Money Matters, the Sequel

I wrote a post the other day about how important it is to me to teach my kids financial responsibility. And not just for there own good. But for selfish reasons too. I really don't want them living in my basement when they are 30 years old.

My post explained how I've been working on this with Miracle Boy since he was 5. And I hope he got it. Or at least enough of it to be able to stand on his own 2 feet while he figures out the rest.

But, The Quiet One is a totally different story. As I've said in prior posts, I inherited The Quiet One when he was almost 16. Almost grown. Habits firmly in place. And he has absolutely no idea how to manage money. I don't know if he's ever been taught anything about money management or budgeting or anything. But from the looks of how he spends money, I'd guess not.

Since moving into our household, he has had the same rules and guidelines as Miracle Boy. He started working the week he arrived, has been required to save half of his paychecks, and is responsible for his own spending money etc. He was fortunate in that a family friend of his mother left him a pickup, which we helped him sell since he didn't need the vehicle. The money was put into a long term savings account. It gave him a little boost, put him close to an even playing field with Miracle Boy. However, that's were the similarities end.

It seems we've made some rookie mistakes. We've treated him the same way we treat Miracle Boy, but unfortunately, he hasn't had the same foundation. We've told him to put half his paycheck into savings, and not to spend any of his savings. Upon checking a while back we were shocked to find that not only has his savings not grown at all in a year and half, but it has shrunk by one third! Yikes!

At that point we took away his debit card and cancelled his access to the savings account. He now has to hand over his paychecks to Mr. Fixit, who deposits half and gives The Quiet One the other half in cash. And it seems to be working...for now.

But my concern is, he is almost 18. In less than a year he will graduate from high school and move out. Is that enough time to teach him how to handle money? At a time when we should be stepping back and watching him take the reigns (albeit under supervision) we are stepping in and taking over. How will that work or help him when he moves on?

A Love Story

The local radio station is running a contest. They are asking readers to send in their love stories. The top stories will be posted on line and voted on by the general listening public. The winner receives a dinner for two and a gift certificate to a local jewelry store. I'm really not interested in the prize, but I've been very tempted to enter our story.

You see, our love story is not full of roses and candy and date nights. In fact, I don't remember the last time I received flowers from my husband. But ours is a love story none the less. It goes something like this:

I met my husband almost 15 years ago through mutual friends. We were both divorced and single parents of preschool aged boys. After 6 years together, we married almost 9 years ago. 6 years is a long time to wait, we were both a bit gun shy. And we knew that blending families is hard which is why the divorce statistics for 2nd marriages increases from 50% to 60%. But we were committed and it was working even with some bumps along the way.

Then 7 years ago, we received unexpected news. We were having another child. This was not planned. Our boys were almost 10 years old. We had other plans. They would be off to college in 8 years, we could do something different. We had been planning to semi-retire, move, see the world, etc. Now, we needed to adjust all that and get ready to welcome a new bundle of joy.

I won't lie, tears were shed. But once the shock wore off and all the "advanced maternal age" tests came back "normal", we settled into welcoming our bonus. But the surprises were not over. A "difficult baby" eventually led to a diagnosis of autism and a host of other comorbid diagnoses. Now we were not only a blended family but also a "special needs" family. And those statistics are even worse. Divorce rates for families with a special needs child are said to be 80-90%. Those odds are not very encouraging. And here is where our love story really kicks in.

My husband has continued to work at a job that he had plans to leave. He goes every day because we need not only the steady income, but more importantly, the health insurance. He comes home every day between 3:30 and 4:00. No going out for a drink after work. He comes home to give me a break and spend time with our son. He rarely goes out with the guys.

