Under Siege **Updated

So we had a meeting with Sproing's social worker yesterday evening. Superman and I sat down with him in our living room and discussed things for about an hour. It was a bit stressful, the social worker was very straightforward about some methods in our parenting style. He thinks that if we make some adjustments, Sproing might do better. He may well be right. It's hard to tell.

Then Sproing joined us and we all discussed some of the plans that he and the social worker (perhaps I should call him SW) developed that we hope will bring about some improvements in his behaviors and our expectations of him. That discussion didn't go as well, but wasn't too terrible.

Then SW left, and all hell broke loose. Sproing told his dad that he wanted to go out to dinner. Then Sproing came and asked me if I wanted to go. I said "sure, it's a good chance to spend some good time together" (one of those activities we need to increase). All of a sudden Sproing said that he didn't want to go, but wanted me and Superman to go and leave him at home. We didn't really want to go out. We've been spending too much money doing stuff like that recently so we both wanted to stay home and cook stuff. (Superman cooked. I did some homework.) Sproing got unbelievably upset. He accused me of not listening to him (another thing we need to do more of), but I did listen to him. I understood completely that he wanted us to go out and leave him alone. I just wasn't going to do it. I'm the mom. I don't have to do what my 13 year old son says.

And yada yada yada. He screamed, slammed doors, threw stuff, refused to do anything he needed to do. Like eat. He was hungry, but he refused to eat, just because, well, he's like that.

That's an example of what the boy is doing these days. It started late last week, and has happened at least every other day since then. This is what he was like before he went to the treatment facility 18 months ago. We've been through this hell before, and carry some emotional scars from the experience. He's ripping open my scars. We can't go on like this for long. I really hope he decides to get it together and work with us. If he doesn't, he's going back into a treatment facility.

I'm writing this post on one of the library compters at school. I got out of class 45 minutes ago. I had a couple of things I needed to check on before going home, but writing a blog post wasn't one of them. Frankly, I'm afraid to go home. Sproing was acting out again this morning. I don't know what he'll be like when I get home, but I expect the worst. I've been on the verge of tears again today. Being in class was helpful because the lectures distracted me from thinking about this mess.

But I have to go home. For one thing, I'm hungry. And the longer I stay away the worse it will be. So I'm going home now. Good bye.

Addendum

Sproing was pleasant this evening. He was hyperactive, but that's normal. Although he balked some, he was mostly compliant. This is what "normal" has looked like for the past six months, and quite a bit better than his behavior of the past week. I hope this is the continuing trend. Stay tuned for more adventures of Java in Sproing-Drama Land.

Did I mention that this is a very busy semester for me?

The semester got off to a slow start, unfortunately. I know there is a bazillion to do, but most of my classes have been sort of sluggish. We're beginning the 4th week of the term, and it feels like the roller coaster is approaching the top of that first big drop. Did I mention that I'm not a big fan of roller coasters? Especially that first big drop.

I'm taking a sculpture class. Our first project involves welding. Yesterday (Monday) in class we did some welding practice. My piece looks terrible. It's just two small pieces of sheet steel welded at a 90 degree angle to each other. Yesterday it looked terrible. I went by the art studio this afternoon and took another look at it. If anything it looks worse today. The prof says I'll get better with practice.

And speaking of welding, guess what Superman has done? The darling ordered a new welding helmet for me!! The school has four helmets available, but they're no great shakes. Superman has bought a fancy magic helmet for me, one that has the auto-darkening lens! Here, let me show you what I found on Google:

Auto darkening welding helmets have lenses that automatically darken when a welding arc is struck, and returns to a light state when welding ceases, it allows the wearer to continue work without removing the helmet

That's the idea anyhow. I don't know what brand or anything. One of the suppliers that he uses at work had a sale on magic welding helmets. It should be delivered to the house tomorrow (Wednesday). I'm so excited!! Oh, and "magic welding helmet" is my name for it. The industry uses another term (probably "auto darkening") to describe the phenomenon. I like "magic helmet" better.

Which is all very well and good, but not really what I came to talk to you about. It's Sproing. His behavior is getting worse. This past weekend was hellacious. He had one of those huge fits of anger on Saturday afternoon that had me on the brink of... I don't know what exactly. He got angry at something, I don't even remember what, but he started screaming, slamming doors, and throwing things. We eventually got him confined to his bedroom where he began throwing everything he could comfortably lift. There are dents and divots in the walls of his room, and a new one in his new door.

