I hate this day but it has finally arrived and I am so glad. Boy is 17 today. Every year Boy struggles for the weeks leading to his birthday. It is such an unpleasant time for all of us. I remind myself that his angry words and obnoxious behavior are not personally directed at me. I remind myself that he is in pain and acting out because of some past trauma. I remind myself that this difficult period is finite – it only lasts for a month. Any yet, every year I am amazed at how difficult this time is for all of us. By next July, I’ll be thinking, “Why do I dread Boy’s birthday so much? How bad can it be?”
I wake Boy up at 5:30am with a birthday wish. He asks for his five more minutes, which is part of our daily routine. I grant him his five more minutes as I do every morning. Boy teaches Mom: Respect the Routine. Soon we are in the kitchen eating breakfast and discussing his birthday. We have already discussed each step of his birthday celebration several times but he needs to hear it over and over. Furthermore, after each step, we have to review the steps that have already occurred and those that are yet to occur. I’m not sure why this process is so important to Boy. Is he reviewing to remind me or to remind himself? Does he think there’s a better chance that they will actually occur if we continually review the steps? Does the sum of the steps have to equal some value in his mind? I don’t know the answers. I just know that this process brings content to Boy so I participate year after year.
Yesterday, Boy slept from 3:30pm until this morning with a short break for dinner. I prefer that he sleep to escape his feelings than tantrum, which has been his typical behavior for years. Even though we hardly interacted yesterday, each interaction was filled with anger, swearing, and threats. He was so determined to fight. He flew off the handle every few minutes. It was so absurd that it was hard to take him seriously. And yet, he was intensely serious. At these times, I wish I knew what was going on in his head. Something about his birthday has him so tormented that he relives it year after year. I wish I knew.
Not only is today Boy’s birthday, but it is the day of his first mainstream test in four years. Since he slept most of yesterday, he didn’t do any homework. Just before we get started on the morning study session, we get a text alerting us to a birthday email gift that should be delivered soon. Boy is suddenly happy. Study sessions are so much easier when we are only battling the disabilities – not the anger and the disabilities. We complete a respectable study hour and Boy is off to school.
In the evening I attend high school open house. I have a chance to meet with Boy’s teachers and walk through his daily schedule. As I move from class to class, I am so proud. Boy is doing it. He is in mainstream classes because he demanded it and I listened to him. He told me what he wanted and together we made it happen. Tonight I am hopeful. Tonight I am laying my head down with a smile on my face.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Burrito Boy
I’m sitting in my car with tears streaming down my face. Boy is sitting on the curb with his skateboard asking if I have a tool so he can tighten his trucks. I’ve just pleaded, “I can’t do this anymore.” That’s when my voice cracks and tears break through. I watch a smile flash on Boy’s face. Then he looks down. We remain like that for 10 minutes. Then, I tell Boy I will buy him a burrito if he gets in the car. After another 10 minutes of silence, Boy stands up and opens the car door.
My day started at 3am when Boy walked in the door. I hugged him and told him I was so worried about him. He didn’t respond. I asked him to take his medication and brush his teeth. He did. We talked for awhile. Mostly Boy talked and I listened. He talked of being depressed and scared. He wouldn’t tell me where he had been all night. Earlier, I spent two hours driving around looking for him. He wasn’t in any of the usual places. By 5am we where were both in bed. I zipped off an email to work requesting the rest of the week off and drifted off to sleep.
I finally prodded Boy out of bed at 2pm. I tried at noon and again at 1pm, unsuccessfully. This is Boy’s first Mental Health day of the new school year. We did some Geometry and then Boy met with his psychiatrist for an hour. He walked out of the clinic two minutes ahead of me and disappeared. At this point, I am determined to keep him at my side for fear that he will disappear for hours if I let him out of my sight. I call and text his phone. No response. My blood pressure is rising. I am getting angry but trying to hold on to my patience. I’m losing my grip. Suddenly, it starts to rain which is totally a “god thing”. Boy calls me. He wants me to pick him up so he’s not caught in the rain. If nothing else, he has the good sense to get out of the rain. I scoop him up half a mile away and ask him to stay with me.
We stop for an errand and he tries to wander off. I ask him to get back in the car. He refuses. I try to wrestle him back in the car. I see the brief smile. Something about the struggle is pleasing to him. I demand his phone and music player, he becomes angry. We tousle and argue. He runs away. If I thought he would cool off for a couple hours and return home, I would let him go. But he has not come home before midnight in quite a while. He has school tomorrow and I intend to get him there fully rested.
I drive around looking for him. I’m not hopeful. If he doesn’t want to be found, he can easily hide from me. After some time, I return home to see if he’s there. I find him sitting on the curb with his skateboard. I ask him to get in the car. He refuses but he doesn’t move. He complains and swears and yells but still doesn’t move. I am at a loss. I’m frustrated and I don’t know what to do next. My gut tells me to leave him there. My heart tells me to stay. I ask him again to get in the car. Again, he refuses. My frustration mounts. With my voice cracking I call out the window, “I can’t do this anymore.”
