I had Drama Teen home sick two days this week, and Kinderboy#2 two days…only one of those days coincided (Thursday, actually today, since I’m writing this post early in hopes of not having to do anything more than park my butt in a chair on Friday and bang out over 2000 words). Needless to say, I’m feeling a bit failed by the school system. Why? Because next week on Monday is a holiday and to add insult to injury, Wednesday is a minimum day. Listen, I love my kids. I would give my life for my kids. Too bad sick, whiny kids don’t want your life, they want every waking moment of your life to be spent getting them drinks, tissues, food, more drinks, more tissues, more food (can you see the pattern developing here?)
And, if the sick, whiny ones weren’t enough, I have Kinderboy#1. His play therapist asked how things were going and I unloaded on her. How he wouldn’t get dressed on Friday and nearly went out the door with a coat on over his birthday suit to school. And how on Monday, he was soliciting the playground guards to take him home because his house had burned down and his whole family was dead. Thank goodness Kinderboy#2 was playing happily on the playground, evidence to the lie. Then, on Tuesday morning, after he asked me several times if his shoes were on the right foot (no, they weren’t) and after deliberately putting his shoes on the wrong feet several times, I asked him why he always wanted Mommy to wear her frustrated face. I told him I didn’t like wearing the face, why did he go out of his way to put it on my face. He said it was because I was an evil witch.
Now, I’m a firm believer that parents aren’t a child’s friend. And I’ve been the target of quite a few “I hate you’s” and slammed doors. But, the way that he delivered it was calm. He likes me to wear that horrible frustrated face because it proves his belief that I’m an evil witch. It was a “kick him to the curb” moment for me. If he had been eighteen, I’d have packed his clothes, changed the locks, and told him “sayonara, have a good life.” Unfortunately (or fortunately, whichever way you look at it), he’s only 6. I think the therapist got a sense of my desperation and she’s going to mix up the therapy a bit to give me some support.
Thursday, this morning remember, since I’m writing this early, started out much the same. Two sick kiddos and Kinderboy#1 doing his best to punch my buttons. I refused to take the bait. I put his clothes out for him, refused to let my husband insist that he talk to me instead of whispering in hubby’s ear when I’d asked him a question. It’s just so not worth engaging at this point. Intellectually, I understand RAD, emotionally, it hurts.
So, yes, Thursday he went to school with his pants on backwards and if the kids made fun of him, so be it.
Needless to say, I’m sooo not looking forward to the long weekend. On a brighter note, my hubby (Mr. Wonderful) has promised me dinner with my Alphasmart tonight (Friday) at Panera Bread and possibly a nice long stint at the library on Saturday afternoon. This book may get done yet…with or without the school’s cooperation.