Oppostional Defiant Disorder- The Story of a "Bad" Kid

I’d like to devote an essay to the subject of Oppositional Defiant Disorder.  I am a clinician who works in schools, and I must share that this disorder is the most up and coming diagnosis amongst behaviorally challenged students in public school.  It has taken the place of Attention Deficit Disorder in popularity amongst school psychologists, and it’s prominence in our society should be noted and written about.  If no other clinician has the drive to write about it (which I’m sure they do), I will.

So let me explain Oppositional Defiant Disorder, coded as 313.81 in the bible of psychology that all of us Clinicians and therapists live by (more commonly known as the DSM-IV-TR).  The diagnosis of “ODD” is a cluster of symptoms that describes a child or student as being generally noncompliant, uncooperative and at times antisocial in their response to most of the demands that society places upon them.  It is common amongst children who have been abandoned by one or both parents, children in the foster care system, or children who have lived through significant, on-going abuse and trauma in their lives. 

 

A snapshot of a child who is often diagnosed with this can easily be identified and described.  It is a child who defies most of, and sometimes all of,the culturally established and societal rules and expectations.  It is a child who shows up to school every day with an attitude of something like, “I’ll do what I want to, but never what you tell me to.” 

ODD sounds like s a child who says, "Nope, not doing that.“  Or something like, "You can't make me."  Or even this question and response: "You want me to do what?  Well you can go ahead and F off."

ODD looks like a big, sore, outlandish, outright refusal.  Refusal to crawl out from underneath the desk.  Refusal to write with a pencil.  Refusal to write anything at all.  Refusal to read out loud, or work on an assignment.  Refusal to sit in an assigned seat.  Refusal to follow the directions in P.E. class. Refusal to line up when it's time to come in from recess.  Refusal to sit down on the bus.  Refusal to do most of the things the adults ask, most of the time. 

Attention to all of the adults:  Let me make it known that I refuse to adhere to you and your rules about how you think I should be.
 

 

It is a strong will, and adamant, inarguable stubbornness.  It is continuous and perpetual disagreement with anyone, or anything.  It is disrespect and overall disregard for most other people, and inability to recognize or care about how one's behavior affects others.  It is a general attitude that has worked in it's best way to help a child feel more safe, but unfortunately, it holds many social consequences. 

The diagnosis of ODD or similar behaviors in a child causes a large amount of frustration in the adults surrounding that child. I bet there is no single teacher in the history of teachers who can say they haven't had at least one, if not many, many students that have very familiar behaviors as described above.

But let me, for a moment, tell you a story of a child with “ODD”.  And I want you to really think about why they’ve developed this “attitude” towards all human beings.

I am a 10-year-old boy, or an 8-year-old-girl, or a 14-year-old adolescent. I could be any child, of any gender, and any age, because this whole ODD thing does not discriminate.  

I am deeply misunderstood by my peers, my teachers, and anyone, really for that matter. 

If they haven't abandoned me, my parents are probably struggling to provide me with the type of attention I need.  They are caught up in most of the adult responsibilities of life- making money, feeding me, meeting their own needs in any way they can.  Maybe my parents are addicted to something- like alcohol, or prescription drugs.  Maybe they are working 3 jobs.  Maybe they are parenting me with no support, as a single parent.  I really just don’t understand what occupies their time, but I do know that their time is certainly occupied. 

The adults I am surrounded by at home are caught up in adult problems, every single day.  And the problems never seem to end for them.  Maybe they can’t pay rent this month, and we might be evicted.  Maybe they got arrested for driving without a license. Maybe they are unemployed, or mentally ill, or abused by their spouse.

Often times, my parents are caught up in their own relationships.  They are desperately trying to make things work with their partners, to kill the loneliness and emptiness that lives inside of them.  They are spending their days filling their soles and their hearts with something meaningful to them in this game of life. 

On most days, I am alone.  But I've learned to manage my loneliness.  I play by myself, or with other siblings or neighborhood kids.  I have no direction, or explanation from right or wrong.  There is no guidance from the adults, they are too busy with the overwhelming stress of life.

I want so badly to have adult attention.  I need adult attention.  Sometimes, the only way I can receive adult attention, is by doing something bad.  I don’t like doing bad things, but if doing things that are bad will catch my parents’ attention, then it’s very much better from doing nothing at all. 

The adults in my life don’t have many opportunities to show me how to behave in an acceptable and social way.  The adults that I am around often don't know how to communicate well and solve their problems for themselves, so they, too, have found other ways to get their needs met.  And those are the examples I have learned from.  The other children around me are so lucky that they've had someone there to teach them such pro-social skills. 

I am not those kids.  Please don't compare me to them.  We are not two of the equal or similar.  Our lives that we've lived have been so vastly different that one another, that we aren't the same type of being.  Myself, and those kids, are two separate animals.  And let me make it clear- I hate those animals.

We are different, mainly because of this: Some of the adults in my life who are supposed to love me and keep me safe have hurt me.  There really aren't any adults who have been successful in protecting me from the harsh world.  They've either neglected me, emotionally abused me, or physically harmed me in some way.  The adults who have helped me to feel safe, those who have comforted me, those who have been there for me, they've left me behind.

