My child must be having some type of reaction to his generic concerta extended release.  He is aggressive and irrationally obsessed about getting his way.  He tried to talk the pastor into driving him to his father’s house to pick up some things on his way back from the retreat.  I, of course, said no.  During my weekend, unless there is something weird going on, my child needs to be at my house.  (There’s always something going on.)

They never bring their medicine, shoes, coats, clean clothes… the chaos is endless.  There is never a responsible adult present to check his bags to make sure he has the necessary items for each weekend.  Since he returned from camping/confirmation retreat, I stupidly thought he would have a change of clothing.  He was supposed to have brought some change of clothes on the trip, but what was I thinking?  He had nothing and refused to wear the clothes that are here that he has left behind from previous weekends.

He arrived surly, after hanging up on me two times on the car ride home when I insisted that he just come to my house.  Grrrrrrrr.  He arrived and immediately wanted to negotiate getting to go home to take a shower and get clothes for church.  The boy does not dress up for church, so I offered to wash his clothes for him.  That should have been fine, if I were not dealing with a thirteen year old with a god complex.  I forgot, I live to serve and if I disagree, he punishes me by not showing up for his weekly visits, then lies to explain why he didn’t arrive, then says I am to blame in some way, some how.  I was not born yesterday, though some people insist that I look young.  I occasionally, ask my children if I look stupid?  Bad parenting habit to ask rhetorical questions, I know, but seriously.  I can only take so much.

Please note: My child is not allowed to bring electronics to my house.  He has abused the right to use them here and got violent with me when we took them from him.  So, he never should have been allowed to bring them from home in the first place.

He walked over to the car, where I offered to lock up his electronics and after putting his backpack in the car, he hopped in the front seat and locked himself in the car.  I went in the house and got my key fob and opened the door.  Praise technology!  I explained the science of heat stroke and how it was a bad idea to sit in a sealed car on a sunny day wearing too many layers of clothes.  He kept insisting that he was not hot.  I watched the sweat bead up on his nose and face and finally gave up.  I went to get his big brother (the silent sentinel) to help get him out of the car.  I also suggested that he take his grandmother up on her offer for him to rake some leaves and take a shower at her house.  He refused saying he just wanted to go home, take a shower, then come back.

Reason was not working and I don’t bribe my children, so force was it.  Get out of my car by the count of five or boy number two will “help you” out of the car.  I called my bear over, who was trying to imitate an invisible tree, and had him stick his head in the car to prove that it was “hot as hell and he could get ill.”  I may have said something like, “You can’t die of heat stroke while you’re here for the weekend.”

Boy number two initiated the extraction by stating calmly, “I’m getting you out of the car now.” Miraculously, my child tried to remove himself from the car, by pulling himself out using his arms only.  The goal being to break something, while I tried to keep what little cool I had left. We escorted the little prince from the vehicle and into the house. I shut the door and locked the car.

He then refused to eat or drink anything in the house.  I told him he was acting like he was hypoglycemic in order to get some water, Tang and fruit smoothie into him.  He finally acquiesced and ate a cracker too.  He acts as if not eating will insult me.  It just saves me food, really, and makes him look immature by refusing to eat.

I told him to sit down on the floor outside the kitchen trying to keep him from the room that Girly was in.  These stupid meltdowns upset her and she mimics his tone of voice when he whines, wheedles and screams.  By the way, there is no room to send him to his room as my ex suggested I do when I called to let him know that my child had run off.  He wanted to know why I wasn’t driving around town looking for him?

I suppose I could have left the remaining three children home with my bear, but I needed a break from the lunacy, there were very few places he could go and it is a fairly safe small town.

I figured it was 45 minutes for the anger boy to wander 8 blocks home.  So, I called his father 5 minutes before I expected my child to arrive.  His father was not so helpful (not a surprise, but I’m all about the disclosure factor) and my ex wanted to spread some of the punishment to his older brother who wandered home, but I just cut him off and said, “Fine, you make sure they’re packed for the weekend visit on Thursday and check it before they leave then on Friday.”  This adult had every excuse known to man for not being available to make sure they were packed on Fridays, “I had a meeting, I’m at work, I’m not there, I told him to pack, I don’t know where they are, they didn’t come home from school…” Mysteriously it sounds just like my son.  I’m not responsible for any of my actions, “not by the hair of my chinny chin chin…”

(Boy number two came straight to my house from school on Friday because of a competition. When he went home to get his things on Saturday, he had already packed his bag. Should he have taken it to school? Or, should the adult have sent it to my house with the other child before his church retreat when I had to sign the permission slips?  (“All this planning is really hard,” Amanuensis says sarcastically and rolls her eyes.) He was delayed because they offered the child food.  Should a 6’4″ child ever refuse food?  I don’t think so, unless it is offered by a near sighted witch in a candy house who says, “Eat! The better to fatten you up,” or I’ll grind your bones to make my bread.” Sure, I mixed Hansel and Gretal with Jack and the Beanstalk.  I’d do it again.)

I got a call from the Girlfriend who newly resides in the house, “They agree with me and they’re not letting my child back in the house. He’s on his way over with said child now.” My child tried to run again, my ex had to chase him and put him in the car and was on the way over. (Funny, how my ex didn’t make the call to let me know that he agreed, but I will Never hold my breath for that.  I gave up on him years ago.  As far as parenting is concerned it is a shared failure, no matter the instigator.  I should have taken the children and left him years before, but I didn’t and that was my fault.  I thought marriage counseling would make it better.  I thought parenting counseling would make it better.  Sometimes leaving is the best and only option.  Thereapy gave him more tools, ammunition and resources to get the kids taken from me through the courts.)

