Preschool Orientation / Chill

I have a bad feeling about preschool.  Spirited kids are not easy in a classroom. And due to my bad luck in losing lotteries, my son is going to the second choice school, where the teachers are older, less engaged, not enthusiastic. They do not look like the type to accommodate a spirited child.

Today was orientation. My son walked in and noticed that the train set he had played with at open house had been put away. "Where is the train set?" he demanded to know. "We put it away for today," they told him. "Why?" They didn't offer much explanation so he asked three more times, until I intervened with a real answer. Then he asked them "Can I take my shoes off?" "No." "Why? Why can't I talk my shoes off?" "Thats the rule."his teacher said. As usual, he does not accept an answer like that from someone he doesn't know, so he sat down to take his shoes off.

It was a tiny exchange, but seemed like a snapshot of what is to come. Lots of questions, which they won't have the time or energy to answer. He can't be distracted. He can press on for hours until he gets an answer he accepts. What if they get annoyed with him, after three hours straight of questions. Day after day. All 3.25 years of life thus far have been spent both moving and talking.

He talks all day. He talks to me, he stops people on the street to ask them questions. He stops at every construction site and asks questions about every worker, every truck, every task. He performs a running commentary while he plays by himself.

He jumps around doing acrobatics during story time. We had to switch bath to the middle of the day because evening baths do not calm him down, (as all bed time routine experts advise.) Baths rev him up.  He squirms and kicks while he falls asleep.  For 14 hours solid every day, he is moving and talking, with no break.

I cringe every time I hear someone describe their baby or kid as "chill."

Where are the words?

The first tantrum of the day erupted at 8:30 am.  While my son was busy, I had picked up his pajama pants and folded them. It's a subconscious act, I do these things on auto pilot. A few moments later he was screaming like a mad man because the pajama pants had been moved.

We work hard at naming emotions. I think this is helpful for me as well, it keeps me focused and keeps me from yelling. Although he can't actually hear me over his roars, I keep saying it over and over again. "You feel frustrated because.... you feel frustrated because..." He does not fill in the blanks. He screams louder, making a face like he is being horribly tortured. "Where are the words, where are the words, where are the words..." I ask him, sensing that I am losing my calm.

I made it into a game. "Where are the words!? Are they hiding?!" I fake some enthusiasm for a game of hide and seek. I tiptoe around his room, looking for the words. He stops screaming. "Are they over here? no... here? no.... Oh! I found them." I have him hold out his hands and I pour the words in.  "Put them in your mouth!" He pops in the words. He puffs out his cheeks. "What are the words saying?" He swishes them around and says "Tastes like apples and juice!." Fair enough.

Another thing I am working on is celebrating the small successes. Unfortunately, these kinds of games tend to only work once. That's ok. We made it to 8:45 am.

Write

I recently sobbed my way through the book "Raising your Spirited Child." It can be extremely isolating to be a full time parent to a child like this. It's not that this book has all the answers, no one does. But it's been helpful to put a name to it, to classify it. To be told it's not your fault, and to be told you're not alone.  I highly recommend the book to anyone whose kid is significantly higher energy, more intense, more sensitive, all around more difficult than other kids. 

I thought I would be an expert now that my son is almost 3 1/2, but I find myself still struggling to get through the day. 

Other parents of spirited kids - you know the feeling, the frustration and exhaustion of still being woken up at least once a night, despite having read every sleep book and trying every method. 

The agony of being afraid to go to the grocery store.  The prison of fearing every outing, every playdate, every walk to the park.  You know the feeling, when all the time tested parenting methods do not work on your kid. 

I decided to start writing today because my son just had the craziest tantrum I have ever seen ANY kid have in the grocery store. I took my deep breaths, I stayed calm, but as all the eyes bored into me, my oversensitive introverted soul could not take it and I started to cry. It was the lowest moment. Where was the sympathetic mom who could have just touched my shoulder and told me she understood. Where was the grandma to smile at me and tell me I'll get through it. No one was there, I was left crying, alone, stared at, and pitied. 

I try to remind myself to be grateful he is healthy. I try making lists sometimes, of my son's positive traits. Typical of a spirited child, he is very bright. - already sounding out words. But I wonder sometimes, is the trade off worth it? Would I rather have a passive, average kid who sleeps all night by age 3, naps, can be easily distracted to ward off a tantrum? I very often wish I had this kid. But I am still working to accept the kid I do have. The kid who is always going to be a challenge. The kid who has driven me into counseling that I can no longer afford.  The kid who I have never had one single babysitter for.  (how could I possibly ask someone else to deal with this?)

I have always had a hard time identifying with people, and this spirited child situation has not helped. I can't chatter on easily with the other parents at gymnastics or playgroup.  By the third week of these things, I am mystified to overhear the parents and nanny's all making plans and exchanging phone numbers. With my tiny fragments of time, I weed through the internet, looking for someone to align with. No one is out there. So here I am again, as I was when I was pregnant, at the end of my rope with nothing left to do but write.