Stay-at-home Mom

That Light at the End of the Tunnel Better Not Be an Oncoming Train

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

Somehow it’s been six months since I last wrote. I guess when life seems like one endless, arduous day, time just seems irrelevant.

But finally there is a twinkle of light at the end of this tunnel from hell. Last week, Young Son and Amazon Warrior Princess finally went back to school in person! It was time.

A typical morning for them prior to going back to in-person school would have gone like this:

Me: “Okay guys. Time to get on your Zoom call.”

WP: “Ugh! Already?!”

Me: “Yes. Unless you’d rather sit in your room all day without electronics.”

WP: [HUFF!]…”Fine!!! I’ll do it!!”

Warrior Princess stomps off to the school room. I hear papers being flung around, her chair crashing into things, and general angry muttering coming from her area. Young Son, who has gotten on his call and is making an attempt at paying attention, has had enough of the dramatics.

YS: “UGH! Will you knock it off, Warrior?! I’m trying to concentrate! Stop being such a grouch and get on your gosh darned call already!”

WP: “Leave me alone!”

YS: “Moooommmmm!! Warrior is not getting on her call!”

I walk out to the school room to find a scowling Young Son and an even surlier Warrior Princess, who is shooting daggers at her brother. I feel a headache coming on.

Me: “Warrior Princess…Please. Get. On. Your. Call.”

Warrior Princess goes completely limp and slowly melts off of her chair onto the floor into a pile of paper snips, broken crayons, random papers and glue sticks missing their caps. (There is a ridiculous amount of cutting and pasting involved in kindergarten.)

Me: “Are you about done?”

WP: “NO!”

Me: “Come on. Please get up and let’s get on your call. Mrs. Kindergoddess is waiting for you. I wonder if you’ll get to be the calendar person today,” I say hopefully.

Warrior Princess rolls her eyes, sighs loudly, slowly gets up off the floor, plunks down in her chair and we get her logged onto her call. “Well…We’ll see how long this lasts,” I think to myself.

A little while later, Young Son saunters out to the kitchen.

Me: “Young Son, why are you not on your call? It’s not break time yet.”

YS: “I just came out to see what you were doing.” (I give him one of my signature one-eyebrow-raised glares.) “Uhhh…And to give you a hug!”

I give him his hug and send him back to his desk. Nice try, pal.

A few minutes later I hear more bickering coming from the school room and decide I better investigate and nip it in the bud.

Me: “What seems to be the problem now?”

YS: “AARRGG! Mom! Warrior Princess keeps muttering and now she’s coloring really loudly! I’m trying to concentrate and I’m going to have to unmute soon!”

Me: “Warrior Princess, come out to the kitchen table and work with me.”

She huffily shoves all her junk into a pile and hauls it out to the kitchen table, where she starts to leave a flurry of paper snippets all over my freshly-Roomba’d floor and streaks of glue stick all over the table. Excellent.

A little while later I hear Young Son walking down the hall.

Me: “Young Son? Why are you wandering around?”

YS: “I’m going to the bathroom! Jeez!”

Ten minutes later, I hear him walk into the bathroom again.

Me: “Young Son! You just went to the bathroom! Go get back on your call!”

YS: “Well! I have to go again!”

Me: “Perhaps I need to take you to the doctor for a urinary tract infection if you’re having to go to the bathroom this much.”

YS: “NO!” [He quickly changes tactics, puts his charming smile on his face.] “Plus, I just needed to give you another hug and to see if you needed any help.”

Me: “Thanks for the hug….again. The way you can help me is by GETTING ON YOUR CALL!”

WP: [With a snarky face and tone] “Yeah, Young Son! Go get on your call!”

YS: “Mind your own beeswax, Warrior Jerk Face Princess!”

WP: “MOOOOMMMM!! Young Stink Butt called me Jerk Face!”

Me: [Mutters under breath, “Well, neither of you are wrong per se…”] “Both of you! Knock it off and get back to your Zoom calls. You’re driving me bonkers and it isn’t even 9:30 yet!”

Further words and rude faces are exchanged by them, and I look longingly at the wine fridge. This will continue on until it’s time for me to start the first of three lunch shifts (because why would they all get to eat at the same time?) And then I need to feed and water The Warden too…Honestly, friends. I really should be super proud of myself that I haven’t turned into a raging alcoholic by now. Although, I suppose I have the “raging” part down pat.

So yeah. It was time, especially for Warrior Princess. Ever since school started again after the winter break, she’d been getting surlier and even less motivated to participate in school. Come to find out, sometimes she’d even been ditching off her Zoom calls right after attendance. She’d go and do ABC Mouse or some other school-approved app on her iPad instead so I’d think she was doing schoolwork. Yes. At the tender age of SIX, she is already a juvenile delinquent and skipping school. I wonder if they give detentions to kindergarteners?

