He wrote an awesome Poe-esque short story for an assignment, and did some impressive artwork.
If he would just do his homework (that I never knew he had), his report card would probably be sporting mostly As.
The plan is to add my name to the weekly homework email - so I won't be living in ignorance anymore (at least not in regards to homework).
We went to court on Friday morning. The charges that were filed against The Boy were all dropped, without prejudice (meaning that the court will not be monitoring his behavior).
It was decided BEFORE court; the papers had been signed on Wednesday.
Pity, that - had the juvenile officer seen what took place this weekend, he'd probably want to re-think that decision.
You'd think that we'd come home from hearing the good news and we'd all be happy.
The Boy went batshit crazy again, just a few hours after we returned home. I really thought I'd have to call the police again (those lovely gents who think it's cool to mace the mentally ill, autistic kid). He grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1- a couple of times before hanging up.
He ran outside, threatening to run away. Shoeless, once again.
He ran to Marcia's house (our neighbor), and told her he's just going to have to stay with her.
We're so mean to him, don'tyouknow.
It took about six hours for him to calm down to an acceptable level. Things were broken, things were thrown - at me.
At one point, he hugged me so hard that he hurt my decrepit neck.
It still hurts.
Then on Saturday, I took him to his therapy appointment, and got to spill the beans.
The therapist told him that he will never be disrespectful to me again - in her office.
After we got home, he did the spazzed out routine again, though it didn't last as long.
Of course, in his mind, it's all my fault.
The one person who hasn't deserted him in his hour of need.
I discovered that batshit crazy is not conducive to my NaNoWriMo productivity.
Neither is The Mister's helpful reminders that "I really should be writing my book".
Consequently, I'm woefully behind in word count.
And today's treat is a face-to-face meeting with the tax office boss. I already told them that I won't work there this year unless I get a raise.
She wants to talk.
I'm not looking forward to this little gathering. I know she'll more than likely play the "poor me, I don't make any money" card.
I'm sure it's difficult to get by on the seven figures she brings in from Jan. thru Apr. - poor thing.
It's just hard for me to muster up understanding when she's paying me twenty cents over minimum wage for every hour I work.
I did all the free tax returns, all the $29 tax returns, and I'm the office crazy person magnet. I get the stinkin' drunks and the ones who just stink.
I'm hoping she continues her