Holy S. (Except
I am saying the real word.) This
is what I am muttering, under my breath as Matthew’s van pulls away at 10am
this morning. We woke up to about
4 inches of snow, which in CT means a 90 minute delayed start of school instead
of a snow day. Holy S. This morning feels like I have
been through 10 hours of intense, yet unsuccessful behavior training. Holy S. Our morning routine is off, so Matty is off.
Routine. Many
of us crave it. Some can’t operate
without it.
Matthew requires routine. It’s what keeps his world safe and happy. He always knows which day he has
art, gym, library and music at school before school even starts (he dictates an email to his new teacher each August to ask). He
knows Kathryn’s schedule, too, which is great because he reminds her to return
her school library books on time!
His first grade teacher once told me that the Spanish teacher entered
the classroom for her weekly Spanish lesson with the class. Everyone, teachers and students
included, were getting into the lesson and Matthew kept saying, “but Senora,
today is Tuesday, we don’t have Spanish on Tuesday”. Guess who was right? Senora left and went next door to the correct
class.
He loves predictability, structure and routine. If the plumber comes over on a Tuesday
after school to fix a sink, Matthew will certainly ask, “is he coming next
Tuesday, too?”
So, once we read the email about the delayed opening of
school at 6am, all bets were off for a smooth morning around here. Matthew was nervous, anxious, and
those feelings generate difficult behaviors and poor choices. I literally can’t leave him alone in a
room. His impulsivity mixed
with anxiety makes it impossible for him to make good choices. I turned my back to check on Kathryn
and he was flushing the hand soap bottle down the toilet (hence, the plumber
visiting our house a lot, so he might very well be back next Tuesday!). When I went outside for one minute to
shovel the small patch of snow that was outside our door, he thought that would
be a good time to find my car keys (my mistake for not having them in my
pocket) and push all the buttons opening my hatch back. These are just 2 examples of many
more that made my morning feel like a marathon of unsuccessful behavior
training.
It is in these small, intense moments that I am in
pain. I feel like a parenting
failure. Why won’t he just
listen/stop touching/sit still/pay attention/follow rules. He is 9 ½ years old, not 2. But the real pain is when I allow
myself, for a brief moment to think about the future. Will he still be this impulsive in 5 years? Will I still have to follow him around
when he’s 18 to make sure he isn’t touching a candle or running out into the
street?
In December, Matthew had lots of new routines that he
enjoyed. Our holiday lights were
on a timer and went on precisely at 4:05pm each afternoon. Starting at about 4:00, on any
afternoon in December, you will find Matthew perched by the front window,
waiting for those lights to go on.
And when they turn on every day at 4:05, he cheers and claps like he
just won a million dollars.
On Christmas Eve, the service at our church started at
4:30. We knew we had to leave our
home early to get a seat, but we had to time it around the lights magically
turning on at 4:05. The car was running
in the driveway, we were all sitting in it bundled up, waiting for the lights
to go on so we could pull out of the driveway.
Here is Matthew before (anticipating lights going on):
Predictability.
Do you know what got us through the non-structured three days at
Christmas time staying with Nana and Papa at their house? Along with the dedicated help from Nana
and Papa, and Deb, Ken, Doug and Erin – this clock.
Every hour it played a different Christmas carol in Nana and
Papa’s kitchen, and Matthew was perched next to it starting at 55 past the
hour, just waiting for it. This
clock gave his day some structure.
He could count on this clock to sing a song every hour.
And these street lights:
 |
| Random picture of the street lights in front of my parents' house. |
Each morning they turned off by dawn and each evening they
turned on at dusk. Matthew
sat by
the window and just watched until the street lights came on (or
turned off). He
wouldn’t dare miss
it. It’s his routine at Nana and
Papa’s. It’s what makes him feel
safe and happy.
Safe and happy.
Don’t we all want to feel this way?
Matthew has taught me there is goodness in routine. When I am rushing through a meal, like
tonight at dinner, he reminds me after a few bites, “Mommy, we forgot to say
our dinner prayer,” and then he says one so beautifully.
Part of his routine as we say goodbye to each other every
morning on the van is, “I love you mommy, you’re my favorite mommy.” So even though I was muttering “Holy S”
after the difficult, unsuccessful morning, I am reminded how lucky I am to be
his mom. (And lucky that it was
just a 90 minute delay and not a snow day!!)
 |
| Matty and Papa watching the street lights turn on last summer. |
