Scary Episode

Monday morning dawned with as much hope as a Monday can muster. Primero had plans to return to the community college to complete his testing and get officially enrolled into his college classes. I was hopeful, after so much procrastination, to see he was finally completing the last steps. I worried he might just blow it off, deciding to push it back to the next semester which would turn into never. I was feeling pessimistic, you could say. But, in true Primero fashion, he got it together and managed to take the placement tests last Friday. He had trouble with the written portion and was allowed to return on Monday for another chance. He was one point shy of not needing remedial classes, so it made sense to try again. He had the van for the day. He returned for me at work and we went to pick up the kids at daycare. I had planned to stop at the grocery store on our way home because I didn’t go the day before and we needed something to eat for dinner. Instead, here is where our ordinary Monday turned manic.

When Primero and I got upstairs to the kids room in the daycare, Love Bug came running at me grinning. Before I could ask if he had a good day, I heard the teacher calling to Chica Marie, “Give this note to your mom. Show her what you wrote.” I held my breath, thinking she had written something rude or offensive about the teacher. This was her favorite teacher, the one she tried to convince other kids was her mom. Still, if she got mad at the teacher I could see her writing something upsetting. Chica Marie was already clearly agitated. She was hiding in her cubby, refusing to come out and refusing to pass the piece of green construction paper to me. I asked her to leave with us but her energy and movements said she would run. I asked her to hold my hand and she refused. The other teacher tried talking to her. She ran and hid behind some toys, then ran past me and flopped on a chair. She glared at me, saying she was not going home with me, she hated living in our home. I tried to hold back because often times if I engage with her, it makes things worse. Plus, at this time Love Bug was getting worked up. She was throwing off the schedule and he was not having it. He asked to go say good-bye to his friends. He does this every evening. He returns to his pre-school classroom and says good-bye to them. I asked Primero to take him downstairs, thinking it would take the pressure off of Chica Marie and she would comply and decide to leave. Instead she sullenly ran into another room. The original teacher followed her after handing me the offending note. It wasn’t clear, but it seemed the note was asking another boy to have sex with her. Primero returned with Love Bug and I asked him if he could help talk her into leaving. Sometimes she will listen to Primero. He was in the game room with her and the daycare teacher but not having any success getting Chica Marie to agree to leave. She was insisting she did not write the note. Love Bug was getting clingy but I felt I needed to step in so we could leave the daycare. The teacher distracted Love Bug and I entered the room with Primero and Chica Marie. Her face was red, her arms were folded over her chest and she was pacing rapidly from wall-to-wall. I asked what was going on and she screamed that she did not write the note. Primero suggested we go home and she write a similar note to prove she didn’t do it. I suggested we just go home and chat about it. She refused. She said she was going to run out. Primero said he would run with her. Seeing no other options and counting on Primero’s lithe quickness, I agreed. She took off with Primero on her heels. I gathered Love Bug, said good-bye to the teachers and walked downstairs. When I reached the exit I saw Primero grabbing Chica Marie in a bear hug and dragging her to the van. She had tried to run away. We managed to get her into her car seat and headed for home.