On their first day of school, I came home after dropping them off and just stood in my kitchen for awhile…. Peace…. Sure, First Born was still upstairs supposedly doing his school work, but most likely slacking off. I decided not to care. Then I got to work and started cleaning things….UNINTERRUPTED! It was glorious! Later, The Warden strolled out of his office and even he was impressed.

It finally came time for me to go pick up Young Son and Warrior Princess. I was excited to hear about their day. After they hurled their eighty pound backpacks in the front seat and got settled in, I got an ear-full.

WP: “Mom! I finally got to meet Mrs. Kindergoddess in PERSON and not just on my iPad! And I got to see some of my classmates in person…and…” she prattled on for awhile. Young Son seemed quiet. Uh oh.

Me: “Young Son! How was your day?”

YS: “Harumf! Well, for one they changed the macaroni and cheese recipe for lunch and it was complete trash!”

Me: “Wow. I’m really sorry to hear that. Why would they do such a thing?”

YS: “I know, right? AND we had to use sporks! Do you know what a spork is, Mom? Well, it’s part spoon and part fork and it’s completely useless!”

Me : “Oh the humanity. Other than a dismal lunch, how was school? Was it good to be back with your teachers and friends?”

YS: “Yeah. The whole mask thing was annoying, but we got masks breaks. That was the best part of the day.”

Me: “Wow. I’ll bet your teachers were so happy to have Mr. Ray of Sunshine back in their classroom.”

YS: “Yeah. I guess.”

(I need to do better at teaching the inmates the art of sarchasm. Clearly it is not genetic.)

So friends, it’s good to feel a glimmer of hope again. I am forever grateful for all that our teachers do to make learning in any environment as successful and engaging as they can, even if it means bursting into song and dance to keep their students engaged. I bow down to your magnificence…and while I’m down here, I think I’ll take a nap. In the meantime…keep wearing your mask, do something good for yourself, and may your enemies be forced to use sporks today.

Hot Lunch eLearning Style

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

If you ask any kid what their favorite part of school is, I’ll bet you a majority of them would answer, “lunch and recess!” If you think back to your school hot lunches, I bet you remember Friday pizza days. Your tray may have looked like this:

Ahhh…the rectangle pizza that fit neatly in the compartment. As I look at this picture, I don’t know what bougie school this kid went to, but we never got soft pretzels with mustard. And the fruit cocktail and milk need to be switched. What kind of monster put them in the wrong compartments?? Oh the humanity! I digress…

You could always tell a lot about a kid by the way they ate their rectangle pizza. They usually fell into one of a few categories:

  1. The Folder: This method involved folding the pizza in half and eating it like a taco. It’s efficient and no-nonsense, however this method had its drawbacks. If you didn’t staunch the flow of grease with a wad of those useless mini napkins before you folded it, you’d have to tilt it and let the grease drip out through the trough created at the fold. By the time you were done de-greasing it, all the cheese would have slid to the center and completely ruined the cheese-to-soggy crust ratio. If you didn’t do the trough method of de-greasing and just started shoveling in, you’d have a river of grease dripping down your chin and arm. It was not attractive.
  2. The Knife and Forker: This method of cutting the pizza into bite-sized pieces was generally adopted by prissy girls who wrote with fancy pens with fake flowers and flowy feathers on top. They also had a coordinating headband, bow or scrunchie for every outfit. The Knife and Fork method, while much tidier and sophisticated, was slow and inefficient, (especially if your school had plastic utensils) leaving you with little time for recess after lunch.
  3. The Slob: This is probably the most direct method of getting pizza into your gob, but by far the messiest and grossest. It required strange contortions to steer the floppy, drippy mess to your face and it was annoying and unappetizing having to sit next to this Oscar Madison. You could always tell which locker belonged to this kid too. It always had a coat or random papers sticking out their half-shut door (if they could close the locker at all), and it smelled like rotting apples or smelly socks.
  4. The Hybrid: This method requires a bit of prep, but is totally worth it in the end. First, you staunched the grease with napkins, then cut the pizza into quarters. This allowed the diner to neatly pick up the pizza without needing to fold or slop pizza goo everywhere. Students bound for National Honor Society utilized the Hybrid method.

Which kid were you? Or did you always bring cold lunch and never experienced Pizza Fridays at school?

The inmates are generally hot lunchers, and I’m totally fine with that. It’s less stress on me not having to be sure there is lunch food in the house, much less needing remind them to pack their lunch in the first place. Having one less meal to plan each day is pretty awesome too.

But now that the inmates are eating their lunch at home for the foreseeable future, I’ve decided I don’t want to be the cranky lunch lady. We decided to try to plan the weekly lunch menu together to make things more efficient and less stressful. If they decide they don’t want to eat “the main” for lunch that day, they are welcome to make themselves a sandwich. This helps in so many ways. 1.) I can more easily plan my grocery shopping instead of needing to buy a full buffet of lunch foods for them to choose from each day. 2.) It saves time every day because I don’t have to repeatedly rattle off their choices like a waitress and then waste time waiting for them to decide what to have. 3.) I’m no longer a short order cook at lunch. They either eat the jointly pre-determined lunch or make themselves a sandwich.

