Sunday, Sunday, Sunday

Took the boy to the park after church. It started off poorly, Burger King messed up our order. He wants a double hamburger with ketchup only. Noone sells that. They all sell double cheeseburgers. I have the local McDonald's partially trained. I order a double cheeseburger, no cheese, ketchup only and they get it right about 85% of the time, but he insisted on BK and they haven't dealt with him and we were at the park before he discovered his burger had been contaminated with cheese. He would not eat it. Since I have nothing against cheese, I'm actually quiet fond of it, my burger also had cheese on it. I don't really understand fussy eating, my mother wouldn't tolerate it, and if I had refused to eat something I would have done without until the next meal. If I was half as picky as this kid I would never have made it until I was his age, I would have starved to death. I gave him my fries and he ate those then played for an hour or so. On the way back home, he asked about a reward for being good. Apparently in his mind, my having to drag him away from the river twice, although he knows to stay away from it, qualified as good. But I knew he hadn't had much breakfast, he didn't want anything we had in the house, although he picked out his cereal himself, then little lunch, so I bought him a bag of his favorite chips and a drink. When we got home he bounced out and immediately asked permission to turn on the evil "game system." It was granted, but when I went back out to the car to retrieve something I saw the empty chip bag. I picked it up out of the backseat only to see most of the contents laying on the floorboard on his side. The explanation was long and involved hand positions and gusts of wind, he never could explain why he didn't tell me he had dumped the bag of Doritos in the floor though. Anyway my back floorboard carpet now smells like nacho cheese.





We've had a couple of power outages in the past week. The boy asked me if I could set his clock while he took a bath. I agreed, but as I went into his room I noticed a couple of things. First there was a sleeve peeking out from under the blanket on the second, unused, bed. I lifted the blanket to find a small pile of laundry, at least part of which I recognized as having been worn recently. "But how can this be?" I thought. "I had him bring me all of his dirty laundry Friday." So I proceeded to the bathroom to inquire. At this point, I noticed his karate bag on his bed. It was opened and contained his pants, which had been in the first load of laundry, but not not his top or tee shirt, both of which had been in the second, and yet he had assured me he had sorted and put away the laundry. I reversed course and opened the top drawer on his dresser. The drawer was crammed full of not only the gi top and tee shirt, but also pants, shirts, shorts, underwear and socks. Despite the fact that he was bragging to the case worker just last week about how he had arranged his clothing himself and always helped around the house and did all his chores. I quizzed my young housemate and apparently he forgot the dirty clothes when he gathered up his dirty laundry. He doesn't know how they came to be under the blanket. Apparently a burglar broke in and rather than steal anything, hid half the boy's dirty laundry under a convenient blanket as a prank. He did admit to not sorting his laundry and I made him put that right before he could watch tv. As far as the mysterious laundry, at least two of those things are his favorites and he will want to wear them to school this week. They will probably not make it into the laundry until next weekend.

Busy Day

Yesterday was a busy day. I took the boy to the dentist first thing. I had made arrangements with his caseworker for her to meet me there and wait for him and take him back to school, since I had morning appointments at work. She was called into a meeting but arranged for someone else to do it. That someone wasn't there. After some phone calls it turned out the woman was running late. I called work and waited. She showed up, I introduced them and showed her the mighty back pack. Later, I pick the boy up from school and he is in a strange shirt a couple sized too big. I inquire and get some wild tale about hamburgers, forgotten back packs, torn shirts, slides, and strange trips to Sparta. I have to investigate further. Anyway, we get his hair cut and get him to karate. Then we go to Walmart where he is so hyped up he's bouncing off things. There, when I call him down and tell him to behave, I get informed I'm a bad foster dad and mean to him. I should have shaved his head at home instead of paying for the fancy haircut. Anyway, this morning it's 35 degrees outside and he comes out in a shorts and a tshirt. I send him back in to change, after much arguing. He informed me the lady who took him to school told him it was supposed to be 86 today. I told him my phone said otherwise and he needed long pants and a jacket. He changes to jeans no jacket. I don't say a word. We wait for the bus, "I'm cold." "From now on you'll listen to my phone instead of some strange lady you meet won't you?"

The Boy, The Bus, The Backpack

Thursday was the boy's school Easter Party/egg hunt. He was only at school for 90 minutes, yet he insisted on taking his backpack, despite having only a single sheet of paper that needed to be turned in. The eggs and his basket had been taken to school a couple of days earlier, so I placed him on the bus with his backpack. When I picked him up from the sitter's that evening, he said, "let me get my stuff, disappeared and reappeared with his basket of candy. "Where's your backpack?" "I left it on the bus, besides I didn't need it." After several sessions of intense questioning, I determined that he left the backpack on the bus when he got off AT school. It never occurred to him to tell anyone he left it on the bus. It wasn't on the seat where he left it when he got back on the bus, but he never asked the driver. Great.




Last night: "Pack your karate bag." "Can't it wait until in the morning?" "No, we'll be running around and forget it." "Okay." Packs his gym bag. Leaves in bedroom. "Don't you think you should set it on the couch." "No, I'll remember it."




This morning: "Where's your karate bag?" Looks frantically around the living room. "I can't find it? What happened to it?" "Don't know, you packed it last night." "Last time I saw it, It was right here." Points to the couch. "YOU PACKED IT last night." Said slowly. "No, it was.... oh yeah" Runs into room and comes out with the bag, packed but unzipped.
A few minutes later after zipping bag: "Time to go." He hops off the sofa and disappears. I fill the cats' water bowl and look for him. "Where are you?" He comes out of his room looking frantically around the living room. "Where's my back pack?"

