the real reason.

it's good that i had so many pictures to post this morning.

it was cooling-down time.

because the real reason i came to this forum is something more than happy photos.

yesterday i came across a stack of paperwork that i've needed to fill out for ossi. questions like, "what are your most pressing concerns?" and "does your child exhibit the following behaviors? check yes or no." i feel as if i've filled out these same papers and surrendered them to doctors at least five times already.

if they were to check for inconsistency in my descriptions of the situation i'm sure they'd find every reason to suppose i am nuts. because it is just never the same with him.

so i sat with the papers sprawled around me and i kept thinking, "well, he was doing this, but that was a while ago, so do i put it down?" and "i think he's better now, so should i just call and cancel this appointment?" i talk myself in and out of getting help. getting help is hard. and there's always the chance that he's just fine and i'm just not strong enough to deal with his "strong-willed" personality.

a couple of hours after putting the papers down i walked into the kitchen and he was pacing across the counters, brow furrowed, hands like rocks. his words don't always tell the story. it's his body. he strains his voice to speak louder, angrier, to bully me. i have to stand in front of him and act calm and confident that he'll make the right choice, but inside i'm afraid he's about to hurt me. he won't hear me. suddenly he's invincible and all powerful. he demands to be the center of my universe. i try all of the tactics i've read about or learned in therapy, and thankfully, although nothing i do seems to help him, i keep calm until a half hour later when he unclenches his fists.

why did that happen? he's been doing so well. i haven't been feeding him junk. i've been taking time to make sure all of his needs are met. what more can i do? what's different about this moment?

he's back to normal. so we get in the car, hours later, to go on a little outing. he starts laughing manically. at first it's infectiously funny, but then the flags start to go up and i say to myself, "i think this is one of those things. i think he's about to lose it." i calmly make simple requests. he's not listening. he unbuckles, hops out of the car, runs inside and up the stairs. "we need to go now," i call up to him. i see his face and he's doing that laugh again. that's not a real laugh. that's something else.

we finally get him back into the car and we start to drive. suddenly he's out of his belt, balancing on the top of my seat back, laughing that horrible laugh. i grab him. i can feel myself starting to falter. i open the car door and step out telling matt that we're going home and we'll see everyone later. i spend a lot of time alone with just him while the others go live.

now we're home and he does everything. everything. he tries to lock me out. he tips over every chair. he moves the table and claims to have trapped me, threatens to break all of my stuff. i calmly respond, "nice try." this technique worked to deflect his angry words for a day but now he screams at me, "STOP SAYING THAT!"  he runs away, down the street. i go get him. somehow i'm still calm. he paces on the table while i try to cook him dinner. "i hate you," he says. "you are the worst mom, ever," he says. "when i buy my army they will kill only you." i ignore it unless he demands a response and then i say, "nice try" in my calmest tone. "AHHHHHHHRRRG!" he picks up a ceramic bird and quizes me about it. he's gaging my attachment to that possession. when he smashes it he wants it to hurt me, but not too much. as hard as i try to keep a poker face somehow he can tell. he just knows these things. he throws the bird to the ground and keeps his eyes on me as it shatters.

i think it causes me a great deal more stress than i realize trying to keep my emotions from bubbling over. i think if things keep going like this i might become completely callused. heartless. that's how i start to feel, like i'm cold inside. at least i'm not screaming or spanking. i just keep cooking.

then suddenly it's over. and at my request he puts the table back. props up the chairs. grabs the broom and starts to sweep bird chunks. he even realizes he's forgotten to put the broom away when he's done and goes out of his way to gingerly set it in its corner. "sorry i broke that." jovially. "i'll get you a new bird, mom. i think you would like a yellow one this time, because yellow is your favorite. i will keep my eyes open for one just like that other one only better because it's yellow." then the car pulls back up and everyone is home again.

did that really just happen? nothing has changed. except my bird is gone. unseen damage, though. a sliver of my love for my family is gone, too. the hardening of my heart isn't selective. i am plunged into depression. i retreat. how can i escape? i'll sit at the computer. or i might doodle a little (though that takes passion and i have none left). my body is awake, but my spirit has gone to sleep.

matt tells me to go ahead to bed. he wonders why i am acting so weird. and i just can't explain it.

in the middle of the night ossi wets the bed. i am not actively employing my patience powers. i can't remember plan A, B, or C for all of his crap. i tell him to go change his clothes. he won't without me. he threatens, "i guess i'll just go wake finn up." again, it's not the words. it's not about the scenario, it's about the weapons he deploys and about my crumbling defenses. matt had last nights shift and turns to me, "it's easier just to do what he wants." i get up. i look everywhere for some suitable attire but his tastes are too selective for the current availability. i toss some shorts his way and head toward bed. he yells, "you never do ANYTHING for me!"

that breaks me. so i climb into bed and tell matt i'm tapping out. he tells me i'm just not being patient enough and he gets up and does a marvelous job with him. then i lay in bed and imagine terrible things like what my life would be like without ossi. i imagine opening up my window and jumping out and not coming back. i imagine my options, as if i had any. i think, i should read the scriptures and immediately the verse, "if ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren  ye have done it unto me" comes to mind and i never want to touch the scriptures again.



this is about to sound really "messed up" so you may want to check out if you want to go on thinking that i'm a nice (albeit frustrated) person.

i'm beginning to postulate that there are some disabilities that are difficult but very rewarding to deal with. like if you have a child with a physical handicap i'm sure there are so many heartbreaking moments, but you'd know that everything you were doing was for their benefit. people would look at you and say, "well, what a sweet mother, taking care of that precious child."

you know those videos that circulate like the one on facebook with a brother who pulled his disabled sibling through a triathlon? isn't it inspiring? my kids get verbally abused and attacked by their brother and forgive him every time. wouldn't that make a great video?

ossi's disability (if you'll indulge me while i call it that) is not cute. my parenting doesn't look sweet. usually it looks like i'm ignoring him and letting him get away with being rude. it's not inspiring and i'm so, so tired.

i have prayed about it many times and i always get a strong feeling that i was meant to be his mother, that Father entrusted him to my care for a reason that i can't totally understand right now.

but it still totally sucks.

so there are those papers that i filled out. and a meeting with a therapist tomorrow and an evaluation with several doctors in portland on thursday. and he might act totally normal and they might tell me that there's nothing wrong and that i'm not being patient enough.

but maybe not.

here's a lighter post from happier times.