Isn't that a toy?

I grew up with my dad saying "Do as I say, not as I do." I'm writing some sensitive material here, and you are not permitted to use it against me. I'm not advocating for any corrective action that should be taken for your kid(s). I'm just telling you, with a load of humor, what works best for mine.

I would consider us well into the swing of things. Jake claims to love St. Jude as much as he loved St. Theresa (no doubt because his anxiety and ADHD are under exceptional control), has made lots of new friends and has caught the eyes of a few girls in his class. Landen's approach to school and lack of appreciation for it have not waivered or increased this year in a new environment, so we can put a mark by his name under the "Adapting Well" column. Homeboy seems to be ebbing a little on his conduct mark acquirement.

We had a special guest at our last slumber party on the old couch..

On Mondays, Corey is home all day and I am working at That Place I Don't Talk About on the Internets. He gets them to school, gets them off the school bus, snacks them, does their homework, feeds them and I come home between 8 and 9 to clean, pajamaed children and a clean kitchen. It's epic. Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays I am here when they get off the bus. I move my whole operation downstairs around five so that I can supervise homework while doing my work, and then cook supper while finishing up my work. It's not ideal, but it works for us! Thursdays a sitter is here waiting for them to get off the bus and SHE gives them a snack and SHE does their homework and Corey comes home at 6:30 to feed them. In a couple weeks, Thursdays will be the sitter taking Jake to karate and Corey picking him up. Aunt Cydney will pick up Landen at 5 and take him to football practice at LSU until 6:30.

And we joined the Cub Scouts. Corey is going to be a pack dad, or whatever. He's going on the camping trips and he's not going to say the "F" word to other people's children. Or to his own children where other people can hear him. So tomorrow, Cydney is picking Landen up from the house to take him to football then dropping him off at school to meet Corey and Jake for their 7 PM scout meeting.

Do other people's kids put them on evening schedules like this? We have football practice tonight, too. When am I supposed to make my stir fry?



Jake keeps pulling his teeth, which means a couple of things. The tooth fairy is going to
start putting teeth on her credit card cause cash is hard to come by. More adult teeth
will soon abide in this mouth that already does not fit the ones he has and needs to grow into.

We took away the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. Specifically, non-animated shows on both channels. At first it was just for Landen, because the disrespect he was exposed to was most evident with him, but recently Jake began his own level of sneaky and defiant behavior (lying about completing tasks, watching a show we told him not to watch, sneaking out of bed at bedtime) so we blamed Disney for that too and took it away for both of them. Well, first we congratulated ourselves because the decision to put him on Zoloft has obviously provided him the mental fortitude to explore traditional fifth-grader behaviors. Then we issued a no-live-children or teenagers shows on Disney, Nickelodeon or ABC Family edict. Don't believe how bad it is? This girl writing a thesis found 468 instances of verbal and physical disrespect in 18 Disney shows.

I love television and I gew up watching shows on Disney. I'm fairly certain that The Mickey Mouse Club and You Can't Do That On Television (Nickelodeon) did not encourage me to talk to my parents like they were dogs.

I have a theory that someone came into my house during the night and whacked my children over the head with a blunt object, not hard enough to cause bleeding but hard enough to damage and render inoperable that part of the brain that monitors what you are and are not allowed to say to your parents. I'm installing a house alarm so it doesn't get worse.



"I will work quietly and not disturb others."

So the punishment goes like this: the first time you get a conduct mark or I have to correct your smart-ass at home for not following the rules of the classroom/cottage home, you lose your electronics for the evening. The second time (and probably for all subsequent offenses after that), you will write lines FOR ME and lose your electronics privileges. If you're particularly horrible, you'll find yourself going to bed immediately after supper/homework/studying/line-writing has concluded. And because both of our children are exploring with how much of the truth is necessary in any given situation, when we catch you in a lie, we paddle you with the little plastic paddle of a paddleball set that we removed the ball from specifically to spank your ass with.

Remove your hand from your mouth in horror. Would you rather me paddle you for lying or never let you do anything fun for the duration of the time you live with me?

