On different playing fields

I ran into an old friend at the zoo.

We were barely in the zoo entrance, when G. began yelling at me. "That's not where the prairie dogs are! You're going the wrong way. We're never going to find them! Why can't you find things - you're a grown up! This is too weird."

I sigh and take a few more steps in the direction the prairie dogs are on the map in front of me and in my head. The place where they have always been. I keep my eyes on G. in case she tries to bolt toward the prairie dog haven in her head.

I walk slowly, waiting for my friend to get her baby in the stroller. How's motherhood? I ask. She smiles, and begins to list all the reasons her baby is the greatest miracle to ever roll the earth. The kid is cute.

Beside me: "We're at the wrong place! Last time it looked different!"

Oh, I get it. G. remembers last year when she chased the loose prairie dogs around the grass near the other entrance while we waited for T. to park the car. But she's not going to get it, if I try to explain.

"Just a second," I tell my friend. "G., don't worry, we'll find some prairie dogs. They live in more than one place at the zoo."

As G. continues her rant, I ask my friend, "So what's new?" One eye on G., the other on my friend.

This worked out great, I think. I don't have to walk through this place alone. I have another adult to chitchat with, to take my mind off the racket at my hip.

"Well, it was nice to see you. I'll catch you again sometime when you're not in the middle of a crisis," and my friend walks away, her baby cooing softly.

I almost called after her: "Okay - I'll see you at Donwood Manor then! We'll have tea!"

When I'm not in a crisis? You mean other moms can predict which moments will be crisis-free? (And this isn't a bad crisis: I haven't even had to call security yet!)

I'm reading The Explosive Child by Ross W. Greene, a "new approach for understanding and parenting easily frustrated, chronically inflexible children." Greene says the way we've been taught to parent - being firm and consistent in enforcing rewards and consequences - works to motivate kids who can comply, but doesn't help children who lack the skills to do what we're asking. (Makes sense: a fat raise might make me a more consistent blogger, but would never make me into a good accountant!) In fact, being inflexible as a parent doesn't teach the inflexible child what they need to learn most, which is, flexibility!

Some of the skill deficits Greene lists that cause kids to go "kaboom" include: difficulty expressing needs in words, difficulty managing emotional responses to frustration in order to think rationally (imagine perpetual pms), difficulty deviating from routine (different zoo entrances are a bigger issue to some of us than others), and difficulty imagining the consequences of their actions or their effects on others (G. has no idea she's embarrassing me in front of dozens of zoo patrons and peacocks).

The part of Greene's book that keeps coming back to me is one of his conversations with a mother whose son exploded/bolted regularly at the grocery store. Greene convinces her that she needs to listen to her son to learn why he finds the store so challenging, do some collaborative problem solving, and avoid taking him to the store for a while until he's developed some more skills.

Mother: But he can't avoid supermarkets forever, right?
Answer: Right. Luckily, going to the supermarket isn't critical to Eduardo's existence right now.
Mother: What about my existence? It's not always possible for his grandmother to watch him for me while I'm at the supermarket.
Answer: Yes, I understand. But it's even harder - and a lot more detrimental to your existence and your relationship with your son - to have him exploding every time you take him to the supermarket.
Mother: I don't know anyone else who can't bring her kid to the supermarket. This is ridiculous!
Answer: You're on a different playing field from people who don't have any trouble with their kids at the supermarket.

On a different playing field. Sometimes it feels like a lonely one.

I asked another mom if she'd do a few respite days for me over the summer, and she responded, "No, I want to be able to go on spontaneous day trips with my kids." Me too! That's why I need respite!

For example, to go to the water park, I have to find a sitter to stay home with K., because that's one place he can't manage. To go to the beach, I have to need a friend or sitter to go with me, because while other kids can do "zone," mine require "man-on-man" defense - particularly when crowds, water, and moving vehicles are in the mix. When we go to the store, I have to be prepared to leave my cart and walk out the door with nothing. All my plans are tentative, because I never know whether my kids will manage at school, camp, the sitter's, or whether I'll get a call to pick them up now.

I don't compare myself to other families like I used to. I know there are places they can take their kids I can't, and other places they can relax while the kids play and I have to stay hyper-vigilant to make sure no one gets overwhelmed, explosive, inappropriate, or lost.

I don't beat my head against the wall (except in my weaker, pms-type moments) because I can't do things other parents can. But I do wish it was easier for them to come alongside me.

We could walk the wrong way to the prairie dogs together.