Adjustment

There are a great many times in my everyday parenting life that I am grateful for my fellow mom friends, both in person and through the blogosphere.  Especially those whose kids are the same age as mine or a little older, because even when the warnings feel like doom and gloom, at least I’m moderately prepared for the truck that is about to run me over.

This week, I’m glad that so many of you have related stories of a delayed adjustment period to big changes, like starting school.  Plenty of friends told me something along the lines of, “the first couple of days will be alright, it’s the second week that will kick your ass.”  Um, YES.

As always, my kids have faced this transition in different ways.  Rebecca was excited for weeks and weeks ahead of time, did well in class, and then finished the first couple of days in tears.  It was obvious at pickup that she had been just fine all morning, but fell apart when she saw me, or found something to get upset about as soon as we got in the car.  Clearly, she was tired, all wrung out from a morning of newness.  But, I have to say, it passed very quickly.  By the third day, there was barely a whine.  Just chattering and barely-comprehensible answers to the typical “what did you do in school today?” from me.  And even during the initial weepy phase, she still got up the next morning and skipped her way into the school building.

Daniel, on the other hand, is my delayed reaction.  He was Mr. Enthusiasm the first couple of days.  But now, it seems, the fact that he is actually going to have to keep going to school is sinking in, and he’s not real sure how he feels about it.

In the morning, I usually get at least one “I don’t want to go to school today,” followed by a half-hearted “I don’t feel so good.”  By the time we get to drop-off, he’s usually alright, requiring minimal-to-no convincing to get out of the car, and off he goes.  When I pick him up?  A smile and handshake for his teacher and a big, excited grin for me.

But somewhere between the lobby and his carseat, it all falls apart.  Before I even finish fastening his seatbelt, he finds something to wail about.  Doesn’t matter what. Dropped his (empty) school bag in the car? Sure.  I took the juice box straw out of the wrapper without consulting him first? Why not?  And then, well, he just doesn’t recover.  That hour between pickup and naptime is a disaster.  Whining, whimpering, wailing.  Outright defiance over the most mundane of requests.  Renewed wails if his grapes touch his pretzels.  A complete inability to listen, and total fixation on whatever request I have denied.  This was the story of our ENTIRE weekend. Needless to say, an attempt at going apple-picking was an absolute catastrophe.

I am grateful to know other moms, because I’m not sure I would have realized on my own how deeply related to school this is.  I might have panicked that I was hitting another phase like this summer, or started to wonder if there is something fundamentally wrong with my child, or with the way I have parented him up to this point.  But with the voices of friends in the back of my head, I can step back.  He’s not a brat, he’s not a horrible kid, and I do not completely suck as a parent.  He’s a sensitive, reactive kid who is trying to figure out what this new routine is all about. He’s mentally exhausted, so he’s unable to recover from minor emotional setbacks or disappointments. He misses me, so he’s extra clingy at home.  But he’s also MAD AS HELL at me, and boy is he ever letting me know it.

Oh, the conflict.  Pull me closer, push me away. “Don’t go upstairs without me!” versus “I don’t WANT your help!”  He wants to push my buttons, he wants to provoke me, he wants to know if his safe space is still safe.  And I’m trying.  I’m trying to stay calm and not react when he’s trying to test his boundaries.  I’m trying to calmly and consistently enforce the same expectations of behavior that were already there.   I am trying to say “yes” when I can, and choose only the battles that are worth fighting.

BUT OH MY GOD.

Just because I know where it’s coming from doesn’t make it much easier to deal with every day. It’s exhausting. It’s draining.  I don’t feel good sending him to bed without a story, but I can only offer him so many chances to get out of a bad situation. If he chooses to dig in his heels for the umpteenth time, there still needs to be a consequence, even if I feel a little bit bad for him.  And, of course, it would be a big fat lie to pretend I manage to keep my cool the whole time. I have yelled, I have gotten irrational, I have taken things away in anger when I could have found another way to deal with the situation.  But if anyone knows how to push your buttons, it’s your own children. Wowza.

And, so, I am riding it out.  “It’s all temporary,” I keep repeating to myself.  They’re all phases. They all pass.  He’s a fundamentally good kid.  I have every reason to believe his behavior at school is just fine.  I know it’s “normal” to come home and take out all your frustrations and stress in your most safe place, and that he does so is almost a compliment on the fact that he knows he’s loved at home.  That’s all well and good, but hard to remember when he’s pitching a fit over the color of his fork.