After a burrito, we return home and tackle World History homework which is painless for both of us. Boy answers the questions and I write them down. We move on to Geometry and make good progress. By 10:30pm, Boy is showered, medicated, and in bed. As I climb into bed, I exhale.
My day started at 3am when Boy walked in the door. I hugged him and told him I was so worried about him. He didn’t respond. I asked him to take his medication and brush his teeth. He did. We talked for awhile. Mostly Boy talked and I listened. He talked of being depressed and scared. He wouldn’t tell me where he had been all night. Earlier, I spent two hours driving around looking for him. He wasn’t in any of the usual places. By 5am we where were both in bed. I zipped off an email to work requesting the rest of the week off and drifted off to sleep.
I finally prodded Boy out of bed at 2pm. I tried at noon and again at 1pm, unsuccessfully. This is Boy’s first Mental Health day of the new school year. We did some Geometry and then Boy met with his psychiatrist for an hour. He walked out of the clinic two minutes ahead of me and disappeared. At this point, I am determined to keep him at my side for fear that he will disappear for hours if I let him out of my sight. I call and text his phone. No response. My blood pressure is rising. I am getting angry but trying to hold on to my patience. I’m losing my grip. Suddenly, it starts to rain which is totally a “god thing”. Boy calls me. He wants me to pick him up so he’s not caught in the rain. If nothing else, he has the good sense to get out of the rain. I scoop him up half a mile away and ask him to stay with me.
We stop for an errand and he tries to wander off. I ask him to get back in the car. He refuses. I try to wrestle him back in the car. I see the brief smile. Something about the struggle is pleasing to him. I demand his phone and music player, he becomes angry. We tousle and argue. He runs away. If I thought he would cool off for a couple hours and return home, I would let him go. But he has not come home before midnight in quite a while. He has school tomorrow and I intend to get him there fully rested.
I drive around looking for him. I’m not hopeful. If he doesn’t want to be found, he can easily hide from me. After some time, I return home to see if he’s there. I find him sitting on the curb with his skateboard. I ask him to get in the car. He refuses but he doesn’t move. He complains and swears and yells but still doesn’t move. I am at a loss. I’m frustrated and I don’t know what to do next. My gut tells me to leave him there. My heart tells me to stay. I ask him again to get in the car. Again, he refuses. My frustration mounts. With my voice cracking I call out the window, “I can’t do this anymore.”
After a burrito, we return home and tackle World History homework which is painless for both of us. Boy answers the questions and I write them down. We move on to Geometry and make good progress. By 10:30pm, Boy is showered, medicated, and in bed. As I climb into bed, I exhale.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Early Morning
I wake at 1:45am Saturday morning to the sound of my front door opening. I call out, “Take your medication and get in bed.” Boy calls back, “I don’t take medication anymore. It doesn’t work.” As the parent of a teen with prescribed psychotropic meds, I’ve had very little experience with this refusal to take medication. Over a ten year period, Boy has rarely refused to take his medication. I get out of bed and meet Boy to assess his condition. I ask him how he is. He says OK. I tell him its not OK to be out until 1:45am. He says he needed to be out. I tell him he has missed his curfew by eight hours. I don’t know why I like to calculate that time difference and verbalize it. He says he didn’t plan on coming home at all and then changed his mind.
Boy hugs me. Weird. I hug back but mostly I’m sniffing, try to identify where my son has been and what he has been doing - through scent. I don’t smell smoke or alcohol - only body odor. It’s not horrendous, just typical teenage boy body odor. I ask Boy where he has been. He says, “Where do you think I’ve been?” I say I don’t know and ask again, “Just tell me where you were.” Boy responds, “Where do you think I was?’ I don’t want to play this teenage game of deflection. I tell him to go to bed. I head towards my bedroom silently willing Boy to follow my instructions.
But no. Boy wants to talk. He says he’s afraid of turning 17. He says he doesn’t know how to act 17 and its very close to 18. He says he’s depressed. He says he wants a new therapist since his last therapist moved on two weeks ago. I like that he wants to talk to me. I don’t like that he wants to talk to me at 2am. I let him ramble for a few more minutes. I remember being a teenager and having very important things to say in the middle of the night. There must be some physiological explanation for it. Boy is finally in bed.
It’s Saturday afternoon and Boy has been up for a few minutes. He takes his morning medication and eats breakfast. Boy asks me if he’s grounded today. I calmly say yes. Boy says, “Good, I was afraid I would be grounded all weekend.” This is a set up for a fight and I’m about to walk right into it. “Of course you’re grounded for the whole weekend. You got home at 1:45am - eight hours after curfew.” Boy challenges, “You’re lucky I came home at all.” And so it goes until Boy retreats back to his room.
