Do you ever have those moments when your body, brain and heart just don’t communicate? Like… your brain is telling you one thing… your body is reacting another way… and your heart a third? I had one of those moments this morning…
I think the stress of this week came crashing down on my boy this morning before school. I could have done a million things better … which seems to be the story of any parent’s life… but I didn’t. And he had a meltdown.
Outside of school.
The morning at home was pretty routine, but as we got closer to the time we had to leave, we started getting behind. I was finishing up packing his lunch, I had to find Noah’s immunization records, I couldn’t find my keys (which hold the key to the fire safe that we keep all the important papers in), I had to get everyone’s shoes on… and we only had about 10 minutes… Trey was begging to watch Sponge Bob (which we’re trying to wean him off of… it’s a hideously annoying show) and wasn’t trying to help at all. I was frustrated. There it begins…
So we get into the car and we’re headed to school with a few minutes to spare before he was late. We get up to the school and I realize that I’d forgotten his tag…the one that they’re supposed to wear the whole first week of school… his cute little blue paw that tells who his teacher is and where he’s supposed to be. Had I not mentioned it, I don’t think Trey would have noticed, but it hit me with such force at that second it came out like, *GASP* “I forgot your pin!” So he proceeded to beg me to go back home to get it. Trey is a creature of habit, and like his mom, likes to fall into the fold. He’s not okay with being the odd one out… just wants to be like everyone else. So it continues…
We get up to the door of the school where we’re supposed to give them hugs and let them walk the 50 feet to their room alone…
And he melts down…
Crying. Not just tears and whimpering, full on wails and begging me to walk in with him.
We hug and I try and talk him down for a few minutes… trying to explain that I can’t go in… meanwhile, Noah’s standing next to his brother repeating, “Sad. Sad. Sad.”
“Yes buddy, brother is sad…”
The crying worsens…
Several very sweet parents of kids he knows offered to let him walk in with their kids… he ignored them and continued to wail. LOUD wails.
Here’s where the various aspects of my self started to disassociate.
My BRAIN started calculating how long we’d been standing there, realizing that the bell was about to ring. And calculated the time it would take to walk ALL the way around to the front of the building, go to the main office, get a visitor’s pass, and walk him directly to his classroom. Too long. Option out. The most logical course is to reason with him for a few minutes, using any tactics necessary, get him to stop crying… move on.
My BODY, responding to the signals the brain was relaying and the high-pitched like-I’m-stabbing-him-ohmigod-everyone-in-a-3-block-radius-can-hear wailing, started implementing my stress response. Things are not going as planned… must create stress to move things along faster… I was losing patience, getting frustrated, my voice started to get tougher…
and…
My HEART. It was breaking. My heart is telling me that he’s had a long week, his dad’s gone, he’s tired, we didn’t have our normal easy-going morning, mom forgot the blue pin… he needs lots of hugs and time and for-god’s-sake-woman-screw-the-establishment-and-take-the-time-to-walk-him-around-the-building.
So the combination of these things turned into, “Fine. Trey let’s go around the building…!” Stress. Stress. Stress. Stomp. “Let’s go! You’re going to be late.” Stomp. March. Stress. Stress. Sign In. Go. Stress.
Then at the room, he begins wailing again. Over the loud cries I try to explain to his teacher that his dad’s gone for the month… he’s having a tough morning…
…and then my throat starts to get tight… I can feel the pressure behind the bridge of my nose… the very first hint of tears start forming …
She says gently, “You know, just a few minutes after you leave, he’ll be fine. I know you’ll have a knot in your stomach for the rest of the day.. but he’ll be fine.”
I kind of nod numbly… give a fake, weird, resigned smile, say weakly, “I love you buddy…” and turn and head off down the hall.
Cue waterworks. I could hear him crying all the way to the front door…
I raced out of there, not wanting anyone to see me lose it… get in the car and head off to Portsmouth for Noah’s well-baby appointment.
Then my phone rings. It’s his teacher. She called just to tell me that he stopped crying, he’s fine and not to be upset all day. I think that sweet gesture made me cry more. I tried to tell her thank-you without sounding like I’d swallowed a handful of grapes and hung up the phone.
*sigh*
Tonight. Trey will get McDonald’s for dinner…