I had just hired someone to tutor difficult child at home, and play sports with-him. One-on-one. Earlier today, difficult child called and asked me to pick him up early. I said yes. He said, "I love you, Mom." Of course, because he was getting his way. I picked him up and told him that he needed to get off my cell phone so we could talk. He intended to go straight home and play on the computer. Of course. I told him I had taken the controls away for everything because he was up at 3 a.m. He said I hadn't told him he couldn't have it. huh? He went into our bedroom and snuck out the controller, and he knows that we take everything away at night so he will sleep. He said I was a liar and he had never promised not to get up in the middle of the night to play games. (I'm sure there's some detailed, fine-tuned Aspie clarity in there but I am not in the mood to find a needle in a haystack.) Anyway, when I told him about the tutor, he really blew up. Got in my face and yelled "F*** you!" and "To H*ll with THAT! You can't control my life!" (I can't? Last time I checked, I was your mother.) Then he tried to goad me by saying that I never did anything as a kid and I didn't have a tutor so he didn't have to have one, and I never did sports or exercised, and blah blah, and I just ignored him. It was pretty funny. I never exercised? When I was in 5th gr, we had to walk to school (yup, I'm one of THOSE, "When I was your age, I walked in the freezing snow to school every day.") We played outside in the snow and it was a blast. We made forts, had snowball fights, made angel wings, ice skated, and if we were indoors, played indoor sports in the tiny cafeteria. Then we walked home. And shoveled the snow. The entire time, I was silent. Oh, and even the TV shows I watched were STUPID!!! He was SO mad! He said I didn't know him at all, and the only thing I could know for certain was that he absolutely hated my guts. Alrighty, then. The guy I hired is someone I met through a mutual writing friend. He wanted a ghost writer for his memoir of growing up during the war in Zimbabwe. (It's fascinating but it's too political ... it should be more personal, since it's told from a child's point of view, and I'm adding lots of details about food, farm life, the British school system, Apartheid, even the fruit bats he was afraid of as a kid, and the sound of helicopters overhead every day when they were in a concentration camp school.) They're downstairs right now at the DR table. This guy, L, can drive Chris to the YMCA and swim with-him, and even pick him up at school. This could be the emotional break I needed. When he was in HS after the war, they were forced at gunpoint to raise their fists in the air and chant slogans for Mugabe. He's not afraid of an ODD 12-yr-old. I'm sure difficult child will rage the min. he leaves, but at least he's learning something right now, and I'm getting a bit of time to myself. In an hr, I go to an open house for a nearby Catholic elementary school. difficult child is a square peg in a round hole at his current school and we want to move him.