So thanks to all of you who took the time to let me know you don't think I'm headed for the Shitty Parent Hall of Infamy. My last entry was written in a moment of serious desperation and weakness at the culmination of weeks of smaller moments of desperation and weakness. Since then, I've felt a little better. Not 'cause the Willdebeast has behaved any better--far from it. On Thursday, we had a long talk about how to behave and how not to behave. He managed to have a good--almost stellar, even--day right through lunch. He listened well, participated in activities, sat through story time, played well with others--the whole nine yards. Then, after lunch he walked down to the playroom, went purposefully over to one of the little girls (who was sitting on a bench, minding her own business and quietly reading a book), and punched her so hard she cried. Like someone flipped a switch.
I told him he was a bully. It hasn't sat well with him. Every once in a while, in the middle of some other completely unrelated activity, he'll get right up next to me, look me straight in the eyes, and say, "I'm NOT a bully, Mommy." Hey, Will--if the shoe fits.
After hitting rock bottom the other night, I got an email from Carla (my cooler headed best friend). Aside from being a not-so-casual observer, she has a masters degree in child psychology (I think that's what it's in, isn't it, Carla?), and gave me a page full of constructive, helpful suggestions. Because of that, Will now has an appointment for an early intervention screening evaluation on May 25th. This is a good thing.
In other news, because there MUST be some other news, mustn't there? We started an in-house freecycle program in our office yesterday, with an internal bulletin board on which people can post things they either want to get rid of or want to find. Since about 11:30 yesterday morning, I have unloaded a microwave, washer, and dryer (all "inherited" from Kirk's mom and/or dad without our having a need for them) and gained not one but two ChildLife swing sets--one with a fort and the other with a steering wheel and a curly slide. One of our doctors offered up the fort set and mentioned that her neighbors were trying to get rid of theirs, also, if we wanted to take both and hook them together. She called her neighbor when I said yes (resoundingly), and found out that they had already dismantled it and had hired someone to come and take it away to the transfer station TOMORROW. So Will gets two swing sets this weekend!
Now, if we just had a yard to set them up in...*
In other, other news...Ummm...yeah. Sadly, I've been sitting here trying to come up with some other other news that won't bore you all to tears or make you think that I've lost my ability to talk about anything but my child. Yep, I'm empty. I've become one of THOSE women, I guess.
Hey--wait--no, that isn't true! I do have something else. Kinda. I finished my first knitted thing that wasn't totally square. The messenger bag from Knitting for Peace. I know I should be taking photos of the things I make. Since this is the first project I've made for myself, I still have the chance. I'm ridiculously proud of it. Now, if I could just duplicate it, I'd have ONE Christmas gift finished...
*Long-time Jenistar readers know that what was once our backyard was turned into a giant mud football field by my overzealous husband and my stepbrother's backhoe. The "when your mom's yard is finished, ours will be, too" promise is a pretty empty one, since she may never finish her yard. Especially since she hasn't actually called the landscaper yet. Oh, and did I mention that the landscaping is truly the one thing standing between her and her occupancy permit? One phone call to start the ball rolling would do it. If the guy who was going to do it wasn't a personal friend of the family, I would call and pretend to be her. He knows her well enough, though, that I couldn't carry it off for long. Of course, he also knows her well enough that MY having to make the phone call to set up the meeting wouldn't surprise him, either...Kirk is ready to put a sign on her lawn that says, "Dear Marie--call Robbie! Love, the yard." Words cannot express how bad an idea that is.