… the other shoe dropped


Yesterday, as my husband was taking out the trash, he bumped into the building manager who we see every now and then. She’s a lovely, honest, and spunky woman with a straight forward attitude, who you would never want to cross. 

In other words… I like her! A lot!

She said to Jason,”I was going to call Jill after the holiday, because I didn’t want to bother you… but we got a noise complaint.”

Automatically, my heart sank. I know it’s because of Willy, but I gotta tell ya… kids make noise! Especially ours.

I feel like jason and I have been compromising/putting up with our upstairs neighbors noise since we moved in almost five years ago, but this time… I. HAD. HAD IT! Their stomping around has gotten to be too much to handle. I explained to our building manager as nicely as I could, that apartment living can be difficult for us at times, because Willy is four, he’s still trying to test the limits, and he has been having a lot  of loud out bursts with door slamming lately. Especially when we are trying to discipline him for various reasons. 

Bottom line: Jason and I are teaching our son the ways of the world, natural consequences, and behavior management skills. We are trying to effectively parent our child, because if we let him get away with murder, then it’ll just come back to bite us in butts later.

For example, if you stand on the arm rest of the couch and throw a dicast-metal Thomas train at me, because I asked you to get down twice, of course I’m going to take the train away from you and send you to your room to think about it. Of course you’d be pissed off and run into your room and SLAM your door, because thats what kids do! Do you see where I’m going with this? 

Well, Jason (God bless him) tried to use the Sped. card with our building manager. He tried to explain to her that because we have a special needs child, our lives are harder, louder, and more exasperating than others in a similar situation. 

Immediately, her face changed from a simple smile to the “I’m so sorry face,” I hate that face. That face burned through me like taking a lighted match to tissue paper. 

She immediately apologized to us and then said “but he’s so cute!” And then went into saying that her friends child has Autism, and a friend of a friend’s child has special needs, and so on, and so on, and so on. 

I just stood there smiling as she spoke, because I didn’t know what else to do. I felt like my son’s value in life had been shot down to literally nothing in just seconds flat. I felt like I was going to cry in front of this woman (again), but I held it together and kept on smiling because it was New Years Eve and I was not going to let this incident ruin my evening!

We simply ended the conversation with: “well, we have to run, but please know that we are kind and courteous people who don’t want to make any trouble. We just want to live in peace with our neighbors and not make any enemies.” She told me that she would check in with her boss and see what they could do to help make our situation better. It was very nice of her to stretch her neck out like that for us, but I told her it wasn’t necessary. She insisted. 

I’ll take it.

But the real thing that bothered me about that entire experience was using the “Sped. card” that came so naturally to my husband, but seemed so fowl and foreign to me. I know a few people who use the “Sped. card” in many instances and got something note worthy in return, but I guess I just need to get a little more comfortable in my own skin first, and then try it out when I’m in a situation without going down in flames. 

Well, it looks like I have my work cut out for me in 2014.

Image

A mother and son moment

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