A Hard Lesson Probably Not Learned

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

You know how if you miss a week of work, it’s not really like taking time off? It’s just moving it from one week to the next, when you’ll just have twice as much. As adults, we all know it’s coming, so missing work is a calculated decision on our part, whether it’s for physical health or mental health reasons. That work isn’t going to vanish just because you’re not there.

This morning, after skipping school yesterday, Maddie got up with a fair amount of verve and intention. It was the usual morning of increasing tension, as she was doing what she needed, but at a snail’s pace, and then, just as the clock struck 7:15 and it was time for her to be meeting the cab outside, she thought of two more things to do. Stressful, but normal for us. Off to a relatively good start.

Today Maddie had a dentist appointment, and her dentist happens to be near her school, so I picked her up after school instead of having her catch the cab. I can always tell immediately what kind of day she had, regardless of the words that come out of her mouth. She almost always says her day was great, and today was no exception, but her voice was flat and her eyes were down, so I knew she wasn’t being honest.

After some coaxing, I finally got a confession: she had NOT had a great day, and the reasons boiled down to (1) lunchtime detention for cutting school the day before, which she forgot to go to (or avoided) and (2) a giant pile of homework for tonight. She doesn’t tend to have too much homework because of her IEP and because she has lots of time to do work at school. I am so grateful for that.

But yesterday she missed a whole day of both classwork and homework, so tonight she faced five pages of math and a page each of English and history. For her that’s overwhelming.

And THEN she was going to the dentist, which, like most people, she hates. We drove to the dentist’s office, and since we had some time to kill, I suggested she make good use of it. She’s reading Of Mice and Men* with her English class, so I suggested we read some of it on my phone (thank you, Kindle!). She resisted, but somehow or other I got her to go along, mostly reading it aloud to me.

Then it was time to go in the building. “I’m not getting out of the car,” Maddie declared. And I knew she wouldn’t. She had already shown resistance, from the moment she got in the car, and I had tried both a promise of a reward and a logical explanation of the consequences (who knows if the rescheduled appointment will come on a better day?), but, nope, it was not happening.

Fortunately the dentist and her staff are both kind and compassionate. The receptionist was understanding and offered to reschedule. I cancel appointments at that place constantly, and in fact canceled my son’s last appointment because of trouble with Maddie. I’m probably the flakiest mom they have at that practice as I probably only get my kids to a third of their appointments, always canceling at the last minute and then maybe getting them there several months later. It’s a miracle that my 15-year-old has never had a cavity and my 13-year-old just has his first one–a tiny one–given the lack of effort we have put into dental care over the years.

After making a new appointment, I returned to the car, and we headed home. Maddie finished reading me the chapter in her book on the way. Every once in awhile, she was start to shut down. She wanted to cry. She wanted to pout. She even said that out loud. And then when we pulled in the driveway, she didn’t really want to get out of the car. After all, the next thing to face was that huge mountain of work.

We made an agreement. She would do one hour of hard work and then she could take a break and watch a show. She was amenable to that and was able to sit down and sort of focus for awhile, although I was intimately involved in her homework, writing her math so she could just think and talk, encouraging her when she felt stumped, refocusing her when she got distracted, and giving her lots of positive reinforcement. She didn’t finish all her homework, but she gave it a good try.

So now she is done. She is watching her show. And I am ambivalent about our evening together. I really coached her through a hard time, and she was able to get through it. That’s a good thing. I also pointed out more than once that her problems were directly related to the choices she had made yesterday. I knows she understands that intellectually. I made sure she does. The problem is, will she be able to apply what she knows right now next time she wants to stay home from school? I’m not so sure. Mostly that’s because of Maddie’s challenges, but I wonder right now if I haven’t just undermined my own lesson. I wanted her to get her homework done so badly that I sat with her and gently but firmly guided her through it. And I let her quit after a good 90-minute session in which she nearly quit several times. Perhaps I should have let her suffer the consequences a bit more. Perhaps giving her my company and gentle encouragement weren’t the best course of action. Perhaps the lesson she needed was how much two days of work sucks more than one day’s worth, rather than whatever she was learning in math and English.

It’s too late now. Today’s lessons are done. For both of us. Maddie will go to sleep tonight, tired and glad today is over. Tomorrow she will wake up and probably have no immediate recollection of today’s suffering. I’ll remember it, though! Let’s hope I remember, the next time Maddie skips school, the lessons that matter most and hold Maddie accountable and maybe let her suffer the natural consequences a bit more.

As all parents know, the hardest part of parenting is the not knowing how well we’re doing until it’s too late. When our kids have become adults, we can look at them and think, Well, I guess I did okay! Or, Gee, I should have done this other thing. But until then, the results are still in process. So who knows what effect today’s events and my parenting in the midst of them will have on Maddie. Maybe none. Probably none. We shall see.

 

 

My Weird Movie Choice

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Today while I was avoiding Maddie, I parked myself in the man cave. It’s part way up the stairs outside, with its own separate entrance. It’s not exactly far from the front door, but it’s far enough to allow for some real alone time.

A little entertainment would be good, I thought. So I turned on the television, but since I don’t spend much time out there, I wasn’t sure how to make it work. I remembered, though, that I could watch Netflix through the XBox. Once I signed in, I scrolled through dozens of movie titles. Nothing appealed to me. I just wasn’t inspired. There are so many movies I haven’t seen, but still I couldn’t find anything I was interested in watching. Eventually, though, I had to make a decision. There’s nothing else to do out there in the man cave, and I didn’t want to go back in the house, so I scrolled back to the only movie that had whispered my name.

And that movie was, of all things, Inglourious Basterds. I’m not really into violent movies, and I knew it would be violent because it’s Quentin Tarantino. That’s what he does. But for some reason, I settled on a movie about killing Nazis.

And weirdly the revenge fantasy involving Jews sticking it to some big bad Nazis did the trick. I closed my eyes a few times to avoid the goriest stuff. I’m good at that. And without the super gross parts, it was a great movie.

Perhaps in this time of frustration with my own life, and after the recent horrifying events in Paris, a little catharsis was healthy. It was pretty satisfying to watch (SPOILER ALERT) the massive fire, a rainfall of bullets, and an explosion, followed by the swastika branding of the movie’s main bad guy. Take that, you big BLEEP.

