Is to tell me you don’t like my kids because of their special needs.
Because when you complain about my autistic child’s table manners, that is what you are doing. When people cannot feel sensations on their mouth and chin, they will not learn to eat properly. You can try to teach them to clean it up when they are done. When they have no awareness of personal space or distance, they are going to miscalculate leaning over their plate or how to position their plate. You can teach them to clean it up, to press their tummy to the table, but because they are autistic and ADHD, they will forget. I think he does very well.
Because when you complain about my PTSD child not speaking openly with you, not trusting that you have good intentions, then what you are complaining about is his PTSD. When you complain about him leaving the table, to feed the squirrels his cherry pits, you are complaining about his good heart, fueled by his ADHD, and that might be even worse of you. His PTSD will not get better if you confirm to him that he oughtn’t trust you by criticizing his kind deeds.
Special needs kids need guidance and support rather than their grandmother’s rejection.
And certainly do not complain that you don’t have conversations with the children, not when the baby chatters away at you and you tell her to “go read a book”. Because she is four, not stupid, and you hurt her feelings. That is why she is reluctant to speak to you.
My kids do not have supportive family. It makes me feel like I am crazy- again.
I remember being so depressed as a child that I would beg God to let me die and I tried to commit suicide at eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. I could not handle the constant correction, emotional rejection, sibling abuse, and criticism. I could not handle the lack of concern for my well being. I did not even learn how to wash my hair until I was well into adulthood, because my mother did not do it, nor did she teach me. My father tried, and it upset me so much that I could not learn from him how to do it. He should have showed me over the sink as he washed his own hair, instead of putting me naked into a tub-it just shamed me.
I remember it all too vividly when I look at my own children in my mother’s presence. I am terrified they will fall into such a mental decline. No one liked me as a child, either. Well, my best friend’s mother did. One.
I want them to be happy. What I have been doing so far has been working, and what I have been doing has been to support and encourage them, teach rather than criticize. I am going to keep doing it, to give them their best shot at getting through school. I hope I can help them with college.
I hated eating with my mother when I was a child. Hated it. I still prefer to eat alone.