Tonight, I lost my cr*p.
Monday is Cub Scout night. Every single week, I hear gravel crunching under Hubby’s tires.
And I wait.
Unless he is 100% supervised, our boy always finds trouble. And every week, they burst through the back door in the middle of a reprimand.
Since Dad passed away, our guy has regressed to the impulsive equivalent of a five year old.
I understand from the many, many articles and books about childhood grief that this is normal, but seven weeks of the behavioral equivalent of Chinese Water Torture has chipped away my resolve to stay calm.
He almost made it through the evening this time.
But then, some pestering little kid he can’t stand ran by and hit him (probably explains the “can’t stand”).
Instead of coming to tell Hubby (which is what we tell him to do, every…stinking…time…), he ran after the kid, knocking people out of the way as he tracked his prey.
Hubby happened upon the scene in time to collar him.
We are exhausted.
We can’t leave him alone for five minutes unless he’s asleep.
It’s like we’re back to year one, minus the screaming (THANK GOD at least he’s not screaming. Yep, I can find a blessing anywhere. I’m pretty sure this means I’m mental).
I have another meeting tomorrow about whether the school will allow a one-to-one behavioral aide. I’m trying to get approval for an in-home counselor to help him cope. I am doing EVERYthing I can think of.
I know being at the end of the rope is not an excuse, but tonight, I’d just had it. I went all
It was either that or have an aneurysm, and I just don’t have time for that.
In less-than-quiet decibels, I explained to our boy that although I spend hours and hours and HOURS every week in meetings and filling out paperwork and researching and reading and trying to find solutions that will help them, he and his sister are NOT my top priority.
And I am
watching the kids disrespect, ignore and disobey my husband.
I went nose-to-nose with the kid.
Imagine this, but with longer hair (probably the spit is accurate):
YOU WILL OBEY, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME SOLDIER?!
Not kidding. I went there.
By the time I was done, he was yelling, “SIR, YES, SIR! I MEAN—MA’AM!”
I don’t really know if it will make any difference.
I know the kid is grieving; we all are. Military Mama is probably not what he needs right now.
Why am I telling you this? Mostly because I’m still pretty upset, both about his behavior and about my reaction. Writing keeps me sane.
I’m telling you this because I think I come across as got-my-stuff-together a little too often, and that’s just not real life. I’m totally winging this.
Also, I want you to know that if you’re in the middle of
Joshua 1:9 is one of my favorite promises: Be Strong. Be Brave. You are NEVER ALONE.
Even in the moments we fail, God is still there.
Even when Military Mama takes over.
Stand strong. Be brave.
You can do this.
So, our Cub Scout pack leaders voluntold* me I’m in charge of a skit for our yearly banquet. The theme is Cowboys/Wild West.
*Voluntold: past tense of voluntell, verb. “To inform someone they will volunteer.”
Last year (a space theme), I re-wrote the lyrics to The Bare Necessities (The Space Necessities) and apparently they liked it. A lot.
Sorry, we didn’t make a video of The Space Necessities.
First song that came to mind? The one in all the movies….”I wanna be a COW-boy, Bayyyy-bee!” sung by the infamous Kid Rock. Catchy tune. The only lyrics I ever caught were
because I wanna be a
With the top let back and the sunshine shining
and I thought that could be cool.
Then I went here and read the lyrics. ALL of them. I don’t recommend this.
“Cowboy” is not, shall we say…Cub Scout friendly.
Needing a new idea, I ran through a bunch of old-time cowboy songs and found Git Along, Little Dogies, sung here by consummate cowboy Roy Rogers.
“Dogie” is what the cowboys called calves, per Urban Dictionary.
Here’s the skit:
Four Cub Scouts stand, taping pieces of brown paper (shaped like puppy ears) to their hats.
Cub 1 to Cub 2: “Nice hat.”
Cub 2 to Cub 3: “I like your neckerchief.”
Cub 3 to Cub 4: “Cool shoes.”
Cub 4 to Cub 1: “It’s great to see you.”
Cub Leader, walking in: “Hey, guys. I thought I asked you to come up with a skit based on a cowboy song!”
All Cubs: “We did! We chose, ‘Get Along, Little Doggies!'”
Yes, I know.
But they’re eight years old. They think it’s very funny.
And if any boys look up the lyrics to “Get Along Little Doggies,” there is ZERO chance I will field angry calls from parents.
I call it a win.