Eventually, though, I had to return to life. First of all, there’s no bathroom in the man cave. Plus I was getting hungry. So I sneaked in the kitchen door, and there was Maddie, signed into the desktop computer. Dang it! I had removed every other possibility of screen time, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that particular option. And, of course, Maddie probably didn’t take long to figure that out. Oh, well, I thought. I got nothing. No fight in me. Because I knew, if I had attempted to do anything about it, a fight would have ensued. What was I going to do, wrestle her for it? I suppose I could have tried, but not only is that not right, it would have been a losing battle. That kid is strong and determined.

So I just moved along. She asked for her computer. I didn’t actually know where it was, but I wouldn’t have given it to her anyway. And I wasn’t in the mood for chatting. I retreated to my bedroom, where I slid right back into my despair, I’m afraid.

Oh, well. I got to escape for a couple hours or so. I got to forget about my own problems. I got to watch the bad guys really get what they deserved in a most glorious fashion. And I loved it.

The Day I Lost My Mind

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

I say this all the time. I mean, who doesn’t? “I’m going to lose my mind!” I say. “I’m going to go crazy!”

Well, today it feels like losing my mind is a distinct possibility. And that is because it wouldn’t be the first time. In 2007 I had what we all refer to as my nervous breakdown. I don’t know if there’s a single definition of “nervous breakdown,” but something happened that was serious and undeniable and that changed me.

At the end of summer and in early fall that year, a lot was going on. In addition to parenting my challenging seven-year-old yet-undiagnosed daughter and a five-year-old son, we were about to embark on a whole house remodel. Our house was about to be taken down the studs, which meant we needed to move out. I was charged with finding somewhere to live for the next six to nine months (ten, in the end). It was a difficult task to be sure: not only was the rental market terrible, we had two cats, which nobody would accept; we didn’t want to sign a year lease; we wanted something close to the school; and to top it all off, it was urgent in a way, but I couldn’t actually do anything because we didn’t have our construction permit yet. We didn’t want to pay rent until we really needed to. “Hurry up and find a place but we can’t actually sign a contract, so do this but don’t do this!” I was under so much pressure but completely powerless.

And then our house became infested with fleas. I didn’t realize we had such an infestation until Maddie showed me what had started as a flea bite but was then scratched into a big mess. Such a mess that it turned into a staph infection, and a dangerous strain of one. She had to miss several days of school to soak in a tub all day long to drain the infection and take antibiotics. The doctor called every day to check on her. It was serious.

And then I couldn’t get rid of the fleas. Nothing was working. I tried everything, and the fleas were still there. I combed and combed and combed our cats, and I still found fleas. Eventually we moved out after flea-bombing our furniture and rugs, and then left the cats there for another week. I would go over every day for a week and a half and comb then and comb then until I the fleas were gone. We couldn’t move our fleas to the new place!

I was also packing up our entire house by myself, for the most part, because I was at home and my husband worked long days in between a long commute. Apparently it was all too much.

It was sometime in August when the sensation started. I felt a little tingle in the middle of my chest. It was strictly a physical sensation. I couldn’t link it to an emotion at the time. I took note and wondered, Hmmm, what is that?

As the weeks went by, the tingling became stronger. I still didn’t connect it to anything in particular, but it was harder to ignore. It was pretty uncomfortable, and really I knew it was stress but that was as much as I could deduce.

And then it happened. A panic attack. I was at the grocery store. I walked in and the whole place began to swirl. I felt the panic rise in my chest. And the tears came. I could not cope with grocery shopping and I wouldn’t be able to for months after that.

I cried when I ran out of butter. I cried when I couldn’t find a knife to cut a grilled cheese sandwich in half. I cried and cried. I was unable to make meals. I was unable to be social. I skipped Thanksgiving and sat alone at home by the heater and cried.  I was debilitated by anxiety and panic. I didn’t know why this was happening, but my body was trying to tell me something.

And that something was that I needed to take care of myself. I still struggle with that concept. I don’t think I know how. I grew up with a over-self-sacrificing mom, and although I’m not nearly as selfless as she is, I have had difficulty thinking about the importance of self-care as a way to be a better person for everybody myself and everybody else. I know that’s true. I would tell anybody else that’s true. But I don’t know how to do it very well.

Panic and anxiety disorder are hard things to describe to someone else. It doesn’t sound nearly as terrible as it is. Some people feel like they’re going to die from a heart attack. I didn’t feel that way at all. I just felt incapacitated and scared. And when you feel that much anxiety, depression is inevitable. How can you feel so incapacitated and helpless without getting kind of depressed about it?

I remember not wanting to go to sleep because I knew I would wake up feeling terrible yet again. Feeling unable to face anything. Feeling overwhelmed, afraid, and then guilty because I wasn’t able to take care of my family, which was really my primary responsibility.

Of course, at that point I could see I had a big problem. I couldn’t go on feeling that way, so I immediately got the help I needed. There’s no magic involved, although some medication sure came in handy. But I also had to embark on a journey to figure out why I went down this road, and how I could change myself so that wouldn’t happen again.

One of my big challenges was to learn how to set boundaries. You hear that a lot in the world of psycho-therapy. Here’s what it meant for me: First, stop taking on other people’s problems as if they are actually your own. I have enough of my own problems to do that! Second, stand up for yourself. Third, don’t take things so personally. That means recognizing that somebody else’s treatment of you isn’t necessarily about YOU at all. I began to learn to think “Jeez, that person has big a problem” rather than “This is crushing my soul.”

I have known for a long time that improving your life isn’t necessarily about changing the external. I once had a friend who lived all over the world and no matter where he was, that place was making him miserable. Finally I realized, it’s HIM. It’s up to him to figure out what’s going on inside and then make himself happy wherever he is.

So here I am with some pretty complicated and challenging external circumstances. I wish I could fix them. I wish Maddie would get up and go to school. I wish she wasn’t so stubborn. I wish I could know what her future will hold. I wish my mornings were relaxing and fun instead of a recurring nightmare of frustration and anxiety and the feeling of futility.  I am doing what I can do make my mornings better, but I also realize that’s out of my control.

