Susan Senator

The back of my hands are bloody and my spirits are low. Big struggle this morning with Nat, especially between him and Ned. Nat would not sit down in time-out this time. That's a first. His arm is a mess from his biting. He let me clean and bandage it. I was struck by the odd juxtaposition of little blue ice bunny sitting atop Nat's muscular bruised forearm.

I can't get the image out of my head of Ben racing upstairs to escape as Nat came close to him. "Dad! He's biting his arm again!" he shouted. That's when the struggle really began. I was upstairs trying to get dressed for Ben's class Breakfast Share. (Ben had a supporting role in a skit, "Native American Cinderella." He had been so excited about it; his classmates had all said that he should be the one to play the Chief. So last night he constructed a mask with feathers on it. I couldn't wait.)

I got dressed without showering and ran downstairs to help. I tried desperately to smile so that Ben would focus on the upcoming excitement. Ned hurried Ben off to school while I stayed with Nat. I felt like I was guarding Max, even though Max is so big. It is the unpredictability and the adrenaline that pumps through Nat that makes it so frightening. I tried to make myself calm -- invisible, really -- so that Nat would not detect my fear. It only worked up to a point. He eventually came up to me, clawing at me. I stood my ground and kept my voice soft, trying also to rescue my hands, but he is very quick and strong.

I have set up a meeting with our team to talk about planning his residential placement. In the early fall Ned and I went on a tour of some, and got an idea of what they can offer. There is a waiting list, which is a good thing, because it gives us time to plan and transition -- all of us. I tell myself that Nat is 18 and it is not horrible of me to plan this. That it is probably better for Nat, to have round-the-clock structure. That it will be better for Ben, not to have to live with fear.

I tell myself a lot of things.