February 3, 2016
It goes without saying that I feel like an idiot. But I’m saying it anyway: I feel like an idiot. So let’s hope this doesn’t become a series.
In the six months since LB has dabbled in non-milk foods, ze has been liberal in hir intentional and unintentional sharing with Seamus. Not once, not even when ze has offered his own treats to him, has he ever taken anything from hir without explicit permission from me. I know this because I keep a close eye on them both. Seamus has been nothing but an angel toward his grabby, unempathetic, sometimes grubby sibling. An angel that stays nearby, but sets boundaries so that ze is slowly learning from our prompting, scolding, and swoop in for the occasional rescue that he likes to be close, he likes to be petted gently, but he does not like to be grabbed, twisted or licked. Ze still licks him. There’s nothing can be done about that. But still, I watch them. It’s irresponsible to take his patience for granted and ze is not nearly old enough to be trusted to respect his boundaries without guidance.
Naturally, that means that the one day that I take them both for a really long walk and playtime, the one time my brain checks out when we’re in sight of home, LB chucks hir snack bread over hir shoulder and Seamus snags it. He never does that. Ever. But in the split second I had to tell him NO and DROP IT, which he would have done, my brain failed us both and I didn’t. So he gulped it down and then my brain started whirring again.
$@!@%!!(@
That was raisin bread. Usually ze eats all the raisins first before gnawing at the crust but this time ze chucked half the slice, which ze hasn’t ever done, before chewing on it. Crap.
Raisins can be deadly for dogs.
Some dogs can eat grapes with reckless abandon. Some dogs can eat grapes, experience kidney failure, and die. Raisins are worse. You need as little as half a raisin for a 300 lb dog and if that dog is susceptible? It can be really bad.
Seamus is a big boy but he’s no 300 lbs and I couldn’t be certain that the bread had been de-raisined. I called the vet to be sure of the facts above and they confirmed: most possible ingested toxic things, if just a bite or less, they’d just suggest we induce vomiting (or they would) and watching overnight. Raisins are Bad News.
Of course, this happens right at LB’s naptime. Since we haven’t replaced his car yet, PiC had taken the car to work and we were carless so I couldn’t race them both to the vet, naptime or no. We’d run out of hydrogen peroxide so I couldn’t induce vomiting unless…
I strap a tired and angry LB into the stroller and raced down the street. Huffing and heaving, we rattle to the nearest store to grab the first bottle of peroxide we could find, pay for it and run back. Wishing with all my might that I were in better shape, and for that idiot catclling from his car to choke on his own spit and pass out, we mad-dash all the way back home. Intrigued by the commotion, LB’s grumbles have faded to an interested chirp, but once we pass the threshold, ze was bound and determined to be involved. Ze quick-crawls after us as Seamus is sent to the bathroom. Quickly, pop a bottle of milk into warming water, then run to the bathroom to measure out a tablespoon and pulling it into the syringe that … was too small. ARGH. Find another or…. Time was ticking, the longer I took, the more likely he would digest that raisin and his kidneys could start shutting down. They say you’ve got two hours, but you’ve really got to get that stuff out ASAP.
I risk a run to the closet to dig out the bigger syringes and SMASH. Of course. Of course LB wanted to know what I was working on and dashed the measuring cup of peroxide off the counter. I should have remembered that ze could reach it now. KIDS.
No matter, I have more. But forget that larger syringe, I’ll just refill this one. Five times. The syringe was only 3 ml, I needed 13. Drat and damn. With each syringe-full, he’s grumpier and more foamy. It helps none at all that LB’s extremely curious, first climbing up my side trying to help with the syringe, then sitting on his back legs to get a better view. His misery is such that he doesn’t even try to move away. The full tablespoon down his gullet, he tucks his head under his back paws, almost pointedly turning his back on me.
Apologetically, I scoop LB up and plop hir on the cushion with the milk, then sit next to Seamus petting him while spreading out the newspapers for the pending regurgitation. In almost no time, ze tossed the bottle aside and comes looking for us so that’s my cue to put hir in bed, all protests and wails.
Ten minutes later, nothing but yowls from LB.