What IS in my control–theoretically anyway–is how I manage it all. Right now, to be honest, I’m struggling.

Today I planned to visit my parents for the afternoon. They live about an hour away. Last week my dad had a minor stroke. He’s fine, but when things like this start happening, the reality of your parents’ mortality rears its ugly head. I was away for the weekend, and now I’m back and I’m dying to spend some time with them.

This morning, however, Maddie announced, “Screw Tuesdays.” Yes, today is Tuesday. And yes, she is still at home. I still planned to drive up north for a couple hours, but I just can’t. I’m feeling so anxious and afraid of that tingly feeling of pre-panic rising up. The tears are there, mostly behind my eyes, burning as their way to tell me, “Let us out!” A couple fell, but I don’t give in easily in times like this. I’ll cry if I see a little kid singing really well, or a cute dog commercial, or somebody else crying, but I don’t like to cry for myself. I don’t like to cry over my life. I just don’t.

Maybe I should cry more. Maybe the panic attacks started as a way of forcing my body to express my emotions. They just came flooding out. I was holding it all in until I just couldn’t anymore. Perhaps I should watch a sad movie today and just cry and cry.

At the moment, I’m hiding in our “man cave,” which is separate from our house. Maddie thinks I left, I think. She was relentlessly begging me for her computer, and I had said no enough times, I thought. She followed me around the house, asking me again and again. The blood was rushing to my head. I don’t have one of those bulging forehead veins, but I might develop one if this keeps happening.

I’m trying to breathe and stay calm. Maybe I should scream instead. But I won’t. I’ll breathe and breathe, and at some point I’ll get up the courage to go back in the house. All the while, trying to find peace in my head and in my body, and the strength to do this again tomorrow.

My Tiny Place in the Universe

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Tonight my husband and I have the good fortune to be in Big Sur, California, for a weekend getaway. We don’t do this very often, so just getting away is wonderful enough on its own, but spending our days and nights on the beautiful and rugged California coast is a gift. We settled into our room and then, after the sun set, strolled up the path way to a soaking infinity tub that overlooks the ocean. We couldn’t see the ocean, of course. Not only is it night time, but the moon was new tonight, just barely an orange sliver that eventually slipped over the horizon. We were left gazing only at the stars (it is REALLY dark here), and there are so many of them visible here. We could even see the milky way. Coming from a small town that lay amid the vast metropolis that is the San Francisco Bay Area, we don’t usually see that many stars. Too many lights below showing people where to go on the ground to see the magnificence above.

Today is the day of the massive terror attacks in Paris. We were blissfully unaware of the events of the day as we spent the afternoon in Carmel near the end of an easy, leisurely drive down the coast.

My husband’s reaction to the news was sadness. Mine was surely sadness, but it manifested itself more as a kick in the stomach. I don’t want anybody suffer the pain and horror and fear and heartbreak that befell this country fourteen years ago, and that on a smaller scale continue to plague us. We read the news shortly after we checked in to our room. My husband was unprepared for bad news. He doesn’t always know how to process it. Who does, really? But I tend to do a little more diving in. I need to gather information and go headfirst into the sadness. I will feel it fully and that’s okay with me.

Out in the pool, sitting in the dark, breathing in the air and the stars and the darkness and the solitude, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude. Here we are, thousands of miles away from such a harrowing tragedy, living our little lives and having our little thoughts. There are billions of stars in the sky. And here we are, two people doing nothing of particular importance in the world, which itself has little particular importance in the scheme of things.

We’re so far removed in every way from real life. Even our own real lives.

I think of Maddie. I think of all the anxiety and stress I feel over parenting her. I think of the weekly chats I have with my therapist, who helps me figure out how to process what I’m facing, how to be good to myself, and how to, in both emotional and practical terms, parent both Maddie and my son. You would think my life, my mom-hood, is momentous based on the mental energy that goes into it.

But in moments like these, I wonder. I am one of those in-the-moment, here-and-now, do-what-needs-to-be-done kind of people. I really don’t spend much time pondering the meaning of life, or what is my path to happiness, or much beyond just living my life. I don’t know if it’s my nature or a product of having a special needs kid, which certainly encourages, if not requires, that kind of outlook.

And today, whatever energy I do put into all that, might seem pointless in the grand view of space and time, particularly when the people in Paris, in Syria, and so many other parts of the world are suffering.

I will go home the day after tomorrow. I will struggle with Maddie to get her to do her homework. I suspect I will have to ask her 20 times to take a shower. I’ll cook dinner (maybe) and clean up the kitchen and throw on a load of laundry. The usual stuff. That’s not going away. And I’m not going to give up trying because of my tiny place in the universe.

I will keep trying because my tiny place is mine, and it’s the only one I’ve got. I’ll keep trying because Maddie deserves it. She deserves to use her tiny place to its maximum potential. She deserves a mom who will see it to the end, who will not let tragedy in the world color her view, who will continue to be optimistic and hopeful about the world. A mom who, despite a constant cycle of bad news, doesn’t have a cynical bone in her body. A mom who believes in Maddie, who believes Maddie’s life is destined for greatness, and by greatness I mean love and compassion.

That’s where it’s at. Love and compassion. I will teach her about the world, its beauty and its sadness, and encourage her to retain the immense gifts of love and compassion with which she was born. That tiny spot in the universe makes a ripple, after all. And even if the ripple is tiny, too, a good ripple is worth making.

To everyone affected by the terrorist attacks in France, my heart goes out to you. May you heal fully and find more love and compassion than ever before. We’re sending it to you from my corner of the world.

Life As I Know It

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Yesterday was such a long day. I think I might have aged a year in 14 hours. I’m certain a few gray hairs have appeared and my frown lines have become more pronounced since yesterday morning. It was just one of those days that needed to END. I needed a fresh start today. Fortunately every day is an opportunity for a fresh start, and every day I take it.

After I got Maddie off to school yesterday, after several hours of dealing with her opposition to that idea, I was exhausted in ever way. I was immobile for most of the afternoon, lacking the energy and desire to see anybody or do anything. For a moment I thought a little retail therapy sounded good, but I was too depressed to go anywhere. So I went home and did nothing. Well, I wrote a blog entry and watched an episode of The Voice. Good choice on my part for a number of reasons, including the fact that writing and watching On Demand didn’t cost anything.

