Revelations

Nope, this ain't a post about the Bible. Or about my awful poop experiences. (Yes, I still have to make a complaint about the hospital---debating how to proceed.)

In the meantime, I've been trying to get my kids settled into school. Buying clothes and books and supplies and figuring out what each kid needs for forms and medication refills and labelling each and every scrap of everything and God knows what else. It's a hell of a production line, and really not my skill set. If I hadn't been doing this for years--I'd be utterly confused. As it is, this year, with my nanny it was markedly easier because after I bought the labels, she could iron them on, and if I got bogged down or discouraged by it all, she just kept going and asked me what else needed to happen.

And having someone who can do the boring parts, or just encourage me when I encounter a bump in the road? Makes a big difference.

It's the reason I hire my professional organizer to come in at least once a year, to sort out the piles of paper into nice neat files and help me throw away the junk and sort the toys into bins and figure out what has to go to storage and what has to stay here to be used next. I try to do it on my own--but I get lost. It's the ADHD or ADD or whatever the new name is. The medication fixes a lot, but not everything. Btw, yes, I think I may have convinced my doc to keep renewing my meds, but I still don't have a definitive answer. I have an interim prescription and she now has the reports from the shrink and the cardiologist so I'm hoping. In the meantime, we cross our fingers and pray.

And that's what the revelation part of this post is about. It's about all the people in the world who are in denial about the severity of ADHD. It's about all the doubters and the whiners and the skeptics who don't want to believe the science. They remain convinced that it can be caused by the moral failings of mothers, like the chemicals we evil moms use or the cars we drive or the food we serve or the negative thoughts we secretly harbour that make our kids sick. You know, like autism and cancer and paralysis and blindness and deafness and diabetes and freckles and every other damn disease cause by shitty mothering.

After all, it always the mother's fault, right? Right?

When I first entered the blogosphere I never mentioned that I had ADD. A friend of mine, an employment lawyer, had made it clear that in the real world, I would be instantly fired by anyone who found out, and that I would never be hired again, and so I knew how dangerous it was to self-disclose. In the Liberal Party, like all political parties, I'd be a pariah. (Half the party has ADD, and pretends they aren't self-medicating with double espressos at Starbucks. What? you thought those nasty exchanges in the House of Commons happened by mere chance? HA) And the many vicious nasty comments made to me, by Doctors, friends and relatives who found out? Oy...I stopped telling anyone. But blogging means sometimes commenting at odd hours. Long after my meds had worn off. And sometimes my comments were ouch...so I knew I had to give y'all a heads up.

And I mostly didn't blog about it. I don't even have a label of my sidebar. Can you say---SHAME? It wasn't a big deal though until I had to go off of it, or change meds or talk about the kids assessments and their medications. But it still bugged me to see ridiculous posts or news stories that were based on zero research and bad science. And all of it based on the idea that people would do anything, anything to avoid having that label on their kids and that medication given to them.

Then shortly before BlogHer '09, I found a referral on my statcounter for one particular mean-type website, and someone in the comments said I was a crazy drug user and had my kids drugged up. And then another person emailed me directly and called me a baby killer. And I froze and turned into a tiny little shrivelled up gutless wonder.

The only reason I even went to BlogHer was because Cecily said she would talk to me and we could hang out together. I worked on the assumption that not one other soul would even look at me, and in fact, that all of the attendees would call me a drug addict and a baby killer to my face out loud. And then laugh. I actually rehearsed in the mirror ahead of time what I would do when someone did say that to me. So I wouldn't cry or faint or vomit.

But no one said that! Everyone was really really nice. Not one person was even snarky.

The best part? When a couple of people came up to me and asked me about ADD and wanted to talk about their own diagnosis and their kids, and what I thought, and if they should get assessed, so they could get help. And all the evil troll words started to melt away, and the weight lifted and I realized that there is a point to me talking about my issues if it helps others.

You see, the Establishment in our society doesn't want anyone correctly diagnosed or treated for any mental illness. After all, if the current underclass was able to live up to their potential, what would happen? If all the brainpower and motivation in the world was harnessed and being used productively, I think our economy would soar. But then---the current members of the old boys club might not be on top. They and their progeny, just might have to work for a living. So it's better to blame Moms and tell everyone to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and work on their stiff upper lips. The media does a great job of spreading this meme.

So about yesterday. My husband's cousin stops by in the morning. She and I have been discussing our kids and their educations for years and her oldest son is gifted (an absolutely brilliant writer) and has some Asperger's/Autism features, but not quite all of them. He has huge trouble with math and can't plan his assignments and is very sensitive to stimuli. But not enough to precisely fit any criteria. It's kind of the maddening part of the assessment process. Often the psychometrist can't quite pin down a label, and god knows the Ministry of Education wets itself with it's desire for a label and demands it for each and every kid. Doctors can tell results accurately in terms of IQ score and fine motor control and attention ratings--but whether it's a central auditory processing disorder or a non-verbal learning disability or asperger's or autism or ADHD inattentive, hell, that's always a close decision. And her son has had all of those labels except ADD, until his latest assessment.

For 15 years, she has had every kind of LD help imaginable for him, from accomodations to special tutoring and public schools and private schools. Personal assistants and special day planners and organic food and all natural everything. They have literally turned their entire lives upside down trying to help their son, and his oh so similar younger siblings to succeed in school. And not one thing has ever worked. J, their oldest, is now utterly depressed and convinced that he will never make it to university or even hold down a job because he can't figure out what is going on in the world around him.

They have done everything right according to the ADD skeptics. They don't have cable TV, they barely have a TV at all. They only have a basic computer for work. They spend all of their time out in nature. She has taught him so much she practically has homeschooled him while he attended public school. He reads lots of books and there are no chemicals in their home. They don't even have any off-gassing furniture. All their food is made from local organic sources and never pre-prepared.

And none of it has ever done shit. Nothing. Not one bit of good.

And it never will.

Genetics is kind of unbeatable that way. You need actual medical care to treat a medical condition. Guilt and denial and judgement don't help, at all. I might have wanted to wish away my genetic clotting disorder, but the only way I could ever beat it and get a live baby was to take heparin. And I can wish until I am blue in the face, but my brain is my brain, and yes, maybe a little therapy can work on some aspects, but in the end, I have to accept my body and find a way to deal with it.

And so I opened up to her about my ADD and my medication and the boys and how it has transformed their lives and mine. I told her that I was extremely worried that Mac was becoming depressed last year and his self-esteem was very very low, and he was moody and sad. Then after he started medication and began to get A's and make more friends, it was much much better. He is so much happier it's hard to describe. I told her that before meds, Kaz was so distracted I was concerned that he would someday forgetfully walk into traffic and get hurt, and now, he can pay attention in class and understand everything. He still has some learning issues, but they mostly are writing and fine motor related.