I had to use it on Landen yesterday. Seriously, it's so small it only hits one cheek. It's smaller than a hand. After he stopped crying, he said it stings but hurts less than getting spanked with a hand. After I stopped crying (true story) I asked him to sprinkle cheese on my enchiladas and could we still be friends?

This is my new Facebook profile pic. Landen wants in my lap, which Murphy
resents and has to join and I was already doing a little something on the computer,
also in my lap.

People keep asking us when we're going to have a baby of our own, then they are appalled that my answer is three years. I think I do a pretty good job of describing my particular challenges with being a working, commuting mom with two headstrong boys and a husband who is very helpful but a pretty good effort to manage hisownself. If you're paying attention to what I say, HOW could anyone be shocked by the delay in my reproduction?

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection

I have started to write about this many times and stopped, but I am convinced that my reluctance to write about this will somehow one day contribute to his discomfort. And because I am watching a special about a child with shizophrenia and I am right now so thankful that my child will be happy, sound of mind and safe.

My name is Nell, and I put my ten-year-old on antidepressants.

We have friends and family, in and out of the medical field, who feel very strongly about giving psychiatric medication to children. I think it was our knowledge (Corey's and mine) of those sensitivities about how taboo this can be that caused our initial upset over having to make this decision. That and when confronted with the likelihood that it will take mood-enhancing medication to make your child feel "normal," it is the same as hearing that you have failed your child. We did not fail Jake. I hope that those of you reading this who say they would "never" put their children on this type of medication never have a child confronted with the issues Jake has dealt with in the last two years.

What we now understand is how deep an impairment Jake's ADHD is to his executive functioning - his ability for his brain to act quickly enough to control his actions. This is exacerbated by his generalized anxiety disorder, while at the same time disguising it. So for five years he's been medicated for ADHD and the focus was on controlling that, when none of the remedies were really working because the anxiety has been active all along. Then his father deployed, his mother died and life as he knew it was suddenly over and the shock to his system created this perfect, maladaptive storm. This is a kid who is afraid to feel because his feelings are unpleasant and he would rather keep the unpleasant away. The prospect of feeling causes him so much anxiety and his responses to everyday triggers are unpredictable and disproportionate.

His psychologist referred him to a child psychiatrist - the guy she would take her kids to if one of them needed psychiatric intervention. He explained Jake's avoidance of feelings and explained to us how an antidepressant would loosen Jake's tension and anxiety and would remove the fear around expressing his anger and disappointment and sadness in appropriate and expected ways. Adding this medication would mean that his therapy sessions would be more productive and that our attempts to teach him how to control himself would be more productive. Jake was present when the doctor recommended an additional medicine and agreed to give it a try. I cried in defeat and fear, but in the end I trusted the psychologist's judgment. She would not have sent us to anyone who was liberal with a prescription pad. And I was not going to let my child be in pain because I was uncomfortable with a remedy.

We started the medicine in May. I examined him every day for signs of negative side effects or for any indication that he was becoming a zombie or a robot. We saw slight improvements the first few weeks and then suddenly, someone had turned the light on in my kid. He is a happy boy. He can tell you when he's angry and why using his words and not volume or force. He can talk about his mother. He can hate cancer. He still loses himself in computer games and books. He's still wildly imaginative. He smiles almost all the time. He can let himself cry.

Months ago he would have flewn into a rage if he did not hear me order his food correctly in a drive-thru or if I had to ask him too many times how he wanted something. Recently I did not order all that he wanted at Sonic and he did not notice until we got home with the food. Then, instead of getting very upset and yelling and crying about my not ordering his cheese sticks, he simply said he meant to tell me he wanted that, and asked to have some of mine.

He hugs me every day and tells me he loves me. He rubs my arm from wrist to shoulder when I read to him. He looks at the faces of people who are speaking to him. I was in the carport painting furniture when he came home from Beaumont on a Sunday. He walked outside and told me to please stop what I was doing. When I put the paintbrush down, he threw both arms around me, kissed my head and told me he was glad to be home.

