Last night after karate I told Michael to put up the aerobed so I could straighten my room. "It's too hard!" he complained. I helped him get the sheets off and folded, and I let the air out. All he had to do was fold it and stick it in the box. He kept whining about it. Finally, I just walked out of the room before I lost my temper.
After dinner, Mother told Michael to put his books in his backpack and get everything ready for school, so we could just grab it and go this morning. She had to tell him THREE times to do that. More whining.
When we went in to tell Mother good night, Michael was fussy again and I just had had ENOUGH. I put him in a time out, kneeling on Granny's rug, for 5 minutes. When he was able to get up, he sullenly kissed Mother, glared at me, and pronounced dramatically "I WON'T be able WALK at school tomorrow!" He's such a Drama King! [Note: I never raised my voice in administering this punishment.]
I wanted to say Buddy, I grew up in the Episcopal church, where you got on and off your knees ten times throughout the service. I used to always particularly dread the prayers just before communion, because they lasted 5-10 minutes. My knees would be sore by the end. When I sang in the choir at St. John's in Knoxville I memorized that whole series of prayers just to occupy my mind and not think about my sore knees. So, I don't see anything wrong with a kneeling time out, for 5 minutes. Mike had been warned.
When I got upstairs I had to tell him several times to come brush his teeth in my bathroom and leave Alesia alone. He was still mad at me. When I went to kiss him goodnight, he had flung himself crossways on the mattress, wrapped in the sheet like a mummy, his arm over his face. "Michael, you need to get used to the fact that I am your mother, and I have a right to tell you what to do," I began. He didn't respond, but I knew he heard me. I called Alesia in to listen, too.
It's always very hard for older adopted kids to submit to the authority of their new parents. Usually, they came from birth homes where the parents were either absent or drunk, and they could pretty much do as they liked. Nobody checked homework, made them brush their teeth, or demanded good manners. In the orphanage, they had a few rules, but no real personal attention. Too few caregivers. So the demands and expectations of parents are shocking to these kids, even relatively good kids like Michael.
His birthmom left him alone for hours at a time when he was small. Even now, he hates being in his room alone, even surrounded by toys and games. He won't take a shower in my bathroom unless I am sitting outside. He always gets out of the tub, wraps a big towel around himself, and runs out to make sure I am still there. I always give him a reassuring hug, despite getting "watered."
Last night, I figured I better spell it out, again, so there would be no misunderstanding. "Michael, in my house, I am the authority. What I say, you have to do. If you don't, you will be punished. It's that simple." [Somewhere in there I also said you have to obey Granny, too.]
No movement from the mummy. He wasn't asleep, though.
I looked pointedly at Alesia. "For the rest of your life you are going to have to submit to authority. In the outside world, the police have authority. If they tell you to STOP! you better do it the FIRST time. If you don't, you might get shot and killed. [I looked at Mike] That's why you need to get used to doing what you're told, the first time. If you are in a job and you don't do what you're told, you will get fired. Authority is everywhere. Only in your own home, alone, are you the authority."
I kissed Alesia good night and sent her off to wash her face. Michael's angry body was still across the bed. I got on the bed and held him, despite his anger. I rubbed his head. I said "No matter how angry you are at me, I am your mama, and I will ALWAYS be your mama. No matter what you do, I am your mama. If you're a bad boy, I'm still your mama. If you're a good boy, I'm still your mama. Every day of your life, I am your mother. Nothing you do will ever change that." No answer. I kept holding him.
"What about when you're at work?" he challenged me.
"I am still your mama when I'm at work. I call you every day when you get home from school, don't I? I only work because I have to Mike, not because I want to. I'd much prefer to stay home with you."
He kept being angry, even as I said prayers and kissed him again. He was OK this morning, though.
When I got up, I found Alesia had left the straightening iron on in the bathroom. I had told her a couple of times before to turn it off, because it's a fire hazard. I told her this morning before she got out of bed "That iron is going into quarantine for ONE WEEK. You've been warned about turning it off. If you cannot listen, you cannot use it." I put it in my bathroom.
I took Alesia to the doctor yesterday, because of her gastric upsets. They tested her for Heliobacter Pylori, a common bacteria found in Russian orphans. It causes ulcer symptoms. She also got some medication. Hopefully she doesn't have an ulcer. We shall see. It may be that she just has an ulcer not caused by the bacteria. She had lots of gastric issues in Russia, too, so this is nothing new. Ulcers nowadays are simply treated with medication.
My father had ulcers off and on throughout his adult life. Alesia takes after him even though there's no biological relation, which is fascinating and kind of scary, in some ways.
Still no word from my brother on where he is going to be shipped out to on Sunday. I hate the waiting.
