Last week was PMS week, which just happened to fall on Gage's first week of homeschool and me finally getting accounting software and learning how to run the family business (both of which I have never done before), Bug's early intervention evaluation, and then her deciding to go back to two naps a day, with the last one lasting until dinnertime, which means she then stays up until 9:00pm. Ohmyfuckinggod. I barely remember it. I think it was too traumatic to retain the memory. What I DO know, is that I was so out of my mind that Friend noticed just from the tone of my FB messages, and apparently I was so bad that she had to suggest I drink more. Dude. Pour me another....
Everything is cool now though. Homeschool is going great so far, and I'm wondering why I never tried it before. It seriously eliminates all of the problems I had with Gage's previous educational issues. He HAS TO be accountable. There is no hiding in the back of the class. There is no, "I didn't know I had to do that assignment", or, "The teacher doesn't have time to help me", or "There aren't enough books for me to take one home to do homework". There are no excuses. I am able to review everything he does. His teachers have our cell numbers and we text each other as needed. If he didn't "get" a lecture, he can watch it over and over again. He can work ahead as far as he wants. We make our own hours. He doesn't have to dodge sleepy drivers on the walk to school in the morning. We can go to the beach in the middle of the day. He doesn't have to eat crap-tastic school food. I could go on forever. The point is, it's awesome, and Bug will be educated the same way.
Bug is suspected of having Childhood Apraxia of Speech, although it's too early to determine that definitively at her age. Basically that would mean that it is taking her brain longer to learn how to go from knowing the word she wants to say, to executing the muscle movements necessary for actually SAYING the word. Understanding more language than you can speak is a normal part of development, but with CAS, that time period is much longer, and if severe enough, can affect her speech forever. The good news is that early, intensive therapy is VERY effective.
The early intervention team told me to get her into speech therapy even without the diagnosis, because it can only help her. So we will. They also tested her cognitive, social and motor skills as a standard part of the evaluation. That was interesting...they said she tests as a 2 1/2 - 3 year old in every area except speech. She is 18 months old. For speech she is at the lower percentage of 12 month olds. The psychologist said he's never seen such a huge discrepancy between scores, and that if she COULD talk, she'd be a brilliant orator, and we'd be having full conversations. They also told me not to worry too much, because she won't be 20 and unable to say "Mama". That was reassuring :)
The other day I was in one of my super fashionable at-home ensembles, and Gage gave me the once over and said, "Oh look. You've got your Mom shoes on." I was wearing these stupid ugly white sneakers that the guys make fun of me constantly for. I try never to wear them, but my feet hurt so bad from the Mardi-Gras bead incident that I needed something comfy to wear! I told Gage to shut it because I stepped on Bug's beads and twisted my ankle and bruised my heel, so I needed something comfortable on my feet. He laughed at me, because he's a jerk. Oh, and days later he walked by and whispered, "A whale's vagina" in my ear and scarred me for life. An hour ago he walked by me again and whispered, "Poopsicles"... WHO DOES THAT??? Why would you do that to your mother?! UGH! Who is raising that thing??
Oh yeah, my point was about the shoes. Husband got home and heard that Gage was making fun of my shoes, and so he got a few jabs in himself before he offered to get me some new, less dorky sneaks. Awesome!
We get to the mall, and I quickly discovered that walking/running shoes are retarded. They are so fucking ugly. They are NOT comfortable, and the more expensive the brand, the less comfy they are. WTF. The Nike's and Reebok's were the worst. Who the fuck wears neon orange and electric purple shoes? Why are there rubber bubble looking thingies on the soles? I looked longingly at the Vans and DC's, and contemplated putting two sets of insoles in them instead of one....sigh...But no. I was here to get super comfy sneaks that were good enough to be on my feet all day. That's priority one. I ended up with these:
They're alright looking, but for comfort, they rock. Gage says they're still Mom shoes because they LOOK comfortable. That when you LOOK comfortable, you look like a Mom. Then he asked me if I was ready for soccer practice... Little.Shit.
My most recent driver's license picture from California had me pictured with pink hair and a labret piercing. That picture was taken in 2006, and by the time it was 2012, I looked as normal as a Rockwell painting. I had a regular job and had to look professional, and I hated it. I missed my pink hair, and I swore that the second I was able to, I'd start dying my hair again and re-pierce my lip. And then I went through enormous changes in my personal life, finished college, got pregnant, got remarried, and totally didn't give a shit about pink hair, until very recently. I've been feeling kind of dull, kind of...uninteresting. I remembered how much I loved looking different. How COMFORTABLE I was representing myself that way. I thought about doing it. Would I still like it? Would that make me feel attractive? I'm pretty sure the answer is no. It's an answer I'm not ready to fully accept, because I think it means more than I'm willing to admit at the moment, but yeah. I think it's a no.
So what then? Buy yoga pants and wear my stupid Sketchers to soccer practice? Probably. I thought at 36 I would be more solid in who I am. But that's the thing, I KNOW who I am, I just don't care to represent myself visually the same way other women in my position do. You know, stay at home moms with two kids, who homeschool, run their husband's business and live in the South. THAT is NOT me. So what is me? Fuck if I know. But it's time to start playing with some ideas.