March 26, 2008
you don’t understand
I don’t even know where to start.
This morning we did our usual: get up, eat breakfast, get dressed. I made the beds and congratulated the kids on getting themselves ready with time to spare. Henry and I talked about what he was taking in the car and how he had his book right there by the door and was ready to go.
I was a little preoccupied with some work things, but the kids seemed to be moving through the morning just fine.
Or not.
When it was time to actually LEAVE the house, after Wade had driven away, everything fell apart. Henry decided that he needed to buy something from the school store but he couldn’t get his safe open to get his money out and he started to cry and yell because he was frustrated. Then he couldn’t find his book, the one that had been right next to the door ten minutes earlier, and so he cried MORE and yelled louder.
I was trying not to yell or threaten; I was trying to be rational and calm. I don’t think I was succeeding.
When Henry has a tantrum (do you still call it that when you’re talking about a kid who is nearly eight years old?) he is completely irrational. He will fixate on one small thing and scream and yell and fight, like toddlers do when you tell them that no, they cannot play with that steak knife. But because he is not a toddler, he rants and raves about how we are all going to DIE if he does not get his way and he is DOOMED and I am MEAN and do not CARE.
I’m not mean, but usually in these moments I am angry and frustrated. And very sad.
Henry is currently obsessed with the school store, which is a fund raiser run by the older students. Everything costs fifty cents, or at least everything that is available right now. It’s all crap — pencil sharpeners that look like cell phones and light-up pens and plastic key rings — and while I am all about supporting the school, my kids do not need any more little plastic junk. We have avoided the school store for the entire year, but recently Henry’s friends had bought little plastic Star Wars watches and he wanted one, and had been talking about it incessantly since before spring break. So yesterday he put a dollar in his school bag, so that he could buy one watch for himself and one for Charlie.
Of course there were no more watches, so he bought them each a pencil sharpener instead. And I thought that would be the end of it.
That’s never the end of it.
This morning he finally got his safe open and grabbed a handful of change; after he had closed the safe he realized that he had two quarters and two nickels, not four quarters, and he started yelling again. This time he was yelling about how he wouldn’t be able to buy anything for Charlie, and so, rationally and calmly, I said, “That’s okay, buddy, Charlie can use his own money to buy something another day.”
“BUT PRESCHOOLERS AREN’T ALLOWED TO BUY THINGS AT THE SCHOOL STORE!” he yelled.
“Okay,” I said, “Charlie can give YOU his money and YOU can get him something, but not today.”
“NO PRESCHOOLERS AREN’T ALLOWED TO HAVE THINGS FROM THE SCHOOL STORE!” he insisted.
“Okay,” I said, “then it’s probably better if you don’t get anything for Charlie.”
“BUT I NEED TO BUY SOMETHING FOR HIM TODAY!” he yelled.
The irrational part of the tantrums is the hardest part for me, I think, because no matter what I say, no matter how calm and helpful and logical I am, I am met with screaming. Wade will remind me not to get frustrated, just to let Henry calm down, but it’s so hard, especially when we need to leave the house right now. Like this morning.
“Buddy,” I finally said, “Charlie and I are going to get in the car, because it’s time to go to school.”
Henry got his shoes on and got his school bag and got in the car and then started screaming again because he had lost his quarters. I was trying to drive without killing us and Henry was flailing around in the back seat yelling, “WE HAVE TO GO BACK! TURN THE CAR AROUND!”
Charlie was sucking his thumb and looking out the window.
Henry starts yelling about a pencil he needs to buy at the school store and about how he is DOOMED because he cannot buy it. “Mommy,” Charlie asks, “what does doomed mean?”
“Ask Henry,” I say.
“Henry,” Charlie says, “what does doomed mean?”
I was hoping this would distract Henry, but it only made him madder. “You wouldn’t understand, Charlie,” he snapped, “I’m just DOOMED.”
By then I had had it. “Henry, you need to stop; you need to find a way to use nice words and a nice voice.”
More yelling.
By the time I pull in to the parking lot, Henry is no calmer. I am beginning to wonder if I will have to take him home with me, if I can actually leave him at school if he is this wrought up and irrational and angry. I am uncertain how I will get Charlie into school — I can’t leave Henry in the car, but I can’t let Charlie walk in alone.
Poor Charlie.
We spent what seemed like an hour in the parking lot, with Henry crying and INSISTING that we were all going to DIE if he didn’t have that PENCIL. “You cannot go into school and say that people are going to die, Henry,” I told him, firmly and clearly. “You have to stop saying that.”
