O.K., NOW You Can Beat The Crap Out Of Him

My 8 year old son was home from school yesterday. After a 3 day weekend with his Dad he was wiped. That is why I had put him to bed at 7 pm. The alarm in his room went off at 7 am, as usual, and he turned it off and went back to sleep. When I went into his room to coax him from his bed he cried, wailed and moaned. His back hurt from a rough landing off of the rope swing into the lake. He had a headache. His stomach was upset. And his feet hurt. I clearly stated that if he were to stay home from school because he was sick that he would have to abide by the house rules. The rule states: Sick children must stay in bed for the entire day. Trust me, this handy rule cuts the malingering to a bare minimum. He agreed. He firmly stated that he wanted to spend the day in bed. O.K. As long as we were both on the same page. I caved and let him stay home. 30 minutes after his older sisters had been picked up by the carpool, he appeared downstairs. He was hungry. Clearly his stomach was feeling better. Then he insisted that he could only rest on the couch. A clear violation of the house rule. And here is where some explanation about my precious boy is in order. He was diagnosed with Oppositional Defiant Disorder this fall. The list of symptoms describe him to a T (except for the revenge part, Thank God.) This was after years and years of testing for him and therapy for me. We finally went to therapy together. The key conversation between the therapist and my boy went something like this: Therapist: Do you obey your Mother? Boy: When I feel like it. Therapist: You must always obey your mother. As long as you live in her house, you must obey her. Boy: Yeah, I guess. Mother: And if he chooses not to obey me? What then? Therapist: Well, then you make his life a misery. Boy: (Eyes are wide open) Mom: Could you be more specific please? Therapist: Well, you start by taking away the things he loves. TV, his bicycle, his favorite toys. Mom: Done that. Next? Therapist: You start taking things out of his room. Eventually he will figure out that life is much easier and far more comfortable when he obeys his mother. Boy: (Rolls eyes) The therapist wanted to medicate him. I refused. Yes, medication would have lessened the symptoms, but it would have also dimmed the good parts of his personality. His energy, enthusiasm and sense of humor are what keep me from killing him on a daily basis. So we went with Plan B: Tough Love. I am now known in my family as "She Who Must Be Obeyed". My Mother even sent me a shirt with the logo on it. Oh, but it is such hard work. And yesterday purely sucked! Getting him to stay in his room was almost impossible. I was certainly more miserable then he was. My options for keeping him in his room were limited. Yes, I considered duck taping him to his bed. Yes, I considered locking him in. I even briefly considered sitting in a chair outside of his room for the whole day. None of these were feasible. My 4 year old was home with us, as well. So in the course of the next 7 hellish hours he: Entered his older sister's room and painted each of his toenails a different color, broke a porcelain piggy bank of his little sister's that was on my dresser, came downstairs every 15 minutes, screamed and raged his hate for me when I sent him back up, went back into his older sister's room for watermelon lip gloss, got into 4 fights with his little sister, threw a baseball at his little sisters back (hard), called me more names and drew many, many pictures expressing his hatred of me. My reminding him that it was his choice to stay home sick did not help the situation. And lest you think I'm a heartless beast, this child would stay home sick every other day only to recover at 8:30 am. I had to be tough. So there we were in the driveway after school and it was time for the boy to tell his two older sisters that he had violated their privacy by entering their room and using their products. I have had the "property rights" discussion with my son more times then I care to recall. The 8 year old manfully owned up to his crime. Then the 11 year old asked me if she and her sister could hit him. Hmmmm? Our talks hadn't cured his sticky fingers. Maybe instead of instilling the "fear of God" he needed a dose of the "fear of the Sisters"? I said, "Only if you give him a 5 second head start." Then the fateful words, "O.K., NOW you can beat the crap out of him." He screamed and ran. They counted to 5, screamed their rage and went after him. I think they finally caught up with him in his room after several laps around the block. I ignored his screams and he did not come to me for comfort. It will be a very long time before he enters his older sister's room uninvited. This morning his alarm went off at 7 am. I stood in his doorway and asked him if he were going to school. He sat right up and said, "Mom, no way am I stayin' home. " Success!