My Kid's Meltdowns

My husband and I have a social goal; we have neighbors we'd like to befriend.

The problem is that our son stole the neighbor-child's scooter. At a large outdoor party, Josh grabbed the scooter and wandered off, and the little girl began decrying the injustice.

My sympathies are with the little girl--but any intervention with Josh leads to volcanic rage. You try to put toothpaste on his toothbrush, and he becomes a hellbeast; his irises turn yellow, and fangs emerge from his gums.

There is a trope: the parent who insists her child is lovely, while that child detonates bombs in the background. Most recently, in the film "M3gan," the director had a mom proposing canonization for her child (while that same child screamed verbal abuse at the film's tiny leading actress). I don't want to be this kind of parent. When the occupational therapist blithely says, "Your son tried to swat at me, and you really shouldn't let him do that," I wonder what course of action she has imagined for me. Do I have a long, reasonable chat with my child? Do I give him a PowerPoint presentation? Do I send a letter, in triplicate, and ask him to provide a notarized signature to attest to his having read and agreed with my new behavioral plan?

An in-law has the most helpful observation: "Little kids can be terrorists. Distract them. Remove them from the scene. Distract them. Remove them from the scene. And: repeat. There is no negotiating, no calm conversing, with terrorists...."

I think this is right. If I could revisit the scooter conflict, I would grab my child, plug one ear to drown out the tantrum, and retreat to my house. Just....wait for the next party, and try again.

Ah, well. Onward and upward.

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog