Blogs Are Stupid

Doesn't anyone believe in Dear Diary anymore? What happened to the joy of putting actual pen to paper? And why does every ordinary Jane and John think they can write well enough to burden the world with their scribblings? It’s a mystery that badly needs solving. My first entry contains my thoughts about blogging and will set your expectations. The rest will probably be stream of consciousness garbage, much like you’ll find on any other blog. Perhaps we will both come away enlightened.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

The Heart of the Matter

As I've mentioned in passing, Diminutive One is seeing a psychologist. Contrary to my expectations, he has been cooperative and enthusiastic. While this is certainly a welcome surprise, I'm a little puzzled by it. But I've learned during his 8 years on this earth, not to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he's happy, I'm happy and we will continue as long as he is benefitting from his sessions.

His uncharacteristically cheerful acquiesence, however, has caused me some concern. I'm worried that she isn't being exposed to the behaviors that led us there in the first place. I'm worried that the real Diminutive One has yet to be make an appearance in the cozy confines of her office.

On the day of his last visit, Diminutive One woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Husband and I have learned that when this happens, there is very little we can do except roll with the punches. He cannot be charmed, cajoled, bribed or beaten into affability. So I left him to his own devices and even rejoiced a bit. Finally! I thought, She'll get to see the little monster in all his glory.

The boys were off for Thanksgiving break, and I was consumed with preparations, so the day went by mercifully (for all concerned) fast. When it came time to leave for the appointment, he began to grumble. I don't think he harbored any real reticence about going, he was just grumbling to grumble, which is par for the course when he's in one of his moods. I reminded him how Dr. A always makes him feel better, and his anwer to that was that he didn't want to feel better, fuck you very much.

We went anyway, if only because I was desperately looking forward to sitting in the quiet, comfortable waiting room reading trashy magazines for an hour.

When we arrived, her office door was open, but we seated ourselves and waited for her to invite us in. We had a late appointment, and the waiting room had obviously been cleaned and straightened for the day. Diminutive One went straight for the giant bin of legos. I stopped him and explained that he would be going in monentarily, and that someone had obviously just spent a great deal of time cleaning up. I told him not to dump the Legos. As expected, he argued with me. I remained calm, sure that Dr. A would be impressed with the way I was handling him. She would see what a competent parent I am.

Dr. A and I spoke briefly before Diminutive One went in. She told me that she would be asking him a lot of questions today as part of the ongoing evaluation process. I warned her that he wasn't in a particularly accomodating state of mind. She thanked me for the warning, but was visibly unfazed.

He went in, and I strained to hear, certain that I would hear my fractious offspring telling her in no uncertain terms, what she could do with her questions. I waited...in, yes, somewhat gleeful, anticipation.

Strangely, I heard nothing for the first twenty minutes or so except low, unintelligible murmuring. Then, I heard...a chortle? No...it was a guffaw. And it was followed by more guffaws. By and by, there was even a belly laugh. What the hell? Were they having fun in there? How dare they? And where was the little beast who had plagued me the entire day? Where was my validation?

The remainder of the hour went by with me stewing about just how she was going to help him with his behavioral issues if they evaporated the moment he crossed her threshold. I was unable to enjoy any of the plentiful and purely frivolous reading material. I could not savor the fancy flavored coffee. The entire session was ruined for me.

At last the door opened and a relaxed and smiling Diminutive One emerged. He and Dr. A exchanged a conspiratorial look, matching grins upon their faces. She motioned me in, and I complied. I was irritated. And I knew my irritation was irrational, which annoyed me even further. Why should it bother me that he was charming, cooperative and jovial with her when he had been such a truculent little twerp with me? Why indeed.

We only spoke for a few moments. She said it had gone well and handed me some evaluation forms for husband and me and his teacher to fill out.

On the way home, I was still brooding. In startling contrast to the ride over, Diminutive One chatted happily, sang when he knew the words to the songs on the radio, and hummed when he didn't.

At one point, after a long silence, Dimiuntive One said, "You were right Mom. I do feel better. I really like Dr. A."

"Oh?" I said archly. "And why is that?"

"Well," he said "She's interested in me and she doesn't stress me out."

And there you have it.

Straight through the heart, kid. Straight. Through. The. Heart.

13 Comments:

  • At 9:44 PM, Blogger Oh, The Joys said…

    I would have felt the same way. Exactly the same. I might have even thrown a lego at her.

     
  • At 9:56 PM, Blogger Mamma said…

    OUCH! That really hurts! I hurt here in VA for you.

    Maybe you should make the appointments for early in the morning so you get to enjoy the benefits of the visit all day.

     
  • At 10:21 PM, Blogger kevin said…

    Feel free to pass along any of those happy pills Dr. A hands out in the secrecy of her office.

     
  • At 10:34 PM, Blogger Karyn said…

    I would totally have pitched a conniption; by gum, she's gonna see SOMEBODY have a fit in that office.

     
  • At 11:09 PM, Blogger Plain Jane Mom said…

    Oh ouch. That's a fatal wound.

     
  • At 12:41 AM, Blogger Graham said…

    At least you got to use the word "truculent"... thank goodness for small favors.

     
  • At 7:04 AM, Anonymous Antique Mommy said…

    I've got a D.O. in the making. I'm taking notes.

     
  • At 11:47 AM, Anonymous mothergoosemouse said…

    Yowza.

    I know you know this deep down, but Dr. A sees him for one hour out of every 168 hours. You are with him day in and day out, struggling to live together in harmony, struggling to teach him how to make his way in the world. It's no wonder she doesn't stress him out and that he senses her intense interest. For one hour, that's all she's responsible for doing - concentrating only on him.

    That said, I think it's great that he's responding so well to the visits. Keep on keeping on!

     
  • At 12:12 PM, Blogger Blog Antagonist said…

    MGM...I do know that. But thank you for saying so. It was very kind of you. Thanks for everyone for their kind comments. It's truly appreciated!

     
  • At 12:27 PM, Blogger Veronica Mitchell said…

    Ditto to mothergoosemouse. The irony is that he is easier with her (she doesn't "stress him out") because she is less important to him than you are. She sees lots of kids, and it is part of her job. You are Mama, the one and only. Pleasing you will always be more important, and more stressful. It is the way of the world. There is nothing to do about it but take it as the back-handed compliment it really is.

     
  • At 12:36 PM, Anonymous Flybunny said…

    So glad to hear he responding tio her so well. Abby loves her psychologist and he has seen her in full on bad mood but he has yet to talk with her 1:1 and I think that is what she really needs. I think I will ask about that at the next appt.

     
  • At 3:46 PM, Anonymous mamatulip said…

    Maybe she should come home with you...

    I feel for you. I'd feel the same way. I do feel the same way when Julia leaves my house in a foulass mood and comes home from Grammy's with a grin on her face and a renewed outlook on life.

     
  • At 10:47 PM, Blogger SlinkThroughTheCity said…

    I am going to be taking my spirited 5 1/2 year old son to see a counselor next week so I appreciate you sharing your experiences with your son.

     

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