I can’t quite remember how the BASC-2 asked about tantrums, but I DO remember that Hubz and I were both like, “um, hell yeah, he has TANTRUMS.” They should have allowed us to capitalize it like that. We both marked the “almost always” category.
Gratefully, the tantrums are not what they used to be, nor are they as frequent as they once were…but when we get one, ugh….hold on for the wild ride.
Tate’s tantrums are more prevalent when we are not in our typical routine…and the past week has been chaos. Utter chaos. As you may recall from Monday’s post, my mother-in-law was here Friday and Saturday night. I was out on Friday night, too. Tate slept in the basement all weekend with his older brother. We had several family members, some of whom he’s never met, over on Sunday. It’s Red Ribbon Week at school–they are wearing special clothes, having assemblies, etc. He had a doctor’s appointment yesterday. His ABA therapist came AFTER dinner last night. The kid is done. D-O-N-E, done.
I should have known something was amiss when we pulled into the garage after school, and he wouldn’t get out of his seat. We went for a little drive. He agreed to come out of the car if I made “blue pizza”. (“Blue pizza” is a Home Run Inn cheese pizza.) I was more than happy to oblige.
As he sat and played with the Xoom, I explained our schedule. He started to whine and shook his finger “no, no, no” at me when I talked about his ABA therapist. I let it go. A couple minutes later, I brought it up again. More whining. “No, mom, I no think so.”
His therapist was right on time….and because of our detour after school, the pizza was still cooking. He.lost.IT. And by “IT” I mean his shtuff. Throwing. Hitting. Shoving. Screaming. Crying. He was targeting both me and his therapist, Tee. She gets it. I wish I could. I wanted to cry and scream with him. How is it that I STILL ache every time. Not from the slaps, but from the heartache. He has come so far…and has so far to go. It absolutely crushes me every single time he melts down like this.
I’ll spare the gory details. Let’s just say that 30 minutes later, he started to tire, and agreed to sit down at the table. He picked up the Xoom and played some Angry Birds as he sniffled and tried to pull his shtuff together.
I tried to bargain to get him to do therapy. No dice. He did ask for pizza. I gave him some. Too hot. I told him it could cool on his way downstairs. Nope, not buying it. I told him I had to put Cole to bed. He said he’d wait for me. Tee said she would sit with him. I ran upstairs and put Cole down. By the time I came back down, Tate said he was ready to go play downstairs…provided he got his pizza. DEAL! 40 minutes after Tee showed up, we were in business.
I know how wiped out I feel now…he has to be running on empty. Seriously. I am worried, too. We upped the dosage of his Vyvanse yesterday, with today being his first dose of the new strength. I was told to watch for aggression. Crap. I will give it a couple of days…my fingers are crossed that it is just the messed up routine. I am already not a fan of this dance with drugs. I know we’ll get there…the hope for better days gets me through these dark ones.
Deep breaths….deep breaths….