I have slowly learned that adults, and really any other people, aren't things in life that I can trust. 
They are the enemies at war with me, forcing me to someone who I am not, forcing me to do things that I haven't made my mind up about you.  You want to see force?  I'll show you force.

Force is how I behave if something in life is scary and overwhelming.  I can protect myself through force and defiance. I don't need any adult to help to me at all.

I will dig in my heels as hard as I can dig.  I will win the battle.  I will win the war.  There will be no adult who can force me to do a damn thing.  I can, and I will, control everything within my control, because so much of my life circumstance is absolutely beyond my control. 

I need to have force in order to survive.  I have other needs , too.  I have the need for positive attention.  I have the need for adults to talk to me, and explain things to me, and model how functional adults behave in our society.  I have the need to be protected, and to feel safe.  Protected from difficult situations, protected from violence, protected from complicated, stressful, adult problems.  Safe from abuse, from violence, from turmoil.  Most importantly, I have the need to be loved, unconditionally, by adults who know how much I can screw up, and still love me at the end of the day.  The need to know that I am theirs, and they are mine, forever. 

But what's forever for?  I have a hard time even seeing tomorrow.  Even seeing the end of the day.  Even seeing that maybe my mood might improve within the next 20 minutes.  I am living in the moment.  And this moment is scary and unpredictable. 

I am confused about what I want in comparison to what I need.  I sometimes don't even realize that what I want to the most is attention, and I want it right now.  I also want this pack of crackers, and I should have it.  I've lived this shitty, horrible life, and all I want is a pack of crackers, and you can't give it to me right now? Then you can give me nothing.  You are nothing.  And if you don't know you're nothing, I can show you.

Do you think I can't get what I want?  Oh, you are so wrong.  I can, and I will get what I want.  I will demand what I want.  And I will receive.  Just you watch. 

Underneath my harsh demands for things I want, there’s some deeper, underlying needs that are not consistently met.

I just need to be loved and cared about.  I need someone to know my needs before I know them.  Someone to stay on top of them, and be one step ahead of me.  I need a provider, caretaker, a helper, a supporter. 

I need to be able to good at something, and for someone to recognize it.  I deserve for someone to invest in me as person; someone who can see the good in me no matter my faults or insecurities.  I could really use at least one person in this world to know that I am indeed a good person, who is worthy of being loved and cherished, despite my bad behavior and general disrespect for mankind.

And honestlty, I disrespect people really only because the vast majority of the people in my life have disrespected me. 

Especially adults. 

Adults are the enemy, because they walk around pointing out just about everything that is wrong with me.  And you know what?  F them.  They're wrong.  They're wrong about me, and they're wrong about everything.

All they’ve ever done is ignore my needs, and my ideas, and my self-worth.  They do not value my purpose in this world.  I am a responsibility to most of the people in my life, a sore on their back, a burden that on most days, is nothing but a pure pain in the ass.

I feel worthless, and unwanted, and unloved.  I make life harder for everyone, not easier.  Nobody enjoys me, or invests in me, or sees my potential.  And the truth as I see it, is that I’m not worth investing any time into.

I am nothing to the world, and the world, in its harsh return, is nothing to me. 

All I am is un un-wanted piece of crap.   A nuisance, an un-needed distraction in desperation for better things.  Why is my life worth living, anyway?  And what the hell, how come all of the other people feel so happy all of the time?  How did they get so lucky?  Don't they ever feel miserable, too?

On some days, I’m so full of shame that I wonder why I even exist.  Today in class we read a story about someone who died.  Would you care if I died?  Probably not.  Maybe you’d even be happy.  Good for you, and right back at you, dear untrustworthy enemy of mine.  I hope you feel just as freaking worthless as I do. 

And you know what?  If I have to feel this way all of the time, maybe you should, too.  Why is it so specific to me?  Why shouldn’t everyone have to feel this type of pain? 

Maybe I’ll go out of my way to make other people around me feel the level of shame that I do.  Because then, at least I won’t feel so lonely.  My misery, in its greatest form, cherishes its company. 

And oh, believe me, I can really make you feel like a piece of shit who deserves nothing but dirt on the ground.  And a good trick I've learned is, if I can make you feel like a piece of shit first, you certainly aren't gonna stomp on me and make me feel worse than I already feel.  Because honestly, if you made me feel any worse, it just might break me.

I will never be vulnerable.  I will never let you see the nice parts of me.  And you know why?  Because if I show you the good person who I really can be inside, I run the risk of rejection.  I run the risk of you saying, "I know who you really are, and I still don't like you."  And that would just be too painful.  So instead, I act in a way that forces you to hate me, but it doesn't really bother me, because you don't hate me for the real me.  You'll never know the real me.  And somewhere along the way, I've lost touch with the real me as well.

Underneath my insecurities and self-doubt, if you really cut through my solid skin and brick wall, I’d like to give you just one message, you untrustworthy adults, you: 

Please help me to feel  loved and worth it.  My life is just as important as yours, and I mean something in this world.  I am not worthless.  I am not a pain.  I am a human being, just like you.  But I will never know it unless you teach me and show me.  

Show me the world is a safe place.  Show me there are some people who I actually can trust, who will not leave me behind in the ditch.  Shine a light on the very small fragments of my heart that are beautiful and courageous.  Help me to see the things that I am unable to see within myself, for I am only a child. 

