I’m making my first attempt at one of the tablet weaving patterns in John Mullarkey’s kivrim booklet, and so far, so good! I’d bought two of his books and two DVDs on tablet weaving. I’ve watched all of one, and part of the second, and decided to give it a try.
The way he warps an inkle loom for tablet weaving gave me ideas for how to warp my tablet weaving loom, the one we added the apron rods to, and it was much easier than I expected it to be. It still took me a couple of hours between setting up the warp on the warping board and then actually warping the loom itself, but it was not as long or as difficult as even warping my rigid heddles is. On the other hand, we’re talking about a 48 end warp, about three yards long, and it took me a couple of hours, and it’s been two years since I’ve woven on any of my looms, so for all I know, dressing the loom took an inordinately long time!
I’ve been antsy to try a more complicated weave than the most basic one, and the Running Dog pattern seemed to be the easiest of the more complex patterns, so I set up for that. It’s a rush to see it coming together correctly from the beginning, especially given all the trouble I had getting started with the last band. I’m loving this. The next step is to try wider and wider bands.
More than ever, now, weaving is becoming an escape for me. Within a day of Aneira’s return home, she was cutting her arms again. This time she claimed she was using her fingernails to do so, and they’re already cut pretty gorram short. I think I mentioned that we emptied her room out. We’ve removed every sharp object we can think of, but really, if she’s truly determined, she’ll find a way to cut herself on things that you would never think could do the job. And by Thursday, we were making the trip back to the facility, despite a belief that she didn’t need to go. Since she’s been back, she has been using the threat of cutting or suicide as a hammer to keep us from disciplining her. If the PIP has asked her to do a chore six times, only to be ignored, eventually he’s going to yell. At that point, she claims she can’t cope and feels the urge to cut or kill herself. So, what, we can’t discipline you now? I don’t think so. I have to be Mom. I can be supportive, I can be understanding. What I can’t be is a patsy.
There were problems with our insurance this time, and they couldn’t take her directly. We had to go to a crisis facility across the parking lot first, for evaluation. And after speaking with her and speaking with me separately, the therapist called shenanigans on Aneira. First and foremost, she didn’t see any mental disorders in Aneira, other than self-esteem issues, which is pretty common for a twelve year old girl who’s beautiful and taller than everyone else, and whose frenemies are jealous.
She also said that Aneira is trying to use inpatient as an escape from the house, kind of like a vacation, and that was the problem with the previous facility. She said the place makes it fun for the adolescents there, creating the desire to go back. Aneira, she informed us, would not be going back to the same facility. She would be going to one in Denver, which is about two hours north of us.
I had already told Aneira that if by some chance she went back to the original facility, she would be lucky to see us once a week this time. Visiting her every night the last time disrupted the entire family, and she is not my only child. She was okay with that, as long as she could call home and see us once a week. But Denver being so far away meant she wouldn’t see us at all.
The therapist said that she didn’t even meet the criteria for a three-day hold, but Aneira was so insistent upon going to any facility that I finally gave up and let her stay at crisis overnight. By the next afternoon, the decision had been made that she was coming home, whether she liked it or not. She will do her intake for long-term therapy on Tuesday, start learning some better coping skills, and hopefully start getting her act together.
She thinks I don’t get it. I was a tall, pretty twelve year old girl once too. I was bullied pretty constantly throughout elementary school. Never once did it occur to me to kill myself over it. That particular inclination didn’t rear its ugly head until I was well into my late twenties, early thirties. I get it. I really do. Hormones are beginning to rage, she’s discovering boys, she’s learning how catty and bitchy other girls can be, and there have been a lot of changes in the last year, beginning with her grandfather’s death and picking up speed from there. I get it. It’s a lot to deal with.
What I don’t understand is how, why, and when things changed so much that children as young as eight have committed suicide. Has bullying gotten that much worse? Is it access to social media? The erosion of parental control? The end of the era of “it takes a village to raise a child”? Is it all of the above, with the addition of some things I may have missed? I don’t understand it at all.
The therapist told me that based upon what she was told by both Aneira and me, Aneira adores me, which was nice to hear, seeing as I adore both my kids right back, and that as parents, the PIP and I were doing everything right, and everything we could. In one way, that was comforting, and in another, a bit disturbing. If we’re doing everything right, then why are we here?
I guess all we can do is keep on keeping on, and bodyguard the kiddos as best we can, even from themselves, and do a lot of praying.