"Love is a battlefield"

He comes charging in the door after school. "I'm starving!"
"What do you want?" I ask tentatively, testing his mood. "Something. I don't know. What do we have?" "Braden, you know what we have. You want an omelet or some chicken nuggets?" (his two usual after school favorites). "I don't know. I'm starving, but I don't know what I want. Tell me everything." Not this again, I think. A lot of times I have to list every possible thing he could eat that I have in the house. I hate this. I go to the pantry and call off some things. I do the same at the frig and freezer. I have to resay them several times while he's yelling that he's hungry. Starving to death even. He thinks he is. After about fifteen minutes, he decides on a ham and cheese omelet. I make it. He eats about four bites. Crisis #1 averted.
"How was your day? Do you have a lot of homework?" "It sucked. Yeah, I have tons. Will you help me with my Social Studies. We have to do an outline. I'll tell you what to put, if you'll type it for me." "I'll do that, but you have to do the rest on your own." "Yeah, right," he responds.
He plays on the computer for about a half an hour, then talks to some friends on the phone. A couple of times I interrupt to remind him of his homework. I'm constantly watching my tone of voice when I talk to him. I'm always trying to make things easier for him. Anything to avoid a meltdown. Then, while I'm practically kissing his ass, I get pissed off. Mad that I have to do this. Mad that I'm willing to do this. I'm like a battered wife, afraid of the drunk husband. But, it's just my 70 pound 13 year old.
After about an hour, I start making supper. He wants me to type his outline, NOW. I tell him to wait until after dinner. "Why don't you start your other stuff while I'm cooking?" I suggest. "No. I have to do my outline first, and you have to help me." I start to boil inside. But on the outside, I try to persuade him that my way makes the most sense. It infuriates him. He knows I'm right, and that kills him. I'm making supper while he starts swearing. At first, just swearing, then swearing at me. Calling me names. "Fucking retard. You probably don't even know how to do an outline. You're probably going to burn supper, anyway so just stop cooking and help me."
I can't be nice anymore. I have to keep being nice. He gets nastier and nastier. "I need help with my homework, you fucking whore."
I start to blow. "Braden. All day long, everyday, I do whatever I can for you. I wake you up in the morning, I bring you orange juice in bed, for christs sake. I drive you to the bus stop. I get you a snack after school. I help you with your homework. I let you have friends over. I take you to friends' houses. I give you money so you can go bowling with your friends. I don't tell you "no" as often as I should so you don't lose it. I kiss your ass day in and day out, to avoid your meltdowns, and you know what? You lose it anyway. So, I'm done."
"Oh yeah. We'll see who's done." He charges me. Shoving me. Not too hard at first. But, when I don't react, he pushes with more force. Sometimes, nearly knocking me off balance. "You think I like this? You're the one who's getting me going. You're egging me on."
"No Braden, I'm not. I'm just done working so hard to avoid it." But, even as I say it, I know I'm lying. I'm not done. I'm just done for right now. I'll do it again tomorrow. Hell, I'll probably even do it again tonight.
He starts throwing things at me. His soda bottle lid. A crumbled napkin. I try to ignore him. I start filling out an insurance form. He insists he needs the pen I'm using. I hand it to him, and get another one. Now he needs that pen. I tell him that if he gives me back my original pen, he can have this one. But, he's not having both. He tries to wrestle it out of my hands. I put the pen under my butt, and he can't figure out where it is. Already he's not thinking straight. "Where the hell is my fucking pen? What the fuck did you do with it, you bitch?" He tries to push me off the chair. He tries to tip it over. He goes to the pen jar and starts throwing pens at me. I get up and walk over to the stove where supper is cooking. While I'm standing there, doing something other than paying attention to him, he demands my attention. "Look at me while I talk to you. Stop ignoring me!" I continue at the stove, hoping that Keith stays in the living room. These episodes don't usually last as long when it's just me. But, once Keith gets involved, they get more fierce and drawn out. He starts shoving me again. Throwing things at the stove. "I need you to help me! I can't calm down! Do something!" I'm crying. He's crying. "I don't know what to do, Braden. I don't know how to help. Try to take deep breaths." "That doesn't fucking work, and you know it! Why are you trying to make this worse? You're supposed to be the mom. Make it stop!" "I don't know how," I repeat. "I don't know how."