I thought perhaps the car ride would calm her down a bit. It did not. She screamed the whole way home and threatened to jump out of the van. I told Primero how I needed to go to the grocery store but she was in no condition to go along. He agreed to stay home with her and I would take Love Bug with me. I thought being home with just Primero would help her calm down. When I talked to Love Bug during the car ride to the grocery store, he said he was shaking because he was worried his sister would jump from the moving car. She did leap out before I stopped the van at the house, but luckily Primero was faster and caught her before she got out of the van. Love Bug wanted to go to a specific grocery store and he was angry I went to Aldi’s. He wanted candy. I promised to show him the candy isle and let him pick out a bag of M&M’s. He asked to eat them on the ride home. I said he could have some after dinner. He got angry and ran away from me. I left the cart with my purse and the few items we had collected and chased him to the sliding doors. I grabbed him before he got all the way outside. He was angry and fighting me and I really, really had to use the bathroom. Just before I left work, I checked a notification on my Facebook. It was a post in the local autism support group for a young boy who had been missing from his home since early in the morning. It was weighing on my mind as I coaxed Love Bug into the bathroom with me. Having never been in the bathroom, I thought it was one stall and could be locked. It was not. Fear gripped my heart as I tried to decide to use the bathroom and risk Love Bug running out or just try to hold it, which was becoming increasingly more difficult. I tried to hold Love Bug’s hand. “Please stay with me, Love Bug,” I pleaded. I started to cry, begging my child to stay with me in the bathroom. Seeing my tears seemed to soften his resolve. He asked why I was crying and I told him there was a little boy missing from his family and his parents were so scared and wanted to find him so badly. I said I worried the Love Bug might run away and I would be that scared mommy, just wanting him back in my arms. Thankfully, I saw last night that the boy is home safe. And, Love Bug stopped trying to run away from me for the duration of our shopping trip. After paying for our things and trying to hastily pack them into bags, Primero called me and I feared the worst. He said Chica Marie had calmed down momentarily but that now she was acting up again. I promised to be home asap.

When I got home, Primero helped carry the groceries inside. I was dismayed at my poor selection because I planned on making spaghetti and meatballs, but I didn’t have any spaghetti noodles or pasta sauce. Trashing the idea of spaghetti, I thought we would just have breakfast for dinner, so I took the hash brown potatoes out of the freezer. Chica Marie was sharing grapes with Love Bug and asked for jello. When I told her no, she flew into a rage. She was flopping around on the floor, screaming, punching herself, kicking furniture. She pulled the cushions off the couch, punched herself. She grabbed a fork and tried stabbing it into her arm. I sat with her in the living room, while she laid on the floor kicking the front door. I suggested she take a bath to relax. She refused. I said maybe she should just go lie in her bed while I prepared dinner. She refused. I told her if she wasn’t able to stop screaming and thrashing about I would need to call the crisis hotline. She dared me to do it. I realized how helpless I was in that moment. If Primero had not been there and I was alone with both kids, we would have been in a very precarious position. I could not handle them both spiraling out of control at the same time. I could not chase Chica Marie and leave Love Bug behind or vice versa. I called the crisis hotline. Chica Marie yelled and growled and gripped her waist, pulled her clothes, and flopped around on the floor. The therapist on the phone offered to come to our house to talk to her. Chica Marie refused. I said it was either that or she would need to go to the hospital. She screamed, “take me to the hospital!” The crisis therapist on the phone worried if I would be able to get there with her safely. Primero and I devised a plan. He put Love Bug in his car seat and took my things into the car. I shuttled Chica Marie from the front door into the back seat of the van. I put her against the window and sat blocking her exit to the door. The crisis therapist called ahead to the ER to expect us because I thought she might try to run when we got there. She cried the whole six minute ride to the hospital, telling me her ribs hurt. But, she was more compliant. She walked into the hospital, clinging to me. After checking in we were ushered to the pediatric waiting room, which was a blessing because the ER was standing room only.

It didn’t take too long for us to be seen by the triage nurse. By this point in time, Chica Marie had reverted to acting baby-ish. She used a little baby voice, stuck her fingers in her mouth, clung to me, and kept asking if they were going to give her a shot. We were shown to a room just across from the nurses station and Chica Marie was changed into a gown, her clothes deposited in a plastic bag. I worried about my phone battery dying, so I turned it onto battery saving mode and tried to use it as little as possible. I notified the mobile therapist of our current situation and also a co-worker friend just in case I wasn’t able to come into work the next day. Chica Marie settled in quickly, relishing the attention and ability to choose what games to play and watch without her little brother’s interruption. When the triage nurse asked me what had brought us there, I hesitated because I didn’t want Chica Marie to start acting up again. She sensed my reticence and said she would note I would like to speak to staff in private. When the doctor came to see us, I asked Chica Marie if she wanted me to talk in front of her or if she wanted to share what had happened. She didn’t want any part of it, so the doctor found a nurse and then took me to the family room to talk. I tried to tell her as much as I could in a short time. When I told her Chica Marie and her brothers were adopted, she said how great it was. I was already exhausted at that moment and I wasn’t feeling the greatness of it all.

