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Only 3 wks of school and already a mtng and a lie
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<blockquote data-quote="TerryJ2" data-source="post: 304229" data-attributes="member: 3419"><p>It got worse yesterday. difficult child had a football game. He's known about it for 2 wks.</p><p>I washed his clothes and he told me he knew where everything was.</p><p> </p><p>He, of course, was on the computer, having told me that he wanted to do his math homework with-his dad later on. Not a good idea, since the game would be over very late and dad wouldn't be available until that time.</p><p> </p><p>I called him 4X. I should have actually looked at him. At 6:20, when I was ready to walk about the door, I looked at him--still seated at the computer--and he was wearing only boxers. </p><p>"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING???!!!"</p><p> </p><p>So, he races around, trying to get everything together, and announces to me that his game pants are missing.</p><p> </p><p>OMG, I was ready to kill him.</p><p> </p><p>We looked behind both couches. In his drawers. In his closet. In the laundry (dirty and clean). In my car. In his sports storage box. After 25 min. we finally gave up. He wore his black practice pants, but everything else was fine. His team colors are royal blue, white and gold.</p><p> </p><p>In the car: "Mom, you'll have to buy me another pair."</p><p> </p><p>"I AM NOT SPENDING ONE MORE PENNY ON YOU!!!"</p><p> </p><p>"It was just a suggestion."</p><p> </p><p>Then, "You have to walk onto the field with-me, Mom, because the coach is just going to yell at me."</p><p> </p><p>"Good. I hope he does."</p><p> </p><p>Coach: "No, you can't play like that. What did I tell you b4 about being responsible for your stuff? It's up to you, not your mama." Then, in a surprise move, he told one of the assistant coaches to get an extra pair of blue pants out of his truck.</p><p>Wow! difficult child played!</p><p> </p><p>As I followed difficult child to the coach's truck, I started to cry. That was the last straw.</p><p>I had picked up difficult child from school, taken him for a smoothie, gone through his school scheduler, ironed all difficult child's school clothes (I HATE ironing!!!), and had been fighting a migraine all week and ran out of medications, and had gotten a massage an hr earlier. It worked--I had just gotten rid of the migraine. And of course, after rushing around with-difficult child, it started to come back. Nothing like stress to make life one big happy party.</p><p> </p><p>difficult child turned and saw me. I didn't care.</p><p> </p><p>I drove to the pharmacy and pd $27 for one Imitrex (it was actually the massage therapist's idea to buy just one, since ins won't let you refill the scrip more than once a mo, and cash is $250). </p><p> </p><p>Then I met up with-husband and gave him a list of stuff difficult child had done. husband said he'd go to the game, help difficult child with-his math, and get him to bed. Whew.</p><p> </p><p>I went home and found MORE stuff.</p><p> </p><p>difficult child had used the toilet and had a bowel movement. No toilet paper, no flushing, nada. Just a big stink. Ew.</p><p>He snuck low cal cookies into his sister's rm where the computer was. I lock my ofc to hide my snacks but he found a way in, obviously. He also had an empty yogurt container in there--also mine--which he knows he can't have because it has milk and the wrong kind of bacteria to help him digest it.</p><p>I was so mad!</p><p> </p><p>I can't remember the rest, but I ended up writing a list of things he had done and needed to do (incl. writing an apology and thankyou note to the coach), totally grounded difficult child off the computer forever (unless it's a school assignment), deleted his online games, defragged the hard drive, upgraded McAffee, typed in a new password, hid the mouse, hid the room key. </p><p>The Imitrex had kicked in. I was ready to hit the hay.</p><p> </p><p>difficult child and husband walked in. I pointed to the note and said, "Go over this with-your father. NOW. I"m going to bed."</p><p>"Why are you so mad?"</p><p> </p><p>(by the way, in typical Aspie fashion, this a.m. I asked difficult child whether he had gotten home at 9:15 or 9:30 last night, because I hadn't checked the time. He said, "9:33.")</p><p> </p><p>So for those of you who congratulated me on being strong, thank you, but I ran out of steam. I never went to the game, and I make it a point to go to all of difficult child's games. But I just couldn't stand one more minute with him. All I wanted to do was cry and sleep.