A pictoral example of consequences

As you may recall, I wrote earlier in the week about Sproing's bad day. It was Monday when he blew up, and I didn't give much detail when I wrote about it. I was still too angry. I'm going to say more about it, and show you some pictures.

Here's Scheherazade showing us Sproing's clock radio/CD player. This was a birthday gift, presented to him in late January.   And to the right you see where I hung it. This seemed like an appropriate display at the time. Three days later it still hangs from Light's bed post, at the edge of my office space. Why? I don't know. To remind me, maybe. Or maybe I am too lazy to remove it. 

In the next picture below I hope you can tell that the glass is missing from the closest (top left) section of the window. He broke that Monday afternoon in his dramatic display of angst. 

I never did tell you what he was up to, did I? Neither of us remembers exactly what set him off, but he was excessively angry after he got home from school. He screamed and cried loud, wracking sobs. The grief was palpable. It was obviously the end of the world. As often happens with young people who don't have much control over their emotion regulation functions, his grief expressed itself in anger. By "anger" I mean he threw things. He picked up whatever he could grab and threw it against the walls in his bedroom. The crying lasted about an hour. The screaming and throwing of things began after that.

Let me tell you, listening to an 11 year old boy cry for an hour is, to understate things, very stressful. Yes, I tried to talk to him, reason with him, give him what he needed. He refused. My very presence increased his anger and grief. So I left him alone and went into my office to grit it out. 

When he began throwing things against his wall, however, I knew I had to act. Remaining calm, (that's key) I went into his room and began carrying things out. I didn't speak to him at all, because of course he wouldn't and couldn't hear me. 
The wailing increased. I was glad. I returned to the room and carried out another armload of stuff. Twitch came along and asked about what was happening. I'm glad he did, because it gave me an opportunity to let Sproing know what I was doing. If I tell Twitch when Sproing is present, it effectively tells Sproing. 
I said that if a child throws things against the walls, he loses the privelege of having things in his room. I took out everything that was light enough to lift and hard enough to bang when it hits the wall. All he has left is his bed, which of course Superman built to be very strong and very heavy. Sproing can't pick it up and throw it against the wall. He also has his bedding. The bedding won't hurt anything if it gets tossed against the wall. 

You may notice in the picture above that Scheherazade is showing us Sproing's door. See at about the cat's midsection there is a place where the door has been kicked in. I am not sure if Sproing did that. Twitch may have, as he lived in that room prior to Sproing moving in. 
But wait! There's more! While Sproing was distracting me, Diva was getting into trouble. Shocking, I know. Diva and Sproing had gotten into a battle earlier in the afternoon, and in the fray Diva slammed her door, felling it with that final attack. The door frame has been damaged since C and S lived in that room. None of the residence of that room has treated it well. Diva finally did it in. 

But before I noticed the door, I saw her in the backyard with green hands. These kids have been with me for 11 years, folks. I'm not surprised by much, and this wasn't a surprise. A disappointment, yes. Surprise, no. Dreading what I might find, I went to the back yard to check it out. She had snitched my bottles of craft paint (which she's not allowed to have) from my room (which she's not allowed to enter without specific invitation) and taken them to the back yard to paint a piece of plywood (which she didn't have permission to use).  Without saying a word (I find that works best for my blood pressure and my vocal cords) I picked up my bucket of craft paint and pointed for her to go inside. I took her to the bathroom where she washed off her hands, then I pointed her to her room. 

Which is when I saw the door hanging at a very odd angle, and the door frame in pieces barely standing in the opening of the wall. By this time I can't talk. There is just nothing to say, and my thoughts won't form words. I tried to push the door open, but it was blocked, lo and behold, by her dresser. Think about it for a minute. If the door is blocked with her dresser, how did she get out? Of course! Her window! We have had this discussion many times. She is not to use her window as a portal of ingress and egress. We get into the room and I direct her to her bed. 

It was about then that I noticed yet another piece of plywood, approximately 18"x40", resting bottom edge on her matress and leaning against the wall. It, too, was painted with what I assume to be my craft paint. The paint was various shades of green, which are the colors she used from my craft bucket. I reached over to get it, and my thumb smeared the wet paint. Yes, I said WET paint. I picked the thing up and defenestrated it! 
It landed paint down on the grass. I haven't moved it, and I assume it is still right there. Diva was in her room for the next 5 years. Oh, wait. It's only been 3 days. She was in her room the rest of the day, I'll tell you that. As you can see, the only thing she has for a door is an old sheet. Well, actually her door is there, just not in a traditional door position. 
When I went into her room yesterday to gather pictoral evidence, I saw that in her enthusiasm (or whatever one might call it) she splattered green paint on the walls and ceiling of her room. We haven't discussed it yet. I should probably take all of her stuff out of her room, too, but you know what? After emptying Sproing's room I just don't have the energy to do it. We'll do something about it perhaps tomorrow or over the weekend. 
'Cause right now I'm tired. Dreadfully demoralized and tired. And I have final exams this week and next. I've had two already (easy-peasy), have one at 8:00 tomorrow morning (should be a breeze), one Monday, and the last one on Tuesday. The exams Monday and Tuesday are going to be harder, and I need to spend the weekend studying for them. After Tuesday, though, I'll be finished for the semester. 

The kids still have about 5 or 6 weeks of school. I am looking forward to being home during the day without them here. Perhaps before they start summer vacation I can dig dungeons in the backyard. Wait! What am I thinking? I'll make them do it! I learned a couple of things from "Holes." They can dig their own dungeons and Superman can make the doors to keep them in. It will be a fun summer, no?