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ninanevermore.
.
.
So I had one really good day where really good things happened to me. What the heck made me think this might be some sort of new norm? How quickly things rebound. When I said Fate likes to flirt but rarely puts out, I meant it; she is what guys would call a tease.
I start a new job on Monday. At least that part is still in the works. But there is always a wrench that Fate throws into the works. In my case, it is that on Monday and Tuesday I have no before or after school care, on account of the fact that Sweet Pea, exactly 24 hours after he had an incident free day at school, bit a child in the YMCA after school program and was suspended for 3 days.
Today, Friday, was not a problem. I was home. Monday and Tuesday are going to require some maneuvering. I will need to be out of the house by 7 AM. The school bus picks up at 7:45 AM. Jeff gets home at 8 AM. The school opens its doors at 8:10 AM (school starts at 8:30, final bell is at 8:40).
“Oh $#%&, oh $#%&, $#%&,” I told my husband.
“Don’t panic,” he said.
“I’m not panicking. I’m just sitting here quietly freaking out. Panicking is louder, and people would be pointing and staring.” We were eating in a local cafeteria, so someone would have noticed if I got hysterical and it may have made the local weekly paper. It’s a pretty sleepy town.
“We’ll figure it out. Maybe I can leave work early. Or maybe I can meet you somewhere.”
That’s what we are going to do. It will take Jeff about as long to get to my new office as it does for him to get to our home. I will take Sweet Pea to work with me, where Jeff will meet me and take him to school. Sweet Pea will probably be late on those two days. One cool thing about my new job is that I have the option of starting at 8 or 8:30, so if Jeff is not there for the handoff in time, it’s not a huge deal.
On Monday afternoon, my father and stepmother will wait at our house for the school bus to drop Sweet Pea off, and take him home with them. I will swing by after work, we will all have dinner together, and I will take him home after that. We will do the meet and swap thing again on Tuesday, making him late for school two days in a row. On Tuesday afternoon, since Jeff will not need to work that night, he can wake up early and meet the bus at 4:15 when it drops Sweet Pea off. My father and his wife will be working the election polls on that day, so he'd better wake up when his alarm goes of. By Wednesday, the crisis should be over.
Sweet Pea likes going to the YMCA after school. This is the first write up we have on him (though there have been a couple of other minor incidents). I let him know that if he wants to keep going to the YMCA, he had better never bite anyone again. The school can’t throw him out, but the YMCA can. “Do you understand that?”
“I’m angry.” When he tells me he is angry, he usually looks down or scowls. When he tells someone at school he is angry, he is usually shouting. With his father and me, his emotions are easier for him to control. I wish he could control them as well when we aren't around him.
“I don’t care if you’re angry; do you understand that if this happens again they might ask you never to come back?”
“Yes.”
“Then promise me you won’t bite anyone at YMCA again. And promise me you won’t run away when you get in trouble.”
The running away compounded the situation. The caregiver at the Y saw him with his mouth around another boy’s forearm (he left a red mark, but thankfully did not break the skin). When she yelled at him to stop, he fled the cafeteria and disappeared into the labyrinth of the empty school’s hallways. The principal of the school found him and brought him back, then called the director of the YMCA to report the incident. Great; now he is on the director's radar as a trouble case. Just great.
As is often the case, I found myself advising my son to choose a lesser evil that will make a few waves rather than the one that is going to make a huge splash. “Look, I know you hate to be yelled at and you hate getting in trouble, but you can’t run out of the cafeteria. If they lose you, they get in trouble. They can’t go looking for you and not watch the other kids. And they can’t have kids there that are going to run away from them. If you want to get away, hide under the tables like you do when I come to pick you up. Even if they can’t get you, they’ll know where you are and they can watch you and they won’t be as mad and they won’t have to get the principal involved. Okay?”
He likes YMCA. He hides under the tables when I show up, because he doesn’t want to leave. He stays there while I sign him out and gather up his things. When I get ready to leave, I tell him that since he's signed out, when the Y closes they will turn off the lights and leave him there, so he's better off coming home with me. He darts toward the door, and we are off.
“Okay,” he said.
I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “You know what I’m gonna do with you?” I asked him.
“What?” he said.
“I’m going to love you and never give up on you.” This is what we say now instead of, Son, what am I going to do with you?!
“Okay.”
“But I think I’m going to get a lot of gray hair doing it.”
