Flowers for Algernon

I love that story. However, I don't particularly want to live in the story, and I'm afraid maybe I do. It occurred to me tonight to ask my husband if maybe they should be doing intelligence, not behavioral, testing on our 6 year old. He seems bright enough, in terms of school work, but he shows an entrenched inability to learn from his errors at home. Everything I read about parenting emphasizes consistency, and I see its value in the impact it has on my other kids, but you can have the exact. same. response. to this child 50 times in a row and he will be shocked as shit when you have the same response the 51st time. You could literally train a mouse to run a maze more easily than you could train this child to listen or put his shoes away or go the fuck to sleep at night.

I remember the first time I posted about my parenting frustration last year, how guilty I felt even writing it down. Now it is just a permanent part of me, this agony of frustration and this knot in my chest. I'm bone weary of being angry and feeling guilty and wishing there was any way out of having to deal with him, even for a little while. I dream of running away, not from home, not from life, but from this one child, and I'm pretty sure that makes me the worst mother ever. I thought my post-partum craziness was the reason for my irritation and despair, but I feel better about every other part of my life and this remains. It stays and stays and stays.