The funeral of Monkey Boy’s friend was interstate, and, despite mammoth efforts, we were unable to attend.
At first, this was ok, as we spoke about the school doing a memorial, and maybe planting a tree on her behalf. He was happy with this.
Because “she will be there, in her coffin, and they will bury her at school under the tree”.
Um. No. Have you every tried to explain the concept of a memorial to one with limited life skills, and extremely narrow concepts of death and dying? It takes a few weeks. And they still don’t get it.
Then launched the conversation about not going. A tough job with a kid who, under normal circumstances won’t shut up, but has completely withdrawn.
Combined with my own inexperience with death and dying.
So we decided to have our own memorial, consisting of lighting a candle at the time of the funeral, and burning a note to her in the evening. You’d think, under the circumstances, he might be more enthused about writing. But it was not to be. Still, not a bad effort.
Godzilla, also, potentially started his career as a pyromaniac, picking up anything he could to drop into the cande flame and, I’m still not sure how, setting the entire candle alight!
Fortunatley, the cat was able to escape before Godzilla caught it.
We went inside and did our usual, eat, bath, bed and book, when Monkey Boy decided that picking on Godzilla was a fun thing to do. Monkey Boy was threatened with , then placed in the laundry where he was unable to breath or look in Godzilla’s direction, setting Godzilla off into another of his Oscar winning performances.
He was eventually allowed out, where he turned his frustration on everyone. Calling me a “hideous, evil, fat arse mother” was pushing it, but when he mentioned I was the most evil and had the fattest arse he ever saw, that was it!
I saw a lady the other day with a much fatter arse!!!!
Despite his emotional state, which we were well aware of, and our attempts to calm and console him, he got worse. We had to take action.
So we hit him. Where it hurts the most.
Yup. I packed up his train set.
This set off a screaming, hitting rampage – most unusual for Monkey Boy. Do I cuddle him and potentially make him think this behaviour is ok? Or continue with calm discussion and the discipline to let him know its not ok?
Calming him was impossible, so I continued with the only way I could get through to him. I continued with the removal of the trains, and added a contract about behaviours.
After sinking his teeth into my leg (and surprisingly not being inadvertently kicked in the head for it) he really felt the full front of the blow he’d been delivered.
“Please don’t. Please just send me away forever. Or just kill me. But please don’t pack up my trains.”
Hmmm. Glad he has his priorities sorted.