Our end-of-the school year meltdowns are in crazy full spin here. What does one do with a nine year old who refuses to get in the van and go to school? I could have picked him up and put him in, but not while his fists are flying and he’s raging. Several of us could have combined our strength and accomplished the task for the moment, but unless we sat on him he would have fought to get out. If we sat on him then one of us would have to do without a seatbelt which is certainly not an option.

He was raging because I’d confronted him about stealing a bag of chips and then lying about it. All he had to do was ask for it and he knew he’d be granted permission, but when one is looking for a fight, one steals, knowing a confrontation is coming, and thus an excuse to rage.

I’d left him hollering and spitting in the family room with some older kids, ages 18 and 25, knowing I’d be back within ten minutes.

The little bugger ran away.

I don’t search for runaways, not wanting to feed into that negative attention seeking behaviors. I know they’ll come home, wagging their tails behind them. There’s nowhere to run, the food and the family are here with us. So far I’m 39 for 39, all have come home within an hour or so, sheepish and knowing they owe me an apology and that they’ll receive a consequence.

This young’un, still in no shape for school, teachers aren’t paid enough to wrestle ragers to the ground, made a choice by default to now help me clean out the garage. Too bad, too sad son, I have enough energy to wear anyone out, five hours later we were done. He’s dragging around like a worn out sad sack and I’m blogging right now so that I can start supper for 20 something people and make it to two soccer games and two softball games tonight.

I’d emailed his teacher, she’s seen his meltdowns, and it’s not likely he’ll be allowed to attend his class party which alone could send him into the stratosphere of overwhelming emotions.

He’s been on a three day tear.