He now eats cake with icing on it. This is the first time I have not had to get him special desserts or wipe the icing from his serving. Last week, he ate chocolate pie with whipped creme on it. Even Landen is in shock, for his brother so hated creamy and frothy substances he once threw up on Landen in the bathtub when he was sprayed with foam soap. We had to make Landen stop telling Jake he was eating icing. Last week he ate mashed potatoes. He's dipping food in ranch dressing. His medicine has even taken the anxiety out of food.

So I'm just saying the thing you're not supposed to say because people think it's wrong. Medicine is not the answer for everything. It cannot be thrown at every problem. When he has the mental faculties and behavioral training to control himself, he may not have to take it any longer. But this is the first solution that has helped our child wake up happy and stay that way every day, and I am not going to be ashamed of that. I am not going to let him be ashamed of it either.

Whoa, whoa...I gotta go, back to school

Here it is. Report on the first day of school.

The night before school started, which I've already blogged about, looked happy and free, like this

We were getting a little nervous because on Monday, Jake whacked his brother, which he had stopped indulging in those impulses once we got his medicine sorted out. Tuesday he kicked down the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs. Tuesday is when I made the decision that they would not be riding the bus in the mornings, because that would be the perfect time for Jake to assault someone who pissed him off - before his medicine kicked in.

Cydney and Dixie came over to help with the first day of school on Wednesday morning. I made them coffee milk and cinnamon rolls (Landen) and pancakes, frozen (Jake). I can feel the anxiety in my oldest child in this photo, and sorry about the glare on Landen's glasses and the inclusion of Dixie's ass. We do the best we can.

Cydney went with me to drop them off, and as soon as they were out of the car and I was driving away I caught a glimpse of them in the chaos having no idea where to go and I started crying. Hard. And Cydney started crying. And we called Corey and I told him I was not okay, but by the time we got home, I was okay. Wednesday was a long day, because I just wanted them to get off the bus and tell me they were okay.

I did not take these pictures on the first day, but it looks the same every day, so pretend that I did.

The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round. They probably do not sing that on the bus. They probably will start to talk about anatomy and bodily functions soon. That's where Corey said he learned all about that. I do know that the buses are still not available in an air-conditioned model, because they are sweating profusely when they get off.

That's right, boys. We make sure no cars are coming.....

Before we run way out into the intersection to get away from the camera, yelling "RUN! RUN!" at the top of our lungs...

Or it's really that they are running from me, not the camera. Because then they run into the house and disperse into separate rooms until I get in there.

So Landen has gotten conduct marks for three of the first five days of school. The only television show he is allowed to watch right now are episodes of "Beyond Scared Straight" that we taped over the weekend while he was gone. You know, that show where they take the bad-ass teenagers with juvenile records into maximum security prisons and have the inmates give them a tour and a come-to-Jesus in an effort to deter them from future criminal behavior that will land them in the big house? Our reasoning is that these are kids who acted just like Landen when they were eight and did not have parents who worked very hard to cut that shit out. He likes the show. He asks to watch it.

If he comes home with a conduct mark today, his ass is writing lines. Remember writing lines? That shit will cramp your hand and make you think about what you're doing by the end of it. My cousin Missy told me about a guy she works with who had a big stack of bricks. When his kids acted up, they had to relocate the stack of bricks, one at a time, while repeating "I will not..." and whatever they had done wrong with each brick. If I had somewhere to just store a stack of bricks, and it had to be more than what would be fun to move.

Jake is doing well. He has a locker. He made two friends. One of them is a kid who lives one house over and across the street from us. They ride the bus together and he's in Jake's class. He comes home every day and does his homework then plays on the computer. He's excited about joining karate and Boy Scouts. Yesterday he slapped his brother and told him to "shut up," which is a HUGE no-no here. Corey is in New Orleans this week for a class, so he was not here to deliver the sharp slap in the back of the head that comes with saying shit you're not supposed to. We ate Chinese for dinner and Landen got to play in the sprinkler helping me move it around the yard. Why is it fun to get wet in your clothes?

