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 parlance) rears its head, J needs to be hoisted up in the air, to view any visible corner of the room. He walks from one side of the wide door to the other, asking, "I need a LIFT YOU. I need a LIFT YOU." (Asking? This is maybe not the right verb.)

The behavioral coach suggests that nothing has more value than the act of "changing the subject." You sense an oncoming tantrum? Observe the birds. Point out the ambulance, with the noisy siren. (For me, it's best to think about Stephen Sondheim's "Follies." When J is old enough, we can talk about "the Ben I'll never be," "the tiny flat, the cat, the bed, and the chair" .....)

We practice moving on; we are trying our best.

We find a second restaurant--better than the closed one--and Joshie seems to forget his meltdown. There is a Britney soundtrack. My son throws his arms in the air, like Tevye the milkman, and he dances through song--after song--after song.