Why do my children hate me?
I guess asking this question is kind of absurd, as the answer is axiomatic: because I am their mother. Kind of like after 9/11 when Americans were like "why does the world hate us?," and the axiomatic answer was, "because we're the U.S." Although then, there was at least room to blame George Bush and other historical atrocities committed by our government in the name of democracy. But here, in my case, although I have chronicled many of my shortcomings as a parent, and although all kids come to hate their mother at some point, I am a bit shaken by the fact that my soon-t0-be two year olds hate me, or at least their lives. H-nry is suicidal, while C-rina would rather be an orphan with really bad hair than live with us.
A couple of weeks ago H-nry got into a bottle of Klonopin, a mild benzodiazepine I take to help me get to sleep rather than ruminating all night about the stresses of being an overpopulator. Mother's little helper. J-sh and I had joked many times about giving him 1/4 of a Klonopin to take the edge off of his LF tendencies. But it was no laughing matter when, one morning while we were getting ready for work and school, we found him sitting on the couch eating them like candy. A call to poison control, followed by a rush over to the ER for observation (we had been assured by poison control that he would be okay, even though he may have eaten as many as 7 pills (which were, I might add, in a closed childproof capped bottle, although admittedly in a place where he could reach them through a little crafty maneuvering)). As I took off w/H-nry, S-phie, who had been about to leave for school w/J-sh, was standing in the yard saying, "I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing." Poor girl. Anyway, at the ER, I was freaked out, although not panicked, but soon my worries about what ill effects the drugs might have on him were outweighed by just trying to physically manage him during our stay there. He was, and I believe it was officially although I didn't ask, the worst patient ever. Even for a toddler. He was so irate about the IV and the little pulse monitor on his toe and the hospital ID band around his ankle and the electrodes on his chest, which he ripped off, that he was beside himself. I felt so bad for him b/c I knew he couldn't understand, and he was obviously under the influence, and having a bad trip. I figured, as did the docs, that he would get really sleepy, but instead he just got really really really agitated and pissed off - as in rageful - and nothing would calm him down, except a popsicle, and that only worked for a few minutes. We were there for 5 hours. He screamed as loud as he could for about 3.5 of those hours - conservative estimate. The staff there could not believe his stamina and remarked on it often, with a mix of pity, annoyance, amazement and even admiration. He was somewhat calmer after he ripped the IV out, but he quickly just redirected his rage to the apparently offensive ID bracelet and the not-so-innocuous-as-it-might-appear pulse monitor on his toe. He also just wanted to get off the gurney and walk around and open all of the drawers in the ER room, but he was too drunk to walk. I really felt so bad for him, because even though I thought perhaps he was being a bit unreasonable, I could see that he was having a bad trip and that he didn't understand what was happening to him, on many levels, and I knew it was my fault for letting him get to the pills. The doctor came by after few hours and said that he hoped I did not think he had been ignoring us, that all he was really looking for was for H-nry to remain conscious and not have depressed respiration or heart rate, and that because he could hear the screaming from wherever he was on the floor, he knew H-nry was fine. Basically, they had him drink charcoal to help absorb the drugs, which he didn't really mind drinking, as apparently it is sweet, and then they just monitored his pulse, etc. So no horrible intervention other than the initial IV, and of course the invasive ID bracelet and pulse monitor. When we got home the poor guy was so wasted he could not walk straight. It was horrible trying to make sure he didn't get hurt and he continued to be mad as hell and was awake until 2:30 a.m. that night, screaming, except when he would ride around on his riding toys. So, he is a habitual drunk driver and a mean drunk - good to know for the future. In any case, it did not occur to me that he was trying to hurt himself when he OD'd, until a few days later. He had recovered w/in about 48 hours and they claim there will be no lasting ill effects of any sort. Okay. So a few days later, he was out in the yard w/J-sh and came up to him and was speaking like he had a wad of gum in his mouth, only to reveal he had a large pebble in his mouth - perfect size to get stuck in his windpipe. Then, that same night, I was cleaning S-phie's room and H-nry was on her bed. I had a peripheral eye on him, just to make sure he didn't start jumping, but wasn't really paying attention to him. When I turned around, he was trying to climb into a plastic clothes storage bag, with his head fully in the bag and his rump in the air. I gasped, "H-nry!!!" and he just smiled at me through the clear plastic. I know life is probably not easy for a guy with such intense emotions, but it was a rude wake up call to find out that he is outright suicidal. And we don't know what to do - suicide watch requires really close supervision, and when you've got 3 kids, you can't play man-t0-man defense, zone is your only option, so it's tricky.
