Congratulations, You Survived.

Have you seen this video? http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=GWRdHXbTmrs 

I've been sent this a few times in a few ways, Facebook, email, video, a written posting and it pisses me off every time I see or read it. Apparently we're all to be congratulated for living through the 60's, 70's and 80's. "We should all be dead," the video states in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, as if to say that just because we lived through having no bike helmets or having lead-based painted toys and cribs that we shouldn't bother with those dangers for our kids today. 

"We drank soda pop FULL of sugar and ate butter on our bread, but we were rarely overweight because we were always outside playing." Fair enough, but are you overweight and suffering from a heart condition now? Because the eating habits we learn in childhood is what we usually find very hard to break later in life! 

"And although we were told it would happen, we didn't put out any eyes!" Really? Ehhh, wrong! I'm betting many people did, including my friend's brother, who lost an eye to a careless slapshot. So, because the majority of people didn't become brain damaged from riding a bike without a helmet, or didn't become blind from neglecting to wear safety glasses while playing with a pellet gun, we should just not bother with those things! Well, I guess we should stop wearing seatbelts in cars too, and baby seats as well, because people used to ride round without that stuff all the time. They survived, so why shouldn't we? 

Uh, no. I'm sorry, but I'd rather "coddle" my children than take my chances playing Russian roulette with their lives on a highway.

"Some students were not as smart as others and were held back or failed a grade. Tests were not adjusted for ANY reason." And you think this is a good thing? Seeing all children in a black and white way like that? No room for individualism, no room for special needs, no room for learning disabilities, no exceptions. So pass or fail, that's it. While we're at it, let's just throw all the "special" kids, the "retards" (and I put that word in quotes because I really hate it, but I'd imagine that would be the word that the creator of this video would use) back into institutions where they don't bother the "normal" people of society. 

"We had freedom, failure, success, and responsibility and we learned to deal with it." This is the only part of this video that I can agree with. Yes, more parents need to give those things to our children but maybe the reason we don't is because these most recent generations are the first of their kind. We have so many more choices as parents than humans ever have had, so many more things to consider and watch out for. We are all just muddling through without much example from our own upbringing to go by. Many of us go for safe versus the risky choice. Maybe that translates to overprotective parenting sometimes, but that's just the way the world is today. In the 60's, 70's, 80's and much of the 90's there wasn't internet. We didn't have to hear every single story of every bad thing to happen to every child in North America. We weren't inundated with information about every choice we had to make. 

And progress, people, progress. 50 years ago kids didn't have car seats. Does that mean we are wimps for using them now? No. It means we are smarter. 100 years ago we didn't have pasteurization. Just because people lived through that doesn't mean we should all go out and drink unpasteurized milk now. 

So the creator of this video seems to think that because his generation spent all their time outside playing with sticks and not watching tv that this is the way it should be. That the most recent generation of new adults are severely flawed, and that every generation thereafter will be too. Well, we are learning as we go. And every generation has changes and adjustments of their own to make. We do the best we can given the circumstances. 

Did I grow up in the 70's? Yes. Do I think it was the absolute best time to grow up? No. I love that my kids were born into a new millennium. I think they're going to be smarter than me, and have more opportunities. Thanks to new technology, they're going to be exposed to a lot more of the world than I was. 

Hell yeah, I survived. But my kids, they'll do more than that; they'll thrive. 

Fourth Week In...

Well, things started off not too bad for the school year, but we've come almost full circle and L is nearly back to all the same old habits. 

Tonight, he had two things to do for homework. Let me start off by saying I REALLY hate when teachers say at the beginning of the year that they don't really give homework. Then what the bloody hell do you call this paper at my house with sums on it? A bit of fun? I hate when they say that, because they never mean it. I always hope they mean it, but they don't. 

So L had a math sheet full of sums to do tonight, and has a good copy of an assignment (a story) to either write or type up. Knowing that we have trampoline lessons tomorrow night, I knew he needed to get started on his story, and left the math. Most kids could likely do both in one night, but not L. He works so slowly that both things would take him until midnight, if we're lucky, to finish. 

I had L sit down at the table with the laptop around 6:45. I set up the page for him with a title and the font size set. All he had to do was type. 

Now, he doesn't know how to touch type, but anyone can hunt-and-peck. Some, faster than others, but anyone who knows letters can do it. There was a colossal amount of crying tonight. It started with him typing a few words, and I suppose then started to realize just how long this was going to take and began to feel overwhelmed. In hindsight, I should have broken it up for him; had him do two or three or four sentences, and then have a break. But hindsight being 20/20, and given the time constraint we're under, that wasn't what happened. Instead, he cried for a good twenty minutes after I lectured him. I stayed calm, but I gave him the truth, and I wasn't second-guessing myself tonight. I'm trying to put an end to this crying over homework. I don't know how to do that exactly, but I'm starting with having him realize (hopefully) that unlike last year, I'm not going to give in to it. I do believe that some of this behaviour is manipulation, and not just his anxiety. He's smart enough to realize that he can pass off his unwillingness to do any sort of writing as anxiety. 

Of course, as I'm sitting here reflecting and writing away, I'm having doubts. I can see now (now that I'm not looking through a red haze of frustration and anger) that it was the enormity of the task that threw this all a-kilter. Once his brain sets into the mode of "this is a huge amount of work, I can't do this, I'll never be finished" it's too hard to snap him out of it. Simply sitting there and telling him the logical things like "the sooner you work on it, the faster it will be done" doesn't register with him. All he sees is a sign in his head saying, WARNING - TOO MUCH WORK AHEAD - SYSTEM OVERLOAD - SHUTDOWN IN PROGRESS. 

I've been communicating with his teacher through email quite well; she even responded to one of my emails on a Sunday night. However, I don't want to be one of those parents, you know, the ones that the teacher sighs as she sees your name pop up on the phone or inbox and she thinks, "Now what?" I will have to schedule a meeting with her in person quite soon. I did explain his situation, but I know she doesn't quite get it. Of course she doesn't, how could she, she's only known us three weeks. So I need to explain again how homework is such a huge strain on our homelife. How it almost nearly always ends in his tears, and my head pounding, and me feeling like a failed mother.  

Tonight didn't end well. And although I didn't raise my voice at all, if I could do it over I would definitely have chosen to ignore some of his remarks instead of responding to them. He went to bed early (well, at the time I'd like him to go to bed every night actually but can never seem to be able to achieve) and told me that he hates me. He was also crying and sobbing, saying that no one understands him. I guess tonight I didn't act very understanding of him, and simply treated him as though he were any normal kid, perhaps his brother (if his brother ever behaved in this way I'd either laugh or think something was seriously wrong). I didn't say anything hurtful, or yell, only told the truths. 

This means I've now tried what the social worker lady suggested, which is to go back to treating him the same as his brother. I didn't think that would work, and I think after tonight it kind of proves it, unless some miracle happens overnight and he gets up tomorrow morning and finishes it. 

And The social worker, I've been meaning to write about her, but haven't got to it yet. I am losing faith in her, ever since she stated that she's never seen a kid like L before, and keeps asking us why do we think he does that? DH was getting annoyed with her I think last week, he kept saying (and it was true) if we knew that we wouldn't be here! She's not yet given us even one useful idea, just keeps asking us the same sort of questions. I'm glad we're not paying for it, but I feel that once again we're back to square one with no ideas of who can help us. 

So not such a good night. Thanks again, school, for ruining what could have been a great family night, for leaving me feeling sad and guilty that I wasn't the best mother I could be, and desperately hoping that by morning, L will have forgiven me. 

And Here We Go Again....

Now that summer is over and school has begun, the anxiety is back. We saw it surface from time to time over the summer of course, but it's back in full force. 