Soon it was time to pick up my son, and not long after that Maddie arrived home in the cab. I was dreading the afternoon all day. I knew she would have quite a bit to accomplish because she hadn’t finished some of her work from the night before. And I was right. She had a pretty hefty math assignment and science to complete. Plus a shower.

Ever since homework became part of our lives when Maddie was in first grade, I have spent some of the day dreading it. And the moment I see her after school, it is on my mind. I always give her a warm welcome home and ask her about her day, but then I dive into the homework questions. And we make a plan. Or rather, I make a plan.

So we dove in around 4:00 and nearly three hours later I was still sitting with her while she did her math. She needed a little help with a couple problems, but mostly she needed help staying on track. She’s been better about that lately, but yesterday everything was a challenge for her, so I just gave in to the idea of sitting with her to ensure success.

I did not, however, anticipate how long it would take her. There were an awful lot of problems to do, She was also very unfocused. I spent a lot of energy helping her be productive. It was hard. I was patient. It was long. I got tired. When she finally finished her math, it was time for a little science work, but she also had a long overdue shower to take, and I sent her off to do that.

And then the shit hit the fan. She decided she wanted to watch the newest episode of The Flash. But it was too late to both take a shower and watch the show. By that time I had given up on the science; she could do it the following day during Academic Workshop (study hall). She would have to stay up late in order to watch the show.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Well, you skipped school yesterday and missed half the day today. You do not get special privileges unless you earn them. You don’t even have your usual privileges,” I explained calmly.

And then I saw it. Her body stiffened, and the expression on her face changed. Her eyes looked determined and her lips smirked. Everything about her said, “Oh YEAH?”

“I really want to watch The Flash,” she insisted.

“I’m sorry, but the answer is not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I already told you why not,” I said, and then repeated my explanation from a moment before.

Maddie was not giving up, but instead becoming increasingly determined. She would not budge. She looked me straight in the eye, challenging me to defy her wishes. How I wanted to just say, “Oh, forget it, go ahead.” That would have been so easy and relaxing. She could go do her thing and I could do mine, and everybody wins!

Except everybody doesn’t win. She has to understand that her choices have natural consequences. If you haven’t finished the things you are required to do, you will not have time for fun. That’s just the way it is. I have said that a thousand times. But as we’ve learned, her mind doesn’t work that way.

“But why?” she asked over and over. I explained that special privileges are earned, and staying up late is a special privilege that she had definitely not earned.

She was desperate. She wanted to watch The Flash so badly. “How about if I stay up late tonight and then get up in the morning? Then you’ll see I can do it.”

Stupidly I have fallen for this logic more than once. It sounds wonderful, but it’s a trap. It NEVER happens that way. Why do the work when the reward is already in your pocket? I got my reward, so see ya!

But last night I remained strong. I would not give in. But she’s a tough nut to crack. She wouldn’t give in either, and she is the most determined person you could ever meet in a moment like that. She followed me around the house, looking me in the eye, challenging me. She wouldn’t let me out of my room, blocking each door as I tried to exit. She announced she would do it all night if need be. And you know what? She is perfectly capable of that. I could feel panic start to set in (What am I supposed to do now?) but I worked to retain my calm exterior. I was not going to give up or give in or be upset. I would stay firm and strong and calm.

“I’m done with this conversation,” I announced. “I’m not going to answer you anymore if you talk to me about it.” I had to do my part to put this issue to rest.

But the conversation wouldn’t stop. I kept repeating that I was done, and she kept going. She was going to WIN.

Finally, Rachel (my niece) said, “I’m going to the store. Wanna come with me?”

Oh thank you, my dear Rachel! Something had to give here. Somehow this needed to stop. I was trying to extricate myself, but Maddie wouldn’t allow it until that moment.

We were only gone 15 minutes, but it was a very valuable 15 minutes. I had been trying to leave, but wasn’t able. It was a good instinct. When I got home, Maddie was calm and remorseful.

I looked at the clock. We had spent an hour and 15 minutes in this cycle of questions and explanations. I pointed that out. She could have accomplished so much during that time or even gotten some sleep. She announced she was now ready to shower, but then it was late, so I suggested she just get into bed.

“I just want to sit here and mope,” she said.

“What are you feeling right now?” I asked.

“Guilt. Regret. Sadness,” she answered. Well, that’s something. Emotions identified and communicated! Nicely done.

“Do you know what you do when you have feelings like that?”

“No.”

“Well, when you have guilt and regret, you think about what you did. You think I don’t want to feel like that again, so I won’t do that again.”

“Oh.” News to her, as usual.

“Let’s start fresh tomorrow,” I suggested. “We’ll just start over. If you’re awesome all day, starting right now, and you get up in the morning on time and do your homework and shower without any arguing, you can stay up a little late to watch The Flash.”

I have learned that if she has already lost any chance at a reward, there is no more leverage. I try to keep that in mind. There has got to be something fairly immediate at stake, and even then, as we know, the outcome is not guaranteed. Not even a little bit.

“Okay,” she said. I hugged her and we talked and I said goodnight.

It was a hell of a day. I am glad it’s was over. I wish I could be optimistic that tomorrow will be a better day, but reality and experience tell me it’s a crap shoot. It seems to me that a third morning in a row like this can’t possibly happen. I’m not sure I could take it. Maybe I would give up. I can’t do this forever. I can’t even do it the rest of the year. And I’m not sure even another day would be survivable. I might need to take my puppy and run away, as I sometimes think to myself.

But I won’t. I’ll be here. I will get up in the morning and give it a try. And hope for the best, or at least something better than the worst.

A Miracle Has Occurred, But I Still Feel Terrible

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Somehow or other Maddie changed her mind and went to school. I was about to say “I got her to go to school” but we all know ultimately Maddie is the one in charge. It was three hours into the school day by the time we left, but a half day is better than no day at all.

After a day of trying to be zen about this whole thing yesterday, today I just didn’t have it in me. So I played hardball with Maddie. After I sent the cab driver on his way, I took away access to all electronics. She didn’t like that. I wouldn’t engage in light conversation. “I’m not talking to you,” I said when she initiated small talk, trying to smooth things over. I even emailed the educational consultant to follow up on boarding schools, and she watched me do it. Today I’m feeling like I can’t do this anymore. Maybe somebody else can instead.