C-rina loves Annie the Orphan. She loves the horrible movie. She begs for it day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute. "Annie!" "I want Annie!" She's been known to shout it out in all times and places. I mean, it is cute when C-rina sings "amorrow, amorrow, I love ya, amorrow," but it's not a net gain - it's not worth having to watch Annie, w/her bad hair, and the offensive racial stereotypes, and the overly-drunk Carol Burnett. For a while, C-rina just loved Annie, but then she started claiming to be Annie. When you show C-rina a picture of herself, she points to herself and exclaims, "Annie!" Ditto when she sees her reflection in the mirror. Recently, H-nry was, as usual, trying to steal her food, and she said, "Annie's pretzels!!!!" Hopefully, C-rina is aspiring to at least be the post-orphanage Annie, living in luxury w/Daddy Warbucks and his hot secretary, and not the hard-knock-life Annie, b/c if it is worse to live here than to live the hard-knock life, we're really striking out at parenting.
S-phie hasn't lately expressed an explicit desire to die or live elsewhere, although perhaps her three-year hunger strike could be interpreted as the former, and her comments to my mother that "my house is trashed" and her recent report to me that "mama, I had a dream our house was clean," could also be interpreted to indicate the latter.
What to do?
A couple of weeks ago H-nry got into a bottle of Klonopin, a mild benzodiazepine I take to help me get to sleep rather than ruminating all night about the stresses of being an overpopulator. Mother's little helper. J-sh and I had joked many times about giving him 1/4 of a Klonopin to take the edge off of his LF tendencies. But it was no laughing matter when, one morning while we were getting ready for work and school, we found him sitting on the couch eating them like candy. A call to poison control, followed by a rush over to the ER for observation (we had been assured by poison control that he would be okay, even though he may have eaten as many as 7 pills (which were, I might add, in a closed childproof capped bottle, although admittedly in a place where he could reach them through a little crafty maneuvering)). As I took off w/H-nry, S-phie, who had been about to leave for school w/J-sh, was standing in the yard saying, "I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing." Poor girl. Anyway, at the ER, I was freaked out, although not panicked, but soon my worries about what ill effects the drugs might have on him were outweighed by just trying to physically manage him during our stay there. He was, and I believe it was officially although I didn't ask, the worst patient ever. Even for a toddler. He was so irate about the IV and the little pulse monitor on his toe and the hospital ID band around his ankle and the electrodes on his chest, which he ripped off, that he was beside himself. I felt so bad for him b/c I knew he couldn't understand, and he was obviously under the influence, and having a bad trip. I figured, as did the docs, that he would get really sleepy, but instead he just got really really really agitated and pissed off - as in rageful - and nothing would calm him down, except a popsicle, and that only worked for a few minutes. We were there for 5 hours. He screamed as loud as he could for about 3.5 of those hours - conservative estimate. The staff there could not believe his stamina and remarked on it often, with a mix of pity, annoyance, amazement and even admiration. He was somewhat calmer after he ripped the IV out, but he quickly just redirected his rage to the apparently offensive ID bracelet and the not-so-innocuous-as-it-might-appear pulse monitor on his toe. He also just wanted to get off the gurney and walk around and open all of the drawers in the ER room, but he was too drunk to walk. I really felt so bad for him, because even though I thought perhaps he was being a bit unreasonable, I could see that he was having a bad trip and that he didn't understand what was happening to him, on many levels, and I knew it was my fault for letting him get to the pills. The doctor came by after few hours and said that he hoped I did not think he had been ignoring us, that all he was really looking for was for H-nry to remain conscious and not have depressed respiration or heart rate, and that because he could hear the screaming from wherever he was on the floor, he knew H-nry was fine. Basically, they had him drink charcoal to help absorb the drugs, which he didn't really mind drinking, as apparently it is sweet, and then they just monitored his pulse, etc. So no horrible intervention other than the initial IV, and of course the invasive ID bracelet and pulse monitor. When we got home the poor guy was so wasted he could not walk straight. It was horrible trying to make sure he didn't get hurt and he continued to be mad as hell and was awake until 2:30 a.m. that night, screaming, except when he would ride around on his riding toys. So, he is a habitual drunk driver and a mean drunk - good to know for the future. In any case, it did not occur to me that he was trying to hurt himself when he OD'd, until a few days later. He had recovered w/in about 48 hours and they claim there will be no lasting ill effects of any sort. Okay. So a few days later, he was out in the yard w/J-sh and came up to him and was speaking like he had a wad of gum in his mouth, only to reveal he had a large pebble in his mouth - perfect size to get stuck in his windpipe. Then, that same night, I was cleaning S-phie's room and H-nry was on her bed. I had a peripheral eye on him, just to make sure he didn't start jumping, but wasn't really paying attention to him. When I turned around, he was trying to climb into a plastic clothes storage bag, with his head fully in the bag and his rump in the air. I gasped, "H-nry!!!" and he just smiled at me through the clear plastic. I know life is probably not easy for a guy with such intense emotions, but it was a rude wake up call to find out that he is outright suicidal. And we don't know what to do - suicide watch requires really close supervision, and when you've got 3 kids, you can't play man-t0-man defense, zone is your only option, so it's tricky.