When I’m screaming, and kicking, and throwing names in your face, instead of taking offense, please know that it isn’t about you at all.  Please don't give up on me.  Please hope for me. Please believe that I deserve to be loved, no matter my faults.  My life may not be like the kid beside me, but it is my life.  If you do nothing else for me at all, silently stand beside me in my pain and dig deeply to understand the depths of my despair. 

 

The Struggle of the ENFP and Extrovert

A good friend of mine has recently talked about a ton of research she’s done on personalities- more specifically the Myers-Briggs 16 personality type test (MBTI).  I’ve taken this test multiple times in my life, and every single time my personality type comes out the same- ENFP.  ENFP, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the test- stands for Extroversion, Intuition, Feeling and Perception. 

All in all, I am happy to be an ENFP.  It has brought many new ideas and experiences into my life, and I really don’t know as if I’d change a thing about my personality type (well, that’s a lie- maybe a few things).  But I’ve got to say, there a certainly some struggles that comes along with the extreme extroverted part of me, as well. 

In reading her posts and research, I’ve  stumbled upon a lot of articles that shed light on the struggles and also the strengths of introverts, who’s first letter on the MBTI is the opposite of mine (I).  And there is no doubt, their struggles are real.  So real that most days I consider myself so lucky to not be walking in their shoes.  But their strengths- they’re amazing!  Strengths I’ve always wished to have- precise skill, attention to detail, organization, sensitivity, and most importantly, feelings of contentment and fulfillment in being by themselves.  Introverts are capable of deep, well thought out ideas and plans, and are able to literally problem solve any situation where I believe that there is no solution to the problem.  I love and admire introverts, and it’s a good thing, because my life is filled with them.

The clinician in me also wants to distinguish the difference between introversion and social anxiety disorder.  Common misunderstanding: Just because you’re an introvert does not mean you have social anxiety.  It means that you gain your energy and re-charge from being by yourself , instead of being around people.  And living with social anxiety also does not mean that someone is an introvert- you can be a raging extrovert with crippling social anxiety.  And let me tell you, I’m so glad I’m not one of those people. 

Furthermore, I also must devote about another minute to social anxiety disorder, because it affects so many of the children I work with in my job, and also several people who are close to me in my life.  For all of the socially anxious people in this world- my hat goes off to you.  You live each day having to be in awkward, overwhelming social situations, and you get through them with an admirable sense of self-preservation and strength.  I don’t know how you do it, and I can’t imagine living a life managing this type of daily stress. 

So with all of that being said: Introverts of this world, please know that I love you!  And to the introverts close to me in my life, thanks for balancing my extreme high energy, over-enthusiastic, unrealistic dream-like personality out!  Without you all, I’d be lost in a cloud somewhere above a rainbow!  Put me in a blue dress, sparkling red shoes, and call me Dorothy when I say, thank goodness the world has people who  can plan, execute, and prepare for reality!  I love and cherish you, more than you can think of.  In fact, on most days, I wish I was more like you!

So here’s a snapshot of the struggle of an extrovert.  And trust me, this struggle is real, too! 

First off, the clinician in me, once again, would like to clear up some misconceptions.  Ladies and gentlemen: Extroversion does not equal self-confidence.  It does not mean that a person walks around not afraid of who they talk to or what they say.  It also does not mean that an extraverted person is a party animal, or “wild”.  I will not pretend I didn’t spend a long phase of my adolescence and young adulthood as a wild partier, because those who know me, know that that idea is very far from the truth.  But it does mean this- extroversion comes out in many different ways, which clearly come through in those like myself. 

One thing I will say, is that most extroverts are chatty.  We like to talk about things, with people.  Anything, really.  Maybe it’s something as simple as drinking water, or as complicated as raising children.  Maybe it’s about the weather, or what we’re making for dinner, or why we chose to wear what we are dressed in.  Whatever the subject, we can talk.  About anything, with most anyone, at any time. 

And we remember specific things about people- maybe it’s their names.  Maybe it’s how we know them, or how they look familiar.  Maybe it’s something really detailed, like how they read their poem out loud to the class in 3^rd grade, or how they sang a Christmas Carol 7 years ago as part of the chorus at a school concert.  Maybe it’s how they smiled at us once, across a room, at a restaurant.  For whatever reason, we recognize a face, and often time, a name or behavior that belongs with that face.

 

Us extroverts, we like to socialize, at any chance we get.  We enjoy things like baby showers, weddings, graduation parties and housewarmings. We love to meet new people.  We are deeply curious about others- their lives, their stories, their experiences. And we look to them as stepping stones to meet more people, and relate, and network about the things we have in common. 

We are flexible people, who can stretch in many directions.  We can multi-task galore, and the majority of us can never really foresee or accomplish a true outcome.  We live each day without a plan, and any sense of direction or conclusion is unimportant to us; we fly by the mere seat of out pants.  Maybe we’ll spend an hour at work talking to a friend, or 20 minutes in the grocery store discussing the best brand of diapers our babies wear.  Whatever the experience, whatever the conversation, we are down for it.  We are more than happy to participate in it, regardless of time, place or person.

ENFPs  are the epitome of creativity.  You’ve got a creative idea?  Ours is bigger.  And probably unable to happen, due to the impossible details.  But who cares, really?  At least we thought about it for a second. 

