Another parenting lesson

So. It's been the kind of day that leaves me mixing peanut butter and powdered sugar in a bowl and eating it straight up. Yeah, kids push me to do things I never thought possible. And not always in a good way.

Today is the day when all of my parenting ideas collided head-on, and in the resulting wreckage, people were hurt.

I have written about Sander before -- about how much I struggle with how to parent him, and about the rules I've had to make for myself to keep me sane and grounded while I'm on this journey.

And still, I have days where I'm just left on the floor at the end of the day, with no reserves of energy or brain power or kindness or cheeriness left, eating peanut butter "cookie dough" and shaking inside at what a disaster it was, and counting the ways I could have done it differently.

This move was hard on all of us, but it was hardest on Sander. He hates change the way cats hate baths. Last week I painted a kitchen stool a different color, to match the new kitchen. He refuses to use it until I paint it the color it was before. That's the way he is -- he likes what he likes. How the hell was I supposed to know that I wasn't allowed to paint a yellow step-stool red?

He hated our new violin teacher on sight. She was organized, together, strict, tidy, and a bit compulsive about obedience and rules.

"Shoes off when you enter the studio. Look at me when you talk, please. No yawning unless you cover your mouth. Oh, dear, tsk, tsk, even Mommy forgot to take her shoes off... That's the second time I've had to tell you about yawning. I know Scout's only two, but she has to learn to whisper when her brothers are having their lesson. That will be a quarter every time you yawn if I have to tell you again..."

Honestly, not a good fit for us at all. She intimidated even me, and I'm usually the overbearing scary one. However: She was a very, very good violin teacher, and after four months with no lessons, we needed to get back into it hard. 

My idea was that we'd work with her for one semester. I paid for the semester in advance (my first mistake,) and told her that Sander needed to be coaxed into trying new things.

"Pish-posh. He just needs structure and consistent discipline. He'll be fine with me. Sander has met his match."

After the first lesson, Sawyer was very happy, and Sander was in tears. Sawyer has issues with fine motor skills and needs a lot of help with violin. He's also cheerful, compliant, and sweet. The violin teacher loved him.

Sander? "I'm not going to listen to her, I'm not going to do another lesson, and I'm never going in there again, and you can't make me. And I'm selling my violin."

Fabulous. Now we've been set up for a showdown. This teacher says she knows what she's doing, and that if I let her work with Sander, she'll whip him into shape and he'll be fine. He says that he hates her guts and never wants to do another lesson with her.

My second mistake? I didn't follow my own rules. You know, the one where I say to listen to your kid?

I had this whole thing that if I just pushed him a little bit beyond his comfort zone, made him push his limits a bit beyond "I don't wanna," then maybe he'd be better off in the long run.

But at every lesson, it got worse instead of better. She wanted him to play using all four fingers. "But my old teacher said I only need three fingers."
"Sander, you need to play with four and I don't want to hear another word about it. That's the way we do it here."

Tears. Frustration. Refusal to practice. Bribes were used. A lot. Misery. And there was more of "I paid for the whole semester and it was a lot of money and your brother likes it so we're staying" than I'd ever like to admit.

And still, I insisted that he go to the last lesson today. Despite begging, pleading and tears, I asked him if he could just do one more lesson.

Fine, he said. As long as he didn't have to play with all four fingers.

Fine, says I. The teacher's a Suzuki teacher. We chose this because they're kind. They're easy-going. They're all about playing with love and joy. She's not going to be mean.

Wrong. It was doomed from the start -- he was hot. He was wearing the wrong pants and was itchy. He couldn't find his violin. He wanted a snack. And when we walked in, he had the look on his face that said, "Find a reason to make me hate you some more."

And when she said, "Play the first song, with all four fingers, please," he wouldn't do it. First, he pretended he couldn't. Then he just wouldn't. Then he just stood there and said, "Nooooooooo."

From there, it went downhill fast.

And that, people, is how my son got fired from violin.

