Tag Archives: parenting

In the Ordinary

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I believe that we must look for the amazing within the ordinary. Seek in the low, humble places. It finds us there. I think this can be especially true for parents of children with unique needs.

Our son is autistic. One of the tenants of an autistic personality can be the inability to interpret other’s emotions, words, body language, etc. This can lead to moments of embarrassment and misunderstanding, but most importantly, it makes navigating social circles exceptionally difficult for the child. This has been true with our son. In the midst of wading through social interactions that appear immediately obvious to me, he has posed questions countless times, “Mom, was that rude? Mom, is that funny? Mom, is that mean? Mom, are you mad?” Over time, with instruction, reinforcement, social stories, pictures and lots and lots of “get yer sleeves rolled up we’re goin’ out in the big ole world to practice this,” he has grown to understand more and more. Social cues, nuances, inuendo may not come instinctively for him, but my hope is that through all of this effort, eventually these things will become second nature. This effort can be abundantly exhausting, but I will never, never, ever give up. You see, I’m learning too, learning to see the treasures.

It had been the proverbial long day of a parent. The tired, spent, frustrated, doubting, sometimes guilt-ridden, I can’t take another minute, kind of day. And there I was. Sitting in the ordinary, inhaling the long awaited quiet. From the shadows I heard his feet. Shuffling, tipsy, drunk with slumber. He came up behind me and reached for my arm. Just as I was to drop my head, his sweet words filled my heart and soul. “Mommy, I was trying so hard to go to sleep and I really was trying, but I just wanted to say that I love you.” He leaned in hard and wrapped his arms around my neck, like Summer nectar, thick and lingering. He’s changed me. I don’t fight it anymore. I await the ordinary and anticipate the magnificence of my Lord who loves me in these low, humble places. I find Him there.

I Don’t Got This…

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It’s no secret this parenting thing is, at times, akin to a tight rope act across Manhattan. Occasionally this parenting thing is going so swimmingly that I think I could run across a tight rope over Manhattan. But, mostly, it’s just a steady effort in juggling, balancing and cleaning up. And crow, I eat a lot of it.

One of the areas I struggle and fail at the most as a mom is being way too quick to accuse, blame and condemn my kids only to learn it was a misunderstanding or worse, they did nothing wrong at all. While these occurrences get fewer as I get wiser, more schooled, I wonder if I will ever master the keen ability to not jump to conclusions.

Yesterday evening we took S to her first soccer practice. The practice is held at a school and about four other teams hold practice at the same time. Adjacent to the large field is the school playground. We’re familiar with this school as S had her practices here last year as well.

Last year I decided to really throw caution to the wind and loosen, not cut, just loosen the apron strings with L and allowed him to go to the adjacent playground and play…with a friend. I would check on him no more than every 5 seconds fully prepared to thwart danger should it arise. I felt so proud of myself for really giving him this pseudo freedom to play with friends several yards away from my person! Look at me not being a helicopter parent!!!

Fast forward to yesterday evening. Apparently I had matured significantly in my views on “letting go” in a years’ time because when we arrived at the school, L asked if he could go to the playground…alone. I said “yes!” So, off he went, alone, to the adjacent playground and I was only 60 seconds behind him in pursuit. Totally hands-off parenting here! As I followed L, at a very considerable distance, he hopped onto the play structure and immediately made friends with three other kids. I stood there, easily 5 yards away, nothing at all like a helicopter parent. In fact, if something bad were to happen and the news crews showed up, they’d have nothing on me! I would not make headlines for being a bad parent, no chance.

As I stood not too closely, a mother arrived with four energetic boys. She was on her phone and seemed in a bit of a puzzle. Her boys quickly joined the others in going down the slide while their mother talked out, “Oh geez, your practice was cancelled, they sent an email at 1:30 I just now got it…we drove all the way here…” The boys had no concern for this development and clamored down the slide on top of each other. As they reached the bottom one boy yelled at his brother, “BUTT WIPE!” Now, I did giggle, but I didn’t let them see me giggle.

