Heat stroke Xmas pressie Happy New Year!

Thank you for your kind words in my previous post.
At the rate this kid is going he'll have 'speed walker' or cat walk model as his main career.
Let me explain....

I won't mention the fact he said something, somewhere and later told me about it and that I *may* have over-reacted to this thing that he said.
But I still maintain it was wrong....
I won't mention that he packed his bag, kicked out the fly-wire screen in his bedroom window (which was less like Chuck Norris and more like Sheldon trying to escape a swarm of flying ants) and took off on Christmas Eve.
Hot Christmas Eve.
With no money.
With having no brekkie or meds or fluids.
Because that would mean listening and doing as his parents had nagged him for a gazillion times.
Cos...what teen would do that?!

I won't mention that the police were called, that the air wing (helicopter) was alerted and in the sky searching for him.
I won't mention that he eventually returned, several hours later, with a delightful dose of heat stroke having speed walked to Carnegie station, then caught the train into the city and wandered about in the heat for some time (carrying a heavy backpack) before realising how thirsty he was.
I won't mention how ill he was, vomiting up all the fluids he drank until my nagging finally got through to him to sip it s-l-o-w-l-y.
 Oh, yeah, I did the whole "I told you so" thing.

I won't mention how the little bugger has always been a challenge for keeping his fluids up in the heat but this year he's being contrary; digging his toes in and deliberately refusing to drink the more we nag.
Plus insisting on wearing cold weather clothing and sleeping under his thick, heavy, weighted blankets.
Which is his normal thing but it's becoming more marked as his anxiety rises with passing time, despite the increased meds (which could be feeding my anxiety but let's not mention that, ok?).
And complaining about the noise the fans make....him, not me.

Nor will I mention how getting him to eat is an adventure game in itself, as ceasing the Risperdone has robbed him of the false, increased appetite and we're back to the usual picking like a baby bird with the ritual "I'm not hungry,".
Unless it's chocolate...then he'll eat it until he's sick.
Literally.
Brown waves of a sickly ocean washing over the floor...not pretty.

He's dropping weight without even trying, which he's loving cos he was getting all self-conscious about the tiny pot belly he'd developed.
Tiny!!!
Now the non-existent hips aren't holding up the board shorts (no budgie smugglers in this household, thankyouverymuch).

I won't mention how much bribery runs this household... from this morning if he doesn't drink or eat when he's given fluids/food then he loses 30 mins of his precious game of Minecraft.
Any lip and he loses a further 30 mins.
He told me what he thought, which wasn't a lot, let me tell you.
But it's working.
For now.
Until he finds something else to irritate him.

Now, seeing as how I haven't mentioned a thing, let's hope 2012 is a splediferously wonderful year for us all!