“I’m going to cut you with your scissors and you will be dead! DEAD!“
Have you ever heard of a non-catastrophic catastrophe?
Can’t say I’m shocked. Considering I just made it up.
Well, that’s not true. I didn’t make it up. I put a label on something everyone does – or will do – or has done at some point in time.
We’ve all (unless you are completely immune to society – in which case I formally request participation in your drug study) had that day. Where things just keep going wrong. Something is constantly popping up – and you want to bang your head on the desk. And all you can think about is how great it would be if something, anything non-emergent, but somewhat serious came up. Something that would give you an adequate excuse not to deal with whatever you are currently, or about to deal with.
“Oh my goodness, I have to go right now! My daughter is seriously ill!” No. She isn’t. She has a cold. Mild fever, runny nose – she’ll survive. But her misfortune just saved you from torture.
I have a lot of these days. Where random things happen, and I sit there silently waiting for a little tiny asteroid to hit the Earth at just such an angle that someone sends me at text message saying they need me to deal with a major crisis right now.
I wish yesterday was one of them. It wasn’t. Yesterday was the day that made up for all of my lost non-catastrophic catastrophe wishes. The ones that weren’t granted.
Instead of starting at 7am (which was the beginning of my marathon phone day), I’ll start at 10am. Finally someone answers when I call a higher-up regarding the mess that has become Kaleb and school. Finally. Ooop. Nevermind. There’s nothing you can do for me. Or want to do for me. That department is better suited for that “sort of thing”. What sort of thing? Dealing with an undesirable situation in one of your schools? Oh, right, it doesn’t matter. Because it isn’t “no child left behind” – it’s “no child that fits in the parameters of an ideal student gets left behind” – and my child is pretty far from those parameters.
Do you think I’m an idiot? I know my child perfectly well. I have also spent a significant amount of time and meetings with those people. They have been nothing less than wonderful. As you can see from the records – and from my previous six million messages, I have already been in touch with said department. I do not have a problem with them. They have gone above and beyond to try and help my child. It’s your department I have an issue with. It’s your people who have dropped the ball and allowed my child to regress as badly as he has. Not them. You.
But never mind. Why am I talking still? You’ve already transferred me. Awesome. Cause I totally didn’t want to talk to you. I didn’t go out of my way or anything to get your specific contact information. Thanks for that.
Repeat the story yet again when a new person answers the phone. Am I aware that I probably sound like a lunatic, if not an all out bitch? Yes. I’m perfectly aware. And I’m putting forth the utmost effort not to do so. However, I’m frustrated, angry, scared, confused, and downright sick and tired of being treated like an idiot. So my apologies in advance. However, I’ve been very patient. I have made certain that I have properly climbed the ladder that is the chain of command in this county. And please don’t take this wrong – because I have had a great deal of help from that department – however, at this point, I do not see what they can do. They most certainly do not have the kind of pull that is needed to accomplish what I am asking. And I do not appreciate being shuffled from person to person like a deck of cards on the Vegas Strip.
Anyway. I’ll get back to that (with some details – since I’m a ‘blogger’ now, should I call them ‘deets’?) in the very near future.
Like I said, it was just one of those days. I’d planned on having a sort of “it’s raining so forget everything let’s just play” kind of days. I ended up with a phone pasted to my ear, and a kid who only wanted to interact with me for three minutes an hour, (save for one time in the morning when I got a whole fifteen minutes – that was super until I caught an Umi Zumi car to the face).
Kaleb came home from school and was… reserved. Not quiet. Not defiant. Just… off his normal.
My sister stopped by partially to visit, and partially because she knew the ‘blue’ in my hair was now blonde and I am not a good blonde. She was fairly set on trying to dye the barbie out of my head (this by the way totally did not work, but was an adventure while it happened). I was thrilled to just take a few minutes to chat, while the kids played.
Kaleb starts in – with the insane attitude. With breaking the most simple, basic rules – because as obsessed as he is with the rules – they don’t apply to Captain Attitude. So, the third time he get scolded for something completely ridiculous (jumping on the trampoline while the little kids are on it – it’s not like we have a big trampoline, it’s one of those little exercise numbers; pushing, messing around on the slide) he gets sent inside for five minutes.
Bitch, whine, complain, moan, stomp inside, slouch and pout.
Only the second time, when he’s sent inside he slams the door. I could not tell you the number of times it’s been drilled into his head not to slam that door. Almost every other door in the house – whatever. Do not slam the one made out of glass. For four years he’s been told not to slam that door. It’s glass. It will break and you will get hurt.
Slam! Oh, wait, he isn’t done. Turns around, shoots me a look. SLAM!
Now I really don’t want to play bad guy right now. I really don’t. I just want to sit here and enjoy the fact that I’m not pacing around on the phone – because I am a pace-talker. I am incapable of sitting still while on the phone. My thighs actually hurt from the amount of time I spent pacing around this house yesterday (I do realize I’m out of shape – thanks for that. I start Yoga tomorrow morning).
But I sure as anything can’t just let this go. So I follow. I’m not giving a time out (as the new time out chair is still in the car, unpainted, it’s raining – and you have absolutely NO idea what I’m talking about…). Take a deep breath. Just go. Go somewhere now. Take a few minutes to calm down and adjust the attitude before you make bigger problems for yourself. I expect you to come back to me in five minutes and calmly tell me why you are in trouble.
