Except that sometimes she doesn't because she doesn't have a clue what she is doing and just wants everyone else to think that she does.
I am sitting here typing, almost in tears, because I am in way over my head.
Homework for Little Man has been an huge issue for us this school year. We spend 2-3 hours every night on homework that should take 15-20 minutes tops, and there are tears and screaming and pleading before it is all said and done.
It's not that Little Man struggles with the material, he just doesn't see the point in homework. So for him, that is the end of the story. In his mind, he has done his duty by sitting through school all day and should be free to pursue whatever he wants once he gets home.
And tonight... Well tonight was probably the craziest experience we have had to date because he spent over 30 minutes arguing with both Deputy Doug and me that it was not him that wrote one of his spelling words incorrectly. When he was the only one in the kitchen with a pencil in his hand. He didn't know how it got there, but he was not the one who wrote it.
Really?
The first few minutes, I just stared at him incredulously with my jaw hanging open because, for the life of me, I could not fathom that we were even having this conversation. I, somewhat calmly, reiterated to him that he was the only one in the kitchen and therefore it could only be him who wrote the spelling word, but he was insistent that it was not him.
How do you handle something like that? He was not budging an inch. And he cried and he screamed while I tried to keep my calm and employ some of the techniques that the autism specialist has been working with us on, when inside I was screaming and crying as well. He finally gave in and admitted that it was him that wrote the word after 45 minutes of conversation, losing most of his privileges, and him seeing that I was not going to budge an inch either.
How naive of me to think that with the new year upon us and two weeks off from school (plus the fact that Little Man came home in an extremely good mood) that things might be different.
How did my mom do it? She always seemed so sure of herself and what she was doing. I have to wonder if she ended up in her room at night, hiding in a corner and rocking herself while trying to figure out what the heck she was doing. Because that's what I feel like doing sometimes.
I love Little Man to the moon and back, but sometimes I have to wonder if God gave this precious little imp to the wrong mother. Because there has to be someone out there that would handle this a lot better than me, and that would be more wise and know how to help Little Man work through these things.
I have a couple of names and numbers of mothers who also are raising boys with Aspergers. Friends who have seen me struggling have been kind enough to try and find me someone to talk to who has been there and done that already, so that I can see that there is light at the end of the tunnel. I have been told that one of the mothers has handled the situation by just embracing her son's quirkiness. I have been hesitant to call because I am scared that they are going to tell me that my situation is nothing compared to others and I am just being a wimp. Or that I am handling everything all wrong. Or that I am a complete and utter failure as a mother.
But seeing as how I am pretty sure that I am going to need some kind of support to make it through this, maybe now is a good time to pick up the phone and call. Maybe I am not the only mother who feels like she doesn't have a clue about how to raise another human being. Maybe mother doesn't always know best and needs to admit as much.
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