Good Days

We had a checkup with the doctor after Matthew's five days of fever. She's pretty sure it was the flu. His ears and lungs were clear, despite a distinctive residual cough. This time, his virus didn't trigger an asthma attack. No pneumonia, either. James came down with a high fever the next day, and Alex has been miserable in every other flu way (body aches!), but that's all normal and boring. Whew. 

This was the first year in a while that we failed to get flu shots. Matthew tells me that 5 days of the flu is still better than a shot, but Alex is definitely getting a shot next year. James is on the fence.

I was really concerned about all the work Matthew would have to make up when he got back to school. Homework time is emotional enough when it's just for one day, but we were soon going to have regular homework plus 3 days of classwork to make up. It felt overwhelming. One of Matthew's teachers was able to take him aside his first day back and go through several pages of math with him. I just want to hug that teacher. He thinks he just helped my son catch up, but he actually helped our whole family. He has no idea what a relief those 3 pages of math gave us all.

Matthew has been pretty happy since going back to school. Not perfect, but we've had a few good days. This new dose of meds may be kicking in.

I have a parenting confession to make. 

When Alex was born, he arrived with an unwritten list of things that I would never/always do and never/always allow my children to do. It's been almost 18 years with kids and each kid has left a mark on that unwritten list in his own way. Most recently, Matthew's acute anxiety has made it necessary to suspend three of the ideals that I have clung to the longest...

    --my kids will never sleep in my bed

    --my kids will always eat a bowl of non-sugar cereal before eating any sugar cereal

    --my kids will never be allowed access to screens willy-nilly

Now, Matthew sleeps in my bed every night. 

Last Tuesday, I let him have a single bowl of cereal for breakfast and, yes, it was a sugar cereal.

And finally, one of the techniques that helps Matthew come down from a paralyzing panic attack is a few minutes on the Kindle.

I can hear Younger Susan (YS) in my head, 

"You're giving up." 

"You just need to stay firm, hold the boundary, and the kid will adapt."

"He's just fussing until he gets what he wants."

"This is unfair to all the older kids who weren't allowed to do these things."

"Are you helping or enabling?"

"Other families get along fine without making these concessions."

"If you were stronger, this wouldn't be so hard."

YS, you're pretty harsh. That last one stings the most.

I'm confessing these egregious sins to the world in an effort to lower your volume.

'Cause I've learned a few things, YS, in my 18 years as a parent. Each kid is unique. There's no way around that. Older siblings and younger siblings have different parents. There's no way around that, either. And I think the most surprising discovery is that my priorities have had to shift away from "control" (as hard as that is to give up) towards "measured efforts to meet ever changing needs."

Matthew won't likely be sleeping in my bed in high school.

Breakfast for an anxious child with a microscopic morning appetite...I choose my battles carefully.

Using the Kindle to address paralyzing panic attacks is not pulling him away from what needs to be done, it's a tool to reset. For now.

So, while you'll always be there in the back of my mind, YS, you won't always be right. Writing this all out helps me see that better. I need more reminders like these.