Riiiiiigh. Should have known better. It’s too late for the calm tactics. There ya go. I already had a serious dislike of this day. Now it’s starting to gather some steam, and it becomes very clear very quickly that this is going to be a train wreck.
Without elaborating (because I honestly just don’t have it in me) – here’s the next fifteen minutes:
- Bedroom door slam open (mom shrugs. So what? Daddy put that fancy little knob there so you cannot knock another hole in the wall. Go ahead. Give it your best shot
- Repeated door slam shut (okay. Daddy and mommy both put a lot of time and thought into this new door knob since you all but descimated the last two. If you want to treat your door that way – fine. But you keep that up and we will remove the priviledge of being able to lock the door when you leave each morning)
*Now at this point he’s just being a jerk. Yeah, go ahead and get mad at me – my kid was acting like a jerk. He was having a temper tantrum. This wasn’t a meltdown. This was him being mean and trying to get a reaction. I could see the meltdown building – because he was trying to get a reaction from me. But at least like this I have some semblance of control of the environment. If I were to walk away while this storm is brewing someone would end up hurt – and I know better than to walk away from this disaster.
- Strips the bed (knock yourself out kid)
- Beats on bare mattress with roundhouse from train station (okay. Cool. How ’bout this? I put the mattress in the hallway, and when you’re ready to calm down and treat it with a little respect I’ll put it back where it belongs)
- Throws bucket of Legos (congrats. You made a mess. Of your room. I’m not cleaning it. So you have fun with that.)
- Dumps out entire Lego head. (Whoo hoo! You made a mess. Again. Don’t care.)
*Meanwhile, I’m sitting in the bean bag chair, trying not to react. I can see the meltdown building. I know something big is coming and there is nothing I can do about it. My only goal now is to keep him from hurting himself or one of the little kids.
- Starts to slam “Safe Storage” (a small chest of drawers by his bed we gave him to have a safe place to keep his most precious things in) against the wall (Nope. I’m cool if you want to make a mess – because I seriously will not clean this up. But I am not about to let you destroy the wall that was just painstakingly repainted for you)
*Mommy moves Safe Storage and goes back to the bean bag chair*
- Begins to throw train tracks from train table (yep. Look at you throwing things. Yay you!)
- Begins to throw train tracks from train table at mommy (really?? This is a good idea?)
- Pegs mommy in the head with a nice, big wooden train track.
Mommy reprimands. Mommy informs Kaleb that the next time she is hit with a single thing she is taking away the train table.
- Kaleb goes to his bed. He grabs the picture frame that sits on the top of his bookshelf headboard. The one that says “bedroom rules”. And he tries to smash the glass with his face.
I see what’s happening, and am able to jump up and grab him in time to stop him from shattering the glass with his face. But not without a moment of heart-stopping panic. You could have seriously injured yourself!! What are you doing?!?!
~~> insert meltdown.
For the next thirty minutes we fought.
Eh, not true. He fought. I sat in the beanbag chair holding on to him for dear life. Because absolutely, no way, under any circumstance, am I going to sit by while he injures himself. Some scratches, bites, headbutts and elbows to the larynx later – he screams at me:
“I’m going to cut you with your scissors and you will be dead! DEAD!
The quote above has been playing on repeat in my head for hours now. This isn’t from a movie. It’s not from a song. It’s not from some idiotic online greeting card you copy and paste off facebook. So, what is this? This is absolutely, heartbreakingly terrifying. Because it came from a child’s mouth – sure, that’s part of why it’s so frightening and sad. But it didn’t come from just any child. It came from our child. Our beautiful, enigmatic, complicated child. Who just wants to be loved, and wants the world to love him in return. That adds to the gravity of it. The fact that said child has no idea what this even means – that’s worse. The fact that it gets stated in a different way a number of times in a limited amount of time – worse still.
My heart is sick.
I take a deep breath after this first outburst, while he thrashes and claws at me like some kind of hellcat.
“Okay. Where did you learn that?”
“Yes Kaleb, but where do you mean by here?”
“Inside my head!!”
I would like very much now to curl up into ball and cry at this point. I’m doing all I can to fight tears – but this is seriously freaking me out.
I don’t even know how to process this.
Who is this? Because he can’t be my child. He just can’t. No way. My child would never say such a horrible thing to me. <~~ enter previously posted about delusions.
He informed me that he wanted me dead, or was going to make me dead a number of times. And each and every time I held him tighter. Because I know my kid. This isn’t my kid. I don’t know what or where or who he got this from – but this isn’t my kid.
Finally, finally, he calmed down. We sat together, and I asked if he knew what it meant when someone is dead.
“I don’t know.”
Of course you don’t. And you shouldn’t. Because you’re five. At five years old “forever” is an impossible concept – because at that age everything important to you is forever.
But you just wished me dead five times in three minutes.
I straighten up the things in his room that I moved – with a reminder that I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to clean the mess he made. He tells me he knows, and very calmly sets to putting things right.
He’s right back to his sweet self.
And I am sick to my stomach.
All I know is that I’m heartbroken. I’m scared – for him. I’m just…
at a complete loss for words.
Which seems to be a running theme in the world of Monsters.