When we visited Jake's school for Open House on Sunday, we wrote him a very embarrassing note for his locker and laughed about the picture of his shoes that he drew. They are completely in love with their school shoes.

Murphy had a lovely first day of school too, and was so excited to see his brothers. Not as excited as when I hold a Beggin' Strip in my hand to get him to sit still for a picture.

There's nothing wrong with his eyes. It's the camera. That's my office mate. He sleeps on the bed while I do my work. He's very motivating.

I have made the fantastic decision to paint my front door a bold and bright color, either teal or turquoise. I am inspired by this photo, because it's a turquoise door on a brown house!

Isn't it divine? First I have to paint my trim, which is currently black like our front door. I will not be able to choose a good swatch until I paint the trim, which I will *try* to do this weekend. It's not likely, but it's on the list.

One indication for how likely that is to get done is that I just now, this morning, found shorts for Landen that fit. The pair he's wearing in that photograph? The shorts from last year with the elastic cut out.

Who's on top of things? I am! I am!

A little divine intervention....

I do not have the "First Day of School" post ready for you yet. There's one more picture I need to take, and I'll pretend that was the first day of school. It's been very overwhelming, challenging and often emotional. Plus I want to take my camera with me to Open House on Sunday, where we see their classrooms and meet their teachers.

Today, I am trying to find a new attitude for dealing with an obstinate eight-year-old who already cannot keep himself out of trouble at school without breaking his affectionate spirit. His teacher happened to send home a "Parent's Prayer," which became applicable to me on this day

And which I will share with you now:

Oh, Heavenly Father, make me a better parent. 

Teach me to understand my children, to listen patiently to what they have to say, and to answer all their questions kindly.

Keep me from interrupting them or contradicting them. 

Make me as courteous to them as I would have them be to me.

Forbid that I should ever laugh at their mistakes or resort to shame or ridicule when they displease me.

May I never punish them for my own selfish satisfaction or to show my power.

Let me not tempt my child to lie or steal.

And guide me hour by hour that I may demonstrate by all I say and all I do that honesty produces happiness.

Reduce, I pray, the meanness in me.

And when I am out of sorts, help me, O Lord, to hold my tongue. 

May I ever be mindful that my children are children and I should not expect of them the judgment of adults. 

Let me not rob them of the opportunity to wait on themselves and to make decisions.

Bless me with the bigness to grant them all their reasonable requests and the courage to deny them any privileges I know will do them harm.

Make me fair and just and kind.

And fit me, O Lord, to be loved and respected and imitated by my children.

Amen.

I read this this morning and even though it made me feel nice, but I still want to remove that part of the brain that makes Landen not do what he's told from his head with a scalpel. 

I woke up thinking about Sophia/Oprah from The Color Purple this morning.

"I loves Landen. God know I do. But I kill him dead 'fore I let him get suspended in the first nine weeks of school."

Mah-ma said, "Come on you lazy bum and get your butt outta bed."

If any of you had any doubts from my last post that I am ready for my children to get the hell up out my house and go back to school from 8 to 3 five days a week, let me assure you that I was not kidding. The backpacks are packed and the clothes are stacked. This situation appeared this afternoon, that's how ready I am. Murphy thought they might want to take his Favorite Roadkill to school with them, in case they get lonely.

I think Murphy likes to pretend that thing is the cat. Because when she deigns to come down the stairs and he gets pissed, he then goes and gets this toy and shakes the shit out of it. Redirecting his aggressions with his old and bitchy sister, I suppose. Teenagers.

Anyway, you know how the dryer eats your socks? How about if your uniform policy mandates socks with the initials of your school on them at $5 a pop. With children who cannot put clothes in a hamper and "lose" their socks under EACH OTHER'S beds. I bet after I make them pay to replace lost socks they'll keep better track of them.

The shoes. Landen would like for me to share with Facebook (all of the internet is either Facebook or Google) his first pair of self-selected school shoes. I threw in a picture of Jake's pair so you could get the full effect and see if you can identify the fundamental personality differences between these two kids.

