When T first came to live with me, he would preface a lot of his actions by asking, “Will that make you happy, Amy?” If I told him to brush his teeth he’d ask, “Will that make you happy, Amy?” Or if I said it was time to pick up his toys he’d wonder, “Will … Continue reading What Makes You Happy?
T came to live with me just after the 2016 election. One of the first stories he ever told me was about the mock election at his previous school. “I voted for Donald Trump, of course,” he explained. “Oh?” “Yeah! Because I know Hillary just wants to kill all of the babies and start world … Continue reading Building Walls and Making Friends
A few weeks before school wrapped up, I had to leave work early to get T. After numerous texts back and forth with his teacher, I got a call with the final verdict: he was too dysregulated to get on the bus. Apparently, it started when someone offered him a piece of candy. He wanted … Continue reading Angry Advocate
T and I had a rough morning recently, and it was entirely my fault. He was flipping out, for sure—screaming and punching himself in the head because I asked him to fold his laundry. But that’s not what made it rough. What made it rough was that I tried to use logic against a traumatized … Continue reading The It
I hate the smell of urine. Absolutely, with every ounce of my being, loathe it. The word scorn comes to mind. As does disdain. T went through a rough phase last summer where his go-to outlet for anger was urination. He’d stand on his bed in the middle of the night and pee designs onto … Continue reading In Which I Rant About Urine
A few days ago, T and I were at a school function. There was a photo booth with all kinds of props for the kids to dress up with as they posed in front of the camera. T had done his own series of shots before I arrived, but once I got there, he wanted … Continue reading That’s Not My Name
I got a call from T’s school today. Texts from his teacher are common, but by the time she calls me, I know it’s pretty bad. “T’s screaming, Amy. He’s been screaming for an hour. He won’t stop. Can you try to talk to him?” “Yeah, sure. Of course,” I say. The thing is: When he’s … Continue reading The Sad Kind of Cry