life with WE

I do indeed talk to strangers.

I'm that person who will tell you that your tag is sticking out of your shirt, even if I don't know you.  I'll also let you know if your skirt is tucked into your underwear, if you've dropped your wallet, if your gas tank cover is open, if you are wearing a particularly awesome shirt/outfit/pair of glasses etc.  I talk to babies while waiting in checkout lines.  I commiserate with other parents when kids act up in a store.  Yes, I'm a talker and I'm about to get all up in your business.

I do these things in the hope that others will do the same for me.  You know, build a community, show some compassion and/or kindess and all that jazz. 

Why won't anyone tell me when there is a giant whitehead on the side of my nose ready to pop?  WHY?

I mean, when you go into the bathroom and see something like that, you die a little inside.  You  begin to wonder how many people you've interacted with that day that noticed that and wondered, "why doesn't she pop that thing?"  It's because I DIDN'T KNOW.  You're supposed to tell me. 

Is it wrong to mention zits to people?  I guess perhaps there should be rules.  For instance, if it is a teen or even adult who is clearly battling acne?  Let it go.  If it's me, and it's a giant underground red zit generally associated with that time of the month?  Don't mention it at all.  In fact, compliment me on how thin I look and how pretty my face is.  But your typical whitehead sticking out ready to go? 

Please tell me.

Won't you?

Even though it's summer break, it's still a Monday.

Day 1 of summer break and I've already had to explain to Elaine that people still have to work during the summer.  Twice.

"Why is daddy getting ready for work?"

"What do you mean you are working Tuesday and Wednesday?"

Seriously child.

Next up?  The grocery store.  I've bribed them with the library if they participate without much whining.  Do I know how to start the summer off right or what?  Warren's already settled in to the summer of wii.  Or so he thinks.  I'm going to have to burst that bubble - stat!

A time to rejoice, unless you live at my house.

At most houses, the last day of school is cause for major celebration.  Of course, not at this house. 

Let's remember the children that live here, shall we?  Elaine - she who abhors change.  Warren - he who is prone to major anxiety and is quite sensitive.

These two?  They HATE the last day of school.   Making things worse is the fact that W's teacher is retiring.  Between the two of them, they are basket cases. 

I tried to make them focus on the fact that they have had great school years and it's time to celebrate.  I've tried to point out that we will see their teachers again.  In fact, E's teacher will still be at our school and W's teacher plans to sub up at school.  Yet it is not enough.

Elaine, she's easy enough to distract and move onto other things.  Warren on the other hand... it's like the anxiety had a chance to rear its ugly head and now it's ready to feed.

I talked to him some more.  "It's okay to be sad for a moment.  But then we must think of how great it was that you had your teacher the last year before she retired.  Others won't have that opportunity.  And how great for her that she can now take a break and have more time for fun things and STILL plans on substitute teaching..  Let's think of the positive for her and be happy.  Also, you crying about it isn't going to change anything, is it?  So be sad for a moment, and then move on.  I'd chose to focus on the positive things."  More tears, more coughing, and an attempt at making himself throw up.  Awesome.

I may or may  not have gotten a bit loud.  First to distract him and to get him to focus on blowing his nose.  Then because I was annoyed at how a ten year old is incapable of blowing his nose.  So very annoying.  Back to the topic at hand - the end of school - and his crying is renewed.  I explained once more how he needed to solve this for himself.  That he had the tools.  Tools from me, from his school counselor, from his dad - all of which would work, but required him to use them.  And that's where it breaks down.  Every time.

He doesn't want to do it himself.

He wants someone to fix it. 

Specifically, that someone is me.

So now what started as a sadness about the end of school has escalated into an anxiety episode, and has me nothing but frustrated and angry and sad for my son who shouldn't have to feel like this and who needs to step up to the plate and OMG I'm going to lose my ever-loving mind.

When I interviewed for the second part-time jobI have now, they asked me outside of my family, what was my biggest accomplishment?  I scoured my brain for one from a job I had held more than 11 years ago.  Then they asked out of curiousity about my biggest family accomplishment.  My answer?  Managing to keep my high anxiety son alive this long without the two of us hurting each other and surviving each and every anxiety episode - his or mine.

Seriously.

Too honest?  Too bad.

I don't think you get it unless you are crazy like us.  I don't think it's possible.  But here.  Here I am making sure he has the tools he needs to master this.  To manage and control it.  But he won't use them.  He refuses.  And when he looks hopeless and wants to blame someone/something, it's me.  I know it's my job to accept it as the mom.  Fine.  But I still don't like it.  I don't think I ever will.

Wow, this started out in a place completely different than where we ended.  Sorry about that.  Clearly I needed to vent, again.  You people are always held hostage to my rantings.  Sorry about that as well.  Actually, I'm not all that sorry because I feel better.  Thank you.  And happy last day of school!