Quick Vent: Stop The Screaming

The closer we get to school, the more you’ll hear me making comments about how I’ll miss the kids and how I feel like we didn’t do enough this summer and so forth.

That day is not today.

At one point, I muttered under my breath, “I can’t wait for school to start back.” BG heard me of course, and after shrieking at the top of her lungs, she accused me of not wanting her. Oops. Dammit.

The kids were up before 7:00 as usual this morning. And BG has shrieked at the top of her lungs no less than 30 times today. We didn’t have the cereal she likes for breakfast? Shriek. Her brother looked at her funny? Shriek. I told her to pick up her toys? Shriek.

We are used to her meltdowns, but the shrieking is taking it up a level. And this isn’t just typical child yelling and fussing about. This is a blood-curdling scream that sometimes lasts for close to a minute (but feels like an hour), one that I am absolutely terrified is going to result in the neighbors calling the cops on us because they think we’re beating the child or something. It’s the kind of shrieking that is physically painful and makes my anxiety go haywire, and my anxiety has been haywire-y enough over the past week.

Thirty times. And the day isn’t quite over.

LM hasn’t been helpful. I’m pretty sure he is going through puberty now, and he is Mr. Moody Tween Asshole a lot of the time. Despite complaining about his sister shrieking today, he still antagonized her and made it worse. She doesn’t like him grabbing her or getting in her face, and of course he does it. She doesn’t like him doing jump scares, so of course he does it. Aside from the usual punishments of taking privileges, we started making him do push-ups this summer. His arms are getting pretty swole for an 11-year-old.

So, boo, yucky day. After my husband got home, I took some extra strength headache medicine and a couple of Xanax. I’m still waiting for it to kick in.

At least we’re on the list for therapy to help her manage her symptoms of ASD. I don’t even know if that’s what this is, though, but I’m sure we can address this mess and hopefully move far, far away from it.

Right now my husband is giving the girl a bath. She’s yelling for me to come. I feel like Ryan when Michael wanted him to come help him in the bathroom.

Pray for me, or at least send rum vibes my way.

I. Hate. The. Heat.

It’s usually around mid-January when I see my South Carolina friends and family start talking about how they’re over the cold. And by “cold,” I mean that the high is usually in the upper 40s. Sure, we get a couple of frigid days here and there, but for the most part, I don’t have to wear a jacket.

This is how they think it is, and they wish a plague o’ the house of anyone who dare says they want winter to last longer than the 4-6 weeks that we get or complains about summer coming on.

I am not built to live in the south. I just am not. Temperatures over 75 absolutely suck ass, because that usually means it’s 85+ with the humidity. I feel miserable in the heat, I break out in a heat rash, and I’m cranky because heat. The only way I can deal with it is to be on a boat in the ocean or sitting on my ass by the ocean. Between the breeze and the ocean, my crankiness will go away at least. (And when went on a cruise a few weeks ago, it was actually 15 degrees cooler in the Bahamas vs. when we got off the boat in SC.)

It is hot as balls outside right now. I hate that saying, and it’s not like I have balls, but I feel like it works. It was in the upper 90s today, god knows what the real feel was, and even at 7:30 in the evening, it is 82 degrees in my house. Fuuuck. My poor AC can’t keep up, and a) we bought it last year and b) it is larger than needed for our house, but we got it wholesale and thought that as poor as our smaller AC performed, a larger unit would be more than enough. We. Were. Wrong. (But at least we have one, unlike many of the folks in Europe with that heatwave they had a week or so ago. I can’t even imagine.)

I’ve been trying to get my husband to move for years, but nope. He could relocate to Scranton, PA if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. (Just like he didn’t want to work in London for a year back when LM was small. SIGH. Not that I’m bitter over that or anything.) He said he doesn’t want to do all the snow, but I’ll take a couple months of snow for temps that are otherwise decent for the most part. He doesn’t want to move away from his mom and stepdad, which I understand, but I still don’t like the idea of having to live somewhere for that reason alone. My family is here, but distance would be lovely, so other than his folks, we don’t have much tying us to this town. Maybe I’ll fake a heat stroke on his ass and see if that sways him. (I know, I know, bad joke.)

This is my second ranty post in as many days. Did I say the heat makes me cranky, yet?