I could see S’s practice starting in the adjacent field, so I told L I was going to walk over and sit on the grass to watch her. I said, “check in with me in a bit ok?”

So there I was, watching S play soccer while my 8 ½ year old son played independently with his new found friends, and it totally doesn’t count that I could hear and see them…trust me, he was soooo on his own.

As practice continued, within 10 minutes I hear, “Hey mom!” I look up and there’s my boy. “Just checking in.” Joy flooded my heart to see that he had survived and not been snatched up by a crazy child abductor right in front of me. “Can I go play more?” “Sure, check in again, ok?”

Practice carried on and L checked in a few times. C was on his way to catch the last bit of practice. As the girls were winding down drills, I could hear a small group coming from the playground toward me. I looked up and it was the frazzled mom with the BUTT WIPE! Brothers. I could hear her chatting louder than need be since we were all within ear shot, “NO, we’re leaving the playground because that kid is being really obnoxious!” I look over and she’s walking. toward. me. Right up to ME! For all to hear, in a voice far louder than required, she began her public protest, “Um, do you have a little boy in a grey t-shirt and shorts?” I reply, “Yes, I do.” She continues, “Yeah, um, he is being reeeally mean to the other kids… well, he’s being really rude, well, rude to me.” The humiliation and mortification shot me into the air like a breaching whale, “Oh my gosh! I’m so very sorry!!” I began my march to my son in the grey t-shirt to give him the business for being so “mean” and “rude!” She wasn’t done, “Ya know, if my kids were being rude I would want to know, so…”

With every parent’s eyes on me, I kept walking, no time for questions, details or evidence…I have a boy to berate! “Sorry!” She offered insincerely as I hustled away. Muttering under my breath, “I am not that parent, I am not that parent…I try so hard…I finally let him play alone and this is what he does!?”

I arrived on the adjacent playground that is a whopping ten yards away and I am hot! Man, am, I gonna give it to him! I fully expected to arrive on the blacktop to find my “mean” son “rudely” bossing the other children into submission. Only I didn’t. There he was, with two other kiddos, giggling and jumping on the giant US map painted on the pavement. “Here’s my state!” he cheered as they ran all over the country. Even so, my eyes deceived me, clearly he had done something very wrong. After all, it was an adult, another parent, a certified mother who delivered the news of my son’s “obnoxious, mean and rude” behavior.

“Hi mom!” L giggled as he saw me approach. Announcing his entire name I snipped, “you come over here right now!” The other two previously jubilant kids looked at me shocked and ran away…perhaps because I was “mean” and “rude.” L came over with a look of utter confusion on his face, but I didn’t bother to read the signs, I had a rebuke to deliver, I was determined to swiftly eradicate every ounce of “mean and “rude” from his body! “Are you being mean to the other kids?” His eyes grew wide and his face white, he looked me dead in the eye and said, “What? No!” He can’t fool me, I thought. “L, don’t lie to me, are you being mean and rude to others?” His face was covered in a daze, “mom, no, we’re having fun…” I lobbed this clincher, “Then why would another mom come over to me and ask if I had a son in a grey t-shirt who was being really rude!?” Boom! Wiggle out of that, you heathen! Without hesitation he said, “Cuz she’s an idiot!?” See, I knew it! There it is folks a big, fat, wad of rude right there in my face!

Full name again, “You do not speak to an adult like that! Were you rude to her? Were you bossy!?” His little shoulders slumped. He buried his face in his play stained hands and began to sob. He was scared, he was confused and he was remorseful for something he hadn’t entirely done. Even so, I didn’t believe him. I marched him to the car propelled by humiliation and pride fully convinced I would mine the real horrid story right out of him! I would reveal the truth yet! Then, I closed the deal with this gem of grace, love and compassion, “Don’t even open your mouth. Don’t say another word!”

