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ninanevermoreYet you love it and cling to it, anyway.
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Since my son got thrown out of his daycare, I've been wondering if I still needed to have him see a counselor. I was debating about completing the paperwork to get him on the waiting list for the developmental assessment clinic. Maybe removing him from the environment he was in had resolved his issues, I thought.
I should give up thinking. It's one of those things I have no talent for.
His new babysitter called me and told me I needed to come pick him up today because "he is out of control." He was in the middle of a screaming, kicking, spitting, tantrum. A 35 pound, 3 and a half foot tall tornado.
He was calm, she said and playing with a little girl. He grabbed a toy from the other child, and Coco told him no, don't to do that. She told him he needed to share. He started to scream. She moved him to a back bedroom to isolate him, since time out doesn't work with him. Isolation doesn't work, either. He has developed a genuine anxiety over being alone, even at home. If he looks for me in the kitchen and I have moved to the laundry room, he cries out in panic and I have to hold him and comfort him.
"I don't want to be alone," he tells me with tears welling up in his eyes. He seems to be extraordinarily conscious of his smallness and vulnerability, but only in this regard. He doesn't fear heights, or going fast, or much of anything beyond the idea of abandonment. Ghosts, mummies, monsters, and any number of the creatures faced down in his favorite Scooby-Doo cartoons don't bother him at all. "The monster was only a costume," he tells me, "it wasn't scary." But the mere idea of solitude sends him over the edge.
I called my husband to pick up our boy, since he is closer than I am. Then I called my husband's insurance to get a referral to a counselor who works with young children. By the time I got off the phone with a list of 3 names I could call, Coco called me back.
"If Jeff hasn't let yet, he doesn't need to come," she said. My son was calm. Once the storm has passed with him, he is all sunshine. I remember this part from before, too. On the up side, while he damaged Coco's wall from slamming the door open and tore the sheets off a bed, he didn't attack or bite anyone (unless you count the walls and her furniture).
Jeff showed up and took him home, even though Coco said he didn't have to.
"Are you mad at me?" she called back and asked.
"Mad? At you? God, no." I apologized for the drama and told her I'd phoned a therapist.
"I'm not throwing him out. He can still come back tomorrow," she said. "I just didn't know what to do."
I'd made an appointment with a therapist before, back when he was having problems at his old daycare, and it didn't work out. I'd written down the wrong day; I thought it was supposed to be on a Thursday and the appointment clerk had set it up for a Tuesday. When we showed up at the wrong day, the therapist – an old hippie chick whose office is above a crystal shop and natural healing spa on Main Street of my home town – frowned and asked, "What are you doing here?"
"We have an appointment..."
"No. You can't. I don't see people on Thursday afternoons. I do my paperwork on Thursdays."
"Well, then I made a mistake."
"You must have."
We blinked at each other. The hippie frowned.
"I guess you can come on up and we'll see when you were supposed to be here." She shook her head, as if baffled that anyone would dare show up to see her on a Thursday.
In her office, while Jeff and our son waited out in her lobby, she sat down at her desk and opened her computer. "You were supposed to be her on Tuesday."
"Funny, I told the girl Tuesday wasn't good for me and I couldn’t make an appointment on a Tuesday."
"Oh," the hippie said, and looked at me. "So, what are you doing here?"
"My son bites people..."
"Never mind about that. What are you doing here today? I don't see people on Thursdays. I'll tell you what, I can see you at 2 PM next Tuesday. I've got you scheduled. I'll see you then."
I didn't mind that she was an old hippie who saw clients in an apartment over a crystal shop and natural healing spa. In fact, I was kind of charmed that she was. If adjusting my preschooler's chakras could solve his problems, I was willing to give it a try. But this lady was just the right combination of arrogant and stupid to get on my last nerve and stay there. I decided that someone else could adjust my baby's chakras. I think that as a hippie, she more than anyone else should be able to appreciate the fact that I didn't like her vibe one bit, man. I went home, called the appointment clerk, and cancelled the appointment the flower geezer had made for me the following week.
But now I have 3 more referrals from the insurance company. If one of them doesn't work, I can try the other two. I've got a call into the first therapist I am free to reject, and I hope I like this one better. In the meantime, I'll go ahead and schedule the developmental assessment I wasn't sure he needed. I'm sure now.
On the bright side, Coco says she doesn't want to throw my son out. He can come back tomorrow and she's willing to work with him.
When I heard her say that, I couldn't help but smile. I remember the director of my son's old school saying similar words to me at one point. I think I know exactly what Yogi Berra meant when he said, "It's like déjà vu all over again."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
.
Since my son got thrown out of his daycare, I've been wondering if I still needed to have him see a counselor. I was debating about completing the paperwork to get him on the waiting list for the developmental assessment clinic. Maybe removing him from the environment he was in had resolved his issues, I thought.
I should give up thinking. It's one of those things I have no talent for.
His new babysitter called me and told me I needed to come pick him up today because "he is out of control." He was in the middle of a screaming, kicking, spitting, tantrum. A 35 pound, 3 and a half foot tall tornado.