Landen

Jake

So today, the last day of freedom and summer and fun for them, this is how they spent the afternoon. Landen is still under the Disney forbiddance (if that's not a word credit me for making it up) but I did lift the two-hour rule for video games and TV for the day. So he's been in his spot for several hours and Jake has been in his spot for an equal amount of time.

He did not want me taking his picture and he has converted the shoe box to a drum. Joy.

He pulls the chair over to the computer but never actually sits in it.

A couple other fun Allbritton facts I yearn to share with you today. The first is a picture of what Jake's bed looks like when he gets out of it in the morning. We straighten it before he gets in it every night. And every morning he's sleeping on the bottom half of it with covers that make no sense and his head on nary a pillow. I have the same problem with his father, whom I express frequent exasperation with his disassembling of the covers at night.

Against my better judgment, and the care and concern for a special aunt in California who may have a small stroke when she sees this photo of complete disarray, I will now share with you a picture of their closet, which houses their clothes AND their toys.

You can't HANDLE the clutter. Neither can I. That's why the door stays closed. AND, their dad purged about half their toys this summer. Holy shitballs.

And finally, I captured Murphy at his full-time job, standing at the window barking at squirrels, dogs, leaves, walkers, vehicles, flowers and bugs. Sometimes he doesn't even bother to drop the ball that is almost always in his mouth.

Tomorrow I shall post a photo of them all ready for school, and of them getting of the school bus at the corner of our neighborhood, and of our new couch that is being delivered tomorrow. Tomorrow is a good day for many reasons. Murphy is also getting his hair did.

I got my books together and I dragged my feet

There is your second Grease 2 lyrics reference titled post in two weeks. You've got AT LEAST two more coming. You're welcome.

Today was the day. 'Twas haircut day. In the last ten days, I had become embarrassed of the atrocity that Jake's hair had grown out and become. He thought it was amazing. The deal was that we would not cut it until the Saturday before school started, and this could not get here fast enough. Grace at Regis Salon in the mall cut Landen's hair last time, and she did such a good job I made another appointment for both of them to see her today.

Landen always volunteers to do something first. Unless it is shower or see a dentist. He was the first one in the chair.

Ain't he darlin?

When he was done, and just as cute as he could be (we woke up friends this morning and he hadn't popped off to me by the time we got to his appointment at 12:45 so I liked him more), he was apparently a little embarrassed that I had whipped out the camera and was taking pictures of him getting his hair cut. This is my favorite thing he does. It's so adult and funny and it's smartass without being disrepectful.



 When he was done, he claimed to be very happy to be rid of all that long hair. Sometimes he just goes along with shit because Jake does, and tells us later he really did not want to.

I die.

On to the unwilling client. So you will appreciate the transformation of this haircut, I must provide you with a reference. This is what he looked like while he was playing Mah Jong on my iPhone while Landen was being styled.

Dude has a cowlick in the front of his head and in the back.

Do not talk to me about it. It made him really happy all summer and it did not hurt anybody. By the way, he hates this outfit.

This was once a boy who would cry in the salon and not speak to me for hours after I cut his hair. I started refusing to take him. And then we had some incidents where Mr. High and Tight took him into the haircut place and said "cut it like mine but longer on top" and oh, the horror. We had to stop doing that. I will at least take the time to explain a little about what we want.

Enter Grace at Regis, who can listen to me say that it cannot touch his ears or his collar, but please make it look as long as you can, and then sends me a kid who looks seriously sharp. The little fifth grade girls are going to fall all over themselves for this kid right here

It's his best haircut ever. And when he was done, he did not look at me like I had killed all his hopes and dreams for being cool. He remained in a delightful mood. I did not even have the buffer of his dad. I went alone.

I went alone, to the mall, with two rowdy boys, on the Saturday before school starts. It ranks right up there with eating a cheese log after drinking an excess of wine that you only live to talk about when you're 22 as one of my poorest decisions in life. Boo me. We got haircuts, had some lunch (Chick-Fil-A for Landen, Chinese for Jake and me) and went to the Foot Locker. And the Kids Foot Locker. And Journeys Kids, the Finish Line, Champs and JC Penney. In that order. 