In the car I told him I wanted the full story from beginning to end. With tears rolling down his face he said, “I promise you I was not rude or mean to any of the kids! That lady told us to stop screaming on the slide and I was confused because everyone was screaming and she came over to me and so I told her I didn’t have to listen to her because I didn’t know her…I didn’t have to talk to her… she wasn’t someone I knew or a police officer like you said!” My heart began to sink, low, low, low. The “truth” I was convinced I knew, began to fall apart. He continued, “She said, ‘you are a brat and I’m going to find your parents right now!’ and I told her she wouldn’t find my parents and I didn’t have to talk to her because I didn’t know her.”

Tears welled in my eyes…I felt like a complete, hopeless, piece of rotten you know what. That I would care so much about what the other parents thought of me and my “rude, mean” kid, that I would allow my pride to grow so unmanageable, I completely missed the truth! My son, my Autistic son, who takes so many lessons very, very literally was simply repeating, in his own words, what I myself had instructed him to do. “Don’t talk to strangers, if a stranger approaches you and you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to say a word, just find an adult you know.” Those words, that lesson, the one we have had a thousand times…the one he just took so very literally, causing this tremendous misunderstanding.

“L, honey, you simply cannot talk back to any adult like that. Though I understand why you said it, she thought it was very rude. It was disrespectful to talk back to her. Whenever there is a parent or teacher on the playground and they tell you to stop screaming you do so, ok?”

Barely able to catch his breath, “I’m… so… sorry…. mom. I shouldn’t have said that… to her! God, why did you make me this way? I hate this, I’m not normal, I’m not! Why do I say things I don’t mean to say!?”

C arrived to find us both bawling in the swagger wagon. I, the epitome of parenting excellence, leveled to a piece of dog excrement. My son, the loving, funny, friend to everyone kid, leveled to an insecure mess who questioned his very existence. Fan-fricken-tastic!

C went to retrieve S from practice and I drove home with L. I cried the entire way. I felt the weight of shame, again, and though a familiar friend, it suffocated and choked and burned every inside corner. I was b.r.o.k.e.n.

Once home, L went to his room and I ran to my closet, shut the door and fell to the floor in hysterical sobs. For the woman who hates drama, it was exceedingly dramatic. I cried out, “Lord, I have completely ruined this again, this mother bit, I can’t do it, I don’t got it!!!”

As I prayed, I felt His Spirit wash over me and heard a whisper in a still. small. voice. “But, she’s the mom of the BUTT WIPE! Brothers. She’s the frazzled mom who was late to a soccer practice that had been cancelled four hours prior. She don’t got this either.”

Now, is it possible there is more to the story? Of course. Was what L said to her ok? No, and he was given a very clear lesson on why, again. Was what he said disrespectful? Yes, and he was given a very clear lesson on why, again. Do I condone or defend my kids being “rude,” “mean,” or disrespectful? Absolutely not and L will apologize to her personally when we see her again. Does L always understand what “rude,” “mean,” and “disrespectful” look like? Not even close. Are other people going to see this and know why? Nope. Do people care that undesirable behavior in a child is not always the result of bad parenting, doesn’t always mean a child is a “brat”? Sadly, they don’t. And though I care about that very much, I need not care about that so much. It bothers me greatly, but I can’t change it, it’s too big and heavy and I can’t fix it. I just can’t.

I’ve come to learn a bit about this thing called “grace.” Though foreign to me in sooo many ways, Christ is showing it to me over and over and over (again). It’s this “grace” that I need so desperately when I blow it as a mom, a wife, a person. It’s this “grace” I need to get better at, a lot better. It’s this “grace” that I so freely give all the other children, even the BUTT WIPE! Brothers, but fail so often to give my own. It’s this “grace” that I’m going to give the frazzled, not-minding-her-own-business mom to whom I’d like to give a piece of my mind, because I am carnal and I am proud and I am broken and I’m just. like. her. It’s this “grace.” Just, grace.

There came a little knock on my closet door. L stood on the other side with eyes swollen tight from tears. “Mom, I’m so sorry, you don’t have to accept my apology…” I stopped him quick, “L, my sweet boy, I absolutely accept your apology and I forgive you completely and I love you so, so big!” He melted into me, and I held him for a long, long spell.