“You don’t understand, Mom,” he insisted, “We ARE all going to die if I don’t get that pencil!” Other parents are starting to stare at us, standing there next to my car, one child crying and the other looking at his shoes. Henry tries a new tactic, one that he uses often, but never with any success: “Say you believe me, that we are all going to die, and I will stop saying it.”
I won’t say that I believe him. He knows that. We walk into the school.
“Charlie,” I say, “can you walk down to the gym by yourself?” He only has to go down the hallway — it’s not far and it is completely safe — but I hate to send him off alone. His eyes get big and he thinks and then nods solemnly and kisses me and walks away.
Poor Charlie.
Henry and I sit on a bench, in front of a shrine to the Holy Mother, which seems appropriate. I tell him that I know how disappointed he must be, and how frustrating it is to lose things, and how we can look for his quarters later and put them in his bag for next week. And I tell him that he has to calm down now and get ready to go to school.
He’s still irrational, though, only now he’s talking about how someone wants to hurt him. At least I hope he is irrational, because he is touching one of my deepest fears for my children. I am asking, calmly, calmly, so very calmly, WHO is trying to hurt him — another child? an adult? I am explaining that school is a safe place and that if someone, anyone, is trying to hurt him, we need to tell his teacher and the principal, so that they can protect him and the other kids. I’m trying to make him understand that no one is allowed to hurt him, and that my job is to keep him safe.
“Mom,” he says, “you don’t understand. It’s too complicated.”
He’s right, it is too complicated, and I’m not sure I do understand. Not just this one moment, but his whole life, his whole brain. The entire drive home, I worry that someone is hurting my son, even though I am virtually positive, as positive as I can ever be, that he is safe at school. I worry, too, that he will not recover today, that he will be argumentative and irrational and will get into trouble.
I wish it were less complicated. I wish I could understand.
Posted by Susan @ 10:24 am • fretful and worrisome
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March 26th, 2008 at 10:32 am, Janssen Says:
That post hurt my heart. I hope everything is okay.
March 26th, 2008 at 10:42 am, Annika Says:
Ouch. Being the Mama is hard. You’re doing a wonderful job.
March 26th, 2008 at 10:45 am, BethanyWD Says:
Poor Susan. It’s just so tough, isn’t it? I hope the second part of your day is better than the first.
March 26th, 2008 at 11:04 am, arduous Says:
I’m so sorry, Susan. I hope you and Henry have better days tomorrow.
March 26th, 2008 at 11:04 am, arduous Says:
I’m so sorry, Susan. I hope you and Henry have better days tomorrow.
March 26th, 2008 at 11:23 am, Jenn @ Juggling Life Says:
You are doing everything you can-that’s all anyone can do.
March 26th, 2008 at 11:28 am, Sara Says:
I have an 8 year old like Henry. It is so hard, and my heart breaks for my other children during those times when my son is unraveling. I just feel so helpless — I can’t seem to make it better for any of them in those moments. I’m sorry you had such a tough morning.
March 26th, 2008 at 11:39 am, Jan Says:
Oy. I’m so sorry, Susan. It’s so hard when you can’t find the right thing to say or do because there IS nothing that will fix it.
I think helpless is the most stressful feeling of them all. Be kind to yourself today.
March 26th, 2008 at 11:39 am, Jaime Says:
(((HUGS))) Hopefully this afternoon and tomorrow will be better.
March 26th, 2008 at 11:49 am, 3carnations Says:
I’m sorry. That sounded so hard.
March 26th, 2008 at 11:54 am, Headless Mom Says:
Ooh-so sorry the day started like this. Mir had one on Saturday, now you. Is the moon full?
((hugs)) for a better afternoon!
March 26th, 2008 at 12:03 pm, Crisanne Says:
Oh, your words break my heart. Thank you for being willing to reach into your soul and puts these words out here for us to read. I will say a prayer for you and your kiddos today.
March 26th, 2008 at 12:05 pm, heels Says:
As horrible as it must have been for you, all I can think is how awful it must feel to be him at those times. I can sympathize with his (irrationally) feeling like the weight of the world is on him and that people are out to get him and the whole downward spiral he must go through when he allows himself to let it out. I know that thinking. I’m sure he has a hard time explaining it because he can’t really understand it himself; that there are things that he feels but he doesn’t quite know why. And I can imagine how much it must hurt you to see that and not know what to do, because maybe there’s nothing you can do.
And I’m not really making you feel better, am I?
Just saying that I’ve been there from his side, and now that I’m a mother, I can see it from your side, and none of it’s much fun, I know.
March 26th, 2008 at 12:12 pm, daysgoby Says:
I cannot help with this. I can only say I’m sorry, and send my love.