Jake found some shoes he likes at the Finish Line. Some black Reeboks with soles that look like shiny white teeth. Whatever makes you feel cool enough to start a new school. Landen could not pick a shoe. When he did pick a shoe, they did not have his size. Finally, with every doubt in the world that the selection would be completely picked over, we went to the Shoe Department. There the boy found a pair of gray and blue New Balance. The last shoe left was exactly his size and he was comfortable in them. Halle-freaking-lujah. 

Why did I not just order online, you ask? Because this is the first year Jake and Landen have not had to wear shoes that were all white without a speck of gray, black or color. There were guidelines, but shoes could be black, gray, white or navy. So this was the first opportunity they've ever had to pick their own school shoes. And athletic shoes are all sized differently. Even if they picked out a shoe online, I would inevitably order the wrong size and be screwed for the first day of school. 

Next year I'm doing this in June. 

So here they are, in their fresh haircut adorableness, with their bags of personally selected school shoes, putting their grubby little fingers all over the Mini-Cooper in the mall.

This morning I got up with a renewed sense of righteous indignation in motherhood. It's exhausting to correct someone 1,804 times a day, and yes, it's easier it walk away from him than to be thorough in a punishment, but I cannot live like this anymore. And if I'm mean all day, every day and he does not like to be around me any more, fine. He'll understand when he has an eight-year-old Allbritton boy. They cute, but they are certainly a lot of work.

So today I did two things. I took away the Disney channel and I put five silly bands on his wrist. I hate those little smart-ass shits on Disney and Nickelodeon. Have you ever watched those Suite Life kids? All they do is disrespect adults and talk smack and play tricks and there are twelve shows full of teen and pre-teen angst-turned-sitcom-fodder that Landen Allbritton is no longer allowed to watch. He will not watch a show on Disney or Nickelodeon that has live people in it. He may watch cartoons, nature shows and the movies he has. If Jake wants to watch such a show, there are four other TVs in this house available to him. For how long you join Landen in asking me? Until this disrespectful, smartass, know-it-all, interrupting shit stops for one month. Or he turns twelve.

The silly bands are the counting system. Every time he smarts off, interrupts, refuses to follow directions or acts in a manner opposite from what he's been taught, he gives me a rubber band. Each rubber band lost earns him a bedtime that is fifteen minutes earlier than his brother's. Saturday night are usually a 10 PM bedtime, but his ass got tucked in at 9:15. I told him I wasn't mad at him. Three in one day is a big improvement over yesterday, last week and last month. He should lay here and fall asleep thinking about how to be more respectful tomorrow. And he should know that I am not kidding, and even though it's not fun or easy to discipline him constantly, I am going to do what I say. Every time. 

If I was delivering this speech to you in person, I would have to stick out my tongue and say "so there." Unless you had just gotten your hair cut by Grace at Regis. Then I would be putty in your hands for about ten seconds and I would not care what you said to me. 

You move when I say move.

I've had it. I am going to say one of the things you're not supposed to say. I am ready for summer to be over. I am ready for my kids to go back to school. I am ready for them to be home less, to be idle less and to have less free time on their hands. I am ready for a routine. I am ready for them to be run down at the end of the day.

I have been feeling like all I do is fuss and correct and discipline. Poor Corey is the primary fusser and correcter and disciplinarian, so if it's feeling constant and dreadful to me, it's clearly taking a toll on him. Today they asked if they good go get their umpteen Nerf guns, some of which have never been removed from the box, (one of them still has pieces of Christmas wrapping paper on it) out of the shed and play outside. About thirty minutes later, they came back inside because they were too hot. A little later than that, I went outside to throw some garbage away and my driveway and back patio are peppered with darts and pieces of Nerf guns, plastic pieces, empty boxes, just laying about. As soon as Corey called them downstairs and calmly directed them to the back door, Jake knew what was up and was the first one out the door to start cleaning.

