I had another major fight with my wonderful problem child yesterday, but this time I won, but the victory was bittersweet. It all started because of Sunday Breakfast. I had made a casserole of eggs, sausage, hashbrowns and cheese, and told them Breakfast was ready, and went into my bedroom because I was still nursing a hangover from the swingers’ party I went to the night before.A few minutes later I heard both my sons arguing and to say I wasn’t in the mood for it is an understatement. Once again, they were fighting over food. You would think they way they fight over it they never get eat, but that’s not true, they’re both just greedy. I had baked the dish in a cast iron skillet, and it was simple enough to cut into quarters and everyone would have the same amount, but not with these two.
Shayne had given himself a piece and a half, and Steven was bitching about it, so I told them to bring their plates to me and I’d settle the matter, and distributed the food evenly. But they both were still arguing like little babies instead of the half-grown men they are, so I told them both to go stand in a corner in time-out for 5 minutes apiece.
Steven went over to a wall for his punishment and Shayne flatly refused, which didn’t go over too well with me. I followed him into his room, explaining to him oh yes he was going to stand up against the wall, because if he was going to act like a little child, I was going to treat him like one. I handled the situation pretty calmly considering I felt like slamming him in the corner and telling him just who the fuck does he think he is, but I had an Ace up my sleeve.
When Shayne was released from the “behavioral hospital” he signed a form saying that if he started displaying physical agression again, could have him readmitted. Also I had contacted the court-designated worker, at the suggestion of Children’s Services, about my son’s behavior as a fall back solution just in case he started getting violent again.
We’d gotten into another fight several days before and he grabbed my sleeve instead of my arm, which was his intent, but I ignored the incident. Also he had thrown a metal cooking utensil at his younger brother and it left a bruise, but I ignored that too, because I didn’t have enough details on the argument to decide who started what.
But this time when he became defiant, I wasn’t putting up with his bullshit anymore. I reminded him (OK, I screamed at him) that I not only could have his ass back in the hospital because of the fight with his brother, but I had another option too. I could have him thrown in Juvenile Hall for the bruise he left on his brother and if he didn’t get his ass in a time-out right now that’s just what I was going to do.
Apparently he recognized defeat, and stood up against the front door. He punched another hole in the wall the other day and I knew his fist could only make a dent in the door if he got pissed. I released his younger brother from his time out (smart kid) and told him to go wash the dishes while I sat in the living room to make sure Shayne complied with his “time-out”.
I sat there for 15 minutes while my son’s rage cooled down and the kitchen was cleaned. Then when his time was up, I sat them both down at the table, gave them equal portions on their plates and they ate in silence. For them it was over, but even with the meds, the whole debacle drained and depressed me and I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening in bed sleeping.
When I finally got up it was after 8pm and as 2Pac says in one of my favorite songs, “They try to say that I don’t care, I woke up and screamed fuck the world”. So I just stayed in bed re-reading a Steven King novel until both boys went to bed, waaay past their new bedtime of 9pm. That is to say I tried reading, but just couldn’t get into it, so I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
But instead I kept thinking about Saturday night’s party . . . but I’ll save that story for later on today.
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