Friday, October 10, 2008

Hi Anxiety, how you doin'?

Y’all. (F)reddy is…

So you know how Adrian HAD been the “spawn of Satan” at school? Well, this week we turned a corner, sort of. Monday and Tuesday were BANNER days. Adrian did so well in school. In fact, he was quite the ham on Monday, when he got home he says in a low, monotone, saddish voice, “Daddy…I didn’t get no happy faces today. (pregnant pause) I GOT ALL STARS!” We celebrated by having ice cream for dinner. Tuesday, rinse, reuse, repeat.

Wednesday, following three days of excruciating diarrhea and lacking the energy to push a button on the remote control, I decided to take the day off of work. I was feeling a little better, and since I hadn’t shat myself for the better part of 45 minutes I decided I would go volunteer in Adrian’s classroom to read the afternoon story and help his teacher stuff the Wednesday packets. So about 1135 I ran up to the school and Adrian was SUPER excited to see me. He was THRILLED that I had come to his class to read them a story. When it was time for me to go he wanted to go with me. But I explained to him (okay, I lied) that Daddy had to go back to work and he had to stay in school. He gave me a big old bear hug and thanked me for coming to see him. And I left. And things were good. That evening, when I picked him up, I noticed he hadn’t gotten all stars that day, but had gotten a 50/50 mixture of stars and happy faces.

Thursday morning, after Jed left, Adrian came in my room and slapped me on the forehead and said, “Daddy, can we go to Ol’ McDonal’s for breffus?” (Yes, he really talks like that.) I thought to myself, “the kid has been really good this week…sure, let’s go to Ol’ McDonal’s for breffus” (cuz I talk like that too!). So I got up, got dressed and we headed out the door. When we got in the car he said he wanted to go to the McDonald’s with the playground. So we did. And when we got inside McDonald’s he saw all the toys they had for their happy meals and asked if he could have one. So I got him the breakfast happy meal, that is, pancakes so he could have the toy. And when he got done shoveling his artificial pancakes into his mouth he asked if he could play on the playground. By this point it was about 20 minutes before we had to be at school, so I said, “Sure, but you gotta play fast, cuz we needs to get to getting’ kid.” So we go outside and he runs up and down the slide 3 or 4 times. When he comes down that last time he says, “Daddy, I gotta go to the baffroom”, so we go inside cuz when my boy’s gotta poop, my boy’s gotta poop. We get inside and the stall has a sign on the door that says “Outta order” (for reals, it said “outta”!). So I tell Adrian that’s not good and we need to run home before he shits his pants. And he’s okay with that, and we leave. In the car I explain what “out of order” means and he seems to understand it. He says that he no longer needs to poop and wants to just go to school. Since I can’t smell any poop, I see no reason to go home now and we head to the school. As we’re walking across the footbridge to the school, Adrian spots the playground and says he wants to go play on the playground. I told him we didn’t have time now, cuz school starts in 5 minutes. What happens next is every parent’s nightmare, and a perfect example of why people who hate kids so much hate kids.

Adrian THROWS himself on the ground and starts sobbing and screaming loudly. You would have thought I just “open chest”ed him right there. Every person within a 1 mile radius could hear him and thought I had just punched him in the face. I told him to get up immediately. I told him how disappointed I was that I had done every single thing he had asked me if he could do that morning and how he didn’t say “thank you” one time for any of it. About the same time, the counselor of the school walked by and casually asked if everything was okay. Okay? I HATE being asked rhetorical questions. OF COURSE EVERYTHING ISN’T OKAY. MY CHILD IS LYING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING GRASS SCREAMING AT ME AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS. I explain to her that he is angry with me because we didn’t have time to play at the playground. And she tries to divert his attention by telling him she likes his “smart jacket”. He replies, something to the effect of, “It’s a jacket you dumb ass. Jackets don’t have brains. Which apparently you don’t have either since you think my jacket is ‘smart’.” I explain to Adrian that A) he’s being rude, and B) “Smart” can have different meanings. I ask him to apologize and he tells me and her to both fuck off.

I grab his arm and drag him (SCREAMING, mind you) to the school. He “don’t wanna go”…and he screams this the entire way through the building. I explain to his teacher why he’s angry with me and she says, “He just wants a daddy day. Don’t we all sometimes?” I think to myself, “Uhhhhh, Ohhhhhhh, Ohhhhhhhh Unghhh!” (Oh, I guess she didn’t meant THAT kind of daddy day!). As I’m putting his stuff up he continues to cry and say he doesn’t want me to go…he wants to go with me…he begs and pleads with me not to leave him there. So I did.