And so it is, a perfectly imperfect portrait of parenting imperfection. Doubled up, rung out, hung to dry. When I woke today, there it was, still. But, I’m covered by the mercy of the One who created me, the One who created L and it is this mercy, this grace, which gives me just enough to hopefully, be merciful too. An imperfectly, merciful, grace-giver.

No Offense…

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I was deep in sweet, sweet slumber, living a life divine. (I assume C was too as his buzz saw melody wove through my dream.) Then it happened. Just as Ragnar Lothbrok took the broom from my hand and began to clean my kitchen floor, I was jolted by our sons commanding voice. Without a hint of restraint or pre-dawn volume control, he delivered a public health address with the enthusiasm of an auctioneer on fire. “Dad, Mom!! I just saw this commercial.This guy is amazing.It’s a workout-T25.He gets you in good shape and you lose lots of weight.” C stirs with a grumble. I open my eyes and bid adeu to Ragnar. Silence. As we lie motionless, in desperate hope of L’s departure and a few more minutes of shut-eye, he tosses out this lovely zinger, “This is where the no offense part comes in…”

Happy Birthday Bubby

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So our little man is 8 today. Was going through old photos last night after he went to bed. I was overcome. Look at us, this little family, carving out our path. When S was born, cliché as it may be, I changed. A lot. More change than I had bargained for. Suddenly I saw the entire world so differently. I saw me differently. Reluctantly, I began to embrace the truth. None of this, not one bit, was about me. Sure enough, I would become someone new. Then when L was born, I understood why. God was preparing me for an incredible journey. L had a rough start from the moment he was born. I mean the very moment he was born and the doctor whisked his silent, grey little body to the ER nurses to be resuscitated. Then and there I knew. We had just been given the seemingly insurmountable task of defending our son from a condition whose name we had yet to know.

We never stopped fighting for answers. And it was, at times, a real fight. I’m talking, boots on, gloves off, I know I’m gonna be called a “b*tch” kind of fight. It meant standing firm in my gut instinct and rejecting the diagnoses of more than one prestigious doctor. It meant standing up to those who lacked compassion and were convinced we were crap parents and just had a “problem child.” It meant deflecting the ignorant judgments we received as parents, many of which came from tenured doctors and educators, folks who “should” have known better. It was an extremely lonely start to our journey, very isolating and at times desperately painful. Yet, by the grace of God and the unimaginable strength of my husband, we followed the golden thread. We didn’t stop. Because I knew in my heart. I just knew in my heart this force we were reckoning with had a name and, even if through mountains and fire, we would find it.

Seven years. After seven, tear-filled, end of our rope, hard fought, sleepless night, numerous incorrect diagnoses years, my instinct was confirmed. Autism. L is autistic. NOT Oppositional Defiant Disorder, NOT Bipolar, NOT Naughty Little Boy Syndrome. Autism. Autism Spectrum Disorder, ASD. On this spectrum, L falls on the High Functioning Autism portion. Or, Asperger’s Syndrome. (Which the DSM V no longer recognizes and I vehemently disagree, but that’s another post for another time.) Within a month he was also diagnosed with a tic disorder. Tics, like Tourette’s Syndrome Tics? Maybe… they don’t diagnose Tourette’s until a child has had symptoms without ceasing for over a year. We’re at the eleven month mark, still ticking away…we shall see.

(An aside: Frankly, I don’t care what we call these “conditions” my primary job is to ensure we are accurate in our diagnoses so that our son gets the best, most appropriate and effective treatment and education possible. I think we’re there now, for now. As most with ASD kiddos know, their needs ebb and flow and change with time. Which can be tricky in trying to stay on the same page as educators, therapists, doctors, etc. BUT, if the diagnoses is correct, you will at least be reading the same book. If you’re in a place currently where you don’t feel you’re on the same page, or reading from the same book as doctors, teachers, therapists, etc., put that puppy back on the shelf and keep searching!)

Had someone told me eight years ago I would have a son with Autism and tics, in my then tiny little mind, I would have crumbled. Out of fear and ignorance, I’d have caved in. But here we are, eight years in and I wouldn’t change a damn thing. We’ve finally come up for air. We’ve crossed this battle line to find God’s blessings are richer than could have ever been imagined. How He makes it ALL work together for good, I can’t know. We’re in a groove, in the zone. We’re rockin’ these quirks, we’re tickin’ all over town and we’re making it count!