And as I recounted the damages and injuries my kids and I had racked up over the years while unmedicated---the car accidents, the near drownings, the broken bones, and the lacerations, her eyes widened in horror and talk turned to her husband.

Her now retired, news reporter husband-- a wonderful writer who loves to sit and muse and make conversation, if only he could ever find his way to his destination. The artistically minded guy who dreams and writes books and literally does, wander into traffic. Really. When he isn't falling off of their roof or cutting his hands on the bandsaw or forgetting to file their taxes.

Never mind her connection to my husband's family and all of their interesting mental issues. The same issues that have allowed them to be come brilliant experts in their field and crusading entrepeneurs and owners of companies also mean that their edges are a little frayed somedays.

And all of those genetics have come crashing down and combined into our kids now. But because the Doctor who is seeing J. knows nothing about ADD, and is so focused on his sadness at failing, he thinks they should avoid ADD medications. So he continues to fail, and gets sadder about that failure every single day. The doc he is seeing thinks drugs could cause some sort of severe side effect. To him they are a "last resort." Meanwhile the kid drinks loads of coffee every day and is sinking into some sort of clinical depression.

So we gently discussed getting another opinion and talking to an ADD specialist or to our pediatrician and how the tablets only last 4 hours and the long acting 15 hours, and it's no big deal because the half-life is so quick as they leave your body. If it doesn't work, no need to take it. If there was a side effect, it would be gone rather quickly. She asked if I could talk to her oldest, convince him to try it, maybe tell him my story. Perhaps have our kids talk to each other. I told her I would be happy to.

As we talked, her face changed and I could see that she was beginning to think about all the ways in which her life might have been different if someone, somewhere hadn't been so opposed to diagnosis and medication for her husband, and her kids and maybe even herself. What if he had been diagnosed at an early age? What would his career have looked like? Would have have been so frustrated? Would he have needed antidepressants? What about her kids? Could she have had a career after they were born? Instead of spending her days and nights trying fruitlessly to solve his issues and get him therapy and school help...Would he have some friends? Would he be happier? Would they all be happier?

My heart is breaking for her. She is sitting at her house right now grieving the life her family might have had....if prejudice hadn't gotten in the way.

I wonder how many more families like this are out there, needing help, help they will never ever get.

The post about poo

I am having a colonoscopy today and I've been tweeting about it since yesterday, so click on the sidebar thingy to read more. I'll blog more later, but the reason I need it, is because my lovely children keep bringing parasites back from their very expensive summer sleepaway camps.

And now I may have inflammatory bowel disease, which will cost the Ministry of Health a pile of money to treat. I could refuse to let the kids go to camp I guess, but then everyone would call me a bitch, or maybe I just need to insist that the Ontario Ministry of the Environment enforce the clean water regulations they keep saying they have. I know they don't give a damn about the Ministry of Health budget, but you'd think someone would?

Praying I don't die on the table here. Cause you know that all hospital procedures always go perfectly for me, and I never have any funny reactions to anesthesia. Sigh.....

But at least it's free right!

Sigh....

Birthday week

Julius the Great, Emperor of the Universe, or at least of our house, is one year old now. He just had his birthday and well, is practically a grown up. Barely needs me anymore....ok, not really, but he is very very cute. And standing on his own, and almost walking but not quite. He grabs people's fingers, one in each hand, and then runs at top speed, in whatever direction he desires, and expects us to keep up with him. He has no fear of heights, or concept of stairs or steps, or which direction is up or down or level. He just GOES!!

Adorable but not really practical. I fear for the rest of his lovely forehead at this rate! He is terrified of loud noises and especially showers and the printer on the computer. I tried to take him in the shower and let him play with some bath toys at my feet one day and he screamed like he was going insane and we gave up on that plan. Anyway, he is also growing molars. Four at once. Cause hey, why do anything halfway, right? We have given him tempra round the clock and he is chewing and gnawing on frozen washcloths and freezies and such, but he really is suffering. Kills me to see it. I can't wait until it's over, and he feels less cranky and whiny.

Which is why I am so tired and barely blogging right now. I can manage twitter from my phone, but that's about it, and what with mercury retrograde and all, technology has been suffering greatly at our house. I am on my second blackberry this month and it still isn't working perfectly. Then my husband's phone broke, and then my nanny's phone bill was astronomical but it was all a mistake. The roof leaked again and fornicating raccoons took up residence. The power keeps going out and the new car broke down and carpenter ants invaded, and now I am finding broken punched in bits of drywall everywhere. So far, the dishwasher, the whippersnipper, the back gate, the bathtub drain, the shower and the baby's crib have broken again in May.

Really, it's all a bit freaky when things go haywire around here. So I've been busy!

Now, nobody is seriously ill or anything, and for that, I have to thank my lucky stars, do not misunderstand me. We have the money to fix it all, and it will get repaired--but umm, it's a lot to break at once, isn't it?

Actually, Mac is sick as we speak, fever of 103.5, poor baby. He is supposed to go to sleepover camp with his class tomorrow and likely will not go. I am sad for him feeling sick, but as you all know, hate sleepaway camp and secretly am kind of glad. Bad me.

Ok, someone is crying. Tylenol for them and wine for me.....where did I leave that brown paper bag......yawn.....

relieving the suspense

We paid some awful amount of money to temporarily fix the roof, and cleaned up all the rotting drywall and water. We hope it will last 6 months, but really it will only last until the next thaw, when another leak comes up in another spot. Husband is slowly accepting he will have to actually reno the house, and use the plans the architect is now rushing to do. Slowly. Some more ceiling needs to fall on his head perhaps? Dunno...

Dr.J. was not helpful. And she usually is. So disappointed. She thinks that I should LOWER my estrogen even though every single time I do that, I bleed like mad. She wants me to take only progesterone even though that makes me shake and get the jitters. Then she wants me to go off of everything for a week (Hello, divorce!) and then go on the pill, which is never enough estrogen for me. She does not seem to understand that in a woman with severe ovarian failure like myself, I do not produce any hormones on my own. So of course my moods are affected. And mood altering drugs don't help that. ADs, whatever, cannot make up for organ failure!

They'd never say this to a man who had kidney failure and was experiencing side effects of the disease.

Never.

Oh, and at first we could not understand the ultrasound report, because it said I had one fibroid and two normal looking ovaries, and some other weird stuff. Then we realized that someone had messed up my report and transposed the measurement numbers. Sigh....plus they did not note the position or placement of the fibroid, and so we can't do anything else. I have to go back for an ultrasound and a saline hysterogram. In case the fibroid is inner, or if I have a polyp, or scar tissue. Total fucking waste of time.....could have done this last fall if I had a requisition. And she did not give me a referral to an OB/Gyn because she wants to wait and figure this out. Thing is, unless it's urgent, I have to wait. And if I had a referral last fall....sigh...