I was really hoping (of course) that this year would be different. I, myself, was feeling very anxious in the last few weeks of August, dreading those first few days of school. But after L said he was actually looking forward to school starting again, after stating to me that he felt this year was going to be a good year, I was hopeful. And I started to even believe it just might be. 

But for two nights now (one Friday, one tonight, Sunday) L has complained of his stomach hurting, that he feels sick and he's going to throw up. On Friday I ended up giving him Gravol, but tonight, I know it's the anxiety for sure. I don't want to keep giving him medication. 

Somehow, I just knew tonight would end up this way. I saw small signs, I guess, throughout the day. But it started about an hour past bedtime, when he came downstairs saying he felt unwell. And crying, of course. I sent him back to bed, telling him he was fine, he wasn't sick and to go to sleep. 

Of course that didn't help. 

I went into his room, and he cried a lot, while we hugged, and then I tried reading to him for a bit. This calmed the crying, but of course I can't read all night, so as soon as I stopped his stomach ache came back. He went into the bathroom for awhile, and when he came out he was still sobbing away. It just breaks my heart. Then he said that every time he went into his room it made his stomach hurt. So for the sake of at least some sleep tonight, I told him he could camp out on our bedroom floor. 

I am thinking that was probably the wrong choice to make, but I couldn't stand the crying anymore. And if he feels better being nearer to us, then so be it. At least he's not in our bed with us. 

I just don't get it though. I don't know what spurred on this latest "attack", I'll call it, for lack of a better word. His first week of school was great. He has a nice teacher, who he seems to like, he has friends in his class, he had only one bit of homework all week, and that was this weekend which was a title page, pretty simple. He finished it with a fairly small amount of complaint for him. It wasn't anything trying or stressful, and he finished in a very timely way. He had a nice day today, visiting with his Auntie Kelly at her house with us and DH's mom and Nan. 

So what triggered this? I wish I knew. He sure doesn't seem to. 

Tomorrow we have another meeting with the MSW from the local children's mental health place. We have met with her about three times now. L doesn't like it, because she wants to discuss things he doesn't want to talk about, and it makes him cry, which he hates. Honestly, I'm not looking forward to tomorrow, as I think it will make tomorrow night hard as well. But we are trying this route, hoping it will help. 

I'm Not The Right Mom For Him

After one week of freedom from school, I've settled into a different mode. I'm not on the defensive, the constant watch, the head-off-any-signs-of-breakdown-mode. I'm feeling more relaxed.
Well, I was.
We were free from bedtime issues, free from crying breakdowns and temper tantrums. Until today.
R and L were playing with Lego, and I don't know what happened, they were having a normal sibling disagreement. I could hear R trying to reason with L, and in all fairness, he's a great big brother that puts up with far more than most brothers do. He tries as much as he can to be patient, and I really think that he's a lot more patient than most nearly-12-yr-olds are.
I went into the room, and things weren't too heated yet. So I thought I'd interrupt before they got that way, and told them both to please get dressed. L stood up, and whipped a piece of Lego at the wall. And I got angry.
I yelled at him, despite my promise to myself of not doing that anymore. But like I said, I've gone off the defensive, which unfortunately has led me to my old ways I think. I yelled that that was unacceptable, and he would soon lose his privilege of the Lego if that kept up. Things then did get heated, only I was the one heating up. I got mad again when I saw that he'd rifled through his clothes drawer making every neatly folded piece of clothing a rumpled mess. I said some things I shouldn't have, like to "smarten up" and "what are you crying about?" - things that aren't necessarily that bad for a mom to say to any normal misbehaving nine year old. But my temper forgets that he's not normal. Even when my rational brain is screaming at me to stop, take a breath, and calm down, my temper takes over.
The more I think about it, L and I are so alike in so many ways. He worries, I worry. We both worry about stuff that will likely never happen. He's hot-headed, I'm hot-headed. He's down on himself, and really, so am I. We're so alike in all the things and ways that I don't like about myself. We clash - terribly.
I often have these momentary thoughts that I wish I wasn't his mother. That I wish he had been born to someone else. And then my guilt kicks in and I think about how horrible that sounds. Nobody said life was easy, but parenting him is something else. It's so hard. And I often think that I shouldn't be his mom. I'm not helping the situation at all, we aggravate each other and I often make things worse.
R and L are very different. I think that makes it harder sometimes, because I look at R and think, "Why can't L be more like him?" R gets straight A's. I don't have to bug him to do homework. He's so smart and gets new concepts easily. He barely misbehaves, and when he does, he's corrected and usually turns it around quickly. He does chores and other stuff when I tell him to. He doesn't complain. He doesn't whine. Every teacher that's ever had him in their class, comes to me to tell me how much they love him. He's such a great kid that it makes being around L so drastic in comparison. In some ways, that's worse, but mostly it's better. It means I only have to worry about one kid, but also means that R doesn't get enough of the attention that he often deserves.
Well, as you can read, I'm having a rough day. Lots of negativity here. Lots of questioning my own parenting, my own worthiness. I just wish I could snap out of it, that I could snap L out of it. I wish I could see, for more than a few minutes, the real L. The one that is happy, creative, loving and smart. He's gone into hiding. I've seen a bit more of this L once school ended, but the other L is back, and he needs to be the one in hiding.

Sprinting For The Finish

You know those bad dreams you have where you're running as fast and hard as you can, but you don't seem to be going anywhere? I feel like I'm in one of those dreams. Metaphorically, of course. 

I'm not being chased. But I do feel like I'm in some sort of race. Against what? Time, maybe. 

It's a marathon race of course. It started in September, and this portion of the marathon (as in, some sort of warrior-dash-super-ironman-marathon) concludes in eight days. 

Just eight, short, days. 

I can see the finish line, just there, at the top of this massively steep hill. And I'm running, but I'm completely spent, my water bottle dried up sometime back in April, and not only have both my shoes come undone, but they're now tied together. 

I'm hobbling to the finish line. 

I wish I could streak across this finish line, hands clasped with my boys and held high in the air, sweat pouring down our faces, but underneath our smiles are beaming. I wish, like for some others, this leg of the race was all downhill. I wish that we could end this race in a blaze of glory. 

But for us, it's not to be. 

I'm limping along, trying to make it without quitting, trying to instil that non-quitter attitude in my boy at the same time. I'm limping, and dragging a weighted ball chained to my left leg (why my left? It's my weaker leg.) and my L is the one sitting on top of that weighted ball. Only he's trying to hang on and pull me back. 

As you may have guessed, tonight was a bad night. And it ain't over yet. At least not until I'm 100% sure he's asleep, and right now, at 9:59 p.m., I'm about 95% sure he's NOT asleep. So I could still be in for more fun and games. 

I wish we could have the issues of just bad behaviour. I wish it was simply a case of "he won't stay in bed." I also desperately long for the days when he was small, and I'd put him to bed at 7:30 with a few small stories and plenty of hugs and kisses goodnight. 

Sometimes my brain starts thinking thoughts that start out as "I wish he was small again" and quickly turn to thoughts of "where, exactly, did we go wrong? What did we do?" 

I've been told not to think those thoughts, to shut them down quickly because A) they're unhelpful even if they were true, and B) they're not true because its not our fault, it's not something we did. 

Still, they do creep into my mind. 

L seemed fine earlier on today. He stayed home because he either has a bad cold or severe allergies, so I let him have a day off. He also had Friday off, due to a PA day. I think four days off in a row was the bad part. Once I had him in the bathroom brushing his teeth, he went sour. At first he wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Finally, after I read to him in his bed for a bit, he decided to tell me what was wrong, amid much sobbing and tears.

School. 

What else?