Here is this week’s menu:

And because I’m the quirky weird mom, I kicked it up a notch. I found a list of all the weird food holidays and we incorporate those into the menu. As you can see this Thursday is National Hot Dog Day. Last week there was International Bacon Day, so we had BLTs. Next Friday is National Cheeseburger Day, so if they have a great week, McDonald’s it is! (In case you’re interested, here’s the link to the holiday list I used: https://foodimentary.com/)

And what would hot lunch be without the compartmentalized tray?! Mmmm hmmm! Oh yes, I did! Each inmate has their own lunch tray! Here’s First Born’s lunch from yesterday:

Chicken nuggets with BBQ, smiley fries, carrots (a vegetable — I tried!) and half a banana (just like school!) Now I need to get little milk boxes and it’ll be perfect!

So far it’s been working pretty well. Come to think of it, I should have bought the Warden his own lunch tray too!

Next school element to recreate: DETENTION!

We Survived the 3rd Grade Poetry Unit

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

Here’s a conversation I had with Young Son recently:

Me: “I know you’ve really been missing your buddy, so I’ve ordered that game you wanted so you and he can play together online on your Switches.”

YS: “Really?! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Mom!”

Me: “It should arrive tomorrow, but you know what has to happen first before you get to play it.”

YS: [Sighs] “I know…get my school work for the day done first.”

Me: “Yep. AND you need to do it without all your usual drama, moaning and groaning the whole time you do it.”

YS: “Arrrggghhh! But Mom!!!”

Me: [Blinking]…”Seriously dude. You are complaining about not being allowed to complain. You are a piece of work, my Grumpapotamus Old Man.”

YS: [Pouts…while trying not to smile.]

Me: “You know, I think you complain for sport. Like you should try out for the Olympics. You’ve been complaining so much, I think you got your PE credit in for the day.”

YS: “Really?!? COOL!!”

Me: [Rolls eyes. Sighs.]

Oh Young Son. Compared to his big brother, he’s generally pretty chill and usually a rule follower. He’s a lover, not a fighter. (That’s not to say he won’t throw his siblings under the bus when push comes to shove. He is human.)

For as much as First Born makes me completely lose my mind and make me want to quit this whole parenting gig sometimes, his fearlessness and creativity does get put to good use (when he’s not creatively wearing me down or tormenting his little brother.)

The words, “I can’t do this!” have never come out of his mouth. Life is pretty much a dare for the kid — both good and bad. (You’ve heard a LOT about the bad already.)

But one admirable quality in him is that if it’s something he is passionate about, he goes full tilt at it. He’s very much like The Warden: Go big or go home. I always say, if First Born would harness his powers for good, he could change the world.

Young Son often lives in his big brother’s shadow. While I appreciate that he doesn’t do every crazy thing that comes into his head, I wish some of First Born’s can-do attitude would rub off on him a bit more. Often times if something is challenging, Young Son takes it to mean that he’s not smart enough or strong enough to do it. It breaks my heart. Convincing him otherwise is usually an uphill battle.

So when it comes to trying to get him to do his eLearning every day, it makes me appreciate and worship his teachers even more. Somehow they are able to coax and encourage him to do the hard things that he thinks he can’t, and they haven’t set their hair on fire in frustration yet.

The past two weeks have been Poetry Weeks. Oh sweet Jesus. For the first week, each day they studied a new type of poetry and had to write a poem in that style — Haiku, Clerihew, Tanka etc. You’d think he was supposed to write a dissertation on quantum mechanics in Olde English. It was excruciating. For both of us.

https://www.kuer.org/post/be-alive-power-poetry-pandemic#stream/0

The whole “power through and just get it done” method does not work for him. No. He prefers moaning, groaning, dragging his feet, complaining and making it as miserable as possible. He took it to a whole new level when it came to writing poetry. We managed to clobber out a few poems, but it left me frustrated and exhausted. So imagine my disdain when the second week was writing more poetry, but this time for their poetry journals. It nearly brought me to tears.

I decided then and there that this poetry assignment was not going to break us. I needed to come up with a different approach. We needed to come at this like a nine year old boy. That meant getting weird and gross. He finally decided on which style to write, but then he started in on the, “but I don’t know what to write about!!!”

“Okay. Let’s write about silly stuff. We’re having one of your favorites for dinner tonight: lasagna. You’ve been helping me make the sauce and we’ll put the lasagna together later. What’s awesome about lasagna? How do you make it? Let’s write down some descriptive words. And so we did and here’s what he came up with:

Free Verse:

Lasagna
Super cheesy Italian food
Mozzarella, Parmesean, Ricotta
Layers of noodles, sauce and cheese
Super yummy in my tummy

Homemade sauce
Layer on noodles
Then the cheese
Add more sauce
Repeat Repeat Repeat

Bake in oven until it’s hot

Okay. Not bad for a third grader. We survived writing that. But the next day he needed to write another poem in a different style. Forget any progress we made yesterday. We were back to the same drama. “But there’s nothing good to write about! I can’t do this!”

