I took a vacation. No, wait, that’s not right – because I’m pretty sure that if I took a vacation, you know, a real one, I’d still be there: sitting on a beach somewhere, basking in the sun, drink in hand….

But I’m not. And I didn’t.

I did, however, take a non-self-imposed break. It’s hard to write when you have only enough energy to sit and stare at the monitor, compulsively checking Facebook or the various boards to which you belong. Harder, still, to rouse yourself enough to exercise, or eat properly, or to clean the house. About the only thing I’ve managed to do is get to bed at a fairly decent hour most nights…only to get very little actual sleep.

Today, boys and girls, we’re going to talk about Conduct Disorder, or CD.

Briefly, a child diagnosed with CD has certain misfirings in his brain and is incapable, to a certain extent, of following the rules. Doesn’t much matter which rules, or whose; it’s often accompanied by any or all other types of disorders and illnesses, most of which can be summarized by groups of letters: ADD, ADHD, APD, BPD, and so forth. And there are more.

Some kids start with ODD, Oppositional Defiance Disorder, and progress, with age, to CD. For some kids, this is a phase, so to speak, and they outgrow both or either. For some, it continues and, joy of joys, when they reach the arbitrary age of 18, it segues into Antisocial Personality Disorder. Nope, you can’t tell what the outcome will be until it happens.

I’m not going to go into the ins and outs of these disorders, because I’m not a doctor and I don’t even play one on TV – or on the Internet. What I am going to talk about is the affect on families.

First, however, I want to add that ODD, CD, and APD do not consist of your typical child-stage behaviors. For instance, if your toddler crosses his arms and shouts, “No!”, he does not necessarily have ODD; if your teenager pouts, stomps, and slams doors, he probably is just moody. On the other hand, and teenagers being my specialty I’ll stick to them, if your teenager takes all those “typical” behaviors a few steps further, if you can look back and recall other incidents over the years, you might have a problem on your hands.

And please, let me emphasize “might”. Many things can be the cause of behaviors that are similar; there are excellent Internet resources, such as www.conductdisorders.com, which can give you much better information than I.

So, back to the effect of these kids and their behaviors.

First, no one believes you. These kids are very, very good at playing victim, blaming everyone else, and putting on an intelligent, mature attitude at will.
Imagine a teen visiting at your home, one of your child’s friends. He appears to be smart, courteous, all the attributes that you might wish your son possessed or someone you’d like your daughter to date. At some point, he might become rather quiet, and you might see a sad expression on his face. You might try to draw him out, and ask if something is wrong. He might tell you that he wishes his family could all get along like yours; that you really listen to your kids and that there’s no yelling, it’s so peaceful here in your home.

You’d be rather shocked if you knew that his family DOES get along, except when he is causing trouble; you’d be surprised if you knew that when he said you listen to your kids, implying that his parents do not, that they DO listen – the first time he says something. It’s after he’s badgered them for an hour, repeating himself, flinging ugly accusations, that they tune him out. And, of course, you’d find it hard to believe that the only yelling that occurs in his home is in direct correlation to yet another of his lies or manipulations or explosive rages.

Of course, none of this is his fault. If his parents didn’t have silly rules, like pick up after yourself, keep your room clean, do your laundry, ask permission to go somewhere, be in by curfew, don’t blow your money, don’t lie, don’t steal, don’t cheat, go to school, and so forth, he’d behave perfectly. If the cops didn’t lie about him and keep an eye out for him, he’d never be in trouble with the law.

You might even, if you’re very unlucky, have your son or daughter come to you at some point, retelling this kid’s tale of woe, with all his embellishments, insisting that you call the police because his parents are beating him, locking him up, refusing him food, etc. You might even do it. At the very least, you have an upset teen on your hands, begging you to help their friend.

Of course, at some point, possibly weeks or months from now, you might ask your teen about this friend. You haven’t seen him around for awhile, and you’re wondering how he’s doing. You will probably be very, very surprised to learn that he’s in detention, foster care, jail, or on the streets. Or a psych ward. And that your child wants absolutely nothing to do with him, because she’s afraid, or he’s been lied to so many times, or either or both have been taken advantage of in some way.