He was calm, she said and playing with a little girl. He grabbed a toy from the other child, and Coco told him no, don't to do that. She told him he needed to share. He started to scream. She moved him to a back bedroom to isolate him, since time out doesn't work with him. Isolation doesn't work, either. He has developed a genuine anxiety over being alone, even at home. If he looks for me in the kitchen and I have moved to the laundry room, he cries out in panic and I have to hold him and comfort him.
"I don't want to be alone," he tells me with tears welling up in his eyes. He seems to be extraordinarily conscious of his smallness and vulnerability, but only in this regard. He doesn't fear heights, or going fast, or much of anything beyond the idea of abandonment. Ghosts, mummies, monsters, and any number of the creatures faced down in his favorite Scooby-Doo cartoons don't bother him at all. "The monster was only a costume," he tells me, "it wasn't scary." But the mere idea of solitude sends him over the edge.
I called my husband to pick up our boy, since he is closer than I am. Then I called my husband's insurance to get a referral to a counselor who works with young children. By the time I got off the phone with a list of 3 names I could call, Coco called me back.
"If Jeff hasn't let yet, he doesn't need to come," she said. My son was calm. Once the storm has passed with him, he is all sunshine. I remember this part from before, too. On the up side, while he damaged Coco's wall from slamming the door open and tore the sheets off a bed, he didn't attack or bite anyone (unless you count the walls and her furniture).
Jeff showed up and took him home, even though Coco said he didn't have to.
"Are you mad at me?" she called back and asked.
"Mad? At you? God, no." I apologized for the drama and told her I'd phoned a therapist.
"I'm not throwing him out. He can still come back tomorrow," she said. "I just didn't know what to do."
I'd made an appointment with a therapist before, back when he was having problems at his old daycare, and it didn't work out. I'd written down the wrong day; I thought it was supposed to be on a Thursday and the appointment clerk had set it up for a Tuesday. When we showed up at the wrong day, the therapist – an old hippie chick whose office is above a crystal shop and natural healing spa on Main Street of my home town – frowned and asked, "What are you doing here?"
"We have an appointment..."
"No. You can't. I don't see people on Thursday afternoons. I do my paperwork on Thursdays."
"Well, then I made a mistake."
"You must have."
We blinked at each other. The hippie frowned.
"I guess you can come on up and we'll see when you were supposed to be here." She shook her head, as if baffled that anyone would dare show up to see her on a Thursday.
In her office, while Jeff and our son waited out in her lobby, she sat down at her desk and opened her computer. "You were supposed to be her on Tuesday."
"Funny, I told the girl Tuesday wasn't good for me and I couldn’t make an appointment on a Tuesday."
"Oh," the hippie said, and looked at me. "So, what are you doing here?"
"My son bites people..."
"Never mind about that. What are you doing here today? I don't see people on Thursdays. I'll tell you what, I can see you at 2 PM next Tuesday. I've got you scheduled. I'll see you then."
I didn't mind that she was an old hippie who saw clients in an apartment over a crystal shop and natural healing spa. In fact, I was kind of charmed that she was. If adjusting my preschooler's chakras could solve his problems, I was willing to give it a try. But this lady was just the right combination of arrogant and stupid to get on my last nerve and stay there. I decided that someone else could adjust my baby's chakras. I think that as a hippie, she more than anyone else should be able to appreciate the fact that I didn't like her vibe one bit, man. I went home, called the appointment clerk, and cancelled the appointment the flower geezer had made for me the following week.
But now I have 3 more referrals from the insurance company. If one of them doesn't work, I can try the other two. I've got a call into the first therapist I am free to reject, and I hope I like this one better. In the meantime, I'll go ahead and schedule the developmental assessment I wasn't sure he needed. I'm sure now.
On the bright side, Coco says she doesn't want to throw my son out. He can come back tomorrow and she's willing to work with him.
When I heard her say that, I couldn't help but smile. I remember the director of my son's old school saying similar words to me at one point. I think I know exactly what Yogi Berra meant when he said, "It's like déjà vu all over again."
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no subject
Date: 2009-05-26 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-26 09:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-27 03:00 pm (UTC)The good news is that my son is not constipated, from what I can tell. Some parts of him work just fine. :P
no subject
Date: 2009-05-26 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-26 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-26 09:56 pm (UTC)- and the truckin reference was to pay homage to the hippie leaders, the Grateful Dead. THEY would have seen you on Thursday, I'm sure.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-26 09:59 pm (UTC)The counselor next week has agreed to see us on a Thursday. I like her already.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-26 09:50 pm (UTC)FYI, Babe is friendly with a very good therapist. I don't know if she works with children, but she could probably recommend somebody who does and takes insurance and is not an arrogant hippy.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-26 09:57 pm (UTC)If I go off list, I have to pay out of pocket. Sadly, my pockets are nearly as deep as I'd like them to be.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-27 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-27 03:03 pm (UTC)What's it like, anyway? This flush with cash state of being? It sounds kinda nice.
I need to find a way to give that lifestyle a try... ~_^
no subject
Date: 2009-05-27 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-27 03:05 pm (UTC)Since I am trying to view this glass a half full, I can say with confidence the next person couldn't be any worse than the first. Yay! :D
no subject
Date: 2009-05-27 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-28 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-29 06:55 pm (UTC)