The trying times of Landen Allbritton (and other updates)

The boys are spending the summer in a hodge podge schedule of YMCA summer camp, traveling with their grandparents, attending Vacation Bible School at our new church/their new school and bumming around the house with their dad, who took a total of three weeks off this summer. Last week was their first week at summer camp. They hated it. Well, to be fair, Jake did not enjoy it but he said it was not as bad as he thought it was going to be. He already knows a kid in his age group, and he made a friend. Landen hated every single day of it, even though he made three friends and wants them all to come sleep over.

This was actually taken before summer started. Jake's hair is growing out because at ten you start to defy your parents by thinking for yourself and forming your own opinions about what you would like to look like. I've convinced their dad to temporarily indulge them in this.

Practicing for their swim test at the big lap pool at the Y. You have to take a swim test the first day of summer camp to show that you are worthy of the covetous Green Armband and do not have to wear a lifejacket and stay in the shallow end.

If I could afford to send Jake Allbritton to camp every single day this summer, I would. I cannot think of a single thing we've done for the boy in the last year that yields the positive results that summer camp does. I have read countless articles that extoll the benefits of physical activity for kids with ADHD. During the school year, he plays at recess and on the weekends we make him get away from the computer and the TV and play. That's minimal physical activity. I've written how well he does when he's in Jena or in Florida at Corey's mom's house where there's a big yard and lots of activity. But y'all, summer camp in 100-degree heat wears that boy slap out and he is the model of charm, good behavior and high spirits when we get him home at night. They run and sweat the poor impulse control and the hyperactivity plum out of him. He's so pleasant and congenial and happy. He's even started eating things he did not eat before and drinking water, which he would choose thirst over last month. We're in a Summer of Agreeable, I suppose.

Jake, chillin' at bedtime. P.S. Lily no longer comes downstairs to sleep with me anymore. She sleeps with the boys, which makes her almost entirely an upstairs cat.

Landen is having a tough time. If there's a cure for eight-year-old-smartass, I beg someone to send it here. I'm assured by the psychologist they see that this is normal behavior for his age, but when he starts the lamenting about how no one likes him and we want him to leave, it's easy for my Pissed Off to leave me for Coddling. Landen cannot help but to argue with me when I correct him and loves to cut my ass off with an exasperated and loud "I KNOW" or "OKAY" when I'm talking to him. This gets television and video games taken away from him. He's had to go to bed earlier than Jake. His dad whips his ass. Apparently, my Landen cannot help it. Nor can he tell me how I can help him help himself. 

Last week he did not get to take his swim test and had to wear a life jacket and stay in the shallow end. Then he got in trouble for badgering the SHIT out of the counselors to let him take the swim test. He ran into a fence and gave himself a slight black eye. He did make three friends. Today I drove up and when the counselor called for him to put down the hula-hoop and get his stuff together, I watched him from the car and heard him from my open window yell at the counselor, the same way he yells at me at home. I will not have that shit. I had to white-knuckle the wheel to keep from jerking him across the parking lot by that really soft and tender armskin. I was also too furious and embarrassed to drive and had to pull over to call and summon his dad home now. 'Twasn't pretty when he arrived home.

Landen, who is, as I post this picture, upstairs with this very same look on his face convinced that lightning is going to hit the house and kill us all. I told him that if lightning hits the house, it will fry all our TVs and the lights will go out, so ready the flashlight. I think frying in a lightning storm would be the better alternative to him than losing a TV.

Next week they are doing VBS at St. Jude and staying home with Corey all week. I'm sure some fun shit will go down, but I'm most excited that Corey is going to make them clean out their tragedy of a closet. It's a small walk-in, and ALL the toys are in there. I told them that somewhere there is a four-year-old boy whose parents cannot afford to buy him Power Rangers action figures and that Baby Jesus wants the Allbrittons to give him the pristine conditioned collection they are too old to play with. This theory applies to half the shit in that closet. What better way to compliment a week of bible school than with charitable giving? 

Last note: if you have not read Tina Fey's Bossypants, please do so immediately. I convulse with laughter every time I pick it up.

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