This time, I find the 12 ml syringe. Another two tablespoons, down the hatch. More foam, and with it, an almost satisfying heaving that I was sure would do the trick. Being a hero, he just swallows and swallows and swallows until the urge passes. Fraggit! I text PiC that he may have to leave work early and take over at home so I could take Seamus in for a real induction.
Ten minutes later, still nothing.
One last time.
Seamus is really out of patience with me but down the hatch it goes. And I encourage him to just let it out. Just don’t fight it. And there it is! A lake of foam and food spreads on the newspapers. Never has poking through a pile of vomit been such a relief.
Amid the foam, the carrot chunks and the kibble, I found our culprit. One half raisin.
Elation wars with a sinking stomach. Another call to the vet confirms we still should have him in for treatment. PiC texts that he’s on his way and by 4:30, this saga started at 2, Seamus and I are loaded up and rolling out of the garage. I’m packing a book, a bottle of water, and a phone that’s running out of juice. Of course it is. But with plenty of deep breathing and careful navigating, we arrive safely at our destination.
Social Time! Seamus’s ears say.
No, I’m sorry, not really.
The vet confirms that if it were her pup, she wouldn’t go so far as the “gold standard” of 48 hours in hospital with IV fluids, the next step down should be plenty since it was half a raisin and we retrieved it.
He happily runs off to be poked, poked again, and dosed with activated charcoal.
His kidneys, according to the labwork, seem to be ok, and they’ll want to see him back in 3 days to confirm they are still fine. 72 hours, they say, til we’re out of the woods. $250 today, and another $75 later this week, if he’s fine. Small price to pay, I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, but from now on, wheat bread for walks!
We get home at 6 and still manage to get dinner on the table by 7, and by 8:30, I finally get to sit down at the computer to get my work done. What a day!
January 11, 2016
I’m not my brother’s keeper, I’m not my brother’s keeper, I’m not my brother’s keeper.
Except when I am.
On the heels of That Conversation with Dad, it comes out that everyone has tried to pry Sibling loose from the current living situation, clinging to Dad despite bearing no love or respect for him.
He refuses to leave. He refuses to get help. He refuses to admit that anything is wrong even though he hasn’t held down a job in over 6 years, he hasn’t earned a living wage in 7, and he’s doing nothing day to day but eating, sleeping, bathing, and wandering.
Friends ask after him. Old teachers and mentors have asked what they can do to help unstick him. He’s only intent on telling them his latest big ideas, what they should do for a big splash and instant success.
My older aunt has tried to help. She offered to pay his way through a trade school, tried to talk to him (rebuffed).
My younger aunt has tried to help. She sends food, clothes, offers (spurned) advice.
My dad has tried to push. He’d gotten so far as getting Sibling to the doctor for evaluation, and they determined that he isn’t mentally capable of functioning independently anymore. They scheduled an appointment for him to return and complete paperwork, to apply for assistance, to apply for housing. Sibling decided, even before that first appointment, that he’s fine and doesn’t need help. He doesn’t need housing. He refused to go. Dad tried to force him, and Sibling just disappeared on the day of the appointment.
He respects no one.
He listens to no one.
Except me.
Only the few rules I set in stone remain. Only I can get him to, even a little bit, listen, or comply when I tell him to clear the yard, pick up after his pets. He doesn’t listen to everything I say but he listens to nothing anyone else will say. I’m the last one who can make anything happen.
It comes down to this: if I want to free Dad of the living nightmare he’s in living with the shambling mess of Sibling, if I want to see anything change with how that part of the family does not function, I have to personally wade back into the fray to physically make Sibling go to the doctor, make him do his paperwork, and make him move out. With no guarantee that any of my time or words will be well spent.
I’ll have to arrange childcare for LB, I’d take hir with but I don’t want him anywhere near hir. I don’t trust him to turn my back on him for a minute. Not because the mentally ill are universally violent as the media and politicians would have you believe but because he specifically has a history of being unpredictable and we used to spar together. I don’t believe for a second that he’s incapable of slipping into a delusion, or even the appearance of the delusion, that we’re 20 years younger and instigating an altercation. Especially when I’m frogmarching him (metaphorically, I hope) to the doctor and whatever else.