And time is but an essence- it’s a mundane, unrealistic misperception to us.  Time is not measured by what we predict we will accomplish in a day, but rather by how we’ve handled what our day has thrown at us.  There have minimal expectations, and endless possibilities.

Us extroverts, we are dreamers.  We imagine great things.  We have no plans to execute these dreams, just beautiful hope that these things will happen.  For an example, today, I will write an essay about being an extrovert.  The plan?  It’s probably just gonna happen, despite all of the minor (or major) details. 

So we have many strengths as extroverts.  We can get along with anyone.  A friend once told me, “you can get along with shit on a stick.”  I sure can.  And that is because I can find some part of myself that can relate to every human being in this world.  And really, what a strength of an ENFP that is.

So with strengths, there’s also weaknesses.  And let me tell you about those, for that’s exactly the reason I deiced to write this essay in the first place.

With true extroverts, especially ENFP’s, there’s a pure and crazy lack of structure and stability.  Hey let’s go fishing.  Nevermind we’ll stay at home at just play board games.  Nevermind, we were spontaneously invited to this get together.  Let’s go to it.  Any chance to do something where we’re around people!  Something different, and fun.  Something unpredictable.

And let’s just take a minute to discuss unpredictability.  There’s no sense of all-of-the-sudden.  Our life it full of all-of-the-suddens.  All-of-the-sudden, we’re in a shopping mall, making impulsive and un-needed purchases.  All-of-the-sudden, our toddler is rolling in a puddle of mud, at a baseball game, with no change of clothes.  All-of-the sudden, we come up with this awesome idea, to prepare a water balloon fight amongst our kids.  The rules of this game?  They’re unestablished, and absent.  It becomes chaos.  Just pure chaos.  But that’s ok, because we just go with things.

Impulsivity.  We have a beet-red, shining sore heart full of impulsive decisions.  Hey, let’s buy this lawn mower!  Can we afford it?  Who cares, we’ll figure it out.  Let’s go on a trip today to New York!  Do we have directions to get there?  Probably not.

And this statement can’t go unsaid:  Extreme ENFP’s drive introvert, problem-solving, detail-oriented people insane.  Absolute bat-shit-crazy.

Here’s a scenario: Extreme extroverts as parents of young children.  Nap today, for my toddler? Forget it!  Let’s go to the beach!  There’s no opportunity quite like this one.  Who cares if my 3-year-old becomes a wild monser at the end of the day, I never really thought about it, anyhow!

Housework for ENFP’s.   Today, I will get done this, this, and that.  Or maybe not.  Probably not.  I’m too busy being unpredictable with no sense of time or focus.  I’m too busy talking, on the phone, to the neighbor, to my kids, to the mailman, to the grocery store clerk, to the guy trying to hitch a ride on the side of the highway.  Nevermind, I’m texting.  In deep conversation.  With 8 different people. 

Here’s what all of us extroverts miss.  Watching great movies from beginning to end, without losing focus or being interrupted.  Finishing projects, suc h as creating gardens, or paintings, or refinishing furniture.  Living in organized households, with spelled-out calendars on the fridge, or drawers assigned to different utensils such as silverware and plates.  Being able to find daily items, like hairbrushes and car keys, and maybe even our shoes and jackets.  Having a regular bedtime or wake-time, that’s relatively the same every day, regardless of unplanned happenings, or conversations, or distractions. 

Wouldn’t it be nice, for a day, if I could make a list for things to do, and actually execute it?  Wouldn’t it be awesome, if I could have a plan, with a budget, and actually follow it?  Wouldn’t it be such an experience, to spend the day at home, alone, with no human contact, and feel alive, happy, and energetic come the evening? 

Why I Can't Get Anything Done on a Saturday

I’ve criticized and beaten myself up over the fact that each Saturday morning I wake up with great intentions, and a long list of things I am sure I will accomplish.  Sometimes I even write the list down, and hang it on my over-crowded fridge. 

My husband works a day shift on most Saturdays, which I’ve had mixed feelings of injustice about since we’ve had children.  But the rational part of me knows that it’s not a choice for him to work Saturdays.  He’s a restaurant manager and Saturdays have the highest customer volume, so he puts in a good 10-11 hours.  And of course, as any mother and good wife would do, I suck it up.

So my permanent list of household chores for Saturdays, hung onto my fridge in bold letters:

ü  Clean the bathrooms

ü  Change the bedding

ü  Fold and put away the laundry

ü  Sweep and Swiffer the kitchen and dining room floors 

ü  Vacuum the carpets

These aren’t deep cleaning endeavors.  They just aren’t things I have time to do during the week while I’m working.  These 5 tasks, from beginning to end, should take me around 2 hours.  They could easily be done by 10:00 AM, then the rest of the day is mine, to play with the kids, and sit outside in the sun and read, or do whatever the hell I want.  It’s a great life, right?

Wrong.

Just limp, cold, lifeless, no sign of vitalilty, dead wrong. 

Almost always, to my dismay, this small list of things does not end up happening on a Saturday.  Not for a lack of trying, or inability to complete each task from beginning to end.  My furniture goes undusted, my sink remains full of dishes, and by trash overflows onto the floor by every Saturday night. 

Why?  I ask myself.  What is wrong with me?  What is the real reason why I can’t keep up and maintain around here? 

