I don't really want to post tonight. I am tired, it's midnight, I've misplaced something important (actually, a more accurate statement is something important has vanished from the spot where I was keeping it and staring at it and cleaning around it for a month), I'm frustrated by my family's continued ability to just barely make ends meet and I'm just fed-up in general.
It's been an eventful month and a half or so. Jeremy was doing really well in school for a long time. That changed a couple of weeks ago. I started getting calls from his Vice Principal. He started getting more frustrated and short-tempered at home and at school. He had dark circles under his eyes.
I had, for the short-term, solved the problem of him and Bekah coming into our bed to sleep--every night. It had been going on for quite a few months. I had tried everything to remedy it. I started playing the ocean again, gave specific rules about bed and waking times, tried to be more purposeful about spending time with the kids every day. This was all to no avail. They were in bed with us every single night and I thought I was going to lose my mind.
It was Ami, Doug's occupational therapist, who helped me see that it was actually just habit. If I had resolved all the other sensory issues, then it boiled down to a habit. Great, I thought, I will make a reward chart for both of them and get this taken care of.
During the time the chart was being filled with stickers, it was bliss. I was going to bed and waking up without feet, arms, hands, butts and/or torsos blocking any and all access to my king-sized bed. The kids were excited about staying in bed all night. They were excited about the prospect of going to the dollar store (a place I loathe) as a reward.
Fantastic.
Except that after the chart was full, my bed started getting invaded again. Cranky mommy reappeared. I tried to help them understand that mommy needed a break from them. I am their mommy 24/7 but I can't be "on" 24/7. I have to be able to recharge my batteries.
Meanwhile, Jeremy told me last Monday morning that his tummy hurt from eating paper the night before. He typically only eats paper when he's anemic. The psychiatrist told us in December that he wasn't anemic, so I hadn't seen him eat paper or heard from his sister that he was eating paper. Pish, posh, I told him. I would not allow him to stay home from school.
I got a call from the Vice Principal again that day. He had an appointment with his occupational therapist that afternoon. I was exasperated because he had scratched a fellow classmate (they had been playing Minecraft and the classmate was "attacking" him and so Jeremy "defended" himself--he was a cougar at the time--by scratching his friend).
It wasn't until the next morning, though, when I dropped him off at school and caught him about to put a piece of paper in his mouth, that I realized what was happening.
A trip to the doctor confirmed that he was, in fact, anemic. And of course, because he hardly eats red meat (or any kind of grain/legume/green leafy veggie) that helps him produce iron, he has to take an iron supplement. Of course this meant I had to have an immediate increase of compassion and understanding for Jeremy.
The problem was and is that I'm tired. There's a good chance that I've got sleep apnea. There is no way that we can afford for me to get tested or get the equipment. I accept this. I do my best to cope with the fact that I am exhausted most of the time. I try to get to bed earlier, not take so many naps, etc., etc. The bottom line is, I'm fairly sleep-deprived and it's tough for me to have compassion for anyone to whom I've given birth.
Meanwhile, the Earth doesn't stand still for a sleep-deprived momma with an anemic son. I still have a bevy of responsibilities (like keeping track of a memory stick that was sitting in the same place for a month and disappeared) and I'm supposed to be keeping on top of them.
Quite frankly, the house is a pit right now. I am literally the worst housekeeper ever. Really. I vacuumed today for Ami and realized afterwards that the canister that's supposed to catch the stuff wasn't attached correctly and was missing a piece. There is a constant layer of dog hair over everything because my dogs are shedding at rates I've not seen since I adopted them. Almost every single toy is out on the floor over the entire first floor of my house. No matter what I say or do, my kids do not respect their belongings enough to clean them up. (Eventually I get pissed off, start screaming, turn green and clean the toys up myself. It lasts for approximately two minutes, which just pisses me off more.)
I am really struggling to be content with things right now. It has been six years of fighting and clawing just to survive. I'm exhausted. I don't know what to do. I spent the better part of today and yesterday feeling depressed, though I can't put my finger on it or explain it in any good way. I am almost in tears as I write this.
And I'm fighting the urge to a) wake my kids up and demand that they tell me where they put the memory stick or b) spend two hours scouring and cleaning downstairs to try to find it myself.
The only thing stopping me is that I'm dog-tired. (I will admit that I'm going to go look one last time, though.)
No comments:
Post a Comment