Tired of Waiting

I've never been a patient person and I am tired of this miso-waiting game. We have 11 more days until Colin's neurologist appointment. We are still waiting for the call from Children's Hospital Behavioral Health Center to schedule a visit (psych research?).

Friday morning, I ended up leaving a voice mail for the person our pediatrician told us was going to call. My husband had to spend the day helping his mother fix things around her house. My in-laws live 90 minutes from us and my father-in-law has dementia. I was at work all day and did not want to miss her call. Unfortunately no word yet, therefore I have no details about what the interest is in our son.

Since my husband would not be home on time to pick up Colin after cross country practice, I had the "pleasure" of doing so. The older boys were upstairs, hanging out in their rooms when we arrived home. Colin made a sandwich and took a plate of food into the basement to watch t.v. and unwind. While he was chilling out, I heard his phone ring. I wasn't able to find it in time and checked to see who called. It was the same long-distance number of a telemarketer who called my phone earlier in the day.

As I was scrolling through his calls, I was immediately alarmed. His contacts consisted of swear words for each of us. My number was under "Mother F*cker" and his brothers and father also had swear words for their listings. Our house phone was under "Hell". To top it all off, the banner that flashed across his screen stated " I hate my b*tch Dad". Using profanity is against house rules.

I flipped out. He uses this phone to call us for rides, only to be abusive the whole ride home. I know this is the misophonia talking but I had enough. I marched down the basement stairs, ignoring demands of staying away and confronted my son. I screamed at the top of my lungs so that I would be heard through the headphones and threats my son was issuing. This is the only way to get his attention. I hate that it has come to this.

I stood my ground and refused to leave. I followed my son throughout the house. I had a message to get through to him. I will not be disrespected.The advice of  "Please do not punish him for the reaction to miso. Normal naughty behavior yes punish." stuck in my head. It is hard to know anymore where the miso ends and the bad behavior begins. I filed this under "Bad Behavior". 

Hubs was not as upset as I was but agreed this was unacceptable. He attributed the poor phone choice to being angry and bored. We've taken away all the other electronics and this is what he is left with other than his school books when he is in the "B & B". Dad reprogrammed the phone as Colin was fast asleep by the time he came home at 7:00 p.m.

A New Resting Place?

Friday night was the first night, Colin slept in the basement. When hubs went to check on him, our son was kneeling on the area rug with his head on the sofa. At least he looked comfortable. He slept the whole night down there only to be rudely awakened in the morning by the flush of the toilet. I forgot that the sounds of water rushing through the pipes are much louder in the basement. And thus another triggered start to the day.

Saturday was a whirl of activity. Colin and his oldest brother had cross country meets and my middle son had a quiz team tournament. 

Mid-day I had one of my former employees bring her two boys over to pick up an old boy's bike, a tag-along attachment for an adult bicycle, and a few other hand-me-down books and toys. She was forewarned about Colin who stayed in the basement and refused to come up to visit. My eldest son was home and helped watch the boys on our play set until he had to leave for his lifeguard job. This was the highlight of my day.

Other than taking a shower and coming up for food and bathroom breaks Colin spent the bulk of the day in the basement. Once again he had fallen asleep early, this time on the rug between the coffee table and the television. It was pitch black down there and we needed a flashlight to see where he was. Our miso-son looked comfortable so we him alone. 

I fell asleep watching Saturday Night Live with my 15 year old middle-son and woke up at the end of the show. Unable to sleep, I decided to write this post. It is now 3:30 a.m. Sunday morning and I am finally ready to get some shut-eye. At this point Colin is still in the basement.

Good night or should I say Good Morning?

We are a work-in-progress.