While all this was going on, Superman 'bout lost it. In order to keep himself from hurting the child he left the house, took a drive, went to the home improvement store to pick up a few things. Which was cool, I understand he needed to remove himself from the situation. I was better able to keep my hands off the raging child. Sproing eventually (after an hour? more? less? I don't remember, being in a state of trauma myself) calmed down and came back to earth and was all sweetness and sugarplums. I think I got worse as he got better, though, just because I'd steadied myself during the storm and after it was over I was a basket case.

Superman, though, stayed out for two hours. I expected he'd be back in an hour or less. But the fool ran away from the problem rather than stepping back to catch his breath. When he finally got home he was still upset. He snapped at me, which unleashed my flood. I cried for probably 20 minutes, and he felt all guilty because he'd made me cry. Thing is, as I tried to explain to him, I had been on the verge of tears for two hours. The crying was maybe 10% about him and 90% about the whole Sproing mess.

That tantrum Saturday afternoon was so much like our experiences of two summers ago, when tantrums like that occurred at least once a day, and often two or three times a day. It was hell. It was traumatic. Saturday's experience brought up all those old wounds. I don't remember, did I blog much then? It's too late and I'm too tired (or lazy) to check the archives, but if you're interested go back to July/August/September of 2009 to see if I wrote much about it. Alternatively, go to October 2009 through February 2010 to see what I might have said as I was mentally processing the trauma.

Anyway, to get back to my story, see, yesterday it happened again. He got upset while playing his Xbox NFL football game (Madden 11) because, I don't know, his team lost or something. He threw the controller onto the floor, coffee table, something hard - three times - and it broke. He was screaming and crying the whole time, and screamed "I don't care if the controller broke!!" which of course wasn't true. Ever since the outburst Saturday my nerves have been on edge. I keep having short episodes where I get kinda shaky, my hands slightly trembling. It's as if an old war wound has re-opened.

Sproing went into his room to continue his tirade (actually, I think I "escorted" him to his room) and I removed the Xbox from the TV in the living room. It's hidden in my office now. He had the gall to tell me today that I didn't need to take it. He expects me to hook it back up now because, I don't know, he's not mad right now or something. He has some money he got for his birthday, and wanted to go out this afternoon to buy himself a new controller. Oh Hell NO!!, though what I said was "We need to discuss this." The point is, of course, Oh Hell NO!!

So we need to discuss this. Superman and I have had some conversations along this line. I also spent 1.5 hours this evening on the phone with the fellow who is now working with Sproing, sort of like a case worker.* The three of us adults need to have a pow-wow with the boy about his behavior and about earning his Xbox back. But I dread having this conversation. When I think about it my stomach gets tied in knots. It will not be a pleasant conversation, I fear. There's the crux of the matter: I fear. Here we are again, seeing some of the same behaviors that drove him to being put in a psychiatric residential treatment facility (aka "loony bin") a year and a half ago. Behaviors that nearly put me into the loony bin.

And I've been on edge. Close to tears. Having trouble concentrating. Forgetting details, especially details of the events leading up to and following his emotional explosions. This, for those of you following along in your programs, is Not Good. If he doesn't get his shit together we're going to have to send him back to the loony bin. I know he doesn't want to do that. I don't want to have to do that. But it's ultimately up to him, isn't it? This, I'm fairly sure, will be part of the discussion we will have with him.

The case worker will spend some time with him after school tomorrow (Wednesday). Then when Superman and I get home from work and school, respectively, we will all sit down and hash out some stuff. Or, if Sproing and the case worker do not have a productive time tomorrow afternoon, this meeting with the parents will be just the adults, with Sproing hanging back in his room or something. We shall see what we shall see.

OK, it's time for me to go to bed. As soon as I'm able I will post a follow-up.

*It's been so long since I last posted. Sproing has a new case worker, an older black man with lots of experience working with troubled adolescents. As you may or may not know, Sproing is black ("African-American" in Newspeak) and was adopted into this lily-white ("European-American" in Newspeak) family when he was but a babe in arms. So for the boy to have a case worker of the same race and sex is a boon. Also, as I've worked with the case worker over the past couple of weeks I've found that he's extremely good at his job, we get along well, and are developing a good working relationship. This is a Good Thing.