Next, the entire family is sick and exhausted. We have colds and bad throats and Mr.Cotta is getting a man-cold, which as we all know is much much worse than any cold a woman could ever get.

And my son's school? The new high school which demanded all that testing and documentation and said they would move him up and give him more challenging work? Not quite.....they don't do that for anyone. Ever. Except that's a lie, and they did do it for a kid in his class in another subject and they do it for lots of people. Except that it's too late now. Except that "ooops", turns out we've been asking them to do this since last June and it's not our fault their heads are stuck up their asses and they were too disorganized to figure it out. I honestly don't get it. My poor husband feels shocked because he can't believe they are screwing this up.

If Einstein went to this school, they'd tell him to go to the back of the bus. They are really that awful.

January sucked. And if Julius wasn't here and learning how to crawl all on his own and being amazing, February would suck too. Poor Kaz, poor Mac, poor me and the house and Mr.C. If only grown up life were as simple as learning how to crawl...

something else

I really should write about something else.


Just so you all know, whenever you feel bad, just watch some Rankin Bass cartoons. Rudolph's Shiny New Year is pretty awesome!

Then go to the movies, and some museums, and watch some kids playing outside.

Funny story, while I was feeding the baby this afternoon in front of an Old Master---(yes, I did bare my boob in front of a painting of a woman with a bare boob), the kids made a deal at the museum. Kaz offered Mac $15 to stop bugging him until they got to the car. But as they left the museum, Kaz, having gotten what he wanted, turned to him and said, "I don't have any money to pay you, so the deal is off." And Mac started to cry.

Which is when I heard the whole sordid story. And rolled my eyes...

First, we don't bribe for good behaviour. It starts up a whole set of problems, that I don't want to deal with. Like escalation, cause first it's a cookie, then 50 cents, then 1 dollar, etc etc. Other issue is blackmail, when the kid gets so used to getting paid, that they tell you either they get the bribe or they throw a fit right then and there.

I bribed once or twice, then said fuck it as things went downhill. I just got used to the screaming and eventually everyone behaved.

But it's not okay for Kaz to refuse to pay after getting services rendered either so I had a conundrum.

After much hemming and hawwing and consulting with the hubby, we decided to tax Kaz $15 for both proposing a bad deal that hurts the whole family and just generally pissing us off. (I am buying a bottle of wine with the $15.) We also rewarded Mac for excellent behaviour with huge amounts of praise and love. Plus I told him I would tell the entire world what an awesome kid I had.

So I am officially blogging that Mac is the best kid EVER.

Take note. hehe

Histrionic

My life has never been so frigging nuts until lately. I really don't get it. Busy sure---but now I have no time to read the paper, shower, surf blogs. Hell, I haven't had a pedicure or manicure since Lala was here. And I'm "home" with a nanny. And I live a 3 minute walk from a nail bar.

Monday was a very unhappy day, and Tuesday was Julius' six month birthday, but as I ran madly from one place to another, I realized that it wasn't much of a way to celebrate. We got his shots, he's 20 pounds, and 27.5 inches I think. (Can't find the paper it's written on? Hopefully he's that big.) After speaking to the Doc I decided to delay starting solids for another week or two until we get him used to the helmet. I really don't want him to have any negative feelings about food, and if he hates the helmet, and then associates the two? Ughhh.

Anyway, it won't kill him to wait. Not like kids need solid food at this point anyway. Mostly just extra work for Moms, IMO. It's nowhere near the calorie content of breastmilk or formula so when my older two started it, they actually lost weight at first. Kaz got food allergies, and Mac got gas and indigestion, so hell, delaying a week or two is just fine by me.

Julius clung to me the rest of the day while I exchanged emails with people re. Kaz and Mac's assessments and appointments to deal with their medication, etc. etc.. Dinner, scooping kids to bed, yelling about homework, and chatting to Kaz about some minor incident with a basketball, and then I seem to have collapsed on my bed with my contacts still pasted to my eyeballs. Baby up a few times to eat, drag back to bed.

Woke up Wednesday morning, went into kids rooms with medication and glasses of water. Mac took his, went to get dressed.

I go into Kaz's room and he----completely fucking fell apart with a histrionic temper tantrum that blew the doors off half the house. He started freaking that he wasn't taking the higher dose, even though he has been taking it for a week and a half now, and he liked it so far. (Note: this is the first time ever, that he has refused to take his medication. Ever.) Apparently, the basketball from the day before, had hit him in the face, and he blamed the medication for making him so focused that he missed the ball. He figures that from now on, if he ever takes that dose of medication again, he will be injured, "just like with the basketball."

And if you can figure out that fucked up logic, I'll give you a gold star, because to this moment, I think it's stupid. Random events happen. Too much focus that means you can't focus? Wha? And if he had been that injured by a ball, I'd have gotten a call from the school, or an email, so was it really that bad?

I tried to tell him it was dumb luck, just a coincidence, highly unlikely to ever happen again. He however, had his mind set on it, and was crying, and yelling, and blowing snot out his nose, and running all over the house, screaming at me. The baby finally woke up, and I had to juggle him, and try to keep him calm while Mr. Puberty/OverSensitive hid in the corner of the bathroom snuffling and sobbing bitterly about his mother and how she JUST DIDN'T UNDERSTAND HIM!!!!

You know three year olds with tantrums make you want to rip your hair out? Wait until the little bastards turn twelve, and are as tall as you. You will seriously consider boarding school.

Mr.Cotta finally stepped in and prevented me from committing homicide or saying anything like, "You are grounded for life and Christmas is cancelled!" (I like to stick to what I say when I say it, but that would suck to enforce.) He made him take his medication, told him we don't debate that in the morning, but can talk about it later, and took him to school, and promised to pick him up so I wouldn't have to see his sulky little face. I was so emotionally wrung out after that, it took me hours to really calm down.

You see, Kaz picked today of all days, Julius' final helmet fitting day, to freak out. You know, the helmet for baby flat head, aka positional plagiocephaly, I spent almost the entire day at the hospital, getting the helmet, holding the baby while he screamed, waiting for the helmet to be cut and fitted, and sawed, and sanded. Learning how to put it on him and take it off, clean it and prep the baby's head....trust me, today of all days, was not the day for Kaz to go into puberty.

In the end, Julius got his helmet, and it fits nicely, and he isn't screaming when it's on. Mind you, we can't put it on him fast. It's a slow process over 3-7 days to avoid giving him blisters on his head. First, a few hours at a time while he's awake, then longer, then while he naps, then after a few days, while he sleeps at night. Eventually, we do 18 hours a day, maybe 20.

Sigh.

I have to go now and sleep before tomorrow's insane day starts. Fuck I'm tired.

