I rant and eat crow in the same post...

10:00 p.m., 05/18/08

Junior's mad at me.

First, I had the audacity to ask him what the main point of his essay was supposed to be. When he didn't know, I gave him the introductory paragraph with four questions to answer. That's a three-page paper, including beefing up the intro and putting a conclusion on it. Google, my son. Google. The instructor didn't assign a font limit. Courier 12 or 14? Shoot, that's a blog entry.
He can't research, according to him. It's a battle we've fought all year. He knows if he waits to exactly the last moment, Momma will freak out (200 points is a big deal, you know) and will be his personal slave.

He's been bucking it for weeks. I understand having one computer that does all the cool stuff. I can make pie charts and nifty stuff like that. At least have the common decency to keep me company while I do your work, Bud.

That was last week. I explicitly set my demands after trying to help, and, behind my back, he made the "blah, blah" motion with his hand.

I work nights. On weekends, my computer tends to be free until late afternoon. Why? I get up, I cook, I do some cleaning. On weekends, I really have no desire to be anywhere close to this damn CPU, unless I'm writing. I volunteered for extra duty again this weekend, but it still left the computer open until 6 last night and 8 again tonight.

He did look, I'll give him that. However, he couldn't pull the facts off the page.

Now...NOW he tells me "it's supposed to be about =========."

You didn't tell me that.

I told him last week I wouldn't be doing his homework for him. I will not. I won't do it. I won't. I did my sophomore year. In talking with my mother, she said, "I know I didn't write papers for you." I wouldn't have asked her. She had five kids. I relied on my own intelligence. I was arrogant enough to believe that I was smarter than she was.

Huh? She never did our homework. Who's smarter?

Everyone in this house, however, thinks because I type, I can do it all.

Here's his final offer: If I write it out, will you let me dictate?

My response? Fine, but for every minute of typing, I own you for that many minutes.

He's not happy. I don't care anymore.

Want additional suspicion? He won't tell me when it's due. I keep asking; he keeps telling me he just wants it done.

I think it's overdue, at this point.

Dude? Couldn't get him to do anything. He's got a mean streak, too, so I'm kind of wondering if he'll ever decide he's bigger than me (now that he is) and get out of control. I had enough and sent him to his room, and he slammed his door and banged on it. It's scaring me a bit.

Sunny won't go to bed. She knows the rule. Once the husband goes to bed, no kids in the room. She's been in here five times since 9:45 to report the status of her dry feet and hands and that none of my ideas are working. Of course, it's my fault that her hands and feet are so dry and my fault that she can't find her socks and my fault that she needs to wash her feet before the lotion - why didn't I explain that - and it's my fault she should have waited before getting in bed before doing the lotion for her feet.

That, and I made tons of french toast, two quiches, and BBQ pork today. For the last hour, while the pork was cooking, we had french toast and quiche to eat on. The husband kept wondering when the food was ready. He didn't want to eat anything I'd cooked already.

I feel I've been insulted, disregarded, dissed, and all other ways disrespected and subjected to ingratitude. I'll get over it, but I've got a headache. I never get headaches. When I get one, I'm past my limit on good graces. Did I mention that they said I'm no fun anymore? Indiana Jones was on the TV. I sat for an hour and watched it, begging, pleading, and then taking away privileges from Dude to get an area cleaned up that Junior already swept out. Ancient deal...Dude pitches a fit and we unfairly decide on peace and make the other two do it. Not today. He fought for every bit of paper. I explained later, when I could do it without yelling, that, had he done it all during the first commercial break, it was one of my favorite movies and I would have loved to watch it with him. Of course, he can't do that. He's waiting until we get pissed and send him away so we don't have to deal with it. I know we all do it as parents, but it's not fair. I was the appliance for my family. I know better. Bill Cosby said (I paraphrase), "Parents don't care about justice. We just want peace!" He's right. We do. But it ain't fair, and rectifying it after you've let him get away with it just isn't a good thing to do.

So here I sit, on my 20th Tums of the evening, hating this headache, and my eyelid is twitching.

I think I'll go write a decadent rub-a-dub tub scene.

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10:00 p.m. 05/19/08

He's still not done! It's the next day, and I'm sitting here transcribing and suggesting stuff to get it to three pages. "Look it up?" he asked a few times. "Write it down and go get me some beef," I've said a few times.

Junior's a sophomore, folks. He had no clue how to do a bibliography, although I know we've done that before. He was, however, able to pull up a link about it and then say "huh" through the entire thing.

I want my mommy. I told Sunny I wanted to run away from home. She said, "Good. We can go to..."

I said, "Nothin' doing. I'm running away with me and nobody under the age of 117."

Shit fuzzy fuck. You know what I just realized?

My little girl made dinner for me. I didn't have to cook when I woke up.

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT I DIDN'T DO???

I totally forgot to thank the child who made my life a little easier.

I'll have to rectify that in the morning. Yeah, here I am ranting about being subjected to ingratitude, and I didn't bother to verbally compliment my girl's attempt to help me out.
This rant is over. I'm still going to post it, though, because I made a big goof. I will admit it. I goofed.

God baby, I'm so sorry. I get into myself and stay there.

5:13 a.m., 05/20/08

I still feel like the worst mom in the world. What it is they say about pointing fingers and having some point back at you?

6:45, a.m. I told her thank you. She said no problem, but her eyes said, "somebody noticed." The paper is done. I doubt it's what the teacher wants, because I saw the syllabus in brief and didn't even bother. Dinner's actually ready, sitting out, and I'll pre-set the oven to start cooking it for when hub gets home. It's an adventure meal. I do those well.

Now, I need a hot soak in the tub. Once I do that, I can call doctors to make appointments for the kids, who need physicals for the upcoming school year, and all need dental appointments. While I'm doing that, the hot water will refill and I can do dishes.

I think. I'll forget something, I just know it.