C-rina loves Annie the Orphan. She loves the horrible movie. She begs for it day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute. "Annie!" "I want Annie!" She's been known to shout it out in all times and places. I mean, it is cute when C-rina sings "amorrow, amorrow, I love ya, amorrow," but it's not a net gain - it's not worth having to watch Annie, w/her bad hair, and the offensive racial stereotypes, and the overly-drunk Carol Burnett. For a while, C-rina just loved Annie, but then she started claiming to be Annie. When you show C-rina a picture of herself, she points to herself and exclaims, "Annie!" Ditto when she sees her reflection in the mirror. Recently, H-nry was, as usual, trying to steal her food, and she said, "Annie's pretzels!!!!" Hopefully, C-rina is aspiring to at least be the post-orphanage Annie, living in luxury w/Daddy Warbucks and his hot secretary, and not the hard-knock-life Annie, b/c if it is worse to live here than to live the hard-knock life, we're really striking out at parenting.
S-phie hasn't lately expressed an explicit desire to die or live elsewhere, although perhaps her three-year hunger strike could be interpreted as the former, and her comments to my mother that "my house is trashed" and her recent report to me that "mama, I had a dream our house was clean," could also be interpreted to indicate the latter.
What to do?
posted by mama at 5:12 PM
4 Comments:
You are absolutely hilarious. Good to see a new post, and glad Henry and the girls are doing fine (now).
I cannot deal with how fucking funny you are, woman! I haven't laughed that loud in months! HAW HAW HAW!
My goodness! I thought I had been the only one with a kid like H-nry! Mine was Ian, now 13 years old. Everything you said about your son was a description of my life with "Stink McGee" as I used to call him.
At times I felt like I could not do another day of the action packed adventures. I prayed a lot... "God please help me!" "Dear Lord what are you thinking!" Every year I would say, "next year he will be older and it will get better". It was a challenge, but if I could ignore peoples comments(negative ones) and concentrate on loving this little spitfire along with tons of positive reinforcement he would turnout OK. He did and I survived along with father, older brother, and his younger twin sisters. I felt very alone at times. Grandparents were fearful of accidents that "could happen", his dad was overwhelmed and wanted me to handle everything with him b/c I did it better, his sibs would get tired of him. I had strangers tell me that it was my fault and I should discipline him better. Needless to say he is still a bit active but thank goodness for sports! He is an amazing surfer since the age of five, got bored and skated with a few pro skaters on street ramps and parks, I drove him there and hung out of course. Now, he's into drama...acting at our junior theater. He is a great kid!!! Hang in there... It's hard but worth it. Oh, the sleeping... I don't remember when tht got better but one night he had fallen asleep by 9pm when he was 5 years, when the intense sport workouts started. Before that he would be up emptying our frig or awalling through our kitchen window to go to the mini market for candy.
I know you posted your story in May but I don't think things have changed that dramatically. Good luck and hang in there!
Hannah, I love ya!
As a mother of 6 kids....I hear ya sister...I hear ya!
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