Dunking in water

Some of you may remember that my husband baptized Julius in the NICU while I was still passed out cold getting stitched. And although technically it still 'takes' the same as if a priest does it, I like things done nice and officially. Or at least I like to have witnessed it after all the pain and agony to get the little bugger.

Well, yesterday we poured water on his head, and made him cry, just like good Catholics should. Priest and congregation all watched and witnessed. (Only bummer, they wrote my maiden/adoptive name instead of my married name on the baptismal certificate, bizarre considering I've never gone by it as long as they've known me, and am registered with the parish in my married name. WTF is it with people not calling me by the name I've decided to call myself? Anyway, they will fix it, and send us a new one.)

Then we had a huge party at the house, catered and bartended. We've always done this stuff ourselves, cooking and serving drinks and running around included, but this was easier what with 3 kids etc. That was the excellent part of the week.

Sunday we lazed around, made the kids do twenty minutes of homework, and then played Monopoly. I won! I never win! Kaz was a little upset when I forced him into bankruptcy, but he had landed on a property I owned and owed me major rent. Then he had refused to take the deal I offered him, which involved him giving me some of his properties and permanent immunity/free rent on Boardwalk and Park Place, which he would still own, with hotels. He could have kept his cash and lived to play another day, but he told me he'd rather die than give his mother his hard earned real estate, so the die was cast.

Yes, we take Monopoly seriously in this house.

Today was not so good. Today was the day that we met with the school regarding Kaz and what kind of work he can expect to get at his new school. Can they move him up a few grades, and give him more challenging work? Can they give him some help with creative writing? Help him stay organized?

Short answer--No.

In direct opposition of what the psychologist wrote, the school is dismissing the words gifted, because they figure all children at the school are bright. Not from what I have seen, maybe some are better than B students, but its pretty much average as students go. They also figure that their curriculum is very enriched as it is. I'm not sure how they figure that when it's just the same old crappy Ontario public school curriculum, unlike our previous private school, which was academic boot camp on steroids. But boy did this school official latch onto any and all learning issues she could find. She spent an hour and a half hacking away at my kid and everything she could find in the report. Any little thing she could latch onto that was negative was the sole focus of her recommendations. If he wants extra help, he'll have to go to her--a non-starter when she has nothing positive like more interesting work to offer. And because the Doc wrote the word gifted on page 2 instead page 6, she figured it wasn't part of the diagnosis, even though it SAYS IT IN THE REPORT. I had to insist to get her to agree that the word on page 2 spelled "G-I-F-T-E-D" actually was worthy of discussion. She actually said,"Well, this is a much better report than your old one because this one focuses on your sons many problems. The old one just talked about his abilities."

WTF? Neither report said that at all! Project much?

Seriously, as time passes, I am more and more convinced that she must have been smoking something before we came in.

We hadn't given her the version of the report that discussed ADHD. I had gotten a bad feeling from her, a whiff of prejudice, so I thought it prudent to just give her the edited version. Reality is that all ADHD issues/symptoms disappear in Kaz when he takes medication. (Same is true for most ADDers.) So as along as he takes long-acting medication, there is no need for the school to ever know. And considering the fight it appears I have on my hands, I am sooo glad I never trusted her. God knows what kind of crap she would have subjected him too. As it is, she kept asking and hinting and implying all sorts of things that were not written in the friggin' report.

I haven't given up completely. The psychologist is willing to speak to her on the phone and go to bat for us and do whatever he can to convince them that Kaz needs them to follow his recommendations. He was pretty mad when I told him the story, so I know that I have at least one ally.

Anyway, it all makes me cry. I can't believe the psychologist was right. He said that for any child who is different in any way, gifted, or LD, or amazingly talented or physically disabled, or musical, or geeky or whatever----high school will a test of endurance, a hellish experience of mediocrity and conformity to be survived until the longed for day when university can begin.

I thought that maybe things had changed. I guess not.

Crap.

In case you were wondering, no I don't recommend this school to anyone. The things I haven't written on this blog about this school would fill another entire blog. Seriously. And we can't transfer out. Ever. My poor sweet husband is so utterly totally devoted to the idea that his son will go this school, that he would never agree to change schools. Even if it is the absolute wrong fit for his actual son and not his projected fantasy child, he won't budge.

Remind anyone of the summer camp debacle?

Blueish

I'm a bit down right now. My hormones seem to be a bit off. I don't know if it's my thyroid again, or my estrogen but I'm dragging my rear I tell ya.

It could also be the lack of sunshine. Or the overwhelming sense of anxiety I feel today.

Last Saturday we went out to dinner with a very nice couple we like, but they started to bicker over something minor at one point, and my husband and I jollied them out of it, but now, I haven't spoken to her at all this week, and I'm beginning to wonder if something went wrong? Everyone seemed happy?

Monday Julius got measured for his helmet. It was unpleasant to say the least.
Nothing like draping a baby in wet slimy plaster to induce screaming in him.
Hell, nothing like presenting mommy with a bill for $1500 to induce screaming in her.
(Yes, this is considered cosmetic, and therefore not covered by public health insurance. Because children with funny looking bent heads will never be bullied on the playground....eyeroll....issue #873456137 on my list of shit to fix in government....)

Tuesday I finally got the paperwork in for my passports and the childrens' passports. With absolutely no fucking help at all from my husband, who had promised me that HE WOULD HELP. Grrrrr. Anyway, I spent the entire time in the Immigration building convinced that I would be stopped by the guards and given a *special* government cavity search. Mostly because every single time I have ever been in a government building Very Bad Things have happened to me. (I was shaking, polite, and whispering the entire time, hard to believe, but true, I don't rant every second of the day.)

At one point they insisted that I need to have my adoptive name on my passport, except of course for that whole "legal" name change to another name. Ummm, HELLO, I changed it!?! I swear, if it comes back wrong, I'm going to change my last name to "Passport Canada sucks donkey balls" and then get THAT on my passport. That'll show em, right?

Ok, maybe not.

Actually, I'm more concerned right now about Julius' photo. There was a teeny little wrinkle in the background blanket behind him which may screw the photo. His expression was perfect, and blank, and fit all the regs. Yes, I got a baby to behave perfectly and pose nice, no drugs involved. But apparently that is not good enough. Teeny tiny babies must BEHAVE dammit. Here's hoping the wrinkle in space passes scrutiny.

Poor Kaz, though has the worst end of the stick. He alone will be required to carry his long form birth certificate at all times, or his passport will be invalid. The other children, will not have to do that. The reason, as I've discussed, before, is that we were not married when Kaz was born. We got married afterwards. The rules say that all children born to unmarried parents, aka bastards, must carry proof of parentage, because the department believes they are at higher risk of parental kidnapping than children born in wedlock. There is no statistical proof of this, by the way. Lots of parents get divorced and have custody issues, none of which the department can ever discover unless an opposing lawyer notifies them. Basically, they treat common law couples like criminals in waiting, and married couples like they are always perfect and innocent.

