While on vacation in New Hampshire last week, a woman whom I had never met greeted me with: "You look exhausted!" I had just walked into the child-care room at a ski area to drop off younger son Charlie so that older son Christopher and I could have a little one-on-one slope time. As it turned out, I had spoken to the woman over the phone two days earlier. But she didn't know that yet. She was just speaking off the cuff.
Another woman might have taken silent--or not so silent--offense at such a statement. It could have been an insult. Do I have bags under my eyes? Are my lids heavy? Is my gait sluggish? I chose to ignore the negative remark and view it instead as validation of how I felt. Indeed, I was exhausted, having spent a sleepless night listening to slamming noises next door, a snowcat grooming the mountain outside my window, and a Zamboni heading to the ice rink at the crack of dawn. Surely, I looked the way I felt. Blunt Lady was only speaking the truth.
Two days later a woman directing traffic in the five-minute-only skier dropoff zone saw me hoofing it on foot again and called out, "You have been back and forth so many times today!" Her cheery tone suggested that I might actually enjoy lugging skis and boots for two people, poles for one, and a clothing bag for three repeatedly to and from my car in the distant parking lot. I tried to return her good nature with a smile, but it was definitely forced. Here's what I wanted to say: "Darn resort meal plan! Having to go back down the road to pick up the frigging boxed lunch or sit down to the buffet in the restaurant in the middle of the day while we are trying to ski. Where's my husband when I need him to help me carry all this crap?! Oh yeah, silly me. I don't have a husband. Well, I could really use one about now. I hate having to do everything myself all the time!"
Neon Vest had no clue about my upset. She was just trying to be upbeat--offering me a verbal smiley-face cupcake.
Another day my sons and I were in Dunkin Donuts celebrating the last day of our town's basketball clinics. Charlie began to act up as usual. He got in Christopher's face and invaded his space. Before long napkins were flying, and Red's chocolate-milk bottle top sailed off the end of the table like a shrunken Frisbee. "Charlie, pick them up!" I implored. "Other people want to sit here, and you've made a mess." I tried to appeal to my five year old's sense of empathy. Oops, forgot. He didn't appear to have any.
"Impulse control," a woman at the next table declared. "Your son has trouble with impulse control."
A million thoughts raced through my mind: Oh, puh-leez, can't we just enjoy a bagel and a few munchkins without some busybody butting in? Who is this person who thinks she knows my son? Am I about to be criticized for my inability to control Charlie's behavior? How should little old Christian Science-bred me respond to what sounded like psychological jargon? Charlie, I am so angry with you right now for embarrassing me YET AGAIN by causing ANOTHER scene in public!
Argh.
"I know all about problems with impulse control," she continued. "My husband has them and his daughters, too." The man sitting beside her, presumably said husband, nodded in agreement.
She kept talking and talking and talking. Then a funny thing happened: I had an epiphany. A stranger's voiced observations coming completely out of the blue made me take notice in a way I had not before. Chatty Cathy might actually be onto something.
I'm quite certain this was not the first time I'd heard the term "impulse control" mentioned in relation to my son. A couple of my friends had boys capable of the same sort of rash, instinctive behavior as Charlie. We commiserated with one another many, many times along the lines of, "Wait till you hear what X did last night!" The sharing of wild stories about over-the-top behavior, socially unacceptable aggression, and other poor conduct can be a source of amazement and amusement, bonding and catharsis. It has been suggested that Charlie be put in more activities to properly direct his energy. Comments have been made to me about Charlie being a macho little guy--one who will grow up to be typically male, i.e. primarily physical rather than verbally expressive. (Christopher, by contrast, possessed many more feminine qualities.)
Charlie's sixth-year pediatrician appointment was looming later in the month. I will tell the doctor all about his behavior. Blondie had been labeled "on the rambunctious side of normal." However, thanks to Chatty Cathy, I will use the phrase "impulse control" when I speak to her. As much as I want answers, I have some fear of a diagnosis such as ADHD. I know ADHD is common, but I really don't want to have to medicate my kindergartener if it came to that. Even if I hadn't grown up in a religion that shuns medicine, I am convinced I would feel the very same way because I have an instinctive aversion to putting medicinal substances into my body. There is no question that I would feel this even more in regard to my young child.
As if I hadn't very recently been put on notice about appearing tired, yesterday a barista at Starbucks asked if I'd like an extra shot of espresso in my drink! Seriously. Never have I been asked this question during any of the countless times I've visited the coffee shop. So my immediate response was one of paranoia: "Do I look like I need an extra shot?" Caffeine Pusher mumbled an apology. Now I'd made him embarrassed. Ugh.
Maybe it's time to start wearing makeup.
should have told her: We came for donuts, not psychotherapy!
ReplyDeleteYour boy is probably fine. She was looking for validation, justification for her husband's use of the "impulse control" card anytime he gets in trouble. Ha~
Of our four kids, one of them has more impulsive tendencies than the others. Just needs re-calibration on days he's left of center. Books, articles and sometimes counseling are always good resources!
I can relate well to the llama mama syndrome. But, here's a though: have the boys carry their own skis. My kids could and did, and that includes my youngest, my only daughter, who started skiing at 5.
With three boys, I have told myself my biggest goal should be to be sure that when they grow up their wives don't hate me. LOL. Give em responsibility. Then give em more.
Love the blog! You're amazing....and your boys are lucky indeed!
Thanks, Drew! I appreciate your advice on the impulse control. The boys did carry the ski equipment quite a bit, but it was a long walk and there was a lot of complaining, stopping, and refusing. The dropoff zone was also a little dangerous, especially for a five year old who can't easily be seen by a driver when he is walking behind. So I chose to do the ack and forths
ReplyDeleteSo I chose to do the back and forths to keep them out of the dropoff zone.
ReplyDeleteSorry, my typing keeps freezing up in this comment box. I totally agree on responsibility. Charlie is actually very helpful in many circumstances. When he has a task, he does very well. It's that unstructured time that is a problem. XO
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