Update

Middle Child came home today with a package of papers for me. In it was a recommendation that he sees a public health nurse to discuss his emotional needs. By signing the consent form also would mean that any of her findings would end up in Middle Child's file (OSR).

Husband and I are trying to be very upfront about everything with him. And Middle Child is great about asking questions if things aren't altogether clear to him.

"What would it mean if the nurse writes stuff I say and it ends up in my OSR?"

"Well, pretend that after talking with you, she thought you were on drugs. Then she could recommend you see a special counsellor for that and it ends up in your records for years and years. Any teacher can take a look and see, that in 2009, that nurse thought you were on drugs."

"Then no. I don't want to do it. And I'm not on drugs, Mom. But that was just a crazy example you used, right?"

Finally Finding My Sea Legs

I tend to be a bit of a pessimist but when something good and fortuitous happens, I'll call it.

I get to meet a LOT of people as a fitness instructor. People from all walks of life come to the classes. If I ate pork, I could so get a great deal on a half pig or something. I had a lively discussion about double negatives with a retired writer. I probably know more than I want to about incontinence from two palliative care nurses.

Thankfully, I met up with a psychologist and mother of a gifted child in one of my classes. I shared with her some frustrations with Middle Child (barely scratched the surface, really, because one instructor's advice to stay as private as possible resonated). Anyway, over the last couple of days, she's helped me get some serious balls rolling to get Middle Child attended to.

And the timing couldn't have been better. He got picked on again yesterday. And, again, he took all the blame because he didn't want to fink on his "friends".

I got the phone call from his teacher the minute I walked in the door from the gym, still on an endorphin high. "I found in his possession a piece of paper that read, "(Middle Child) is better than (Joe Blow)', and '(Joe Blow) sucks.' I called him out on his inappropriate language as it followed me walking in on him telling another boy, holding a tennis ball in his hand, 'I'm aiming for your balls.'"

I hope I came across as a little calmer than I really was. I asked what happened before these experiences. "Well, as you know, he's pretty tight-lipped." So I made her aware, actually reminding her, that Middle Child is being picked on and has been since kindergarten. He is a square peg trying desperately to fit into a round hole. Perhaps if she got to know him, gave him the benefit of the doubt, she could assess that in him and use her education and teaching experience to make his school days less like a fricking gulag.

Mind you, Middle Child has lost much respect for her as a representative of fairness and peace after she publicly accused him of stealing from the school's third world charity project.

What hurts the most is seeing him so unhappy. Coming in second is that he's accused me of not fighting hard enough for him. Why does that kill me? Because maybe he's right.

At Least He Didn't Swear

Husband is so cute.

He has some ads on the local radio station these days and was asked if he'd like to be on a segment of the morning show to discuss sport mouthguards.

He spent the next week reading and rereading stuff about mouthguards and sport injuries. I told him that the interviewer will lead the discussion and it would be over before he knew it. Don't overprepare, in other words.

But like any other time in our marriage, he didn't take my advice.

He was fairly nervous. He's not much of a talker to start with and his answers were really short. I asked him about that later and he said, "He asked a question. I answered it. There really wasn't much to embellish on. I mean, 'What are mouthguards made of?' I told him. Next question."

But then Husband mentioned that he makes anti-snoring devices and all that reading about mouthguards went out the window. That's all the interviewer wanted to talk about from then on.

The kids turned off the Smurfs when I told them Daddy was on the radio. Daughter stood by the speaker the whole time. Baby Boy lasted as long as the novelty of hearing his father's disembodied voice wore off. Middle Child shrugged, "Yup. That's Dad. Like I haven't heard him before." And went upstairs to get dressed.

Husband will be getting no celebrity love from those kids.

So, Like, Um, Yeah

I heard on the radio about a 13-year-old girl in the US who amassed a $3000+ cellphone bill. How did she rack up those charges, you wonder? ALL TEXT MESSAGES.

What has me laughing on the outside but crying in the inside is that almost all of them were sent to and from her best friend. How much do you want to bet that this said best friend was sitting beside her most of the time?

I retold this story to a 20-something and she just shrugged. "I can see that happening. I myself never talk to anyone anymore."

!!!

Seriously?! You never talk with anyone anymore? Sweet mother of John A. Macdonald! Are we going to have a generation of people who don't know how to converse? In all honesty, this person was in a job interview situation with Husband and he said it was like talking with a robot.