How does it not occur to a kid that these things cannot just lay in the driveway for all eternity? Or do they make the decision that if they leave it, we will clean it up?

We have agreed to start giving them an allowance in exchange for them taking a little responsibility for helping with small chores around the house. They swept the carport while Corey mowed the backyard. They help me empty the dishwasher. They bring their laundry downstairs. They have helped Corey put the garbage at the curb on trash days. They pick up their toys evey night and put their clothes in the hamper. When school starts, part of their morning routine will be making their beds, to the extent that the flat sheet and quilt must be pulled up to cover the fitted sheet. They are currently struggling with all of this, but it takes a while to make something a habit.

Then there's the issue of Landen's mouth. I love that boy. I truly do. He is so sweet and affectionate. He loves me a whole, whole lot. Those facts notwithstanding, I often have Ally McBeal-type visions of busting him in the face with my cold iron. Or shaking him until his brain resets. Luckily I have enough love for him and sense of the world to stay several feet away from him when he pisses me off and give a few moments of serious consideration before carrying out the appropriate punishment.

I've washed the mouth out with soap. I've taken away TV. I've put him to bed earlier. I've forbid computer use and video games. I have shocked him out of shitty behavior by tugging a lock of his hair or pinching his arm skin like my mother used to do to me. We have threatened not letting him take weekend trips to Beaumont but our sensitivity to their grandparents always overrules that. Punishment has in extreme circumstances been corporal.

It will not stop. He's wicked, and he's smart. He knows right from wrong. He knows what he's allowed and not allowed to do. Rules of this house are posted on the wall if he's ever confused. The issue is not that he does not know better. It's that he chooses not to do better. He chooses to test whether you mean it when you tell him not to kick the chair in front of him in an auditorium setting. He chooses to say he did not hear you say "come here" or "stop that." He chooses to lie about not saying the thing you just heard him say and he chooses to argue with you about whether you heard him correctly.

The only explanation is that he has, as Bill Cosby described below in my favorite stand-up show of life, the Brain Damage.

Landen's current favorite and most-used phrases are "I know!", "no you didn't, " "I didn't hear you" and "that's not exactly what I said." All of these are either interrupting you when you are talking to him or at the end of your sentence, to which his only response should be "yes ma'am" or "yes sir." It is always given curtly, somewhat loud and with tremendous disrespect. Last week he rolled his eyes at me, in my face, and I know that it was the Largest Eye Roll in the history of eight-year-olds. He also recently semi-rolled his eyes and huffed when I told him to put his hand over his heart for the "Star Spangled Banner." His father did not see that, and I did not tell him.

Landen knows a story about Corey slapping a deserving aquaintance in the face for talking smack about me when I was in high school. At a recent trip to the Chimes, which they love, Landen was pulled into the bathroom for a come-to-Jesus twice, once by each parent. Cydney had to separate them. The breaking point was when he decided to slap Jake lightly in the face about six times with his paper child's menu. Had the bathroom been empty, he would have been spanked. Instead, he got the Death Stare from his dad, who also informed him that this - deciding to act in the opposite fashion from what is allowed or expected without regard to the consequences - would lead to eventual imprisonment in a federal facility. Landen waited about five seconds before saying "Did you know that you could go to jail for slapping someone in the face?"

He was sly enough and smart enough to figure out a way to say "f*ck you" to his dad without actually saying it. This is a kid who will eventually be a teenager. This is the kid who will lead to my extended stay in the Betty Ford clinic.

It is my desperate hope that when he goes back to school he will reacclimate to the strict behavioral expectations of a school setting and we will see that improvement at home. We have also explained to him that being such a know-it-all and such a smartass is not going to make him friends at his new school.

God be with all of us while we try to break this horse.

Vegetables, vomit, planned biopsies and adoption: just another day in paradise

Today we took the boys to get their yearly checkups. Corey's off this week serving as child care coordinator, so the whole fandamily got up this morning and hauled over to the doctor.