After a urine sample and chest x-ray, plus two containers of macaroni and cheese and apple juice, it was time to leave the pediatric ER and head to the psychiatric unit. Gone was the interactive TV with kids movies and games. Gone the extra chairs for guests, My purse and phone had to be locked up by the security guard. Anytime I left the room, I needed to go through a metal detector to go back. There was a TV but only one remote, so once we set out channel that was it. A new nurse spoke to me about the troubles we had been having, once again because Chica Marie was not cooperative and wouldn’t speak to him. At this point, Chica Marie should have been getting tired, but she was still wired. She had more juice, another snack and they tried to distract her with a puzzle, but it was a very long, long wait. We were finally interviewed electronically by the psychiatrist around 1:30 in the morning. He decided, since she had calmed down, we could go home. He also suggested we invest some time in re-evaluating her diagnosis and adjusting her medication. He feels, based on the increasingly more prolonged and severe episodes, the limited help her current meds seem to give, the sexual acting out, and potential biological contribution to her mental health could mean a bi-polar diagnosis masking as ADHD. It is something for us to pursue.   

Under Pressure

I hate being pressured to make a decision. I guess it’s something most people don’t like. I feel like I do ok making up my mind on most things, but there are something I like to sit with before I decide. Again, I suppose that’s fairly average for most people. A few weeks ago I had a dream where I was being forced to make a snap decision on something that was not an easy decision to make. I dreamt I had gone to the doctor and found out I was expecting from a one-night stand. I expressed worry about handling another child alone, especially with my two complicated little ones, the doctor suggested I look into adoption. She even had a couple in the waiting room who would love to adopt my child. Before I could consent or object, the doctor brought the eager couple into the room and they plied me with questions and adoration at me being willing to “make the right decision.” Woah! I remember I tried calling Primero, but they gently took my phone from my hands, so the doctor could do an ultrasound and allow the couple to hear the heartbeat. I woke up feeling so overwhelmed. It was hard to shake the feeling of pressure even as I moved through the day. I remember wanting to scream “Wait!” and “Stop!” in the dream but being unable to even utter a polite objection. I don’t know what the dream was supposed to represent in my current life. I was struggling over making a decision for Love Bug to attend an acute partial hospitalization and get medication. Perhaps somehow my unconscious used a strangely ironic adoption scenario to help me work it out? Regardless, I’m glad it was just a dream.

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In The News

Last Sunday my family was on the front of the local newspaper. I had been asked by CHOR if I would speak to a reporter. She as focusing her article on how the opioid crisis feeds the foster care system. I was nervous about the article. I talk too much. I wasn’t sure about allowing them to take pictures of the kids, but Primero was ok with it, so we decided to take photos at the playground near our house. Sunday morning my dad was the first one to tell me he saw the article. Then the Facebook comments came rolling in, but it wasn’t until Monday morning when someone sent me the link, that I actually got to see the article. It was longer than I thought it was going to be and included information from interviews with staff at CHOR and other local foster agencies. The pictures were terrific and I want to order some copies since the screenshots I took were blurry. I have two copies of the article to save. My job even featured the article on our Facebook page. It was a lot of publicity during a difficult time. The article came out after a rough week with two IEP meetings and nearly sending my Love Bug to an acute partial hospitalization program. Mostly, it made me feel uncomfortable being portrayed (not so much in the article as much as by my friends and co-workers) as some unsung hero. I feel like a failure almost every single day. I am no one’s hero.