I have a full-time job that I show up to in great spirits every day.  I’ve survived 2 pregnancies and births. Oh no wait a second, back-up.   I KILLED 2 pregnancies and births.  I’ve written 2 novels, from beginning to end.  I’m a 200 page dissertation and 6-month residency away from completing my PhD program.  I breastfed for 3 straight years of my life.  I’ve accomplished all of these wonderful thing s in my 32 years, and I can’t keep a god damn 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom, single family home somewhat presentable?  This doesn’t make sense. 

I’ve learned that actually, it really makes more than perfect sense.   The explanation of this sense can be stated in 1 sentence:  

My house is never clean and the chores are never done precisely because I have children.

Before we had kids, I will admit, it was laziness, and avoidance, and procrastination.  It was, “let’s go kayaking and fishing and drink beers for the day instead of staying here and doing boring housework.”  It was, “I don’t really care if my living space is clean, so I’m not going to invest my time into it.”  And those were fine reasons, I suppose.

But now, I wake up each morning with more of a phrase like, “How will I survive today without my kitchen becoming a health hazard and my toilets growing mold, and pay attention to my kids simultaneously?”

So I decided to do kind of a self-observation.  I took out a notebook and paper, and wrote down exactly how my day went, from beginning to end.  And from doing this brief investigation, I learned 2 important things about my kids, and 1 important thing about myself:  #1- My son is the constant, parched, and perpetual victim of eternal dehydration.  #2- my daughter eliminates all of the excess fluid my son takes in, and holds no secrets about it.  And most importantly, #3- I get shit done on Saturdays.  There’s just no measurable outcome.  My work is thankless, unnoticed, and lacks any type of tangible substance.

Disclaimer: This list is long.  Long, long, long.  And full of boring, mindless, thankless, mundane tasks.

6:00 AM- The alarm goes off.  I turn it off and try to fall back asleep. Why on earth did I set my alarm for 6:00 on a Saturday morning? This is my first mistake.  Ugh. 

6:02- My 4-year-old daughter crawls into bed with me to inform me that she needs to use the bathroom.  I calmly say, “Then go to the bathroom.”

6:08- My 7-year old son comes in, and says, “Mom, do I not have school today?” 

I respond, “It’s Saturday.  Can you please go and turn on a TV show for your sister?  Mommy needs just 10 more minutes.”  I roll over and fall back asleep.

6:14- My son comes back into my bedroom.  “Mom, Amelia just spilled an entire box of cereal onto the floor.  I told her to wait for you but she was hungry.  And also I’m really thirsty.”

6:15- I roll out of bed, go to the bathroom and come down the stairs.  My daughter is pushing cheerios around the kitchen floor with her Hello Kitty play kitchen broom, with tears in her eyes.  She looks up at me and says, “Sorry Mommy.” Lay on the guilt, girl. 

 I kiss her on the forehead and say, “It’s ok sweetie.  It was an accident.  I’ll get it. Just go in the living room with your brother.”  What a patient, understanding mother I am. 

6:26- I go to make coffee and realize the Keurig is out of water.  My son is standing in the dining room in just his underwear with his father’s pint sized Orlando FL Hard Rock Café beer glass, halfway full of steaming hot water. 

I squint, tilt my head, and ask, “Where’d you find that glass?  And what’s with the hot water?” 

He responds, “I told you I was thirsty.  And this glass has been ignored for so long.  It needed some water from the Keurig.”  I never knew pint-sized, collectors item pilsner  glasses had feelings and emotional needs. 

6:31- I sweep up the cheerios.  I fill the Keurig back up with water. 

6:38- I pull out a loaf of bread from the pantry and put two slices in the toaster.  I go to get cream for my coffee but realize we are out of creamer.  While the fridge is open, I realize that something smells, and discover that there is rotten watermelon in the crisper.  I take it out and throw it in the trash.

6:44- I take the toast out of the toaster, spread some butter on it, and stick it on two plastic plates.  I bring it to my children in front of the TV. 

My daughter proclaims, “Mom, I forgot to tell you, I don’t really like toast anymore.” 

I snap back with, “well, we’re out of cereal, so this is what we’re having.” 

Then my son proclaims, “Who in this world doesn’t like toast?” I nod my head.  Agreed little boy, agreed.

 Amelia then says, “Can I have an egg sandwich instead?”  Didn’t you know my dear daughter? I’m only a  mother by day.  In the early mornings I take on the role of a short-order cook.

6:56- I crack an egg into a frying pan.  I realized I never pressed brew on the Keurig.  I press brew. 

7:01- My son yells to me, “Moooom, Paw Patrol is over.  Can we watch Alvin and the Chipmunks?”

 I say, “yes, find me the DVD and I will put it in for you.” 

My son responds by saying. “Ok, but you forgot to get me a drink and I’m thirsty.” 

7:06- I bring both of my kids a glass of orange juice.  I turn on Alvin and the Chipmunks. 

7:13- I realize that the egg I was frying has burned.  I bring the hot pan over to the sink, scrape the burnt egg off, take out another pan and crack open another egg.

7:16- As I watch the egg slowly cook, I realize there are fruit flies swarming around the garbage because of the watermelon I threw in there.  I go to take out the trash, but then realize that the second egg is close to burning.  I set the trash bag down in the middle of the floor and take the egg off the heat. I ensemble an egg sandwich with hands that just touched the dirty trash can.  Whatever.  Builds immunity. 