March 26th, 2008 at 12:19 pm, Ashley Says:
I clicked here today randomly, I have never before read your blog. This post and Henry’s behaviour is something I can 100% relate to. My brother is 29 and this is him. It scares me and worries me and I wish that there was something I could say to calm him down. We worry about him day in and day out and my Mom cries when she gets off the phone with him because there is so little that we can do. Your patience with Henry is good, but I understand how hard that is and how much you just want to make everything better for him.
March 26th, 2008 at 12:28 pm, Susan Says:
Heels, thank you — that actually DID make me feel better.
I don’t ever mean to sound like this is all about me — it’s not, at all. I just wish I could get inside his little head and make it better. Because yes, it really IS horrible for him in those moments.
Thanks, you all — you’re so very kind.
March 26th, 2008 at 12:29 pm, jcristg Says:
oh susan, i am sorry. i don’t even know that this is one of those worries that a glass of wine will fix.
i hope you and henry and charlie all have better days tomorrow.
March 26th, 2008 at 12:52 pm, Mandee Says:
Just wanted to add my “I’m sorry” and admiration for the way you handled it.
I was talking to my dad recently about the way he tells my nephew to “dry it up” when he starts the whiney cry. I can vividly remember him telling me that as a child and wondering how I was supposed to do that when I really felt as awful as my tears were conveying. I really admire the fact that you sat down with Henry and validated how he was feeling–even if you didn’t feel like it was really helping.
Here’s hoping the rest of the day is better.
March 26th, 2008 at 12:59 pm, Blythe Says:
Poor you, poor Henry, poor Charlie. But lucky all of you, because you have each other. You take such good care of them, even when you don’t know how.
March 26th, 2008 at 1:28 pm, Mir Says:
Oh, you weren’t kidding about us having the same day.
I’m sorry, honey. Here’s to better days ahead.
March 26th, 2008 at 2:32 pm, jenB Says:
Oh, my poor dears. You and Henry and Charlie. xoxoxo
March 26th, 2008 at 2:33 pm, Kian Says:
My heart hurts for you. I know what it’s like to love a child that can be extremely difficult to raise. (My son is borderline bi-polar and has oppositional defiant disorder. OH and his birthmom sucked down a boatload of drugs during her pregnancy… so I feel your pain). Some days, like today, it’s so so hard to just be a Mom, but it sounds like you’re doing it all right. Even though to you it probably doesn’t feel that way. And Henry feels that you’re his safe zone. That’s obvious.
BIG BIG HUGS!
March 26th, 2008 at 2:48 pm, Michele Says:
He doesn’t know it, but I try to understand! I REALLY try. And there’s that line. The one that lets them get “it” out - the anger and frustration - the thing that’s got them. And then you have to watch and make sure they don’t cross that line into “beyond control.” They’re so much bigger now. They can hurt others or themselves simply by being out of control. So frustrating and angering and sad-making that sometimes I just want to throw in the towel. But then where would they be - or the other kids’ we’ve got that deserve our attention too. I wish I had the answers. I do, however, feel your pain.
March 26th, 2008 at 2:52 pm, Kian Says:
Oh I wanted to add… I know you have a ton of people to talk to about this, but if you ever need a different voice, please email me. I have been doing this for 14 years
glamgoddess7609@yahoo.com
March 26th, 2008 at 3:11 pm, Becca Says:
I don’t know if this is helpful at all, or even relative, but I know that I will use the phrase that x is hurting me when I’m having sensory issues. It’s the only way I can explain it. I don’t know if that’s what is happening, or even if he would express it that way, but that’s how it makes me feel.
March 26th, 2008 at 3:11 pm, mrs. chicken Says:
These moments must be dreadful for all three of you. I’m so sorry you had such a hard morning. Being a mom is the toughest gig around.
March 26th, 2008 at 4:14 pm, M&Co. Says:
Add a little hitting, scratching and kicking in there, and a lot less patience from the adult in the situation, and you could have been at my house day before yesterday. You know I REALLY feel your pain.
March 26th, 2008 at 4:58 pm, becky Says:
i’m so sorry. i know you just want to make it all better for him. it’s tough when they seem to have the weight of the world on their shoulders. i struggled to find ways to help our daughter during her teenage years, when she was hurting so badly. i hope henry learns how to manage things better, for his sake and yours. big hugs to all of you.
March 26th, 2008 at 6:18 pm, Jennifer Says:
Your post really hit me close to home. My son who will be 8 at the same time as Henry had a major tantrum this past weekend such as I hadn’t seen in months. I also have a younger son who witnessed the whole incident and I often wonder how it will effect him to have a brother who has “special needs” (for lack of a better term). Anyhow, I’m a longtime lurker. Thank you for posts like this which help to remind me that I’m not alone. I hope that tomorrow is a better day for all.
