scream if you want to go faster
0 comment Wednesday, June 4, 2014 |
At our last family meeting, Son asked a lot of questions about his becoming adopted and the children also opened up for the very first time a little about the abuse that went on in their birth home. We have decided to have a family meeting every Wednesday evening, sitting on the rug of Truth and Trust, cuddling with teddies and warm under blankets, where no sanctions are given, no threats are made, and no tellings off happen.
This past Saturday was the second anniversary of the official placement date of out children. It was a busy day. Tesco shopping in the morning, lunch, kids off to a birthday party for the afternoon, tea, then attending a large municipal bonfire and fireworks display.
It was made busier by a last minute request from the mother whose birthday party our children were going to, to pick up another kid on the way. I say 'on the way'. It wasn't. It was exactly in the opposite direction. Through very disruptive roadworks.
So we had to set out 3/4 of an hour earlier than we would have done, and it took us an hour longer to get back home. That extra hassle would have been bad enough on a day when we were already pushed for time, but it was made worse by the fact that the boy we had to pick up turned out to be a master at trauma language. His constant talk was of bombs, guns, fighting, smashing, breaking, hitting, you know, all that pleasant stuff you really want your own kids to be around. Margot Sunderland would have recognised this type of language very well.
In the afternoon whilst the kids were at the party, Husband and I went into town and enjoyed a civilised lunch and a cosy drink in one of our old haunts. Last year when we had done this, I was desperately unhappy when it was time to go and pick the kids up again. This time I did not feel so bad. That's progress for me.
After a hurried tea, we dressed the kids up in the new autumn clothes that had been delievered courtesy of Next, and they were in very good spirits. We were all, it seemed, having a fabulous day and we went off to the bonfire in high spirits.
As we stood watching the fireworks explode into the sky, a great fire burning behind us, I remembered how we had done the same thing last year and how anxious I had been. I felt sure that one of us was going to crack under the pressure of the anniversary, have a massive tantrum and give us a horrible memory of our 1 year landmark. As it happened, we just avoided a tantrum from son that year over a toy he wanted. Luckily, he got his toy, and we had returned home a happy if tired family.
This year, we were not so lucky. We could not find the toy Son wanted. He didn't want any of the toys from the Hook-a-Duck stall and so I paid �3 for nothing, failed to win the big teddy he wanted on a game stall, and didn't want to go on any ride. There was nothing anywhere he wanted us to buy him, although we were willing.
As we left the park I said very clearly to both of the children in an energetic yet sympathetic way, that it was a real shame there were no toys they wanted us to buy them, but that we would buy them something tomorrow, so isn't THAT great? Daughter and I walked ahead, and very soon, snaking its way through the noise of traffic and crowds, came the shrill sounds of Son's tantrum.
When we got to a quieter spot I asked Husband what had happened. Apparently Son had started to try and hurt Husband's hand as he held it, an old trick of Son's. He tries to crush fingers and sometimes goes for digging his nails into your cuticles. Husband had told him off and so Son had hit him.
In a day that Son had had a comic, chocolate bar and collectible cards from Tesco, a fabulous party with goody bags and cake, new clothes from Next he'd picked himself, ice cream, fairground, bonfire and fireworks, he wanted to hurt his daddy because he couldn't also have a toy right there and then. A toy that didn't exist. A toy that we had said we would buy him tomorrow.
Hitting has obviously become the Weapon of Choice for one damaged little boy. I really don't know what I shall do if he ever hits me.