PiC insists that I won’t do this alone but my defenses are up, my instincts are pushing him away to protect my family from my family. I have never had help managing my sibling, I’ve always gone it alone – he can behave like a caged beast and it’s safer when it’s only my back that needs watching. I can be as firm as I need without worrying he’d lash out at bystanders. And if anything goes wrong, only I will be hurt.
It sucks but this is how I prepare for a Sibling battle after years of bloody experience. Protect your family, keep them out of the line of fire. Armor yourself. Sort your affairs.
Boy does this ever sound like a hootenanny.
January 6, 2016
It’s easy to forget when it happens once a year. The twinkling, winking fairy lights and the festive holiday wreaths lull me into a false sense of peace. Then I go home and my heart breaks into seventeen pieces again.
It starts from the moment I pull up outside and see the state of disrepair. Much of this is the Sibling’s fault. The half finished lumps of “art project” still litter the browning lawn, the fence is more decayed, and is that a whole section missing? Dad’s gardening projects are scattered around the foyer, messy but less depressing than the signs of a mind far in decline.
A cat darts underfoot seeking a way indoors. This is new. Since we liberated the health-challenged Seamus, stray cats have taken his place.
I step inside and none of the furniture is familiar. Mom’s photos are everywhere, snapshots from my childhood on, and my breath catches. I think of her everyday. Sometimes it almost feels like she’s watching over LB. Maybe she is, I don’t know. It doesn’t make me feel better or worse to believe it. But to see her image, from when she was younger and healthier? I’m not ready for that flood of pain. Am I ever?
I retreat to my room and everything is nearly the way I left it last time. It’s my room, I could sit back in the chair and get to work on figures and making things work again just like fifteen years ago.
***
Dad and I have several conversations, all avoiding the issue. Finally, it comes to a head. My frustrations with his inability to really hear me, to give me the one thing I’ve ever asked for, it all bubbles up. I can’t take one more of his “I thought it was best not to tell you, then it all went to hell” scenarios. So we talk. Really talk.
I tell him that it hurts me when he lies or omits important information. It doesn’t matter if I can do anything about it, chances are likely I can, but even if I can’t, I need to know before it becomes a BFD.
I tell him that it’s nonsensical to say it’s for my protection when, in the end, it has always cost me more stress and more money. See, car towing, for one example.
I tell him that in 17 years, I’ve busted my butt for him and Mom willingly and happily, and only asked him for one thing: honesty.
I tell him that while he may think hiding things is for me, it’s not. It’s his unwillingness to sacrifice a bit of his pride to spare me pain in the only way I asked him to.
I tell him that he has repeatedly promised it and never delivered when it mattered, and this has had a lasting impact on our relationship.
I tell him that in the depths of my health decline, I seriously considered getting a life insurance policy big enough to take care of them for at least a decade and offing myself because his actions made me feel like my only value to him was monetary. That he didn’t value me as a person in the least, that he was only willing to pay lip service to his gratitude for all my willing sacrifices.
I tell him that his latest, going behind my back and then confessing only after I had inadvertently trapped him, was exactly what Sibling would do. It’s exactly what he’d done his entire life: taking advantage of my trust, and then tearfully apologizing after he’d already gotten what he wanted.
I tell him Sibling’s pattern of behavior ruined that relationship and I was not prepared for it to ruin ours.
I tell him that Mom’s dead, Sibling’s as good as gone, he’s my only family left. He needs to remember that. He also needs to remember that LB is his only shot. He is unlikely to have any chance to try again with another grandkid so he needs to make choices that show he knows that. He spent years trying to make up for not being there for us as kids, this isn’t the time to repeat that pattern.
I tell him that I wasn’t telling him to get it off my chest, I don’t vent for emotional release. I was telling him because I expect it to change. It has to change.
*
I don’t tell him that I don’t ask him questions because I don’t want to be lied to.
I don’t tell him that because of them, if you plan to ask me for forgiveness rather than permission, you don’t deserve either.
I don’t tell him that I’m at the absolute end of my tether with them all and I almost no longer care if LB has a relationship with hir grandpa. Because it’s not entirely true. I care a lot. I stopped caring for me, so much, but I will be damned if I sit back and just let Sibling’s wreck of a life and poor life choices, and Dad’s guilt complex, deprive LB entirely of hir maternal grandparents.