“Can I have my stuff back?” Maddie asked.

“No,” I laughed, incredulously. “You didn’t go to school.”

“Well, when can I get it back?”

“When you have gone to school.”

“What if I go to school today?” she queried.

“Well, then I’ll give you something back. I’m leaving in three minutes,” I said, “to go to the chiropractor. If you’re ready to go in three minutes, I’ll take you to school instead. I’ll put your lunch together and then I’m leaving.” I was very matter-of-fact. I meant it. I wanted her to go to school so much, but I was done lobbying. Plus, even though I was perfectly willing to skip my appointment, it had to be for something as big as driving her to school.

So when she said she was almost ready, I sent off a quick text to Dr. Marc, canceling my appointment.

I love my chiropractor. He’s not your usual “crack, crack, see ya” kind of guy. An appointment with Dr. Marc lasts a whole hour and involves only deep massage along the spine (or whatever you need) and a few pops with that triangular adjusty thing. If you have jaw problems, like I did a few years ago after taking a baseball to the temple, he’ll press some points inside your mouth that make you want to run through the door like in a quick cartoon escape, but it works. He’s gentle and kind and has so much sympathy. Seeing Dr. Marc is a form of therapy in a way. I could have really used a visit today. But I gave it up for Maddie.

A couple weeks ago I was in a bad way. My upper right side, including my neck and shoulder, was in so much pain. I thought maybe I had a pinched nerve from sleeping wrong. When I gave Dr. Marc my explanation, he looked at me uncertainly, as if waiting for more information. “I’ve been under a lot of stress, too,” I added.

“That would explain it,” he said, nodding sympathetically. “You carry the world up here,” he observed as he manipulated the area above my shoulder blades. Boy, is that the truth. There is everything I experience, right up there on my shoulders. I’m hunched forward at the shoulders all of the time. Apparently it’s from a fight or flight response to stressors. That makes so much sense to me.

Some years ago I had the sensation of a knife going from my chest straight through to my back. “Stress,” diagnosed my doctor. But his only suggestion was, “You’ve got to find a way to deal with this.”

I still haven’t figured that out. Wouldn’t that be magical if I could just “deal with it”? Every day I try to “deal with it.”

So this morning when I was pulling out of the high school parking lot after watching Maddie stroll toward the office to check in, I didn’t feel some huge sense of relief. I was glad she was at school for half the day, but the weight of it all is still with me.  I wish the chiropractor could remove that weight permanently, but all he can do is try to relieve the pain from the weight I can’t seem to shake. He is not the magic answer. I don’t know what is.

I also don’t know why Maddie changed her mind today. I’m glad she did. All the moms I know hate making lunches for their kids. I hate making lunches for my kids. I’m tired of it. But I would make 100 lunches a day rather than deal with this in the morning. I woke Maddie up at 6:30 and spent the next 3 1/2 hours trying to get her to school. This afternoon we’ll embark on homework and the shower that was supposed to happen yesterday. I hope she’s more cooperative, but I can’t count on that.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Life goes on. Deep breaths.

I Hate This Morning

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Remember that roller coaster ride I described in great detail last week? Well, I’m back on it. Big time. And not the fun part.

Last night as I was getting all philosophical about Maddie and parenting and life in general, I felt a great sense of peace. And a tiny sense of accomplishment. That feeling is hard to come by as a parent. How did I do today? Am I doing a decent job of raising a human? Beats me! I guess I’ll find out eventually.

Still, last night I felt so good about what I would oddly call a successful day. Normally I would say a successful day involves everybody going to school. At 7:45 in the morning, when both kids have departed, I feel both triumphant and completely relieved. It’s time for a huge exhale.

Yesterday, though, I redefined success, I suppose. I remained calm. I kept my cool. I retained my perspective. Yes, yesterday was all about perspective.

And then there was the clock thing. Even though Maddie didn’t finish most of what I’d asked her to do, I delighted in her sudden awareness of the clock. Small victories.

Today? Forget it. Maddie said no again. For no reason. I’m not going to school, she decided. And there you have it.

I could feel the tension rising in my chest. Both tears of frustration and a sense of rage started boiling up inside me. Deep breaths have been required this morning. Lots of them. It is so hard not to feel defeated in the most literal sense of the word. Defeated and deflated: those are the words that come to mind in moments like this.

I brought up the boarding school thing again. It’s definitely not on Maddie’s mind on a morning like this. She hugged her cat and pretended not to hear me. But I know she did. Her message was basically “talk to the hand.” I guess her idea is that if she doesn’t make eye contact, I must assume the message isn’t getting through. But I know she heard me.

It was all I could do to refrain from yelling. I’m that mad. Again with the deep breaths.

But then I had a little epiphany. I keep bringing up boarding school as if I’ll be making the choice for her. I will be making that choice in a way. But really it’s her choices that are leading the way.

“Maddie, every time you cut school, you are getting one step closer to boarding school,” I said. “If you can’t get up and go to school, you will have to live at school. And each time you stay home without permission, you are making a choice.”

I want her to know she’s in control of this situation. She has the power to stay here and continue at what is really a lovely school. Or she can send the message that she’s willing to give that up and move away.

I reluctantly admit I’m somewhat ambivalent about this prospect. I feel a knife in my heart when I think of Maddie not living here. Who will take care of her when she’s sick? Who will hug her every night and every morning and throughout the day and tell her how wonderful she is? That’s my job, and I’m good at it!

But the truth is, it would be such a relief. My mornings wouldn’t begin with a deep feeling of anxiety and dread. I could spend more of my energy on things I enjoy. Parenting Maddie is exhausting and stressful. What if I handed that off to somebody who’s both more qualified for this and less emotionally invested? The deep breathing might involve more inhaling joy than exhaling pain.

There is hope, though, at least for the immediate future.

“I want Dad to wake me up,” Maddie suggested.

“Every morning?”

“Yes.”