March 26th, 2008 at 10:06 pm, All Adither Says:
My five year old son does similar things on a weekly basis. I’m so hoping he outgrows it to a certain extent. It sucks that you had to go through this, and inevitably will again. Kudos on how you handled it.
March 27th, 2008 at 1:28 am, pj Says:
I am so so sorry but you handled it so well.
March 27th, 2008 at 6:17 am, Sue Says:
Poor Henry. And poor you. And Charlie. I know how hard it is to be patient when they are being irrational and out-of-control. You are doing a great job. All you can do is be there and be calm. What a sucky way for everyone to start the day. I hope it got better for everyone.
(((HUGS)))
March 27th, 2008 at 7:07 am, Katy (formerly June C.) Says:
Lots of hugs to you both.
And an icy bottle of chocolate-infused vodka for you.
March 27th, 2008 at 7:10 am, Shan Says:
My heart is hurting for you after reading this post, Susan–both as a parent and as a psychologist who has seen many kids struggling and suffering like this. I know how hard it is on parents and siblings to not know what to do or how to help, not to mention the child himself who is so frustrated and upset and can’t articulate why. There’s no pain like seeing your child suffer. Wishing you strength and better days!
March 27th, 2008 at 8:20 am, Mama Bear Says:
Miss 9 has days/moments/hours like this as well. I am lucky in some respects in that she does it at home now, never ever in public, but she used to throw these meltdowns in public when she was in preschool. I agree with previous posters who said that it just needs to happen. It really does, sort of like as an adult there comes a point when you just need to let out all the stress either by screaming and yelling, or by having a good cry. Miss 9 builds up and builds up to this, we see it coming, but can’t really stop it until the meltdown comes.
Things have gotten better in some ways, although not a solution for everyone, we found that serious physical activity really helps Miss 9. She swims 1.5 hours a day for part of the year, and for a few of the other months she is in Cross Country. You wouldn’t think it would make such a difference, but it really does. Right now we are between sport seasons for her. Meltdowns are more frequent. The last one put a hole in her bedroom wall. Sigh.
Sorry, didn’t mean to get so long!
March 27th, 2008 at 9:46 am, Katherine Says:
This might sound ridiculous, but I do it with my two boys (5 and 3), and it helps calm them down in those moments, at least most of the time. In our business, we use a “feel, felt, found” approach with clients. I apply it at home, as well. “I understand how you feel about the quarters. (Describe emotions you think he’s feeling.) I’ve felt that way, too. (Give as similar an example as you can about something that really happened to you; the best example is something he might have witnessed.) But I found that …” (Tell him how you coped with it and how it helped you resolve the disappointment or anger.) Like, “I understand why you’re so frustrated that you can’t buy the pencil today. Remember, I felt so frustrated last week when the store was out of apples and I REALLY needed them to make the apple pie for Grandmother that night. But I found that when I decided I could make a blackberry cobbler instead, I felt a LOT better about it. Even though I didn’t get to stick to my original plan, it worked out OK in the end. So maybe we can (insert compromise here). Would that be OK?”
March 27th, 2008 at 10:29 am, Rebecca Says:
Oh Susan, I am SO in that boat with you! We call our 8-year-old’s tantrums “meltdowns” because that seems like what he’s doing. I have the same worries about our other kiddos, but I think (hope) it’ll make them stronger adults because they’ll have learned to deal with their brothers their whole lives. Mama wants to have her own meltdowns, too, especially when Alec’s last longer than usual. Oh well, what doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger, right? Hopefully? Good luck with yours…
March 27th, 2008 at 10:35 am, heels Says:
Susan- I was truly not intending to imply that you thought it was all about you. Your feelings and consideration for your sons are clear, and I’m sorry if I made you doubt your writing. I read my comment back, and I realize how you could interpret it as me trying to say “but you have to remember how your son feels.” I know you think about how your son feels. I was just feeling sympathy for him so strongly (remembering all too clearly moments when I felt the same way) that I didn’t take the time to properly phrase my comment. I hope that you understood/understand and that you don’t feel like you have to censor or defend yourself because of my carelessness. Not that you need my validation, but, from everything I’ve read here, you seem like a wonderful mother and person, and somebody who I would feel lucky to count among my friends.
March 27th, 2008 at 10:41 am, Friday Playdate » all’s right with the world Says:
[…] rest of Henry’s day yesterday was good; he did get into trouble at school, but not for saying that everyone was going to DIE. No, […]
March 27th, 2008 at 7:48 pm, standing still Says:
We are only as happy as our least happy child. We are absolutely as miserable as our most miserable child. This is why a great many people do not have children. It is really such difficult, difficult work. I’m also glad to read that the next was a better day.