Life Lessons

One of the hardest things for me to do as a parent is to let my children learn a life lesson the hard way. With Primero, I feel like I do a lot of that when it comes to his biological family and how he chooses to handle situations. Since she learned he has been working, Primero’s mother has been asking him for money. Or for him to buy her cigarettes. He gets upset about it and complains to me, yet most of the time he does relent and give her what she asks for. It irks me but I try to not voice my frustration. It is a decision Primero needs to make on his own. It is his money and what he does with it is his business. I try to talk to him about being fiscally responsible (yes, the proverbial pot calling the kettle black) and to not lend money he doesn’t need back. At the end of the day, I see this causing damage to their relationship, but I feel fairly helpless to stop it. I know she asks Primero because he feels the most compelled to help her. He is also the most able to, since he isn’t trying to live off of the amount he gets from his job. His basic needs (and then some) are met, so the money he earns is for him to buy non-essentials. Plus, I think she plays on the guilt he feels about being adopted and having more than she could offer him. She makes many passive-aggressive comments about him being spoiled and “acting white.” I hope Primero will be able to create a healthy boundary with her but I know it isn’t easy. Mostly, I just try to be there for when that life lesson comes crashing home. It isn’t easy.

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Little Monsters

Are my children predators? Are they evil little monsters? Is there any hope for a future not cluttered with the consequences of undesirable behaviors? Can I keep defending them? Should I?

 

It seems every day brings a fresh new hell. It is at the point where I absolutely dread picking my children up at daycare simply because I don’t want to hear what they did during the day. Last Wednesday Love Bug stuck his hand up the shirt of another child’s TSS worker while at bowling. He also touched another teacher’s rear end. Love Bug likes the feeling of skin. He likes to stroke my arms and he will stick his hand under my sleeve. It isn’t a sexually motivated action (at least not to my untrained understanding), it is a sensory thing. Rather than being sensitive to touch, Love Bug seems to crave it. He needs the extra sensory input. This is not to excuse the behavior, just to explain it. But, the whole scenario came on the heels of Chica Maire’s inappropriate touching being reported to a therapist and CYS and I feel like we are being judged. Why are my children touching people? I was told the TSS worker “didn’t want to make trouble” but just wanted it to be know my child touched her. He turned 5 three weeks ago. He is a child. He did not understand what he did was wrong. Could we please just keep that in mind? What kind of trouble would she start with a 5 year old? Get him arrested? Sue him/me for damages? Every time I think my stress level has reached a peak, something happens that seems to push it even higher. The dizzy headaches have now begun; precursor to migraines. I do not know what to do. I keep trying to find the solution for my Love Bug and Chica Marie as well. We are in some tough times right now but I know they will not last forever. We just need to find some new ways of managing. My children are not evil. They just need help.

Food Truck Memories

A few weeks ago I wrote about a misunderstanding at a local eating establishment. It hurt my soul to think how cruel the world is for people who don’t fit the neuro-typical mold. Our dining experience this past Friday has restored a little bit of my faith in humanity. We wanted to get pastelillos (empanadas) from a local Salvadoran food truck. The plan was to take our food home to eat it. When we placed our order we were told they didn’t have any pastelillos. So, Chica Marie and I ordered papusas and Love Bug settled on yellow rice. While we were waiting for our food two men came to eat. My kids started talking to the men, asking them questions. The men were charmed by my little chatty Cathy’s and answered them back. The men spoke to the children in English and Spanish while we conversed in Spanish. At one point, one of the men shared his salad with the kids because they were curious why he only put salt and lime juice on it. My kiddos refused to leave when our food was ready, so we sat and ate with our new friends. The woman who owned the food truck came out to talk to us as well. She explained how delighted she was to see non-Hispanic kids enjoying her food. They even helped Love Bug make a limeade drink with his water, some limes and sugar. No one was bothered when Love Bug got a little loud or used his hand to stir his concoction. No one was upset that Chica Marie asked a million questions and butchered the Spanish words she tried to pronounce. It was actually the best dinner out of the house in memory. I was so grateful for the inclusion and kindness by the people we didn’t know. The sense of family and community is one of the things I love most about the Hispanic culture. But, for a momma with “difficult” kids, the simple act of compassion was the greatest gift.      