“Okay. Well, what’s the grossest thing you can think about?”

“Poop,” he said with a defiant sneer, thinking he was going to call my bluff.

“Okay. Let’s write about poop. Haikus are five-Seven-five syllables, remember?” He looked at me for a beat, raised an eyebrow, got a mischievous look in his eye and went to work.

Haiku:

Poop
Everybody poops
Cats do, Dogs do. People do.
Poop smells really bad.

He was quite pleased with himself. Now you might be wondering, “But what did his teacher say?!? Wasn’t she appalled? How do they give detentions during eLearning?!” Well, luckily my kids have had some really amazing teachers and I knew this wouldn’t phase her a bit. Plus they all know what a nut job of a mom the inmates have, so the bar has been set pretty low I’m guessing. In fact his teacher responded that she thought it was funny and that it fit the pattern, even though Haikus are supposed to be about nature. Ummm, excuse me. What’s more natural than POOP??!

So the next day was yet another poem type to write. But it was game on for Young son! “Today I’m gonna write about FARTS!”

“Fantastic!” We reviewed the remaining styles of poetry he could choose from and he thought alliteration would be the best. After all, he had lots of expertise in the subject matter. After a bit of word smithing together, here’s his poem in all its glory:

Alliteration:

Farts
Freddy farted ferociously.
He ate a billion baked bean burritos
His powerful poof produced a plume of poison
Freddy fainted flat.

Young Son beamed with pride and would randomly recite it throughout the day followed by gales of laughter. That night, his teacher died laughing and said it made her spit out her tea at her computer when she read it. You would have thought she had awarded him a Pulitzer, he was so proud of such high praise!

Now granted these aren’t “hang on the locker for Arts and Academics Night” material for all the parents to see, but it got him to write poetry with the least amount of pain for both of us. I consider that a huge win.

After all, Alfred Mercier said, “What we learn with pleasure, we never forget.” Still, I’m not holding out for a future career in poetry for him. But we survived the third grade poetry unit. Better yet, we had a positive step away from a fixed mindset toward a growth mindset. Success.

eLearning is Not Magical

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

I’m not gonna lie. This whole eLearning thing sucks rotten eggs. Over here at the Pediatric Psych Ward, we are completely over it and DONE. And it’s not for lack of teachers putting together a variety of interesting and meaningful material for them every day. Honestly, it’s mind blowing to think how much these angels of education are toiling behind the scenes to put together the shattered pieces of their lesson plans and presenting them in a way that is remotely engaging and educational.

No matter how hard they try, there is no way for them to convey the magic of school. No, the inmates don’t go to Hogwarts, but magic does happen each and every day for them at their school. They collaborate with their peers to help each other learn. Their teachers help explain things in creative ways the Warden or I never could, and do so with infinite patience. Recess now is boring and lonely without friends to play with. Even when I do get them to play outside, it isn’t rejuvenating for them. How could it be without the the smiling faces of their friends and the cacophony of children laughing and having fun. It’s like watching a funny movie with the dialogue and soundtrack turned off. And lunch? The lunch lady is getting surlier by the day and frankly, I’m surprised there haven’t been more food fights.

For our teachers, eLearning is like asking a world-class chef to cook without any herbs and spices and to do so over a hotplate. No matter how fresh the vegetables or high quality the meat they use, the end result provides nutrition and sustenance but lacks the complexity of flavors only masters can impart. For students, it’s like ordering take-out and having to reheat it in the microwave and then eat it over the sink. It’s just not the same.

Every day I push, prod, hound and force the inmates to complete their school work. I feel like an angry drill sergeant making them run another five miles and drop and do 100 push-ups. While I know they need to do their work to keep their minds active and fit, there is no joy in it. How could there be when the only thing my kids want is to be back at Hogwarts with their magical professors, Hagrid, Hermione and Ron. Instead, they are trapped inside the cupboard under the stairs.

It’s All a Conspiracy by Teachers

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

It’s only the beginning of day three of eLearning for my kids and already I. Am. Done.

Teachers everywhere have been working hard to compile assignments for their students to do online or as worksheets from home. Getting my kids to sit and do their work for more than five minutes at a time without needing a break to go to the bathroom, get a snack or find a new way to irritate their family member of choice is a whole different matter.

Here’s an average morning so far:

Young Son: “Mom?! I don’t get what I’m supposed to be doing on this dumb assignment!!”

Me: “Did you read the instructions?”

Young Son: *HUFF* “NO!”

Me: “Why don’t you start there.”

