School has been out for 18 days and my head hasn’t exploded. I’d say that’s a win.

Of course, this is not for my kids’ lack of trying. They have given it their all, what with the constant bickering and sometimes kicking. There may have also been biting, but I haven’t confirmed they were actual teeth-marks.

It wasn’t that long ago that they loved each other. I remember it! I don’t remember a lot (*waves at Ambien*), but I do remember that there was once affection and kindness where now there is none.

Sigh.

My mom tells me this is normal; that because my sisters were so much older than me, I was like an only child and I didn’t have the benefit of squabbling with a sibling. I do, however, remember two of my sisters fighting. I was 5, they were 18 and 20. I don’t recall much other than our toy-fox terrier taking a bite out of one of their ankles and there weren’t a lot of fists being thrown. Scratches and hair-pulling, yes. Punches, no. At least it was a fair fight.

In my house, with an average-size 13 year old and a 10 year old who can still get into amusement parks for free, my daughter has an unfair advantage; at least in the height-department. My son makes up for this with his skilled mind tricks though. Like when he purposely falls over his sister’s foot and claims she tripped him.

He also knows exactly how to push her buttons and how to irritate her with maximum efficiency and little effort. Just for the record, he inherited that trait from his dad. Last night, my husband asked me out of the blue, “So, would you be mad at me if I tried bath salts? My guy, stirring up trouble since 1971.

People, please tell me that the arguing will stop someday and my kids will love each other again. If you feel like being generous, tell me that day will be soon.

My mental health is depending on it.

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A few days ago, we pulled the kids out of school, piled into a car with some friends and drove to an amusement park where we spent the day going in loops and curves, laughing, and preparing ourselves for the oh-so-wonderful-post-amusement-park-shampoo-and-shower.

We had so much fun, minus the few minutes I spent on the swings with my son, where I had my eyes tightly shut and spent the entire time trying to distract myself by counting. Not to any particular number, mind you, but just counting because OHMYGOODNESS the spinning.

Of course, roller coasters and swings aren’t the only attractions. If you are an amusement park aficionado, you know that the rides are great, but equally enjoyable is the people-watching. For instance, the woman who won our prize for “Best Outfit” was wearing very tiny, cut-off shorts and a hoodie that stopped just under her breasts; her belly free to hang out from in between.

Because my ten year old son often says whatever is on his mind, we have been attempting to show him how to filter his words. I have gone so far as to draw a brain and write words that are allowed to be in there, but that shouldn’t come out of his mouth.

And, apparently, the adults in our group weren’t the only ones who were people-watching at the amusement park, because when we pulled into our driveway at the end of the day, my son said, “Mom, I did a REALLY good job of keeping my thoughts inside my head today!”

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Dear Miss Teacher,

Look, I understand that the paper was on food safety, but I’m thinking he should get partial credit for this. Why waste time with hygiene when there is a sandwich involved?

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Ten?

Give me a minute to wrap my head around that.

To be honest, it’s hard to wrap your head around something when you’ve spent the last ten years spinning about. Half the time, I haven’t even known where my head is.

The decade since you were born has been the longest, most stress-filled quarter of my life. I’ve watched you get poked, prodded and wheeled away from me to an operating room over and over again. I’ve seen you choke and vomit so many times, it would be impossible to count. And, there were times that we saw so many different doctors and therapists that I felt like you were a pinball; bounced here and there, from one cold stethoscope to another.

Would I change all of that if I could? Yes. In a heartbeat. Would I change the person you are because of it? Never.

Sure, I wish things were easier for you. I wish that you had more friends. I wish open-heart surgery wasn’t looming over your head. I wish that you didn’t need hearing aids, or sensory cushions at school, and that your small stature wouldn’t limit you.

But, if your life had been easy then you would just be a typical kid. You wouldn’t be the funny, unpredictable, clever, kind, insightful child you are now. Every needle, every analysis, every illness and every remedy made you who you are. And, you are somewhere we never thought you would be.

You are ten.

Happy Birthday to my amazing boy.

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