A Mood
My Firemen // Image by GarySChapman
We arrive at the elementary school and I pull my truck in between the crosswalks. If it were me I’d have dropped him off closer to the kindergarten classrooms, but with my son’s insistence on reading every single sign aloud, I realize I should set a better example. The sign specifically says no drop off outside the crosswalks. Can you imagine breaking the rules in front of your child? I’ve done it, hoping he’s not looking. Inevitably, from the back seat he reprimands, “Mommy, between the crosswalks. You don’t want to go to the principal’s office!” I sigh, step on the gas a little too hard and park where I’m told.
My son releases his seatbelt and it flings across the seat. He stands and proceeds to put his backpack on inside the truck. He’s almost too tall for this and the awkward bumping around in the backseat has caused spills, and tears, and anger on my part. But he insists on doing so before opening the door. I have yet to figure out why.
I can tell he’s anxious. It’s 8:05 and he’s not going to be the first one at school. Though the bell doesn’t ring for him to be in his classroom until 8:15, any arrival after 8:00am, in his mind, means he’s late.
He came home one day excitedly telling me it was a 3 bookbag day. I was stoked for him, but had no clue what he was talking about. “Mommy, only 3 bookbags were ahead of me this morning, I wasn’t early, but I had time to play.” I will never be a zero bookbag mommy, those times where I drop him off and no one else is there. Sadly, I’ve been a 10 bookbag mommy, telling him he may need to jog a little to get there on time. No ones happy on those mornings.
…
We’re now home from school happily playing outside. I sit on the lonely basketball in our driveway and stare at nothing in particular thinking to myself about rules and bookbag days and my anxious kindergartener. I worry about his anxiety. It’s evident, it’s overwhelmin,g and sadly, it’s annoying to me. The hard part is, I have no idea if this is normal, borderline autistic behavior needing therapy, or just my son being himself. It’s exhausting, his vigilance.
Anxiety defined is a fear of the future and all its unpredictability. Lord, help us all. If anyone has escaped anxiety in the last two years, I need the formula.
When I’m a more patient mommy, which means I slept well, I discuss with Nicolas that his worry brain is talking during these morning battles. Just like we’ve discussed how to be like Superflex (being flexible) on certain occasions and how sometimes we need to be aware of Rock Brain (inflexibility) on other occasions. We try talking to worry like he’s a real person, “Is that your worry talking?” Anything to make him smile and release the tension, the panic, the worry.
But then I hear laughter, look up and catch a perfectly normal moment with two well adjusted, slightly silly children. He’s got anxiety but he’s also so fun and extremely smart. He’s curious, compassionate, and has amazing hair. I realize I want my child to know worry will come. Like a thief in the night, it can steal your joy. But it can be a bridge to success and a motivator for change. I can see it being a model for doing the right thing when no one else is looking. I want my son to be courageous and independent but above all I want him to be resilient. We’re working on this. We’re learning. Both of us.
