Problem solved!

We've finally figured out who the bad guy is in our semi-toxic soup of school behavior. It's ME! Yeah, the husband solved our problem by declaring me to be the problem.

There. You've got your positive thought for the day. The Husband has solved our yelling problem. It's all my fault. 'Cause they're just children.

Pardon? They're almost eleven years old! You're telling me that the children can ignore me, mock me, disobey me, and generally push my buttons all they want, and I'm supposed to be their little punching bag? Yeah. That's working for me. Especially when The Husband pokes his nose out of his little workout/movie room in the evening to yell at me for it.

Okay, here's how it goes.


I state calmly, "Boy, it's 7:00. It's time for your shower. Then we'll read The Trojan War."

He screams. "Eeeeeee!"

I repeat the request. "I asked you this afternoon whether you wanted to read it then or read it after dinner. You chose after dinner. It is now after dinner. You must now take a shower and then we'll read The Trojan war."

He starts yelling, "NO! I hate the icky, wicky, ticky Trojan War!! I'm not reading it!" (Visualize the fanny dance -- kind of looks like bees showing the way to the new pollen source.)

I start getting ticked off. He's now wasting my time. "No! You get your butt in the shower and get clean. I have to do the dishes before we can read, so move!"

The husband joins in before it really escalates. "Honey, why are you yelling?!"

"Because unless I do, no one will do anything!" I turn to The Boy, "Go now and get a shower. NOW."

Okay, for now, point Mom. He goes off to the shower. Ten minutes later, I check on him. "Where's your towel? Where's the wash cloth? Why aren't you wet yet?"

He gets flustered and aggravated. "Aaaaah!! I'm doing it! I'm doing it!!"

I counter, "No, you're not! You're standing naked in the middle of the bathroom, doing NOTHING. GET A SHOWER OR I WILL PERSONALLY BATHE YOU!"

I'm not riled up enough, so The Husband joins in again, "Why are you two yelling again?!"

"I asked him to get a shower, but all he's doing is standing naked in the bathroom." I turn to The Boy. "Boy, get a shower."

The Boy's voice rises an octave, "But I don't have a towel!"


Yeah, you're getting the picture now. A half-hour later, I pop in on him, and he's putting on pajamas in the bathroom. (He's supposed to get out and put them on in his room.) He sees me, screams, and starts doing his pity-party crying. Now, The Husband is furious. (I must be interrupting his movie and workout.) The Boy tells him that I yelled at him and hurt his feelings, so The Husband yells at me. I yell at The Husband that I did no such thing, and his son must stop boo-hoo-ing. Immediately.


The day goes a lot like this. We need a mediator. I'm sick to death of having them mentally pinch me all day long. They're sick to death of... What the hell are they sick of? Being told to do things they don't want to do. Tough shit.

I'm just fed up with making allowances for them. I'm sick of making PECS picture charts. I'm sick of telling them the same thing over and over. I'm tired of issuing six prompts for them to accomplish anything. I'm sick of grinding my teeth.


Example. It's ten minutes before we leave for dance class. I tell The Boy, "We're leaving for dance in ten minutes. What do you need to do before you can leave?" (Hint: pee, put on shoes, and get everything he wants to take with him.)

He answers, "Put on shoes?"

I ask, "Aaaand?"

Blank stare. "Get in the car?"

"It's the same thing we've done for the last six years. Pee, put shoes on, and get your things together. So, tell me, what do you have to do in the next 10 minutes?"

He repeats it back and wanders off.


Lather, rinse, repeat. Try not to scream or cry.

Now, I'm not looking for pity or advice. I don't need to be reminded what a scourge autism is, and how I can't get angry with them. I need leverage. I need a professional to put a change jar in front of The Boy and say, "Every time you scream or defy your mother's reasonable requests, you will lose a nickel. Every time you take initiative and do your work without being told, you will gain a nickel." Or whatever behaviorists do, now that corporal punishment is out of style.

I need hope that if I actually succeed in making it through a day without screeching at them, they'll come around and stop screeching at me. After all, as The Husband keeps pointing out, I'm the adult.

So, good news...