Nothing that money and booze couldn't fix
2005-09-15, 10:07 p.m.

I have noticed a trend.

Lately, every time I try to pop on here and update, someone, something, somewhere in my life has a meltdown. It�s as though the psychic stirrings of a computer keyboard triggers something in the primal depths of my family�s craniums that screams, �MOM�S TRYING TO DO SOMETHING SHE ENJOYS. MUST. DEVELOP. IMMEDIATE. CRISIS.� And so it goes. Somewhere between a colonoscopy and Son�s latest shenanigans, I have tried mightily to lose my mind, to no avail. Can�t a girl get a break?

The endoscopy/colonoscopy. Both tests went well, as well as can be for choking and gagging down half a gallon of artificial lemon-lime flavored chalk water. My previous stomach surgery is still intact, but the hiatal hernia is back in force. Surgery to commence in January. Why January? Because that�s when our medical flex spending account will begin anew, and we won�t incur massive out-of-pocket costs. They removed a couple of polyps during the colonoscopy, which were a type �associated with some degree of risk of colon cancer in the future. We highly recommend you undergo a colonoscopy every three years.� Oh joy. They had better have developed a better prep by 2008, �cause this home girl ain�t gonna be able to drink that crap again. Never could finish that half gallon�3/4 of the way through it was trying to make a return trip. No thanks.

Son is developing creative new ways to skive off schoolwork and deflect discipline. In his behavioral management class, which teaches social skills and organization, the students work towards a special goal every six weeks. The first big reward was a trip to a local pizza parlor. Son was looking forward to his favorite food, but most of all towards getting a free pass from school for an hour. When he arrived home yesterday afternoon, I asked him how he enjoyed his pizza, only to be told that he had to be left behind because the pizza parlor was serving a dessert pizza with peanut butter. (This place has some warped notion that melting chocolate chips and other sugary goodies on a pizza crust constitutes an exotic and enjoyable dessert.) I teetered on the familiar brink of the Son-inspired chasm: the primal mother-animal was ready to march to school and chew some administrative butt for making my son miss out on his special day; the part of me that retained some sense knew to consider the source. So, I emailed his teacher, and received a response this morning. Which was:

Son blew it a long time ago and wasn�t going to go on the pizza outing. He made the whole story up to keep his scrawny butt out of trouble.

His teacher admitted fault by not informing us of it. She has been talking with Son about why he lost tha privilege and what he must do to earn a spot on the next outing (pizza parlor/arcade). Yes, she should have let us know about this beforehand. However, that�s not enough to exonerate my son.

Then, together we went through his binder to clean out old papers. Together, we found the two notes his science and math teachers had sent this week for me to sign, informing me that he had not done his homework. The two notes that he had hidden among scrap paper and doodles, too afraid to toss them on his own, but too afraid to show his father and me.

Let�s just say that Son is not having a good day.

It was time to devise a fitting punishment. Spanking? Not memorable enough. Video games? I confiscated his GameBoy yesterday because he sneaked it out to play on the bus. What would make an impression, something so hideous and torturous that the very thought of it breaks his freckled little brow into a cold sweat?

WRITING.

Son would rather be eaten by rabid voles than put pencil to paper. Therefore, he had to write sentences. For both teachers whose notes he aspired to hide, he had to scribe �I will not hide notes� enough times to make his fingers shrivel and drop, which is about 10. After I duct taped them back to his cramped and withered little hand, he had to write a long note of apology to his behavioral management teacher for his pizza parlor perflubbery. I am now confident he will behave himself, at least through next Tuesday, because that is his 11th birthday. Once he stows away his birthday loot, all bets are off.

Daughter is a teenager, with all the rights and privileges hereto. I am hearing tales of needing to be dropped off at a large mall with friends�a large mall in a nearby town�and allowed to roam freely like hyenas in heat until a parent arrives to tote them all home. I am hearing tales of Hallowe�en parties instead of prowling for candy, of being invited to be dropped off at a local coffee shop/Christian band hangout with friends, and of being old enough to ride her electric scooter alone half a mile to the grocery store. I have heard these tales, and have responded with silence and a throbbing headache. Two and a half weeks ago she was too young to do these things. Now�now, I�m not so sure. Except for the scooter thing. No way in hell she�ll ride it to the shopping center, dodging traffic, alone. Besides, *I* want to ride it there. I got dibbies. I�m the mom, I win.

So, what have I been up to lately? Nothing that a large sum of embezzled money and a one-way ticket to Europe can�t cure. Anybody want to hire me? I can�t pilfer funds without a job�

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