This leads to the bizarreness that says that my husband and I are quite likely to kidnap and transport across the border our oldest son, but fuck the other ones, who cares about those little buggers, right? We'll just dump them in a ditch, correct? Sigh...in case you are wondering, I asked, and they will be placing a note on Kaz's passport that denotes that he is different from the other children and must carry a long form birth certificate, along with notarized letters attesting that we "share" custody.

We don't have to do that for the other children.

Even though Kaz can speak and discuss and argue points as perfectly as an adult can. He stays in the house by himself. He has a cellphone. He can go on the subway by himself. He has his own bank account and manages his own money. If a cop or a customs officer asked him if he was with the right person, he'd answer properly.

Even though Mac is pretty naive at eight, not old enough to stay alone even for five minutes, and Julius is small enough for someone to pick up and carry away---no one will ever ask who their parents are or if they are at risk for being kidnapped.

None of it matters, because their slutty mother wasn't married before she gave birth to the first kid. Sigh....well at least I'm in good company. heh

I pick up the passports on December 2nd. Supposedly. We'll see.

Final bit o anxiety....I made the mistake of trusting someone I've known for years in the meat world with my add diagnosis. I came out and it was a dumb mistake, now they won't speak to me. Won't return emails or phone calls. I'm no longer a person to them. Back in the closet for me. Just praying this person won't out me now.

Scuse me, I need to go be scared of my own shadow now....

nope, not me

I'm not blogging about the US election, since every last personal blogger I read has already written about it. For once, the shoe is on the other foot, and I am secretly full of glee about it. See, I know that every time I blog about politics, you all roll your eyes and wonder, "What the hell is she talking about now?" and "Not again, can't she just talk about her vagina like the rest of us do?"

So about my vagina....
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
HA FOOLED YOU.

No vajayjays here. Move along now.

*Chuckle at own joke*


Got that out of my system, now can I just say that this helmet business is no fun? My darling babies' ears are uneven and his head slants forward slightly and there is a dent in the back. I know because many measurements and pictures were taken, and then a very nice Orthotics person at Sick Kids explained to my incredulous husband that it was a moderate dent, (as opposed to mild or severe) but definitely there and that Julius would look like this for life if we didn't do it, and that he would never properly fit bicycle helmets or hockey helmets without extra padding and fitting, and that yes it was cosmetic, but it is so noticeable that it would not be covered up by hair.

Now picture me and the nanny sitting in the corner looking at each other in horror because we can't believe that could happen to OUR Julius, and we can't believe the grilling that Mr.Cotta is giving to the guy, like somehow Ortho's in it for the profit and is running around sticking helmets on perfectly good heads just to make a quick buck. Gah.....not that I want a helmet either, but once the guy confirmed that the aggressive head positioning we were engaged in was doing nothing, *weeps* I decided to just say do it. And in the end, so did Mr.C.

So what if we have to spend the next 6 months hidden indoors praying that no one ever looks funny at us. Or points their fingers at us. Or laughs at us. Or makes my mother bear instincts come out. Cause I'm bad like that. I'm the woman with the tire iron in her purse who goes nuclear if someone looks mean at her kid. Sigh....not cool. *Must control self*

Oh, and about my last posts---after much researching, and talking to a few people IRL I have discovered that when the word "gifted" comes up many many many people begin to act like assholes and apparently the advice I'm supposed to follow is to never talk about it IRL, but instead only on firewalled passworded forums so that random trolls do not call me a grasping/boasting/stage/managing/faker/elitist/pushy mother. (Yes, some people actually say that mean shit!)

But since I'm already the adoptee who talks not so nicely about adoption, and the infertile who talks about vaginas, and the grieving mama who talks about dead babies, and the pro-choice woman who aborted a wanted & loved but dying child, and the crazy hyper chick with ADD who gladly takes speed and tells the world that ritalin rocks and trolls everywhere haven't kicked my ass off the net just yet---oh fuck it, I may as well talk about this here too.

Specially since my real life friends are having funny reactions, and God do I need to vent.

One lady--lovely kind, encouraging.

Next one--helpful, kind of vague, then started telling me how that's the new "in" thing, and was this a new trend? Is that why I "did it?" I'm like--"Did what? Huh?"

Another---jealous beyond description and so desperate to compare numbers against her own kid and herself, that she started to breathe funny. Then starts to tell me how she knows EVERYTHING about gifted kids and everyone in her family is gifted and they are all experts and I must do it all HER way and this is the perfect school, not the one we are in. Froth is forming at the corners of her mouth....I back slowly away.....

An education professional---tells me I should give up on the entire system and homeschool. Commence eyerolling. I would suck at that. I know me well enough to know that for sure!

For me, it's sort of like I thought my kid was a duck, a nice little duck, and then one day I take him to a Doctor and he turns out to be a completely different animal like an octopus, but everyone around me is saying, hey great, he's like a swan! But he isn't a swan, he's an octopus.

Meanwhile, I have no books and no training on how to raise an octopus.

Like that list of things I did that are not PC to talk about---I mostly wrote that because I wanted you all to laugh, and to know that I'm not the crazy pushy mom, and no one has to be. My kids do some sports at school, but not rep hockey or competitive swimming or anything extensive like that. They go to camp in the summer, they go to church occasionally. They eat sort of crap and sort of good. They've never done Kumon or anything like that. They go to a private school, but it's nothing fancy, they have good academics, but it's not a crazy homework place. My kids just sort of came out like this, and damned if I know how. My only enforced rule with them is that the most important thing is to be kind to others. (Ok, and no wrestling near the china cabinet.)

And really, of all the things that mystify me about this situation, it's the world's refusal to believe that the universe makes some people different, different in ways we don't understand completely, but still real, still standing here in front of me. Some of us are mentally ill, and some of us are calm and even as still waters. Isn't what matters most, what people do in the world with their very different brains?

Cause some of us have bent heads and some of us have round ones.

And some Presidents are white and some Presidents are black, but what really matters in the end is if they are kind to others, right?

Right.

Still chewing this over

About Kaz being severely gifted....still weirded out. I thought that the psychologist sort of made this word up, but no, apparently it's a real thing. Once again Dr.Google is being most helpful. As are all of you. (Thank you thank you thank you----I love my friends in the computer!) I think I'm just not sure what the hell I'm supposed to do, and a lot of the information from Google I've found is American. Mostly because if there is information in Ontario, it's not loads. (Yes, I did find the link Lori mentioned, one bright lite!)

