Maybe I spoke too soon

I got a call from the school today that Sasha had threatened staff and was running the halls. I called my mom to go get him since she lives two blocks away from the school. She then calls me and says he will not come to her and she has been chasing him up and down the halls and up and down the stairs. By this time I am on my way. I walk into the school and there is Sasha running down the stairs from the second floor, looking back and laughing. There is no teacher, no principal in sight. It is really funny to him at this point. He sees me, he gets that look like "I am not done with my fun yet - go away Mom" and runs back up the stairs.

So off I go. No school official helped. They hid in their offices. I called my mother on her cell and she manned the first floor while I took the second. A nice sixth grader ran out of his class to try and help but I shooed him back in. That school has five staircases. Finally, I caught him and started to walk him home. He then kicks off his shoes and starts swearing at me. Setting on a bench inside the door is another school official and she does nothing, she just watches. So I put the shoes back on and start to walk him home. I am so furious I decide to walk home (we live four blocks away) rather than wait for Mom to gather his coat and backpack so that she can drive us home. I need the cold air on my face.

We get home and away go the toys and books in his room that he uses as weapons when he is mad. I am tired of my Mom having dark bruises because he threw something hard at her. And away go his beloved SpongeBob dvds and the rest. My heart hurts so much at this point because all I have wanted to do is have him have a good life. But of course he is so damaged he cannot let it be possible.

So back to work I go because those people are what they are. I call Mom to check on things and he is screaming in the background. He is cursing and threatening all sorts of things. I thank god at this point she cannot understand him. So I ask her to come get me if she can (he usually quiets when he is in a vehicle). I get picked up from work and from the time I am in the car he is quiet. If I had not heard him on the phone I would not believe he had been being such a total monster.

We get home and I have him clean the floors. For the rest of the day. I refuse yell at this child any longer. I refuse to do anything that will make me be anything other than the mother I wanted to be to a child. So he cleans the floor. Tomorrow, he will scrub the toilets, clean the yard and flower beds. I will not be what he tries to push me to be. And I will try to not cry so much.

I so want everything to be a normal problem so I am happy when I think I see the more normal issues for an adoptive family. Yet, that is not what this family has been given. No matter how much love goes toward Sasha and surrounds him it does not matter. I am simply warehousing him. If I think anything else I am kidding myself. So I cry. And cry and cry. Then I try to live a life on the edges of this disaster.

I now sometimes think I should have shushed my need to nurture children and simply bought the Jag. Life would have been a lot simpler emotionally.