He doesn't want to go, he just wants to be home, he needs more time off from doing work, he HATES school, he can't live like this anymore. 

That last part always kills me. I get it. He can't continue to have these awful anxious feelings. He knows they're not a normal part of life, and doesn't want to live with them anymore. I just don't know what to say to it. I wish I had the answer. But I don't. 

It didn't matter to him that I said there were only eight days of school left. He just said that summer will fly by, and then he'll have to go to school again. 

It's so sad that now he can't enjoy summer because he'll be too busy worrying about the fall. And it's sad that his anxiety has now got me worrying about the fall too.  

So now, I feel like I'm struggling to make it to the end. 

Just. 

Eight. 

More. 

Days. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Some People...

                                   

This is what one parent thinks of me; that all I'm worth to her is the change scraped from her purse. She pays me to the very penny every week. Never a cent over. And I've had worse, she's actually handed me a ziplock bag full of coins - pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters. If she ever gives me more than what is owed, I HAVE to make change, or she puts it towards the next week. Even if it's a dollar. 

And that's fine, I guess. I can be cheap like that too. But here's the thing - I've been looking after her kid for six years now! And in six years she has NEVER given me a bonus, an extra cent, a Christmas gift, or even a pat on the back. 

Last week, she was annoyed because she screwed up her schedule, and I ended up picking her kid up from school when I was told I didn't have to. But what could I do? Leave her there? I guess I should have....She was annoyed because it was her one and only day she actually could have got her herself. Not my problem!! 

Did she thank me for not leaving her there abandoned and embarrassed? 

No. 

She eventually paid me, less two dollars which she claims to have left. I found no twoonie, so either one of my kids is stealing, or she's lying to me (which I've caught her doing before). 

Now here's the other extreme. A parent of two boys I've watched now for about four years asked me to watch them before school. She didn't end up dropping them off at my house until 8:30, and we leave at 8:40. I was in the bathroom when she "dropped and ran" and L brought me the $20 she gave to him (see? My kids DON'T steal). When I saw her hubby at the school in the afternoon, I told him she'd paid me too much. And he said, "Don't worry about it, you are SO worth it!"

Isn't that nice? Wish I could play that back to the first parent!!

My Baby Is Growing Up

When I think about how there are only 4.5 weeks left of school, I feel a bit sick. I want to take time, slow it down, savour it. Every week seems to rush past in a blur of routine, sporting and after-school activities, and weekends that pass in a blink of an eye. It really feels to me like last month we were just starting the school year. I'm really in a daze that another one is coming to an end. 

My oldest, R, is eleven. Well, eleven and three quarters really. I can't bring myself to think about him turning twelve, then - GASP - thirteen! 

When I think of how he'll be graduating to high school this time in two short years, my eyes well up with tears. I don't know how I'll ever make it through that ceremony. I'll be a mess, I just hope I'm not going to be the only mom bawling uncontrollably, and I certainly hope I won't embarrass him. 

R is such a great kid.  I don't think I sing his praises enough. He's cooperative, helpful, patient, kind, and most of all, so smart. He's pretty much a straight A student, which as I'm seeing with L's struggles with his studies, is quite an achievement in this school! I take it for granted too much that he just does his homework without being asked, he studies for tests, and comes home telling me he has an A on yet another test. 

And now, he has reached another milestone. My baby boy now wears deodorant. Taking him out shopping to find a scent he liked seemed like such a huge thing for me. It reminded me of when my mom took me out for my first bra (even though I really didn't need one). 

Every day that I'm frustrated and sick of the daycare business, I just need to remind myself of how it allows me to spend more time with my two guys than if I was working a 9-5 (or similar) job. 

Just When You Think It's Getting Better, Reality Smacks You In The Face

Today was a tough day for L. He wasn't feeling well last night; he had a tummy ache which led him to believe he was going to throw up. Since this past winter, when he had a stomach bug twice (and never had one ever before that!) he's terrified of throwing up. So of course, being the vicious circle that it is, he convinces himself he's going to be sick, which actually does lead to him being very nauseous, even if he never was going to be sick in the first place. 

So today he got to stay home from school, since he insisted that his stomach still hurt. I figured he could use the day off to work on a project he has to do. 

But I think he really was fighting something. Not because of his physical symptoms (of which there were few) but because of his emotional ones. He gets very mopey, and anxious, and weepy. He managed to keep hurting himself (minorly, but still, to him it's big) and that continued on through the evening. By the end of the night, he was weeping in his bed. He said he was sick of the day, of hurting himself, and that if he just stayed in bed nothing else bad would happen to him. Neither DH or I could convince him to come downstairs to watch the rest of a movie we had started a few days ago. L kept saying things like, if I go downstairs I'll probably fall down the stairs, and when I suggested he hold my hand and we go slowly he then said what if I fall then and take you down? 

This is classic anxiety disorder. His brain is in flight mode, thinking up every possible bad scenario that could happen. The thing is, even though I knew what was happening, I was powerless to help him. I couldn't snap him out of it. DH tried too, to no avail. 

The night escalated. I tried several times to distract him, and could even get him to a point talking about something else that he was smiling. But as soon as I went to leave the room, it's like it all came back to him and the crying would start again. There were also the usual proclamations of him wanting to kill himself, which are surprisingly getting less shocking. I feel like that's not such a good thing. I fear I'll not take him seriously the day he decides he is serious. 

Nothing I did, nothing I tried or thought of would work tonight. I found myself wishing desperately for a syringe filled with a sedative so I could just put him to sleep. 

It's a tough thing as a parent to hear your child cry, but even harder to try every trick you know that used to work, and every new trick that you can think of but still have nothing you do console him. You feel powerless. You feel helpless. And a little bit like a failure. 

My heart aches for him. As I'm sure any parent watching their kid suffer in pain feels, I'd do absolutely anything to endure it for him. 

He's quiet now, finally, and I'm going to check in on him. My own anxiety has me thinking of all sorts of horrifying scenarios for the reason that he is quiet. I must prove to myself now it's because he's finally sleeping. 

Tomorrow's a new day. And hopefully a happier one. 

Happy Mother's Day

Dear DH

I know I'm not your mother, but I sure take on all the mothering responsibilities when it comes to you. I mean, I cook for you, I clean for you, I wash your clothes, put them away, and occasionally iron them. I keep the household running, keep all dates and appointments in mind, and make sure everyone gets where they need to be most of the time. 

So would it kill you to put in a little effort for Mother's Day? Ok, how about we rename it, "Female Authority Figure of the Household Day?" So that covers wife and mom. 

Don't get me wrong; I'm happy you washed some dishes (one small sinkfull). I'm happy you folded the laundry (that I collected, sorted, washed and dried). But you didn't make a meal, or even organize one. I was the one to suggest, decide upon, order, pay for, and then drive to pick up the Chinese takeout we had for dinner. You didn't get the kids organized to help out with some chores. R did vacuuming on his own, which was great, but L needs lots of prompting. You know that. 

All I wanted was a day when someone else would take over. So I didn't have to be the nagger, the reminder, the enforcer, the organizer. 

And you didn't step up. 

And now I'm stuck with the aftermath of having a day "off" - laundry, folded, but not even in a basket let alone put away. (You do remember I have small children here during the day, right? What do you think will happen to all that folded laundry all over the floor where they play?) - kitchen, a disaster - front hall, covered in dried mud - bathrooms, still filthy - the list goes on. 

Thanks for a memorable day.

I'll be sure to remember this come June 16th. 

