Win Some, Lose Some

I left work early yesterday (though the piles in my office scream I had no business doing so) so that Ben could go back to work. Bob was still at the dining room table, where he had been confined since leaving my office. He'd been there for damn near 3 hours, reading and doing pages in a kindergarten workbook my mom got him for Christmas. How he can sit there for 3 hours and do work, but not make it through a school day, is beyond my comprehension.

And the cheerful demeanor I was met with didn't help improve my mood, either. I've received so many conflicting opinions on just how I should handle things when Bob has shitty days at school--one side suggests there should be an obvious tone of disapproval and punishment, the other claims he acts out most when he needs love most so the tone should be positive and supportive. I usually end up somewhere in-between. I had a talk with him about the fact he's now grounded from all video games and playing with the neighbor kids (kiss of death) until he's made it through 3 days of school successfully. They don't have to be perfect days, just days where he doesn't have to be babysat by a member of the administration or sent home.

He talked to db on the phone, and while the conversation (thankfully) didn't involve any apologies for the Nazi Germany conditions I had forced him to endure, db did tell Bob to stop our dog from licking him--"if she licks your hand, shove your fist down her throat. She won't lick you again."

I normally don't let on that I can hear (and am listening) to the phone calls, but this time, I made sure to tell Bob it was cruel to do such a thing, and that if I ever catch him doing so, he will be in very deep shit indeed--and, depending on Gilda's mood that day, may end up losing an arm. He, of course, denied db had said such a thing.

The snow started around 8:30 last night, and apparently went all night. There's no school today because of the deplorable road conditions, and for the same reason, I opted not to make the mostly poorly tended highway drive to court this morning for the hearing on my restraining order against db. Fuck it. I'm not risking my life (and, more importantly, my car and the $1000 deductible) just to argue that I need this piece of paper to protect me from his stupid ass. Because honestly, unless that piece of paper is made of Kevlar, I don't see how much protection it truly can afford. Not to mention I'm sure he'll do something stupid in the very near future that will provide me another opportunity to request an order of protection.

Besides, I'm taking Bob for the intake appointment today (so he can start getting all those fantastic outpatient services that are going to change our lives), and then I'll have to drive to BFE to deliver Bob to his shitwad of a sperm donor. So since I'm giving up my afternoon, I figured I'd better at least get some work done this morning.

I can only imagine what kind of fun things Bob will hear tonight. Especially after this dbmail I received last night:

Please tell me why I do not get to make the time that was lost? You also said that you will keep me informed as to Bob's future treatment, Will you please give me that information? Also what medications he had injected into him while he was in this institution and all other medications they gave him while there? And what medications he is on now? Most importantly why would you admit him into a mental hospital instead of getting him some sort of treatment like therapy or concealing. We both have known that there has been an issue with his behavior for the past 3 years and there has been no action on your part what so ever, except to get him medicated. Why haven't you explored any other options, as you said you were doing when we were in court? I feel so sorry for Bob and what he had to endure while in that institution. A child Bob's age should have never been exposed to something like that.

Jesus--I didn't realize I'd sent my kid to Dachau, I quite mistakenly believed it was a very well-respected and renowned children's hospital. I certainly didn't know he was being injected with all manner of bizarre concoctions and fed copious amounts of drugs. And forgive me for my blind ignorance, but I thought the fact Bob has been seeing a psychiatrist for 2 years and a therapist for 3 (until just this past fall) constituted "some sort of treatment like therapy or"--concealing? I'm guessing that means "counseling" and db doesn't mean to suggest I should have been applying large quantities of makeup to Bob in an effort to hide him.

I'll admit, though, I don't feel at all bad for what Bob "had to endure while in that institution." From the sounds of it, he got to watch a wider variety of kid t.v. than is allowed at our house (I've banned everything but Noggin), every night was movie night, and when he stopped acting like a junior tool, he was given access to the toy cabinet in the common room. He had his own room, his own bathroom, had classes every day, 3 square meals, art and music therapy, and apparently made some friends, because he's been talking about them since he got back.

No, what "a child Bob's age should have never been exposed to" is a fuckwad who thinks mistreating and disrespecting women is cool. A father threatening to "kick (his stepfather's) fuckin' ass" and then calling his mother a "fucking bitch" after hitting her with the door of his car. A father who is openly hostile and angry toward pretty much everyone. THAT'S what he should have never been exposed to.

Of course, I didn't tell him that. I wanted to, and I thought about it, but it would be akin to defending my actions to, well, the chair I'm sitting in. Worse, it would invite him to answer back. And I really don't give a fuck about anything he has to say at this point.

I'm thinking very hard about how to approach Bob's future therapy. I'm torn between involving db and just keeping him out of it. Indeed, I'm leaning toward the latter, as he has proven again and again he is only interested in being part of the problem, not the solution. I've involved him in Bob's therapy before--in fact, it was therapy JUST FOR THE TWO OF THEM--and it was a huge waste of time and money. I fail to see the point. It seems to make more sense at this point to spend that time helping Bob learn how to deal with the confusion and anger that stem from having to deal with db and his unending bullshit, rather than trying to achieve the insurmountable task of changing db.

And this is the part where I come out of the closet and admit my nerddom--I've been reading the stupid Harry Potter books. I started a few weeks ago when the weather was particularly shitty and I was bored out of my skull and didn't want to brave sub-zero temps to go to the library and risk being fooled by a catchy title. My husband has been an avid dork since the beginning, and (of course) has all the books, so they were available. I have to say, I think they're all pretty damned predictable, but maybe that's part of the comfort factor. You know Harry and his friends are going to come out okay in the end (because there's another book, duh). In fantasy, good always triumphs over evil.

Which brings me to why I make this admission. I've decided (based on the similarities between db and Voldemort) that db is purely evil. I've even started sometimes referring to him as "He Who Must Not Be Named" or "the Dark Lord." And like Harry Potter, I'm the poor unwitting slob forced to deal with his stupid ass.

Maybe I should learn magic...