He looked at me quizzically, but didn’t say anything. I asked for a hug, and he crawled into my arms and gave me one.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
So I had one really good day where really good things happened to me. What the heck made me think this might be some sort of new norm? How quickly things rebound. When I said Fate likes to flirt but rarely puts out, I meant it; she is what guys would call a tease.
I start a new job on Monday. At least that part is still in the works. But there is always a wrench that Fate throws into the works. In my case, it is that on Monday and Tuesday I have no before or after school care, on account of the fact that Sweet Pea, exactly 24 hours after he had an incident free day at school, bit a child in the YMCA after school program and was suspended for 3 days.
Today, Friday, was not a problem. I was home. Monday and Tuesday are going to require some maneuvering. I will need to be out of the house by 7 AM. The school bus picks up at 7:45 AM. Jeff gets home at 8 AM. The school opens its doors at 8:10 AM (school starts at 8:30, final bell is at 8:40).
“Oh $#%&, oh $#%&, $#%&,” I told my husband.
“Don’t panic,” he said.
“I’m not panicking. I’m just sitting here quietly freaking out. Panicking is louder, and people would be pointing and staring.” We were eating in a local cafeteria, so someone would have noticed if I got hysterical and it may have made the local weekly paper. It’s a pretty sleepy town.
“We’ll figure it out. Maybe I can leave work early. Or maybe I can meet you somewhere.”
That’s what we are going to do. It will take Jeff about as long to get to my new office as it does for him to get to our home. I will take Sweet Pea to work with me, where Jeff will meet me and take him to school. Sweet Pea will probably be late on those two days. One cool thing about my new job is that I have the option of starting at 8 or 8:30, so if Jeff is not there for the handoff in time, it’s not a huge deal.
On Monday afternoon, my father and stepmother will wait at our house for the school bus to drop Sweet Pea off, and take him home with them. I will swing by after work, we will all have dinner together, and I will take him home after that. We will do the meet and swap thing again on Tuesday, making him late for school two days in a row. On Tuesday afternoon, since Jeff will not need to work that night, he can wake up early and meet the bus at 4:15 when it drops Sweet Pea off. My father and his wife will be working the election polls on that day, so he'd better wake up when his alarm goes of. By Wednesday, the crisis should be over.
Sweet Pea likes going to the YMCA after school. This is the first write up we have on him (though there have been a couple of other minor incidents). I let him know that if he wants to keep going to the YMCA, he had better never bite anyone again. The school can’t throw him out, but the YMCA can. “Do you understand that?”
“I’m angry.” When he tells me he is angry, he usually looks down or scowls. When he tells someone at school he is angry, he is usually shouting. With his father and me, his emotions are easier for him to control. I wish he could control them as well when we aren't around him.
“I don’t care if you’re angry; do you understand that if this happens again they might ask you never to come back?”
“Yes.”
“Then promise me you won’t bite anyone at YMCA again. And promise me you won’t run away when you get in trouble.”
The running away compounded the situation. The caregiver at the Y saw him with his mouth around another boy’s forearm (he left a red mark, but thankfully did not break the skin). When she yelled at him to stop, he fled the cafeteria and disappeared into the labyrinth of the empty school’s hallways. The principal of the school found him and brought him back, then called the director of the YMCA to report the incident. Great; now he is on the director's radar as a trouble case. Just great.
As is often the case, I found myself advising my son to choose a lesser evil that will make a few waves rather than the one that is going to make a huge splash. “Look, I know you hate to be yelled at and you hate getting in trouble, but you can’t run out of the cafeteria. If they lose you, they get in trouble. They can’t go looking for you and not watch the other kids. And they can’t have kids there that are going to run away from them. If you want to get away, hide under the tables like you do when I come to pick you up. Even if they can’t get you, they’ll know where you are and they can watch you and they won’t be as mad and they won’t have to get the principal involved. Okay?”
He likes YMCA. He hides under the tables when I show up, because he doesn’t want to leave. He stays there while I sign him out and gather up his things. When I get ready to leave, I tell him that since he's signed out, when the Y closes they will turn off the lights and leave him there, so he's better off coming home with me. He darts toward the door, and we are off.
“Okay,” he said.
I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “You know what I’m gonna do with you?” I asked him.
“What?” he said.
“I’m going to love you and never give up on you.” This is what we say now instead of, Son, what am I going to do with you?!
“Okay.”
“But I think I’m going to get a lot of gray hair doing it.”
He looked at me quizzically, but didn’t say anything. I asked for a hug, and he crawled into my arms and gave me one.
