My 11 yr old has a habit of finding a hiding hole whenever the world gets to be too much for him. He will crawl under a desk, in a large box if one can be found, or he will make his own lean-to in the back yard with a piece of wood and the fence.
He's escaping into his own little world, even for just a few minutes. Where no one can stress him out, or cause him harm. It lets him calm down. It lets him feel safe. It lets him pretend the outside world doesn't exist.
Today, I want a hiding hole of my own. Just a nice, quiet, dark place where I don't have to deal with anyone or anything. Even for five minutes.
Today, I can honestly say, I can relate to youngest.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
My Etiquette Rules
I've decided I'm going to write an etiquette book for people who move into their boyfriend or girlfriend's parents' home. Or at least a long list. Either way, it will probably contain the following:
- You should always treat your significant other with respect. Parents don't like it Mich when you treat their child badly.
- You shall be gainfully employed. If you are not, you will actively look for employment until you are.
- You will not sleep until 1 in the afternoon, or later. The only excuse for this should be if your gainful employment is working a night shift.
- You should always pick up after yourself, and do your own laundry.
- You should not have to be asked or told to help around the house. This should be done from day one.
- When sitting down to dinner, females are served first. If not everyone is seated, you can not serve yourself, and definitely should not begin eating.
- In addition, you should not take it for granted that you can serve yourself twice as much as anyone else at the table, one the first serving. If there is enough for seconds, make sure that no one else would like any before you take it all for yourself.
- You should not stay up til all hours of the night/early morning playing video games or watching TV. Just because you feel you have nothing to do the next morning, others in the home most likely do.
- The bathroom does not suddenly become your personal place to spend half the day. Other people need to get clean, groom, and relieve themselves, too.
- You should not assume that you are entitled to all the privileges and benefits of being a blood member of the family.
- Failure to follow these simple etiquette guidelines may result in your life being significantly shortened.
Well, that's a start.....trust me, I have at least 100 more.....and it seems that daily, I can add at least one more item to my mental list.
- You should always treat your significant other with respect. Parents don't like it Mich when you treat their child badly.
- You shall be gainfully employed. If you are not, you will actively look for employment until you are.
- You will not sleep until 1 in the afternoon, or later. The only excuse for this should be if your gainful employment is working a night shift.
- You should always pick up after yourself, and do your own laundry.
- You should not have to be asked or told to help around the house. This should be done from day one.
- When sitting down to dinner, females are served first. If not everyone is seated, you can not serve yourself, and definitely should not begin eating.
- In addition, you should not take it for granted that you can serve yourself twice as much as anyone else at the table, one the first serving. If there is enough for seconds, make sure that no one else would like any before you take it all for yourself.
- You should not stay up til all hours of the night/early morning playing video games or watching TV. Just because you feel you have nothing to do the next morning, others in the home most likely do.
- The bathroom does not suddenly become your personal place to spend half the day. Other people need to get clean, groom, and relieve themselves, too.
- You should not assume that you are entitled to all the privileges and benefits of being a blood member of the family.
- Failure to follow these simple etiquette guidelines may result in your life being significantly shortened.
Well, that's a start.....trust me, I have at least 100 more.....and it seems that daily, I can add at least one more item to my mental list.
Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Something's Gotta Give
Well, its official, we are on the borderline of broke. There's just enough $ to pay the next round of bills.
No one is spending money, so business is slower than its been in the last 12 years.
We have 6 people to support, feed and clothe. If something doesn't give soon, we're gonna have to start cutting back in places that can't be cut.
I don't know what to do.
I hide all my stress and worry....ok, not really....I just don't verbalize it like Husband does. I can look in the mirror and see the black circles under my eyes. My lack of caring if my hair is done. My lack of caring about what i wear. I used to wear makeup daily. Now? I'm lucky if its twice a month.
Husband thinks since I don't bitch about the money, or the issues with the kids, or whatever else is going on, that I don't care about it. I do. Trust me, I do. I just know that constantly talking about just keeps it that much more alive. Right in our faces. Right where you don't think you can even take another breath.
I know its depression. I know what would help it. But, I don't have a magic wand to make it happen.
All I can do is hope, and hold on.
I'm trying......it just doesn't seem to be working.
No one is spending money, so business is slower than its been in the last 12 years.
We have 6 people to support, feed and clothe. If something doesn't give soon, we're gonna have to start cutting back in places that can't be cut.
I don't know what to do.
I hide all my stress and worry....ok, not really....I just don't verbalize it like Husband does. I can look in the mirror and see the black circles under my eyes. My lack of caring if my hair is done. My lack of caring about what i wear. I used to wear makeup daily. Now? I'm lucky if its twice a month.
Husband thinks since I don't bitch about the money, or the issues with the kids, or whatever else is going on, that I don't care about it. I do. Trust me, I do. I just know that constantly talking about just keeps it that much more alive. Right in our faces. Right where you don't think you can even take another breath.
I know its depression. I know what would help it. But, I don't have a magic wand to make it happen.
All I can do is hope, and hold on.
I'm trying......it just doesn't seem to be working.
Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Walking In My Shoes
If you've ever had to physically restrain your child from hitting themself, you've walked in my shoes.
If you've ever spent two+ hours convincing your child he's not an "idiot", you've walked in my shoes.
If you spend every day walking on eggshells to avoid the next meltdown, you've walked in my shoes.
If you've ever stayed up til two in the morning, hoping your child's anxiety will go away for just one night, you've walked in my shoes.
If you've ever watched your child go from smiling and laughing, to saying they want to die, you've walked in my shoes.
If you can't say you've done any of the above, then please....fucking please.....don't tell me you fucking understand. Trust me, you don't. I didn't. Until it was my child.
I don't want your sympathy. Neither does my child. However, I don't want the dirty looks in the store because you think I'm a bad parent, or think my child is a brat.
Trust me, I wish he was. It would be much easy to deal with.
If you've ever spent two+ hours convincing your child he's not an "idiot", you've walked in my shoes.
If you spend every day walking on eggshells to avoid the next meltdown, you've walked in my shoes.
If you've ever stayed up til two in the morning, hoping your child's anxiety will go away for just one night, you've walked in my shoes.
If you've ever watched your child go from smiling and laughing, to saying they want to die, you've walked in my shoes.
If you can't say you've done any of the above, then please....fucking please.....don't tell me you fucking understand. Trust me, you don't. I didn't. Until it was my child.
I don't want your sympathy. Neither does my child. However, I don't want the dirty looks in the store because you think I'm a bad parent, or think my child is a brat.
Trust me, I wish he was. It would be much easy to deal with.
Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)