
(Ok, I tried to make the title a link, so you'd understand it, but it didn't work. So here's the link. That song's been my mantra for a couple years, now.)
Really, I should know better. I really, honestly should. I have trouble going to the STORE with Sparky and Hot Rod. What made me think that going Miniature Golfing would be any different???
Today was one of those textbook Fall days. The breeze was crisp, the air was warm, could have been hot from the sun, but the breeze was enough to keep it cool. Little puffy clouds in the sky… a happy day. The minigolf course opened at 2, we got there at almost 4. We started our 18 holes, and Hot Rod was excited, playing his ball all the way through right away. This means he sets the ball down at the beginning of the green, WHACKS it, chases it down, and keeps whacking it until, 32 whacks later, he pops the ball out of the hole, shoots a grin back at me and announces, “Hole in One!!!”
Meanwhile, Sparky never liked minigolf. He’s always been a ‘golf purist’, and his putting game was never that great. So the combination is lethal. Now, add a hyperactive kid, blindness, AND families playing behind us – who move faster – to the mix, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.
We did ok on the first nine. Then, in the second nine, Hot Rod was getting impatient with Sparky’s slowness, and Sparky was getting mad at Hot Rod for wanting to rush ahead, frustrated with his own game, and feeling rushed by those behind us, although we kept letting groups play through, and everybody was really cool about us, especially when they realized that Sparky was blind. Some even complimented him on how well he managed.
By the end of the 18 holes, Hot Rod was in full meltdown, and Sparky was trying to control the meltdown, and by the time we got to the truck, Hot Rod had been told that we would NOT be taking him back to minigolf for the rest of the year. Which we probably wouldn’t have done, anyway, it being nearly the end of the golfing season, but that doesn’t have the same impact, now, does it?
Now Hot Rod thinks that he’s lost minigolf for the rest of the year which is forever to a six-year-old. Sparky is mad at Hot Rod because Hot Rod continues to have a fit – he was now to the point of opening the back door of the truck so he could slam it in his anger. I put the child-lock on it, and he KICKED the inside of the door and was screaming. Sparky was yelling at Hot Rod, Hot Rod was screaming back, and it had spiraled WAY out of control. I finally was able to get into the truck and I insinuated myself into this little love-fest, and said, “both of you… knock it off. Take a breath, and calm down. Hot Rod, drink some juice and buckle up. Let’s just listen to some music for a while.”
Miraculously, they both shut the hell up, and I could drive out of the parking lot before anyone said anything. And then it was me. I got us out of the parking lot, but before we hit the first stop light a block later, I was crying like a baby.
I had simply wanted a nice outing. Apparently, I’m just setting the bar too high. Something like this is just too damn much. Sparky needs all my attention for a game like this – he needs each hole described to him in detail – are there hills? How wide is the “fairway”? where is the hole in relation to where we are? What kind of obstacles are in the way? How far is the hole? Which way does this particular “fairway” turn? And once he hits the ball, it starts again… how far does he have to go now? Is he lined up with the hole? How far is the hole? Any obstacles or hills? And on and on. And before you suggest it, having Hot Rod help with this worked for half of the first hole. Then his attention was turned elsewhere, and that was that.
Meanwhile, Hot Rod needs and deserves some attention of his own. But I missed nearly every one of his turns, because I was so busy attending to Sparky. And if I left Sparky alone to tend to Hot Rod, Sparky would, inevitably, walk into a tree branch or something. It was never-ending. I felt like that baby in the bible that Solomon threatened to split in half.
By the time we got home, it was agreed that we’d go off the meal schedule for the evening (I’ve got all the dinners for the next month planned out – tonight was supposed to be lasagna) because it was so late, and I’d throw together something light and quick. While I was doing that, Hot Rod was supposed to take a quick shower with Sparky’s help. Bad move.
We walked through the door, and Hot Rod decided that no way, no how was he going to take a shower. Sparky took a “firm” stance and said, “oh, yes, you are.” Let the meltdowns begin. Again.
This is how it was all.day.long. Hot Rod was in a mood to argue, and Sparky forgets the theme of parenting… “pick your battles”… so EVERYTHING is a battle. There is no ‘give’ with him. He must always be right. And he must always be obeyed.
On the other hand, Hot Rod needs to be right, and needs to have his way, and if he doesn’t, a tantrum is sure to follow.
While Sparky was at Blind School, I’d begun to find a way to manage Hot Rod. I found a book called Raising Your Spirited Child, by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka, several years ago, and read through part of it. I have a seriously hard time finishing any book that, in any way, reminds me of a textbook, and although this book is phenomenally well-written and easy to read and understand… well, it’s still non-fiction and a textbook. So I never finished it. But I refer to it often. And the stories and scenarios she presents are often Hot Rod, right down to his toes. So I try to use her methods, and whaddya know? They work.
But try to get Sparky to even consider doing something like that? Read that book? Are you crazy? Never. There are two rules of parenting: 1. Dad is always right. 2. When in doubt, refer to Rule 1. Sound familiar?
So now we’re back to the beginning. What the hell do I do now? HOW am I ever going to handle outings with these two, together? Especially outings where they each require my attention equally. How do parents of multiples DO it? More to the point, how do SINGLE parents of multiples do it? Because that’s how I feel…. Like I have two children, and one of them is disabled.





