He is Visual

I am finally catching on to one truth about Shark Boy. He is visual. I tell him often that I love him, I show him all the time that I love him, and YET he believes that I love him when I look happy. He tells me that when I look like I am mad, I hate him. Actually, when he is stressed out, any look of slight frustration tells him that I hate him. It is freakishly black and white for him.

Often when I'm tired and acting like it (Hey, I'm not a robot), he asks me, "[Do] you hate me, Momma?" "No, honey. I always love you. I never hate you."

Showing some hope for progress, he'll sometimes tell me, "Oh yeah, I remember. I think you're tired. [Are] you just tired, Momma?" "Yes, honey, I'm just tired."

Needless to say, those acting classes in college are paying off. I'm getting really good at my (fake) happy look.

Birthday Party Success

Good day...Sharkboy attended a classmate's birthday party. Best part was that he did it without me. I hung around for a minute to make sure all was well. He was wanting to cling to me a little and I knew I had to get out of there if he was going to be successful. It helped my peace of mind that the birthday Mom works in special ed at their school.

So I got out of there and it worked!!! Such an ordinary thing for neurotypical kids, but not for Sharkboy. This was a day to remember. (:

Feels like a Bad Dream

Monday evening was bad.
Tuesday evening was bad.
Wednesday evening was the worst.

Sharkboy is adjusting back to school after spring break.He holds himself together during school and then, about an hour after he comes home from school, it starts. Something goes wrong and he can't cope. He's whining, then he's crying, then he's stimming (repetitive behaviors). I'm trying to distract him, calm him down, reason with him. I try ignoring him. His brother and sister try to play with him and pull him out of it.

But now he's stuck. Whatever it was that went wrong has become larger than life. He's wailing, wailing, wailing. He can't stop himself. He's frantic, spitting out 7 year old profanity ("Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!") All communication becomes incoherent.

On Wednesday (the worst night), he even progresses to punching the walls, the nightstand. He is completely out of control and I grab his arms to restrain him. I'm screaming now, "What are you doing? Stop it! Just stop it!"

He throws himself on his bed, wailing like a wild dog. I rush out of the room, knowing I have lost control. I pace in the other room, trying to get a grip.

Daddy pulls up in the driveway. I call out to him, "Hurry, need you in the psych ward...ASAP!" He saves the day, but in my heart, nothing feels saved. Everything feels horrible and ruined.

This morning I helped out in Sharkboy's class. I smile at the kids, reviewing their spelling words. I love helping and I'm good with kids. But I keep remembering last night. How can I reconcile who we were last night with this sweet picture of the 1st grader and his doting Mommy helper? It feels like a bad dream.

Tonight is going well.
He's doing good...so far...we're doing good.
Tonight.