Day in and day out, he is in the autism trenches with me. He changes pull ups on a 7 year old. He acts excited about the same damn airplane video for the 100th time that day. He stays home from gatherings with our son, encouraging me to go and enjoy myself. He takes numerous hours off from work to attend IEP meetings, doctor appointments, evaluations, etc. He pulls our 4'4" tall, 65 pound son on a tag along bike, and the child does not peddle. Many nights he gives up his side of our bed when Bambam has a rough night. We now joke that the guest room is daddy's room. He understands when I fall asleep on the couch by 9:00 many nights in a row from complete exhaustion.

My husband and I have not had a weekend away in over 7 years. I'm not sure when we will. I may not remember the last time I received flowers, but I do remember the last time he stayed home with Bambam and encouraged me to go have some "me time". I do remember the last time he paid thousands of dollars for doctors appointments and medications and therapies instead of getting a new car or a new anything. I do remember when he went out to play in 16 degree weather because Bambam was already out the door. I do remember that he always gets in the pool with Bambam, no matter how cold it is. I do remember that he is still here, everyday, being my tag team partner in this wrestling match called autism.

Now, none of this is to say that he is perfect. None of us are. He can be impatient. He sometimes yells when he shouldn't. And he's not very good at recognizing when he needs to step back and refuel. But he's here. Everyday. Doing his part. Loving our son.

I read almost daily about autism dads who leave. And daily I'm thankful that my husband is still here. A long time ago I was told that "love is the act of living out a commitment". If so, my husband is the definition of love. It may not be all roses and violins, but this is our love story. And I think its beautiful.

A Fraud

Usually I feel like an open book. I don't really hide much. My life is what it is and if you are willing to listen, I will share it with you. But, lately I've been feeling like a fraud.

I can not tell you how often I hear the words "you are such a great parent" or "I don't know how you do it" or "I could never do what you do" or "Your kids are so lucky to have you" or my favorite (which came from the LRC teacher at school) "Bambam hit the jackpot when he got you for parents". Really??? I don't feel like any of this is true. And if this is the picture I present to you, then I'm a fraud. Because here is what my days are really like:

I barely even say hi to my teenagers as they get themselved up, ready, and out the door to school. Our conversations in the morning exist of "bye mom, we're leaving" answered by me with "have a good day, love you guys". That's it. Most days I don't even know what they are wearing as I'm in my bedroom getting ready when they walk out the door and the words above are yelled down to the front door. Great parenting? I think not.

Bambam watches Curious George and The Cat in the Hat every morning so I can get his breakfast made, our lunches done and get myself ready before getting him ready for school. Seriously, TV first thing in the morning, every morning. And, I don't have time in the mornings to patiently wait and work with him on dressing himself. I know more than anyone that we are supposed to work on adaptive skills. I just don't have time in the mornings so I still dress him at 7 years old. Some days we are still late for school. Not exactly parent of the year.

My teenagers go either straight to their sports practice or to the athletic club from school. Often they are not home by dinner time so we eat in shifts. Sitting down for a family dinner is a rarity at our house. And Bambam doesn't really eat dinner, it's just not his thing. So he sits in the family room doing his iPad while Mr. Fixit and I eat dinner. Now that's good parenting.

The dinner dishes don't always get done after dinner. In fact, some days they don't get done until I get home from work the next day. And my house is not always dusted, vaccumed, swept and mopped. The laundry piles up. I will never win the Betty Homemaker Award.

Miracle Boy has been on the varsity golf team every year in high school. I have never yet watched a golf tournament. In 3 years, I've never seen him play. Granted, they play during the week when I'm either at work or have Bambam with me. And its not convenient. But a great parent would make it happen.

I do not get to all the things I'm supposed to work on with Bambam every day. The fine motor work, gross motor work, sensory diet, academic work, social skills, play dates, adaptive skills, speech and language skills, theraputic listening, brushing, etc. Some days we don't even read for 10 minutes. Some days I fail him miserably.

I am not a great parent. I'm just a parent, just like all the other parents out there. I really want to be a good parent. But life is not perfect. It's messy and chaotic and the days are shorter than necessary. I often make mistakes and fall short. I'm impatient, I yell, I make snap decisions I regret later. And when people tell me what a great parent I am or how lucky my kids are, I feel like a fraud.