Young Son: “Fine.”…10 seconds later…”Ugh! This is stupid. Why do we have to do this? This is too hard! I just want to play Minecraft.”

Me: “Yes, I’m sure you do. Your teachers would not have assigned something they thought was unnecessary or too hard. Stop complaining and get started.”

Young Son: “But Mom!…*HUFF*…I don’t want to do this! I’m hungry. I’m going to get a snack.”

Me: “Fine. Get a small snack and then get to work.”

Young Son: [Still standing in front of the open refrigerator 5 minutes later.] “There’s nothing good to eat in this house!”

Me: “Get a cheese stick, shut the fridge, sit down and get to work.”

Young Son: “But I don’t WANT a cheese stick! I don’t know what to have.”

Me: “Then you must not really be hungry. Please sit down and get one assignment done, then you can have a break.”

Young Son: “*AAARRGGGHHH!* But Mom!…”

At this point First Born saunters in, flicks his brother in the head and makes loud slurping sounds in his ear just to piss him off. It works.

Me: “First Born! Knock it off! Are you done with one subject yet?”

First Born: “I’m starting on it. Jeez.”

Me: “Then get back to it. I don’t want to see you until you’ve got one subject done. Scoot.”

First Born: [Rolls eyes, slowly stomps up to his room.]

Me: “Okay, Young Son. How’s it going?”

Young Son: “Not. Good. I don’t want to do this! This isn’t working!”

Warrior Princess, who’s been working with PlayDoh quietly, decides it’s her turn.

Warrior Princess: “Mom. What should I make?”

Me: “*sigh*… I don’t know…Good choices for the rest of your life?…A cup of coffee for me that is still hot?…”

Warrior Princess: [Blink…Blink…]

Me: “I don’t know. How about your make your grumpasaurus brother?”

Warrior Princess: [Looks contemplative for a few moments and gets to work. A few minutes later a human-like form emerges. “Ta Dah! What do you think?”

Me: “Nice job! I like the pout you were able to incorporate into his face and the crossed arms. Looks just like him.”

Warrior Princess: “Thanks, Mom.” [Proceeds to knock over sculpture and takes rolling pin to it.]

Me: “You go girl. I feel your pain.”

Young Son: “Moooommmmm! I need help. This isn’t working.

Me: “Let’s look at it together.” [sits down with Young Son and starts going over assignment.]

First Born: [Thunders downstairs again.] “Mom? When’s lunch?”

Me: “Dude. It’s 9:30. Did you get one subject done?”

First Born: “Yeah. Sorta.”

Me: “Good. Why don’t you take a break and roller blade around the block or something to get some fresh air.”

First Born: “Nah…Do we have any chocolate or something?”

Me: “Not until you’ve finished three subjects.”

First Born: “Two.”

Me: “Then no chocolate.”

First Born: “Ugh! You are so mean.” [Stomps off.]

Me: [Turns to find Young Son still pouting, having accomplished nothing.] “Let’s try again…so, ‘Read the following paragraph and underline…”

Warrior Princess: “Mom? Can I have a drink of water?”

Me: “Of course.”

Warrior Princess: [Looks at me expectantly.]

Me: “You are fully capable of getting it yourself.”

Warrior Princess: [Gets water and takes it to table. Continues working on PlayDoh. Spills entire cup of water and now PlayDoh is slimy and water is quickly making its way toward Young Son’s iPad.]

Young Son: “WARRIOR PRINCESS! What the HECK!? Go get a towel! Hurry!”

Warrior Princess: [Runs over and gets 80 sheets of paper towel and starts smearing water and PlayDoh slime all over the table.]

First Born saunters downstairs again. Sees pandemonium and takes opportunity to irritate his brother again. Flicks head and slurps. Fighting ensues.

Me: “Okay. That’s it! All of you. Get outside and find something to do! Scooter, bike, do sidewalk chalk. I don’t care. Just GET. OUT! And don’t draw and write obscene things with the sidewalk chalk!”

The inmates finally get outside, still arguing and complaining. I sit at the kitchen table with a now cold cup of coffee, head in hands.

Warden: [Saunters out of office to refill coffee. He’s been on conference calls…on speaker…the whole time.] “Where is everyone? All doing their homework?”

Me: [Laser death glares.] “No! They are outside because they were trying to kill me.”

Warden: “Yeah? So what’s new?” [Pours last cup of coffee, strolls back to office and shuts door.]

[Five seconds of silence. Then yelling, arguing and banging coming from the garage. Door flies open.]

All three inmates: “Mooommmmm!!!!…”

And then I burst into flames. The end.

It is now 9:45 AM.

This has just brought into clearer focus that this is what teachers do EVERY DAY. But with 20+ students. I’m beginning to think that this coronavirus/social distancing/eLearning thing is all a conspiracy created by teachers everywhere to prove once and for all to parents that their kids are jerks and that teachers need to be paid a billion dollars a day.