These kinds of battles make a person who they are meant to be. My heart has broken a thousand times, only to grow bigger in order to accommodate the increasing love I have for these exceptional children with special needs. In our house we call them “differences” and we’ve all got ‘em. I’m of the humble mind that our differences, regardless of origin, don’t require special treatment and labels as much as they require compassion, grace and empathy. I’m not so naïve as to think everyone is going to understand my son, or have the willingness to try. Heck, the reality is some people don’t care at all and we’re raising him accordingly. Fair enough. But, that doesn’t change my marching orders. I’m determined the fire we’ve walked through won’t be for naught. In our family, the choice is now clear. We can cower in a corner beneath this hand we’ve been dealt, hide in false shame and useless secrecy, OR, we can get up, keep on keepin’ on and go full kimono! Of course I came to this conclusion after cowering in a corner, hiding in false shame and useless secrecy.

If, in allowing others to see a glimpse into our life with Autism and Tics, we can help peel away the shroud of misinformation and foster the conversation that needs to happen in defense of these kiddos, then we’re in. We’re all in! I know this is not the best decision for all families living with ASD, how much one shares about their own experience with ASD is a very personal decision and to be respected without question. For our family, my earnest hope is that we can come within a shadows reach of emulating the compassion, grace and empathy that I see in these exceptional children. I hope we make it contagious! I hope we can spread the truth that not every tantrum you may see in the grocery store is a “spoiled child.” Not every melt down you witness is an “unruly brat.” Not every outburst you observe is a result of “bad parenting” or a “behavior problem.” I used to think so narrowly. Not anymore. My ignorance has been painfully replaced with compassion. And, for those who can’t make that switch, or are unwilling to understand, then perhaps we can all just respectfully agree their opinion of me or my child isn’t going to rank high on my expansive list of priorities.

I don’t pretend for a second to have all the answers, or any answers. I just know not everyone with an ASD is like Rain Man. He, I believe, is the exception. What I do know is when I meet a child with Autism, I’ve met one child with Autism. Each of them different from the rest, with their own unique place on this vast spectrum. Each with their own means of navigating through. I know that for every child, every adult, every family touched by Autism, there are as many ways to navigate through. I want to be teachable to all of them, all of these brilliant, ingenious, fearless ways of walking this road.

Funny, I was so eager to teach my children all about life in this big ole world. Little did I know, they would end up teaching me. I’m not who I was. By God’s grace and a healthy dose of humility, I am not who I was. I’m beholden for every single messy bit of it!

Good Fences…

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I’ve been thinking and researching a lot about boundaries over the past year, especially as they pertain to family. Some reflections on my findings…in all honesty, it’s kind of a letter to myself.

A boundary is a definitive place you establish to show where your responsibility ends and the other person’s begins. Healthy boundaries prevent you from doing for others what they should do for themselves. You can’t complain about someone crossing that line if you fail to establish it. Love and boundaries are parallels, not opposites. Setting boundaries is not giving up on someone, it is not turning your back. Boundaries are not a lack of forgiveness. Boundaries are the healthiest action we can take to ensure pain and hurt end and the opportunity for a new, healthy relationship has a chance to grow from forgiveness. Setting boundaries is not a rigid act carried out in anger or haste just because someone you love has made a few mistakes. We all make mistakes and love, grace and forgiveness should always be the first step when someone we love has done wrong. That said, if the one you love continues these “mistakes” to the point where they become chronic behaviors that cause you pain and take advantage of your love, grace and forgiveness, it’s time to re-evaluate the health of the relationship. Boundaries communicate to the one we love, “Your choices and behaviors continue to hurt me and I don’t accept it any longer. I love you, but I love me too.” Boundaries protect you both.