*
He apologizes.
He admits that he’s been wrong this entire time, and most especially this last time.
He explains that he’s been pushing himself to earn any income because he needs to cover Sibling’s expenses, because at the very least, the few dollars that go toward Sibling’s care aside from shelter should come out of his pocket, not mine. At least not directly.
He admits that he had been planning to hide his health issues from me, particularly if it turned out to be cancer, on the premise that burdening me with the knowledge when there’s nothing I can do would be selfish.
He acknowledges that it is my choice to insist on having the full picture, no matter for good or ill, big or small.
He promises to stop hiding things.
*
I don’t know if he’ll keep this promise, or if it’ll go the way of the hundred other broken promises. I don’t know if this is real progress, even. I’d say that I can only hope but I’m not sure that I can do that, even. I can only wait and see.
I understand his instinct to hide dire health issues, I’d do the same. Hell, I have done the same. For 15 years I hid my chronic illness from them. They knew I had some pain issues, but didn’t know how severe they’d become, and I didn’t tell them because there was absolutely nothing they could do about it except hurt for me as my parents. But there’s a huge difference between a chronic illness and a potentially terminal one, and still, either way, I’d want to know because there are things that I can do to ease discomfort and to help. I don’t just sit in my hermit-cave and worry uselessly, I do things. I get shit done. I can’t fix the world but I can help, a little.
Understanding is not the same as agreeing.
***
The holidays were never particularly special in our family. We couldn’t afford the time and energy to celebrate, and really didn’t have the money to. But they are now the time we go back to spend time with family, and they are when all the miscommunications (intended or not) are brought to light, and all the facades get knocked over. They’re the time for regrets over the years we lost, for nightmare fights with Sibling as my subconscious wrestles with this reality it hates, for pretending good cheer even as I discover how much worse things have gotten since last year.
Someday, the holidays won’t be preceded by six weeks of nightmares about Sibling, or an acidic gut from anticipating what truths will out this time. But the way things have progressed, I’d be lying if I said I was optimistic about what someday holds instead.
December 30, 2015
Y’all, I’ve never been so cold in my life in Southern CA. Our semi-mountain hometown is already seeing temperatures below 30 degrees F, it’s just the start of winter, and this year may be the biggest El Nino ever. As it is, for us native Southern Californians, these temps are just cause to burrow indoors and not emerge til Spring. If this gets much worse…. well.
This means post-Christmas is now about looking for warm things for Dad and somehow making sure that he uses them. The house is a mess, the landlord still hasn’t fixed some key things that ever so frustratingly affect the heating situation so while of course he wouldn’t actually tell me, I’m quite positive that Dad neither has enough warm clothing or enough warm blankets for the frigid nights. It’s horrible to harbor the suspicion that if I don’t do something about it, he cannot survive the rest of this El Nino winter.
Naturally, not doing something isn’t an option. A heavy fill down comforter is on the way, and it had better arrive this week! Now the quest is on for a really warm jacket. He’ll probably feel ridiculous in a puffer jacket but that may be the best choice to keep him from freezing and shattering into tiny Dad-bits and pieces. I’m scouring Amazon, LL Bean, and REI for a reasonably priced, minimum 700-fill, good quality coat. My store requirements, as always, are a good return policy, and fast/free shipping. Most jackets seem to run above $100 and are closer to $200. Is that normal? Probably is for a good high-quality jacket which should really last him years. It’s been more than a decade since I shopped for men’s jackets.
Maybe a few flannel or thermal shirts and pants would be useful, too? While I’m obviously willing to spend some money to make sure he’s comfortable, it’s also clearly not limitless, so I have to make the best use of the funds I have. Any frugal keeping warm solutions are welcome.
Gratitude, when frosty or toasty
While I’m searching, and click click clicking online to find the best deal for the best thing, I am ever so grateful for the ability to see a problem and having enough that I can throw some money at it. And it’s one of the many things that, though we’re not wealthy, makes me feel wealthy.
Some of the most trivial things but therein lies the privilege of having enough.
Turning on the heat when we are bundled in socks and sweaters so we don’t have to pile on a jacket inside. Also, not having to sleep bundled in our winter coats at night.
