We are having a snow day in southeast Texas. Never mind that it isn't snowing, or even icing, but nevertheless, we are having a snow day.
I want to poke my eyes out with a rusty fork.
I got so excited yesterday when we got the calls. I thought they were crazy, but still…..NO WORK! NO SCHOOL! Yippee!!!
The little kids made a fort in the living room and slept away from me for the first time in weeks.
We were going to drink cider and watch Back to the Future (all three!) and not get dressed and love our life today.
Um. Not so much.
I don't know why I ever think we will EVER have just a nice relaxing day.
As is usual for our mornings, it was ugly.
The same yelling, the same fighting, the same fits. I don't even remember what it was all about, but eventually I sent Jacob upstairs and told him not to come down until his meds kicked in.
About an hour later I went up to retrieve him and saw his patch still in the package on his desk. (Shame on me for trusting) and Adam's dirty clothes piled on the bathroom rug covered in pee. Along with the tile floor and grout and the wall and sink cabinet surrounding the toilet.
Are you fricking kidding me?
Oh, he blamed it on the cat. Which would not be too unusual, we have an 18 year old cat, but um, it you've ever had a cat you know there is a distinctly different odor. I've dealt with cat pee before. Just last week even. This, most certainly, was NOT cat pee. As calmly as I could, I put the sopping wet clothes down the laundry chute and handed him the rug and told him to take it outside and hose it off. He lost his ever loving mind and let me know that was MY job.
Oh, hell no.
Sure anyone else would just throw that rubber backed rug into the washer but guess whose husband bought a washer that has a great big Mr. Yuk sticker on the lid explaining how you can't wash anything waterproof or else you'll ruin your washer. I mean, WHAT?
He wouldn't clean the rug. Or anything else for that matter. And I was informed it was a holiday so he didn't have to do anything and I should get my lazy ass downstairs and fix him something to eat because that was my job.
That's when I dragged his ass outside.
With the rug.
With instructions that he could come in when it was rinsed.
He spent 30 minutes beating on our front glass door. There's a crack now. I am waiting for it to completely collapse soon. Then what do we do? Invite the neighbors in?
I kept waiting for the police to show up. It was 35 degrees outside and raining. I probably should have let him in. I know he was sure I would let him in. I know my neighbors are probably still talking about me. But you know what? I told him to do something. I don't think I was being unreasonable in asking him to clean the mess HE made. I was NOT going to let a fit throwing toddler-like teenager believe I would back down and do it myself. This child IS going to learn that HE is responsible for his behaviors and actions. Thirty minutes later he finally sat down and shut up and I opened the door. He washed the rug. Sort of.
This is what we get. Always. It would have been easier to just throw the damn rug away. I could've cleaned the floor myself. (Adam actually cleaned the floor and wall and sink). I could've said absolutely nothing to him today and avoided all of this. In fact, I have done just that before because sometimes I just don't have the energy to deal with it, but he is almost 13 years old. This has GOT to stop because, HELLO ADULTHOOD COMING. Plus, I just don't know how much more I can take.
He had a psych appointment last week. My husband took him for the first time ever. He explained to her how we are reaching a breaking point and she prescribed yet another medication. That makes three now. So far I can't tell it's making any difference. I bought a bunch of essential oils for a ton of money that someone else swore worked so well they were able to quit the meds. I swear it made him worse. At least they smelled good. I have cut out dyes and gluten and artificial everything and still, here we are. We will never enjoy an evening or a weekend or a family vacation or even a rare snow day because this is what we get during the hours he is here.
I love him, but I don't like this.
I want a good snow day.
Edited to add……two hours later…..
He is up in his room and I hesitate before calling for him to come down to get his folded laundry to put away. I could just do it myself tomorrow, but I don't want to so I brace myself and ask him to come down. He waited a bit but finally came, I held out the stack of clothes and told him I wanted them put up and he answered, "Yes Ma'am" and took them up. Of course I haven't gone up to check that they aren't on the floor, but no fight. This is the conundrum with him……Before the meds = hell; After the meds= not always so bad. BUT…BUT….BUT…..I know if I'd woken him this morning, told him if he got through the day without fighting, raising his voice, or complaining we could go to Game Stop, then he would have been wonderful. I know, because I've done it before. Ugh.
At least we were then able to have cocoa and cookies for lunch. He declined.
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