And then, your guilt kicks in. You have been, for weeks or months, thinking horrible things about this kid’s parents. What monsters they were for making this poor child so miserable, yelling at him, grounding him, taking him to doctors, calling the police, insisting that there was something wrong with him – and he was so polite, so charming, so mature.

So you write it off as a chapter in your life best forgotten. What you should do is call these parents. Offer your condolences, apologize if you feel it necessary, let them know that now you believe. It isn’t taboo – part of them died when they went through all this, part of them is numb and grieving. Still. I don’t think it ever ends.

Because this is what these parents have dealt with:

Constant stress and tension, never knowing when their child is going to take off or blow up. Repeated visits by the police; sometimes by caseworkers. False accusations of abuse and neglect. Continuous verbal harassment, sometimes physical altercations. Fear, of their own child. Getting up each morning, with all this to look forward to; or not. Sometimes this child can be just as he was when he was at your house: charming, pleasant, good company, fun to be with. Sleeplessness, because you never know just what he’s capable of doing while you’re asleep. Shame, because even though you’ve tried everything, taken all suggestions, read all the books, talked to all the doctors and counselors, surely, surely, you missed something, could have done it better, or more, or something….

And of course, grief. This child was once a tiny, helpless infant; you had such hopes and dreams for him. He was once a smiling, giggling, rambunctious toddler. You remember this. And now he’s not. There’s something wrong. And for months, or years, you’ve tried to figure out why and how. You’ve tried to get someone to believe you, to help you. And even when you do, it doesn’t end. It doesn’t stop.

Yes, folks, it’s that time of year: the holidays. Whether you celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah, or neither, or participate in some other festivity, there are expectations and to-do lists galore.

Or so I’ve been told. And witnessed. And experienced.

We celebrate Christmas, so I’m going to stick to that versus showing my possible ignorance regarding other holidays at this time of year.

Where I grew up, and when and how, everyone in my family (who all lived close by) decorated their homes; some were more elaborate, some simple, but everyone participated. As a kid, it seemed so easy.

Of course, I didn’t decorate – well, I might have put a few ornaments on the tree, more so as I got older, and I did have a small, artificial tree in my room to decorate with tiny gold balls and small angel figures playing different musical instruments. That was about the only thing artificial – the mistletoe was real, the tree was real…unless you count that silly tinsel that my grandmother used. More on that later.

We didn’t have themes, unless repetition was considered a “theme”. My grandmother had a reindeer mantel thingy that she tacked across the fireplace; she had two large, plastic candles that went on the front porch, one said “Joy” and the other said “Noel”. She always hung a stocking for me, and she always used those individual pieces of tinsel (again, more later).

She had a smallish tree, the stand was permanently attached to a wooden crate – this certainly made moving the tree easier, as well as watering and arranging the tree skirt. And she always put out the Christmas sheet music on the organ.

I remember plugging in the mantel lights one time, so Grandma wouldn’t have to bend over (she was probably all of 52 years old then!), and the plug itself was slightly bent. I held the two prongs together and pushed it into the socket. Yowza! That stung a bit.

My parents put lights on the house, multi-colored ones, just your standard stringing along the roof line. I remember them always complaining when neighbors did a blue theme, or a white one. I believe we had a wreath on the front door, two after we moved back to the farm and had double doors. I remember looking at the Christmas lights outside through my window every night.

Of course, when I was really little, up to preschool age, I couldn’t open presents until about 10:00 a.m. That’s how long it took for the built-on living room to warm up!

I don’t recall anyone ever saying we “had” to do things a certain way, but I sure remember the same things, every year, over and over. My great-grandmother had Christmas dinner for several years, then my grandmother took over. Sometime after my grandfather died, it was my mom’s turn.
Christmas Eve was a regular dinner, then Dad and I would shop for Mom’s Christmas present. Grandma came over and we all went to church at 11:00. My sister and I got to open a small gift before bedtime, and of course, Santa came that night. Most years it was hard to walk through the living room – tons of “stuff”. Of course, back in the day, most kids didn’t get extras throughout the year like a lot of them do now…Christmas and birthday, that was pretty much it.