By the end of the session, the teacher asked him to leave and told him not to come back. And she told me that after teaching for 40 years, she'd never had a more disrespectful, disobedient child.

And you know what? I don't care.

Because she broke every rule I had about parenting, and I should have stopped this in its tracks long ago. 

It's not disrespectful to say no. It's not defiant to say, "This is too much for me and it's new and I'm overwhelmed and I need you to guide me, not order me."

And if she couldn't hear that in a little boy's cries of "I can't do this and it's too hard," then she's the wrong teacher for my son.

I know there are parents who will say that I should have made him behave -- that this, in its essence, is the fault with homeschooling. That the entire point of education is to learn from difficult people, to learn to adapt to circumstances that are less than ideal, and to learn how to obey when asked.

I disagree completely. The entire point of an education is to learn about how to be a good human being who can find happiness and make the world a better place for other human beings.

Thus, violin lessons. Music, joy, self-expression, self-disclipline to help overcome the tyranny of our own wants and desires. There's nothing in this list about masochism, humiliation, or pain.

And it's my job to remember to have my kid's back. When he says something is wrong, it's my job to listen the first time.

There will be other times when he is faced with something that feels like too much, and I will still have to navigate the fine line between, "Yes, you can do this, go on, even if it's scary," and "I'm making you do something that's way out of your league, and we're all going over the cliff together."

But now, at age eight, I needed to support him, and I took the teacher's side instead of his, and I was wrong.

So, I apologized to the teacher, because she was upset, and because I feel like we did her a disservice. She's a good teacher for many kids, and I should have walked away weeks ago. I apologized to Sander, for not listening. And he apologized to me, for the meltdown.

I told him that I loved him, no matter what. And I asked him if he knew that.

He looked at me and said, "Why do you ask me that? I always feel loved. Well, except by violin teachers who fire me. But I don't need them to love me."

As always, Sander will be fine. That there is a kid who has no problems with self-esteem.

Me?

I'm going to go re-read my parenting rules, remember that it's more important to have a kid who's kind than a kid who can play the violin, I'm going to book lessons with a new teacher, and I'm going to eat a lot more sugar.

Maybe I'll go add chocolate chips to the peanut butter mix...

My son

Asleep in the laundry basket. Finally.

Published August 4, 2009

Yeah, I know we’re not supposed to label kids.

I know that if a parent says you can be difficult, then you’ll live up to the label, and if a parent says you’re sweet, you’ll be sweet.

But Sander can’t read, and no one’s going to tell him what I say here, so I’ll say it: Sometimes this four-year-old child is one huge, unmitigated, giant, pain in the ass.

I know that all of these quaint character traits that I’m seeing as negative will eventually turn into positives.

I know that bright, energetic children will turn into successful, driven adults.

I know that pushy turns into assertive, and bossy turns into a leader, and demanding turns into an adult who can get what he want. Curious turns into an education, and non-stop energy is fabulous when you’re thirty.

But you know what?

Right now he’s a pushy, bossy, demanding, curious little kid, full of non-stop energy.

And I have no idea how to parent him.

I love him, so, so much, and yet, he is the challenge that was given to me on earth to test my patience and my parenting ability and my faith in my ability to be a mother.

Almost every night, I have five or six courses of action I can pursue in dealing with him running through my head.

Take tonight.

We got home from gymnastics late (first strike.)

They hadn’t eaten dinner, and we ended up eating late, at almost 7:30 (second strike.)

I told Sander that he could watch the end of his new TV show, which had about fifteen minutes left on it. Then Mark didn’t know I’d promised that, and watched something else instead. (Third strike.)

So. I announce bedtime, not realizing that I have set the stage, yet again, for disaster.

Sander announces that he won’t go to bed. He’s going to watch the last few minutes of his show, as he was promised.

It’s already 9:30. I say it’s too late. Then Mark says if we promised, we promised. Fine. We’re obviously loser parents who can’t make up our mind. Sander sniffs the air, catching the scent of weakness.

