The need for destruction

What is it with C and destroying things? He almost has a compulsion to tear apart anything that is remotely special to him. I can understand it when he’s upset, but so often he seems perfectly happy and just wads up a precious picture, then rips it with his teeth to boot. We’re talking artwork he made at school that he is SO proud to bring home that he’s beaming and thrusting it at me the minute I walk in the door to pick him up. If I leave it at home within his reach, so often he will pull it down and destroy it.

I send both kids a sticky note with a little picture drawn on it every day in their lunch. I’d say about 75% of the time, C’s note never makes it home again. And I’d say that most often the notes that don’t make it home–or that come home rumpled and soggy–are the ones that I knew he would just love. I just assumed they didn’t come home because he destroyed them, but I’d never had any proof of that. Today one of his teachers retrieved his note from the ground, where it had been crumpled and stepped on. She said, “You know, so often he tries to eat these…” with a slightly bewildered look on her face.

Now, before you worry, I really don’t think it’s a compulsion to eat things in the form of pica or anything like that. I don’t think he’s missing any nutrients or low on iron. It’s like he’s so overcome with either love or hate that he can’t help himself.

We had to start over with the bedtime chart for just this reason, by the way. He had finally made some progress earning stickers after we implemented a new technique of about 15 minutes of quiet music at bedtime (as long as he’s quiet up there…otherwise the music gets turned off). This was something he had asked for (specifically, he wanted Raffi’s version of “Good Night, Irene”), and it really has helped. He’s often still awake when the music ends, but he hasn’t done any insane shouting/ripping/throwing/tantrumming post-music. (Yet.)

Anyway, so the chart was up to four stickers (out of the eight he needed) when he had a bit of a rough evening. I had taken the chart down from its safe location posted up high on a window so he could show it off on a Skype call with the grandparents. He got mad about something, saw the chart, and crumpled it up. He came over to show me what he did, a HUGE smile on his face (he is almost always smiling while destroying things). I said, very evenly, not upset at all, “If you destroy your chart I’ll have to throw it out and you’ll lose all the stickers you earned. It’s your choice.” He shoved it in his mouth and chewed a bit, then spit it out. Then he said, “Mommy, can you throw this out?”

What the heck? I am honestly flummoxed. I would say that he’s trying to make us mad, but we don’t get mad. Maybe a few times long ago we got upset with him, but now we know it’s pointless. We often just wordlessly throw out whatever it was he wrecked. Is he trying to disappoint us? Does he just honestly think it’s fun to crumple something he loves and try to eat it?

On a somewhat related note, I just got the book Beyond Consequences, Logic and Control, and I am looking forward to diving into it. They address seven difficult–even extreme–behaviors, but eating sticky notes is not one of them. Perhaps I should ask for a follow-up.

Update: I found this blog post by Dr. Jamie Rishikof to be enlightening about destructive behavior in children, in general.

“You made a lot of sad choices today.”

Sad, sad choices. This is what I told C tonight as I took him to bed, as he was crying about missing out on bath time and not being able to sleep with his toy mermaid. Well, my dear, that’s what your sad choices will buy you.

There have been a lot of sad choices lately. So many. I try to remember to use the Love & Logic approach to all of this and not engage. “Bummer,” I say. “That is a sad choice to make.”

I wish I could say it is working.

And my heart was full

C and I were lying in the “big” bed (John’s and my bed) reading a book before bed. E was practicing violin downstairs with John, so when the book ended and we’d finished the bedtime prayer (said by him, half of it nonsense words), I stalled a little before putting him in bed. We put on some nice smelling lotion together. I asked him about his favorite part of the day (apparently it was riding his tricycle, even though all I saw him do on the trike was scream out of frustration and then throw himself off of it, but nothing’s wrong with a little revisionist history, I suppose). Then we talked a little about bedtime and where Mama would be, where Daddy would be, what stuffy C would snuggle with.

I asked him, “Does Mama love C so, so much?” He mumbled yes and then became fascinated with the Band-Aid on his toe.

“I do love you,” I said. He looked everywhere but at me. He wildly flailed at his foot, trying to grab hold of his toe.

He said, “Don’t cover up my toe, Mama. I want to see my Band-Aid.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s fine. Will you snuggle with me for a minute?”

He laughed maniacally. It’s too much closeness. He squirmed. I pulled him next to me. He thrashed a little, then rolled himself away.

