As I stood in the rain in the parking lot of Panera, locked out of the car by an angry 3-year-old, cell phone and keys sitting on the front seat, I began to wonder, “How on earth did we get to this point?”
My youngest has difficulties with transitions – some people call it strong willed, some people call it spirited. Whatever the label, it makes life downright difficult at times. Mornings are no exception. As the biggest transition of the day is being made, there are innumerable demands placed on the type of bowl, type of cup and type of food/drink that will inhabit said vessels. There are socks without seams, boxers without tags, favorite shirts that don’t itch and special animals that must accompany my youngest out into the big, big world.
This particular morning seemed like the typically trying morning in our house, and by the time we ventured to the car we were 38 minutes late. As I’ve pointed out before, I love to get places on time. It boosts my self-esteem, makes me feel productive, and it generally makes my children unhappy. Off we went to help clean the preschool and prepare for the new year.
I could tell that Jack was having a difficult day almost immediately. As the noise in the preschool escalated, so did his behavior. His roaring like a lion shattered my every last nerve. He started wildly throwing toys his sister was playing with. I removed him from the room and took him somewhere quiet. From a rocking chair, we watched the rain fall. I did my best to remain calm and help him to do the same. I can tell when he is over stimulated. It happens quite often.
Then came the invitation to lunch by the mother of one of Jack’s favorite little friends. We don’t get to see them very often outside of school, so the sucker in me said yes. The little voice in my head was already screaming, “What are you thinking?” I knew it would be a challenge, but surely we would make it through. Deep down inside I knew we shouldn’t go. On the way to Panera I instituted quiet time in the car, hoping this could give Jack some down time and he would be better able to handle the noisy, busy restaurant.
We were sitting at a table, saving seats for our friends, when Cason spotted them coming in the door. She jumped up to meet them. Jack wanted to go, and in that split second I had to make one of the millions of decisions I make everyday. “Jack, just stay here. The restaurant is too busy.” My thinking, as always, was probably way to thorough. I didn’t want him to run into anybody, especially anybody with food. I couldn’t trust him to be predictable and come back to me. Who knew what he could do on a 20-second jaunt across the restaurant during the lunch hour rush? The stage had been set, and I didn’t even realize it until much too late. He immediately got angry and started screaming.
“Jack, we don’t scream in restaurants. You need to stay right here.” And in the time it took his sister to cross the restaurant and return to her seat, he and I were engaged in a full on battle – hitting, kicking and screaming. I tried to reason with him, “If you want to stay here with your friends, you need to stop screaming and hitting me.” He was completely out of control. There was no logic left in his brain. The great disconnect had occurred. As people stared, I picked him up and warned one last time, “If you do not stop screaming and hurting me, we will have to leave.” I knew the severity of the threat I was making. It had big implications for all of us. Cason started to cry. I sheepishly apologized to our friends and whisked Jack away. A complete stranger patted my shoulder in sympathy. It felt as though everyone was staring at us. I’m sure at least 95% of the restaurant actually was. And out the door I went with a screaming and kicking 3-year-old; crying 6-year-old trailing behind. I got to the car and put Jack in, finally having a moment to look at the anguish on my eldest’s face. Usually in moments like these all problem solving capabilities and creativity go out the window, but I had a flash. “Cason, run in and ask if you can stay.”
With Cason squared away, I again turned my attention to the very angry little boy in the car. Getting him strapped down seemed to be the best choice. Every time I tried, he climbed to the other side of the car. I got out of the car and went around to his side, suddenly remembering my keys and my cell phone. Sure enough his door was locked. As a hint of panic peeked around the corner of my mind, I raced back to my door. LOCKED. Somehow in the 10 seconds it took me to race around the car he had jumped up to the front seat, locked the door and gotten back to the back seat. I hadn’t even seen it happen.
With rain pouring down, I firmly asked Jack to unlock the door. “NOOOOOO!” he screamed. Finally, after about five or six exchanges like that, for some mysterious reason, he decided it was in his best interest to comply.
Soaking wet, I climbed in the car emotionally and physically exhausted. Jack begged me not to leave the restaurant. As we pulled away, I thought he might burst out of his car seat straps. It was as though the Incredible Hulk was sitting in the backseat. My precious little boy was so angry, it broke my heart and I began to cry.
I was angry with Jack. I was embarrassed for both of us. But most of all, I was angry with myself. I saw this coming, and yet, I ignored my instincts. Now we were both paying a heavy price.
As his mother, it is my job to protect him and make the best choices for him. He relies on me for that. It is not something he can always do for himself, though that is ultimately the goal. When I consciously choose to ignore what is best for him, I’m setting him up for failure and undermining everything I work so hard for everyday. Parenting is all about choices – the choices we make and the choices we give. Sometimes it is very difficult to choose wisely.
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