So we let him watch the last fifteen minutes, thereby exposing our underbelly with Sander: If you give in once, out of kindness, love, friendship or in the interest of fairness, you are toast. Dead meat. You deserve everything that happens next. You have been warned.

It’s now 9:45. His show is over. 

And, surprise! He wants to watch another one. 

He now believes that we will give in if he throws a fit. This is obviously our fault, and yet we still don’t get it. 

The problem? We had an incredibly easy, sweet first child. With Sawyer, he would have smiled at us, thanked us profusely for letting him watch the show, and taken himself off to bed.

Sander has decided this is a turning point in his relationship with his parents. He can now call all of the shots, if he just digs in on this.

So, he’s going to watch another episode of his show.

No. Matter. What.

Mark and I, sensing danger in the water, have decided to hold our ground.

No matter what.

More than an hour of tears. More than an hour of begging.

Finally, Sander decides that we need to make him happy. We’ve made him unhappy by saying no, so now he wants a dish of ice cream, or to play a computer game.

That will make up for the bad things we’ve done to him.

So. In my head I have:

Stern Parent: You must not give into this kind of manipulative garbage. He’s just trying to see who’s in charge here, and you have to show him that it’s you. He thinks this is a bad thing? He’s going to see a bad thing. Right now.

Attachment Parent: This poor kid is so upset, and he’s really trying to figure out how to comfort himself. Maybe a dish of ice cream would show him that you can help him figure out how to soothe himself when the world’s too overwhelming.

Rational Parent: Yeah. Because, you know, bad behavior should get rewarded with ice cream. Well, wait a minute -- when I’m upset, I want ice cream... 

Middle-ground Parent: This doesn’t have to be a “him or me.” How can we make this work so we’re both on the same side?

So I go to pick him up, to help him and hug him and cuddle.

Nope. He wants me away from him.

He hates me. Hates everyone. All he wants is ice cream.

Finally, he goes off to seek comfort with his brother, who is apparently not as big a jerk as his parents.

He crawls in the laundry basket, looks at a couple of books, and falls asleep. At 11:40.

This child won’t take comfort, or snuggles or kindness when he’s mad.

He holds grudges. Has NO sense of humor about himself or his deeds.

You  can’t gently poke him, giggling, out of a bad mood.

You can’t tease him or tickle it away.

You can’t hug it away.

And yet:

He is exceptionally, undeniably, bright. Funny. He adores animals. He has a passion for learning that I’ve never seen in a child this young. He wants to sort animals into every category, and watches nature movies and reads animal books with a curiosity that borders on obsessive.

When he’s good, he’s loving and cuddly and adores me. He loves to spend time with, and his favorite thing, besides animals, is going to garage sales on Saturday mornings.

He does like to snuggle, when it’s his idea and he’s not mad.

He does want to hug me, and tell me I’m beautiful, when he’s in a good mood.

But man, I’m having to re-read every parenting book I have, and go get some new ones.

Playful Parenting. Attachment Parenting. Kids are Worth It parenting.

I’m not quite sure which style Sander parenting is.

Whatever it is, I think I’m going to be exhausted for a very long time.

Gluten. Apraxia. Autism. All in one study

Published July 23, 2009

Wow. I'm not crazy. And neither, apparently, are those other motheres.

You know, the ones with celiac disease, who took my gluten-free cooking classes, hoping to cook for their autistic kids. Three and four mothers in a class at once, all with celiac disease and autistic kids, all of whom were told there’s no connection between the two.

I’m not sure whether this study is a good one. I don’t know anything about it.

I do know that when I saw the words “apraxia, gluten, celiac, children” and “autism” all in one study, I started crying.

Sander’s only four. Two years ago, he had autism and apraxia. And I was told gluten didn’t cause it, and that there was no fix for it, and that it had nothing to do with the fact than Mark and I have celiac disease.

And yet, here’s a study. I could have told you the results.

This has been my life for the past four years.

