now fortified with impotent fury!risperdal

So. Um yeah. Quality moments in parenting. Because I am That Mom, I marched him on into school and explained all to his teacher. She and the other room teacher are lovely women and adore him, and always seem loathe to tell me when he’s been a handful because they like him so much (also, the school has no formal ‘how was the kid’s day’ reporting mechanism because by this age, the kids should be self-reporting. Sean’s speech pathology, while drastically improved, still makes things like ascertaining precisely what went on during the day a challenge. I wasn’t even sure of the kid’s real name until I came in and stared at the art wall and matched up the syllables to artiste’s names).

I began with the stuff from earlier in the week- the shoving on the playground, and she hadn’t been there to witness it (there had been a sub). The ‘bad boy’ stuff got an arched eyebrow and an ‘oh no he didn’t!’. I then explained what Sean had told me when I picked him up- about who he’d hit. And it was like light dawning on the teacher.

And she cracked right the hell up. “Eye for an eye, eh little man?” she teased, picking him up and hugging him, and reiterating what his dad and I had said about not hitting anyone, and that he should come tell her or any other teacher if someone hurt him or was mean to him.

That day at pickup, Sean proudly informed me he’d gone up to and apologized to Wyoming’s mom for hitting her. Thanks to the way the school is organized- or not- none of the parents have any of the other’s contact information…or names… or last names… or anything, unless we manage to catch one another and ask directly. So I have no hope in hell of apologizing to this woman unless I bust out the quill pen, or waylay her a month and a half hence at the mother’s day tea. Which seems pointless.

Oh. And Sean’s teacher informed me today that yesterday, Sean just patiently waited out Wyoming smacking at him on the playground, beatifically smiling and calling over to her so she could come over and bust Wyoming and send him to the office.

I’m changing his middle name to Medici.

So yesterday, Sean came home complaining about a classmate I’ll call Wyoming. Wyoming, he said, was mean to him on the playground and pushed him down in the woodchips. I gave him the gentle mom talk about how that wasn’t nice or being a good friend, but it was important to not get mad and hurt someone in retaliation. After some assertions from Sean that Wyoming is NOT his FRIEND at ALL, and my assuring him it’s okay to not be friends with everyone (I know, I am That Horrible Mom at school who truly doesn’t believe all children must get along swimmingly) but that he has to be civil and polite and Not Mean, he seemed down with this.

This morning, Sean started calling himself a bad boy. I intervened quickly- who had told him that? Wyoming, he said, had called him that. We went through the Words Are Not For Hurting talk, and I emphasized that even though it was mean of Wyoming to say that, it was important Sean not be mean to Wyoming back.

At pickup tonight, I ran into one of his teachers (generally, both of his teachers have left and he’s in a different room at pickup time) and asked how the day went. She hedged. After no small amount of inquiry- he ate well, he napped, he played- she allowed as how he’d just hauled off and hit another kid’s parent. Sean had been removed from the room he was in and put in a smaller room, and he was snagged for me. I marched him on down the hall and asked him who, precisely, he’d hit.

Wyoming’s mom.

So we had a little talk about how it’s not okay to hit anyone, and being mad at someone was no reason to hurt someone they love. And his father and I are both horrified that he felt in any way this was an ok thing to do, but we’re also sort of. Well. Frankly. Strangely mortifyingly impressed at his devious, stewing, plotting little ways. People, he busted out the pimp hand.

The lad freely admits that the waiting and striking? Totally inherited from Dad. Because me? I’d just bust a cap in Wyoming’s ass immediately if I were Sean, no matter how many Words Are Not For Hurting and Hands Are Not For Hitting talks I’d gotten, because I really am that rage-impulsive if someone smacks me around and calls me bad.

Does one write an apology note to the other parent in this situation? Gyah.

Ways to not gain weight when you go visit your mom and friends for a whirlwind weekend of shopping, eating, and opera in Chicago.

1. Be virtuous and bring your workout clothes with you and hit the gym. Try not to shriek when you discover they have valet parking. At a gym.

2. Watch what you eat and go for the more ladies who lunch type options than the trencherman choices.

3. Come down with the stomach flu your child had. Nuff said.

Sigh.

Just for half this week, I wished I was.

It’s been a very long few weeks. Lots of travel. Tons of work stress. Weekends not really our own (a sad state which will continue for a bit longer- I’m out of town for fun next weekend, Lad leaves today for a 4 day out of town stint, and now thanks to work it’s looking like I’ll be out of town again at the end of March). But in the midst of it all, a bright spot.

The smackdown worked.

A few weeks back, I got a mystery bill from the Children’s Hospital, and suddenly instead of a heartstopping huge number on the balance due line, from the insurance company taking back payments, there was a single, solitary, sad copay. It made no sense. I ripped open the next thing in the pile, a statement from the insurance company. Which went on to list all of the bills they had rescinded payment on, a jumble of numbers, and ‘Remark code 22′.

Remark code 22, it turns out, equals (and I quote) “We have received additional information and have reconsidered this claim”.

I called campus.
I talked to the head of HR benefits.
Who had not been notified by insurance they were doing this, allowed as how that level of communication seemed to be par for the course, and why yes, yes it did look like the university’s bitchslapping of the insurance company worked. I had set down my anger and let others carry the burden.

And! It! Worked!
Now. I’m going to set down my rage at a client and hope someone else writes this educational document for me. What do you mean, that’s not how it works?