There’s no nice way to put it, no spin on it that makes it sound like I’m having so much fun I forgot to sleep.
I’m tired. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to be cranky. I HATE knowing when I’m going to be cranky, because I usually then go out of my way to try and NOT be, but it ends up that I’m worse then before I started.
I’m going to tell you why. But you have to promise you wont judge me for it. If you don’t think you can read this without judging, here’s your out… click this to be directed to something a little softer for a Monday morning. Airing my personal matters on a blog?? The shame!! But.. you’ll soon see why only a few of my real life peeps are included in the venting circle.
Friday started with the 2 headed fire breathing creature that has inhabited my oldest son’s body being put on House Arrest for violating the terms of his probation. Thats right. I’m a parent who’s kid has chosen to rebel in pretty much ANY way possible, and this is where we are. (remember… you can’t judge me… you promised!)
Why he’s on probation isn’t important to my cranky-ness right now, so I’m not going to bother with it.
Hang on… actually Friday started at 12:30am, with the cops at my door after we filed a missing person’s report Thursday night when, thinking it would be good to break his court mandated curfew, he decided he’d sleep at a friends house. The cops tracked him down, and 12:30am they were verifying that he was BACK at home.
Friday he met with his probation officer, who told him he was on house arrest for the weekend. The Eldest one, in his infinate teenage knowledge, looked at his P.O. and said “Nope, I’m not. I have a party I’m going to tomorrow, I’m not going home.”
Friday night he was home by curfew. So McHubby and I thought, well, at least he’s home. And we tried to sleep. Except that Eldest was acting like a monkey at the zoo, pacing, ratteling the bars to see if there’s a weak spot. So obviously, we didn’t sleep too well, waiting to hear the sound of a door closing.
Saturday morning started with a refreshing bout of screaming and tantrum throwing, followed by a quick fist through a bedroom wall, and our friends in the white and blue cars were back. We were given a 48 hour window to talk to his P.O to see if we needed to press charges for the destruction of property (again!) or if we could just go on how the rest of the weekend went to see what the P.O would do. (still on house arrest here, remember)
Saturday we had errands to run. We went out, and when we got back, no kiddo. We knew the party was on, and figured he’d be home after it. We didn’t figure that would equal pounding on the door at 1 AM to be let in,complete with thug attitude dripping from every inch of him. So… no sleep that night.
Sunday we went to church (kiddo would usually have had to come with us, but house arrest =’s no acceptions). We got back from church, no kiddo. McHubby and I decided to do a little redecorating while he was gone. 50″ Tv in his room? gone. Chair he hid his smokes in and threw around when he was mad? gone. Lamps on his night stand that are a perfect size and weight for throwing? gone. Door he used to slam and lock us out while he slipped through the bathroom window? gone.
Looking through your son’s room, trying to decide what he could use as a weapon is a hard thing. To try and fit your head around this person he was at the moment, does nothing but make you wonder what can he be thinking?
March 9th, our son was handcuffed and removed from our house. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to witness. One of the hardest things we’ve ever had to do was make the phone call that set that in motion. For 21 days, he sat in custody, going to school there, eating, sleeping there, and attending counselling sessions there.
There was work for us to do during that time too. We had to attend counselling sessions, group sessions, family sessions, all of which were informative, none of which were easy. During these sessions we’d hear how he did for the week, we’d learn about his goals he had set for himself, and read an essay a week about how he was feeling.
The first week, the essay was about how everything was my fault. The arguing, his crimes against the state, all of it my doing. The second week, his counsellor sat down with us and told us that kiddo had finally owned up and admitted that it WASN’T my fault, that we’d only ever had 1 fight, and that he wasn’t right to say it was all my fault. We opened up that weeks essay, and it was all McHubby’s fault.
There was no acceptance of blame on his part. His counsellors had been calling him on it since he got there, that nothing was HIS fault. That group counselling session, his counsellor looked him straight in the eye and said do you know how many people in here would kill for what you have sitting at this table? You have a dad and a mom who love you, who are here asking what they can do to support you, to help you. You have this woman who I’m not even comfortable calling Step-mom. She loves you, she’s taken care of you since you were a baby. She’s your mom! This is your dad! and they love you and want you home.
Man did we cry. All of us! Big ol’ bawl fest, right there in the group room.
And now, 13 days after he got out, we’ve had the cops at our house twice, talked with his P.O way more then we ever did before, and last night? When he finally came home at 12:30, and I couldn’t sleep because you never really know when the next wave of anger from him will hit, McHubby rolled over and asked if I’d sleep better if the baseball bat we keep in our bedroom were on my side of the bed. That is where we’ve gottten.
Locks on our bedroom doors, circling the block before we come home to see if there will be people we don’t know there when we get there. Bad dreams about fights, and guns, and all kinds of things unimaginable. locking up everything of value before we go out.
This is NOT what we wanted for our happily ever after. This is NOT the life we wanted for The Eldest. This is NOT the environment we wanted for our youngest. This is NOT how we wanted to spend the months before baby time.
Maybe now my rant about parents who have no clue telling us what to do, or asking about The eldest and then the rest of us as an after thought, is a little more understandable. We are all once jumbled up entity, there is no him or us. His actions affect us, our actions affect him.
And annoying actions? They just make me cranky.
Tomorrow I promise… no cranky… I have some pics I’ve been waiting to show off. We got something… I won;t tell you what, but cute doesn’t even begin to describe…
Ok… maybe one little hint…
It starts with P and ends in Uppy!!!