I wasn’t expecting too much on his daily report yesterday. In fact, I actually expected a phone call from the principal. Again. But the phone never rang. And when I picked him up, before even acknowledging him, I looked in his folder. To my surprise he had gotten another mixture of 50/50 smiley faces and stars for the day. THAT was totally unexpected. And so I talked to him about his behavior that morning on the way home. And I told him that he would NEVER, and I meant EVER, go to Ol’ McDonal’s again. I told him not to ask. I told him not to whimper. I told him that if he so much farted and is sounded like and “E-I-E-I-O” that I would beat him senseless with a wire hanger and that he would WISH he had been adopted by Joan Crawford. And he VERY sweetly said, “Daddy. I’m sorry. I sorry I screamed at you this morning. I won’t ask to go to Ol’ McDonal’s anymore. I won’t fart E-I-E-I-O no more.” And it was very sweet. We hugged and I twisted the top of the hanger back together.

This morning Adrian came in and slapped me on the forehead and said, “Daddy. Poppa and Natan (Nathan’s name, apparently, doesn’t have an “H” in it in Adrian’s world) went to school. Can we go to the coffee shop?” And I thought, “WOW. How sweet. Adrian’s thinking of ME for a change.” So I tell him that’s a fantastic idea. We get up, we get dressed, we dance around the living room to the sounds of Disney. We shoo the bluebirds back into their natural bamboo cages and put the mice outside with a plate of brie. We place our prince crowns gently in their glass protective cases before we head out the door. We get to Genuine Joe’s and get our strawberry/cream cheese Danish and mug o’ Joe. Adrian eats all the good parts out of the center of the Danish and gives me his scraps to finish. And when he’s done he says, “Yo pops. Swig that shit, we gotsta go, school gonna be startin’ soon.” And I think, “WOW! WHO IS THIS KID?”

We get to school and we’re crossing the foot bridge. Since we’re a good 10 minutes early I ask him if he wants to go play on the playground and he says no. He says, “We gotta get in there so I can go to the box tops store.”

***SIDE NOTE: The school has a “store” where they have toys the kids can trade in those box tops coupons for crap.

I tell him that’s a GREAT idea. We run into the school and get in line at the store. Adrian picks out two Matchbox cars and we head to his classroom. I explain to him that he will need to keep his cars in his backpack so A) The other PWT kids in his class don’t steal them from them and B) his teacher doesn’t take them away from him. He says, “Okay, but I wanna show my teacher.” And I let him. And she appropriately “ohhhhhs” and “ahhhhhs” as I’m putting Adrian’s stuff in his cubby hole. I turn to Adrian and tell him to have a good day and, no shit, he throws himself on the ground and starts sobbing and kicking and screaming yelling that he doesn’t want me to go and begging me to take him with me. And today, it just pissed me off. I told him, sternly, to get up. I told him he was embarrassing me and himself. I told him if he didn’t let go of my leg I was going to cut his arms off so he couldn’t hold on to my leg ever again. I dragged him over to the side wall and told him he was in time out for not listening.

And the most important thing is, dear readers, THIS IS ALL AN ACT on Adrian’s part. In these screaming fits, when I’m talking to him, he does this thing where he can barely keep his 78 pound eyelids open. AS IF he’s crying SO HARD that his poor little eyes just can’t stay open. BUT (F)reddy KNOWS that they’re just BARELY opened a skoosh at the bottom so he can check to see what effect his tantrum is having on me. PUH-LEEZ Adrian. (D)addy invented the tantrum. Just ask your poppa.

I explained to him why he was in time out, and while he was in the middle of making himself hyperventilate, I stood up and walked out. I apologized to the teacher on the way out the door. And I listed, as I walked that long lonely mile of elementary school hallway, to the lovely sounds of my son SCREAMING and SOBBING, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO (D)ADDDDDDDEEEEE. DON’T LEAVE ME HERE.”

Parents, please tell me it gets better.

Bitter childless homosexuals, no need to say, “See, that’s why I hate kids.”


Southern Boy said...

I'm not bitter, but I am a childless homosexual.
Honestly, I don't know how you do it. And that's not to say you're putting up with too much, but just me saying I absolutely couldn't do it. I just doubt my own ability not to be a complete and utter fuckup.

Kay said...

First, this cracked me the eff up (I'm trying to quit cursing because the baby books say my spawn can hear now, in utero): "We shoo the bluebirds back into their natural bamboo cages and put the mice outside with a plate of brie."

Second, OMG this is what I have to look forward to???!!! Perhaps it ain't too late to schedule that abortion.

Kidding. I'm sure it will get better. Think of that picture you have on your entertainment center. A certain cute little blonde haired tyke is bawling like nobody's bidness simply because the pet store is closed. Uh huh. 'Nuff said.