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My loud-mouth five-year-old is very sensitive to loud noises.  See anything wrong with this statement?  I know…doesn’t make sense, but it’s true.  I’m thinking it’s like life for all of us neurotics—we can anticipate horrible things happening (with gobs of worry), but handle life in stride when taken by surprise.  Mikey can thank me for this fabulous character flaw, and I can thank God for giving somebody the brains to come up with a medication that stifles my anxious brain to a cope able level. 

I’ve been told by the loud-mouth’s teacher that he doesn’t handle the fire drills very well.  In his case the anticipation of them is all-consuming much more so than managing the actual drill.  They have tried telling him in advance so that he can plan his management of the situation.  Bad idea…he sits panic-stricken with tears running down his face waiting for it to go off which could be as much as 45 minutes before it does.  Then, they have tried not saying anything, because he deals with his anxiety much better  when he’s taken by surprise.

Today, I went to the gym and on my way back to my mom and dad’s to get Pierce, I drove by the school and saw that there were emergency vehicles out front and all the children and teachers were lined up outside the various buildings.  This seems a bit much for a standard fire drill, and a fleeting reel of images rolled through my head—fire, flood, a kid with a gun in school.  Once again, thank God for Zoloft—because I was able to push those images away.  I went about my business.  I got to my parents’ house and found my dad in a snit about the cable from his new Kinect  He was trying to fish it behind the entertainment center to his Xbox.  It’s always fun to watch my dad make a mountain out of a molehill.  First of all, the cable guy was there, so we couldn’t get down to business just yet.  At some point during this guy’s service appointment, I could see Dad brainstorming about how to get to the wire that was tied to a metal hanger that was tied to a string that was eaten by the bird that ate the fish.  He thought we were going to have to remove the bridge from the wall unit to be able to move the furniture out from the wall, and also take the T.V. out of the space.  The job was getting more complicated by the minute.  Obviously trying to avoid this itinerary of maneuvers, he fabricated a peg board hook to an extension pole with electrical tape, while bitching about having ever made the decision to purchase a full wall unit. that makes it a bear to swap out electronics or reconfigure them.  I heard vows about owning an entertainment console only next time.  I’ve got news for him—mom will never let him replace that entertainment center!  I’m not his ally either, since I have the same one and it’s beautiful!

Then, to shed a little light on the subject, he gets out one of those yellow spotlights on a tripod that he paid $10 for at a garage sale over the weekend, only to find out that it wouldn’t light.  No time for cables now, “gotta get this damn thing working!”  Whatever…

I got down on the floor and started to pull the string that was connected to the hanger that was connected to the cable, and it wouldn’t budge.  Okay, I will try jiggling the cable again from the top—I got it loose!  I repositioned it beyond the metal bracket that was causing the hang-up.  Then I had dad feed it back down while I pulled it through the hole in the back of the bottom cabinet and into the back of the Xbox, then tested it out to make sure it’s working—my work is finished here!  See ya, thanks for watching Pierce!

We got home for a bit, and I got about two chores done, when Michael’s teacher called me.  There had been two fire alarms today and there was a good possibility that there would be more.  Apparently a water main break and lord knows what else, was causing it to go of repeatedly.  All the teachers and students had been outside for an hour this morning, and no sooner were they allowed back in the building and the alarm sounded again.  Mikey handled the situations well, but then he got wind that there may be more drills before the day was out.  He would hardly eat his lunch because he wouldn’t take his hands off his ears for fear they would bleed from the impending terror that would be delivered in the way of horribly loud sirens.  He got so stressed out that he couldn’t function at all—I had to go get him from school.  Even the assistant principal recommended that he leave early knowing his state of mind and the possibility of more agitation.

When I picked him up, he was blotchy faced, glassy-eyed, and looked terrified with his hands over his ears.  He didn’t recover until we were in the car and pulling away from the school where he could be sure he wouldn’t hear the fire drill if it went off. 

I made sure he understood that this was not a new form of manipulation to get out of going to school, so don’t even think about it.  I hope they have the issues resolved before school tomorrow!

In the mean time Mr. Sensitive Ears has let out a squawk or two that make me want to sit in a corner crying with my hands over my ears…

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