Tuesday, June 28, 2011

A Whiff

I'm fairly sure I've never sat through any episodes of a Jerry Springer Show, but I must've seen excerpts along the way because I know I can easily visualize the guests jumping up, screaming and pummeling each other until the bouncers pulled them apart. Who on earth would go on TV only to fight?

See, that's the mentality I also encounter as in who fights? Who does this?

I can't even begin to count the number of fights I've witnessed here and had to try and pull the combatants apart.

At the high school in which I worked for 13 years, I sometimes felt as if we had a fight a day there. It'd be us teachers trying to break it up, to avoid getting hit and tossed aside. It's nearly an automatic reaction to jump in and attempt to quell a disturbance and I just don't like it. It got so bad that we ended up having a school resource officer alongside of us each day, as the city police couldn't always get there in time...just like it is here at my house.

Grandma sat here this morning, as I drove Martin to work, and I've often wondered what she'd do should an altercation break out? I can only hope someone'd run and get my oldest sons to help, or call 911, but hey, I had the strongest one out with me, leaving only CW and Chuy, unless Allen and JoJo could, or would, be helpfully utilized if it were Jonathan attacking someone.

I just don't like drama, don't like adrenaline coursing through me, I deeply desire peace and quiet with every fiber of my being.

That traumatized children want to recreate the chaos in which they're comfortable just stuns me. Why, y'all, why?

I have pediatric written orders for an xray today of Scotty's thumb, this jumping through hoops in order to get medical bills paid, like I can't look at it and determine it needs to be xrayed? Hello? I may be medically challenged, but I do have functioning eyeballs.

Sabrina's knee is bothering her and needs to be checked, cheerleading is every bit as rough and tumble as is football.

Dr. Mandy's hurrying to get Jonathan's psych eval updated, yet it's a cumbersome process. She's trying to fit us in as often as is possible. Last night he threatened to slug Scotty over nothing, and refused to go to bed at bedtime, glowering over me, trying to intimidate me, but I didn't back down, held my ground and glared back, knowing Allen was right there behind me. Yeah, that one, the one who'd recently slung me. Both he and JoJo have been very apologetic, the it won't happen again mentality that abusers use. I ain't buying it.

Chuy'd be a better bet to back me up, as he's Jonathan's birth brother, Jonathan would usually respond to Chuy faster and better, but recently he'd kicked Chuy's already football-injured knee, making Chuy rather wary of this lunging mad man.

Elizabeth had taken this photo at VBS, Yolie'd bragged on Chuy, that he'd been smiling all week, super helpful for Miss Lisa and supervising all the games and sports like the coach I hope he grows up to be, even though he's bucked coaches and has much to learn. He's very intelligent and I have high hopes for him.

Oh my goodness Jonathan, you have no clue as to how difficult your life will be if you don't learn to listen to authority. Any hopes I may harbor as to his future success are slipping away, lemme tell you. Jonathan's issues run so deep. He's not just angry, like Allen, he's deeply and severely emotionally disturbed.

When I'd gone in to make sure Martin was out of bed at six this morning, I surprisingly heard their room radio tuned to my old lady station. Funny how much peace it does provide, the nearly somnolent piano accompaniment. They were snoring like old men.

We'd finished last night off quietly, we were skyping Vanessa for an hour and watching her beautiful baby cooing. She's planning on a trip here soon.

I can barely look at my Google calendar without cringing, so packed with gotta get it all done demands. Jack came upstairs very early this morning, again crying about his neck. I gave him his medicines and reminded him this was going to be a long slow healing process. He's had such a tough year. My heart breaks for him, this'd surely be a time he'd be hanging out with his buddy, Grandpa, the two of them eating ice cream and laughing about stupid silly stuff. I hate it that Jack's BFF is gone.

Indeed Grandma's canceled her Bridge Club, rushed to the hospital to be with Jack, later filling his prescriptions so I could get him home quickly.

I got a whiff of a menthol smell at the hospital, immediately reminding me of something Grandpa used to use. Tears sprang to my own eyes, but I fought them off while thinking about my children and how many such triggers they must have within each of them.

I remember one time when Gina heard one of my brothers pop open a single can of beer at the beach house that he'd bought for the evening. He likely drank about one every month or so, no big deal at all for any well adjusted adult. Yet Gina freaked. Jumping sky-high blurting, "Mom, I smell beer," as an unpleasant memory from her past was immediately flooding her mind.

Another reason I don't drink, knowing about my children's scary memories of folks who over drank and acted out drunkenly.

I've tried to give them pleasant memories instead, the sight of a yucca bloom or a gardenia reminding them it was time to head out for a beach trip, the scent of a hyacinth reminding them it was Springtime, the smell of freshly pulled garlic to bring up our family suppertime memories, indeed Yolie still craves her comfort foods here during times of stress. Where's the FHPS? It works for me too.

And Oh My Goodness, may I use an exclamation mark? Tabby just got up with what looks to be Pink Eye. Back to the Pediatrician we go.