And now, Sander’s healthy and happy. 

But how many kids out there can’t talk or still have symptoms of autism because they were told a gluten-free diet can’t help?

Newswise — A landmark study conducted by Children's Hospital & Research Center Oakland is the first to reveal a new syndrome in children that presents with a combination of allergy, apraxia and malabsorption. Autism spectrum disorders were variably present. Verbal apraxia has until now been understood to be a neurologically based speech disorder, although hints of other neurological soft signs have been described. The new study, led by Children's Hospital & Research Center Oakland scientist and pediatric emergency medicine physician, Claudia Morris, MD, and Marilyn C. Agin, MD, a neurodevelopmental pediatrician at Saint Vincent Medical Center in New York, however, suggests that the symptoms of verbal apraxia are, at least for a sub-group of children, part of a larger, multifactorial, neurologic syndrome involving food allergies/gluten-sensitivity and nutritional malabsorption.

"While it is critical to treat verbal apraxia symptoms that often include severe delays in expressive speech production with speech therapy, we need to start asking why these kids are having these problems in the first place so that we can identify mechanisms we can actually target to treat the cause of the symptoms," says Dr. Morris.

Published in the July/August issue of Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, the new study takes a major step toward identifying the potential mechanisms that may contribute to apraxia symptoms. In the study, Dr. Morris collected information from nearly 200 families with children who suffered from verbal apraxia in order to better characterize the symptoms and metabolic anomalies of a subset of children. The data clearly demonstrated a common cluster of allergy, apraxia and malabsorption, along with low muscle tone, poor coordination and sensory integration abnormalities. In addition, Dr. Morris was able to gather laboratory analyses in 26 of the children, which revealed low carnitine levels, abnormal celiac panels, gluten sensitivity, and vitamin D deficiency among others.

All children genetically screened carried an HLA gene associated with gluten sensitivity and celiac disease. "The sample size is still small and should be interpreted with caution," says Dr. Morris. "However this is of particular interest given the recent publication by Eaton and colleagues in the July 6 online edition of Pediatrics demonstrating a greater than 3-fold risk of autism in children born to mothers diagnosed with celiac disease. This brings some credibility to the anecdotal reports of gastrointestinal and behavioral improvements in children with autism spectrum disorders and/or verbal apraxia when eliminating gluten from their diets. Although the implications of these observations remain to be determined, this association and the utility of dietary modifications warrant further investigation, particularly if we can identify a genetically vulnerable group".

Most significantly, the data indicate that the neurologic dysfunction represented in the syndrome overlaps the symptoms of vitamin E deficiency. While low vitamin E bioavailability may occur due to a variety of different causes, neurological consequences are similar, regardless of the initiating trigger. The study suggests that vitamin E could be used as a safe nutritional intervention that may benefit some children. Growing evidence support the benefits of omega 3 fatty acid supplementation in a number of neurodevelopmental disorders. Anecdotally children with verbal apraxia will often demonstrate leaps in their speech production when taking high-quality fish oil. The addition of vitamin E to omega 3 fatty acid supplementation in this cohort of children induced benefits that exceeded those expected from just speech therapy alone, according to parental report.

"While data from a case series is by no means conclusive, the results clearly point to the need for further attention to this poorly understood disorder, and a placebo-controlled study to investigate the potential role of vitamin E and omega 3 supplementation in this group of children," says Dr. Morris.

She points out that it is equally important for children given an apraxia diagnosis to receive a more comprehensive metabolic evaluation than what is current practice. Many of the nutritional deficiencies like low carnitine, zinc and vitamin D are easily treated. By not addressing the nutritional deficiencies, the child will continue to suffer from significant medical consequences of those deficiencies. The first step is to identify and treat the deficiencies. The next step is to try to figure out why they have these deficiencies and a fat malabsorption syndrome in the first place. However, Dr. Morris does advise families to work closely with a physician rather than trying promising but unproven interventions on their own.

In the mean time, however, Dr. Morris's study provides the essential foundation for identifying the children who may need these treatments.

