11 June 2006
dream work
Five's had a tough couple of days.
He acted out, prodigiously, at day camp on Friday. He acted out enough to embarrass--make that mortify--all five of his siblings. That's something of an accomplishment in its own right.
He was disobedient, disruptive, and, to quote Four, "DISSSSSSSS-GUS-TIN.'"
He ran away from his counselor, pushed another child down, put his hand up in front of the projector when about 200 kids were engrossed in the movie, took things that didn't belong to him and refused to give them back, ran into a 4-square game being played by big kids and stole the ball and refused to give it back (this is some serious audacity for a child of 7), and generally caused a number of kids of various ages to ask his sibs how they can stand it every day.
Well, of course, he's not this bad at home--not all day, every day anyway.
I of course immediately began my adoptive mom mental checklist---PTSD? SID? OCD? RAD? And my disabled kid mom checklist--anxiety about being different? anxiety about where the walls of the room are? anxiety about the darkness necessary to show the movie (he's almost sightless in low light)? anxiety about the loosey-goosey discipline?
Yesterday, aka the morning after, I began a stealthly inquisition. Lacing my canny, probing questions in among decoy innocuous ones, I began my session: "What are you drawing?" "Did you draw yesterday at camp?" "What color will you use there?" "What did you like about camp yesterday?" "How many crayons can you count on the table?" "What did you not like about camp yesterday?"
Turns out he was just, not to put too fine a point on it, pissed.
His group has cooking on Fridays. He wanted to cook soup. That wasn't the plan. Then he suggested chips and salsa. Not the plan either.
The rest is infamy.
So he's grounded from all electronics all weekend. I had promised them a reward--they chose Burger King for dinner--for a week of good behavior at day camp; while his sibs snarfed up fries and chicken chunks, Five sullenly chomped away on a peanut butter sandwich. Every couple of hours or so I recite the litany: "If you want a reward for good behavior, you must obey the camp counselor, not bother other kids, come when they call you, blah blah blah." Needless to say, he is not a happy camper at home right now either.
This morning he told me he had a dream last night.
"Mom, you was very tiny. I was very big. I could hold you in my one hand. You wanted to eat so I went and got you some smooshy small gooey little baby food and let you eat it."
No need for The Interpretation of Dreams on this one.
He acted out, prodigiously, at day camp on Friday. He acted out enough to embarrass--make that mortify--all five of his siblings. That's something of an accomplishment in its own right.
He was disobedient, disruptive, and, to quote Four, "DISSSSSSSS-GUS-TIN.'"
He ran away from his counselor, pushed another child down, put his hand up in front of the projector when about 200 kids were engrossed in the movie, took things that didn't belong to him and refused to give them back, ran into a 4-square game being played by big kids and stole the ball and refused to give it back (this is some serious audacity for a child of 7), and generally caused a number of kids of various ages to ask his sibs how they can stand it every day.
Well, of course, he's not this bad at home--not all day, every day anyway.
I of course immediately began my adoptive mom mental checklist---PTSD? SID? OCD? RAD? And my disabled kid mom checklist--anxiety about being different? anxiety about where the walls of the room are? anxiety about the darkness necessary to show the movie (he's almost sightless in low light)? anxiety about the loosey-goosey discipline?
Yesterday, aka the morning after, I began a stealthly inquisition. Lacing my canny, probing questions in among decoy innocuous ones, I began my session: "What are you drawing?" "Did you draw yesterday at camp?" "What color will you use there?" "What did you like about camp yesterday?" "How many crayons can you count on the table?" "What did you not like about camp yesterday?"
Turns out he was just, not to put too fine a point on it, pissed.
His group has cooking on Fridays. He wanted to cook soup. That wasn't the plan. Then he suggested chips and salsa. Not the plan either.
The rest is infamy.
So he's grounded from all electronics all weekend. I had promised them a reward--they chose Burger King for dinner--for a week of good behavior at day camp; while his sibs snarfed up fries and chicken chunks, Five sullenly chomped away on a peanut butter sandwich. Every couple of hours or so I recite the litany: "If you want a reward for good behavior, you must obey the camp counselor, not bother other kids, come when they call you, blah blah blah." Needless to say, he is not a happy camper at home right now either.
This morning he told me he had a dream last night.
"Mom, you was very tiny. I was very big. I could hold you in my one hand. You wanted to eat so I went and got you some smooshy small gooey little baby food and let you eat it."
No need for The Interpretation of Dreams on this one.
