It has been one of those days.
Morning. He's in what I think of as his "manic" mode. He goes to the fridge and pulls out the coffee creamer. Pours it into his sister's cup. I take it from him and gently say, "No, that's not for you." As I wipe the spilled creamer off the table and his hand he's angered. He grabs his cereal bowl, partially filled with milk and rice chex. He hurls it, soggy flakes raining down on the carpet and milk washing the table. I give him a firm spank on the bottom and put him in the corner.
Wiping the table and gathering disintegrating cereal from the carpet. Baby has crawled near to him and he's about to strike her. I quickly scoop her up and away to safety. We're late starting school, but first I must clean up this mess.
I read from the book while he crawls into my lap. He's overly affectionate and I feel bad that it bothers me. His head bores into mine and he kisses me repeatedly on the lips, his little hands holding both sides of my face. I. must. focus. on. him. The girls color and wait, as they have done before.
Therapist arrives. Oh happy day.
Naptime. He's in his bed, but strange sounds eminate from his room. Squeals at random moments. He comes close to sleep twice but it doesn't happen.
Bounding from his room, he heads straight for the pantry. "I want peen budr." I give him one spoon of peanut butter and some grapes. The grapes anger him. "I WANT PEEN BUDR."
We head out to the trampoline. The baby goes into her high chair with a treat and watches us from inside. He giggles hysterically as I crawl through the net. He pulls my hands and I start jumping. It's actually fun to jump with him for a while. But eventually I am worn out from being pulled down. Always being pulled down.
The girls want to run races in the house. This is okay. It keeps him happy and this is our goal.
In the kitchen, cooking dinner. He scrambles up to the counter. I really wish he couldn't do that. He's not supposed to come into the kitchen but it's hard to keep him out. He's fascinated with the stovetop, but I worry. "Come to mommy! Let's go out of the kitchen!" I reach under his arms to swing him towards me. He puts an extra
oomph into it and his knees crash into my ribcage. The pain is so thick I can feel it in my back. I double over and lean against the fridge. He is laughing, running, screaming.
Dinner time. Sloppy joes, sweet potato fries, corn. Daddy has practice tonight, so he is home very briefly and then gone again before we sit down. We pray and begin to eat. He pokes at the food. Stirs the ketchup with his fries. Leaves the table and wanders away. I go to him. "It's time to eat." Take his hand and lead him back. He takes his fork and begins to flick corn around the table. It's time for a new tactic. I get the cookie sprinkles from the pantry. "Eat a bite and you can have some sprinkles!" I say. He eats one bite and holds out his hand expectantly. Three more bites are consumed before he loses interest.
After dinner, we must get the older girls ready for Awana. I comb hair and button vests. He takes a Little People gas station and throws it at his sister's head. She is sobbing and he is laughing hysterically. He gets a swat on the behind again and has to apologize. He looks completely confused when I tell him
that hurt your sister. He is supposed to sit in the corner with his blanket. He sits for less than a minute before he streaks across the house, dumping toy containers. He picks up a hard-bound book and sends it flying through the air. It misses the baby by a fraction of an inch. He gets another spank and sits down. Immediately he gets a worried look. "I nego poddy." I sigh and open the bathroom door, flip on the light. He races in, laughing and pulling down his pants. He squeals and screams happily from the bathroom while I scramble to keep the baby from putting a cord in her mouth. Waiting for our friend to come pick up the girls.
He races from the bathroom, completely naked. He heads straight for the couch. This is normal, and I am expecting it. I race after him before he can plant a naked behind on the fabric. I strap on a diaper as it's getting close to bedtime.
Praise the Lord. He pulls my hair and laughs crazily.
It hurts. The baby is crawling quickly toward the open door of the bathroom. I shut it, but not before seeing the urine all over the seat and floor.
Why? I grab paper towels. The girls get picked up. I wipe up the mess and find some anti-bacterial wipes. He's found my computer and decided to throw it. He knocks over one dining room chair, then another. I stop him and see baby about to crawl into the bathroom again. I left the door open.
He is in serious need of a "re-set". I scoop him up and carry him up the stairs. Now he's angry. He bites my arm. He doesn't let go. It's so painful and I get angry too. But I know I'm seconds away from freedom. He has a doorknob cover over the inside of his door. I set him on his bed. "You need to have some time by yourself." He screams. I shut the door.
He's instantly fine. The room is a lifesaver. Sometimes I want to put him there more often. Last night I put him in there and he fell asleep before I got a diaper and jammies on. I regret that.
I head downstairs and finish wiping down the bathroom. Change the baby's diaper. Clean the table and put leftovers in containers. Put the baby to bed.
I get him out of his room. He has not fallen asleep; I'm relieved. We take his favorite
Cars book and curl up on the couch. He wants to read, yet he's still in his manic mode. He turns pages too quick and rips them. At least he stays in my lap. I'm grateful it's not a library book.
We head back to his room to put jammies on. Taking him anywhere is like herding cats. We finally get to the room and he knows what's coming. "Nooooooooo!" His mood flickers between desperation and joy. It's weird. He bounces into his bed with crazy giggles, then starts screaming.
I do the only thing I know to do. I put most of my weight on him as he lays down and start singing a hymn, quietly.
In Christ alone, I place my trust. He is my light, my strength, my song. I don't know who it's supposed to soothe, him or me. He bites at my sweater, more gently as the song goes on. By the end he is still moving erratically, but is calmer. "Goodnight sweetheart." I lean in to give him a kiss on the forehead and he slaps my face. "No!" It's times like this that hurt the most. I guess I'm wanting the overly affectionate boy now. It's time for me to leave.
As I sit in my chair and type this, I think about how much I love my little boy. I pray for him. And I feel desperate.