"By identifying these early red flags of the syndrome, we've provided a way to get these kids treatment at the earliest possible moment. While 75 percent of the time kids identified as late bloomers really are just that, 25 percent of the time there is a true pathologic condition. To miss it is to miss critically valuable time for early intervention. If a child has all these symptoms, chances are they are going to fall into the 25 percent who have a condition that needs further evaluation and treatment."

Is biomedical intervention proven?

Originally published March 29, 2009

A lady I know who has a son who’s fighting autism has recently compiled tons and tons of information about whether biomedical interventions in autism is scientifically proven.

 Honestly, this is hard. It’s hard to explain what it is, and why it works, and why your doctor doesn’t know anything about it. So I’m glad she took the time to figure all this out -- I’ve been very lax about keeping records about what I read or where I find information.

 So, here’s what she’s found:

There are over 500 researched white papers published by PhDs and MDs on biomedical intervention. One reason they’re hard to find is because they’re not all listed in one place, and many are protected from distributing because they are in journals which require paid subscriptions.  PubMed is probably the best for finding many of them, but you need a subscription to that as well.

Some great authors have compiled hundreds of research articles and summaries of white papers in their books.  Here is my friend’s list which she hands to all "doubting" family members, friends and professionals. 

Drs. Edelson and Rimland, Recovering Autistic Children, contains 100+ references

Dr. McCandless, Children with Starving Brains, contains 57 references

Dr. Kenneth Bock, Healing the New Childhood Epidemics (Autism, ADHD, Asthma and Allergies), contains 100+ references

Dr. Bryan Jepson, Changing the Course of Autism, contains 500+ references

David Kirby, Evidence of Harm, contains 436 references

Rev. Lisa Sykes, Sacred Spark, contains 100+ references

One of the biggest problems in treating autism is that some children respond to certain treatments and others don’t. That’s why there are so many people who question the treatment. One new theory is that not all children on the spectrum have methylation pathway defects, and therefore not all respond to biomedical intervention therapies targeted toward the repairing the immune system.  However, there is a test that measures the markers in the pathway.   

If you’re interested in autism, and in why this treatment works, here are the websites where you can read the papers that explain everything. This is Lisa’s list, but it’s pretty similar to where I started while researching all of this:

http://www.autism.com/medical/research/index.htm

http://www.thoughtfulhouse.org/publications.htm

http://www.thoughtfulhouse.org/supporting_research.htm

http://www.autismspeaks.org/science/science_ news/index. php?WT.svl= Top_Nav

http://www.autismcenter.org/research_ publications. aspx

http://www.lymeinducedautism.com/presentations.html

http://www.autism. org/    (search engine for research articles)

http://www.safeminds.org/research/

http://www.autismone.org/download2008.cfm

http://www.generationrescue.org/autism/

And I love my friend’s tagline, and wish I thought of it first:

May you be well equipped to answer questions, and remain confident and steadfast in your quest to recover your children! 

The middle child

Published May 2, 2011

 

The picture above is not entirely fair to Sander: We were playing with the camera and I asked him to pose with his grumpy face. 

But it’s not the only picture I have of him like that, and not all of them were posed. And it is what he looked like most of today.

First, let me say this: I believe that it is my job to defend my children to the death. It is my job to place them first, and to make sure no one, ever, anywhere, talks smack about them.

Because for God’s sake, if it’s not my job to protect them from bullies and morons and predators and teachers who don’t think they’re perfect, than what I am here for?

I also believe that a parent’s job is to make the well-being of their kids priority number one. 

Having a nice house can’t come first, a good career can’t come first, and whatever goals you have as a human being can’t come first. 

Notice that I didn’t say that the child’s whims and wishes and hopes should be your top priority. Just their well-being.

Because if a parent doesn’t place their child’s needs (not wants, remember,) as their first priority, then who the hell will? 

Who’s looking out for your child? 

There is no one else on the planet who will put this tiny creature’s needs as a top priority.