That would be the gift of a lifetime: handing off this relentlessly stressful task to somebody else. Maddie’s dynamic with Jake is so different. She loves to take on a character, and he magically knows how to interact with her that way. I’m baffled by this scenario, and she knows it.

Also, he doesn’t get up each morning with 15 years of frustration with her on his shoulders and in his brain, waiting to spring forth at the first hint that she might refuse to cooperate. For me, each moment is fraught with the pain of all those years of experience. She has been, after all, my 24/7 job since the day she was born.

At my request, he has made an attempt to get her moving. Better late than not at all. She wasn’t responsive. We have passed the point of decision, and it’s nearly impossible to redirect now. Even for Jake. I’m not optimistic.

So what do I do? I haven’t cried today. You know I don’t cry much at all. There aren’t any tears, but my eyes have that burning, heavy feeling you get when you cry. My head hurts. I feel the heaviness in my face, too, my mouth turned down in a sad frown. Maybe I really am crying–on the inside. It feels like that.

I am working on letting this go, as I so graciously and effortlessly (well, not really) did yesterday. The idea that Maddie is making the choice, and removing the burden from myself, sounds so smart and wise and evolved. I want to hold onto that. I’m not sure how to do it, though.

Because the truth is, at some point I have to decide that she has made her choice. I will have to find the school for her. I will have to make that happen. It’s not quite as easy as it sounds, this letting go. Because I’m still the mom. And she’s still the child.

I’m breathing deeply. I’m waiting. I’m hoping, but I’m not really that hopeful in the moment. This is going to be a long day.

Special Appearance

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

First, let me start by saying I’m kind of proud of myself. I let go today. For today, anyway. This is an internal struggle that rears its ugly head on a regular basis. I’m fighting the urge to engage in an un-winnable battle. A battle that shouldn’t be fought at all, really. The real victory in this particular conflict comes in letting go. This is becoming a theme for this year. Letting go. Just a couple years too late for the theme song. Oh, well!

When Maddie announced she had no intention of going to school, I simply closed her bedroom door and then proceeded to call the district’s transportation manager so he could cancel the cab stops for today. I was filled with both anxiety over yet another missed day of school and utter relief that I was able to just accept what was happening so much more readily than usual. Maybe I’m making progress.

I did require Maddie to accomplish a few things today, though. She took the morning off, and then later in the afternoon I announced she would have to read for 30 minutes, complete her science homework from the night before, and take a shower. In typical Maddie fashion, she said “okay,” but without a lot of commitment in her voice. I’m not stupid. I know she’s just saying what I want to hear. She didn’t mean it at all.

Since we were both hanging out in my room at the time, she willingly got out her book and read 30 pages. How relaxing! I asked her to do something, and she did it! I love it when that happens. Shortly after that I was scheduled to leave for a couple hours to celebrate a friend’s birthday. Just a short outing with some lady friends for a drink or two.

Then home again. Imagine my utter un-surprise when I got home to find Maddie scrunched down in my bed watching TV, with her backpack still zipped up by her side, and her hair an oily mess. Seven o’clock at night and no science homework completed. No shower taken. It’s amazing how I can be disappointed by the very thing I expect. Perhaps a part of me was secretly optimistic. I can’t imagine why.

I turned off the TV and she went in her room with her backpack where she settled in to pet her sweet cat Daisy. “Get started on your science NOW,” I said calmly and firmly. “I’m going to check on you in two minutes. You’d better be working.”

When I returned to make sure science homework was underway, Maddie asked me to stay. Her assignment was to read a chapter in her textbook and answer some questions. I thought perhaps I could speed things along if I took dictation. I read some news online while she read the chapter, and when she was ready to work, I opened Google Docs and began to type.

Maddie efficiently answered the first two questions, giving articulate, succinct explanations. I just typed. The third question was much trickier. We both looked over the material and couldn’t figure out exactly how to answer, but I made a general suggestion and she took it. Onto question four.

It was getting late, but I really wanted her to finish. By this time I had given up on the shower. Oh, well.

And then the unimaginable happened.

“I don’t think I can finish,” Maddie said.

“You only have three more questions,” I said. “We can do it.”

“No, I don’t think I can.”

“Are you too tired?”

“No, I’m worried about the time. I need to go to bed so I can get up in the morning.”

So who was the special guest this evening? The clock. My child looked at the clock, assigned significance to the time, and made a decision based on both the time and future consequences. My mind is officially blown. What. Is. Happening.

Tonight as we were getting ready for bed, I relayed this sequence of events to my husband Jake. He, of course, understood the momentous nature of this little anecdote. “Maybe she…” he began. And then he stopped. Maybe nothing. Maybe now she’ll start taking interest in time passing. Maybe she’s turning over a new leaf. Maybe she will prioritize and make good decisions.

Sure she will. Sometimes. Unpredictably. And mostly not. I know better than to think that one moment like this is a breakthrough.

“Light!” Jake reminded me. Yes, just like the time she said “light” and then nothing at all for six more months. Exactly. Sometimes Maddie does something so surprising and wonderful, and we can delight in it for a little while. But that’s where it stops. Appreciate those moments, and know if you expect the same thing next time, you will most likely be disappointed. So just don’t. Enjoy  now. Enjoy this. The end.

Occasionally people say such kind things to me after reading my blog. Even before I started writing, a common compliment to me was, “You’re so patient” or even “You’re an amazing mom.”

Well, all of us moms work hard at this parenting thing. And I have put–and continue to put–a tremendous amount of effort into honing both my skills as Maddie’s mom (and as mom to my son as well) but also, and perhaps even more so, my philosophy on life as a result. They are completely intertwined. How I look at life and the world and myself and people and kindness and love and forgiveness guide how I choose to be with Maddie. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, every single day it is a choice. It often does not come easily to me to be calm and loving and accepting. Often it takes every ounce of mental energy I have not to be angry, not to fight. I don’t always succeed. At all.

But every day I learn. Every day I am getting better at this. Every day I am working toward something, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if what I’m working toward is just as much a better me as it is a better Maddie.

I don’t know when our special guest, the clock, will make a second appearance. I’m not even going to think about it. I’m going to feel happy it happened today. I’m going to feel good about myself for staying calm and being loving. I’m going to feel grateful that at least Maddie got some of her science work done and then still got a good night’s sleep, even though she ran out of time to shower. I am going to hold onto the feeling of snuggling with her in bed, of her loving hug, of her forehead on my lips because she still lets me kiss her goodnight.

