! She has been sober for 20 years, but still struggles with depression. As far as I am concerned, I have had intrusive thoughts and anxiety my whole life, and suffered from trichotillomania as a child. Google it – expand your mind!! However, my anxiety and temper are currently under control with sugar and chocolate. I recently told a doctor who wanted me to have weight loss surgery to back off, because I was the only one in my family without a drug/alcohol problem. My problem just manifests itself in about 75 pounds of excess weight.
So as you can see, I was worried that I was just not good enough to reproduce. However, a loving and sane husband, combined with modern pharmaceuticals, (and the horrible, horrible advice to just listen to my instincts) led us to make the decision to reproduce. It was quite the shock to my system, and I am quite sure that if hell exists, mine will be caretaking a colicky infant. When the time to decide to have another child came up, what finally sealed it for me was the following mantra "He needs a witness!" As my sibilings can attest, there is nothing like calling a sibling up to complain about your parents and what horrible act they have just committed. I felt like it was the least I could do for my children!
So here we are the day after. He woke up this morning vomitting and I was actually glad. Glad because sociopaths don't feel remorse for their actions, and he was probably visuallizing having to face his class after hitting three kids. I was going to make him go to school, but he continued to vomit bile. So I called my boss, and took the little one to daycare. I went by the Montessori to tell the teacher, and she too felt sad for him. She and I are both reading "Children Who Are Not Yet Peaceful", a Montessori book on children with behavior problems.
His classmates talked about it in group time this morning, and processed what happened. One child said "Maybe he has Asberger's!" I love it. These kids are so smart and so kind, they are trying to help my son even though he continues to push their offers of friendship back in their face.
I kept him home today, and we have an appointment with a child psychiatrist on February 3. On top of his pending appointments with the psychologist, the pediatrician, and his therapist. Some of my family comment that an ass beating of epic proportions would be much cheaper.
So the chickens have come home to roost, and it was indeed the wrong week to try to give up sugar. So if you call, and I don't answer, leave a message. I will surely get back to you in about 12 years.
So I take my child to a psychologist for evaluation because of his odd behavior and problems at school. He meets with me after meeting with Hollis.
Dr: X: "So, any bipolar in your family?"
Me: "Diagnosed or undiagnosed? Because my dad is diagnosed, but we have our suspicions about my mom. She seems to be self-medicating with alcohol pretty well though."
Dr. X: "Ok . . . what about other mental illness?"
Me: "Oh yes! What did you have in mind?"
Later
Dr. X: Does Hollis eat a lot?
Me: "Not really – but in our family we don't really hit our stride until college – all the beer and pizza."
Dr. X: "Because Hollis says he only eats chicken nuggets and Lunchables."
Me: That's untrue! He also eats Poptarts, Sprite, and white bread."
I am still waiting on the Department of Social Services to knock on our door.
Last night, as my son Hollis was eating supper with his friend Dylan, who was spending the night, I heard them talking about Sprite.
Dylan: "Sprite can kill your taste buds if you drink too much."
Me: "Now Dylan that is probably not true."
Dylan: "Yes it is! I swear it."
Hollis: "What's your proof?"
I wanted to cry. It was the proudest I have ever been of him, even more so than when he fell in love with Star Wars.
Last spring my sons and I were in downtown Greenville, South Carolina enjoying a beautiful sunny day. As we were playing near the Peace Center, my then five year-old son Hollis pointed to a pregnant woman, and asked "How do babies get in there?"
I have prepared for this moment for many years, and knew to respond the same way that I have always talked with him, truthfully. Since he knew the proper terms for the body parts, I said "Well son, a man puts his penis in a woman's vagina, and his testicles create a fluid called semen that combines with the egg in a woman's body to create an embryo that grows into a baby."
Not a problem; pretty simple. However, the year before he stumped the hell out of me when he asked where people came from. Not being able to rely on a creation myth makes this question harder. Add to this the the fact that I am a product of South Carolina public schools, and it gets even worse. I knew evolution was what I wanted him to learn, but I did not know anything about it. I was a business major for Christ' sake! So I answered with quite possibly the worst explanation of evolution ever, "We came from monkeys."
Luckily, I then went and got every possible children's book on evolution that existed, including my favorite How Whales Walked into the Sea. Did you know that whales evolved from dog-like creatures? Neither did I! And why didn't we??
As I read these books to him, it inspired me to learn more about evolution, even to the point where I have become a science junkie. Well, as long as the science is made easily understandable to me. It helps when you can then go listen to the scientist in person, as in seeing Dr. Neil Shubin talk about "Your Inner Fish." He is a freakin' rock star among scientists!! Tiktaalik!!
As I sit here and my son and husband watch The Clone Wars, I can't help but swell with pride that my son loves Star Wars. Is this what it feels like when you are a Clemson fan, and your child says "Go Tigers?"
I realize more and more that some of my son's problems must be placed squarely on my shoulders, and that it was probably expecting too much of him to fit in a public school. I have always raised my son with the values that are important to me: honesty, kindness, gentleness, and skepticism. It has always been ok to question his father and I, and to express his dissent. However, these are not traits valued in most schools. However, when my friends start asking my son to teach their children about the "facts of life", maybe I will get some respect.
I see know that many of the things we DON'T teach him are equally at fault for some of his problems. I don't teach him to obey unquestioningly, I don't teach him to respect adults because they are older, I have never required him to say sir or ma'am, and we don't teach him to pray to a deity. This sets him up to feel different in our small Southern community.
I feel very guilty admitting this, but I am proud of many things about my son. He is firm in who he is, and is not easily swayed by others. He is unfailingly honest, even to the point of telling on himself. He is not a charmer, and will struggle in life because he can't put on a "happy" mask and make people feel comfortable. What he will be sure of is that the people who love him truly love HIM, and not that "happy" mask.
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