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ninanevermore.
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My son has had a pretty good last couple of weeks. Only a few minor incidents, and almost none of them involving a successful bite. In fact, on Monday afternoon one of the teachers at the daycare told me how good and how sweet he'd been. I felt proud. I felt confident. I felt we were making progress
I should know better by now.
When my son is sweet, he is very sweet. His special little talent is to go from angel to devil on the turn of a dime. Jeff has Tuesdays off, and he picked up him from daycare yesterday, which allows me to catch up at work. I called Jeff on his cell phone to see how things went.
"Well, according to the note I got, he had a really good day until about 5:30, when he punched a teacher in the face and broke her glasses."
I waited a few moments for Jeff to say, "Ha, ha, just kidding. He was great!" And waited. And waited some more. It occurred to me that Jeff needed some prompting.
"Tell me you're kidding," I said.
"That's what it says. He was playing with a toy and the teacher asked him to share and let another kid play with it. He didn't like that, so he threw a block at the other kid. Then he had a fit, and hit the teacher. Then she took him to the office, and she says he scratched her and kicked at her many times." You could tell he was reading the incident report so I could get all the details.
I made a little whimpering sound. "Oh, God," I said in my tiny, squeaky voice of dismay.
"Yeah, oh God."
I tried to lighten the mood, which was pretty heavy as it traveled through the air between our two cell phones. "So, what do you want to do? Put him up for adoption?"
Jeff blew up at me. "Yeah, that's it. We'll put him up for adoption and get rid of him," he snapped.
Our personalities go in complete opposite directions when we are under stress. As far as I'm concerned, the best place to crack a joke is when you're standing in front of the firing squad. Before they pull the trigger, you wink and tell the gunmen how nice it is to see them. You ask them to meet you at the bar for a round of drinks after the festivities. Jeff, on the other hand, would go down ranting and raving. He would scowl and curse at them. This, of course, is what the firing squad expects. They would remember me long after they forgot about Jeff.
"I was kidding," I said. About time one of us said that.
"Well I can't joke right now."
After the phone call, I pulled over at a pharmacy to buy a bottle of pain killer and some water to wash it down. I had a tension headache starting in the back of my neck that would make my skull feel like it was going to implode if I didn't nip it in the bud.
Vampire Book mom at my office, who was supposed to get the name of a child therapist for me from her son's therapist, went on vacation this week without passing along a name or number for me to call. It turns out, however, we know another mother of another problem child. My son's half brother was also a holy terror. He began seeing a therapist around the age of 4, and got thrown out of several day cares. When I emailed him and asked him about it recently, and explained the problems I was having with his brother, he replied, I was way worse than that. I bit the first therapist they sent me to. It used to take 5 adults to hold me down to put eye drops in my eyes. He is now an easy-going 19 year old who stays out of trouble. I guess there is hope.
Jeff and I had believed my stepson's problems stemmed from the unstable environment in his mother's house. In recent years, since they've put her on medication for bipolar disorder, she's been a lot calmer, but when her son was small living with her was kind of a wild ride.
I really should just give up on being self righteous. It always comes back to bite me in the ass.
Jeff called my stepson's mom last night and she gave us the name and numbers of two doctors. One that she liked who is close to where we live, and the one her son liked best, who is close to my office and thus very far away from where we live.
I informed the daycare this morning that we had the name of a therapist, and would be contacting them. I offered to pay for a replacement pair of glasses for the teacher. I apologized for approximately the one thousandth time.
I pray they accept it, and give my son a 1001st chance.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
My son has had a pretty good last couple of weeks. Only a few minor incidents, and almost none of them involving a successful bite. In fact, on Monday afternoon one of the teachers at the daycare told me how good and how sweet he'd been. I felt proud. I felt confident. I felt we were making progress
I should know better by now.
When my son is sweet, he is very sweet. His special little talent is to go from angel to devil on the turn of a dime. Jeff has Tuesdays off, and he picked up him from daycare yesterday, which allows me to catch up at work. I called Jeff on his cell phone to see how things went.
"Well, according to the note I got, he had a really good day until about 5:30, when he punched a teacher in the face and broke her glasses."
I waited a few moments for Jeff to say, "Ha, ha, just kidding. He was great!" And waited. And waited some more. It occurred to me that Jeff needed some prompting.
"Tell me you're kidding," I said.
"That's what it says. He was playing with a toy and the teacher asked him to share and let another kid play with it. He didn't like that, so he threw a block at the other kid. Then he had a fit, and hit the teacher. Then she took him to the office, and she says he scratched her and kicked at her many times." You could tell he was reading the incident report so I could get all the details.
I made a little whimpering sound. "Oh, God," I said in my tiny, squeaky voice of dismay.
"Yeah, oh God."
I tried to lighten the mood, which was pretty heavy as it traveled through the air between our two cell phones. "So, what do you want to do? Put him up for adoption?"
Jeff blew up at me. "Yeah, that's it. We'll put him up for adoption and get rid of him," he snapped.
Our personalities go in complete opposite directions when we are under stress. As far as I'm concerned, the best place to crack a joke is when you're standing in front of the firing squad. Before they pull the trigger, you wink and tell the gunmen how nice it is to see them. You ask them to meet you at the bar for a round of drinks after the festivities. Jeff, on the other hand, would go down ranting and raving. He would scowl and curse at them. This, of course, is what the firing squad expects. They would remember me long after they forgot about Jeff.
"I was kidding," I said. About time one of us said that.
"Well I can't joke right now."
After the phone call, I pulled over at a pharmacy to buy a bottle of pain killer and some water to wash it down. I had a tension headache starting in the back of my neck that would make my skull feel like it was going to implode if I didn't nip it in the bud.
Vampire Book mom at my office, who was supposed to get the name of a child therapist for me from her son's therapist, went on vacation this week without passing along a name or number for me to call. It turns out, however, we know another mother of another problem child. My son's half brother was also a holy terror. He began seeing a therapist around the age of 4, and got thrown out of several day cares. When I emailed him and asked him about it recently, and explained the problems I was having with his brother, he replied, I was way worse than that. I bit the first therapist they sent me to. It used to take 5 adults to hold me down to put eye drops in my eyes. He is now an easy-going 19 year old who stays out of trouble. I guess there is hope.
Jeff and I had believed my stepson's problems stemmed from the unstable environment in his mother's house. In recent years, since they've put her on medication for bipolar disorder, she's been a lot calmer, but when her son was small living with her was kind of a wild ride.
I really should just give up on being self righteous. It always comes back to bite me in the ass.
Jeff called my stepson's mom last night and she gave us the name and numbers of two doctors. One that she liked who is close to where we live, and the one her son liked best, who is close to my office and thus very far away from where we live.
I informed the daycare this morning that we had the name of a therapist, and would be contacting them. I offered to pay for a replacement pair of glasses for the teacher. I apologized for approximately the one thousandth time.
I pray they accept it, and give my son a 1001st chance.
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-18 04:04 pm (UTC)but all in all sounds like mostly he's improved despite this recent set back.
Poor YOU.
hang in there. He's a smart cookie and it will all get better.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-18 04:30 pm (UTC)