Why would we do anything about it? Well, so far I'm reading that there is a lot of evidence that kids like this can end up with serious socio-emotional problems if they are not challenged and encouraged the right way. (Question still to be answered: What is the right way?) For example, lots of them are so scared of sticking out of the crowd, they hide their gifts and pretend to be average just to fit in. Others become bored as hell and get in trouble. Many become perfectionists and get so anxious about their academic performance they become paralyzed and end up not even getting an education.

I went to the Ontario Ministry of Education website, and found sweet dick all. Apparently there are a lot of resources for the other end of the spectrum and lots for anyone who is average range of intelligence and has various LD, but almost zero for a kid who could do an entire credit of math in one day, instead of the minimum mandated 110 hours. Even if the psychologist, and we as his parents, and he himself, and the teachers and the principal all agree, it's hideously difficult to do. Apparently things are a little rigid that way....

We're not making any decisions yet, but I'm a little disgruntled to discover that some options are less easy than others. Then again, why should anything be easy?

Good things about this diagnosis:

I no longer feel guilty about the forceps at birth, the meconium, the untreated reflux, the time I dropped him, the time my husband dropped him, the times I didn't run fast enough to get him when he cried, the times I couldn't pump enough breastmilk for cereal or babysitting and he had to have some formula, the times he had diaper rash because I didn't change his diaper often enough, the eczema he had that I had forgot to rub cream on, the time he fell down the flight of stairs, the home daycare I left him in, the casual neighbourhood babysitters I left him with before that, the really great daycare centre I left him in that was still DAYCARE aka Teh root of all evil, the times when I was a stay at home mom who didn't know what the hell I was doing, the excessively lengthy amount of children's and adult television he watched, the insane amount of time he spent in the car commuting, the playdates I neglected to set up, the piano practice he had to do while Mac screamed at the top of his lungs, the playground visits we didn't do as much as the neighbours did, the times I worked outside the home, the times I stayed at home, the wine I drank, the germs I gave him, the genes I gave him, the McDonald's/pizza/transfat-ridden/allergy-infested fast food insta meals I fed him, the ritalin/concerta/adderall aka Teh second root of all evil that I gave him, the time he spent playing computer games, video games, gameboy games, and of course, making him go through all of our fertility and babyloss adventures when he was old enough to know what was going on.

And yes, I'm kind of making it sound funny/weird, but really, these are all things I have felt guilty about. Sort of why I always tell all of you to stop feeling guilty when you blog about this stuff.

Sigh....all that crap, all that stress, and somehow in spite of the fact that he's the kid we made all the mistakes on, he's got game.

Thank God, because Julius is going to see the helmet people about his bent head Monday morning and I'm so nervous I feel sick. But maybe a flathead won't matter either?

In case any of you need this....

Thought I'd just share an idea a friend passed on to me...Kaz is going to do this for Halloween night, although he is still trying to figure out if it's cool to wear at costume at 12! (I think it is, but to him?) Mac is going out as Mario from Nintendo, and Julius is going to be a pumpkin. (All babies are pumpkins I think....)

Anyway, if you are looking for a cheap, easy to do, last minute adult or child costume, that is unique, get a pair of dark pants, a dark long sleeved shirt, a bunch of safety pins, a pile of socks, mismatched, and left overs are great. Pin the socks all over the shirt and pants, trying to make sure they are not in pairs, but are random.

And voila!

You are "The place in the dryer where lost socks go!"

Feel free to copy, he's likely going to be too cool to do it...eyeroll...

I've got lots of stressful things going on, so I may as well list them, best therapy ever I think. (And thank you for the comments on my previous post btw. Thank you thank you thank you.)

Tomorrow we find out what the test results are on the boys, and how we have to deal with them. I'm dreading it because I know I'll just feel guilty in the end. My fault, etc. More on that after tomorrow's appt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good news: Kaz's first preliminary report card came out and it's great, all A's.

Bad news: that's because the new school with the provincial curriculum is so stupidly easy, he doesn't have to make any effort at all. Not exactly good for his character IMO. I wanted it to be easier when he hit university, not now....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My husband's brother P is in worse and worse shape over in Europe. He seems to have burned through all of his money, isn't taking any of his meds, (or if he is, they are the wrong ones!), and he is very very ill, and may be homeless soon. He is only allowed to see his children under supervision, because of his previous actions, and has no friends there. He won't admit to having any problems, and insists that everyone else is the cause of all of his difficulties. Could his marriage and divorce have been handled better? Sure...and the industry he was in has had major financial problems, but neither of those things made him ignore his mental illness or become an alcoholic. I just wish that my husband did not have to bear the brunt of his abuse and anger.

The hardest thing on earth to do is watch someone you love die inch by inch.

Is it bad that I just wish this was over one way or another? That he would either get better and be perfectly fine, or not, with all that implies?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Julius is waking up several times a night due to the cold wind whipping through our windows. But since we are still six months away from any renovations what with permits and drawings, etc. I can't justify spending the money to fix them. Really, I might be ripping it out right away, right?

So we have plastic over the windows....not exactly the classy image I was hoping for, sigh....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I did have some good news, my not very formal effort to diet is paying off and I've lost a few inches on my waist. My jeans are loose and have to be held up with a belt! That good news was quashed by an irritating encounter on Saturday when TWO different people casually gestured towards my stomach and asked pregnancy related questions.

As if I was STILL pregnant.

And the baby is FIVE MONTHS OLD.

Honestly, that really crushed me, because it's not like I'm the only mom in the world who has extra weight, but sometimes I think that I am the only woman who has so much on her stomach. But should that matter? Isn't it incredibly rude for anyone to do that?

And why do I let jerks suck all the joy out of my life?

I think that's the real question.

more fat julius and the fatcheeked brothers and the fat bailout

Darling fat sweet Julius went for his four month checkup today and got his shots, and cried poor thing. He is however, quite lovely and huge, 18 pounds, and 27 inches. 90-95% percentile or something. His head is still 50th percentile but when I asked the doctor about it she was unconcerned. Apparently his head is still growing and his body will grow into it and be in proportion later, like when he's a toddler.

More of a problem? His head is flat on one side, seriously flat. We've been referred to the helmet clinic at Sick Kids. Our Ped doesn't think he will need a helmet, but he's borderline so we're going to get them to measure. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck I hate this.

Onwards and upwards, am working on the wishlist for the architect, and madly trying to get the kids back and forth to the testing and get the homework they missed done. And fill out our forms---very hard to do. Sigh....

For each kid, we have a background questionnaire from the psychologist with medical, social and family history, plus, the BASC-2 for parents and teachers, and the Connors rating scales for parents and teachers. Kaz also filled out one of his own for adolescents. The teachers have filled them out, and now I have to do the parent ones. (For some reason, I'm the only parent doing this---we've talked about it, as you can see from the post below, but really gotten nowhere, so I'm doing it all.)

