Okay, I think we're all coming unglued. The Boy is leading the pack, but we're all following. First off, he won't shut the hell up. About anything. Ever.
When I had kids, one of the things I always swore is that I would never say (or tolerate anyone else saying) "SHUT UP!" That said, lately I've just given up. I can say "shush", "be quiet", "hush", "stop talking", and even "stop making noise with your pie hole!" only so many times a day before I lose my mind.
I think it's the flip side of "That noise coming out of my head? It's words! What. Did. I. Just. Say. To. YOU?! Yeah? Well, I meant it! MOVE!!!"
Yeah, we're topping over that cliff of insanity. The Husband has been sick, so he hasn't been helping at all. Not that he ever really does. Yeah, honey, how about a little, "You will not speak to my wife that way, young man," every now and then? Huh? Would it kill ya?
Sorry. It's just wearing on me.
On top of the not shutting the feck up, he's started freaking out. Forget to bring the "Where's Waldo" book for church? Scream and cry. Have to shower two hours after the tornado alert is passed? Scream and cry like your mother is scalding you in hot oil and then electrocuting you with a cattle prod. What WILL tomorrow bring? I can't wait to see!
See, part of me knows that he's faking. He did offer to take a shower in the other bathroom because his bathroom "smelled like" The Girl, so I know he wasn't initially afraid to use the water. But when I insisted that it was 9:00 and he had to get going, he just came unglued and started insisting that I was trying to electrocute him. He could hear the electricity crackling in the water.
I tried to explain that, while the shower was very dangerous around seven o'clock, it isn't now. In the same way, the stove was dangerous at six o'clock, but isn't now. See? You're FINE!! Then I told him that if he didn't shower RIGHT NOW, I'd bathe him myself. Sure enough, he screamed like I was scalding him the entire time, and as he was drying off, The Husband came in and ever-so-helpfully screamed at us both. Heh? Where the feck was he a half hour ago?
So, here I am, my eye twitching, trying to figure out how to get through the next day without hitting him with anything. Seriously. He's making me THAT crazy.
THIS is the boy that I'm taking on a road trip to visit my sister next month? And taking The Girl and my dad, too? Oh yeah. That'll work. Me, one crazy, freaked out ten-year-old boy, one autistic 10-year-old girl, one crazy, crotchety old man. My eye starts twiching just thinking about it. Maybe I'll just sneak off and visit my sister when no one's looking. Except that The Husband can't cover the kids during the day. And if he can't engage while I'm here, he's dead meat when I'm not.
So.
Maybe it's time to figure out why The Boy is so freaked out. 'Cause he has to understand that if we can't figure out what's going on, I can't take him anywhere. Oy. Stupid mom! There's an equally good chance that it'll just add more pressure, and make him worse.
Mom for sale. Slightly cracked. Cheap.
1 comment:
(((HUGS))) Have a margarita. Or five. Then you won't care. It won't fix anything, but you won't care. I don't envy you that road trip. Hope you're able to get it all 'fixed' before that, so that at least you can handle being in the car with them for more than, say, 30 seconds. (((MORE HUGS)))
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