Alison Rutter Miller is a classmate of mine from DBHS. I think she is a really great person and all-around human being. Her blogs always make me smile. Give her a look.
Mind Rants of a Totally Crazed Super Mom
Monday, November 29, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Trouble, with a capital C.
It's 4:30 in the afternoon and the phone rings. I see it's my husband and I immediately think "uh oh". This is my usual reaction to a phone call from my husband unless it's his "usual" time for a call - like break time or lunch hour or on his way home from work. A call at 4:30 in the afternoon means trouble.
I was not let down. The police were at our door. Our youngest son was caught with his friend trying to steal a package from a mailbox. Caught red handed, as they say.
Now, first let me say that I know my son is not an angel who's horns just happen to support his halo. No. Christopher was, is, and most likely always will be a challenge. He is a force to be reckoned with. He is bright and smart and troubled and dark. He makes bad choices. He says bad things. He does bad things. He is what he is. A pre-adolescent boy growing up with bipolar disorder.
He keeps to himself. He plays his video games and longs to be on a baseball team or football team or any team. He just wants to belong. And therein lies his trouble. He does things in order to belong that are not exactly bright and smart, but troubled and dark.
I cannot imagine this mail theft was his idea. I do not want to and I cannot.
He has spent the majority of the summer in the house. I do not let him go out during the day when no adult is home. He went outside more often in these last two weeks than he did all summer. And 10 days into this renewed friendship, the COPS are at my door.
I do not want to point fingers. I do not want to be that parent. That kind of parent. But, I will, this time.
Trouble, does not begin with a capital C. This time.
I was not let down. The police were at our door. Our youngest son was caught with his friend trying to steal a package from a mailbox. Caught red handed, as they say.
Now, first let me say that I know my son is not an angel who's horns just happen to support his halo. No. Christopher was, is, and most likely always will be a challenge. He is a force to be reckoned with. He is bright and smart and troubled and dark. He makes bad choices. He says bad things. He does bad things. He is what he is. A pre-adolescent boy growing up with bipolar disorder.
He keeps to himself. He plays his video games and longs to be on a baseball team or football team or any team. He just wants to belong. And therein lies his trouble. He does things in order to belong that are not exactly bright and smart, but troubled and dark.
I cannot imagine this mail theft was his idea. I do not want to and I cannot.
He has spent the majority of the summer in the house. I do not let him go out during the day when no adult is home. He went outside more often in these last two weeks than he did all summer. And 10 days into this renewed friendship, the COPS are at my door.
I do not want to point fingers. I do not want to be that parent. That kind of parent. But, I will, this time.
Trouble, does not begin with a capital C. This time.
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