When my child arrived he was in rare form. He, “didn’t want to go into my stupid house.  It was my fault because I wouldn’t shut my mouth on the phone before he ran out of time before he got picked up for the retreat. (This pastor has the fortitude to drive right into hell to pick this child up.  She knew he was in a foul mood and had been acting out.  He usually is fine with her.)

I took a deep breath said, “What did you say to me?” “Sit yourlittlebutt down in that chair and do your homework.” Still grumbling, I tuned him out and started searching his bag, for any evidence of external stimuli any reason for this stupidity.  I found his Phone, and his iPad, which I don’t think his father knew he had with him.  This was the reason for the strong desire to go home.  He knew I would lock up the iPad.  Some paragraphs above, there was reference to the no electronics rule for my child.  Breaking that rule whipped this child into a frenzy.  I took electronics, chargers, headphones (2 sets) and put them in a brand new sealed Fed Ex box. My child had the nerve to lay his hands on me to try to stop me, but my goal was to lock it in the car.  No negotiation, no placating, no discussion.  Sure, I’m the hard ass.  Call me Sergeant Mom or General Mom, either works.  This takes too much energy, but I must have been shooting fire from my eyes, but my child.

HEADBUTTED THE WALL MIRROR AS I LEFT THE HOUSE.  This child was far beyond okay.  My eldest stepped in and started to talk him down.  Lord.  What a night.  No one got broken.  My child was restrained by a 6’1″ weightlifter and a 6’4″ gentle giant who wanted to keep their little brother from going to jail, hospital or detention home last night.

Girly, immediately was put to bed when my child arrived the second time. She does not get to watch the sideshow.

I called the therapist to get the mental health crisis line.  The local mental health center wanted me to get him to the hospital, but they had no one available to assess him last night, they would have just sent him home.  They suggested calling an ambulance, police or driving him myself.  They gave me the name of another mental health institute while they talked to me on the phone.  They suggested that he was just having a behavioral issue and the detention home was probably a good idea.  I disagreed.  I now agree with the therapist.  The pink slip process puts children with mental health issues into the court system. This court system doesn’t believe in mental health issues.  How crazy is this?  The system is broken.

My child was held safely by his brothers for 45 minutes until he went limp, then fell asleep.  The brothers gave him water, then we put him to bed.  The gentle giant shut down soon afterwards and my eldest stayed downstairs with his brother for the rest of the night.

My bear and I decided to stay up to watch a movie to try to gain some normalcy.  My child scared the bejesus out of us by walking up the stairs at 2:30 and turning on the baby’s bedroom light.  He sleepwalks! Holy crap!  He then walked to the bathroom and turned on the light in there, then used the bathroom.  He came out and I called him, his eyes weren’t really open.  My bear walked him downstairs, to keep him from falling down the stairs.

This morning, I juiced him up, he had some cereal, I loaned him clothes and he went to church.  He said his forehead hurts, but he really wasn’t that awake and says he doesn’t remember what happened.

I think I get to call the therapist this morning.

Monday, I have an appointment with the parenting counselor with my eldest, who believes in the pink slip process.  The point of the visit is to clarify his position with my children.  I want to know if he believes in mental illness or if it can be “cured” by discipline.

I also have an appointment with my therapist the following hour.

I have to go to work Tuesday and Thursday and pretend to be a happy artist with no personal problems. Hah!

My child has an appointment with a psychiatrist Wednesday, I’m going to take him and give my report about his behavior.  I’m going to ask for a faster psychological assessment, there is something wrong here.  Either the meds or the diagnosis is wrong.  I want to protect and save ALL of my children, but this one makes me want to run with Girly in my arms.

Thank you for letting me vent.

Featured Image: I’ll replace the picture with a non – blurry image later.  It kinda fits my vision this morning. Blurry with tears. Did you know that mums are a perennial in the northeast of the US?  Buy them when they go on sale at garden centers at the end of the season for $.50 and they come back almost every year.  I will be taking them with me to the new house with my hosta collection.  I’d better go outside, or make breakfast, or change Girly, or wake the males.

10 thoughts on “Long- Update to the update: Young Mums

  1. I am glad he has appt with psychiatrist. Yes, the system is broken. The child welfare system in this country is not child friendly – or adult friendly for that matter. I don’t know why mental health and criminality are so closely tied. Detention center for mental health? I don’t get that. They need help, not punishment….although the structured disciplined routine on a consistant daily basis. may be good.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m the reason his meds haven’t changed yet, I couldn’t get him in the car, early enough, drive fast enough, get there on time, yet, I have to be the one who talks to the doctor, because I can see and describe this child, who I love, at his worst.

      There really is a stigma with mental illness in this state of mine. Crazy people have fewer rights. We are dangerous, we should receive less help is the belief. When I became disabled, I started to see how terrible it all is. I want to hide, but I can’t stop talking/writing. When not in a crisis, I will probably write more on the subject.

      Like

  2. The gardening and the plants all go about their business no matter what else is going on. I can leave them and come back and they have grown and always seem happy to see me. There is some grace in all that for me that I am not the power behind that miracle and only need to make a few decisions and do a little work. It is something that seems to work out, though imperfectly at times, every time. There is some small comfort in entering that world that welcomes me every time. Blessings my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

Any thoughts on the above post are appreciated! Otherwise, I think I must be living under a rock.

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