dilatory orphanage shift worker

It is as if he (Garbanzo) believes that the rightful place of an adult is to sit idly in a room observing him and he will do whatever it takes to ensure that I get back to work, that is, get back to sitting idly in a room observing him. I left him to come in and type this. By the time I got to whatever it takes he was in here, asking a completely unnecessary question. Yes, yes, I know he is just asking for attention, albeit in an unhealthy way, and one would think that giving him attention would help. But it doesn't!!
  A. It is not possible to give him enough -- the deficit is that great and
  B. Sometimes I need to shower, or pay bills, or breath.
It's as if he thinks I am a dilatory orphanage shift worker and it is his mission to make sure I get back to work, back to sitting in the room with him. ARGHH!!!!!

brush them you will

This morning I took the kids in for their teeth cleaning and exams. Yes, I took my kids somewhere. Whoo hoo. I'm feeling as if I may become a normal functioning person again. Not this week, of course, but sometime.

Anyway, Garbanzo's teeth were nasty, coated with gunk and tarter and gross stuff. He says he brushes. We put toothpaste on his brush and make him stand in front of us and it appears that he is moving the brush properly, but I have long suspected him of sham-brushing and my suspicions were confirmed today. So, the new YOU WILL SCRUB plan has come into place.

As I see it, he either needs to manage his own dental hygiene or someone else has to manage it for him. The someone else option is to have more professional cleanings (at $67.00 a pop) which he will have to pay for. He can earn this money by scrubbing a floor for me at $1.00 a floor. So, either way, he will scrub.

I explained this to him and scheduled his next cleaning. Each and every time that I spot-check his teeth and find goo I will give him a (mandatory) earning opportunity. So, if he doesn't want to have his activity interrupted or postponed by a floor-scrubbing, he might want to keep his teeth clean.

I'll let you know how it works.

landmines

It's not just the little jars of pee, actually weird bathroom stuff I could handle. It's the lies. Garbanzo leaves landmines all over the house. We can be having a perfectly lovely day and he will report that he has done something, or not done something, or whatever and then, as I walk through the house I see that exact opposite; I see a little lie landmine awaiting me. And this happens multiple times a day. It wears me out. It drains my love-tank. After days and days of this I have no lovey feelings left.

The cure? Keep him so supervised that he has no opportunity to lie, because he is never away from us. Basically keep him within 10 feet of me all day long.

Oh joy. Constant exposure to the one person I don't want to spend time with.

I'm griping. I don't want encouragement. I want support. Just so you know.

And please oh please don't explain to me why he is this way. I get it. I know why he is this way. Knowing why and living with it are two different things. It's the latter that I am struggling with.

bitter about baby-sitters

"Get a baby-sitter." they say, these mothers of home-grown children. "Get a baby-sitter." they say, as they extol the merits of the sanity break, defend the expense, and make me want to weep.

Baby-sitters are one of the key areas in which -- in our experience -- what works for home-grown kids, most dreadfully does not work for post-institutional kids, at least not for our eldest.

Garbanzo had nearly 7 years of care-givers that were staff, care-givers that rotate on-and-off shift, that may or may not be emotionally invested in the children they looked after, and that can be angered, disappointed, deceived, and manipulated with no lasting effects.

Then he got us and (big surprise) treated us as paid staff that can be angered, disappointed, deceived, and manipulated with no lasting effects. It is really really hard for him to understand, much less live out, the difference between an orphanage-living arrangement and a family-living arrangement. Putting him into the care of others sets him right back to orphanage-mode. And why not? He had 6 highly formative years of that, and only 2.5 years of this.

This is why we home-school, because the institutional setting of school triggers anti-family behavior patterns. The same anti-family behavior patterns that are triggered by spending time with a paid care-giver that most likely is not emotionally invested in the children, and that can be angered, disappointed, deceived, and manipulated with no lasting effects.

In fact, manipulating and deceiving the care-giver is one of the favorite ways to pass the time. "So what?" you may ask. "Let him torment the sitter, pay her well, and move on." The problem is that Garbanzo sees us as merely the next shift and it takes a vast amount of time and energy and tears and gnashing of teeth to re-settle him into family mode.

You may wonder then why we just enrolled them in public school. Because the school will look after them when I can't and we have no other options.

I would love to hire a baby-sitter. I would love to not feel so trapped and alone. I would love to have that be a healthy option for our family. I envy those of you with emotionally normal kids that can handle this basic tool of parenting. It's just not a tool that we get to use yet.

little jars of pee

How would you handle finding little jars of pee stashed throughout your house? I'm handling it by flipping my lid.

lying

I think I am handling things in a wise and informed manner, but as the problem keeps recurring, I am being to doubt.

