That is the sound of the past two weeks speeding by at the speed of light.
I have no idea where they went, except to know that they didn't go well.
The Mister joined me on my 4-mile run last night, and we tried to assess and get a game plan .
Right now, ideally, we should be in Fire Prevention mode, but the last month or so has left us standing on shaky ground with spinning heads. Instead we find ourselves just trying to put out the current fire before the next one starts.
We call it the "WTF?!?!" mode.
You spread poo all over your carseat and my van---WTF?!!?
You peed all over the bathroom floor instead of using the toilet---WTF?!??
You split open your brother's lip because you didn't like how he jumped off the last basement stair--WTF?!?
You are mad at Mommy because she made you lunch/gave you a clean towel/pumped up your bike tire/treated you with a chocolate chip cookie--WTF?!?
So much happens on a daily basis that I can barely wrap my mind around one thing before moving onto the next.
Please don't think of me as insensitive. The hurt, trauma, and wounds in our little guys are huge, open and apparent. These are little boys with a whole lot inside of them and None of That Trauma is Their Fault.
Trauma is not something that is logical, easily reparable or easy to live with.
We are seeking help for them and for us. But help takes time, and lots of regression usually accompanies change. We are working hard at implementing the Credit System, as outlined in the book Transforming Your Difficult Child, but the book, which is wonderful, is jammed packed and it takes long, careful reading. We have an appt. with the therapist next week to review/establish our plan, and hopefully, we'll begin to see some positive change soon.
So, in the meanwhile, we are living in an insanity mode.
Never did I realize, even with all the reading I did, that this is what we would be dealing with. That these "difficult" behaviors that authors describe and social workers sometimes allude to would happen day after day, week after week, month after month.
No one can prepare you for the complete exhaustion, brain drain and lack of hope you will feel. Nor the sense of disconnect and jadedness towards the world.
I'm trying to keep a semblance of normalcy and joy for the family. I'm trying to work on projects, but sometimes I wonder why I even try.
We did the huge Bedroom Switch-a-Roo, which once I began, I realized it was a WTF was I thinking project? Not because the switch itself was wrong. But because in doing so, I had to take apart/reassemble two bunk beds (which equates to four beds.) And all I could think was, WTF was I thinking with all these bunk beds?!?
Hatfield and Paloma in the large bedroom because the girls love to play in their rooms b/c it's a safe spot where their Little Pet villages, Build-A-Bear Centers, etc. won't be destroyed. Atticus by himself in the small bedroom where his stuff will not be broken, hidden or peed on.
Miles and Keenan in the middle room, where the carpet is already shot so it doesn't matter if it is peed on, and where the room is orderly and simple. Two twin beds, one nightstand with lamp, and one metal bin--green for Miles, red for Keenan-where their treasured stuffed animals and picture album are kept. Little for them to destroy or ruin. Above each of their beds is their All About Me posters from 4-K. Bright and colorful, each displays their specialness and lots of photos of happy times with the family. The Haitian flag hangs on one wall, and a large canvas painting of the alphabet on another. The walls are a calming beige, and the whole room feels calm, yet happy.
Yet on their first night there, Daddy gave a lovely talk with them about how important they are and how hard Mommy and Daddy work to give all of our family a beautiful home, and how much we want them to have a wonderful, clean room because we love them and we take care of them. Half hour later I walked by, to find Miles nearly asleep, and Keenan sitting half upright and hunched over. Curious, I walked in to find him, his right hand holding a full pool of his own saliva, and his bed sheets smeared/soaked with his spit.
I simply do not understand.
* * * * *
We are staying home from the Lake this weekend. Atticus has a horrible bout of ringworm covering his face, and in the small confines of a 29.5 foot trailer, you can imagine how out of control that would spread.
Today I am taking Hatfield and one of her good friends, along with Paloma, to a large city Pool with water slides, play areas, etc. I feel so badly for Hatfield, as she is the oldest and I see her watch all this craziness and shake her head. Having friends sleep over at our home is a thing of the past. I see her be very selective on who she invites to the house, carefully evaluating which friends could handle such things. She's so blessed to have some plucky, happy friends who are just the sweetest things.
I wonder how many biological children in families who adopted older children, will then go on and adopt older kids themselves. If you were to ask Hatfield now what her plans were, she'd tell you No Way. She plans on having lots of shelter Fur Babies to enrich her life, and that's that.
While we girls are swimming the afternoon away, the Mister is working on refinishing the deck, and while the boys can be so defiant at times, they will happily work with Daddy on the big project. He bought each of the boys their own sanding block and sand paper, and away they'll work like busy bees.
And just like the last two weeks, this weekend will as well, Whoosh on by.