A New Addition

Chris Irvine, Parent Coach1 Comment

The big news around here these days is that we have an additional member of the household. And, yes, she is human. (Two dogs and two cats is enough, don’t you think?) It’s been a few months in the making, and the day has finally arrived. Our lives are enhanced with the fifth member of our family!

My niece, Rachel, has to come live with us while she transitions from the Central Coast to the Bay Area. She’s a fabulous 22-year-old young lady whom I have adored since the moment it was announced that she was coming to this earth. Of course I’d love her to stay here forever, but I know this is just stopping point on her way to bigger and better things.

Among all the many benefits of having Rachel here, it has occurred to me that this might have a positive effect on our kids’ behavior. My son probably won’t want her to think he’s a jerk, so maybe his teenager-y behavior will drop a notch or two. A friend mentioned Maddie might respond the same way. After all, Rachel and her two siblings have long been the object of my kids’ admiration. They are a trio of fun, lively, loving people. Excellent choices of people to emulate.

But I know better. Maddie loves Rachel and is so happy to have her here. “It’ll be like having a sister!” she recently told me. “And I’ve always wanted a sister.”

Well, I guess that’s truer than I might have originally thought. Do sisters try change their behavior to impress each other? Not in my experience. I have two sisters and don’t ever remember thinking about that!

While Maddie is interested in spending time with Rachel, and wants to share her imaginative costumes and other things that interest her, changing her own behavior just isn’t something that would occur to Maddie. She’s very much a “take-it-or-leave-it” kind of person, for better or for worse.

Rachel arrived yesterday afternoon. Instead of retreating to her room, Maddie accompanied Rachel, me, and the dogs to my friend’s house around the corner for puppy play time. That’s new. She also elected to hang out with us, eat dinner, and help Rachel with a project, all instead of her usual Minecraft time. What a wonderful change! Maddie was engaged and happy, and still cooperative at bed time.

But today we are back to normal. I’m not one bit surprised that Maddie is in bed instead of in the cab on her way to school. I sort of expected this yesterday because of the Halloween festivities. One big night and she can be wiped out for days to follow. So here we are again on a Tuesday (I now hate Tuesdays too), and Maddie simply said “No” when it came time to get up. No “I’m tired” or “I need some more sleep.” Just a flat refusal with no explanation. She has chosen to stay home. The pronouncement has been made. End of story.

Does Maddie care what Rachel will think about that? Apparently not. Of course, Rachel doesn’t actually have a judgment about Maddie. She loves Maddie just as she is. Maybe Maddie knows that. But really I think that whole concept of how she’s perceived by other people isn’t part of her make-up, again for better or for worse.

Maybe next time I should point this out. “Don’t you want Rachel to see what a good kid you are?” I could say. Now that I see those words typed out, I see how ridiculous the concept is. Maddie really just won’t care. Maddie’s initials are MEH. Who knew how prophetic those letters would become? If “meh” isn’t her motto, I don’t know what is. (Okay, once she said it was “Toast is life,” but I think “meh” covers more territory.)

I still have a tiny bit of hope that somehow Rachel will have a positive influence on Maddie. Maybe it won’t be quite so calculated. Maybe Maddie will simply rise up. Maybe there will be something in Rachel that Maddie wants to emulate. Or, more likely, Maddie’s interest in spending time with Rachel will bring her out of her room a bit more. And maybe more social time will somehow help Maddie develop. Who knows.

Maybe Rachel just being her wonderful self will give Maddie some extra confidence, some inspiration, and most certainly a bit more love.

One of the great things about family is how (if you’re lucky, as I am) they get you. That has certainly been true for my kids. Nobody has treated my kids with more compassion and a deep understanding and appreciation than our family.

What somebody else might see as a quirk or a challenge, they see as a gift, something to be celebrated.

So maybe that’s what we’ll all get out of having Rachel around! Just another layer of love and appreciation.

I can’t say with a straight face that I’m not a little excited about shopping with my niece, getting our nails done, planning and preparing meals together, etc. She’s going to be a great pal to have around, although my wish for her is to build a group of friends her age–even though I like to consider myself young (i.e. immature) for my age.

However this all turns out, I know that having Rachel around for awhile is a privilege. We will make the most of it!

Time Management and a Lack Thereof

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

This evening we have a typical scenario.

Maddie has two things to do tonight before she goes to bed. Tomorrow I’m going to pick her up from school and drive her north to spend the night with her cousin. For several years they have been going to a special Halloween event in my sister’s neck of the woods. It’s always the Friday before Halloween, which is a bummer because Friday night traffic is a true horror show. But I’ll do it anyway. I have no idea how much time I’ll be spending in the car, but it’s for the benefit of two pretty fabulous girls, so I’m going to suck it up and do it. I’m going to take some backroads I haven’t taken before in order to avoid the inevitable multi-hour backup that’s especially bad at this time of year.

So I give her two things to do before her early bedtime: take a shower and pack up her stuff for the Halloween event and the sleepover. I inform her that I would not be reminding her constantly. If she wants me to spend half the day in the car driving her out of town and returning home (oh, yes, and doing the same thing the next day), she was going to have to have some initiative.

“I’m gonna go finish watching Batman Begins,” she pronounces enthusiastically after finishing her dinner.

“Well, you have those two things to do,” I remind her.

“But it’s Batman,” she emphasizes, with bulging eyes and a wide grin. How could I not share her passion?

“Well, how much of the movie is left?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long do you think it’ll take you to shower and pack?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I have no idea!” she insists, with a smile on her face in anticipation of her movie time.

“You’ll need to keep track of time. You need to watch the clock.”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen.” She’s probably right, but I would sure appreciate a different attitude. At least an “I’ll do my best!” But I guess at least she’s realistic.

“Maddie, you have to get those things done tonight, before bedtime, or I’m not driving you tomorrow.”

And here we are again. Oh, boy. The waves of regret are already crashing over me. I’m remembering the Giants’ game fiasco, in which I withheld a privilege and then it all came back to bite me in the butt, and what should have been a fabulous day turned into one of the worst experiences in recent memory.