Last night:

Garbanzo: Mom, how do I get this off the cookie sheet?
Me: Use a SOS pad.
(big production about finding a SOS pad, writing SOS pads on the grocery list as the box is low, etc.)

This morning I find the cookie sheet, untouched by SOS pad or soap and water for that matter, hidden in the laundry room. Not set down and forgotten, but tucked into the gap between the freezer and the shelving.

Me: So, how did that SOS pad work last night?
Garbanzo: Great!!
Me: Can I see?
Garbanzo: Yeah.
(He pulls out the cookie sheet's twin and proudly displays it.)
Me: That is not the cookie sheet.

Garbanzo: Yes it is.
Me: Please go sit in the little chair until you are ready to tell the truth.


(time passes)


Garbanzo: I hid it in the laundry room.
Me: Go get it and clean it please.


(I sequester myself in my bedroom where my head bursts into flames.)

He had it all planned out! It was premeditated deception. I HATE THIS. How oh how can I install a conscience in this kid? He is such a terrific little person, bursting with intelligence and charm, yet all this will be for naught if he persists in land-mining his relationships with expedient deceptions.

Help!!

lord of the manor

A-HA! I get it. Took me long enough.


When we visited the kids at the orphanage we saw that for each meal, one child would be designated the official helper, fitted with an apron, and given duties. This was a highly coveted designation. Garbanzo was in tears one day as our visit preempted his turn.

So, flash forward to the present. This morning I had him helping me clean out the fridge. All the sudden he is a) authoritatively answering question Chickadee has asked of me b) speaking to me in a bossy-pants tone and c) generally bossing his sister around.

We see this pattern ALL THE TIME. Give Garbanzo a small responsibility and he will promote himself to Lord of the Manor. It drives us nuts.

Duh.

In the orphanage, the 'helper' role came with Lord of the Manor privileges, at least amongst the other children. I can imagine that all those weary middle-aged care-givers didn't really mind him taking over either. After all, it wasn't their kitchen. Their kitchens awaited them at home at the end of their shift.

So, here we have -- once again -- an understanding of how he has come by this pattern, but not much of a clue on how to break down the pattern, other than (and this is what I do) working elbow-to-elbow with him and stating over-and-over "That is not your part." "That is not appropriate." and "You are not in charge."

lying

As you know, Garbanzo has a very weak grasp on the principles of honesty and trust and integrity. And yes, we do know that he lived in survival-mode for most of his life and came by these issues honestly (so-to-speak) and so forth. But we can hardly launch him into the world without trying to alter these habits.

Can you imagine? He is good-looking and charming and desperately needs intimate female affection and has nary a qualm about lying to get what he wants and is very impulsive and is always looking for the next new thing.

Right. So you just locked up your daughters (wise of you). We really really need to modify some of these factors. We've been working on the lying.

And this morning a teeny tiny step of progress was made.

Last weekend he told a whopper and we had a long long talk (after he spent the day forking my vegetable garden as discipline). I drew him a picture of our family, cozied up inside a circle of trust. When he lies, he breaks a gap into the circle and steps outside. HE STEPS OUTSIDE. That part is important, because -- regardless of how much we miss him -- he is outside the cozy circle by his actions. I can't un-do that.

In fact, pretending that everything is okay would be doing a great disservice, setting him up to expect that he can betray trust and life goes on unaltered.

I also told him that when we have to confront the lie, the door back into the circle closes a little more with each new lie. But that, if he confesses the truth before we inquire about it, he steps back in. The circle is still tattered, but at least he is on the inside of it.

(My hope and expectation is that he will be able to shorten the time-span between stepping out and stepping back in to where they happen in the same breath. I think this is more realistic than trying to eliminate the reflexive lies in the first place.)

. . . Mom, it's really bugging me that I lied to you yesterday . . .

Then he and I role-played many situations, some silly and some serious, in which a lie was told and confessed and things were okay. Sometimes he was the liar, sometimes I was. So he got a good dialogue memorized which he can use for the confession part, and a realistic idea of what might happen after a confession.

Yesterday I found a bag of unauthorized snacks open on the counter. Both kids denied it and I pretended to buy their (his) lie, hoping that he would use the opportunity.

YES!

This morning he came in and said, "Mom, it's really bugging me that I lied to you yesterday about the sunflower seeds."

It was bugging him. That sounds like a fledgling conscience, doesn't it? I am encouraged.