</p><p> </p><p>I'm better today, but still drained. And I'm catching a cold. </p><p> </p><p>I'm going to take a nap. I find that detachment is much easier when I'm asleep. <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="TerryJ2, post: 304229, member: 3419"] It got worse yesterday. difficult child had a football game. He's known about it for 2 wks. I washed his clothes and he told me he knew where everything was. He, of course, was on the computer, having told me that he wanted to do his math homework with-his dad later on. Not a good idea, since the game would be over very late and dad wouldn't be available until that time. I called him 4X. I should have actually looked at him. At 6:20, when I was ready to walk about the door, I looked at him--still seated at the computer--and he was wearing only boxers. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING???!!!" So, he races around, trying to get everything together, and announces to me that his game pants are missing. OMG, I was ready to kill him. We looked behind both couches. In his drawers. In his closet. In the laundry (dirty and clean). In my car. In his sports storage box. After 25 min. we finally gave up. He wore his black practice pants, but everything else was fine. His team colors are royal blue, white and gold. In the car: "Mom, you'll have to buy me another pair." "I AM NOT SPENDING ONE MORE PENNY ON YOU!!!" "It was just a suggestion." Then, "You have to walk onto the field with-me, Mom, because the coach is just going to yell at me." "Good. I hope he does." Coach: "No, you can't play like that. What did I tell you b4 about being responsible for your stuff? It's up to you, not your mama." Then, in a surprise move, he told one of the assistant coaches to get an extra pair of blue pants out of his truck. Wow! difficult child played! As I followed difficult child to the coach's truck, I started to cry. That was the last straw. I had picked up difficult child from school, taken him for a smoothie, gone through his school scheduler, ironed all difficult child's school clothes (I HATE ironing!!!), and had been fighting a migraine all week and ran out of medications, and had gotten a massage an hr earlier. It worked--I had just gotten rid of the migraine. And of course, after rushing around with-difficult child, it started to come back. Nothing like stress to make life one big happy party. difficult child turned and saw me. I didn't care. I drove to the pharmacy and pd $27 for one Imitrex (it was actually the massage therapist's idea to buy just one, since ins won't let you refill the scrip more than once a mo, and cash is $250). Then I met up with-husband and gave him a list of stuff difficult child had done. husband said he'd go to the game, help difficult child with-his math, and get him to bed. Whew. I went home and found MORE stuff. difficult child had used the toilet and had a bowel movement. No toilet paper, no flushing, nada. Just a big stink. Ew. He snuck low cal cookies into his sister's rm where the computer was. I lock my ofc to hide my snacks but he found a way in, obviously. He also had an empty yogurt container in there--also mine--which he knows he can't have because it has milk and the wrong kind of bacteria to help him digest it. I was so mad! I can't remember the rest, but I ended up writing a list of things he had done and needed to do (incl. writing an apology and thankyou note to the coach), totally grounded difficult child off the computer forever (unless it's a school assignment), deleted his online games, defragged the hard drive, upgraded McAffee, typed in a new password, hid the mouse, hid the room key. The Imitrex had kicked in. I was ready to hit the hay. difficult child and husband walked in. I pointed to the note and said, "Go over this with-your father. NOW. I"m going to bed." "Why are you so mad?" (by the way, in typical Aspie fashion, this a.m. I asked difficult child whether he had gotten home at 9:15 or 9:30 last night, because I hadn't checked the time. He said, "9:33.") So for those of you who congratulated me on being strong, thank you, but I ran out of steam. I never went to the game, and I make it a point to go to all of difficult child's games. But I just couldn't stand one more minute with him. All I wanted to do was cry and sleep. I'm better today, but still drained. And I'm catching a cold. I'm going to take a nap. I find that detachment is much easier when I'm asleep. :) [/QUOTE]
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