From Great To Bad To Worse

Tonight was L's first trampoline lesson. He was soooo excited to start! I was excited for him to have something else to look forward to in the week.
Now I'm just disappointed, and anxious, and upset.
I don't know why I thought this was going to be any different than any other sport he's ever tried. It was the same for ballhockey, ice hockey, t-ball, soccer, gymnastics, and to an extent, swimming. He starts off gung-ho and excited. I think in his mind he's sure and positive that he's going to be awesome at this sport, he's going to excel, and he's not even going to have to try! I just wish that positive thinking would last.
10 minutes into his jumping, I could see his body language change. I was watching him from the parents' area, set above the gym. I could see that he was becoming winded, tired and that he had a stitch in his side. I willed him mentally to take a break, to remember how we always used to tell him to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.
But he didn't. It wasn't until I could tell that he couldn't continue, that he had a break on the pretence of having a drink. By then I could see that his side was killing him, and that this was a cramp that wasn't going to go away quickly.
Eventually he did go back to jumping, but with about 15 minutes left in the class (it's 60 minutes total), I could see him pulling back his sock to check his foot. And from my vantage point, even I could see the redness. Then, he quit. And started crying.
He wouldn't jump anymore, I could see the coaches asking him questions, but had no idea what was being said.
Now that I have a much better understanding of his thought process, I could understand what was going on. But that doesn't make it any less frustrating. I was looking around at the other kids wondering to myself, "why can't he just be like them?" One girl practically ripped off a toenail on the trampoline and she wasn't even upset. She got a bandaid and went back to it.
I can't help wondering as well what others may be thinking. "Why is that kid crying?" "What a wimpy kid, his parents must coddle him," "What's wrong with him?"
I know I shouldn't care, and I guess in time, I'll learn to not think about that sort of thing (or not) but I still feel like I should explain his behaviour to people. I didn't though.
After ten minutes of crying, I went to fetch him.
Here are the things he said on his way home:
"It's just like school all over again! They're pushing us too hard!" (This was in reference to the fact that they were, god forbid, actually trying to teach him something! Oh the horror! Can you believe it? I mean, come on, it's a lesson!)
"I hurt myself"
"I can't do it"
"It's boring"
And of course, lots of tears and crying about it, because aside from the two blisters he got on either foot, he said he twisted his foot. I'm not sure about that, I think it's just an aching muscle from underuse, and his feet are not strong, he is very flat footed.
I tried to remember and think of what the psychiatrist had said. I decided against my instinct to talk about it and to try to talk him around, and instead tried desperately in my mind to figure out how to switch tacks.
I remembered the dr. saying he needs a positive focus, and the only thing I could think of at the time was the coupon in my purse for a DQ Blizzard. So we went and got some ice cream for him and his brother.
The sobbing stopped, and upon returning home, he seemed to be brightening a little. That is, until we walked in the door.
"L," called R. "I have bad news for you."
I looked at L in horror, and all I could think was that his fish was dead. I prayed no, please.
"Jasper (our dog) chewed up your goose call!"
His goose call is something he'd made himself, painstakingly I might add. He was proud of it, but the outside of it was made with bamboo, something the dog would easily chew through. And unfortunately for L, he had left it on the floor.
This immediately resulted in tears, great, sobbing, gulping tears. We tried to console him, promising him that daddy would help him make a new one on the weekend, but it didn't help. To L, his mind was probably cataloging all the reasons now why trampolining was a huge NO-NO.
1. I get hurt.
2. I get tired.
3. The coaches push me too hard.
4. I get cramps.
5. It's boring.
6. I suck at it.
7. I come home to find my stuff destroyed.

Would you go back? I can't blame him too much for not wanting to go again. His mind doesn't balance it out with the positives, like, despite what happened, and the fact that the injury was minor, it was FUN!!
So now, I don't know what to do. Make him go back? Every parenting book would tell you to do just that, but here's the thing; with a normal kid, they would soon come to realize the positives after a few sessions. Your persistence would pay off, and just as you knew they would, they'd learn to love it. But with L, he's going to fight me on it every week. That is my number one reason I don't want to continue. I fight with him on everything, this is one more thing to add to the List Of Misery.
He very likely won't learn to love it. His brain has already decided its a hazard to his health, and I have NO IDEA how to change that! I have a small idea, but it involves "incentives" (bribery, really) and it just really goes against the grain here.
And if he's going to be miserable and fight me on it every week, maybe I should try to get my money back now, before too many classes have gone by.
DH says that would be sending him the wrong message; to quit straight away. He's very much a get-straight-back-on-the-horse type of guy. Of course,I agree, I don't want to let my kids grow up thinking that quitting because something is challenging is an option.
So, I don't know. I'm lost here.
Oh, and BTW, he did cheer up after I suggested he come eat his Blizzard treat, along with a little joking that I was hoping he wouldn't want it so I could have it.
The strangest thing I find about L and his episodes, is that come morning, he seems to have forgotten it. Well, not forgotten it, but he's not dwelling on it. But I am. It's the first thing I think of when I wake in the morning - what happened the day before, and it puts a sinking feeling in my stomach. But he seems fine.
Weird.

Blah

Blah, blah, blah. That's how I'm feeling today. I'm just feeling so....bored. Apathetic. It's not like I don't have things to do, because I do. I just can't seem to find the will to do them.
Every week it's the same thing: get up, work, make food, clean up food, look after kids, drive kids around to activities, sit for an hour in the evening bored because DH is watching some sporting event, and go to bed. Weekends consist of laundry, errands, R's ball hockey, cleaning, watching movies at home, and torturing myself and L with homework.
I'm tired of the same walls, the same outings to the grocery store, library, etc, even the same neighbourhood we walk around with the dog. I'm tired of terrible weather that keeps us from enjoying outdoors, or even doing DIFFERENT chores outside for a change. I'm tired of making the same meals, in the same kitchen. I'm even tired of eating them. I'm tired of being envious of other people's vacations, of their adventures. I'm tired of wearing the same clothes, and not having money to buy myself even one new outfit.
I'm tired of looking back on the day and seeing how little I accomplished vs. what I did want to accomplish. I'm even tired of the same things running through my head constantly: L, and his issues, the voice telling me to exercise, the fact that I really need to see a dentist and am too scared to go, the task list of things I need to do and keep putting off, worrying about my family, what should we have for dinner, all the things I ate that day and shouldn't have, and so on.
What I need is change! A new look, a new body, a new perspective, a new job, I don't know. Just something.
Bah. I'm depressing myself. I hate when I get like this. Boredom, for me, leads to eating. I don't know what else to do, so I start snacking. That's not good. But I find myself constantly thinking about food. Of course it doesn't seem to help that half my life revolves around food - preparing it, cleaning it up, eating it, shopping for it, planning for it.
Ok, I need to remind myself that I'm bored because everything is good! I'm not having to run myself or anyone around to the doctor, or treatments, or anything like that. My children are healthy, my husband and I are too (mostly!) and nothing tragic has befallen us.
Ok, I feel better about my boredom now.
So where did those chips go?....

