When little lion boy was in K3, he didn’t want to go to preschool. He was the baby of 4, and I had a million things going on. The others were 4, 6, and 11…I was busy .My youngest would cry at the drop off, none of the others had, but a million friends told me that this was normal. It went on for about 6 weeks, terrible tantrums…I gave in. He was only 3, I decided not to fight the battle, and enjoy my time with him. There was always K4. We made it through about 7 months of that. Always crying at the drop off, but I wanted to be consistent , so I battled on. Many mornings I would come home, and sit and cry until time to go get him. It was that bad. And then one afternoon when I came to pick up my 4 year old son, the teacher said…I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he started crying, and wouldn’t tell me why, and then he just refused to talk. She had a bad attitude ,she was frustrated, and I was mad at her. And mad at myself. Did I do this ? Was I pushing him to hard ? This day would be a marker in my life, I started a journey that is ongoing, and I’m in a downward spiral right now. In K5, my son ran out of the school building, and into the parking lot. His teacher caught him. He hid in a closet one morning before school, and we thought that he had run away. I pulled him out that day, and taught him at home the rest of the year. It was such a tug of war, I wanted him to go to school, conquer whatever this THING was, so I would keep trying, and then I would open my eyes and say…Why am I doing this ? And then I would question that. My cup was running over alright, with doubts, and hopelessness, and lies that I was doing all the wrong things for this boy, this little lion that I love so much. First, and second grade were a blur of fights, him trying to jump out of the car, counselors holding him down so that he didn’t hurt himself. We saw a therapist during this time who didn’t feel that my son fit into any real diagnosis, that we should keep pushing through. Third grade was a reprieve, I still don’t know why. Nothing was different. In fourth grade he ran away from the school, left that building, and ran all the way home…he was 9. I was terrified. I brought him home for the rest of the year. Many times, I have cried out to God in desperation, I want to understand my son, I want to teach him…and many times I have known breakthrough. But what is happening now feels more like a breakdown. My son is once again at home. He is older now, and when the tears, and the shutting down started at school this year … I was afraid. Afraid that he would be made fun of, sixth grade boys can be really mean. So after nine weeks of middle school, he came home, and I am teaching him. Or at least, I am trying to. Most days are spent with me asking him a million times to do his work…trying to step gently, so as not to ignite his short fuse. I already know that some of you are thinking…BS. Insist on him doing the work, or give him consequences…I do. I do. To make matters worse, we got a puppy. I am an idiot. I knew better. But that voice was there in my head, the one that says – I’m all work, and no fun to my kids. I don’t want the puppy. She is 6 months old, and I just can’t keep everything together. What kind of person doesn’t want a puppy ? The kind that is trying to work at a new business, homeschool a kid that refuses to comply most days, and has 2 teenagers, both playing soccer right now. I’m going under. This morning I have been blamed for the lack of socks here. This is funny. I hate missing socks, so much so that I spend a ton of money buying socks….I’m pissed about it. The dog just ate something that is green, was green, and plastic…I am beyond caring. Of course there is more to this story, there always is. But for now, I just really needed to vent. I don’t feel nice. I feel tired. I don’t feel wise, I feel wrung out.