At the testing centre, they both did the WISC for IQ testing in children, as well as various psychomotor tests to determine fine motor skills, gross motor skills, attention, comprehension, etc.. When we get the results, I'll let you know exactly which ones to give you a better idea of what would happen if you took your child in.

One idea we are looking into is the Cogmed working memory training system. I don't know much about it yet, but the basic idea is that if you do these brain training exercises it helps with working memory (like how you keep phone numbers in your brain until you can write them down, or a list of things you need to get in another room.) It's supposed to complement ADD drugs as opposed to replacing them, but what the hell, I don't have enough to do so why not add this to the mix....

And now, a little note from our sponsor, Mr.Cotta. (Since he provides the fridge full of food I snack on, he's the blog sponsor, okay?)

He is a finance guy and knows exactly what is happening in the markets these days, and although I have a business degree, I'm not quite the guru he is, so I promised to pass this on and ask you all to call your #$%^#%^ senators and #$%^#$ congressional reps and PASS the #$%^# bailout package before the entire world banking structure falls apart.

I know that you guys no longer believe Bush or Paulsen, or anyone else leading your country since they tend to cry Chicken Little every twenty seconds, so could you all just believe my husband that this is a big frickin deal, and the sky really is falling and they really do need that much money to fix this mess? Unlike every other time he said so, Bush isn't kidding this time. He actually has it right, for once in his life. Amazing isn't it? Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, tootles. And it's got everything to do with you on Main Street, because if those banks go under---dude they loan the main street banks and VISA and your pension funds their money, and those guys directly affect you. If these big guys go under then you won't be able to renew your normal home mortgage, or get working capital for your small business, or do anything.at.all.

We'll all be sitting around all day, even the prudent ones.

For a nice plain language explanation of why they need the money, go see Bitch PhD. She interviewed a banker and got this out of him. My banker interview, Mr.C., just foamed at the mouth so all I have are swear words....sorry.

Now go call.

Shrinky-dinks

Why I'll never get elected to public office:

Scene: I'm at the psychologists office waiting for the kids to finish their psychoeducational testing. They are busy sitting in front of computer screens and writing and drawing.

From: Aurelia
Sent Using: Peer-to-Peer
Message status:delivered
To: Mr.Cotta

This questionnaire is so long there is no way I can do it all here. I'll have to fill it all out tonight so you will be able to see it as well.
Remind me again, which one sets fires? And is it the other kid who tortures small animals or is that the same one?

From: Mr.Cotta
Sent Using: Peer-to-Peer
Message status:delivered
To: Aurelia

(grin) I'm sure you are having fun!

From: Aurelia
Sent Using: Peer-to-Peer
Message status:delivered
To: Mr.Cotta

Of course you know raising wounded geniuses are my ultimate life goal. This place makes me wet baby.


Now tell me honestly. What's wrong with a little dark humour to relieve the tension when you are quaking in fear that your child will turn out to be damaged in some way?

New schools

(Dudes, I know that some of you are interested in politics, and some are not, so what I'm going to do until the election, is post a little paragraph or link or something about it everyday, and if you don't want to read it then scroll down and comment about other things, and if you do want to read it, then go for it, and comment away.)

Big Fat Mouth opinion of the day: Elizabeth May should be in the debates, period. This is getting stupid people....just let her in and give it a rest. I'm not a Green supporter, hell, between the SUV I now drive, (34 mpg btw), and my incessant use of plastic bags, they likely think I'm a she-devil, but so what? I'm trying in other ways! So let her in, because lots of us want to hear what she has to say. What's the worst that can happen? That we might have to hear from the only female leader of a party, and *gasp* listen to her?

Other linky thing I saw: Guess what? Turns out that Stephane Dion has a hearing disability, which is why his pronunciation in english is so bad. Poor man has been hacked by the media over and over again and it turns out that he has a disability! I wonder if this will change the coverage he gets?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know how new baby mamas always think that the newborn stage is the most stressful, and that preschool dropoff is terrifying and the worst thing ever?

Weeelllll, these things never get any better, in case you are wondering.

I've been having huge stress attacks over Kaz going to his new school, which is basically a high school (Grades 7-12) and my husband acts like it's no biggie, but to be honest, he's kind of stressed but mostly excited about it all. I think he'd rather go to this school and relive all his memories than send his son! It's adorable, but it does kind of ignore the reality that this is a very different era. Sigh.

Thing is, we're once again kind of fighting about it all. (Hey, you didn't think that just because he knew about this blog that I'd be any less honest about things, did you?)

Firstly, I don't think Kaz, at twelve, is old enough to go on the subway by himself. Neither does his pediatrician. And all of his schoolmates at this age, either go with a large crowd of buddies on the subway, or they go on buses, or parents drive them and pick them up. And guess what? My husband, based on his own experience in life, in another city, thinks that he should go alone all by himself and get home alone. I think that is insane and I'm happy to drive him, but I think again, nostalgia is driving this, and frankly, this city is too large and too dangerous to risk letting my tiny little kid get on the TTC. Not yet, not alone.

He also wants Kaz to go to school with no LD support and no mention of anything to anyone at the school, and I want to get it taken care of quietly with nothing on his permanent record but lots of tutoring and extra help in class so that he stays on top of school assignments and doesn't get behind. ADD medications are great, but they don't work alone. He still needs help here and there.

Plus, the new school is driving me crazy with the special ed teacher wanting them to do an IEP or get something on paper official so that she can stick a label on his head, mostly because for this school the entire concept of LD accomodations is new and she wants to have something to back herself up when the teachers and administration think that all of these kids are faking it to get something extra. And honestly, I'd rather stab myself in the heart than wreck my kids future by labelling him. The "era of stigma" is not over. It's still in full flight and people like me, are well aware of it. I will never ever let my son's future opportunities be harmed because some bureaucracy decrees that all students be labelled and classified. As far as I'm concerned, that's as bad as it gets. Much worse than what was done to me, where my needs were never met.

So I am trying to get him another assessment, since the old one is five years in the past and we need to update it, and have a meeting tomorrow to go over it all and find a solution with the school.

Plus, Mac needs to get assessed and my husband has finally agreed to it, and please God let this work out.

Maybe this is why I have an issue with Palin. She makes raising a kid with special needs sound like sunshine and puppies are blowing out her ass and that her husband or her can handle it all easy-peasy--and frankly, that's just not my life experience.

It's just not realistic, regardless of the diagnosis. I don't care how much caffeine she drinks. She's either in denial, or full of crap.

Ooops, sorry about adding in politics to my mommyranting! Maybe they really do go together, eh?

Twelve years ago today

My darling first child was born.

If you want to know what I was doing on that day all those years ago, just go to this link, and read all about it.