That said:

I’m not sure Sander’s going to make it to his seventh birthday.

As I have said, I have no problems praising Sander. 

He’s brilliant. Funny. Can be incredibly sweet and kind and has such an empathic, nurturing side that it makes me think I’ve done something right.

And yet every wonderful, amazing thing about him is turned into a weapon against me if the stars aren’t lined up just right.

He is sensitive.

Great. 

This means he will get laid in college. 

Bully for him.

In practice, right now, this means that he can’t function unless he’s fed, he’s at the right temperature and he’s had enough sleep. 

And God forbid someone’s said the wrong thing to him that day. He’s worse than a drag queen after a bad breakup: “No, I will NOT listen to you. You were mean and I don’t want to be around you and I won’t listen to you today!”

He’s brilliant. Terrific.

He’ll actually pass his classes when he’s not getting laid. 

In practice, right now, this means that he is capable of understanding much more than he’s capable of dealing with. 

And that he can pinpoint, with astounding accuracy, anyone’s weak spots.

And that he can remember everything you’ve ever said to him.

“But you said maybe, and I know that maybe is just another way of you saying no because you don’t want to fight with me over saying no, but I need you to either say no so I can know why not or say yes so I can stop asking you. So which is it? Can we go get a treat today? And if you say yes you have to promise so you can’t change your mind and if you say no then I have to know why so I can make you change your mind. And don’t forget you can’t say maybe.”

He likes adventure, and the outdoors, and constant movement and new things and new places.

Fabulous. He’ll be an explorer. He’ll travel the world.

In practice, right now, this means that after a week where we go to my aunt’s ranch, to Houston for three days, swim until we’re all exhausted, go on hikes, go to the zoo and come home with ten loads of laundry and a week’s worth of chores in order to recover, the next day he wakes up with, “So, what are we doing today? And don’t tell me we’re staying home, because that’s boring. It’s a beautiful day! Let’s go do something!”

He takes everything to heart. 

Everything is a big deal. Everything is important.

This is a wonderful thing. He’s serious and deep.

In practice, right now, it means that if I’ve told him we have to watch his baby sister all the time, that means we have to watch his baby sister all the time. 

Every freaking minute, or the Sander police come after you.

I can’t go to the bathroom and leave her outside the door, or the Sander police come up and yell, “Hey! There’s no one watching the baby!! She might swallow something!! Get out here now, you know a six-year-old can’t watch a baby!! Where are you?!”

I must wear my seat belt at all times. I must never have alcohol in front of my son, because he knows it’s bad for me. My room must be clean, or I can’t tell him to clean his. My clothing must be spotless and appropriate for the season, or I can’t tell him to change his shirt. I must not fucking curse in front of him, or I will hear about forever, and his father will hear about it, and so will my family.

The rules are the rules, you know.

And he will not bend.

Ever. He will not show weakness. He will not give in. And he has such pride and such vanity that he will not be mocked or teased.

And this, in practice, right now, is what’s going to kill us both.

A six-year-old child can not always be right. He must bend to the ways of the family around him. The world can not always bend to his whims.

And yet, usually, his strength of personality is so great that it usually does.

He wants to see a platypus, and so plans are in the works for a trip to Australia. He has a business watching people’s pets while they’re on vacation, complete with business cards. He has a couple hundred dollars saved up for this.

He wants to be a veterinarian. So he’s convinced everyone around him to read to him, night and day, about animals. The librarians know him by name and have new books set aside for him each week. He is sure of himself and friendly, and confident the world is on his side and out to help him.  

And so when anyone crosses him, he can’t imagine why they would be so foolish.

He likes to dress up; he’s still six years old. He likes capes and cloaks and magic wands, and his newest cool thing is to wear clothes that are the wrong size. He puts on Sawyer’s pants that fall down and wears a belt with them, or he squeezes into a pair of Scout’s sweat pants and waddles around the house laughing.

