Reminders

Overheard coming from my lips and following the Boy down the street the other afternoon:

"Have fun!
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And remember your phone!
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And remember your bike helmet!
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And be back in an hour!
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AND DON'T PLAY WITH DEAD THINGS!!!!"

Prepare for Awesomeness

So the kids and I went to see "Kung Fu Panda" this afternoon. I haven't said much about it here and probably won't, but I'm keeping them for all overnights now. They did get to spend some time with their dad this week--he had them over for dinner and then a few hours before bed, plus half the day Saturday--but for now, they're sleeping over here every night.

The Boy is also going through some potentially big changes. Part of it is probably just growing up, getting older and understanding things a little better. He's also taking a second round of a social skills class at the local university, and I think he really is getting some good from it. I've also got him back seeing his therapist a few times a month, so that he can hopefully build more skills for handling the stressful stuff in his life. I think all these things work together, little pieces of a bigger puzzle that makes a picture of a person handling life well or losing his or her shit. I would be remiss, though, if I didn't reveal this piece over here in the corner: He's on medication again.

We tried that back in kindergarten...and wow. That experience is in the archives somewhere. Well, this year, we decided to try again and see what happened. That decision was based on feedback and discussions from him, about how he was feeling in school, with other kids. He tried a typical ADHD medication, and it seemed to help with focus a bit, but not with his moodiness or low-frustration level. We tried a Tourette's medication, but it just made him tired, which made him more moody. Then a few things happened, and what I can say is that it brought up the possibility that we had a hyper-sensitive kid who was suffering from anxiety and stress and--yep--depression. So after much soul-searching and many discussions with his (truly excellent) psychiatrist, we broke out the Zoloft.

Now, this is the teeniest, tiniest amount of Zoloft ever. But interestingly, after 3 weeks, I'm seeing a change. At least I think I am. I'm a little reluctant to call it too quickly, but I swear that he's been less moody this week, and even more organized and agreeable.

I didn't make this decision because I want my kid to be perfect or benign or anything like that. But I remember what it felt like when I was suffering from acute depression. I remember what it felt like to get help for that. He's still an 8-year old boy, and he's still bouncing off the walls and arguing with his sister and getting into all sorts of mischief with his friends and trying to talk me into whatever he wants to talk me into. It's just that I'm starting to see a kid who isn't always on the verge of losing his shit. And that makes me happy.

And I don't know what this has to do with Kung Fu Panda, really, except that it WAS the most Awesome movie Ever. We were indeed blinded by its awesomeness. Plus, I sort of secretly love Jack Black.

Yeeeeaaahooowwwww!

Just a gigolo

Flea's recap of the Police concert that Orange and she attended reminded me that I meant to recap this:

When Jeannie and I went to the same concert last year, I got the Boy all riled up about the Police. How awesome they were! Message in a Friggin' Bottle!

So when Roxanne came on the radio the other day, I cranked it up. "It's the Police!" I told him.

After a minute: "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"What's this song about, exactly?"

Er.

"Well," I said, "it's a guy singing to his girlfriend."

"Yeah, but about what?"

"And her name is Roxanne."

"Yeah, but what's he saying to her?"

"He doesn't like her job."

"Oh." Then, "What's her job?"

Oy vey. "Well...she dates people."

The voice from the back seat pitches up a notch. "She dates people? For money? That's her job?"

"Yes. And that makes her boyfriend feel jealous, and he wants her to stop. Because that job is pretty much frowned upon. Not to mention illegal in all but one state."

"And she gets money. For going on dates."

"Yes."

Pause.

"How much money?"

Uh, not the point, kid.

"Which state thinks it's okay?"

"Nevada."

Pause.

"I'M GONNA MOVE TO NEVADA WHEN I GROW UP! I COULD TOTALLY DO THAT JOB, MOM!!!"

World weary

So we're at the park and we see three women--probably high school or or college age--go by on bikes. They're wearing bikinis, towels draped around their shoulders.

The Boy's got eyes like saucers.

"Why are those teenage girls riding their bikes in their swimsuits?" he asks.

"Good question," I say.

"I bet they're on their way to the pool."

"Probably."

"Or," he says, with confidence, "or, they want people to pay attention to them."

"It's a good bet," I say.

"Why would they want people to notice them?" he asks. Then he answers his own question: "They probably want people to buy what they're selling."

"Oh?" This is an interesting theory, though I'm not sure I like where it's going. "And what do you think they're selling?"

"Teenager stuff. Like Teenage Blower Machines."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. Teenage Blower Machines. That blow smoke rings. For teenager parties. They have those at all the teenager parties."

Indeed.


Oh, and this one.