Sinking in.

I hear the boy ask DH where I am. And he heads over here toward the office. He pauses in the doorway and bursts into tears running toward me for a hug.

Only by insisting repeatedly that he tell me what's wrong does he finally quiet the tears and speak. "About that scratching thing" (his offense at camp was a 6+ inch scratch down the bare back of another camper deep enough to draw blood) he asks, "why is it two weeks?" So I explain and reiterate how serious the offense is, how we need to work, how we made the effort to find something fun for him to do, and how he blew it by hurting someone. I ask if he understands and he says yes and leaves.

Only afterwards do I realize how damn staged the whole thing was. He was perfectly fine when asking DH where I was. I think he's starting to realize how much he's not going to like this. Just wait until I take him to work with me next week and his choices are read, do the workbook or draw.

Now he's asking what time it is. The evening is the hardest for him, I think. Yesterday he headed to bed early because he was tired of sitting around. He's probably just as happy that tonight's bath night - it'll give him something to do.

Oh, great. I hear him crying again.