[Gets out checkbook. Loads inmates into van, drops them off at respective teachers’ houses. Squeals away.]

You win teachers. You. Win.

I Survived Day #1. Barely.

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

I’m not gonna lie. This was not one of my better parenting days. My throat hurts tonight — not because I’ve been infected by COVID-19. No. It’s because I yelled so much. I think I may have sprained a vocal chord at some point.

The bad mood in our house has been more contagious than the Corona virus. One person gets snippy and it just sets off an avalanche of hostility among the rest of us. The fighting and arguing has already taken on epic proportions and my patience for it is dangerously thin. I know it’s because we’re dreading being cooped up with no certain end in sight. The unknown is a scary beast and already it’s getting the best of us.

I’ve been holding off on getting out special fun projects, because I don’t want them to burn through them in one day like the ridiculous amount of junk food I stocked up on. (Please don’t tell them I have said cache of junk. I have hidden it and plan on doling it out accordingly. Otherwise they will be like feral hyenas on the Serengeti after a lion has taken down a wildebeest, and there will just be a carcass of empty wrappers left over when they’re done.)

I’ve been slowly stocking up on supplies over the past few weeks, as the potential for these drastic measures increased day by day. Yes, I got toilet paper when I went to Costco, but just one package like a sane person. First Born was concerned we wouldn’t have enough. I assured him we would be fine as long as he stopped TPing his brother’s room on a regular basis. (Yes, this actually is an issue.)

You know what I went a little crazy on? Coffee. Lack of toilet paper would be far less frightening than a lack of coffee. Really, it’s for everyone’s own good and safety that the Warden and I will have our glorious vat of caffeinated goodness every morning. You’re welcome.

I’ll leave you with this gem from First Born. A few years ago when I was decorating the kids’ bathroom, I found these fun vinyl signs that I put up over their sinks. One said, “Brush your teeth. All of them,” and the other said, “Wash your hands. Use soap.” Yeah. Well, First Born took it upon himself to rearrange the letters a bit. This is what I found when I went to disinfect their bathroom earlier this week:

Well, yes they really do need to do a better job washing their anuses. I do their laundry and it makes me cry some days. In the meantime, I’m just gonna go wash my hands now and go find the snack cache.

COVID-19 is Going to Kill Me One Way or Another

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

Okay. Let me start off by saying, I don’t really have worries that if I do contract COVID-19 that it will kill me. My immediate family and I are generally physically healthy (mentally is another matter altogether.) Based on my obsessive reading, I’m guessing we would fall into the category of the majority of people who will experience milder symptoms. Here’s hoping.

But no. COVID-19 is going to be death by a million paper cuts for me. Between the disinfecting and being around my family 24/7, I’m gonna die.

It’s going to cause my anxiety and any underlying OCD tendencies I may have to go into overdrive.

“Wash your hands for 20 seconds.”
I’m beginning to feel like Lady MacBeth at this point with all the hand washing. “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!”

Now I’m all in support of good hygiene. But as a mother of three, do you know how many times I ask my kids, “Did you wash your hands?” It’s become an involuntary reflex at this point, so much so that every time their butts hit the kitchen chairs for dinner, “Did you wash your hands?” comes out of my mouth. When I hear them in the bathroom and the door opening immediately after I hear the toilet flush, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “I didn’t hear water running. GO WASH YOUR HANDS!” Followed by loud sighs and eye rolls from them. But now that the stakes are exponentially higher for the importance of good hygiene, my stress level just skyrocketed. [Paper cut]

Oh. And the whole 20 second thing and singing “Happy Birthday” while you wash? *Ugh!* Oh, I’ve seen all the other suggested 20 second song refrains you can sing instead of “Happy Birthday” — but you know what goes through my head? “Dance Monkey” by Tones. That song is absolute nails on a chalkboard to me, yet that’s the song my stupid brain cues up every time I squirt soap on my hands. It makes me stabby. [Paper cut]

“Don’t touch your face.”
Uhh, yeah. Good luck with that. (You just touched your face just now, didn’t you. See what I mean?) [Paper cut]

Crap. I just rubbed my nose. [Paper cut]

[Slathers on hand sanitizer. Wipes down keyboard for good measure.]

ARRRG! I just touched my eye! …and the hand sanitizer wasn’t dry! It BURNS! IT BUUUURRNNNS!!! [Paper cut]

[Runs to bathroom to splash water in eyes.] Oh God. Please tell me that was chocolate frosting on the faucet handle left over from one of the inmates after they actually washed their hands! [Paper cut]

[Grabs disinfecting wipe and madly scrubs just in case. Looks over at toilet.] Jeez. I might as well scrub that while I’m at it since I’m sure it’s been completely desecrated by someone in this household today. [Opens lid. Gags.] Why me? [Paper cut paper cut paper cut!]

