About Sproing and his shit: Now that I know what's going on and how to handle it, I'm not as upset. He is angry about being placed in the treatment center (among other things) and is taking it out on me. Me specifically right now, not so much his Dad. Don't know what that's about. I talked to his therapist Thursday morning about those hurtful things he said to me at visitation. She told me not to show that I'm upset by what he says, not in front of him. (As much as I'm able, anyway.) I can cry my eyes out once I get into the car. The issue is power and control. He's a manipulative little bastard, and we need to wrest control from him. When we're visiting, if he starts any of that shit, we need to tell him "Since you are treating us this way, we will leave now and you will go back to the unit." And do exactly that. It's a major inconvenience (a real pisser, actually) to drive for 1.5 hours, spend 5 minutes with him, then drive 1.5 hours back home. But we don't go to every visitation because sometimes things happen at home and we just can't make it. Next Wednesday we have family therapy for the hour before visitation, so we'll be there. Superman might visit him Sunday afternoon, but I'm staying home.
I have had a couple of days to process things, have gotten some information, advice, and encouragement (Thank you, my wonderful readers!), and I'm not nearly as upset as I was. Really, now that I better understand how this is a part of his mental disorder, I'm much more calm and emotionally detached. It's a good thing.
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I must tell you about my interactions with Diva this morning. First of all, before she left for school, she realized that she needed gym shorts so she could dress out for P.E. All her shorts were dirty, so 15 minutes before time to leave for the bus she started washing two pair of shorts in the kitchen sink, running hot and cold water full blast while Superman was trying to shower. Of course I turned off the water as soon as I saw it. I asked her (silly me) why she was washing the shorts now. They won't be washed, rinsed, and dry in 15 minutes. She gave me that "duh" look. I went on about my business but she just sat there in the kitchen staring at a her wet shorts. It's like I derailed her course of action and she couldn't pick it up again. It took me a few minutes to realize that she was still sitting there with nothing on but a towel. She did dress and catch the bus, but had nothing to wear for P.E. Tough shit. I've told her before that she needs to get all of her stuff together so it's ready to walk out the door before she goes to bed on school nights.
So an hour later she called me from school complaining of a stomach ache. I told her to use the bathroom and wait a while and she'd feel better. Half an hour later she calls back. I forget what I said to her then, though I think I recommended the bathroom again. She called a third time, but in the intervening minutes I had realized The Plan. It should have come to me sooner; it's so obvious. Tomorrow is Halloween, and what does she want to do? So the third time she called, I told her that if she really felt that sick, I would pick her up but she would have to go to bed, and of course would be too sick to go trick-or-treating tomorrow. You know, if you have the stomach bug you must not go out or eat any candy. Was she so sick that I should bring her home, or could she tough it out? Well, she said, "I think I can make it until lunch time." Oh, no, if I had to get her, she was staying home all weekend to fully recover. "I think I can stay all day." Mission accomplished!
She's a persistent little snot. She called at 1:00, and immediately assured me that her stomach felt much better, but... she needed cupcakes for a class party. Today. In 20 minutes. I so wanted to say "I'll squat down right here and shit out a couple dozen cupcakes for you. Be right there." If I didn't think she'd be using that example at every chance in the next few weeks, I would have said it. But I didn't. Suffice to say, she didn't get her cupcakes but she did get a mini-lecture on responsibility. Much like the lecture she received this morning about having her gym clothes and everything prepared before bed on a school night.
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I don't get high, but sometimes I wish I did. That way, when I messed up in life I would have an excuse. But right now there's no rehab for stupidity.