Trapped in the Car

As luck would have it, The Quiet One and I were in the car today. Just the 2 of us. I love it when I have one or the other teenager trapped in the car with me, just the 2 of us with no distractions. OK, maybe some Christmas music in the background. But they are my captive audience. I have the best conversations with them in the car.

Since they both now drive, this doesn't happen very often. Don't get me wrong, I love that they now drive. It makes my life so much easier. I'm no longer a taxi for 3, now it's just 1. But, I sometimes miss that one on one time in the car. So I try to create situations where it happens. And today it happened with The Quiet One. And this is awesome. As his alias implies, he is quiet. He doesn't volunteer information unless you ask. So the time in the car with him is great.

With the holidays coming up, I asked him if he was excited to go see his mom. Of course he is. So we talked about that a little bit, what they had planned, would he see his grandma, etc. Then I asked him if he sees his old friends when he visits there. And he said not really. He sees one, but not the rest. And then he went on to say that the kids there are different. Different how I ask. And he says "There sort of all punks." I find this to be an interesting comment, these were his friends. And then he goes on to say "You know, I'm really glad I moved up here." Say what?

This is the child who moved into our household under duress, for lack of a better word. He was failing high school, getting in trouble, had been arrested twice, smoking pot, etc. He was sullen and angry when he got here. Did not want to be here, was angry at his mom for shipping him away. Angry at us for making him come. Angry he was taken away from his friends. He was counting the days till he could return.

This same child is now telling me how glad he is that he lives here. He went on to say that the kids here are nicer, that even when they are joking and having fun they are still respectful. He actually used that word "respectful". He likes that there is no need for a police officer at the high school here, that there is no graffiti on the walls. It's nicer.

And I'm sitting there in awe. I'm in awe that he not only sees these differences, but that he is acknowledging it. That he is outwardly saying "I like it here, I'm glad I live here now." And I got a little teary. But I kept it in check because teenage boys don't appreciate a little happy cry. But what I did say is "Honey, I'm so happy that you like it here. Thank you for sharing that with me. You just made my day."

I have the best conversations with my kids in the car.

The Mean Mom

When Miracle Boy was 6, he and I spent a week at the coast. Just the two of us. It is one of my favorite memories. We spent time playing on the beach, going to the aquarium, a whale watching trip, browsing the tourist shops, and generally having a great time on our mini-vacation. 

While browsing in one of the tourist shops, Miracle Boy happened upon a framed poem entitled "Mean Moms". After reading it, he quickly and with a grin deemed me a mean mom. I don't remember all of the poem, but it went something like this:

Mean moms make their children eat vegetables.
Mean moms give their children a bedtime.
Mean moms don't let their children watch TV all day.
Mean moms make sure homework is done.
etc

You get the idea. And then the last line of the poem was "The world needs more mean moms!".

Ever since that trip 11 years ago, Miracle Boy has referred to me as a mean mom, almost always with a grin. I hope this means that he understands that all my decisions, discipline, consequences, praise, etc are made with his best interest at heart. I'm certainly not a perfect parent, and I make more than my share of mistakes. But I try to put my kid's best interest at the heart of everything. 

The teenage years are hard, even under the best of circumstances. And I'm not sure ours is the best of circumstances: A blended family, a special needs little brother, a step brother with his own struggles, and a biological father with major issues. Miracle Boy is a great kid, but during these teenage years I find that we are butting heads more and more. He of course is pushing the envelope, fighting for his independence, wanting to live his own life. I of course want to keep him close, protect him, try to save him from learning the lessons that I learned the hard way. I cannot tell you how many time a week I hear the words "but it's my life to live, my lessons to learn." 

I just hope that during these turbulent teenage years he remembers why I'm such a "mean mom". I love that boy with every fiber of my being.