3+ Weeks of Togetherness
You know what just may terrify me the most? My children being trapped at home for the next three or more weeks. It’s already day one of self isolating and already I want to quarantine myself in my room. Maybe by the end of the week we won’t even be speaking to one another…There’s a thought.

While I am grateful that our schools have eLearning capabilities, the thought of having to ride herd on the boys every day to get them to complete their work makes me want to cry. I’ve said it a million times before, but teachers rule and I bow down to their amazingness, patience and ability to put up with their students day in and day out. I’m trying to keep a positive outlook on their eLearning assignments, like “it’ll give them something to do!” But then reality will set in and well…

In all seriousness, am I worried about COVID-19? Yes. I worry about older family members, especially those with underlying health issues. I worry about family and friends with compromised immune systems due to cancer and other diseases they have valiantly fought. I worry about my friends with cystic fibrosis, who fight every day to breathe. I worry about my family and friends who are healthcare providers, that they will have proper protection while they selflessly help others…and that they can physically and mentally handle what is sure to come. The list goes on and on.

To stave off pure insanity that all these “paper cuts” will inflict, I’m going to turn to writing. And since there is already so much scary and serious stuff out there to read, I will try to write some goofy stuff to distract us all. I’m sure the inmates will provide an infinite amount of material. Pray for me.

In the meantime, be well. Wash your hands. And be good to one another.

The Cardinal

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

Yesterday I was having a really rough day. Like one of those days where it felt like nothing has been going right, that my life’s been full of endless drama (and not the good kind) and it was hard to see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

When I’m really struggling, I find myself having a conversation with my dad in my head. He passed away in July 2016, and I miss him each and every day. He he was always a solid and calming presence in my life. So often when things got rough, a talk and a really good hug from my dad somehow always made it better.

Yesterday when I was feeling so very low, I found myself having a Dad talk. No, he doesn’t answer me when I talk to him, but I can imagine the things he would say. He would have had some gem of sage advice for sure. Then he would have reminded me how proud he was of me, and that I was strong and would get through it. He would have reminded me that he loved me and God loved me. And then he’d tell me to go get a good night’s sleep for goodness sake, because I was getting overtired and paranoid. (He was always right.) Then he’d go make me a fried egg sandwich, which is the best comfort food ever.

So not ten minutes after I had my Dad talk, First Born came down and said, “Hey Mom! There’s a really cool cardinal in the tree outside!” He’s not a big avian expert, but we rarely see cardinals around here and he knew it was an unusual occurrence. So we went and looked at it and I started to cry. He couldn’t figure out how a silly bird could make me burst into tears. So I explained,

He hugged me and we stood there and just watched the cardinal, who stayed with us for a long time, hopping from branch to branch.

Later that day as I was driving home, another cardinal flew past my car…as if to say, “I’m still here.”

I’m not normally one to put a lot of credence in “signs and symbols” — but yesterday this was exactly what I needed. It made me miss my dad even harder, but it was so comforting to imagine that he was really with me somehow, watching over me and my family.

So look for cardinals the next time you’re feeling bad. And then go make yourself a fried egg sandwich.

https://wallpapercave.com/wp/ZRZ9Y9t.jpg

Inappropriate Use of Super Glue

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

I don’t know what Santa puts in the stockings at your house, but here at the Psych Ward, he gets “creative” in his stocking stuffers (translation: desperate.) In addition to candy canes, chocolate “coal” and other random junky toys, Santa goes a little utilitarian. Everyone always gets new toothpaste, toothbrush, flossers (which will most likely get used for anything but teeth or shoved in the back of the drawer never to be used), fun pens, crazy socks and the like. The adults also receive things like Tylenol, breath mints, hand sanitizer and SuperGlue. We go through an alarming amount of SuperGlue at our house, because the PSW inmates’ motto in life is, “Drive it like you stole it.” (It’s a good thing we don’t live in Japan and do the whole Kintsugi method of repair — We’d be flat broke!)

As always, Santa came through on the Super Glue. I try my best to keep it out of reach from the inmates, but I guess that just seems to make it all the more tempting for First Born. The other day I found a tube of it sitting on the counter. “Hmmm…I don’t remember leaving it there.”

So I went and poked my head in the Warden’s office. “Did you use the SuperGlue recently?”

“No. Why?”

My shoulders drooped and I shook my head. “Well, if it wasn’t you, then that just means that First Born’s been up to something.”

“Hey First Born. What were you using the Super Glue for? And before you deny it, I know it wasn’t Dad, so it had to be you.”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Great. That meant it was something particularly devious and I was sure to find out what it was when I was either delousing his room or at some other inopportune moment.

That moment came a few days later when I was up to my elbows in sorting laundry. “Didn’t I just do all the laundry like ten minutes ago?!! How?! How does one person go through this many T-shirts? But wait. Shouldn’t there be more underwear? Where’s the underwear? Oh…still attached to the pants I see. Excellent.”

