Runaway Train

So, last week Nick tried to run away.

We were on line at the grocery store, and Nick said he was excited about screen time, and I mentioned the fact that he had used up his screen time that morning, and also that he'd lost screen time for Sunday afternoon because the week before he threw a fit when I said it was time to turn everything off.

He didn't like that. And after the usual begging and pleading and protesting and expression of discontent, he said he was running away.

A lot of kids say they're running away. I ran away myself once, with my sister. She was angry and said she was leaving. She grabbed a sweatshirt and headed for the door, and I ran out the door with her.

That's me. I'm a rebel of the following sort.

We ran around the cul-de-sac and then went right back to the house, giggling about how everyone would be surprised when we got back. When we burst into the kitchen, the babysitter informed us that our rooms had been rented out.

I figured Nick's announcement was pretty much the same amount of bluster. So I played along.

I told him it would be pretty cold, and he should wear a coat and bring a blanket. I told him we'd miss him.

Then he came into the room and he looked like this:

This is when I started to really worry. Bursts of panic were seeping through the spaces in between my giggles. I needed advice, and I needed it fast. Not knowing what else to do, I posted a statement on facebook. It said Here's a question: one of my kids is running away from home. He has packed a suitcase, has a blanket, his DS, and his Doctor Who stress toy. And he's moments away from walking out the door. How long do I play along with this, and just how do I call his bluff?

I took the above photo and posted that on facebook. I told Nick I needed a picture of him to show the police, in case they came by, so we'd remember what he was wearing...

Then Nick headed out the door.

Nate was freaking out. Nate wanted to go with him, but it was 20 degrees. I said no.

I still figured Nick would make it up the driveway then turn around.

But he got there and kept going down the street.

This is when I really started to panic. Part of me wanted to let him go and get it out of his system, but we live on a busy street, and it was cold. I could follow him to make sure he was safe, but Nate and Andy couldn't be left alone. I could call for backup, but my cell phone was dead dead dead, and by the time I called anyone and explained Nick could be anywhere.

So I turned to Nate and told him to watch Andy while I headed after Nick.

I talked him back to the house, and he took a bath while I congratulated myself on my parenting skills.

Then he got out of the bath and what followed was four hours of yelling, screaming, threatening, tantruming, and tears on all sides.

We lived. We went to the therapist. We got a new plan. But I'm tired and worn out and scared because this is my kid's life and there are no do-over's.

I know this isn't an uncommon feeling. I read this blog entry from one of my favorites - worth a few visits.

How can something like this be so funny and so heart-wrenchingly scary at the same time?