Personal Responsibility

In our house getting ready for the new school year includes not only school clothes shopping, and haircuts, but also trips to the dentist. In the past 2 days I've dragged all 3 kids to the dentist.

Miracle Boy was first. Teeth look great, no decay. But a broken tooth from an unfortunate incident with a surf board last summer! I remember the incident. He told me about the 2 broken brackets on his braces and we got those fixes. No one mentioned a broken tooth, not him, not the orthodontist. Sigh. It's getting fixed now. Luckily, there is no decay and he should be good as new shortly.

The Quiet One was next. Not so great. 8 cavities. 8 cavities in one year??? At least I think it's 1 year. The Quiet One came to live with us full time last summer. I'm assuming his mom took him to the dentist regularly before that. I'm pretty sure she did. But, 8 cavities??? Wow. A BIG lecture from the dentist on personal hygiene and diet (read stop going to 7-11 and buying junk food and energy drinks). 

As I stand listening to the dentist tell me about his 8 current cavities that need filled and the dozen more they can see forming in the x-rays, I'm left speechless. This is difficult for me. For lack of a better term, I "inherited" The Quiet One last year at the age of 15, almost 16. Let me repeat, almost 16. Almost grown. Habits formed. Attitudes firmly in place.

And here I'm going to insert the back story:

Mr. Fixit and I starting dating when The Quiet One was 2 and Miracle Boy was 3. 6 years later, when the boys were 8 and 9, we married. I've been around for potty training, starting school, learning to tie shoes, learning to read, etc. But, since The Quiet One lived primarily with his mom, I was always sort of on the outskirts. I was not the primary caregiver, disciplinarian, teacher. I offered support and reinforcement when he was with us, but didn't take a leading role. I don't like to step on anyone's toes.

When The Quiet One was 10, he was living out of state with his mom. Due to distance, our visits were less frequent. And we could see changes happening. At that time I had a frank conversation with Mr. Fixit which went as follows: "You need to do what you can to get him up here full time. We can see what is happening. He is struggling in school. He is struggling with making appropriate choices and gaining personal responsibility. He needs more assistance and guidance now. I do not want to wait until he is a teenager with bigger issues before he is shipped up to us as a last resort." There were a myriad of signs that things were starting to go in a questionable direction for him. My big fear was that I would get a teenager failing school, dabbling in drugs, etc. With another teenager and a younger child in the household, that was cause of great concern for me. Right or wrong, those were my feelings. 

Flash forward 4 years and we get a call in early June. The Quiet One's mom caught him smoking pot and is sending him up to us right now (2 weeks before school is out) for the whole summer. He is just finishing 8th grade. He has a cumulative GPA of a 0.83. I do not understand how a kid with a 0.83 GPA is promoted from 8th grade into high school. (In my humble opinion this symbolizes what is broken in our educational system. But that is another post.) 

So we spend a summer trying to convince everyone involved that he should remain up here for the coming school year. But It's a no go. In August he goes "back home" to begin his Freshman year in high school. We did get an agreement that if he failed any classes his first semester or had any other trouble, he would return in January to live with us. January came with an F on his report card, but no child. Frustration does not begin to portray what I was feeling. Being in a position with absolutely no authority, who's opinion really doesn't count, and watching a child slowly failing was more than I could handle. I needed to either step in and do something, or wash my hands of the whole affair and not be forced to watch. I could do neither. 

During the 2nd semester of his Freshman year he proceeded to get charged with arson (set a garbage can on fire at school), fail 2 more classes, and get charged with possession of a controlled substance (on the school campus). Finally, at the age of 15, failing school, experimenting with drugs, and with 2 serious charges against him, he was shipped up to us as a "last resort". My worst nightmare, right?

