Good things

Robert's happiness has improved SIGNIFICANTLY over the last 6 weeks. He's making progress on all sorts of personal goals...strength training, driving, schooling. He has a sense of humor at home. He's patient with the boys' noise. He's even offered his friend a ride in our car with me. More than once. We've developed a new pattern of communication. It's been a while since his last prolonged discussion/argument with me over painful minutae. Yesterday, he even said, "I'm glad you're my mom AND my friend." I asked him what the "friend" part entailed. He said the "mom" part is all the stuff I have to do for him, and the friend part is all the other things like chatting about health/nutrition, joking back and forth, and the tiny acts of kindness/service I do just because I know it matters to him. I think I just figured out Robert's love language. 

Matthew has experienced a series of good moments, too. I'm recording them here for a couple of reasons. First, when all this anxiety is sorted out in the future, I don't want to forget how hard it was and how beautiful small moments like these could feel. Second, if this is a turn for the better, I want to document when it started.

1) We had an honest discussion with his psychiatrist where Matthew and I finally felt heard. Matthew even opened up a little. Our current hypothesis about Matthew's anxiety is 2-fold. First, he's anxious about everything, but especially anxious about things that are difficult for him. Second, he's genuinely riddled with guilt about being anxious about these things that are difficult for him. So, he avoids things out of anxiety, then feels guilty about it, which makes him want to avoid it even more, which leads to more guilt/avoidance/anxiety, etc. His doctor recommended sit-down dinners with the family and ice cream in the shower. It makes sense in context, I promise. 

2) It's the Sunday before school starts, 8am. Church is now at 9am (instead of 12pm), and Matthew just realizes both facts. Cue the paralyzing anxiety and guilt! He hasn't been to church in a few weeks. I remind myself that he's already beating himself up about not being able to go to church. I ask him how far he feels he can go today, and throw out a few scenarios: get dressed and sit in the chapel? get dressed and sit in the foyer? sit in the foyer in play clothes? sit in the foyer in play clothes with the tablet? So on and so forth. He decides that he can sit in the car with me while we watch Sacrament Meeting on Zoom, and I can run into the foyer for the Sacrament itself. He was actually giddy about it. He has his limits, but he hates that his limits prevent us from doing what others need/want to do. So, in this scenario, I get to attend my meeting, take the Sacrament, and he listens stress-free. That's as close as we've gotten in a long time.

3) It's Monday morning, the first day back at school after the winter break. Matthew is in a crazy good mood. I keep bracing for it to fail, but it lasts. It lasts through to the moment in the car when he picks up his backpack to leave...and it's dripping wet, all over his clothes. His lunch drink had leaked everywhere. Cue the screaming, frustration, and disappointment. There are a few desperate moments when I think I can pull this together in the drop-off line, but no. Matthew needs to change his clothes. I turn back home. Matthew is completely freaking out in his seat. Two minutes later, he's quieter. Two minutes later, he recognizes that this is a special case where being late is out of our control and his teachers will obviously recognize that. A minute later, he's digging through his lunchbox calmly assessing the damage. It's not that bad. At home, he changes clothes, then we assess the damage throughout the rest of his backpack. Some important papers get wet, but he asks me to write a note explaining the situation (just so they didn't think he was eating/drinking sloppily while doing his work) and he's happy with it. He's fine with a new backpack for the day. He's in a good mood and making jokes on the way back to school. He gets out of the car and waves goodbye.

4) It's Monday evening. I'm 15 minutes late picking them up from archery practice, and Matthew is fine. They give me a raised eyebrow and tease me a little, but that's it. Matthew even tells me he did his homework during the downtime. Who is this kid?! 

5) It's Tuesday morning. We are just about to leave for school when Matthew remembers he didn't do ALL of his homework after all. I brace for impact. The kid asks for a pencil and calmly finishes his work in the car on the way to school. There's one more thing he has to do on the computer, so that can't be finished now, but he says, "It's okay, my teachers will understand." 

Writing these situations out, they seem so trivial and mundane. These are things that normal kids do all the time, right? We get five normal moments in two days and I'm blogging about it! I might even cry.