Every hour that I don’t get a call from the assistant school principal so that we can have yet another awkward conversation about what my son has done today (as opposed to yesterday or the day before or the day before that…), I reward myself with a little piece of chocolate.
Man, am I pissed that I got cut off so early today! And now… all I want is chocolate to make the frustration and anger subside. Why do I set up myself for failure?
We’re moving again in a few weeks, which means that my son has gone bat sh*t cray. This happens every time we move, but I had hoped that this time would be different.
Lesson learned. Hope is really denial wrapped up in a pretty package.
I’ve had very long conversations with both his teacher and the assistant principal. We’ve had stern talks at home to reinforce what’s been done at school, and I assume vice versa. There have been consequences, countdowns, and “positive reinforcement” thrown down. There’ve been rewards and… okay, fine, bribes to just please, please, please make it through the day. But it’s just not working.
I am at a loss as to what to do next.
The problem is that there are only seven days… SEVEN… until Christmas break, the new house, and starting a new school. His current school is trying to help, but it’s tough since the situation is temporary.
We’ve worn out our welcome at my parents’ house and things have been super tense. Our life is chaos and spread out over hundreds of boxes- some with us, some on a truck which we do not know when to expect.
“Soon…” the moving company promises. “Soon…” I’ve dubbed them “All Excuses Moving”, which is a play on their real name…
Mike has been putting in more hours at work lately and even longer hours on the new house. I’ve been exhausted and quite frankly a little depressed and cranky over my (lack of) job search, but am trying to let it go so I can focus on packing.
But I don’t want to pack.
This is our sixth move in four years and I know… I KNOW… that change is so very hard on both of the kids. It always is. It’s been hard on me too, so my heart breaks for my son.
I just want to wrap my arms around my precious baby boy and hold him close so I can shield him from all of this anxiety and confusion. Then, whisper very quietly and slowly in his ear that if he doesn’t cut the crap, I will grind up all of his Legos into a fine paste and use it to spackle shut the door to his new bedroom, where he will be locked up for so long that the neighbor kids will never learn his real name and just call him Rumpelstilskin.
AM. I. BEING. CLEAR?