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It's Not Just Me

Monday night I was on the local TV with my foster-adoption agency. It wasn’t for a program hosted by CHOR, rather it was a local professional who holds a monthly show called “Diversity: A Wider Vision.” For this month he chose to talk about “Adoption and Foster Care for Local Orphans.” He invited his close friends from church, a lawyer and PHD (not a medical doctor), two representatives from different local agencies (including mine) and a third adoptive mother. It was an interesting hour and probably the most nervous I’ve been on TV because I didn’t know what to expect. After the show was over, I chatted with the PHD adoptive mom. Her and her husband adopted a sibling group of three when their biological daughter was 16 years old. Their youngest child and oldest child are similar in age difference to my oldest and youngest. When we had been asked on the show what was the hardest and most rewarding things about foster-adoption we mentioned the adjustment and I said doing it alone was hard. But, off-camera we admitted it was the behavioral issues and diagnoses that were the hardest. The woman mentioned her three youngest were all diagnoses with ADHD. I said I could handle the hyper-activity, it was the impulsivity I could not figure out. She agreed and added the stealing and lying were also very hard. Her youngest had been in trouble with the law but still takes things that are not hers to take. We exchanged numbers to chat since we found a kindred spirit in what we had been handling with our kids. On the one hand, I was saddened to hear things didn’t get better as her daughter matured. On the other hand, it was nice to know a PHD and lawyer could not parent some of the difficult behaviors out of their child. It made me feel a hair less like a lousy parent. Our problems aren’t because I’m a single mother. A two parent household struggled just as much as we have struggled to wrestle with these issues. Maybe, just maybe it isn’t all my fault.  

Horse of a Different Color

Last Tuesday night Love Bug spent the whole night in his bed. He came to my room around 6 am to tell me he stayed in his bed because he was 5 and he wasn’t afraid and he didn’t cry. Did I just get my bed back? No. The opposite in fact.

 

A few weeks ago Chica Marie was accused of touching a friend inappropriately under a blanket. The friend’s mother works at the daycare and instructed her daughter to not play with Chica Marie and the daycare separated them to ride in different vans to the weekly outings. This is not the first time Chica Marie has been caught doing something inappropriate with a peer. A few weeks prior to the blanket issue she was supposedly trying to fix another girls shirt strap and was accused of inappropriate touching. Last year she was caught “making out” with other girls at daycare. She has had these issues pop up at school, two summers ago when she went to camp and at home, although nothing at home recently. Chica Marie was evaluated no less than three times by a therapist specializing evaluating sexual trauma in young children. The determination was cloudy because whatever happened to Chica Marie was prior to her being able to remember, mostly likely when she was pre-verbal. At best, the psychologist believes Chica Marie witnessed sexual acts of adults. There might be more to what happened and we will most likely never know fully what, if anything, happened. It does not seem to matter to Chica Marie how many times I have spoken to her about not touching other children. Getting into trouble does not seem to bother her at all. I don’t think she ever feels remorse for what she has done, only for getting in trouble. But, I feel like yesterday things moved to a new level.

 

When I got home I saw a text message from the mobile therapist. He said, “Hey, I unfortunately have some bad news that I wanted you to hear from me… there was multiple reports about Love Bug sticking his hands down other kids pants and touching kids in inappropriate places today. I’m concerned that he’s picking these behaviors up from Chica Marie… I’d recommend having them sleep in separate rooms and talking to Chica Marie and Love Bug about these issues.” I took each kid into my room to talk to them separately. I asked Love Bug if Chica Marie has ever touched him. He denied it. I talked to Chica Marie and she made weird faces at me. I want desperately for her to understand she cannot do these things. I am so worried she will go too far and end up in a lot of trouble. I don’t know what it will take to make her stop.

