So, some of you may remember "little boy." The 6 year old who goes to my husband's school - the 6 year old whose mother is drugged up and doesn't want any of her children - the 6 year old who was living with his father when father was arrested for alcohol/drug related charges, was released from jail and promptly and very unexpectedly dropped dead on a street corner. The 6 year old who was put in a foster home with five other boys, all older, and whose foster mother spoke very little English. The 6 year old who we brought into our home to stay with us until the end of the school year because we wanted him to have a few happy months before he left to live with family out of state. THAT 6 year old boy.
Well, THAT 6 year old threw a shoe at me the other day! He gets mad when he doesn't get his way, and since I am frequently the one to tell him to clean up his room, or "don't do that" or just plain trying to get him to behave properly, I am the object of his "affection." And not only does he throw things at me (well, he threw a shoe at me once), he "tattle tales" on me to my husband - haha! The other night he had the nerve to tell me that "Mr. L is going to have a talk with you about what you said to me" - said in that snarky kind of snotty way. He is disrespectful and disobedient - - to me. He is rather good at manipulating, and, fortunately, I am even better at figuring it out. He doesn't usually treat me badly in front of my husband. He did, however, do it in front of my husband's mother! Wrong move, kid. He lies, too. We never know when he is telling the truth, thus, in our eyes he never tells the truth. Last night he was tired, and had a little cold, and had a fit when he was told that he couldn't go bike riding. I gave him a choice of eating dinner or going to bed. At dinner he told Mr. L that I was mean and that I had something mean to him.
My husband has the patience of Job. Wish I did. I am having a hard time remembering he is only 6 years old and that he's been through a lot for his young little life. He is fine 75% of the time . . . it's the other 25% of the time that I have a difficult time with and, to be honest, I feel something like a failure.
And to be honest again, I can't wait til the end of the school year. And for that I feel really bad.