Owning books. As a child, I was starved for books. We didn’t own any, my parents encouraged reading in the abstract but our $20-30K (at best) annual household income meant I spent a lot of time reading all the books at the local library and gobbling up any books I encountered anywhere. If you had a book, I was willing to be your friend long enough to read it before I had to go home. (If there’s anything I would overcompensate on for LB to make up for my childhood, it’s this right here. I already do.)
Machine washing clothes. It wasn’t that long ago that we were visiting Gram in the countryside and handwashing and linedrying all our clothes. Robots that automatically clean AND dry your clothes? LUXURY.
An investment portfolio. 15 years ago, “savings” meant filling my piggybank, a gift for my 7th birthday, with all my paychecks that weren’t already spent on bills. Now, I can spend a fairly respectable sum each year on the gift of future income. How incredibly rad is that? (hint: OMGOSH so rad)
Really warm socks with no holes. Growing up, all my socks were hand me downs and/or the sort of cheapish variety that practically came with holes in them. About six years ago, we splurged on three pairs of these incredible Thorlos and they are practically still as good as new, even after heavy duty wearing during Comic Con and just generally keeping my feet warm.
A close second: fuzzy socks. They’re not as luxurious, they tend to run thin, but they are fun and warm.
Having enough postage, toilet paper, toothbrushes. You wouldn’t think much of any of these until you run out and there’s no money for more. Or you use your toothbrush until the bristles only go sideways because you can’t imagine throwing out a toothbrush. This is why I’ve got a package of toothbrushes and toothpaste made up for Dad, too. I’m sure he won’t spend any of his cash on them.
:: Over to you, what makes everything feel cozy and luxurious and safe for you?
November 17, 2015
A decade ago, dementia stole my mother’s body, and gave it to a stranger. We buried her years later, but on this anniversary of Mom’s passing, the loss feels as fresh as though it happened yesterday.
I think about her, and miss her, every single day. Every time I sneeze, I hear her sneezing. Every day I look at my child, who is hir own person, I see the striking resemblance to hir forebears. Any day that I speak with relatives who remember her, that she loved dearly and would support and defend no matter what it cost her, I’m reminded that she loved me at least that much and more, even when I was a brat. Even when I was a petulant jerk and didn’t deserve it. Every time I learn something new with my Wee Warrior, I realize that she went through this with me or my sibling and understand a little better her hopes and fears and dreams as a parent.
I owe her for giving me life and, more, I owe her for fighting to teach us wisdom long before we needed or even understood it.
My soul may always bear the weight of her death, much as it bears the weight of my sibling’s life, but I am going to make an honest effort to honor her memory with gratitude each year, until I can remember her with joy, as Shelley does her mother.
She was my first and best teacher
I learned that being comfortable in your own skin is much more important than what others see. Make up was fine but she discouraged me from using it as a mask I’d eventually come see more as my face than myself, unadorned. But combing your hair once a day would (probably) be better than not. Were she alive today we’d probably still disagree on that last point.
I learned to protect myself, and my loved ones, fiercely, unapologetically, unremittingly.
I learned that my face was a mirror of my feelings. I could get it under control and make it my shield or refuse to and accept that that readability allowed others to make it a weapon. It was my choice.
I learned that people have to earn my trust and not all are worthy.
I learned that patience is, especially for our family, hard won, but a battle worth fighting within.
I learned that I’d rather fight til the death than be beholden to people who were not worthy of being in my life.
I learned that family is important but not all of them are worth sacrificing myself for. We disagreed on this in practice, she always sacrificed for her own family even when they repeatedly demonstrated they were awful. I would have done, and have, the same for her and Dad. I’d never do it for people as terrible as her siblings.
I learned that bringing your work home may be OK but not if it means making your spouse feel like their boss came home with them. And even if you are the boss at work, you’d better not play out that power differential at home lest you damage your partnership.
I learned that I’d far rather be alone my entire life than to settle for a mediocre partner in marriage. She wanted me to want a husband and a wedding but never asked me to pick someone to suit her.
I learned that we all have to get older, if we’re lucky, but we don’t have to stop having fun. Mom was the ultimate straight-faced sneak-prankster. When LB gets that mischievous glint in hir eye, I flash back to all the times we fought back giggles during the most solemn of events because of something Mom did or was about to do.
