I realized I hadn't posted all of June, so figured I better get in gear.
It's been a hard June.
I always love having Jacob home for the summer, but this summer just isn't enjoyable. There is some sort of issue every single day. He spends a great portion of his time either tattling on his siblings or screaming at them for some infraction against him, either legitimate or made up in the recesses of his constantly cycling brain.
I had plans of homeschooling twice a week and spending lazy mornings at the pool but it all came to a screeching halt when very early on Jacob got mad at Adam for something I still am not sure about and called him a f*cking b*stard. Outside. At the park. In front of, oh, fifteen or our neighbors. That's the day our attic began bursting at the seams with every. single. toy he owned. The husband thought it would be a wonderful punishment and would have him behaving in a matter of days because Dr. Phil said so and, well, what Dr. Phil says must be gospel, right?
Guess who's really being punished?
That was June 1.
I remember that day because it was the day before I had to go in for an endometrial biopsy and was thankful for the large prescription of vicodin my oh-so-kind doctor provided me.
Did I tell you my Masters Degree has a specialization in Behavior Disorders?
What kind of karma is that?
I've reread all my old texts, copied chart upon chart, implemented a highly detailed behavior system for all minors in the house, and cracked the whip with zero tolerance.
Karma. It is a bitch.
Today is June 24. Jacob still has no toys. He has no television privileges. The Wii would be nothing but a memory if he weren't constantly reminding me how horrible his life is and how he will NOT behave until he gets it back. I am almost impressed with his resolve, but at the same time, what the hell dude? He honestly thinks we are supposed to return his things and THEN he will behave.
Needless to say, things are ugly this June.
I made an appointment with the only psychiatrist with an opening before fall at the urging of his therapist. She thinks he suffers from Anxiety along with the severe ADD and, well, maybe he doesn't really have ADD at all but Aspergers and, boy, does he need his medications monitored.
Today is Day Two of new medication Concerta.
My sister was here.
He took the two-dollar-a-pill Concerta, but he may as well have taken nothing at all. Oh my, the screaming. The hitting. The disrespect.
I gave it to him again today.
My sister went home. I can only imagine the conversation in the car as they drove away.
We're supposed to go on vacation next week.
I just don't see how much fun being trapped in a hotel room for three nights will be with him.
My mom has offered to babysit him right along with the dog and the cat, but as much as he is pissing me off right now, it's still our family vacation and I just don't yet feel like I can do that. I want us to go and bond together, but I'm afraid. Even the free pedicure and massage is not enough to make me feel like a trip will be a good idea.
I love my son. Really, I do. But you know what? Sometimes I just want him to be normal. I want kids to come over a second time. I want kids not to laugh at him. I want adults not to tsk-tsk me. I want to be able to drive down the road and not be yelled at the whole way. I want to be able to chat with a friend and not have to get up every two minutes to pull him off of her kid. I want to have a good night's sleep for once instead of waking up in a sweat wondering what will happen next. I know things could be much worse, but I didn't sign up for this. In my wildest dreams I never thought this was what having a child would be like. Oh, I knew there would be trials now and then, but every day? I'm tired. And sad. And sometimes wishing there was a rewind button.
This saga is just beginning I am afraid.
Say a prayer.
Day One Hundred Eighty-Eight
13 hours ago