March 28th, 2008 at 4:39 am, Miguelina Says:
Aw, Susan. I meant to leave a comment when I first read this, but I’m glad to hear Henry’s day improved.
I think my oldest son has a lot in common with him, I think. He’s currently afraid of the wind, and had a panic attack the day I read this because some other kid’s mom accidentally took his coat during preschool pickup. I remembered your post as I tried to calm him.
March 28th, 2008 at 9:35 am, angela Says:
I don’t really know what to say but that I’m sorry your family has to go through this. Poor Charlie. Poor Henry. Poor Susan. Poor Wade.
I wish I had great words to help make you feel better and make the situation better. All I know to say is that I’m sorry.
March 28th, 2008 at 11:32 am, Stacey Says:
WOW, reading this post was like putting our home life in black and white ! My son who is 5 has melt-downs like this and it is so very scary for me, I never know if his self-hating comments are something for a professional or just his super smart brain going overboard. Thank you for posting with honest and clear thoughts!
Did it help you to post
about the melt-down ?
I haven’t yet~ had the guts to do it, but if it could help my feelings of I’m not a good enough mommy– Then, I will get typing~!
March 28th, 2008 at 12:49 pm, Jeanne Says:
I feel your pain. My 8-year-old DD goes through the same awful meltdowns - less frequently than she did in the past, but they still happen. It is exhausting to deal with - particularly when they become so overwrought and illogical - and I know that feeling of trying so hard to stay calm in the hopes that it will help them calm down and then you feel like you are going to explode from trying so hard.
Sigh…
That kind of interactions leaves me feeling drained and anxious like you describe. Yet my DD gets over it very quickly and life goes on! I usually try to find a quiet time later on to discuss what happened and how it could have gone differently. I ask what she needs in that moment and most times she can’t come up with an answer but I think it has helped her to develop some coping strategies when she is feeling so overwhelmed.
(((HUGS)))) a bit belated to you. I just wanted you to know that you are soooo not alone.
March 30th, 2008 at 12:31 am, Cathy Says:
Hi Susan,
oh I do understand.. oh I do.
the sad thing is Dave was the calm one.. now I have to muster all my strength to be the calm one now. We found Lego Indiana Jones and his whip tonight in the nick of time, just as my 9 year old was on his way to meltdown number 15 of the day!
March 30th, 2008 at 12:31 am, Cathy Says:
Hi Susan,
oh I do understand.. oh I do.
the sad thing is Dave was the calm one.. now I have to muster all my strength to be the calm one now. We found Lego Indiana Jones and his whip tonight in the nick of time, just as my 9 year old was on his way to meltdown number 15 of the day!
March 30th, 2008 at 5:22 pm, Shash Says:
I just had one of these happen with my teenager a week ago, but I wasn’t brave enough to blog about it. I should have been, but I wasn’t.
Scamp told a teacher he wanted to kill himself. It opened up a whole can of worms.
I think a part of me is still curled up in the corner, crying over this. My heart goes out to you, because I’m right there with you….
Shash
March 31st, 2008 at 10:36 am, Clara Says:
My heart hurts for you, and Henry and Charlie. I’ve mentioned before that my son exhibits some of these signs of anxiety. Very mild, but they’re there. He frequently says he NEEDS to do something and it’s taken me a long time to realize he really does NEED to do it in order to feel ok. Poor Charlie. Poor Henry. Poor Susan.
April 3rd, 2008 at 5:09 pm, Tricia Says:
OMG- I have sooooooo been there! How will we ever make it? Sometimes I REALLY don’t know.
April 6th, 2008 at 6:06 pm, kathy Says:
I’ve only read bits and pieces of comments and the original blog but…I’ve raised three kids (now all in 20′2), have you checked into food alergy. My son at the time was behaving badly for no reason, and at the time (80’s) there was alot in the news about food alergies, I didn’t want my son drugged up for the benefit of the school. I eliminated all milk-not milk products, just milk. And things like jello and kool-aid anything with red or yellow dye in it. It was an amazing transfermation. So whenever they were in restaurants, they got the pop or juice instead of milk. Milk is so full of junk, the only things that should drink milk are calves - that’s it. Whenever I’m in a supermarket and see families with three or four jugs of the stuff in the shopping cart, I just want to scream. Really trust me - milk is bad stuff.
June 3rd, 2008 at 7:39 pm, readersguide Says:
Oh — you have described my husband. Wow.