Update And Other Stuff

Ok, we're lazy, I admit it. We haven't been doing much that's drastic to follow through with the psychiatrist's recommendation. All I've done is to keep what I learnt about how is brain thinks in mind. Which is helping - me, if anything. I did go and buy some candy to use as an incentive to get him to go to bed easier, and it works somewhat. I guess we're both dreading the whole "taking everything away" issue.
But the other day, we had another incident. L was playing with a homemade bow and arrow. He had made it himself, probably a year ago. At one point, I was making dinner, and he came into the kitchen moaning because the wood had dried out and the one end had snapped. I suggested he just retie the wire he'd used for the string part, but that was shot down.
"It won't work!" he screamed, and cracked the bow in half and threw it into the garbage. I ignored him, thinking to myself of how childish this behaviour was (and in hindsight, yeah, duh, he's a child!)but I guess he was more upset than that. He stormed off to his room.
DH came home shortly after, and I asked him to coax L downstairs. He said L wouldn't acknowledge him. So I went up a bit later, and found him sitting on the floor, next to his dresser with craft wire wrapped around his neck and tied to the dresser handles! It was a bit shocking, to say the least. I won't go on with all the details, but as soon as I called DH up to come and see what was going on, L untangled himself quick as could be. I suppose it was alright for mom to find him in that state, but not dad.
At this point, we both had a big talk with him, which now that I think about it, wasn't the right thing to do I don't think. We're not supposed to dwell on the details, on the negatives, but that's difficult when you find your son in that situation! He was trying to strangle himself!
Now, this psychiatrist said that kids this young don't really know how to kill themselves, but I beg to differ. He was definitely on the right track!
At this point, I told L that I couldn't continue to leave anything in his room that could be harmful to him. I said I wanted to be sure that when he's quiet upstairs in his room, it's because he's busy or asleep, not hurting himself. I then gathered all his invention bits and pieces, his hammer, his scissors, all the wire, and anything else that I could see as potentially dangerous, and put them all in my room under my bed. The thing is, that he didn't even get mad about it. Either he was too busy being upset about whatever his brain was dwelling on, or he was genuinely relieved that I had taken harmful things away from him. The second choice scares me to no end.
DH and I tried to discuss with him that we knew that his brain was telling him lots of bad stuff, but that when he felt this way, he needs to let us know. DH suggested he could even just say a word, or hand us some sort of token, if he couldn't find the right words to say. And we would do our best to try to help his brain get back on the right track.
I managed to redirect his thinking enough to get him to come downstairs and make his stir fried veggies for dinner. After that, he cheered up. The redirection thing works, it's just figuring out how to redirect him; I can't always let him cook or hand him candy.
So that wasn't so great, I'd thought we had moved on from the "I'm going to kill myself" stage. But at least now I have his invention stuff in my control.
Last week I also had an appt with his psychologist. That left a sour taste in my mouth. DH had taken him to the first meet-and-greet appt, and then the second was a two hour test they do for seeing if they have LDs and whatnot. So this appt I didn't bring L, since I was just getting the results of the test.
This woman didn't seem to know much. She said there wasn't much "wrong" with him that she could see. She said that he's above average intelligence, and aside from the troubles with his writing and (in my own opinion, not hers) reading, he could have been considered for an enriched program. Well, while its always nice to hear from someone else how smart your kid is, I just don't swallow all of that. He'd never have the drive to participate in an enriched program. And yes, I know how smart he is. He amazes me every day with the things he says. And so does R.
But there's nothing wrong? Really? Because I just don't get how he can't spell "could" and "use" and simple common words like that when he was supposed to know them in grade one or two.
This is how he wud rite if he wuz riting this now. He can't remember the "theres", he can't remember the "yours", I'm looking at a paper right now on which he wrote "atacers team" (attackers team). I'm actually surprised team wasn't spelled teme.
How is this not a problem? He's mid-grade four! The woman suggested Kumon, which I have briefly looked at on the Internet, and woah, it's pricey! There was no mention by her at all about his behaviour, and part of the session was her telling me about her own son and his friend! Do I care? Uh, NO!!
I'm going to pick up the test results on Friday,or rather the write-up, and view them myself with DH. Then I guess we'll show them to the school.
On a completely unrelated topic, I just found out my mom is going to visit my nan in England next month. She'll be there on Mother's Day. Is it selfish of me to feel glad about that? I always feel so much guilt on Mother's Day, about how I'd like the day to be about me (and really, it never is) and how I have to choose between making my mother happy or DH's mother happy, because its too difficult to see both on the same day (again, what about me?) This just takes some pressure off me!

Tele-Psychiatry Appointment

This morning we had a virtual appointment with a children's psychiatrist. I thought that originally my DH had said the paediatrician had told him that this was through Sick Kids, but I'm not so sure. That wasn't mentioned at all during the set up of the appointment, or when we signed the papers. Something was mentioned about Ross Memorial though, but I don't know where that is.
It doesn't matter though, because in the end, this guy we conferenced with was great. It was via Skype, basically. And it didn't even matter to me that he wasn't actually there in person, since we could still see him face to face.
The appointment started off with him asking L if he knew why he was there, which led to us telling him what we were there for. There was a preliminary bit where we basically told him what prompted us to get help, but he already had a lot of info there with him, from forms that I had filled out previously.
Then he asked us to step out of the room while he talked with L. That lasted for about 20 mins or so, and then L was asked to step out while we talked to the doctor.
I should also mention that they gave us a couple of handouts to read while we were waiting, that explained pretty basically about kids with anxiety issues. It explains how their mind thinks. Let me see if I can break it down simply and not bore the crap out of you.

• The brain has two drives - a pleasure seeking drive and a harm avoidance drive. When you are afraid of something, your harm avoidance drive is in charge, telling you to be afraid (whether it's for a legitimate reason or not). You have a list in your brain, essentially, telling you that such and such are dangerous, and are to be avoided. It could mean you're afraid of spiders, or heights, or get really anxious about speaking in public, or many other things. Kids that have anxiety disorders have a very loud harm avoidance drive. Their brains are basically lying to them, telling them that school is harmful, bedtime is harmful, going outside is harmful, or whatever. The only time they can relax is when the pleasure seeking drive is in command, when they're doing something they like, such as eating chocolate, or playing a video game, or again, whatever.

So there you have it, in a nutshell. L's brain is telling him that school is harmful, that the kids at school are harmful, etc. The doctor said that we have to reward him for shutting off that drive, or at least attempting to silence it.
For example, L loves to invent. So it was suggested to us that he have all his inventing stuff taken into a different room. His access to that room is limited by us. He has to earn access to the room (or more likely, box of stuff). Perhaps we will make up tickets or something that give him 10 minute increments or something. He will be rewarded a ticket when he brushes his teeth for bed in a timely fashion, or goes to bed without fuss. It's to give his pleasure seeking drive a chance to take over, by giving him something to look forward to in the morning, rather than letting the harm avoidance drive take over and letting him lie in bed worrying about all that he does.
The doctor said that by punishing L for not say, getting ready for bed, is using the harm avoidance drive. So while it seems the right thing to do to take away his iPod for not getting ready when told, it's just feeding into the whole situation. Instead, we take possession of the iPod, and he is rewarded its use by doing as he's told.
I'm not sure if I'm coming across clearly here, as the doctor was so much better at explaining all of this and made it seem so simple. I'm sure many parents balk at the thought of taking away their child's possessions, as I am doing right now. But he put it very simply: legally, children do not own anything until they are 16 (I think is what he said). It is something I have never thought of, but makes perfect sense. We own everything, and whether he thinks a certain toy is his or not, it legally isn't.
Now, I've never had much issue with taking away my boys' toys as punishments as long as it was reasonable, but this I'm struggling with. We are looking at potentially emptying L's room. It goes against my motherly instinct to take away his "pleasure" when he so clearly seems to need it. But in order to achieve a result, we may have to do that. His room is full of distractions; stuffed animals, toys, kits, clay and plastercine, art supplies, and of course, his inventing stuff.
The thing with bedtime is that he won't get ready for bed. It takes nearly an hour from the time I say "bedtime" to the point that he's actually in bed and I'm walking out the door. No matter how many reminders, no matter how positive he's feeling at the moment, he still walks up those stairs and does god knows what instead of putting on his pjs. And even if I stand over him, I'm still repeating his name over and over again and telling him to "come on", and "get undressed!" like some sort of weird mantra. And I hate being a nag!
So that is our next step, to try this reward system. The doctor said it could be forever (yay) or at least until he moves out (ha ha). He did say that medication was not even something to be considered until he is at least grade seven or eight. When I asked it if was considerable to be still taking him to the psychologist, he said no. I'm quite relieved about that. That will save a lot of money! He said that because of the way they work, talking out the negative stuff, it wouldn't be a good thing for anxiety-riddled children. You want to make them forget their needless worrying, not rehash it.
We have an appt with the psychologist on Friday, to get the results of this test they did on L. Some of me is tempted to cancel it because it's unnecessary at this point, but the other part of me desperately wants to see what these tests say. I'm so curious. But then, why should I have to pay to find out the results of a test that I had to pay for already? It doesn't seem right. And what if they have something outlandish or outrageous they've "found"? That would just make me worry about L more, and cause me to continue on this cycle of doubt of each professional we talk to. Perhaps I can convince DH to call and ask for the results verbally over the phone. Really, after $300 I think they owe us that much. Then he can share whatever parts he thinks are necessary, be a filter of sorts.
So that is the story so far. I've got to suck it up and stick with the plan. No one said parenting was easy, right?