Really, not so much. What I need to explain about The Quiet One is that he's not the "bad kid" he may sound like. He's a kid who needs a lot of guidance and quite honestly still needs some hand holding at the age of 16. He needs very clear rules and guidelines. Personal responsibility and accountability are not high on his list. His biggest problem is that he's a follower. And he got mixed up with "the wrong crowd". Being a follower, he did what his friends were doing. No homework and making very poor choices. We knew the first step to turning things around was getting him away from the kids he was "following". 

And what a difference a year can make. He has made up 2 of the classes he failed (tutoring through summer school), passed all his classes his sophomore year (not without struggles, loss of privileges, and lots and lots of hand holding), works part time in our business, and has not been in any trouble. School will always be difficult for him, our goal is to see him graduate. He is polite and respectful, his new friend's parents (whom we all know) enjoy having him over, he even has a girlfriend. That's not to say life is all rosy and perfect. Remember the 8 cavities? Its a far cry from arson, but we don't want him running around toothless at the age of 20.

As I said, personal responsibility is not high on his list. His room is a pig sty, he clearly doesn't take good care of his teeth, he leaves dishes and garbage all over the house, home work will not get done without reminding, nothing will get done without some prodding. This leads me to my current frustration: How to teach personal responsibility to a 16 year old. This is the age where we should be backing off, not stepping in. In two short years he will be moving on to whatever comes next for him. And I fear he will not be prepared. Is 16 too late to teach these things? I don't know, but we're on a path to find out. And we'll start with letting him know that after this round of fillings, he will be paying for any future fillings out of his own money. Welcome to real life consequences.

Wish us luck.

The Players

Just in case anyone else ever actually reads my posts, I thought it might be helpful to introduce the players in my game of life. Although I could write volumes on each one of them, I'll try to give a concise snapshot.

I'm a 46 year old mom of 3 boys, two teenagers and a 6 year old. We are a blended family with a "yours, mine, and ours". I work part time for a boss who is amazing, flexible, understanding, and just plain awesome. My husband and I are also part owners in a business in our small town. And lets not forget the whole sandwich generation thing. My parents are elderly and I now have many responsibilities for them.

Mr. Fixit is my husband. He can truly fix anything. I have no idea how he does this, I believe it is a talent he was born with. And one he has to use daily. 3 boys means many broken things: toys, furniture, windows, cars, appliances, and sometimes skin, teeth, or bones. He's  also known as the resident medical personnel who takes out stitches, digs out deep splinters or performs other minor medical procedures. All this in addition to his own full time job which sometimes takes him out of town. I'm thankful that he is at my side most days.

Miracle Boy is my 17 year old son (the "mine"). He was given his moniker at 3 months of age when he had emergency open heart surgery. Given a less than 1% chance of surviving, he has proven all the doctors and specialist wrong. He is now a senior in high school, an honor student, a soon to be 4 year letter athlete, and generally a "typical" teenager. He is our kid that pushes the envelope on everything. Sometimes I think this is the result of knowing he faced death and won...he simply thinks there is nothing he can't do.

The Quiet One is my 16 year old stepson (the "yours"). The Quiet One became a full time member of our household a year ago. Even though he'd always spent a fair amount of time in our house, making the move here full time came along with some adjustments on everyone's part. I'll probably write more about that later. But, things seem to be working out pretty well. The Quiet One can easily slip under the radar as he is quiet, doesn't challenge you on most things, and simply goes about his day. Which, if he had his way would mostly include sitting in the basement playing video games.

Bambam is our 6 year old son (the "ours"). He was given his moniker by family friends as he is a BIG boy, very strong, and well, he actually looked liked Bambam from the Flintstones as a toddler. Bambam is on the Autism Spectrum, has sensory issues, is hypotonic, and very likely has ADHD. In spite of all these labels he is very loving and affectionate and is the a happiest kid I've ever known. He seems perfectly content to walk his own path in life, where ever that may lead him.

So there they are, the players in my game of life. Not perfect, but mine. And I'll keep them.