Today, I finally finished filling out the forms for my son's betterment. I filled out the registration sheet for the developmental specialist, as well as the very long questionnaire. I also filled out a medicaid application. I thought I would never have to go back to state assistance, but there's no way I'll be able to afford the medical expenses that are forthcoming.
But that's for another post.
I even mailed both forms today. Hoping and praying for a quick response.
My intro post will come later. First, I'm dying to write out what happened today.
It was another long day for David at school. Can't he ever have a good day anymore? I simply don't know what to do. Well, it's Monday, and we block out the entire Monday afternoon/evening for the family. We just started this a few weeks ago when my daughter Sarah said she thinks we need to spend more time as a family. I agreed. So we've blocked out Mondays. No errands, no babysitters, no computer time, no nothin unless it's with the whole family, starting as soon as I pick the kids up. Last Monday was great. Today... not so much.
David was doing his homework at the table (family day doesn't mean homework can be avoided). He was doing just fine, and I was cooking dinner. He began complaining about a difficult problem that he didn't know how to answer. I helped him figure out how to put the list in ABC order and went back to cooking. David kept getting more and more frustrated with each word. I told him to cross off the words that he'd already used. He said he would get in trouble if he did that. I said no you won't, just tell your teacher that I was the one who told you to do it, and I crossed off the words he'd used. That was a bad idea. I wish I hadn't done that. I wish I hadn't taken control like that without at the very least acknowledging his fear that he might get in trouble.
I went back to cooking, and by now, David was pretty upset. He started to scream and I calmly told him to put the homework away; we'll work on it later. He slammed it down and huffed his way out of the chair. I turned around just in time to witness the kitten fly up from his hands, flip a few times in the air, and miraculously land safely on the ground.
Surely, he knows better than to throw animals? I have to frequently remind him to not squish the dog, and to avoid holding the kitten upside-down, but throwing the cat?
I dropped the spoon I was using the stir the pot and grabbed David's arm and marched him down the hall to his room where I told him firmly, maybe even too loudly, that we do not throw animals. A short lecture followed, and I also reminded him that he's not allowed to kick his mother, which he did on the way to his room.
I let him stay in his room while I finished dinner. I was so mad. So mad. And not just at him. Why have I been unable to teach him that hurting animals is not okay?
His time-out was enough time for me to soften my heart. I know he's not your regular from-the-mold child. I know he needs me to be reasonable and patient. When he came out of his room, he was my sweet boy again. He said "I'm very sorry for throwing the cat." And it was the same as all his other apologies: perfunctory. But, to his credit, it was voluntary. He even apologized to the cat directly.
After he came out of the room, this conversation happened:
"David, do you know that it's wrong to throw the cat?"
"Yes."
"Do you know why it's wrong to hurt animals?"
"Because they're living creatures, not toys."
"That's right. Do you feel bad for hurting the cat?"
"No."
He's got all the right answers memorized. But if he doesn't feel bad for hurting the cat, why in the world is he going to stop doing it?
He knows it's wrong to kick girls at school. He knows the girls are somebody's daughter and somebody's sister. He knows that he wouldn't want anyone to kick him. But he doesn't connect the two, he seems absolutely unable to put himself in someone else's shoes. He can't see why kicking the girl at school would be like someone else kicking him. Only the latter feels like a problem to him. He knows kicking the girl is wrong because that's what I tell him and that's what the teacher tells him. But he doesn't know it for himself because he doesn't feel bad about it. It's not about her: it's about him getting his frustration out.
I'm hoping it's Asperger's because if it's not, then it's worse. And it's scary. I just want him to be happy and safe, that sweet boy of mine.
But that's for another post.
I even mailed both forms today. Hoping and praying for a quick response.
My intro post will come later. First, I'm dying to write out what happened today.
It was another long day for David at school. Can't he ever have a good day anymore? I simply don't know what to do. Well, it's Monday, and we block out the entire Monday afternoon/evening for the family. We just started this a few weeks ago when my daughter Sarah said she thinks we need to spend more time as a family. I agreed. So we've blocked out Mondays. No errands, no babysitters, no computer time, no nothin unless it's with the whole family, starting as soon as I pick the kids up. Last Monday was great. Today... not so much.
David was doing his homework at the table (family day doesn't mean homework can be avoided). He was doing just fine, and I was cooking dinner. He began complaining about a difficult problem that he didn't know how to answer. I helped him figure out how to put the list in ABC order and went back to cooking. David kept getting more and more frustrated with each word. I told him to cross off the words that he'd already used. He said he would get in trouble if he did that. I said no you won't, just tell your teacher that I was the one who told you to do it, and I crossed off the words he'd used. That was a bad idea. I wish I hadn't done that. I wish I hadn't taken control like that without at the very least acknowledging his fear that he might get in trouble.
I went back to cooking, and by now, David was pretty upset. He started to scream and I calmly told him to put the homework away; we'll work on it later. He slammed it down and huffed his way out of the chair. I turned around just in time to witness the kitten fly up from his hands, flip a few times in the air, and miraculously land safely on the ground.
Surely, he knows better than to throw animals? I have to frequently remind him to not squish the dog, and to avoid holding the kitten upside-down, but throwing the cat?
I dropped the spoon I was using the stir the pot and grabbed David's arm and marched him down the hall to his room where I told him firmly, maybe even too loudly, that we do not throw animals. A short lecture followed, and I also reminded him that he's not allowed to kick his mother, which he did on the way to his room.
I let him stay in his room while I finished dinner. I was so mad. So mad. And not just at him. Why have I been unable to teach him that hurting animals is not okay?
His time-out was enough time for me to soften my heart. I know he's not your regular from-the-mold child. I know he needs me to be reasonable and patient. When he came out of his room, he was my sweet boy again. He said "I'm very sorry for throwing the cat." And it was the same as all his other apologies: perfunctory. But, to his credit, it was voluntary. He even apologized to the cat directly.
After he came out of the room, this conversation happened:
"David, do you know that it's wrong to throw the cat?"
"Yes."
"Do you know why it's wrong to hurt animals?"
"Because they're living creatures, not toys."
"That's right. Do you feel bad for hurting the cat?"
"No."
He's got all the right answers memorized. But if he doesn't feel bad for hurting the cat, why in the world is he going to stop doing it?
He knows it's wrong to kick girls at school. He knows the girls are somebody's daughter and somebody's sister. He knows that he wouldn't want anyone to kick him. But he doesn't connect the two, he seems absolutely unable to put himself in someone else's shoes. He can't see why kicking the girl at school would be like someone else kicking him. Only the latter feels like a problem to him. He knows kicking the girl is wrong because that's what I tell him and that's what the teacher tells him. But he doesn't know it for himself because he doesn't feel bad about it. It's not about her: it's about him getting his frustration out.
I'm hoping it's Asperger's because if it's not, then it's worse. And it's scary. I just want him to be happy and safe, that sweet boy of mine.