Fortunately, the bus driver had the back pack. And he didn't even thank him for finding and rescuing it.

Latest Chapter in Life with The Boy

Life with the boy is never dull.  First, when I picked him up at school, I found that “we” were working on a few things.  First, “we” were working on not talking back.  “We’ve” ALL been working on that, at home, at in-home case management, at school, at Karate, at therapy, everywere.  The trigger word for the boy is “besides”, always plural.  When that word is uttered it means someone is about to receive one or some combination of the following: an argument, a lie, notification that whatever punishment you handed down is temporary, a change of subject, some really screwy reasoning, or a question about what will happen if he disobeys, or notification of a perceived loophole. Next, use of inappropriate language.  I didn’t probe, I let the teacher deal with it.  When I questioned him in the car, he said he got in trouble for saying “Holy Crap.”  Later, the in-home case manager questioned him about it and he claimed other kids had said he used the “S” word, but he didn’t he said crap.  In “the boy speak” that probably means he said “Holy Sh**”.  The teachers were probably going along with it “Holy Crap” because it was easier or because they were afraid I would punish him more.  They probably think I am some sort of monster based on the two IEP meetings I’ve attended and the way they react to my stories and explanations of my structuring.   They don’t live with him.  Some of them are starting to look a bit more sympathetic though.  Next, use of poor English particularly “ain’t.”  and lastly, not pushing so hard to make friends.

I put him to bed at 9:00 PM.  At 10:30, as I was just settling into a good sleep, he said something.  It was louder than it should be.  I questioned him, he repeated whatever he said.  I gave up and got up.  He was standing in the hallway.  His eyes were open and he was babbling.  He was stuttering badly, and seemed slightly excited and a bit frustrated.  He was pointing into his bathroom and asking me something along the lines of “What was that thing you were saying was out-of-style?”  I inquired as to what he was speaking.  He stuttered a bit but couldn’t seem to get it out.  He came into the living room and leaned on the arm of the sofa.  He kept trying to say something.  He seemed alert, not scared, but excited.  He was too excited and his stutter was in full power, so he couldn’t say whatever he trying to say.  He finally said “Never mind” and went back to his room and climbed in his bed.  I asked if he were okay, he replied yes.  I asked if why he was up.  He didn’t know.  I asked what he wanted, he didn’t know.  I asked if he needed to use the bathroom.  He said yes and went into the living room.  I asked what he was doing.  “Going to the bathroom.”  At which point he did.  He then went to bed.  This morning he claims to remember none of it. 

An Update

The boy’s afterschool program doesn’t meet on Fridays.  He rides the bus to Mom’s.  I was off work early Friday and beat him home.  When he got off the bus he was happy and throwing something in the air and catching it. When he came in he had a good report on his school behavior.  He also had a cup of unopened applesauce.  His friend on the bus gave it to him he said.  Later mom called.  There was a strange can of spaghetti sitting on her carport.   It was the boy’s.  The mysterious friend again who gives pasta and applesauce at work.  Yesterday, the bus driver spoke with the boy after he boarded but before he could sit down.  I asked about it last night.  His “sort of” friend Joseph had told some kind of lie about him.  The boy was saying my poor, put upon house guest was threatening him.  When I questioned him further, I was accused of calling the boy a liar.  I retrieved the notebook we do his spelling and math practice in and he questioned me.  I told him I was writing a note to the bus driver to let him get off at the sitter’s Thursday, since they only had a hour and a half of school.  When I folded up the note and put it with my stuff he became concerned.  He insisted he could give it to the driver.  “No, the rules say I have to give him the written permission.”  This morning when I stood by him he again tried to get the note to give the driver.  When I spoke with the driver I found that my poor innocent boy was threatening to take food from Joseph.  Who do I believe, my poor, poor, well-behaved child with the mysterious toy and food items, or the strange little boy I’ve never met?

The genius who always does as he's told who he lives with me broke my bird cage. I had a spare, but it's small and doesn't have much in the way of perches or swings. I did manage to rescue the two birds before the cats did. I managed to rig the cage and get them in long enough to clean the spare and transfer them over. I had some field work to do on Monday, so I put a request out on Facebook asking my friends about secondhand and salvage stores that might carry a cage. I had checked both local papers, and an online classified as well as Ebay and some online stores. I found a couple of cheap used ones, but not close. The price was right even with the drive, but it would be Friday before I could do that. I hated to leave them in that little cage that long. Incidentally if anyone ever tells you a cockatiel is harmless little songbird, I have some bloody bites on my hands to prove them wrong. My facebook connection resulted in my cousin setting me up with a cage from my aunt. I was actually able to walk to get it. It wasn't much bigger than my spare, but the space was better and the cage was arranged better for feeding and changing the paper.




He obeys so well. He's scared of bees, and usually runs from them. Today while weedeating, I see him running and swatting. When I investigate I find out he's chasing the bumblebees. I tell him to stop before he gets stung. Five minutes later, he's doing it again. I tell him to stop again. Later when I send him outside to give myself a time out over the cage, i see him doing it again. I'm a bit angry so I decide to leave him alone. I figure if he catches one, he'll figure out why they don't make good pets. Then when we walk out to get the new cage, it's twilight, the time of day not the sparkly vampire movie, and he takes off running across the the plowed field. He falls. I tell him not to run in the dark. He runs off again and falls. I ask if he broke anything. "No, I landed on my butt, but I hit my head." "Well at least it wasn't anything you use."