As soon as I got my own place, I was itching to “do” Christmas. Of course, I still went to Mom’s, but I started decorating, buying a tree, and so forth. I still have a letter from my mom – yes, snailmail – giving me a requested recipe AND reminding me to turn off the tree lights whenever I left the house.

I never did outside lights, at first. Living in apartments, it’s really not possible and, since I was still going home for Christmas, my decorating was kind of hit-or-miss. Once my daughter was born, we had TWO Christmases to go to, but that also gave me more reason to decorate.

When Dennis and I got married, I figured it was now time to do outside lights – because it sure wouldn’t be ME climbing on the roof! I can sum up the result of that idea in one word: retail.

I married Scrooge.

Now, it’s not his fault although, to hear him tell it, they must have never celebrated a single thing in his family. Whatever. He has no sense of tradition, and just doesn’t “get” that I HAVE to do certain things. But he’s been a good sport, more or less.
That is to say, he tolerates my holiday idiosyncrasies, but would much rather NOT participate in them!

This is our 13th Christmas together. One year we didn’t do lights, we were busy moving, and another year we lived way out in the country – no one would see them but us. For eight Christmases we lived in Texas – December temperatures hovered around 60, not like anyone would freeze to death hanging lights. My older son has done the lights for the last four years – once in Texas, three times here in Missouri. So my husband has “had” to do lights exactly seven times; pretty sure I remember helping, along with the kids, with most of those times being in 60-degree weather!

You know how stores start getting Christmas stuff in August? His store does too. Long before December, he’s sick of it all. He does like cookies though – but is crushed, every year, when I make them, freeze them, and tell him “hands off” until Christmas Eve!

The tree.

Granted, my mom did “go artificial” finally; said it was easier because she could throw a sheet over the tree, sans ornaments but with lights still intact, and haul it to the basement for storage. And I’m not a fan of pine needles, either; who is?

Our first Christmas, I wanted a real tree, of course. Being in the honeymoon phase, my husband agreed. The following August, when we were moving, there were still pine needles in the carpet. He put down his foot – no more real trees.

I think I talked him into a real tree one other time. Once.

Fast forward to two years ago. Our daughter was having tree-stand issues, and my husband, bless his heart, said, “Why don’t you just take our tree?” Hallelujah! That meant I could – maybe – get a real one! And I did. And again this year. So apparently he gave up the battle. Teehee!

Of course, both times we went to pick out a tree, just around the corner, it was cold – as in frigid – and windy and raining. Both times. Go figure.

Then there was the tinsel fiasco.
I decided I remembered liking my grandma’s tinsel. Why, I’m not sure. I guess a few decades had blurred my memory or, most probably, I’d never really had to deal with cleaning up that crap. Yes, crap. Ugh!

The cats enjoyed it. I did not. I am still picking up tinsel that, I’m pretty sure, was abandoned LAST year. Forget the pine needles – Scotch is the worst, which is the kind of tree we used to get, but the Frasier firs hardly drop any at all. Thank goodness. They don’t poke you either. Just sayin’.

So I have my lists, my traditions. I start baking in October (on a good year) and freeze about six or seven kinds of cookies. Stopped making those candy-cane horrors though – even I have my limits. But if I didn’t make Mom’s cheeseball every year, none of the kids would come for Christmas. Of course we do milk and cookies for Santa (our youngest is 12), and hang lights and decorate. I have Grandma’s mantel cloth on the mantel, and her Christmas music sitting on her organ.

The wreath is on the door – well, on one door; we have two, but I keep forgetting to buy a second wreath. We’ve lost or broken all the colored balls along the way, but the kids have kept us supplied with homemade ornaments and a few others we’ve been given or picked up – or inherited. I have many of my grandmother’s handmade ornaments, and I use them all.

If we have a “theme” – and I do admire those who do – it’s probably retro kitsch. If that’s a theme. But it works for us.