Morality

I had an interesting experience yesterday. Well, I thought it was interesting at least. :)

I was school supply shopping with Peter. We had M with us, in her car seat, which I had set down in the basket of the cart. (Aside: when the Originals were babies, I did that thing where you put the car seat up on top of the cart, where the child seat is. I never thought anything about it; I needed the space in the basket for all the groceries! But after Edmund outgrew that carrier style car seat and I was trying to decide what to do with it, I noticed that the plastic near the hooks that latch into the base had white streaks, as though it had been bent near to breaking. So, with M, when the nurses in the NICU were insisting that I not attempt to latch the carrier on the seat part of the grocery cart because it can damage the latching system...I listened. She goes down in the main basket, and we fit the things we are buying down around her.)

We checked out and were back out at the car. I joked to Peter that we were about to find out if we accidentally stole anything as I picked her up to put in the car. Oops. We did.

 A pack of index cards and a protractor. Total cost: about $2.

I thought -- for about 2 seconds -- about shrugging my shoulders and going home. It was hot. M was tired of being in the car seat and getting hungry, so she was cranky. It was past dinnertime and Edmund and Susan were waiting at home. But, I had Peter with me. And I had just pointed out to him that we didn't pay for these items.

So, I carried M and the $2 worth of school supplies back into the store and paid for them.

What is interesting to me is this: I am certain that going back and paying for the items was the right thing to do. I am almost certain that I wouldn't have done it if Peter had not been with me. Apparently, I am a more moral person if I have an audience.

Asperger's and Connecticut

Because I have such a young one in the house, we have not watched much of the coverage of the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary.

We discussed what happened with Peter and Susan. We encouraged them to continue to talk to us whenever they want or need to do so, but to ensure that we are in private when they do so. Edmund and S are young enough to not need to know any of the details. (At 3, S doesn't need to know anything about it all.)

But even within that little bubble, the latest stories connecting the shooter's behavior's to a supposed Asperger's diagnosis have filtered through.

And it makes me furious.

Asperger's can cause over-reactions to frustrations, disruptions and disappointments. Some people with Asperger's react to stress by lashing out.

But it is not a condition that should have made anyone expect that young man to pick up a gun and start shooting people.

Tweens . . . .

When my kids were very young, my mother commented once that she remembered that by the time I was in high school, she was missing the days when she could "pick somebody up and just carry them out of there."

I had that day this morning with Peter.

He's a middle schooler. He's nearly 12. He's almost as tall as I am. I can not physically make him do anything anymore. But I haven't needed to in a very long time, because he's generally a very good kid.

This morning, though? Ugh.

It started early. He didn't get up when I woke the boys. He doesn't really have to get up when Edmund gets up, as his bus comes over half an hour later, but he prefers to get up with the younger kids and then be able to take his time in the morning. I waited about 10 minutes, then went back in. I told him the time and asked if he was getting up yet. He rolled over, so I left him alone.

About 10 minutes later, he came stomping down the stairs demanding to know why I hadn't gotten him up. I told him I woke him twice, tried to gloss over the fact that he was being Mr Grumpy, and continued getting breakfast for 3 other children and packing 5 lunches.

You know I don't want to be left to sleep. You know I like to get up when the others do. I've been lying in bed confused for 15 minutes! 

I warned Mr Grumpy that he needed to get his attitude under control or he'd be heading back to his room to start the day over.

Normal breakfast continued. Until he noticed HIS pencil in the communal pencil holder by the phone. He snatched it up and glared at me. I was puzzled. It's a pencil.

But I left it on the coffee table! Next to my pencil pouch! And now he's nearly yelling, speaking with great disdain of the idiocy of whoever dared to remove his pencil from the proximity of where it belongs and place it with other pencils.

I remained miraculously calm! If I find a pencil on the coffee table, I'm going to put it in the pencil jar. Put it in the pouch if that's where you want it.

You would have thought I suggested that he murder some puppies to eat for breakfast.

Eye roll, stomp. It's pretty much the only pencil I have!

I was done being patient. You need to go back upstairs and start this morning over.

And that's when IT happened. He leaned against the counter, crossed his arms, and said, "No."


Holy crap. What does he mean "No"? And now what? I can't just pick him up and carry him out of here.....


And that's the moment I realized what my mother meant.

In the Wee Small Hours . . . again

As I approached the boys' room this morning to wake up the youngest for school, I heard voices. Specifically, I heard Peter (the oldest) say, "Would you just go get Mom?" So I opened the door.

Well, I tried to open the door. It was locked. We don't lock doors in our house. So, irritated, I knocked.

Silence.

"It's Mom. The door is locked." Surprised voices from the other side, then my oldest child opened the door.

At 4 am, he woke to see O in his room. O said, "Hi!" and ignored all attempts to get him to go back to his own bed. Tired, Peter went back to sleep. When I arrived at 6am, O was curled up in a fetal position in Peter's bed, fast asleep.

Someone else is in my room and he won't leave has now been added to the list of "reasons it's OK to wake up Mom or Dad in the middle of the night."

Peter

Peter is our first born child.

Currently a middle schooler, he swings between extreme maturity and total regression. At his best, he is our first strong support, able to lead the foster children in appropriate behavior just by example. At his worst, he makes me want to shoot him.

O adores him and jumps for joy when he returns home from school. Peter responds to the worship with grace and gentleness. He reaches down to hug this little preschooler with a grin that makes O's day and patiently reads him a book at bedtime. He gets down on the floor and shares his train tracks and racecars -- I suspect enjoying the excuse to play with these toys he claims to have outgrown. L looks to him for approval in little things, even glancing his way at times to determine if a laugh is acceptable or not. He rarely, if ever, abuses the power this gives him, choosing instead to gently guide them in how they should behave in our home.

But, he's still a pre-teen boy. Sometimes, he gets too loud or too rowdy. Sometimes, the pressure of being constantly the leader gets too much and he snaps at someone. Sometimes, he expects too much of the younger children and reacts too strongly when they don't remember to give him some space. I have to remember to allow him spells of rest, time with his peers and not make him grow up too fast too soon. Ultimately, this experience has made me even more proud of him than I was before.