At dinner time, Boy emerges from his room once again. Boy eats and asks what he has to do to earn his phone, music player, and free time - all of which were confiscated at 1:45am this morning. Homework. Before I will entertain any such discussion, he must do his homework. We start with Geometry. I say “we” because Boy has never been able to do work independently. I open Boy’s Geometry notebook and see that Boy has written the assignment on top of the page and numbered the page with the appropriate assigned exercises. I praise Boy for taking this initiative. Ours are little victories.
Boy completes two Geometry exercises and then shuts down. I ask him what’s wrong but he doesn’t respond. He turns away from me and draws himself in. I try to encourage him back to Geometry. When Boy drops to the floor and balls up against the wall, I close the Geometry book and open the World History book I’ve been reading to him for the past month. I read. Boy loves to be read to and he remembers almost everything he hears. History is Boy’s favorite school subject. Boy is taking SpED World History this year but the book I’m reading is entitled “Cracking the AP World History Exam“. Boy doesn’t know the title of the book. I’m reading it from my Nook so he can’t see it. I read for awhile and then take a break. Boy asks me to keep reading. By now he has moved to the couch and covered himself with a soft blanket.
Sunday morning Boy is up and asking how he can earn his phone, music player and free time. I tell Boy that I will not entertain this discussion until his homework is done. Boy grunts and storms away. I fire up the audio book we’ve almost finished - “1984” by George Orwell. I turn the volume extra loud so Boy can here it from his bed room. After 10 minutes, he joins me in the living room and asks me what he has missed. I rewind and we listen to the final hour of the “1984” together. By 4pm, Geometry and Conceptual Physics homework lessons are complete. I return the phone and music player to Boy and give him permission to attend his Sunday night young people’s meeting. I record it as a successful weekend.
Boy hugs me. Weird. I hug back but mostly I’m sniffing, try to identify where my son has been and what he has been doing - through scent. I don’t smell smoke or alcohol - only body odor. It’s not horrendous, just typical teenage boy body odor. I ask Boy where he has been. He says, “Where do you think I’ve been?” I say I don’t know and ask again, “Just tell me where you were.” Boy responds, “Where do you think I was?’ I don’t want to play this teenage game of deflection. I tell him to go to bed. I head towards my bedroom silently willing Boy to follow my instructions.
But no. Boy wants to talk. He says he’s afraid of turning 17. He says he doesn’t know how to act 17 and its very close to 18. He says he’s depressed. He says he wants a new therapist since his last therapist moved on two weeks ago. I like that he wants to talk to me. I don’t like that he wants to talk to me at 2am. I let him ramble for a few more minutes. I remember being a teenager and having very important things to say in the middle of the night. There must be some physiological explanation for it. Boy is finally in bed.
It’s Saturday afternoon and Boy has been up for a few minutes. He takes his morning medication and eats breakfast. Boy asks me if he’s grounded today. I calmly say yes. Boy says, “Good, I was afraid I would be grounded all weekend.” This is a set up for a fight and I’m about to walk right into it. “Of course you’re grounded for the whole weekend. You got home at 1:45am - eight hours after curfew.” Boy challenges, “You’re lucky I came home at all.” And so it goes until Boy retreats back to his room.
At dinner time, Boy emerges from his room once again. Boy eats and asks what he has to do to earn his phone, music player, and free time - all of which were confiscated at 1:45am this morning. Homework. Before I will entertain any such discussion, he must do his homework. We start with Geometry. I say “we” because Boy has never been able to do work independently. I open Boy’s Geometry notebook and see that Boy has written the assignment on top of the page and numbered the page with the appropriate assigned exercises. I praise Boy for taking this initiative. Ours are little victories.
Boy completes two Geometry exercises and then shuts down. I ask him what’s wrong but he doesn’t respond. He turns away from me and draws himself in. I try to encourage him back to Geometry. When Boy drops to the floor and balls up against the wall, I close the Geometry book and open the World History book I’ve been reading to him for the past month. I read. Boy loves to be read to and he remembers almost everything he hears. History is Boy’s favorite school subject. Boy is taking SpED World History this year but the book I’m reading is entitled “Cracking the AP World History Exam“. Boy doesn’t know the title of the book. I’m reading it from my Nook so he can’t see it. I read for awhile and then take a break. Boy asks me to keep reading. By now he has moved to the couch and covered himself with a soft blanket.
Sunday morning Boy is up and asking how he can earn his phone, music player and free time. I tell Boy that I will not entertain this discussion until his homework is done. Boy grunts and storms away. I fire up the audio book we’ve almost finished - “1984” by George Orwell. I turn the volume extra loud so Boy can here it from his bed room. After 10 minutes, he joins me in the living room and asks me what he has missed. I rewind and we listen to the final hour of the “1984” together. By 4pm, Geometry and Conceptual Physics homework lessons are complete. I return the phone and music player to Boy and give him permission to attend his Sunday night young people’s meeting. I record it as a successful weekend.
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