This time, though, it should be more in my control. I mean the sticking to the consequences part. In no way am I in control of Maddie.

The problem with these consequences, as is often the case, is that if I don’t drive her to her cousin’s house, there’s going to be a very disappointed girl on the other end. I hate that part.

At 1 hour and 15 minutes before she is supposed to go to bed, I’m 100% certain she has done nothing. The problem is she has absolutely no clue how to keep track of time.

I was reminded of that this morning. As usual I woke Maddie up at 6:30. It’s still dark at that time. After a gentle wake-up, which this morning included puppy kisses, I hung out for a few minutes, then left to start the food-related tasks of the morning. I returned several times over the next 30 minutes, and at 7:00 I started to panic.

“It’s seven o’clock, Maddie. You really have to get up now,” I said.

“I will,” she replied, holding onto the blanket I was trying to remove. I stayed for a moment to ensure she was actually out of bed and getting dressed, and then I returned to the kitchen to finish my work.

The cab arrives daily at 7:15. At 7:12 I realized she still wasn’t upstairs, so I shoved her lunch and her water bottle into her backpack and ran downstairs. She was in the bathroom.

“Maddie! You have to leave in two minutes!” I said, knocking on the door.

“What?! Really?!” She opened the door, still in her underwear, her clothes and shoes still lying neatly on her bed.

And that might be the source of our morning issues. She just has no sense of time passing. She never has. When she was little, that came in handy (as it does with most little ones). If we were at the park, I could give a five-minute warning and then 30 seconds later announce it was time to go. The kids didn’t know the difference and that was fine.

Now, it’s not so fine. What do I do? I have tried Time-Timers, with red triangles that shrink as time passes, a nice visual representation of time. I could say, “You have to be ready in three songs.” I can give her the time every two minutes for a half hour. But it doesn’t matter. Time awareness, and so time management, just isn’t part of her makeup. I’m not sure she has completely internalized how long a minute actually is. 

She has no idea how long her math assignment might take, or how long it takes to drive somewhere, or how long she’s been in the shower. How do you plan your daily life when you can’t conceive of any of that? Or if you don’t really care? I think that’s the other part of the problem. Not interesting!

I go into her room again this evening to check on her progress.

“What time do you think it is?” I ask her.

“I don’t know. Seven o’clock?”

“Look at your clock.” It was 7:20. She had less than 40 minutes to finish packing and take a shower before my deadline. That sounds like plenty of time, but for her that’s a mad rush.

“Maddie, stop what you’re doing. Finish packing the things you absolutely need first. If you have time, you can move onto other stuff.” Packing for a trip to her cousin’s house typically includes a pillow case full of stuffed animals, some costume stuff, and maybe a game or two, in addition to the usual overnight stuff. I want her to leave all the optional stuff for the end. For her, though, it’s all the fun stuff that seems most important, so she usually packs that first. I suspect I’ll finish her other packing tomorrow, despite the rules I set down tonight.

And then, I see a light bulb over her head. “I need to do something really important!” She holds up one of her new gray plastic swords, which is partially colored in with black Sharpie. I can see what she means: she needs to finish coloring. “It might take quite a bit of time, though.” Finally, a clue about time.

Just as I feared. I had laid down some pretty clear expectations, but Maddie’s poor time planning has gotten in the way. AGAIN. What am I going to do now?

“How about if I just brush my hair and wash my underarms instead of taking a shower?” That’s a common substitute for her, but she’d already done that the night before. That long 15-year-old-girl hair is going to start getting nasty.

I stick to my guns…for a minute. It’s all I can do to muster up a “No. I told you what you had to do and you made the choice to watch the movie.”

I am having an internal battle. I really don’t want to take her trip away from her. Also, her intentions are pretty good, but she forgot something. Do I punish her for that? Ugh. I don’t know.

Last night I was half-watching an old episode of The Big Bang Theory. I love that show. I was pretty sure I’d seen all the episodes at least once, but apparently not. This episode focused on Sheldon’s lack of a driver’s license. In case you haven’t seen the show, Sheldon is a brilliant scientist who probably has Asperger’s (even though nobody ever says that). He doesn’t read people very well, he has a tough time with sarcasm, and he’s very regimented in everything he does. Because he didn’t have a driver’s license, he was expecting his friends to deliver him wherever he needed to go. His demands were very matter-of-fact, and his friends were losing their patience. Usually I find this show hilarious, but last night I was kind of sad watching it. Sheldon wasn’t doing anything on purpose. He really couldn’t help it. In the middle of the episode, his friends insisted he get his license, but it turned out he was a horrific driver. Back to his friends driving him everywhere. The bad news is many of his irritating behaviors are beyond his control. The good news is he still has friends.

So tonight I think of Sheldon. He can’t help that he doesn’t roll with change. He can’t help that driving isn’t going to be part of his life. Maddie can’t help that she’s terrible managing time. (She’ll likely never drive, either). I would certainly like her to try and improve, but maybe she never will. And I don’t want to make her feel like a failure because of her challenges.

While Maddie is showering, I have a great idea. You’re not going to believe this, but it involves duct tape. Why color a sword when you can just apply a couple strips of duct tape and call it good? I share my idea with Maddie. She says, “You’re a GENIUS.” Whoever would have thought I would solve Maddie’s problem…with duct tape?!

I let her stay up a bit longer to finish her swords. Once again, I give in to the situation. I don’t think of it as wimping out or giving up. I think of it as coming to grips with reality.

When I say goodnight to Maddie, we review the evening’s events. I am hoping something will land. I point out that she had made choices that made things difficult. “I know. I’m so stupid.” Well, that’s not what I want her to think about herself. At all. I just want her to learn the things that don’t come so easily, like time management.

And in the end, I realize tonight is not the night that is going to happen. I’m not sure when it’s going to happen. Or if. But I do know these ultimatums aren’t having the intended results.

This is such a journey. Every day I learn something. Maybe about myself. Maybe about Maddie. Maybe about parenting. Maybe about life. The key is being open to the lessons, being willing to redirect, to change course, to admit I’m wrong, to try something else and hope it works. And not be discouraged if it doesn’t.

I’m working on that.