7:28- I bring the egg sandwich to my daughter.  She says, “Thanks mom, can you cut it please?”  I go back into the kitchen to get a knife.

7:31- Upon entering the kitchen, I realize that the dog bowl and water is empty.  I fill both bowls.  I still haven’t touched my coffee, but I can smell it brewing.  I forget about cutting the sandwich, and think to myself, I better switch the clothes from the washer to dryer before they end up smelling musty.

7:42 - I go to switch the clothes over, and realize that the dog has peed on the laundry room floor. Of course he did, I never let him out this morning.   I go to mop up his puddle, and realize that I need to change the Swiffer pad.  I change the Swiffer cleaning pad. 

My son then hollers from the other room, “Mom, the DVD is skipping and it’s Amelia’s fault because she never took care of it the last time and now it’s scratched!” 

Amelia responds with a very loud screech, “It’s not my fault!!”

7:48- I set down the mop and go to fix the DVD.  I pull it out, wipe it off, and start it again. 

My daughter exclaims, “But mom, fast forward it, we just watched this part.” 

I fast forward it to get it exactly to where it was when it skipped, just to learn that it was still, indeed, skipping. 

7:56- I tell my kids to choose a different DVD.  They fight and argue over which one for 5 minutes. 

Avery exclaims, “I will cut out my eyeballs with a dull knife and slowly watch them bleed before I watch Care Bears Nutcracker.”

 I chuckle to myself and respond, “Avery, that’s a morbid and inappropriate thing to say.” 

Stone faced, he looks me right back in the eye and says, “Nope. Morbid and inappropriate is watching a bunch of colorful bears prance around on a rainbow to Christmas music.” 

Oh my god, he is so my kid. I laugh to myself. 

8:03-  They finally agree upon Ninja Turtles after negotiating that Amelia gets to hold Avery’s creeper toy throughout the entire movie.  Whatever.  I put the DVD in.

8:06- I go back to the laundry room to mop up the dog pee.  My cell phone is sitting on top of the washer.  I've received a text from another baseball mom.  “Hey where is the game this morning?”  OH SHIT.  Avery has a game at 9.  So that’s why I set my alarm!  The kids aren’t dressed.  I haven’t showered. 

8:09- I run over to the fridge and check the schedule.  The game is in Albany.  It starts at 9, but we’re supposed to be early.  That means I have about 15 minutes to find Avery’s uniform, and get the three of us dressed and out the door. I can totally do that.  And by the way, I still haven’t touched my coffee. 

8:11- I leap over the mop, and rummage through the high pile of un-folded, clean clothes on the chest freezer to find Avery’s uniform.  I spend the next 8 minutes looking for matching socks for all 3 of us.  I get 2 out of 3 pairs, and then say, “Amelia you’re wearing your sandals, I’m not wasting anymore time looking for socks.” 

She yells back, “Sandals for what?”  Oh yeah, I remind myself that the kids are oblivious to the fact that we will be traveling 3 towns over within the next 10 minutes or so.

8:22- I come into the living room and hand Avery his uniform and say, “Get changed.  We’re leaving in 5 minutes for your game.”  I notice Amelia hasn’t touched her egg sandwich. 

I say, “Amelia, why haven’t you eaten?”

 She softly responds, “because I’ve been waiting for you to cut my sandwich.” 

What a patient gal she is.  I sigh and run into my bedroom to get dressed. 

8:26- I am dressed in yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt.  My hair is thrown into a messy bun with a baseball hat so that people won’t see that it isn’t washed.  I quickly run a toothbrush and Scope-rinse through my mouth.  I still haven’t touched my coffee. 

8:32- I rustle through my daughter’s drawers and choose a pair of sweat pants and a Dora T-shirt.  I run down the stairs yelling, “C’mon kids, we’re late!”

8:46- I walk into the living room to discover than my son has not even moved from his chair.  I yell, “Avery, get dressed, NOW!” 

He hops up and says, “Sorry mom, it’s the best part of the movie!” 

I begrudgingly shut off the TV and dress my daughter, pulling a hairbrush through her tangled hair as she cries.

She exclaims, “Mom, I don’t want to wear this shirt, it’s for babies!  I hate Dora now!  I only liked her back when I was 3!”  Mind you, Amelia is 4.  Not even 4 and a half.  You're growing up girl.  Wow, you're really growing up. 

She cries and stomps her feet.  I ignore it.  I start looking through the mess of shoes in the mud room for Avery’s cleats.

8:59- I’ve found 1 cleat, and no baseball glove.  If we leave now, we might arrive before the 2^nd inning starts.  I scream to Avery, “where is your glove?!” 

He screams back, “I think I left it in dad’s car.”  Wonderful!  Dad is at work. 

9:01 - Avery walks into the coat room with his other cleat on his foot.

I say, in a frustrated tone, “Why didn’t you tell me you found your other cleat? I’ve been looking for it for the past 10 minutes.  And you’ll have to wear your sister’s glove.” 

Avery exclaims, “I’m not wearing a girls’ glove.” 

I respond, “Oh yes you are, with pride and a smile on your face.”  He frowns.  I ignore it.