Do you have any fond memories of loved ones to share? Please do.
September 28, 2015
I made pantry dinner twice last week. A couple other nights saw us reheating leftovers, and then we had take out.
Our lives, post-baby, still revolve around dinner and what to have, and who’ll make it happen.
Things that have to happen before we can settle down and adult for the night: walk the dog(s), feed the dog(s), feed the Inchworm, play with the Inchworm, bathe the Inchworm, feed the Inchworm again, put the Inchworm to bed.
This is after a 12-14 hour day of working and Inchworm-related activities, so, at some point, it doesn’t really matter how we make dinner happen, just that it does happen. Sometimes I’m inspired and have enough short breaks to whip it up delightful oven miracles. Sometimes PiC gets home to an explosion of toys, an Angry Inchworm, épuisé wife, and that means he should magic something out of the pantry or the crisper.
We both work, and we both have to eat, and our schedules are topsy turvy most days. I’m pretty Type A and live by my calendar but these days I’m relaxed enough to count myself happy if we both get our work done in a reasonable time and we both get nourished.
Right in this instant, I’ve only ever been more tired a couple times in my life but I’ve never been this sure that this is the best life right now. I have my baby family, we’re both working and building our careers, and we both have to compromise to make it work.
I think it’s our healthy relationship barometer. When things aren’t going well, dinner is later and sketchier and more often eaten separately and standing up. When we’ve got our bits and pieces in the right bins, we have a bit of a warm potato pass off. I might have started a side or an entree cooking, leaving the finishing touches to PiC while I wrangle the kidlet, or I might have a one pot meal finishing up when he walks in the door so he gets to walk the kids. Other nights I have exactly two brain cells still keeping each other warm in the frosty cavern of a mind and he’ll arrive with a basket of Korean fried chicken to go with the cold rice I’d made lots of the day before.
Every day there’s a compromise. He takes the early morning shift (and weekends) so I can sleep. I sleep an extra hour or two so that I can take the all day shift. We split the evening duties because we’ve both worked long days and some things are easier with four hands and a knee.
In other words: symbiosis.
Frankly the only one who’s losing out on this equation at the moment is Seamus who is nursing hurt feelings over my pushing back my dining chair and accidentally running him over a little. I’m sorry!
Actually he’s having a bit of a rough time overall: he doesn’t get our undivided attention, LB likes him too much and therefore he comes in for a share of slobbery kiss attempts he’s not much into, and he’d like to play more. But all of these things would be, minus the slobber, wishful thinking even without LB because we have to be really careful of his skin.
It’s not doggy heaven but he gets fed enough and regularly, he has three beds and more warm places to rest his grizzled muzzle than he can use, he’s well loved, gets walks three times a day and sometimes we run into his fellow doggy the Titan and they have a mighty clash-romp.
Other compromises: I still do all our tax planning and financial stuff. I love it, and I’m a control freak. He does our auto maintenance: repairs, routine checks and gassing up. I do most of the laundry, he’s got the dishes and most of the sweeping and vacuuming. Travel planning: me. Grocery shopping: him. Electronics, purchasing and fixing: me. Clothing, picking out sporting goods, fun gear: him.
Nothing’s perfect, we have our little tiffs when one or the other is flat out of patience and exhausted but they’re rare. We’re getting better at saying: I’m so tired, can you do X for me please.
Like when he ran his first road race since LB came along. He does 99% of the morning duties. This time, he mentioned that he really needed a good sleep before he went out running, so at 5 am when ze was burbling away, I dragged myself up to take care of hir for a couple hours. He was immensely grateful and made sure I had some time to rest to make up for it later. We don’t keep score, per se, we’ve just been practicing listening a lot more.
Compromise! It’s our secret sauce.
August 19, 2015
Lots of friends have kids in our area and it seems like they all participate in the Scouts.
I love the idea of certain things about the Scouts (the learning to do things, whether it be wildernessy or civilization related) but I never participated in the actual activity myself so I don’t have any fond memories of that experience. From afar, it seems like a bit of fun but also a lot of work. That said, I also have specific objections to the idea of Scouts for LB.