Overwhelmed!

Ok, this post is about me this time. I'm thinking there must be at least a few other moms who feel the same way as I do.
I used to love shopping. Like, clothes shopping. Well, I used to really enjoy grocery shopping too, before it was such a chore. I used to be able to go into a mall and peruse for hours. I had no problem trying on clothes and buying new outfits for myself.
That was before I had kids.
Now, when I go to a mall, I'm usually there for the boys, or on the rare occasion, for DH. But it's almost NEVER for me.
I love shopping for my boys. I could spend hours picking out outfits, although they couldn't stand that. They hate shopping. I don't like shopping for DH though. It makes me feel resentful, like, why should he get to have new clothes when I don't? I know, I shouldn't feel like that, because its not like he is a clothes-horse, or even has much sense of fashion at all, and he does need more presentable clothes for work than I do. But that's not the only reason. He is also very picky, and will try on item after item of whatever he's looking for, and it's sooooo boring!
But my title is overwhelmed, and I put that for a reason, because you see, when I enter a mall or department store, I feel completely overwhelmed! It's like, I don't even know where to begin, and I start to shut down inside. If I'm there to actually buy myself something (like that EVER happens!), I feel awkward and stupid. I look around me at all the people who seem to know what they're doing, and I feel lost. I don't know what's trendy anymore. I enter a store and I'm afraid to touch anything. I can't tell if something looks good or not. I can't figure out if I'm looking at something that's WAY too young to be seen on an almost-forty-year-old, or if it belongs on a 70-year-old. Especially when it comes to shoes! Give me runners any day!
We were at the mall today. DH needed to return a shirt his Nan bought him (size XXL, what was she thinking??) and he insisted he needs work pants. I also needed underwear. Not a difficult task, since I always buy them from LaSenza with the 10 for, or in this case, 7 for $xx deal. Most of my underwear was embarrassingly (well it would be if anyone saw them!) holey.
I was looking around at the people, and I couldn't believe what I saw. Many of the young girls, who looked like they were too young to be wandering around on their own, were wearing clothes from the 80's. Tight-legged, brightly coloured pants, neons, big bows in their hair. The eighties always seemed to me to be an era of fashion we should have left behind permanently, but not so, it seems. The clothes in the stores were such a mish-mosh of things, I wouldn't know if something made an outfit or a fashion eyesore. Any pre-conceived notion I had of actually maybe picking something up for myself was laughable the moment we walked through those doors. I instantly felt like I shouldn't be there, that I was out of my depth.
And then there's the guilt. Oh, the guilt of spending money on myself. We've been in "we-have-no-money" mode for so long now, that my brain is pre-programmed to abhor the thought of selfish spending. There's always someone else who needs something more, like the boys need shoes, or coats, or underwear, or whatever.
I did pick up the underwear, but we left the mall in less than an hour after arriving. Gone are the days of spending a whole day shopping.
My sister S is actually the only one that seems to be able to get me in the mood for shopping and buying something for myself. But we haven't had a spree since she had her first child, three years ago. I think the last new clothes I actually bought for myself, aside from the undies, were a couple of t-shirts from the grocery store. Yeah, the grocery store. And that was about a year ago.
It's a good thing I stick to fairly neutral clothes - jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, all plain. If you were to look back on pictures of me (what few there are, but that's another story) over the past ten years, you wouldn't be able to tell what year it was from my outfits, or haircut, lol.

Wondering What Is The Point?

I know I haven't posted for quite awhile, but there hasn't been much new stuff to tell. Things are going along rather evenly, which is good, I guess, as it means they aren't getting worse, but aren't getting better either.
Bedtimes are an issue, to put it mildly. We can start as early as we like trying to put L to bed, but it's always 9 or more by the time lights are out, and that doesn't mean he's asleep shortly after that. We've been letting him listen to an audiobook on his iPod, Harry Potter, and that seems to help alleviate some of the desire to "talk" (or rather whine, moan, complain and weep inconsolably). We set the sleep mode, and he listens until he either falls asleep or it goes off.
Unfortunately, he has finished it, and I'm still on the waiting list for the next one from the library. So that means the past few nights have been harder. Last night, DH was the one left to talk to him, and I left the room because basically I "started" the weeping by shouting at him. I did lose my cool, yes, but I'm so sick and tired of the delay tactics that this kid has come up with. It takes him FOREVER to get ready for bed. You can't send him upstairs and expect him to put pjs on and brush his teeth in a timely fashion. You send him up, give it 20 minutes, and then go up there to find he has done absolutely nothing and is busily distracted with something in his room, or at best, is standing there with no pants on. Then it's another 20 minutes of cajoling, prodding, prompting, nagging, and just barely restraining yourself from screaming "GET YOUR FUCKING PYJAMAS ON!!!"
Anyway, last night he was playing with some wire, and he was winding it around his feet, with his feet (it's hard to explain, but not really important anyway) and that was it, I'd had it. I'd been telling him to go to bed only about 200 times, so I think I said, "L! GET. IN. BED!" Not quite shouting but not quite quiet either. He then shouted at me very rudely, which caused me to then become very angry and very in-your-face as I shouted at him to not speak to me that way. He of course, dove into bed and pulled the covers over his head, shutting us out. I said goodnight calmly and left. DH, however, stayed behind and talked to him. I could hear from my room the weeping and snuffling and sobbing. I could hear DH being calmer than he usually is, but also still saying all the wrong things. After DH came into our room, he tried to tell me that I should have handled that better. Nothing gets me angry faster than a dog defending a bone than when my husband tries to tell ME how to mother. I know I need to take criticism better than that, and I know I'm not perfect, but for some reason I can't stand it when he tries to tell me I'm doing something wrong.
Anyhow, not much was resolved either way last night, only that we realized the bedtimes are getting worse, and that we don't know how to fix them without resorting to our old shouting ways. The gentler, more understanding approach isn't working either.
So the title of this post pertains to a few things. #1, what is the point of this approach if it doesn't help?
#2, in an unrelated matter, what is the point of me making dinner anymore? I make something, and I'm the only one that eats it. Mostly. The boys complain every night that we're not having either chicken fingers, hot dogs/hamburgers, or pizza. Or pancakes. And of course, we don't have those things every week, let alone every night. I've learnt to not take it to heart, but sometimes it just gets to you. I cooked a casserole from leftover ham, and DH informed me that he was going out with the guys for dinner/drinks tonight. So I was the only one to eat it. L complained, but at least tried it, and R wouldn't even try one bit. He decided to make himself a turkey sandwich, after complaining that there was no deli turkey (only leftover turkey from Easter dinner), as if I'm seriously going to buy deli turkey knowing we'd have leftovers.
#3, then I made a comment to R, along the lines of "get a life". It was a joking, teasing comment, and while I'd NEVER say that to L, R can usually take this stuff. He was trying to butter his bread, which kept tearing, and again, he was complaining about it. I wasn't being serious, but he play-acted being shocked at first, pretended to cry, then really did start to cry! I said sorry, that I was kidding, but he didn't reply.
So I'm feeling like a bad mom, but also annoyed too. How is it that one day we can joke around like that, and the next minute, not? It must be teenage hormones starting or something. Then L starts in on me, about how that wasn't nice, and it didn't sound like I was joking, and I'm thinking again, what is the point? Why am I even here?
So now I'm up in my room, giving myself a timeout. L texted me on his iPod to say he was sorry that he complains about everything, it was very sweet and made me feel even worse for not being more patient. But I'm no saint, and I think given how frustrated and annoyed I was feeling, giving myself a timeout was probably the best choice, even if I do feel it was a bit like running away. I was worried I'd do or say something I'd regret more.
Now I'm annoyed with DH who has texted me to ask if we were doing anything Saturday. Today is Wednesday, and I will explains that this is the third night in a row that he has got to go it and do something fun, while I've been home, doing mundane boring stuff like being a mom. Monday, he had tickets given to him for a Raptors game, so since L had cooking class, I took him and R got to go with DH to the game. Then last night, not wanting L to feel left out, DH took him to the movies to see the Croods while I stayed home with R. Tonight, he had already made plans to go out with some buddies from school, and in all fairness, he doesn't get to socialize a whole lot more than I do, so I can't begrudge him that. But after three nights of him getting to do "fun stuff" while I stayed home, I'm feeling somewhat bitter.
So DH asked me via text if we were busy this Saturday, to which I replied no,why, and he said he'd been invited to the Jays game. Immediately I thought, he better not say yes without even asking me if that was ok, because asking if we were busy is not the same thing as asking if it is ok. After a few texts he did ask if he should give it a pass, to which I said yes. I'm still annoyed that he would even think that was ok to ask in the first place, and asking if he should give it a pass is not like asking if its ok with me.
Sigh. So, I'm just generally annoyed. Annoyed with my husband, with my kids, with myself.

