So relieved,

today I was talking with one of my instructors and I don't know how the topic of my son came up and suddenly we were discussing the fact that I have him in speech therapy. He asked me a couple of questions and told me that his son had had exactly the same problem. Then he urged me to have him tested by the county and put into the PLACE program which is exactly what I'm attempting to get done. Finally, another parent who can understand where I am and what I'm going through. They boys (Oren and Tristan) are almost identical in their behavior with the same reticence to speak in public because they knew they had speech and language issues. He said within a year they had Oren up to speed with the rest of his age group when at 4 1/2, he'd actually had the speech of a 2 1/2 year old.

There is a God. Now I just have to wait until August when he goes for his final evaluation. For the first time in my life, I actually want him to do badly at something that so the qualifies for the program. But I've felt a bit alone in the last few months and finally I'm beginning to see a glimmer of hope.

A budding vagrant

I am raising a budding vagrant. I've been distressed by many of the developmental milestones that my son either has not reached on time or seems to be way past. Speech is clearly my big issue - or rather language acquisition since he does speak. Up until 2 months ago, he took no interest in dressing himself and then suddenly he seemed to become independent overnight and wanting to dress himself. This has blossomed into the child wearing 3 and 4 outfits at a time. Today, he refused to take off his pyjamas. Currently, he's wearing pajamas along with a pair of long pants covered by a pair of shorts and two shirts over the pajama shirt. Rather than changing clothes, he simply wishes to keep adding to the garments he already has on. Then alogn with that, he has an obsession with all his yellow clothing, a red and blue pajama pant bottom and a blue shirt. He feels these items should be worn all together and daily.

Hmm, it's an interesting ride - I'm now curious at how another child would be - maybe it's time for Paul and I to work on number 2.

Fit to be tied

Sometime I believe between my 6th and 10th Birthday, I recall my mother telling me to get out of her sight because if I didn’t, she was going to open my head against the wall. As a small child, I clearly recognized that my mother was beyond pissed and smartly made myself scarce until she had summoned me once again into her presence. I could never fathom what could make a parent angry enough to feel murderous towards their child. I found out yesterday.

My munchkin really has been quite good for much of the time. He gets away with some things because of his speech delay but we are pretty hard on him trying to get him to speak, speak more clearly and use language as his tool towards getting things. He has made great strides and I do understand that his Dad and I are really the only ones who get 90% of what he says. As such he quite attached to us and wants to spend each waking moment knowing that we are within reach of him, with the exception of school which he goes to quite readily.

So yesterday after spending quite some time interacting with him in the morning, I decide to take a shower and wash my hair and even put it in rollers. Once this was complete and I realized the munchkin was still okay, I put on one of his favorite Sesame Street Alphabet DVD’s and gave him the cereal which he asked for. I then decided to go and check my email. He kept coming in to check with me to make sure all was well. After about 20 minutes, I shut down the computer and step out in the living room.

Something is clearly wrong. The munchkin looks terrified, his eyes are scrunched up like he’s about to cry and he’s declaring that he needs to pee. I calmly tell him to go pee while I glance around looking for the devastation since this behavior usually indicates that all is not well. What I find sends me in apoplectic shock. The child is taken a permanent magic marker and colored on over 6 surfaces of the house, one in the master bedroom, one of the living room wall, one on the dining room wall, one of the entrance hallway and on 3 of the alcove walls to the second bathroom. I am fit to be tied. I looked at him and didn’t see the cherubic lovely little yummy that I normally see. Instead I see just 45 lbs of destruction.

Fortunately, I remember the one rule to prevent child abuse. Never even discipline your child when you are angry. From across the room, I yell at him to go sit in time out and I call his Dad immediately. I am yelling on the phone while his Dad is calmly telling me he understands and that I should just get it out of my system so that by the time I spoke to the child, I’d be rational. At this point, tears are streaming down the child’s face and he’s nervously gnawing on his nails because he knows he’s in so much trouble. So much so, that when I get off the phone and go hunting for the offending crayons (which he’s strategically hidden under the couch), he begin to try and reason with me because he knows that I’m in no mood for the foolishness. On top of that he’s placed his hands beneath his butt because he knows that in all likelihood he’s going to get slapped in his hands. I decided to do worse than slap his hands, I’m going to leave him in time out for a looooooooong time and worse yet, no TV, Tapes or DVD’s for the remainder of the day. The only drawback is that we had a birthday party later that day but even that would be torture for his since it was a Dora party and he’s not a Dora follower.

So I take my husband’s advice and go hunting for nailpolish remover and hairspray. Needless to say my $14/can of Sebastian hairspray is now done as is the remnants of my nailpolish but I’ve cleaned every wall except the two largest areas on the dining room wall and the entrance hallway. By the time I’d finished the areas I could, it had been two hours…he’d been in time out that entire time. I kept moving him from one spot to another so as to not expose him to the fumes which I got in full dose so much so that I got a headache and began to feel quite high. Who needs glue when you have nail polish and hairspray?

So I’ve managed to remove the offending black scribbles from the wall, but now the wall has a dull luster wherever I treated and Paul is sighing because he’ll now be painting the house again. I told him that it was fine and we’d live with it but I know that by Christmas, there’ll be a fresh coat of paint on the walls.