Time, money, energy: let’s be honest, in the Bay Area, we’ll be doing well to live in a place where ze can get a good education and eat well every day. 🙂 We likely won’t struggle like I have in the past, but unless something major changes, we are by no means going to have a ton of discretionary income for extras. And personally, selfishly, I’m a bit antisocial most of the time, I don’t want to have to be part of an activity that I have no personal interest in.
Discrimination: I know there’s a difference between the stances of the Boy Scouts (who discriminate against homosexuality) and the Girl Scouts (who maintain an anti-discrimination policy) so that may inform my decision later but for the purposes of this conversation LB could be male and I’m not ok with supporting an organization that supports any kind of discrimination for any reason. We may not be LGBT but I see very little difference between the reasons for discriminating against those who are as the reasons given for being sexist, racist or age-ist; I’ve had a cropful of justifications for racism and sexism and ultimately, discrimination and the rationale for it isn’t something I want LB to learn is an acceptable practice. It’s one thing to decide that something isn’t for you personally but a whole other thing to impose that expectation on others.
Desire: If LB is anything like me, ze would HATE having to do Scouts. If LB is more like PiC, ze would enjoy it. The only thing I know about LB right now is ze eats like a fiend and gets into everything I want hir not into.
Getting back to the point, there are things I’d love LB to learn in a Scout-like fashion (concrete steps, earning merit badges to commemorate the skills or accomplishment, etc.) and I’ve been pondering doing our own little Family Scouts.
Focusing on things that ze is not likely to learn in school, and not arranged in age-appropriate categories, PiC and I could reasonably impart the following skills to LB in the first ten to fourteen years. Most categories would probably have to be broken down into 1-3 smaller subcategories in order for LB to earn any merit badges before the age of 10, though 🙂
Financial Skills (of course!)
Balancing checkbooks. Not because I expect LB to be using a checkbook but the idea of debits and deposits are really easy to understand in checkbook format
Setting up bill payment, automated and one-time only, and when to do which one
Understanding and explaining the composition of a paycheck. Explain who/what SSI is and how that works
Navigate online banking
Personal Finance Management
Saving. Saving first, then spending from the remaining amount
Investing and compound interest: When and how to invest, and why
Needs vs. wants
Budgeting disposable income
Identifying fixed expenses and learning how to reduce them, and why
Basic tax implications
Health
Staying active regularly and enjoying it
Maintain a balanced diet with all the good stuff and the good for you stuff
Compassion – thinking of others, within reason, is good for both of you
Don’t run with scissors, aka, basic health and safety
Cleaning and bandaging wounds
Automotive
Routine: Check your fluids
Change a spark plug
Clean your brake pads
Change a tire
Jumpstart a dead battery
Change a dead battery
Drive a car (manual and auto)
Drive a truck (manual and auto)
Parallel park
Parking on a hill
Household maintenance
Keeping appliances clean, safely, and in good working order
Keeping furniture clean and organized
Sew a straight seam
Doing the laundry for humans, canines, athletes (a whole other level of stinky)
Kitchen Patrol
Handwash dishes without wasting water.
How to load a dishwasher
Kitchen Tetris: putting things away efficiently
How to clean and prep most common fruits, vegetables, and meats
Cooking basic meals
Baking a decent dessert
Make a decent cup of coffee and tea
Keeping the refrigerator sanitary
Rotate and eating the pantry
Animal Husbandry (dogs or cats)
Clean dirty ears
Trim toenails
Groom a coat
Bathe a pet
Check and brush a dog’s teeth
Check skin and bandage minor cuts and abrasions
Feeding a regular diet and picking up after them
Differentiating between normal behavior and indications of ill health
Outdoors-kid
Safely build a fire
Efficiently pack a backpack
How to use and set up any of the disaster gear in case of evacuation: flashlight, thermal sheet bivouacs, prepping emergency meals safely (choosing when to use flame versus flameless heaters in case of gas leaks), etc.
Travel
Pack for a short trip.
Pack for a long trip.
Reading a map
Using public transit
STEM
Creative problem-solving!
Libraries are great resources
Now we just have to make some cool badges!
::Did you do Scouts? I know I missed other important stuff, what would you add to the list?
::What would you think is an essential life skill?