Just then, Young Son comes bounding over wearing only his Pokemon undies. “Tah Dahhhh!!! BEHOLD!” Then burst out into hysterical laughter.

On his head he was wearing a winter stocking hat with something sticking straight up off the top of it where the pom pom should go. I sighed. “What fresh hell is this?”

Young Son gleefully answered, “It’s a PENIS!” and then rolled around on the floor gasping for air between gales of laughter.

Yep. So it was. It was an eight inch penis made out of bright yellow modeling clay, complete with testicles and a surprising amount of detail. And how was it attached to the (brand new) stocking hat??? You guessed it. Super Glue. This stunt had First Born’s trademark all over it.

In addition to being annoyed that a brand new hat was basically ruined, my mind immediately came up with all the ways that First Born was planning on using said penis hat. Other than corrupting his little brother and sister, what if he wore it to a friend’s house? What would the mom think?!? Or what if he wore it to school?! I broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about that call from the principal.

I ripped the penis off, threw it in the trash and tossed the hat in the laundry that conveniently surrounded me.

Suddenly we heard First Born thundering down the hall yelling, “YOUNG SOOOOONNN!!! What did you DO!?! Where’s the PENIS!?!?! GIVE ME BACK THE PENIS!!!”

I turned to Young Son, “Dude. You better hide!”

First Born burst into the room, nostrils flaring, looking for his rat fink of a little brother. “Why did you have to go and show Mom for?!?! What were you thinking?!?!”

Then he turned to me. “Where is it?? Give me my penis back!!!”

At which point, I burst out laughing like…well…a pre-teen boy! “Really?! You’re really asking me where your penis is?!”

Oh. He did NOT like that. At. All. I don’t know if he was more angry that Young Son had gone and shown it to me, or more embarrassed that I had seen his weird pornographic headwear. He decided to stick with the anger part and tried to pound on his brother.

“Why did you think Mom would think that’s funny!??”

Now normally, he’s right. The funnier they think something is, the less I’m amused by it. And based on Young Son’s reaction, I was definitely not going to be amused by it.

But in this case, it was sorta funny. I mean I did cringe at the thought of what he was planning on using the hat for…and he did ruin a brand new hat in the making of it. But really. He’s eleven. That’s what boys that age do. They make jokes about penises and balls and farts and poop. Annoying? Yes. Abnormal? No.

After he calmed down later, I said, “Look. I love your creativity, but could you please harness your powers for GOOD?!” He sullenly agreed.

In the meantime, the penis has mysteriously gone missing from the trash. Perhaps he’s taken my advice to heart and he’s busy setting up his new millinery shop on Etsy. I’ll keep you updated.

Please note: I have not posted a picture of the detailed penis so I don’t get banned from Facebook or have the authorities knocking on my door.

Pranks from the Darth Side

Posted on by mypediatricpsychward

Somehow I’ve managed to survive most of winter break with a few remaining shards of sanity. That’s not to say my children haven’t tried their best to break me. Considering the condition of my house and their things, “broken” seems to be their preferred state.

At least a few of their toys have stood the test of time. A couple of years ago, I found a four-foot tall Darth Vader figure on super duper clearance after Christmas and gave it to First Born for his February birthday. Darth has been an unwilling prop for of quite a few pranks in our house.

Poor Darth. He used to have a light saber, but Warrior Princess knocked him over within the first five minutes being in our house and it broke. Yeah. That was fun.
Like I said, broken is a constant state in our house.

For instance, one April Fools Day, he and Yoda were hanging out in First Born’s bed reading Star Wars books together. Or there was the time Darth was lurking in First Born’s closet in case I went in to search for contraband. (Luckily First Born was at school when I found him that time, because my scream would have been far too rewarding for First Born.)

Sadly, First Born did not find this as amusing as I did. What a dud.

Or there was the time I hid him in our bathroom to try to freak out the Warden when he was coming home late from his monthly poker game. I ended up freaking out myself, because I forgot Darth was in there when I stumbled into the bathroom later that night before the Warden even got home. *sigh* It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway, because I doubt it would have even fazed him. He would have just rolled his eyes and muttered things about how weird his wife was and questioned his reasons for marrying me in the first place.

Darth came out again the other day when Jiminy Cricket, his little brother and their mom were over. All was going so well — the littles were in the living room playing all things Paw Patrol, the bigs were upstairs doing stinky boy things and we moms were sitting in the kitchen enjoying a break from them. Suddenly we hear screaming from the littles, then the sound of our front door opening and them running outside yelling, “Darth Vader is outside!!”

Now most other moms may have been alarmed. Not Jiminy’s mom. In case you don’t remember, she survived The Epic Sleepover and has five kids of her own. The woman’s seen things and lived to tell about them. She merely raised an eyebrow and we strolled out to the front to see what was going down.

Here’s what we saw:

And then here’s what our neighbors or anyone driving by saw:

I’m just grateful no one called the cops and that our neighbors still speak to us.