Mar 18

Today was the first day back to school after the March Break. Last night, I was expecting a lot of crying and fuss from L, but it wasn't too bad. We've had a couple of small episodes over the past few days when he was realizing the reality of school was upon him soon, and he would get angry, despair, or even hit his head. Last night he stalled a lot, but we didn't have tears at least.
This morning was difficult, as I expected. He didn't want to get out of bed, and refused to get dressed until I threatened him with taking away his favourite cereal, Lucky Charms. Oh how I hate that I've resorted to feeding my children that crap, it's just pure sugar. But right now, I feel like any small thing that makes my life easier in the mornings is worth it. I don't know how long it will last though, I'm sure the novelty and fun will wear off soon. It won't be much of a "treat" after too long.
We've yet to come up with a new prize for an incentive. I'm not sure how to take that - that it's good that my son wants for nothing, or that it's sad that he has so much he wants for nothing.
Ok, I guess it's good, because really, he doesn't have EVERYTHING, it's just that the things he wants aren't wanted enough to make it worth his while.
Actually, there is something he wants very much right now, but I can't afford it, nor can I commit to keeping it. It's an ongoing cost.
He wants....
A lizard.
I'm fine with him having one - when he's older. It's not because I'm squeamish or anything, it's just that I don't want to be the one to have to take care of it when he doesn't want to anymore. And also, we had to give up our guinea pigs because of the ongoing cost of them, and a lizard is about the same financially, even more with the start-up cost.
Tonight he started his new cooking class. He had a great time, and even said he made a new friend. I'm happy he's enjoying it, I was so worried he'd feel uncomfortable, or it would be all girls, or the chef wouldn't be good with kids, or that he'd hurt himself and be completely turned off. Thank god it all went smoothly. And the chef seems great, and has his own daughter in the class too.
As far as other stuff, I've been forgetting lately to give him the St. John's Wort. It's been more sporadic, but I've been wondering about side effects. He's had a few headaches lately, which he doesn't normally seem to get, but maybe three or four in the past few weeks. He's also getting some random hives, which seems to happen to him without rhyme or reason, my rashy boy. So I'm left wondering if these are side effects, or just coinciding with some airborne allergen. DH's allergies have been worse lately, so I wonder if he's reacting to the same thing, or if its this remedy.

Mar 13

Not much is going on this week, as it's March Break. L has been fairly even-tempered for the past few days. Today was a little different though.
I'll start with a small back story. Awhile back, L wanted to get a bird. DH and I both said no, absolutely no way.
He asked again, many times. He even went as far as to write a plea, of sorts. He wrote some reasons why he thought he should have one.
Great effort, but I still said no. Too noisy, too messy, too expensive, and guess who would eventually end up looking after it?
Yeah, me.
Eventually he gave up asking, but not without trying. God, he was like a dog with a bone! I seriously wish he'd put that much effort into his schoolwork!
Then the boys got their fish. R's been through three so far, due to some virus, I think, but L's is doing well. He's a rather friendly fish actually, and comes up to the side of the tank when you come in the room. Oddly, during one of L's bedtime laments one night, he said he wished he hadn't got the fish, as he can't stand the thought of when he dies. I can understand the thought behind it, but its no way to go through life, not loving anything for fear of losing it. Luckily he's not like that most of the time.
Lately, he's been on an "I want a lizard" kick. Because I couldn't handle the thought of the persistent pestering and subsequent sulking again for another month or two, I agreed that if he could look after Richerd (yes, that's how he spells the fish's name, and who am I to argue, after all,it's a NAME, and people are always making up weird spellings for names) properly for the year, he could use his Xmas/birthday money to buy a lizard. However, he has to buy it all himself, he has to look after it himself, and somehow, he'll have to figure out how to afford the upkeep of it too. I was hoping he'd realize the frivolity of it all, but he's been researching for days. I just hope he forgets about it after a few months.
Anyway, I agreed to take him to a store that specializes in reptiles and amphibians. It's a pretty cool store to go into just to look around, kind of like a zoo. We spoke to the guy who worked there, and he estimated that the start-up cost for the lizard (either a crested or leopard gecko for a beginner) would be between $200-$250, including the animal itself. That was our goal in going there, to get a price estimate, but L was grumpy when we came out. He said it was a wasted trip, but I said we got exactly what we came for. I think he thought he would actually get a lizard.
Later, at home, he was fine while he helped me cook dinner. But at bedtime, he started in with wishing time to go faster, and when I disagreed, he started.
"I hate myself!" at which point I was already out of the room to say goodnight to his brother. He said something else but I didn't hear it clearly.
I ignored him, and proceeded to go downstairs, and he called out to me, "Mommy?"
"Why can't I have a better life?" and I said I didn't want to hear that.
Now tonight, I know, is a ploy for attention, and likely a stall tactic too. But it's led me to the grand conclusion that he has to have everything instantly. He can't wait for a single thing. This goes for something he wants, an upcoming event, a celebration, and even for anything new he tries. He has to be good at it INSTANTLY. This drives me nuts. I said to DH that I don't understand why at this age he still has this mentality. Even the three year olds I watch have more patience than that. At nine, he should certainly be able to see the bigger picture - the benefit of delayed gratification, the need for practise to make perfect.
DH pointed out that this is a better question for the therapist, and I shall have to remember to write this one down. Why is he still acting like he's 2 years old in this way?
Perhaps it's my fault. Maybe I've spoiled him over the years. I certainly didn't do it intentionally. I do know better, but I wonder if I started off great, but became more and more indulgent towards him as time went on simply to avoid his moods and tantrums. I've never (well I hope I've never) given into tantrums, but with the thought of "pick your battles to avoid giving in in the end", maybe I just started to adjust things so he either didn't have to wait for them, or I adjusted it so he didn't even know about something too far ahead of time. Does that make sense?
Hmmm...
Food for thought.

