It's my new theory. I read this cool book called The Best I Can Be by Jodee and Liz Kulp. A mom and her daughter with FAS wrote the book. I also found this paper ( http://www.mofas.org/download_files/parents_guide.pdf ) online and the manifestations are spot on for my 7 year old son in so many ways. Do I need a label to define him? No, but knowing there are others out there and the liklihood of whether or not he CAN control himself is good. As we break through the Reactive Attachment Disorder behaviors, we see more of this.
I took the five kiddos with me to deliver a meal to my very dear friend who has end-stage cancer--and 5 adopted kids-- today. She's a good friend with similar issues in her home, so we stayed to visit. The three older kids were awesome. I am so blessed with nice, polite, helpful children. 7 year old son did great for the first hour. Then he started blatantly ignoring me. When I had him sit down for ignoring me, he started banging his hands on his ears. When I didn't "notice" that, he shoved my friend's coffee table across the room with his legs. I had him apologize to my friend and he sat with me the rest of the visit, which I had to cut short because there is no way he was going to sit there. Even on the way out, he threw himself to the ground out of anger.
Once home, I had him apologize, we talked about why he did the things he did: because he was angry he says. Did you showing me you were choosing to do bad things help? Did it get you something good? The good news is that you can choose differently next time, and you'll learn from your mistakes. When you are angry, pray and praise. It's hard to be angry when you are humbled by just how much God has given you and done for you.
But that's just it. He doesn't. Mistakes are habits. He doesn't seem to ever learn from mistakes. No matter the consequence. In fact, later that evening, I checked on him because he was in his room. I asked him from down the hall before I got there if he needed to go to the restroom. . .he says yes. That's a good sign.
When I opened the door, he was standing there on his blanket, in a puddle of urine wiping it up. There was a shredded, peed on, pile of picture (how's that for alliteration?) on his floor next to him and he was chewing on something. "Oh, I see that you don't need to use the restroom. That's ok, you can go in here if you'd like." And I go to close the door. But wait! He wants me to wait! He runs quickly to the closet and gets me two logs of fresh poo so I can (hold them in my hands???) throw them out for him. "You can hang onto that until I can get a bag for it."