He gets quiet for a minute. Maybe it's over. Maybe it's passed, I hope. I know it isn't, but I don't stop hoping. Suddenly, he's in the room, after Keith. Hitting him. Kicking him. Punching him. Keith, of course, can't be calm. He can't not react. They start arguing with eachother. Telling eachother who's boss, when they're both wrong. This goes on for a little while. "If you hit me one more time, I'll knock you through a wall." "C'mon, dad, you pussy. You won't touch me." Really, that's what Braden wants. He wants Keith's reaction. It's fuel to his fire. Keith tries to restrain Braden, but as soon as he does, Braden cries that he can't breathe, or that it makes it worse, so Keith lets go. As soon as he's free, Braden charges him again. This happens again and again. I try to bait him into coming back into the kitchen with me. "C'mon Braden. Let's get started on that homework." or "Supper's almost done. You want to get the dishes for me?" Neither one of them works.
Finally, after about fifteen minutes, or is it three hours, he comes back into the kitchen. I'm dishing out supper for him and Keith. I have no appetitie. "Aren't you eating? Why aren't you eating? Is it because of me?" he asks, crying. "I'm just not hungry. I'll eat later." "You have to come to the table though and sit with us while we eat. We have to be together." I agree. I sit there while he eats his supper, and Keith his. I'm simmering on the inside. Sick of me. As soon as he finishes, he demands that I help him with his homework. "Not until you ask me nicely, and apoligize to me," I require. "No," he says. "Then I'm not helping you," I answer. He starts all over again. "Please help me with my fucking homework. Now. There, I asked you nicely." I tell him that won't cut it. Try again. He does, and it's a little better. "Now you just have to apologize," I say. He refuses, and so do I.
I start cleaning up supper dishes. He goes after Keith again. Even though it's me he's mad at. Even though it's himself he's mad at. I sit at the island, smoking my sixth cigarette in the past half an hour. He comes back in, throwing his school books around, throwing his notebook at me. "I said help me." "I said no." I try to sound calm. Strong but calm. I probably don't. He doesn't say anything for about five minutes, then tries again. He's very sweet when he says, with tears in his eyes, "Please help me with my homework. I need your help." "Braden, I told you I want an apology. You have to say you're sorry." "I already did. You didn't answer me, but I said it." I know he didn't. There's a very slight possibility he did, but I'm almost certain he didn't. But, once again, for the sake of a little peace and quiet, I indulge his charade and agree to help him. While he's sitting by me, reading his Social Studies, he tries to make small talk. He tries to be extra nice. To make up for earlier. After about twenty minutes of outline making, we're almost done. He's playing with the phone in his lap, hitting some buttons over and over and over again. The noise is driving me crazy. I ask him to please stop. He doesn't. I tell him to stop. He doesn't. I tell him I won't help him anymore until he stops, but he does it more. Faster, and closer to me. My head is about to split open, and I'm about to explode out of my skin. Keith hears him not listening to me, and comes in the kitchen and grabs the phone out of his hands. He erupts.
The kicking, punching, hitting, throwing, slamming all start again. Keith's trying to restrain himself, but he can't. I barely can. I go in the room and sit on the sofa, watching this. A grown man sitting in a chair, getting hit repeatedly by a little, skinny kid. It's pathetic, and I feel sick. I'm willing Keith to ignore him. Please don't say anything. Please. I know it goes against everything you believe in, but please don't give him what he wants. I just want it to be over. Whatever it takes.
Keith agrees to give him back the phone, if he finishes his homework. Braden agrees too. Keith hands him the phone, and immediately, Braden starts pushing the damn buttons again. I look at Keith, please ignore him. He does, and soon Braden stops and we're back to homework. He's miserable, but mostly in check. I'm wishing I shot heroin or something, and Lord only knows what Keith is thinking.
Our family show comes on, Prison Break, and we all go into the living room to watch it. Braden goes out of his way during the whole show to be extra nice. Small talk. Little jokes he thinks we'll like. Trying to ask questions about the show, just so we'll talk to him, which we do. We hate ourselves for it, but we do.
We go to bed at 10:00. At 10:45, I realize that even though I feel like I could sleep for a week straight, I can't fall asleep. I come downstairs and make a cup of tea. I light a cigarette. I hear footsteps on the stairs. It's Braden. He comes in the kitchen, "Mom?" "Yeah, Braden." "You okay? Why aren't you in bed?" "I just couldn't sleep," I reassure him, "I thought I'd have a cup of tea, then try again." "It's because of me, isn't it?" He's crying again. "Because of me, you can't even sleep. I'm horrible. You hate me."
I assure him that I don't hate him. I tell him I love him.