Perhaps you’ve heard the saying, “You can’t force a person to respect you, but you can refuse to be disrespected.” Or this one, “A lack of boundaries invites a lack of respect.” How true is that!? I firmly believe that the degree to which we are respected has to do with two things, how we treat and respect others and the treatment we allow from others. One of my favorite little nuggets of wisdom from Maya Angelou, “When other people show you who they are, believe them!” When someone you love shows you who they really are by the unhealthy behavior they continue to choose, don’t ignore it, in doing so you are essentially giving them your blessing! People only treat you one way, the way you allow them.

Though difficult, establishing boundaries is not goodbye, boundaries are not quitting, boundaries are essential markers in relationships by which we say, “This is where I allow love, trust, respect, hope and reciprocation in my life. Abuse, lies, betrayal, active addiction, excuses, etc., remain outside.” It is perfectly acceptable to establish boundaries while maintaining an active hope that the relationship can begin anew at some point in the future. I like how the author explains it in the book Beyond Boundaries. This “new relationship” has the best chance of developing if the one you love confesses his/her wrong, takes ownership of their mistakes, shows genuine remorse and changed behavior long-term. “The degree to which these things are evident – or absent – is the degree to which you can feel safe about trusting this individual again.” – Townsend

If establishing boundaries prompts the person to walk away, let them go. Don’t chase unhealthy people. Remember, you can’t force someone to respect you. It is better to know where you stand, and stand in health and safety, than to continue in a relationship where the other person will not participate unless they are allowed to walk all over you. Don’t ever take a fence down until your loved one knows why it was put up, doing so simply allows what is wrong to continue. Taking a boundary down prematurely is giving permission to the other individual to continue as they were and certain destruction will follow.

Lastly, in spite of all the hurt you may have experienced and even continue to feel after boundaries are erected, always, always, always walk in love, grace, humility and compassion. Don’t trade pain for pain, hurt for hurt, insult for insult. If this is a struggle for you, remember, sometimes silence is the loudest message.

Out to Sea

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It’s a rite of passage for many children, the loss of a golden finned friend. Last night was our turn as we bid adieu to Goldie and Abraham, who had succumb to the perils of tank life.  Daddy scooped them up and we gathered around the throne.  He tossed them in and gave a chipper, “All drains lead to the ocean!”  He looked at me giggling and I nodded “no,” the smile fell from his face.  L said, “I’d like to say a few words.”  We waited.  “I can’t do it!” he cried.  S stepped up, “I’ll speak. Goldie, you were a good fish.  We will miss you terribly. (Apparently Abraham failed to make an impression on her, but I digress). You are free now, no longer in pain. So Goldie, go to the heaven’s to be with the other angels…and great Grandpa.”  I glance over at C, he’s hunched over and head bowed, his shoulders shaking.  Is he losing it?  Gonna hurl?  Get a grip man, they’re 19 cents! No, he’s straining to control his unbridled laughter!  L literally falls into my arms bawling, “GOLDIEEEEE!” Daddy gives the flush and I imagine a tiny floral wreath whirling down to the ocean.  I admit I was ill prepared for the dramatic response to the loss of our little school.  I shuffle the kids out so as not to be traumatized by daddy’s hysterics. I look over at C and say, “You need to give them a hug, they’re taking this hard.”  “I’m trying!!” He snorts.  Man, this parenting thing, we’re knocking it out of the park!

Summer Slump

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At times I imagine I’m capable of being all cavalier and professing I have no shame in humbly admitting my failings as a parent. Alas, this would make me a liar, liar pants on fire.  The reality is, I’ve never been so afraid of failing at anything in my life as I am with this gig, being a mom. I lose sleep. Lots of sleep. I have whiskey in the pantry and my Bible by the bed. I cannot. mess. this. up. And yet, I do. Daily. Now you know.

While there’s not been bloodshed, say for the droplets from my own eyes that I’ve just poked out of my head, it has reached a fever pitch here at the Cole House. If whining and nit-picking were an Olympic sport, we’d take gold. Solid 24K. It’s maddening. No, no, that’s not accurate. It makes me apoplectic. (Grab your Webster’s.  No here, let me help: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/apoplectic). I can handle arguing, I can handle yelling, I can even handle the occasional brawl.  But the acutely self-absorbed mentality that has afflicted my children of late, I cannot do. And why, you ask, have they been recently plagued with this solipsism? (Here ya go: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/solipsistic) Because I messed up, that’s why.  Yep, it was me who unwittingly invited this horror into our home.

