Day 2: lock down shopping

Rose woke up just as defiant as before so I sent her to her room with her homework and consequences.

Meanwhile, I've started to browse various websites, including The Limited. Maybe it's my five pretty crappy hours of sleep, but I love this spring line. Plus, it's all half off!! And my birthday is coming up so maybe I will just splurge...

I don't know why, but my thirties have turned into a decade of dresses. I love wearing skirts and dresses. It baffles me sometimes. I am a feminist. In college I'm sure this blog would have made me gag launch into a diatribe about respecting ones body.

At the same time, dresses are so comfortable! They flatter my shape. They make me feel confident and comfortable, which makes me powerful. Therefore, dresses make me Wonder Woman not vulnerable or subservient. What do you think?

And more importantly, since I'm stubborn and will do what I ultimately want anyway, what do these dresses say to you?

To me, this one says, with a little red accent belt, I'd be your best friend.

And this little number is just begging for a date night, yet, if paired with a jacket could be quite intimidating at the office.

Red is the true power color. Also, lust the shoes.

Then, finally, I stumble into a 50s themed site recommended by a friend. Found this conservative, and probably more office appropriate dress than it's sassy sister above. Would still pair well with those nude sandels.

Anger and the defeated

Why am I up at 12:44 blogging? Well, in the most simple of terms, I had to booby trap Rose's door. Though I guess I am getting a head of myself. Let's take a step back.

On Tuesday, as I was about to head into one of the more career defining meetings of my life, I got a call. It looked like Rose's school so I picked it up.

Only it was a cop who informed me Rose had said I had beat her. Rose was in his custody being interviewed, and they were going to put her in protective custody overnight.

I know I can ramble so I'll just say here and now I did not beat Rose. I was cleared by the police and child protective services. Though really, I have to wonder if there are going to be adult protective services? There aren't now, which is why Rose's door is booby trapped. 

Needless to say, the accusation shook me to my core. Mike, too. I felt sad she was away, I felt angry, and I myself felt victimized. The short story is Rose was refusing to walk to her bus, I put my hands on her shoulders to move her there. She's bigger, and pretty strong, and she struggled and on that chilly day to free herself from my hands. In the struggle, the plastic piece on the end of the glove scratched her cheek.

Honestly, mike and/or I have to repeat this process every other week. But this time, Rose decided she had enough and she reported it at school. The school had to report it, which I understand and am not upset about. And viola, I'm reduced to tears outside a conference room imagining me in prison while also worrying about what going to a shelter will do to Rose. 

The police said Rose's initial description of the event matched mine, but in the course of an hour interview escalated into me throwing her down stairs and punching her. Then her story changed again for the case worker. Kids who come from trauma do have tendency to do this kind of thing. Thankfully, the police and workers seemed sympathetic to the awful spot we were in. No orange is the new black blog for me.

By the middle of Wednesday all abuse accusations were cleared, but rose refused to come home. No matter how much I'm trying to make light of what has happened. This probably bothered me the most. So we let her stay at a shelter in Hastings until today when by law we had to go get her. I'll admit, we were both apprehensive about it.

When we picked her up she was defiant and angry. Physically threatening me over the smallest of requests. Me: "Rose you need to take a shower." Rose: "Fuck you, you can't make me, I'll punch you in the face so hard." Yep. That's my night.

Since this anger and violence is new, we brought her right over to the mental health ward for evaluation. In there she acted as happy as can be. Even recanting the punching story for the doctor. The doctor was an arrogant jerk who proceeded to condescend to us, and who clearly doesn't deal with kids like our daughter much. So she was evaluated as normal and sent home where she continued to throw things and threated me until bed. She also seems incapable of showering or brushing teeth. 

We've taken a huge scary step backward.

So tonight I did try to calm her down by reading a little of The Help, and I bribed her into picking up the stuff she threw by offering her cake. Both tactics worked, however, I am concerned for her and for my safety so now her door is Gerryrigged with rubber bands that will cause a coupleof paint cans to bang into each other if she tries to open the door. it is not so crazy that if we had a fire she couldn't escape but the noise would wake me up if she gets up at night. See the picture below for by Goony-like genius. 

We did ask to have a social worker assigned, and I am hoping she can plot next steps. Living in fear kinda sucks and I'm truly convinced something is happening chemically no matter what that jerky doctor said.

