Nothing quite like having a day topped off by pH having a meltdown (She was refusing to sleep and wanted to listen to music; we said no, and there was screaming, so she was sent to her room and decided to scream out an open window) that involved a neighbor coming over at 11 PM to tell me that the other neighbors wanted to call the police because it sounded like we were beating her.

You know, because I needed that. I’m angry at pH, even though she’s 8, because it made me so upset I couldn’t sleep until the wee hours (and I finally slept on the sofa), and now I’m a mess. I’m angry at my neighbors, most of whom are old enough to remember corporal punishment and what that actually sounds like (I’m pretty sure it’s more than a screamed “I want to listen to music!” having experienced it myself). I’m sorry our household subjected anyone to that (and that it was triggering for the poor woman who came to the door and told me–she had a daughter who was difficult as a kid and got it; in the middle of my conversation with her in our foyer, pH came downstairs and announced she probably had low blood sugar. Oy.) I’m embarrassed, I guess, because I thought she was doing well, and I’m frustrated that my husband wants to rush her to her psychologist at what was probably a one-off because she was overtired (since it’s camp week).

If we get a call or visit from DHS and/or police, there will be hell to pay, neighbors. The temptation is to go door to door and hand out my card to neighbors and say, “You know, if you’re worried OR WANT TO HELP, you can call or text me.” I’m not sure I want to look at any of them right now, though.