 

Love Bug is sleeping in my room for the time being. I don’t know for how long or what else I to do. I don’t let the kids alone together and I am going to be more strict about them walking in on each other and me in the bathroom. I am worried and I don’t know what to do. Am I over-reacting?

 

*** I wrote this earlier and recently found out from our mobile therapist that a child from the daycare reported Chica Marie’s behaviors to her therapist and now a CYS investigation is underway. I am terrified for so many reasons. Chica Marie tells tales and in the past has made up things about Primero. And I fear what decisions CYS might make in terms of keeping the children together in our home. I fear what this might mean for Chica Marie and her future. Will she be able to go to school in the fall? My brain is running through so many scenarios, it is a scary place right now. I’m trying to not think about it. I know there is documentation from the things that happened when she was in foster care and I hope those things will be taken into consideration. But, I know when tangling with CYS it is always a horse of a different color. Lord, help my family!

Thoughtfulness

Primero has a friend from school who he has been spending time with this summer. While I have some concerns, because she is only 14 years old turning 15 in the fall, she does seem to be a better influence than last year’s summer fun hang out place with Toxic Friend. Primero left last night to spend the night at her place, but he asked from some wrapping paper and a gift bag before he left. It was the girl’s mothers birthday. He bought her a small, relatively inexpensive coffeemaker. He explained his choice by telling me she currently uses some antiquated boiling pot to make her coffee and so he thought this would be a nice upgrade for her. It made me smile, to think of his thoughtfulness. It is moments like these that make me think there is a small part of him who does listen to me. It’s good to sometimes I remember how sweet Primero can be.

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Treading Water

I feel like our current IEP tells us we are in deep water. It tells us a life raft would potentially help us. It describes what a life raft looks like. And then it paddles off and leaves us treading water wondering how we are supposed to find a life raft with the waves crashing over us. In other words, it helps us to see a problem but does not give any concrete solutions. The only program offered was almost not offered. And the edict to find a more structured daycare was issued without any resource to actually find such a mythical place. In short, our IEP is not helping us. It is not helping Love Bug improve his social skills or develop better communication. And it does nothing to help eliminate the undesirable behaviors. Love Bug can succeed! We just need help to get on that path!

 

Our daycare has been working with us. Last Wednesday they moved Love Bug upstairs to the school-aged classroom with the stipulation he be kept away from his sister. I knew she felt like he was infringing on her turf, but I did explain to her this solution could keep them in the daycare in hopes of garnering her cooperation. Thus far, Love Bug has decreased his tantrums from about one an hour to one a day. He is allowed to stay as long as he continues this level of cooperation. Oh, and I have to make sure he has money for popcorn when they go to the movies. I have been unsuccessful in finding a more suitable daycare that would also transport from our elementary school. I am holding my breath, hoping this positive change is permanent for Love Bug.

 

Meanwhile, our post-permanency services have kicked in. We have our first meeting with the case worker next Monday. I am meeting with the Early Intervention Administrative Director and a teacher from Love Bug’s weekly group to see what other services they might be able to offer him. I’m not terribly optimistic since I was told they don’t really do much over the summer. We are also changing wrap around service providers to one that focuses more on the autistic side of the behaviors. The slight hiccup is that our current provider does not have him diagnosed as ASD, but his IEP from the Early Intervention does, so we can use that. It just means more paperwork. And, I signed the forms to start receiving help from the local management service provider, so soon we will have a case manager with a more comprehensive list of services in our community. I’m hoping the things that I have done so far will help us to reach the path where Love Bug can begin improving behaviors and be the content little boy I know he can be.

 

Since we weren’t given a life raft, I’ve cobbled one together with my tenacious consistent pushing to find what we need, lashed together by my determination and belief that my little boy can do more than other’s feel he is capable of doing. I will find us the tools to succeed because I won't stop until I do!

