Glendale's Finest

John was supposed to come over on Monday, but it rained so he did not.  He decided to come by on Tuesday instead.  He was coming to see Spane and make some meals for himself.  His kitchen is tiny, and my kitchen has a big table that is perfect for preparing lots of different foods.  I use it when I'm making Chicken Croquetas or Roll Out Cookies.

John was there when Spane came home and Spane was excited to see him.  When I say excited, I mean excited.  Homework is supposed to be done after school, after getting a snack.  I asked Spane if he had started his homework, and he said his homework was in Heaven, as he ran around the house.  I told him he needed to start his homework, and he said that he had left the homework at school.

This has happened a few times, so I really had no reason to think this time was different.  I opened his backpack, just to check, found something that looked like it might be homework and asked him about it.  He said it was something else entirely, and that he had definitely left the homework as school.  I said okay, then that's that.

Since it was a Tuesday, Spane gets to stay up a little later because he doesn't have to be to school until 9:00 on Wednesdays.  At 9:30, I reminded him that he needed to get into his pajamas so he would be ready for bed on time.

He flatly refused.  I insisted.  At some point in this argument, Spane started hitting me, and just got completely out of control.  I threatened to call the police, he said fine, very defiantly, and so I did.

Of course, he was frightened when he realized I had actually done it.  He knows that the police can take him into foster care if they think I am an unfit mother.  Not being able to get my child into bed could conceivably be grounds for that - but I was desperate.

When the police came, Spane was still not in his pajamas, and was standing on the stoop with a bit of attitude.  The police asked what was going on, I told them about the Dandy Walker syndrome, that Spane would not go to bed, and that he was getting violent.  They had a nice talk with him, and basically told him that it was not their job to come out and get him to bed, and that I was his mother, and he needed to do what I told him to do.

I finally got him to go to bed, but I was thinking that only one Seroquel was not doing its job.  It seemed we were going backward instead of forward.