Granted, I love to write. Arguably, I probably come off as a cooler, better person in type than I do in real life. But there are certain nuances that can't be translated in to text, or if you try, they can be convoluted or misread. And, I'm sorry but emoticons don't count. Let's not go there unless you want me to open up a can of literary whoop-ass on you.

Jesus Wept

I can't sleep. I feel like I've let Middle Child down. I should have protected him better.

The back story is that he was beat up again. This would be the third time in a year. The first time was more or less understandable. It was a tussle from a soccer game. It got a little physical and Middle Child pushed the boy away to get at the ball. The boy and Middle Child fell over with my kid on the bottom. The other child was steaming and he bit Middle Child's arm, leaving a lovely bruise. What does my kid do? He doesn't fight back. One of my mommy mantras is, "Use your words; not your hands." So, he yelled at the kid, "You fucking bitch!" Boys are bastards, honey, but then was not the time to get into the nuances of language. The swearing startled the kid and he began to cry. Finally, the yard duty adult figured something was amiss. Duh. Result: both boys got a talking to and a detention for their aggression.

Time #2 was when a kid in senior kindergarten decided out of freakin' nowhere to give Middle Child a beating. He thought it would give him credibility if he picked on an older kid. Hey, there's a boy who is spending recess reading. And I was told that he threw about 25 punches. Middle Child did nothing. "I'm not going to fight a little kid." Result: other boy was suspended. Middle Child was humiliated but the girls in his class had a new respect for him.

This time, again out of nowhere, one boy pushed Middle Child on the ground while another pinned him. Middle Child would consider these two as friends. He's been trying for years to impress them. They're very athletic and popular. Middle Child is decidedly not. He has taken to acting like the class clown and to dumb things down so he'd fit in better. Okay, I'm getting sidetracked. So Middle Child was pinned into a puddle of water and slush while the bigger boy scooped gravel-encrusted slush down Middle Child's splash pants, in his hair, in his mouth. What does my kid do? He yells at them, lobbing the f-bomb like grenades. Result: all three kids get moved in the classroom next to quiet, obedient girls and all three get detention. Yes, even Middle Child because "the school has a no-swearing policy."

Now, when the teacher phoned me to say he was going to miss his recess, I thought it was because of a prior incident when the three boys were throwing an empty chocolate milk carton at each other in class. It was only last night, two days after the fact, that I learned it was because of Middle Child swearing.

In my books, I think his retaliation was in line; a natural reaction and a relatively peaceful one. I mean, he's getting crap shoved in his mouth. What do they expect him to do – just lie there and take it?

I've apologized to Middle Child for not sticking up for him and that I was proud that he stood his ground (and that maybe he should consider the criteria of what makes for a good friend). I mentioned that I will talk with the principal today and tell him that I thought he was faultless and that his parents condone his swearing in this incident. But Middle Child just rolled his eyes.

"Just forget about it, Mum. I have. Please, just move on. I'm happy. Really."

But he's not. He's been so disorganized since then. He's dogging it more than usual when it's time to go to school. His homework is all over the place. And he purposely flubbed a math quiz (did ten questions out of 50 and the answers he did give were outrageous). He's totally rotten to everyone at home; just being plain mean. He's been unreasonably demanding. And, what's really telling, his appetite has waned.

Thankfully, we're gearing up to Easter so he'll have some time off from school. Maybe staying at home where he's accepted and cherished for the interesting person that he is will bring his self-esteem back to normal. Until some other mother's son kicks the shit out of him.

Did I mention that he asked when he'd be old enough to lift weights with me? I bought a couple of one-pound hand weights for him (in slime green, of course).

Apparently, Pigs Can Fly

I was named Instructor of the Month at the gym. Go figure.

It was at the seasonal meeting for instructors when our regional manager said, "We don't usually do this at these sort of things but this person is so much fun, I thought I'd make a game out of it. Okay, March's instructor has a great sense of humour."

Lots of names were batted around. The friend who initially approached me to instruct was the only one to say my name.

"She fills in last minute."

Fewer names. Two people said my name now.

"She's a tiny ball of energy!"

So now only the short instructors were named.

"Oh, come on! This will be the give away. She made a Facebook group for the club and she held a St. Patrick's Day party class where she had snacks and prizes for everyone, and even drank her water out of a can of Guinness."

"JENNIFER!!!"

And my mouth gaped open. Seriously?