Junior's been sick. And then, at the tail-end of his illness, I got sick. Neither one of us still feel that great, and so here we are, going on day 3 of Kleenexes, bad moods, Garfield overdose and cabin fever (to replace the real fever). And since all maintenance activity stops when Mom is sick, I woke up this morning to a filthy house full of the afore-mentioned Kleenexes and abandoned books and a sink full of dishes holding the food that Junior didn't want to eat....which is all the food, ever.
And since I no longer had a fever, I tackled it, and felt better for doing so. I explained to Junior that we were going to take one more day to rest - and by rest, I meant not go outside and run around like maniacs, because I think I may have gotten a cumulative 12 hours of sleep since he first spiked a fever three days ago and started seizing and although I am glad that Junior thinks he feels well enough to resume his normal level of mind-blowing physical activity, Mama is not.
Since I was well enough to clean, I thought maybe I was well enough to do some writing - I try to do a little every day, because it's the one big thing I do that is for me, and I think that's important, and after several days of not doing it, I really wanted to do it. So, I got Junior involved in building a car wash, complete with water, on a pile of towels in the living room, made myself a cup of coffee and sat down at my computer desk, and opened up something I have been working on.
And before I could type even a single letter, here comes Junior. First he just stood there quietly, holding on to my arm. And I'm all holding my breath, hoping that if I don't respond, maybe he would drift away. But then he was leaning against my hip. Then draped across my thighs. And then, all suddenly, he managed to worm his way onto my lap, and it's like I'm dealing with an octopus instead of a boy - he's reaching for the keyboard with one hand and the speaker with the other, all while twisting himself into a more secure position by using his feet against my shins for leverage, and I'm asking God why in the world did He not give us four arms, and just as I move the speaker, Junior upends my coffee mug everywhere.
"Oh, hot brown milk!" Junior says, which is what he calls coffee and is said in his most dramatic fashion, which usually makes me laugh. Not this time.
My keyboard is dripping with the hot brown milk, the desk top flooded, which quickly puddles onto my freshly mopped floor and I'm thinking, "Thank God it wasn't my big coffee mug" because seriously, do you have any idea how much coffee one mug holds? If not, go brew yourself a cup and then dump it on your desk. You will be amazed.
Just kidding. Don't do that.
I blew my cool. "DAMN IT!" I said.
"I'll help you," he said.
"NO. Just...go to the living room and SIT DOWN FOR FIVE MINUTES AND HOLD STILL AND ZIP IT FOR ONCE!"
And, miraculously, he did. He hopped onto the sofa and buried his face in the pillows, and I went to fetch towels and the mop and some cleaner, bitching about sometimes just wanting ten minutes of peace, just ten freaking minutes, occasionally looking up from the dripping mess to give him The Look - the one that usually makes him yell "PUT YOUR EYEBROWS DOWN, MOM!" You know, just in case he couldn't sense my displeasure from my Darth-Vader-like breathing, nostril-flaring, mop-banging and vague threats of day care and perpetual time-outs.
But he didn't yell at me to put my eyebrows down. What he said instead was, "Take a deep breath, Mommy. Do you need a squeeze?"
And my eyebrows froze mid-lift.
This was significant.
See, Junior is beginning the long process of being evaluated for many reasons with several possibilities, including the chance that some of his his behaviors may stem from the area of the brain where his seizures originate. Regardless of what we discover, moving forward, the fact is, many of his behaviors are concerning and our child does not respond like other kids. He freaks out, to use a less medically-accepted term, over things like stores dimming their lights, the beeping noises when trucks back up, not finding the right pair of underwear or the wrong colored sippy cup, new food, or, sometimes even more distressing, normally acceptable food being incorrectly served.
And so recently we have treated his melt-downs differently. Instead of walking away from him, as we do when he has a "normal" tantrum, we scoop him up, cross our arms over his chest, folding his limbs tightly to his body, and we squeeze. The effect is amazing. The first time we tried it, it scared me, because I didn't know how hard to squeeze, but I squeezed, and Junior stopped screaming and whispered, "Squeeze harder."
So it was significant, for me, to see him apply something to a situation involving emotions - something that Junior is, frankly, very behind in.
And it was significant because my child looked at me and thought that maybe I was having a melt-down, and needed his help to reign it in.
My eyebrows came down.
"Yes," I said - although, at that point, I did not need a "squeeze." He had, unknowingly, stopped me mid-tantrum pretty damned effectively. But I wanted Junior to have the opportunity to see that he can help others, even as he needs help himself.
And so he "squeezed" me, taking deep breaths as he did it, and so I mimicked his breathing. "Wow. I really lost my cool, didn't I?" I said, when he was done squeezing. He firmly agreed. And then I handed him a wad of paper towels and had him clean up the chair while I did the rest...which was how I should have handled it in the first place instead of going all Mommy Dearest on him.
I am a realist - God knows this wasn't the first time I lost my shit over something, and I am certain it won't be my last. And I didn't want to turn this into one of those "I learn more from my kids than they learn from me" posts, because that's not technically true - I mean, we have to teach these critters everything from basic personal hygiene to basic human kindness. It's a tall order.
But the lessons I learn from my son are big lessons. They are lessons that are both broad and deep. Lessons that need to be repeated, over and over and over sometimes - like patience and humility. Humor and self-discipline. Owning your wrongs and learning to let them go.
And the need for a lidded coffee cup.
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