"How do you like it, how do you like it....more more more"

You want the nitty-gritty, the way things are really going?

or

Do you want me to pretend everything is fine, like I do all day long?

"Sweet dreams are made of these..."

I've been so tired lately, as I've said before. All I wanted to do yesterday after work was come home and take a little nap.
So, I got home, made Braden a snack, had a cup of tea and went to assume my position on the sofa. Keith came home from work and roused me to sign my paycheck so he could go to the bank. Braden and JJ asked if they could go ride the four-wheeler. At last, peace and quiet.
I just started to doze off, and I heard Keith come in from the bank. A short time later, I heard the door open as Braden walked out, and I heard JJ yell something. Then I heard Braden yell something. Then JJ again, only this time I was able to make out what he said, "THE CAR'S IN THE WOODS!" Thinking I'm dreaming or something I just laid there, until I heard Keith yell, "HOLY CROW!" as he ran out the door.
Apparently, when he came home from the bank, he didn't put the car in park. He got out and it drifted down the driveway, through the yard until it crashed into some small trees at the edge of the woods.
My beautiful car. Less than a year old. All broken in the front. Pieces of the grill are missing, one of the lights is pointing straight up in the air, and the side is all scraped up from being wedged between some trees.
What a mess! Needless to say, I never got my nap.

I'M MARRIED TO AN IDIOT!

If I explained what prompted me to post this, you wouldn't believe it. And, it would make me look bad for having married someone so incredibly inept when it comes to any kind of arguing/discussing/talking skills.

"Whoop, there it is"

We got about a 1/2" of snow during the night, but it froze so we had a two hour delay this morning...sadly, I was already up and showered, so I couldn't go back to bed. At least I got an extra hour without the kids up. Mainly without Braden up.

His meltdowns have gone done to once a week, but they're horrible. He cries the whole time that he's out of control and can't stop, but it's hard to feel sorry for someone who's throwing things at you and pushing and shoving you. Last night, it happened while I was making dinner, and as awful as it sounds, I had visions of hitting him with a frying pan. I wouldn't ever do it, but I can't say I don't think about it. I'm calling his doctor again today.

We refinanced our mortgage, and are going to finish the basement, and add on to the kitchen. Yesterday, we picked out flooring. I'm going with a slate look for the kitchen floor - with oranges and greys and greens in it. We're going to do the basement first though, so it will be closer to spring when we have to knock the wall out in the kitchen. I'm going to try really hard to let Keith make most of the decisions about the decor of the basement...as long as he doesn't turn it into a Nascar shrine or dead-hunted-animal city down there. He and the kids will probably be down there most anyway.

I'd like to go with Spidey for a sleeping vacation. Nothing but lounging around, napping and sleeping. And, I've been having a twingey-pain in my left hip area. Not enough to prevent me from doing anything, but enough to make me uncomfortable. If it doesn't go away in a month or six, I'll go to the doctor and get it checked out.

"cause it feels just like I'm walking on broken glass"

As I may have mentioned, Braden failed his eye exam at school, and needed glasses. We took him for his appointment, picked out the frames, and they came in on Friday. We picked them up yesterday, around 1:00.
Last night he went to the movies, and came out upset. He took his glasses off during the movie (the frame was bothering him). They wound up on the floor, and got stepped on. They're now in three pieces. He didn't even have them for 12 hours.
This has to be some sort of world's record.

I am so tired. All I want to do is sleep for about a week straight. I'm just tired.

The holidays came and went, and I'm no more rested than I was before. We're back to work, since Tuesday. I like going back. I really like my job. I just hate getting up in the morning. It was good to see the kids again, and they all said I was a dork because I said I missed them during the break.

Braden went the entire holiday break without one of his episodes. It was kind of nice. I'm not trying to imply that he was a joy to be around, but there were no major conflicts. He went back to school on Tuesday, and Wednesday night we had a knock-down-drag-out evening. Things were flying, phones had to be hidden. Just when I thought it was safe to bring the knives back out of hiding. Do you think there's a correlation between school and these meltdowns? I do.

I felt so sorry for him last night. He's been growing his hair long for the last year and a half. Keith pesters him constantly to get it cut. I let him alone. I don't really care what he does with his hair-there are more important things to argue over. Anyway, he came home from school on Tuesday and announced that he wanted it cut. We searched online and found a picture of a cut he liked. I wanted to make him an appointment, but he doesn't like going to a salon because they "pull his hair". So, he wanted the neighbor lady to cut it. She used to have her own shop, but now just cuts the hair of friends and family. So, we went over there last night and Braden got a cut. He looks great, but it doesn't look anything like the picture. He hates it and says it looks like a mullet (which it doesn't). I hope school went okay for him today, and that he only got compliments, or he's going to be loaded for bear when he gets home. It's a terrible feeling dreading your own child coming home from school.

JJ's doing very well in school, and is on the basketball team. He doesn't get much playing time, but is sticking the season out. He's made a lot of new friends and is looking forward to going to the regular high school in a couple of weeks.

We're going to add on to our house, and make the kitchen bigger. It's still in the planning stages, but I want it done yesterday.

Oh, and I'm really tired.