(you know, like the song by Talking Heads... "this is not my beautiful house! This is not my beautiful wife!")
I'm listening to the song "Get a Grip" by Aerosmith right not in an attempt to do so... don't know if it will help, but a little Steven Tyler won't hurt my mood.)
My son... my son. Ahhhhhhh, f***.
... just got off of a full week of great gobs of attention from his great-aunt and -uncle, in a different state, where it was really HOT, and they spent a lot of time indoors, and he watched a lot of television.
... just spent a morning at his preschool where one of the kids who is frequently the most violent was in fine form, and it always leaves me asking, "why do you continue to enroll this child? You're a private preschool. You are not obligated to take everybody, even if their parents are native speakers and there are no other options for immersion preschool in this language in the area."
... got up at 6:15 or so this morning.
... has a mama who right now has been feeling sick to her stomach for 2 months, and who feels like the blood in her veins has been infused with lead. Even walking around the block makes me feel exhausted. I'm considering raiding Jo's Floradix to see if it makes a difference.
... is readjusting to spending his time during the day with me, and not with Jo and great-aunt and great-uncle and, to some extent, grandma (but I heard she was actually pretty disengaged with him).
He has just been such a little *@(! today. Getting to preschool was fine, he even got to eat his lunch with his classmates, which is a Big Deal, and coming home and watching Mr. Rogers was good too, but after we had a little snack after that (which he helped himself to out of the fridge, eh, so what), he started getting positively awful. Singing along to the album he asked me to put on in this ugly, horrible voice which I KNOW children do because they think it's funny but it gets him all wound up, and then he starts throwing toys around, and goes up to the cat and does something that more closely resembles pounding on her than petting her. That's usually my trigger is the cat. But he has no mechanism for calming himself down, and everything that I do to try to get him to calm down makes him more violent. A naughty stair? He moves around and around to see just how far he can push me. A spot on the floor? same as above, usually reaches out and hits me. Being held on my lap firmly (but not causing pain)? He scratches, pinches, hits, bites, wiggles and slams his head backwards/sideways/whichever way he needs to to cause pain.
Who is this kid? I do not scream at him. I do not hit him, ever, despite being sorely tempted because I think it would be the only thing that would break through his big tantrums and violent spells and shock him out of whatever that zone is that he's in, and plus I secretly feel like it would make him so upset that he'd want me to comfort him, and I ache for him to want to come to me and cry on my shoulder and get love because it seems like all of the interactions lately have been negative. Any physical affection I get is fleeting and has to have an element of silly combined with it - or just plain mean crap, like here, I'll hug you, but before I let go, I'm going to pull your hair.
I do not do this to him. I try so hard. I see these wonderful young people - the class I first met in 1st grade is graduating 8th grade this week at the school where I used to teach, and all those kids are just so awesome, and sweet, and kind and good and smart and beautiful and I can't understand what I'm doing WRONG, what is wrong with me as a mother, why doesn't my child listen to me, why do all of my neighbors' kids do what their mothers tell them, why don't they talk back or say no or run away?
Maybe I'm just destined to have a kid who is an obnoxious brat? But why can't he be nice to me like the angel he is at school?
Jeez, I'm so exhausted. After I came downstairs and found him shredding the newspaper and just snapped, I picked him up and put him in the car. I figured in his seat he would be restrained. I wouldn't be able to touch him and he wouldn't be able to touch/damage/break/rip/hit/bother anything. He seemed really excited that we were going somewhere, and then fell asleep within 2 minutes.
Obviously, he was tired, which was feeding his behavior. And luckily we ended up on a parkway and I was able to pull over and sob, and got myself under control enough to be able to drive back home before someone saw me bawling in the car and call 911 because they thought something was really wrong. No, just a pregnant lady with a preschooler testing her every limit.
I wish I could figure out what to do with him to get him to calm down, but there is no room in this house that would be safe from him. The bedroom is the closest but I am uninterested in refolding and hanging all of his laundry because I could see him just taking everything in the closet off of hangers and out of drawers and throwing it all over the room just because he knows it would tork us off.
Heck, I bet he would rip open a feather pillow to strew the feathers everywhere because he knows that wanton destruction of stuff really makes me mad, whether it's an anthill, a flower, anything. He LOVES to see me react to that and I can't pretend "gee, that doesn't bother me that you just smashed the picture of our friends". He will find something on the floor and just smash it, instead of setting it back down, or handing it to me, or whatever. Oh, gee, there's a butterfly! Think I'll STEP ON IT. WHAT THE HE(!#(#$*!#(_)@($*)(*!!!!!
Help. *sniffle* I can't figure out for the life of me how I could ever have thought that having two children would be a good idea. I am feeling so doomed right now.