Lightening Bug Rage

Last Friday night we went to a family event at a local nature park. The event was focused on learning about lightening bugs. We began as a group sitting around a camp fire. A storm was looming nearby so the two educators were trying to stall to see if it would materialize or blow over. They had a lot of fascinating information to share but my kids got antsy. When we first got there a little girl said, “Hi guys!” Turns out, she was the older sister to Love Bug’s t-ball bff. She explained her mom and brother were not there, she was there with a friend. Chica Marie walked over to her and went to hug her. The girl awkwardly tried to move away and then just as awkwardly accepted the embrace. Chica Marie tried talking to her some more, but the girl and her friend moved away. I don’t really know what it was all about and I didn’t really get a chance to ask Chica Marie about it. I worry that some of the thing I’ve warned her about could be happening based on her behaviors. As the smoke burned our eyes and the educators tried to wait out the storm threat, Love Bug grew increasingly restless. He loudly declared he wanted to leave. He threatened to do all kinds of things if we didn’t leave. So, I walked him away from the group. He got some energy out and then the group decided to brave the elements and walk to the woods. We were supposed to observe the lightening bugs and see if we could tell which ones were which (yes, there is more than one kind of lightening bug). Rather than pay attention to the lightening bugs, I spent the time trying to keep my children from stomping over everything and destroying the crude lean-to’s nestled around the small stone fire pit. At one point, I got Love Bug to look at a lightening bug and I managed to call Chica Marie over to us. As we were watching the bug and I was trying to capture Chica Marie’s attention, a mom speaking an Indian dialect walked over with her son. Chica Marie mocked the way the woman was speaking and I nearly flew into a rage. I grabbed her by the arm and then grabbed her face so she would look at me. “We do not do that!’ I hissed. We slowly worked our way away from the mom and son and I confronted Chica Marie, “It was very rude of you to make fun of that mother talking to her son. There was no reason for it. This is America and people can speak as many languages as they want!” Not long after the incident we decided to leave. Honestly, I need to get it out of my head that we can do things like this. We cannot. My children do not handle these activities in a positive way and no matter how much I think it would be great for them, I need to stop.

Politely Kicked Out

Before the bottom fell out of our world, we were simply a family learning how to help a little boy struggling with sensory issues related to autism. The Friday before last we decided to go see the new Toy Story movie. The kids were excited. Love Bug did not have a good day at daycare, but we were still trying to make something positive out of it. We decided to go to a Chinese restaurant that everyone at my job raves about. We had never been there. It was very busy when we put in our order and Love Bug was already in melt-down mode because he was hangry and tired. We foolishly decided to dine in, rather than take out. As we sat waiting, Love Bug continued his spiral into misery, ending up on the floor under the table. At one point I saw a tray of food, but it was soon whisked back into the kitchen. A few moments later the young girl who took our order called out to us, with a take-out bag. “Oh did you want to eat in?” She asked. Having exhausted myself trying to keep Love Bug from going nuclear, I acquiesced and we quickly retreated to the car. It was there that Primero announced we were politely kicked out. He said she knew we asked to dine in but she packed our meals anyway because Love Bug was not sitting quietly. I because enraged. Yes, Love Bug was being a real pill, but I was trying to keep him calm, I wasn’t ignoring him and letting him run wild. Love Bug might have been annoying, but there wasn’t really anyone else eating there, just waiting for their food. I wanted to go back in and give them a piece of my mind, but Primero suggested we just go home and eat so we wouldn’t miss our movie. Primero chided me for my simplistic belief that the woman serving us made a mistake and packed our food by accident. “It’s so sweet that you don’t think negatively like that,” he said. But, I would rather live in a world where we give everyone the benefit of doubt, room to make mistakes, and patience when our manners slip a little bit, especially when it comes to children. I know I was more judgmental before I had kids, but if saw the parent trying to control their kid, I wouldn’t be as pissy as if I saw them ignoring their screaming progeny. Now, I just give them a nod of solidarity because it’s hard enough without the judging stares of disapproval. I wish so hard there was better understanding for families of special needs children. Until then, screw you Chinese restaurant. Your food wasn’t that great anyway….

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