This grown up gig is hard, harder than I thought it would be. I won’t lie I imagined my future to include a gorgeous Polynesian man who worshiped the very ground I walked on, 6 or 7 beautiful Poly hybrid babies, no worries and of course to be insanely happy. In my imaginary life raising my kids would be easy because they would be little angels who listened to their father and me and said Sir and Ma’am. And of course Autism, ADHD, ODD and all the other alphabet diagnosis would nerve deign to touch my perfect family. I never imagined it could be like this. I never imagined it would be this hard. I never imagined I would be doing this alone. My imaginator sucks! It seriously needs to go to the shop.

Any time there is a major shift in the pattern meltdowns are sure to follow. He began the new school about 3 weeks ago and they show no sign of letting up. He hasn’t acclimated to the new schedule; he still has anger about why he had to leave the old school, he thinks I think something is wrong with him and I am punishing him by having him in a contained environment… meltdown fuel. Because I give my complete attention to his needs during these meltdowns Romeo has started throwing temper tantrums that pull some behaviors from the meltdowns he has seen. He wants the same attention his older brother gets while his older brother doesn’t want my focus; he wants to be able to do some of the things his younger brother gets to do that he can’t. I can’t say go play out front to him or I will have to send out search parties. He doesn’t understand, hell I don’t understand half the time.

Sometimes I think it would be so much easier if I were made of the same stuff as that toy we had as kids, Stretch Armstrong. You could pull that sucker every which way and he just stretched on out and when you were down he slowly shrank back to his original form. I need that ability.

 

Stretch-Armstrong

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