9:08- We head out the door.  As we walk down the porch steps, Avery says, “Mom we never brushed our teeth.  Remember how you said they’d rot if we didn’t brush them?”

I look at him and say, “Well not just in 1 day.”  I metaphorically kick myself.  I should have never said that.  It will be the next excuse not to do it. 

9:13- My kids are buckled into the car and I pull out of the driveway.  I realize I have left my cell phone on the top of the washer.  The game started 15 minutes ago.  I park the car at the end of my driveway, and run back in to get my phone and a water bottle for Avery.  Amelia screams out the window, “Can you get me a Go-Gurt?”  I notice my untouched cup of coffee sitting on the Keurig.  I run back out the door and book it the game. 

9:28- We arrive at the field.  The game started half an hour ago.  There are only 2 innings left.  I can’t find a parking spot.  We park a quarter mile away.  I open the sliding door and say to Avery, “RUN!”  I unload my chair and unbuckle Amelia.  We run down to the field. 

9:44- We arrive at the field.  Amelia exclaims, “Where’s my go-gurt?” 

I say in exasperation, “Oh we left it in the car.” One of the older children offers to walk back to the car with her to go get it.  That was so nice.  There really are times when I luck out.

9:49- I watch Avery play ball, and visit with the other mothers, and smile to myself as two other mothers show up even later with their children. 

Amelia gets back with the melted go-gurt in hand and says “Mom, I wanted it frozen.  I don’t like it mushy.”  Talk about first world problems.  My lady love, I really could give less of a miniscule shit how you like your yogurt in a tube.  And if you don’t want it, I do. 

I look her in the eye and say, “Amelia, tell me something that you do like.  I now know that toast, Dora, Ninja Turtles Movies and mushy yogurt are on the NO list.”

9:56 Avery makes a 2-base hit.  I miss it because I am pulling his sister’s sandal out of a quick-sand like mud puddle.

10:17- Amelia walks up to me and says, “Mom, I’m hungry.”  I respond, “Should’ve eaten your egg sandwich.”  Another parent kindly offers her a half-eaten bag of goldfish.  I thank them. 

10:48- The game is over.  I’ve offered to drop Avery’s friend off at home.  Amelia has spilled her goldfish remains on the ground.  I help her clean them up.

11:24- I buckle my kids into their seats and turn my car on.  Avery’s friend climbs into the back and proclaims, “Wow, your car is mess.”   Tell me about it, buddy.

11:32  I pull out of our parking space.  Amelia says, “Mom I have to go to the bathroom so bad that I’m gonna pee my pants.”  Story of your life, girl. 

11:36- I stop the car, and run Amelia to the nearest porta potty, which is not near us at all.  We get back into the car.  Avery says, “mom, do you have anything to drink?  I’m thirsty.”  I look at Avery and say, “You are permanently thirsty.  I swear to god you’re a half bread camel.” 

Avery rolls his eyes at me, “I get the camel part from you, Alice the camel.” Good one Avery, good one.  Yet another reminder that he is so my child. 

My smiling, sweaty son is  on his second gallon of fluid intake for the day, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.  I find a half-drunken plastic water bottle on the floorboard of the car and hand it to him. 

11:44- I drop Avery’s friend off at his house.  I chat with his mother who has a brand new baby.  I hold the baby.  It relaxes me.  It makes me wish I had another baby.  But really, just no.  Never. 

11:58: I hand the sweet baby back to his new mother.  We talk about breastfeeding and pumping for 20 minutes while the kids play on their swingset.

12:22- I load the kids back up.  Avery realizes he has left his sister’s glove at the field.  His sister is wild about it.  We drive back to the field and he runs and grabs it out of the dugout.

12:56- As we drive by the grocery store, I remember that we need a few things, including coffee creamer. I limit myself to a $30 budget for milk, creamer, and dinner.   I pull in, unbuckle the kids, and attempt to tame them the entire time we are in the store.  I end up walking out with a cart full of food, most of which my kids insisted on having.  I have spent $76 and change.  Hey, at least I got some nice steaks for dinner.  Life is all good.

1:29- I just really want a coffee.  I go through the McDonald’s drive-thru and order one.  The line of cars is wrapped around the building.  I wait in the line for 20 minutes before they take my order.  It’s worth it for the coffee.  I  order and pay for my coffee. 

My kids then complain they are starving.  They neglect to mention this before I order my coffee.  I’m starving too but I vowed a month ago to not eat fast food.  I whip the car back around, wait in line for another 20 minutes,  and buy them each a Happy Meal.  Easier than making lunch.  They fight over the toys.  I have to park and go in and exchange the girl toy for the boy toy. 

2:26- We pull into our driveway at home.  I unbuckle the kids and send them inside.  Amelia lets the dog loose when opening the door, as I’m unloading groceries.  I drop the gallon of milk and chase after the dog.  15 minutes later, I catch him over in the neighbor’s yard. 

2:52- My neighbor Jane is out raking her lawn.  She ends up chatting with me about her gardens and the flowers she plans on planting this year.  We talk for 12 minutes.  I say, “I better go in I’ve got groceries melting in my car.”  I secretly admire that she is an empty nester in her late 60’s who has time to plant flower beds.