Mar 9

Aaaaaannnnnnd....we're back.
To the same stuff, that is. The difficult bedtime, the sobbing and crying, the expressions of hatred, and the note-writing. I've yet to see what the note says, but I think DH is in there now talking to him (or the blanket more likely).
It's because he's tired, for one thing. Two nights in a row of really late bedtimes aren't conducive to a happy L. Last night, we went to a Toronto Rock game, which is professional lacrosse. We didn't get to bed until after midnight. And last night I let him go to bed without brushing his teeth, because he was so tired.
Tonight, we're late again since we went to my inlaws for dinner and then stopped for frozen yogurt on the way home at a specialty store that we don't have near where we live. L fell asleep in the car, and was sooooo grumpy when we had to get out and go to bed. The trouble started when I was brushing my teeth, and DH told L to go brush his, when L was already in his bed. Now, here's where I see one of those pick-your-battle things. I wouldn't have made him, just to avoid the fight, but DH did, and I had to back him up. So L stomped finally into the bathroom and shut and locked the door, and then wouldn't do anything else, shrugging me off when I tried to talk to him and say goodnight. DH finally went in there and scolded him for not listening, having to be asked MANY times to do it, and for being grumpy with me for no reason. He did brush his teeth then, and went to bed. DH followed, talking to him about listening and such, but L was sobbing a few minutes later.
Then I went into his bedroom, and talked to him. He said awful things, like, "I hate daddy," and, "he's an awful father". I know it's fatigue and anger talking, but that's so hurtful. He says daddy doesn't love him, and wishes he wasn't his dad.
Now, I have to remember how I said the same things to my own parents, my mother mostly. I think I was more of a teen at the time, and I'm not sure if I ever said them to her face, or if I just thought them or wrote them in my diary. I remember feeling those same things, so it comforts me somewhat to know that he is only in the moment, and he likely won't feel that way in the morning, after some sleep.
I hope so at least.
After he stopped crying, I told him goodnight, among other stuff like how much he's loved by us both, and he picked up pen and paper.
Uh-oh, I thought. Here comes the note. What's it going to say now?
Well, ten minutes later, he delivered the note to us, folded into a paper airplane and he had a small, almost shy, smile on his face. The note was mainly a drawing, with labels. It was stick figures of the four of us. L was being shot by DH, who was firing a gun at him, smiling. R and I are standing behind DH with smiles as well saying, "Yay".
I can't even begin to describe how this makes me feel. Many things.
Shocked.
Sickened.
Confused.
Sad.
Annoyed, even.
I don't understand it really. I don't know what it means. Does it mean he feels like he should be shot? Or that he thinks we'd be happy to see DH shoot him? Or that he thinks DH wants him dead? It's confusing.
And DH and I don't know what to do here. We are leaving it for now. To be honest, we're both too tired to deal with it anymore tonight. And L needs to go to sleep too, no more prolonged talks or crying sessions. But we don't know if it's the right thing to do. Should we go back in and question him? Or let him know how this makes us feel? And why was he smiling when he delivered it?
I do know one thing: I'm going to figure out with him tomorrow another incentive reward.

Mar 7

This feels like the longest week ever. Perhaps it's because this will be the first full five-day week at school L has had this year. I've been on edge much of the time, wondering when the crash was coming. We've had moments here and there, but no major breakdown yet.
Tonight may be different though. It's 8:30, and yeah, he's still not in bed. This is DH's fault.
Ok, that may be a little unfair, but I'm just so frustrated right now. All the progress I've seemed to make, all the small baby steps, are erased in one night of L being with him. I know he's not used to handling L the way I am, and he doesn't know all the ins and outs of dealing with homework, but come on. We are BOTH still his parents, and it's not like I don't share most details of what goes on during the hours he's not here.
Sigh.
I've had a trying week. Like I said, I've been on edge for one thing. And there's always the background worry in my mind, because he's not getting enough sleep, or eating right, or enough. And the kids in the daycare have been annoying, to say the least, and I must be going through some hormonal surge as well because every stupid thing is making me want to kill someone.
So we needed some more milk, and to pick up a few things at the library, and I NEEDED to get out of the house. L had a page of spelling homework left to do, and it can be difficult for him, so I left DH to deal with it for once. I needed the break.
I shouldn't have gone. By the time R and I returned about 45 mins later, DQ in hand for a deserved treat, L was in tears, sitting alone in the front room, and only halfway through the work. Work that should only take him 20 mins at most.
DH said he lost his patience with him. I'm sorry, but he's NOT ALLOWED to lose HIS PATIENCE!! Why does he get to do that? I've had to find reserves of patience somewhere deep within me when I thought there was none. You dig deep. You take a deep breath. You act calm when you don't feel calm. I'm angry now.
DH said he got annoyed that L wasn't listening (uh-huh), was whining (well, duh) and he said he wasn't going to help him because he didn't even want to do it. Um, what? Of course he didn't want to do it!!
So I ate my ice cream, then went to L in his room, and within ten minutes, we had the rest of it finished. Yes, I practically had to spoon-feed it to him, but you know what? At this point, I don't care. He did a lot of it alone, and after an hour and a half of it, I couldn't watch his misery any more. But I don't always give him the answers, just when I can recognize that he's gone beyond the point of being capable of learning or retaining any answers.
And DH doesn't recognize that, or realize it. If L is too stressed/upset/angry/tired/hungry/distracted etc, he doesn't retain what's being discussed or studied. You have to know when to draw the line.
I'm glad tomorrow is Friday.
After he ate his own ice cream, he perked up, but bedtime will be a different story. I've already had to hear once tonight how he hates his life, he wants to run away, and his teacher is "so mean!" I'm sure I'll hear more once lights are out.

Mar 6

Not much to report today, the past week or so has been fairly even. We did have an issue last night because L brought home homework for the first time in awhile. He was the one that brought it up, and said he had to do it, so at least he was taking some responsibility for his schoolwork. But it wasn't without lots of crying, whining and anger, and even banging his head, which I ignored. He was SO annoyed to have homework, SO annoyed and put out that this one teacher DARED to give him this assignment.
For the record, it was a small piece of writing he had to do, a response to a "Dear Abby" letter about smoking. It must be some media literacy unit they're doing on smoking, or drugs, or something. Really, the assignment wasn't that big, but he insisted that EVERYONE else had been given more time, and that he JUST found out about it. I don't know how true that is, he has missed a lot of school and could have missed the original assigning of this thing, but he also might not have been paying attention either. Whatever the case, it certainly wasn't an unreasonable request to have it finished by the next day, which he stated HAD to be done, or he "would get zero, AND have to stay in at recess to finish it!!" He just couldn't believe the audacity of this woman, lol. He couldn't believe he'd have to take a zero and then finish it anyway. I, however, could completely understand the discipline behind that, not that I told L that.
Anyhow, when he finally settled down, and he had his brother's and my help, he started to write, although it was a slow process and lots of stalling because of random side conversations. Then suddenly, after two sentences, he had to go to the bathroom. Now, this kid is a typical male that way - he'll spend AGES on the can!! What the heck do men do in there?? I cringed because I was thinking, great, another stall, but I can't say anything because maybe he really does need the toilet. Then I had an epiphany! I told him to take the work into the can with him, and when he came out ten minutes later......
IT WAS DONE!!
Hallelujah! (I can hear the chorus now...)
Why did I never think of this before? No distractions in the bathroom,no one to bug him, nothing else to do!
Maybe I'll start giving him laxatives, haha....