What I was doing last night: Trying desperately NOT to interact with my child.
Last night's rage, brought on by a simple request to go play in her own room and stop trying to pick a fight with her brother, lasted more than an hour. Interacting with her after about the first half hour of the constant, staccato screaming, would have not been a good idea.
Sometimes, though I know its not true, I feel like she does it on purpose. She starts something with the little guy or she asks to do/have something that she knows I will say "no" to simply so that she can start screaming. Because my brother was visiting and I didn't want her to have to waste his last bit of time with us on the elliptical trainer, we forewent her daily Hard Work. I really, really intended to remember to ask her to do it later, then I got caught up in making dinner for the kids and starting laundry one more time because my incontinent boxer thinks the basket of clean laundry is a FINE place to lay down a trail of pee, filling the stock tank outside and trying for the umpteenth time in the last two weeks to discover exactly where it is the chickens are laying the eggs because it SURE AS SHIT ISN'T in the coop I spent $100 in materials and five hours building them last spring. So I forgot, and I feel really crappy about that because this tantrum is now partly my fault.
What gets to me is the endless top-of-the-lungs screaming. When she rages, it is OH MY GOD so LOUD. I forced myself a couple of years ago to stop worrying about what the neighbors think is happening. I try to remain composed, to periodically check on her and remind her that she is making a choice NOT to try and calm down. I try not to engage because in this state she is only going to continue to request things she cannot at this point have, like the ability to go outside in yard (not while you're screaming at the top of your lungs, kiddo), to have a donut (sure, a little MORE sugar to go with that would be GREAT), to get out of her room (Yes, the moment you have stopped screaming and stayed stopped for five minutes. FIVE. FREAKING. MINUTES. Surely that's not too much to ask?)
I cannot say these things to my child. And the stress of hearing her rage on and on like that makes me want to come unglued.
We see a new behavioral therapist next week. I am under no illusions that we are going to give her a pill or institute a stratgegy that is going to turn her into a perfect, non-bipolar child. I realize that. I love her just as she is, even when she makes me so frustrated I sit behind the door in my room crying into a pillow so that I won't go careening down the hall and scream at her to stop screaming (I know, the irony of it gets to me too). I wouldn't not change a hair on her head. Wanting her to get better isn't and should not be all about making MY life easier. What I am hoping for, at best, are ways that I can help her to learn how to better calm herself down. Ways I can teach her in a way she accepts and understands, the importance of taking her medication (and not throwing it in the garbage can after she sees I'm not looking). Not for me, but for her. Because I won't always be there to shield her. I won't be there to make sure she goes to her doctors and takes her pills. And that really frightens me. I hate the things I can't control. I know that I can't control them, but that doesn't make me stop hating it.
I accepted long ago that "normal" would have to be redefined for my family. If we have a day where there is only one meltdown, where the kids fight only half the time, where there are only a few timeouts, I am grateful. Those are successful days. The days when she brings home a postcard from her teacher that says "A had an AWESOME DAY in school today!" are the days when we have a celebration, with ice cream and special privileges.
I try not to waste time envying mothers who have children who are "normal." My life is what it is. My mother HATES it when I say that, but it is the best way I can say my truth, in cliches. "It is what it is." "I'm doing the best that I can." Those are my truths.
I can't wait to go home from work today and pick up my kids and have another shot at having a good night. Every new morning is an opportunity to do better than yesterday, to not have her rage, to not lose my temper or control over my emotions, to see if they will get along with one another. That's my hope for today.
