My brother Matthew tells me I’m approaching this blog the wrong way. “A blogpost is supposed to be a couple of paragraphs Rae not a short story that leaves me depressed for a week. Just keep it simple. Something like: Kevin is being a real dick today and I’d like to punch him in the face but don’t worry I won’t, the end.”
So here goes. This morning fucking sucks. It’s a Mexican standoff to end all others.
Kevin hasn’t had a shower in four days. He stinks. I’ve tried every day to get him to bathe only to be met with him screeching “NO!” so I dropped it. We pick our battles around here. “The only one who has to smell him is me,” I figured, and no one ever died from not taking a bath. Today however, is therapy day and I’m not going to subject Miss Bria to Kevin’s stench so I primed myself for battle, headed downstairs, and told Kevin it was time to get in the shower. Sometimes I get lucky and the priming is all for naught; Kevin just says, “OK,” and agrees to what I ask. Some days are like that, and some days are like today.
I said, “Kevin you need to take a shower now,” and he said, “OK,” but I could tell from the expression on his face that he was toying with me. Kevin has an Oh You Think You Can Tell Me What To Do face and he was wearing it proudly this morning as he replied, “Ok Mommy I take a sowner.” The process started out well as it usually does with Kevin taking off his clothes and peeing in the toilet for which he gets a gummy bear. I thanked him and told him he was a good boy before I turned on the water in the shower and adjusted it to the perfect temperature. I said, “Kevin the water is just right so please get in the shower.” That’s when I got the other face Kevin makes, the one that reads: Hope You Took Your Vitamins This Morning Bitch. He placed his hand under the water and said, “Too hot,” and that was 2 hours ago.
I did what I was trained to do by our latest BCBA (board certified behavior analyst): I said, “Kevin, your direction was to get in the shower. I’m going to count to three. One (big pause), two (bigger pause), three.” When I said three he stuck his tongue out at me. I walked downstairs to him screaming, “I sawney, I sawney, I do it , I do it!!!!!” and I set the timer for 5 minutes. He slammed the bathroom door and screamed and cried until the timer went off. I walked upstairs and opened the door to find water running in the shower, sink, and bathtub and urine on the floor. Kevin did this to garner a big, angry reaction from me but it doesn’t work. This infuriated him further. I said, “Kevin your direction was to get in the shower.” “NO!” he screamed. I ignored his interruption and continued, “I’m going to count to three. One (big pause), Two (big pause), Three.” He blocked my exit from the bathroom and said, “Ok, Ok I get in I sawney,” but he didn’t take a single step towards the shower. He was still making this a power play, so I left. As I walked down the stairs Kevin screamed how sawney he was as he chucked toothbrushes at me. I set the timer for 8 minutes. The next time it was 15, after that 23, and on it will go until he complies.
My bathroom will most likely be trashed and he will be made to clean up the mess or he will sit up there naked and sopping wet until 9:00 tonight if that’s what it takes for him to understand he doesn’t make the rules and I’m not giving in to this this BULLSHIT anymore.
You see a lot of this is my fault. A lot of this is the result of YEARS of giving in. Giving in because I didn’t want to be embarrassed, because I didn’t want his sisters to be embarrassed, because I had to get to work, because I wanted to have a peaceful meal with my family at the end of the day and worst of all if I’m being honest: because it was easier. Giving in is the reason he didn’t learn to wipe his butt properly till he was 8. Giving in is the reason he only started dressing himself last year, and giving in is the reason he wants his Mommy to give him a bath when he’s perfectly capable of giving himself a shower.
What keeps from from losing my shit on days like this is a conversation I had years ago when Kevin first started the Special Olympics with a really strange but really awesome Mom.
Really strange lady with with green hair, several piercings, and a tattoo of her ex-husand with a dagger through his eye and the words “I see you scumbag,” underneath: You’re doing a good job Ulriksen but keep it up because at 21 Kevin will age out of the system so he’s gotta be independent. Most people call it “falling off the cliff” but that’s a load of horse shit if you ask me.
Me: What do you mean?
Really stange lady: A lot of kids once they age out of the system, they just fall off the face of the Earth ya know? They sit at home for the rest of their lives doing absolutely nothing. Do your job and your homework and you get to decide whether that boy of yours falls off the cliff or soars off the mountain like my son did.
Me: Really?
Really strange lady: Absolutely. Bart works 3 days a week at Home Depot and attends a really great day program. He goes out with his social skills group every weekend, swims here with Special Olympics, and volunteers at church with the Knights of Columbus. He’s got a full life. You see services don’t stop at 21 they’re just not available to everyone anymore.
Me: Who are they available for?
Really strange lady: The ones who are independent enough to take orders. The ones who can wipe their own ass, push a broom, say hello, or just not fall to pieces crying like a baby any time things don’t go their way. Frankly, I say it’s the ones nobody made excuses for.
Me: Gotcha. Thank you, for setting me on the right path I guess.
Really strange lady: No problem. Oh and if your husband ever turns out to be a lying, cheating scumbag like mine I can set you on the path to a great tattoo artist.
It’s been 72 minutes exactly since this Mexican standoff began and I assure you I’m going to win. I’ve already missed my eye doctor’s appointment and if he’s still up there at noon he’ll be missing occupational therapy: so be it. I’m not giving in. I’m not giving in because my son isn’t falling off any cliff. He’s going to have a job, and a social life, and hobbies, and purpose and happiness. He’ll be able to take advantage of the numerous services available to special needs adults who can wipe their own ass, push a broom, take direction, and shower themselves.
So help me God I’ll shove him off that mountain if that’s what it takes for him to learn to soar.
So there you go Matt. I think that’s as simple as I get. Kevin is being a complete dick today and I’d really like to punch him in the face but don’t worry I won’t.
The end