3:28- I recruit the kids to help me unload the car.  My daughter insists she is strong enough the carry a heavy bag full of cans.  The bags breaks and the cans roll everywhere.  One of the cans rolls underneath my car.  My son climbs underneath to get it, and bangs his head on the bumper getting out.  I console his tears and give him a bag of cold green beans to stop the swelling. 

 

3:53- I go into the house and put the groceries away.  My son asks to borrow my phone to play a game.  The bag of frozen green beans I gave him has burst open and left a trail on the living room floor.  They wouldn’t have eaten them anyway, I just got them for well-rounded meal building.  That’s a thing, as 21^st century parents.  Maybe they won’t eat them but at least we served them.

I realize my phone battery is almost dead, and my husband took my charger to work with him.  I search through the junk drawer for another charger.  10 minutes later, I find it.  I plug my phone into it by the kitchen table and Avery sits down to use it.

4:07- My daughter walks into the kitchen with no pants on.  “Mom, I peed on the couch.”  Of course you did, sweetheart.  Her brother laughs at her.  She hits him in the head and screams at him.  Evidently she hits him in the same spot where he bumped it on the car.  He begins to cry and over-react.  i ignore him.  I find Amelia a pair of clean pants in the laundry room and hand them to her. 

“I don’t like these pants” she exclaims. 

I sarcastically respond, “Amelia, I’m still patiently waiting for you to tell me something that you do like.” 

4:19- The coffee I bought at McDonald’s is cold, and I have a splitting headache and feel dizzy.  Oh that’s right, all I’ve eaten today is half of a cold piece of toast that my daughter refused and a mushy go-gurt.  I grab a banana off the counter, and pop my McDonald’s coffee, which I haven’t even sipped yet, into the microwave.

4:36- I put the steaks in a tupperware to marinate them for dinner.  I walk into the laundry room and trip over the mop I left sitting out, and fall into the dog pee that’s still sitting in a rotting puddle on the floor.  I stand up and mop it up.  I go to switch the clothes from the washer over to the dryer, but realize they smell like must from sitting in the washer for so long, so I re-start a rinse cycle. 

My son comes into the laundry room to tell me he’s thirsty. 

I throw a clean folded washcloth at him and bark, “Then go get a drink!!”

4:48- I precede to fold the clothes on the chest freezer for a full, uninterrupted, 4 minutes. 

4:52:  My son comes into the laundry room once again with a bag of 65 waterballons.  “Mom, can you fill these?  You said we could do it this weekend.”

Waterballons?  Fuck no. 

Actually, maybe it will occupy the kids and buy me some time. 

4:53- Ok but I’m only filling just 2 for you and 2 for your sister. 

4:54- Filling water balloons. 

5:02- “C’mon mom, just like 4 more.”

5:18- Finally finished filling waterballons. 

Avery says, “Oh I see how it goes.  I’m like the prince and the pea.  My balloons are the size of a pea, and Amelia’s are near the size of Antarctica.”  Who taught my kids to use similes that closely compare rubber ballons filled with water to green vegetables and world geography at a mere 7 years of age?  It may or may not have been his mother, in her daily dialect and quick witted sarcasm. 

The kids go outside and burst each balloon within 30 seconds total.  That was a great waste of a valuable 15 minutes, for less than a minute of kid entertainment.  I throw the rest of the bag of ballons in the trash.  Not doing that again.

5:22- My husband walks through the door from work with the warm gallon of milk I had dropped in the yard while chasing the dog.  He says, “I found this milk in the flower bed.  I think it’s gone bad.”  I nod as he pours it out in the sink. 

“So what’d you guys do all day?” He politely asks. 

Well, Avery had a game, and other than that, pretty much nothing.”  Truth.

“Oh nice.  What was the score?” he smiles and slips off his shoes in the middle of the laundry room floor. 

I turn to get my coffee out of the microwave.  “I have no idea what the score was.”  How do I attend a game for a full 90 minutes and have no idea what the score was?  He probably thinks I’m an idiot when it comes to sports. 

Oh wait, I am an idiot when it comes to sports.  It doesn’t take any thinking at all to come to that conclusion.

“What’s the deal with the green beans all over the house?”  He walks past the garbage bag I left in the middle of the kitchen floor and picks it up to find a puddle of rotting watermelon juice beneath it.

I exclaim, “I’ll mop up that puddle I just need to change the Swiffer pad, there’s dog pee all over it.”  He shrugs and sets it back down on the floor.  

5:28- My son walks up to me and says, “Mom the couch is wet and it smells like pee.  And Amelia has dumped her littlest pet shops all over the recliner.  There’s no place to sit.  And I need a drink, but not water.  Like juice or something.  How come you never buy juice?  How come we never really have any food in the house?”

I silently remind myself that I went grocery shopping 3 hours ago.  I just roll my eyes and walk away.  There are no words for this.

My husband rubs his head and responds, “How about some milk, bud?  It helps you grow.”  No Josh, remember?  You just poured an unopened gallon of milk down the sink because it went bad. I'm not going to bring it up once again.

5:46- My husband walks over the Keurig to make himself his post-work cup of coffee, finds the untouched  cup of cold coffee, and says, “Oh are you going to drink this?”

 

And this, ladies and gentleman, is what I’ve accomplished on a Saturday.  I don’t want to talk about it anymore until I have my coffee.