“Come back,” I said. “Where did you go?” We sat quietly for a minute, then he rolled onto his back, peering over his shoulder to see if I was still there. I smiled at him and he grinned back. “Hi,” I said.

He faced me, finally. I told him it was time to get in bed. He looked me straight in the eye, his face serious, and said, “I love Mama so much.”

I couldn’t say anything for a moment. As quickly as he said it, he was looking away, turning his head this way and that. I said, “I love you too, C. So much.” And then I scooped him up and took him to bed, my heart full.

A countdown to nothing

C has been talking about a “big-boy” bed ever since our February trip to Florida. We spent a night in a hotel before we flew out, and they didn’t have any Pack and Plays available, so C got to sleep in a regular bed. He was so cute and excited, snuggled into the middle of a queen bed with his little face peeking out from under the poofy covers. Of course, we had to bribe him with a promise of chocolate in the morning in order to make him stay in bed and not be crazy. I still can’t believe he fell asleep.

Since that point, the idea of a big boy bed has become something he mentions from time to time. He sometimes says things like, “I like my crib,” and sometimes says that he wanted a bed like E’s. We actually have another bed just like E’s, which he did sleep in for a few nights when he was first visiting our house. We also have a half-rail for his crib that we can put on to convert it to a toddler bed.

Well, the kids and I are on spring break this week and I guess I got a wild hair. I decided now was the time to try to convert him to a toddler bed. Part of my thinking was that it could be a way to bribe him to settle down at night (see numerous previous posts regarding sleep issues…and our apparent belief in parenting through bribes). I took the kids out to the garage to find the toddler crib rail and brought it back in the house. I made him a chart and told him he could have a sticker in the morning if he did a good job going to sleep at night–and we talked about what a good night would look (and sound) like. For example, maybe not throwing all of your stuffies out of the bed while screaming the lyrics to “Good Ship Lollipop.” Or, say, don’t pull paper posters off your wall and try to eat the tape. Perhaps refrain from yanking on curtains. The basics.

He was excited. I let him put one sticker on right away because the night before he had fallen asleep almost immediately (nevermind that he was so exhausted from the previous night’s shenanigans that he was a terror all day and then fell asleep gripping the sides of his crib in quite a desperate pose). We talked again at bedtime about the chart and stickers and quietness and calmness and where Mommy would be, and where Daddy would be, and what E would be doing at bedtime (lying very still and passing out almost instantaneously, thank goodness).

Aaaaaaaand, he’s earned no stickers since. Every night is the same old story, and every morning he is exhausted. I give up. John and I talked about it last night and decided we’d put the toddler rail away and take down the chart and not mention it again. If he asks about it we’ll tell him a big-boy bed is something we can talk about again, but if he doesn’t ask…well, maybe he really doesn’t want to leave the comfort and safety of his crib behind, and this is how he’s showing us.

I am at a loss about bedtime. We’ve tried many different nap schedules (or lack of nap schedules). We’ve tried different bedtime routines. We’ve tried ignoring everything completely, responding to everything quickly, responding with a sort of Ferber technique……..nothing seems to be the answer.

I was remembering today an episode of the Foster Parenting Podcast where Tim and Wendy go through all the different solutions they had tried to help their daughter fall asleep. It started out as sort of humorous to think of all the things they had done, but then became a little depressing. So many ideas, and nothing successful. Come to think of it, I should go back and listen to that episode. I likely will not wrap C like a burrito (one of the things they tried), but there are probably some other insights they offer.

Until we find something that works for C, I guess I’ll continue to pray for a sleep miracle.

So many places…..

There are so many places where I need to get C’s name changed (his last name changed with the adoption). Oy. It is making my head spin! Changing it with his primary care doctor was easy enough, luckily, but everywhere else is a royal pain! I have made three phone calls to try and fix everything with the big hospital in town, where he goes for his specialist visits. I can’t even fathom how to fix things with the giant hospital out of state where he goes for Botox. That place is a black hole of phone calls, from my past experience.

I already had to redo all of his preschool enrollment paperwork and will have to amend his summer camp forms. Luckily, I did not start filling out the therapeutic horseback riding forms until post-adoption. I guess all of this run-around is all for a good end, at least, unlike the countless hours of foster care run-around I handled for every other medical appointment. It does make me feel like I’m slightly insane, though, when I get transferred from this person who can’t help me, to this person who can’t help me, only to sit on hold for ten minutes and then finally relent and leave a message…never to be called back!