Today, he was tired. The stars were not aligned. He wanted to be entertained and catered to, and I was not in a catering mood. He wanted to be read to, and played with, or wanted me to come up with some interesting diversion for his royal highness.

I had errands to run. I was done with entertaining him. I wanted out of the house.

I told Sander I’d take him to lunch, to the library and to the store, and then we had to pick Sawyer up from school. Oh, and hurry up, because we’ve only got a couple of hours until we have to pick up Sawyer. Go get dressed, please.

So he came out to the living room waddling in a pair of Scout’s pants. She’s eleven months old. These were jeans that wouldn’t fit past his thighs. Cute, but annoying. 

Nope. Go get dressed for real. We’ve got to go.

He wouldn’t have it. He insisted that he was going to wear those pants, and that he was fine, and that they fit.

And here is where the diverging parenting strategies begin.

If I were cheerful, happy, and on top of my game, I could have done a number of things. Had a race to see who got to his room first to change his pants. Had Scout wear his pants so he could see how silly he looked. Grab an extra pair of pants so when we got to the car and he complained, he could change. Ignore the whole thing, let him deal with the fallout and let him not go to the library because he couldn’t waddle in.

But I was not cheerful, happy and on top of my game. I was tired of amusing him and catering to whims.

I told him I was going to the car, and he could come after he’d changed his pants. It was cold and rainy out, we had errands to do, and he had to be dressed to go.

Sander knows a challenge when he sees one.

“I’m not changing, and I can wear these pants if I want, and you can’t stop me, “ says he.

Fuck.

Now, instead of a day of errands, we have a face-off.

We have a full-blown pain-in-the-ass situation, where if I back down, the terrorists win. 

If I back down, I won’t be able to stop him. 

He will take this a personal weakness and will use it every day to his advantage.

However, if I don’t back down and I have to spend an hour making sure that he obeys me,  then I’m an idiot for setting myself up in a situation where a small child has now forced me to pay attention to him and to waste an hour of my day dealing with this.

I knew better. He’s done this before. He wanted my full attention, and now he’s got it.

At this point, the car is running, the baby is strapped in, it’s raining, and he’s outside, dressed in flip-flops, a dirty T-shirt and baby pants. Way to go, killer. 

“Go back in and change your pants,” says I, as the baby starts to cry because she’s pissed that she’s in the car and it’s not moving.

“Nope.”

And he climbs into the car and buckles in.

Fuck.

Now it’s a physical escalation. If I have promised that he can’t get in the car unless he changes his pants, I have to back down or take him out of the car. And I’m not backing down.

And I know that you can’t do physical escalation. In ten years, this kid will be six feet tall and sixteen years old. If I don’t figure this out now, there’s no way I’m going to be able to manhandle him into doing what I want then.

But I can now. So I pick him up, get him out of the car, kicking and screaming, and put him in his room, telling him to please change his pants. And yes, by this time, he and the baby are both screaming and yelling.

At some point, he does, in fact, change his pants. We did make it out of the house. And a mile down the road, he asked me to pull over so he could get in my lap and stop crying.

But he wouldn’t apologize. And when I tried to discuss what happened and how we could do better next time, he put chopsticks in his ears and said, “I refuse to talk about bad things.”

And we had to skip the library, because we ran out of time, and he threw a fit because I “broke a promise to go to the library, and now you need to get me a treat to make up for it.” 

So tonight, Mark put him to bed so I wouldn’t murder him.

And tomorrow, he will wake up sweet and happy and will want to know what adventures we’re going to have and how I will entertain him.

And tomorrow is Mark’s birthday, and because Sander is sweet and thoughtful, he will make a present and draw a picture and will want to make a cake and have a surprise for Mark.

But I will spend the entire day trying to avoid traps that leave me with no way to back down.

I’ve got to figure out how to work with this kid before he gets much older. 

Because if he’s this hard now, his teenage years are going to finish me off, right before all of those difficult traits turn him into an amazing man, and that would be a shame to miss.