why is it hard to admit it is hard?

some days, well, quite simply, it is hard.

not hard like when the queen and bear where small, or when bear was struggling with violence.

hard in that my 15 and 16-year-old still require a lot of time.

hard in that they are not your typical teens.

hard in that some days i am tired of poop.

so, why do i feel like i am failing in some way by admitting that it is a challenge some days?

to admit that i am tired.

to admit that i would love to be able to just sit and read or watch tv without thinking that i have to plan an activity for bear and queen, to wonder if i am doing enough, to think of bath times, dinner, exercise, interactions.

admit that maybe my normal is sometimes abnormal enough that i wish for a day of normal just to see what it would be like.

then i think of these things:

bear kissing pointing his fingers into a gun, kissing the tips, then shooting.

that queen likes to take a bath with this:

that she hates dogs and cats but checks books out at the library all the time about them.

that bear truly misses me when he is at school and is so happy every.single.day to see me when i get him.

i have to let myself admit that it is ok to say it is hard.

it is ok to tell people that yes, yes, i am tired.

it is challenging.

to admit that there are chinks in the armor i try very hard to keep up all the time and the past two days have made those chinks pretty large.

on a different note, i was able to get a pic with both queen and bear in the same frame, which is as elusive as nessie.



when can i say i have been pushed past my limit?

i feel like i am talking so much since i have started blogging

then, at the end of the day, i realize i have not said anything to anyone outside of my immediate family

and when i say immediate

i mean the ones that live within these walls

yet still, i feel like i don’t shut up all day long

today was not too bad for bear

but when it was bad it was bad

today bear decided he wanted to rip off my left boob

it turns out i am very much attached to my left boob

and my boob is very much attached to me

i don’t know if anyone of you have had someone try to tear your boob off

it hurts

my hands were full

i was trying to get the fan and night light out of his “time out room” and he had me backed against a wall

he had been punching, scratching and pinching up to this point

then he grabbed something of substance

and held on


i had nothing left but my foot to get him off

i planted my foot firmly on his chest

and shoved


i never dreamed

never in a million years

i would have to fight off my own son

i would have to fight my way out of a room

from my own son

later he punched me in the stomach so hard

it took my breath away

he likes to punch my shoulder

the top

in the same spot

over and over

there is a nerve there that i never knew existed

it hurts

a lot

how much more until i can say i have been pushed too far and just wallop on him?

i want to so badly

as i have said, pain does not make a person rational

so, although i say no actual words outside of these walls

i feel like i am spilling my guts

and you know what?

i should have done this a long time ago

it is cathartic

and then it was over……

at 10 pm last night the honeymoon was officially over

i don’t understand the bear’s obsession with queen

i don’t understand his crazy violence when he gets mad

i don’t understand why we can’t reason with him

i am willing to bribe

i have no qualms about bribery

i would even give him a car

we went walking late last night to calm him down

the neighborhood hears A LOT of yelling late at night

i wonder what they think

but mostly i wonder….

how do his fingernails grow so fast!?

they are his weapons of choice

and as with any good warrior

who is willing to part with their chosen weapons?

for that reason

i hate cutting them!