Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Whiplash

I know it's nothing new to lots of parents out there, but good gosh-a-monkey, if my daughter would put even half the energy into doing her work that she puts into getting out of doing her work, she'd be finished all of it in no time flat with no blows to her self-esteem, no drama, no ugliness.

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If my daughter doesn't (won't or can't) get up to go to school, I'm supposed to call school and have the "truancy officer" come get her.  I did that once; the principal and the academic dean pulled up in our driveway to take her in.  How embarrassing all the way around.  I called another time, too, on speakerphone, but she hauled her bottom out of bed before I could even make the arrangements.  Two nights ago she didn't go to sleep until well after midnight -- had a bout of bedtime wildness -- took her an hour to fall off after getting in bed.

Yesterday  morning I had to call the school again.  The truancy officer was out sick, they said, and wouldn't be able to pick up my daughter, sorry.  So here I've told her what the consequence is, made the phone call, and nothing.  No getting up.  No getting to school.  I took her phone away (unsuccessful tantrum to try to get it back), but what did she learn?  If she doesn't budge, she can sleep until 11.  By the time she got up, I would have been driving her in -- in the snow -- in time for the last two periods of the day.  Those periods are a double block of Reading/Language Arts, a class she spends her time getting out of, usually by means of going to the nurse, but wandering, socializing, or staring off into space will do, too.

I know it's my job as her parent to get her up, not school's job.  I just can't always do it.  She doesn't want to be there.  She doesn't want to be anywhere else, either.  And the meds changes are making her, and by extension me, loopy.  Add to that how badly she went off her GF/CF/SF/CF diet this weekend and we've got the proverbial recipe for disaster.  Again, it's my job to keep her on the diet, but truly, I didn't know that she would take the money she asked me to donate for leukemia research and spend it at the school's Idol show on soda whose first listed ingredient is corn syrup.  Or M&Ms.  Or Cheez Curlz.  Or Skittles.  She firmly believes that these dietary changes are completely unnecessary.  And I, being weak, got pizza -- real pizza -- the next day.  She ate it for dinner, lunch, and dinner again.

Based on the behaviors we then witnessed, pizza will not be on our menu for quite some time, though I'm just as likely to blame the corn syrup.  Up, down, up, down, sweet, ugly, sweet, ugly all within the space of minutes.  To quote Bella Swan, her mood swings are giving me whiplash.

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Last night we all went to bed late again, but it was an earlier late than lately -- I was pretty pleased overall!  Twenty or thirty minutes later, my daughter comes into my room quite wide awake and wants to discuss "dropping out of STEM ASAP."  I went to bed at 11:30; she was still up at 1:30.


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