It happened last week.  I was chatting with a friend.  I let loose and boasted with reckless abandon! “Well, we’ve just had a really great Summer so far, the kids are getting along swimmingly!” At the time, thunderous laughter erupted in the heaven’s, I thought it was my children frolicking upstairs. But, no, it was fate peeing its pants at my brazen display of ignorance.  And so, here we are.  The tables have turned flipped violently. I don’t even know my children anymore.  Who are these people in my house!??  Selfish! Mean! Demanding! Rude! I won’t have it! You don’t want to share your Legos? FINE!  Then yer gonna have to shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine cuz I don’t ever want to see them AGAIN! (No, no, I would never say that. Not within earshot of the children anyway.) Your hotdog is cold? Ooopsy, sorry mama failed to hit reheat on the micro over and over while you enjoyed Minecraft! EAT. YOUR. DOG!

And so, I confess the error of my ways. I eat my humble pie with a whiskey chaser. When my kids return to normal, and they will, I vow to NEVER again boast at good behavior.  I will keep it secret.  I will build a mote around the sanctity that is a quiet household.  I will sit by the window with my cup of tea and relish privately in the peace.  And when my neighbors drive by and see me smiling with my Earl Grey, I will scream wildly and duck to the floor!  Because never again will I invite this curse into my home!

Chocolate Soup

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It’s a rare occasion we visit McD’s these days.  Trying diligently to permanently adopt that healthy lifestyle. But, we stopped by today, as a lunch treat, after a morning of shopping for back to school.  I pulled up, ordered our usual “healthiest of the choices” with two small vanilla shakes to bolster my chances in running for Mother of the Year.  When I got to the window and paid, the gal said, “Wow, you knew just what you wanted, I love customers like you.”  “Why thank you,” I thought, my type A ego sufficiently stroked.

Then I arrived at the pick-up window.  No one was there. I noticed two small chocolate shakes melting at the window. They were very drippy and soupy.  I thought, “Poor person who ordered those!” Still no helper. I glanced in the rear view and noticed a lengthy line had formed behind me.  My Type A personality felt a tinge of panic at the thought I caused this “special order” back up with my “hold this and hold that.” 5 minutes.  I know it’s only 5 minutes, but come on, in the drive thru 5 minutes is like too short a swimsuit on a too long a ride home from the beach. You know I’m right. Then she arrived…7 minutes.  She opens the window and proceeds to hand me the chocolate soup.  I say, “Oh, we ordered vanilla.”  She continues to extend the shakes and says, “I know. They’re supposed to be vanilla they just look like that.”  She just held the chocolate soup out the window for me to take.  I just stared at her.  She snipes, “Ok, I guess I’ll fix it.”  “That would be swell,” I say. 

The line behind me is now up to Bellingham. My eye is twitching. Her hair color is irrelevant but when she came back to the window I couldn’t help but notice the fluorescent pink bands on her braces. Sans shake she delivers a doozy, “Uh, ya, our vanilla shakes are just like that.” Stares at me.  I say, “Your vanilla shakes are like chocolate soup?”  She grimaces, “Noooo, our vanilla shakes are a little, like, runny.”  Well hon, I’m a little, like, Charlize Theron and a lot, like, Dog the Bounty Hunter… I’m not here to cause trouble, I just want what’s right. So if you’ll kindly hand over my non-chocolate vanilla soup I’ll be on my way. She’s still staring. She brazenly asks, “Um, soooo, do you still want ‘em?” I’ve never wanted vanilla soup so badly in my entire life. “Yes dear, please. But, explaining to Mr. AC Delco behind me why his lunch hour has dwindled to zero is on you and your ineptitude.”

My 9 year old wrapped it up nicely as we drove away, “I think we all understand now why they have a help wanted sign in the window!”