Respect
We've been having a tougher time of it with the Bob lately. Lots of attitude, lots of anger, lots of general unpleasantness. It started right around the time of the judgment entry, and got worse around the time of Bob's birthday a week later. Go figure.
His follow-up with the shrink's office is this week, and I'm torn between suggesting a tweak of his doses and suggesting we wait and see if we can ride out this storm. On the one hand, he's grown recently, and it could be an adjustment is due. On the other hand, it's not lost on me that the shitstorm started when db started acting like a jackass again (still?).
But I have to admit, it's getting hard to deal with. Last night, he got pissed when I told him it was bathtime--15 minutes later than usual--and started whining about having to go to bed at 8:00. I said "that's the rule, when you're seven, you can go to bed at 8:30, and when you're nine, you can go to bed at 9:00." (He's always had an early bedtime when I have any say in it--not only does he need his sleep, I need the quiet.) So he pitched a fit and I ignored him and went up to run his bath. He came into the bathroom to undress, put his clothes in the hamper, and swatted me on the back (I was bent over the tub). It didn't hurt, and it was a light swat, but still--you don't hit mommy. Period.
"You just lost your bedtime story for hitting me."
Oh, did we get pathetic at that point. I held my ground. I told him I was getting very tired of him treating me the way he has lately, and that it's going to stop--now--or our house is going to start being a lot less of a fun place to be. I told him I will not be disrespected in my own house, and that I don't care what his "father" says about me or what anyone else says about me for that matter, that I will be treated with respect in my house. And if not, all the special favors stop--the bedtime stories, the special snacks, the occasional meal out, the weekend outings.
I'm sure some would say I was wrong to drag db into it, but I want Bob to know that I know db talks shit on me. And that I don't give a rat's red ass what db thinks of me, because the truth is I'm a fucking great parent compared to his sorry ass, and a damn good parent compared to the rest of the world. And Bob knows it. And as long as I'm around, he's going to treat me accordingly.
So after the speech and the bath and the toothbrushing, he thought he was going to sweet-talk me into that bedtime story. I said no. And I hated it. But I'll be damned if I give him any reason to think the things db says to him about me are even close to true.
And this morning, he was over it. He hugged me good morning, he was pleasant, he changed out of his too-short sweats when I told him to, and he hugged and kissed me goodbye when I left.
So I don't know if this is just another storm for us to weather, or if the best course of action is to try adjusting his medications. I've sent his teacher an email asking for her input.
On a lighter note, the curtains Gretchen made me are perfect. Now the neighbors won't see my goodies every time I take a shower. And the fishy quilt for Moosebaby is officially my "inspiration piece" for Moosebaby's room, when I finally get around to getting started on it. Yes, I said "inspiration piece." I've been watching way too much HGTV.
His follow-up with the shrink's office is this week, and I'm torn between suggesting a tweak of his doses and suggesting we wait and see if we can ride out this storm. On the one hand, he's grown recently, and it could be an adjustment is due. On the other hand, it's not lost on me that the shitstorm started when db started acting like a jackass again (still?).
But I have to admit, it's getting hard to deal with. Last night, he got pissed when I told him it was bathtime--15 minutes later than usual--and started whining about having to go to bed at 8:00. I said "that's the rule, when you're seven, you can go to bed at 8:30, and when you're nine, you can go to bed at 9:00." (He's always had an early bedtime when I have any say in it--not only does he need his sleep, I need the quiet.) So he pitched a fit and I ignored him and went up to run his bath. He came into the bathroom to undress, put his clothes in the hamper, and swatted me on the back (I was bent over the tub). It didn't hurt, and it was a light swat, but still--you don't hit mommy. Period.
"You just lost your bedtime story for hitting me."
Oh, did we get pathetic at that point. I held my ground. I told him I was getting very tired of him treating me the way he has lately, and that it's going to stop--now--or our house is going to start being a lot less of a fun place to be. I told him I will not be disrespected in my own house, and that I don't care what his "father" says about me or what anyone else says about me for that matter, that I will be treated with respect in my house. And if not, all the special favors stop--the bedtime stories, the special snacks, the occasional meal out, the weekend outings.
I'm sure some would say I was wrong to drag db into it, but I want Bob to know that I know db talks shit on me. And that I don't give a rat's red ass what db thinks of me, because the truth is I'm a fucking great parent compared to his sorry ass, and a damn good parent compared to the rest of the world. And Bob knows it. And as long as I'm around, he's going to treat me accordingly.
So after the speech and the bath and the toothbrushing, he thought he was going to sweet-talk me into that bedtime story. I said no. And I hated it. But I'll be damned if I give him any reason to think the things db says to him about me are even close to true.
And this morning, he was over it. He hugged me good morning, he was pleasant, he changed out of his too-short sweats when I told him to, and he hugged and kissed me goodbye when I left.
So I don't know if this is just another storm for us to weather, or if the best course of action is to try adjusting his medications. I've sent his teacher an email asking for her input.
On a lighter note, the curtains Gretchen made me are perfect. Now the neighbors won't see my goodies every time I take a shower. And the fishy quilt for Moosebaby is officially my "inspiration piece" for Moosebaby's room, when I finally get around to getting started on it. Yes, I said "inspiration piece." I've been watching way too much HGTV.
posted by Mitzi Green at 8:10 AM
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