At 51 inches tall and weighing 79 pounds, Landen comes in at the 90th percentile for weight and the 50th percentile for height. She told us to be careful. No more seconds on carbs and sugar, which we already don't do even though he asks at every meal. Limit the sugary beverages, which is no help since we limit those already and he drinks mostly sugar-free and reduced fat milk. We tell him he's just the size he's supposed to be and do not want to plant the seed that something is wrong with him. Behind the scenes, we're trying to make subtle changes in his food intake.

I am the Queen of Potatoes. I do not know anyone, save maybe my friend Emily Sugarpea, my potato devoted sister, who can cook a potato better than I can. I rock them. Because the Lord taketh away, the potato is a starch, not a vegetable. I want my children to love them as much as I do, so that we can enjoy a weekly potato decadence together. They are coming around. My potato skins and my wasabi mashed potatoes have hit the rotation. Tonight I made a roast beef with a horseradish crust and some bearnaise sauce. I roasted potatoes, carrots, onions and squash in herbs and olive oil. I made a piece of Texas toast for each of us.

They liked the meat. They loved the sauce. They ate the potatoes. Jake reaffirmed his distaste for cooked carrots and Corey remains the only one at the table who likes squash. Landen ate his bread FIRST, took two bites of meat and asked for more bread. No. He tried another potato. Still a win. He decided to try green squash. He tried to wash it down with Kool-Aid and then vomited all over himself and his dinner plate. Corey and Jake were done eating. Landen took off his shorts and shirt, sat back down at the table in his underwear, asked for another piece of bread and inquired as to what was for dessert. No and nothing.

Jake also comes in at 51 inches, and at 57 pounds comes in at the 10th and 10th percentiles. When we asked the pediatrician whether we should be concerned about his smallness, she said not since he is proportional. Stimulant medication delays his growth spurts, but he'll catch up. Sad. Any day now I will tell a bitch who expresses surprise to his face that Jake is the older brother that she is rude. People know better than to comment about someone's weight or their handicapped status, why is it okay for you to tell my kid how small he is?

Of particular import was the doctor's response to my pointing out a dark mole that Jake has on his back. "I don't like it," she said. "It needs to come off." I knew this. People Who Shall Remain Nameless do not always listen to me when they should, i.e. when I know what I know. I know that moles are not supposed to be oblong, asymmetrical, different colors or rough on the edges. It has not changed, but I know it is not supposed to be there. Validated and vowing to follow my instincts from now on regardless of anyone else's optimism, we are going to the dermatologist extraordinaire to Have That Removed. And probably biopsied, but I'm not telling him that.

 He did gain four pounds over the summer, and the doctor says two pounds of that is hair. It is now unattractive. Cydney came over the other night and chastised me. She said it's almost mullet-ish and reminds her of an unsightly and unfortunate kid she went to high school with. I just cannot bear to make him get rid of all of it. He thinks that shit looks good, and is cool, and I want him to feel good and think he's cool for his first day at a new school. So, we're off to make a hair compromise on Saturday.

In other familial developments, BABY SISTER/AUNT CYDNEY/SISSY GRADUATES FROM LSU ON FRIDAY!!! She has busted her skinny ass to get the hell out of college, taking four classes this summer and making A's in all those sumbitches. I am so proud, and we cannot wait to celebrate her!

Also, I am starting adoption procedures on the boys. I asked them, and they both said "yes." I asked them because a) if something happens to Corey, we want them to stay with me b) if Corey runs off with Selena Gomez, I want to have rights to them c) they will not inherit from me as my step-children and I'm going to be the one left with all the money because Corey's middle-aged and d) as we approach the reality of expanding our family in the next three years, I want the boys to know that they are no less my children than the child I give birth to. Should be pretty simple - one court appearance, one home visit - at the conclusion of which Jake is hoping will be an excuse to celebrate with hibachi.

Oh, yes! I just overheard Landen on the phone explaining he did yard work today. Sort of. They keep asking for an allowance so we have agreed to that, provided they do at least one helpful chore per day. Today was sweeping out the carport. They get a dollar amount that is equal to their age. Landen came immediately inside after helping Jake sweep and asked for his eight dollars.

My boy is driven by instant gratification.