Somehow he has grown up to be the most handsome fabulous manchild ever seen. Almost as tall as me and lean as a whippet, he is smart, funny and oh-so-cool. On the cusp of becoming a whole new person, I wish so much that he could stay this age, frozen in time. When he enters high school in a few weeks, everything will change, and my baby will be all grown up.

I love that he can do a Hail Mary save to catch the puck in the goalposts like nobody else.

I love that he snuggles up with his mom on the couch and watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes.

I love that he is a Wii wizard of fearsome repute.

I love that he is the family engineer who we all depend on to build and repair our machines.

I love that he can cradle his baby brother to sleep.

I love that he has the confidence and natural grace to toss a football with the older bigger guys at his new high school.

I love that he can cry if he needs to and laugh everyday just because.

I birthed him, I raised him, I worship him.

Happy Birthday Kaz. Happy Birthday.

My son has returned!!!!!!!

I am so so happy right now, because my son Kaz is back in my arms, black eyed, stitched, tanned, taller, thinner, and all in one piece thank the Gods!!!

We picked him up yesterday at the camp drop off, far north of here in the burbs, and yes we were able to avoid that crazy explosion that rocked the city, I guess that's the end of propane stations in Toronto, or hydrogen stations for that matter, and hydrogen cars. Time for electric methinks....

Good news: he had a wonderful time and wants to go back.

Bad news: he had a wonderful time and wants to go back.

Apparently, last year's camp was hell and this one was heaven. His exact words.

I lost the battle on him going to sleepaway camp, and Mr.Cotta won, but at least he is at a good camp this time and not a shitty one, and yes, I am trying to hold my head up high, and make the best of it.

Help!

Anyway, I'm trying to focus on my birthday tomorrow, because lordy lordy I'll be FORTY. I plan on having lunch with a really great old friend, and then shopping. I may still be out of shape, but I need some shoes and my feet have gone back to normal, so like Wilma Flintstone, it's time to charge.

hehe, anyone wanna be my Betty?

Camp sick

In exactly 7 days and 5 minutes I get my son back. Sorry I didn't reply to earlier questions, but I've been spending the last 24 hours in the bathroom, my intestines having been taken over by the bug from hell.

I'm sooooo freakin' sick I think that I brought it on with the stress of my kid being gone. Or maybe even because of all of our attempts to test drive cars....we have to replace the Volvo in a month and so we're on the "Keep an Open Mind Tour."

Which basically means that Mr.C. has become obsessed with only one kind of car, and I like several others and he doesn't want to admit that we have options and can afford to buy a nice one. Cheap is not my only criteria. It seems to be his only criteria. He likes the Honda Pilot. (Which drives like meh, btw.) I like the Volvo XC90 and the Acura MDX, and maybe the Lexus but we haven't checked it out yet.

Sigh....off to run to the bathroom again.

I'll write more about the cars later.

What do you all drive? Do you like it?

After that last post

I think that a little clarification is needed---at this camp, as with all sleepaway camps, no parent is ever allowed to speak to a child, and no child is ever allowed to speak to a parent. Camps are the only institution on the planet that are allowed to do that. For all I know, they could be abusing or beating the children and covering it up. They could be serving them crap for food and no one could stop them, because there are no regulations and no authorities to overlook.

I am also sick of the idiotic argument that there is something good or wonderful or better in terms of personal development if a child lives away from their parents. 95% of children NEVER GO TO CAMP, and they turn out perfectly awesome. In fact, many of them go on to be CEOs and lawyers and Doctors. Do you know who goes to sleepaway summer camp? Rich, white overprivileged kids and occasionally poor kids who are recipients of charity trips. In the past, perhaps middle class kids could afford the fees, but no more. This camp is typical of the price that most in Ontario charge, some are less, some are more.

It cost us $3000 to send Kaz to this fucking camp, for 3 weeks.

Yeah, you read that right.

The one last year was a shorter time period, but a higher rate per week.

There are hundreds of pictures up on their secure website of all the kids. Don't get me wrong, they are all smiling and well-scrubbed and cute. But they are all white. Not one black kid, not one asian, in fact, the only brown faces in the crowd are the white kids who forgot their sunscreen. And it's not that we didn't look for a diverse camp. The problem is that they don't exist. The reality is that in most cultures around the world, people simply don't send their kids to strangers to be raised. Family in an emergency, sure, but not strangers.

The other issue, is that my husband does not understand my stress----and frankly neither does everyone else. I am sitting here terrified my child is in danger, and honestly, I need you all to think about something---one of my kids almost died two months ago, and I have lost three others. I need everyone reading this to let go of their preoccupation with the word "summer camp" and their own personal desire as children to go to summer camp and just think of me as a fellow bereaved mom whose child's life is currently at risk. Can you do that, please?

Because in real life my husband doesn't worry, and neither do my friends who all went to sleepaway camp. In my mind, allowing my son to go to sleepaway camp is huge sacrifice to me. It violates every single childrearing belief I have and every value I hold dear. I did not go through all this infertility and loss just to send my kids far away and not even get to be with them. I did this for my husband, as a gift, so that he would feel like his child got to experience something he did as a child. But he doesn't think of it that way.

He views my sacrifice as nothing, totally irrelevant, and of all the things that have come of this experience, that hurts the most.

his face

I got a call from the camp today. I called and asked if he was okay and if he had ever received the box of candy we sent. I kept wanting to call before this, but after last year, I was reluctant to since the other camp lied to me anyway, and I assumed that this camp would as well. After all, it's not like they have any legal obligation to tell the truth or even give a shit if he is really okay.

Seriously, in Ontario, we have regulations for the people who care for our kids in schools and daycares and just about every other place----but not camps, not even sleepaway camps.

So I should hardly be surprised to find out that today he got into an accident on the trampoline, and his knee connected with his eyebrow. (Don't ask me how, it seems impossible to me as well.) He split open his eyebrow and bled everywhere. He needed two stitches, and the camp doctor put them in.

He is supposedly fine---but how can I be sure if I am not there to see? He could be dying for all I know and they have no obligation to tell me shit. Plus I am unhappy that they stitched him instead of gluing him and now he will have a scar. Long story short---because of all of Mac's mishaps I know the the current best practice is to glue cuts together with a special sterile superglue instead of stitching unless it's on a stress point, like a knee or an elbow.

And Mr.Cotta does not understand why I am upset. He thinks it's no big deal. He actually just went out and left me all alone worried and freaked out.

And he wonders why I hate sleepaway camp so utterly totally and completely? Does he even know me, or understand me at all?

And the joke is that this camp is supposed to be an excellent one, the type that caters to concerned parents who actually like their children, as opposed to the super cold WASP detached parenting camp we sent him to last year.

His face is permanently scarred now. My baby's face will never be the same, and all because of some stupid camp.