Sweet deceit

Last night, I was happy knowing I had a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream waiting for me. Chocolate mint crunch, to be specific.

I don't crave sweets often these days, but there was something about the warm weather the past few days that made me drool over this creamy, cool treat.

So it was really disappointing to open the freezer and find nearly the entire pint empty. I had stolen one tiny spoonful earlier, just one. It was bitter dissaponent at its worst. My drooling tastebuds started to cry, my brain struggled to comprehend to cruel state it found itself in. (First world problems, hu?)

Hell really hath no fury like an Amy deprived of her ice cream. Especially when the ice cream thief, a 13-year-old with a stong propensity for deceit, completely denies eating Amy's ice cream despite having a suspicious, solo spoon in her room. There were other telltale signs. 

So I took lots of deep breaths while silently repeating a mommy mantra: "It is just ice cream, and kids do lie" I recited. Lie when caught red handed, when 13 my rational mind wondered.

I suppose that doubt lingered because when Mike suggested we teach Rose how it feels to be lied to, I got kinda giddy. He wanted to teach not through a lecture but through a Heathcliff Huxstable  moment. I went from giddy to ecstatic.

Rose has Lindt truffles she gets every day she organizes her school work and gets signatures. Mike suggested we hide all but a few of them, then put the bag back for her to discover. Yes! And let's leave a few wrappers on the counter so when she gets up today she will see them and we can claim ignorance.

I know, so goofy. Kinda petty. Is this just about ice cream? No, it's about teaching a lesson. Right? Today she noticed the wrappers but only asked mike about it, not me. 

Tomorrow she'll get her reward and hopefully notice! I'm dying to see what happens. This could be creative parenting or it could be insanity, or both. 

Here is mike setting the stage for this endeavor. He didn't want his parental neurosis caught on film, but too bad. 

If she was my birth kid...

Today I'm having a day wondering if I'd be acting differently if a birth child told me she stole make-up.

I was calm, but I'm upset, desperately upset. We marched her back to Walgreens, had the manager give her a stern talking to. I was calm, but as we ate dinner a few hours later, I got a little emotional when she said she hadn't really learned anything from the experience. In fact, I left the table because I could say nothing constructive at that point.

All I could feel was anger that my daughter is a thief...and this isn't the first time she's stolen, just the first time from a store. I could hardly look at her. I tried to smile and reassure her that I'm affectionate for her. I needed a break. I feel the bonding/attachment eroding a little. I need to pound it back into place.

So we have a few follow-up consequences:
1) Rose is grounded until she has written a letter of apology to Mike and I for our wasted time today and for
2) She will not be permitted in any stores with anyone for some time
3) Her current make-up, the make-up she just earned the privilege to have is taken away. It will be gone completely until the stolen make-up reappears. (She swears she doesn't know where the hot cosmetics went, but I strongly suspect it's in her room.)

But back to my reaction, it's hard at times like these to not be very angry and in those instances. I become cold, and hard. Today I prided myself for walking away from the table rather than becoming this guilt tripping mom machine who feels icy.

The New, New Reality

Today, a few friends posted pictures of suspects of the Boston Marathon bombing on Facebook to help the FBI catch the a-holes who bombed the event.

I wish I did know who they were. I wish I could report them. Yet, today, what scares me isn't how social media can be employed to capture terrorists. I'm scared that a random bombing occurred at all.  When 9-11 happened, I hesitated for months to go back to the Mall of America. I actually rarely go there even now. Subconsciously I'd rather not.

Monday's events were not nearly as dramatic as the 9-11 events, but they were more terrifying. To me, they signified a new kind of terror. Terror focused on small gains to send a message. Easily repeatable terror. Terror captured in the beads of sweat making trails down my back as I board a subway in New York.

Let's face it, if this bombing could happen at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, which was fairly heavily guarded, it could happen any where. The next bus stop in New Mexico or Alabama. It's coming.

These terrorists weren't looking for massive casualties. They wanted to send a message more profound. They can shake us at our most basic core. They can make the most sacred, basic, boring events scary.
I look at Rose and shudder that she hesitate to walk down a busy street for fear some random terrorist has put an explosive back-pack somewhere near by. Or maybe that's just my fear, not hers. Cause I look at my fellow Americans who haven't let this phase them and think I might be over reacting.

What do you think?? Do we let Monday's events change our course of action or do we pretend it's just two random guys hoping to make a statement?