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needs: A sad pick up

I never know what is waiting for me. I’ve cut off sane conversations to be greeted with a tidal wave. I have successfully run the Tomb Raider gauntlet to the car before a meltdown. I reassured, brushed over and held close. This wary tension is part of my body. The ringing in my ears and thumping in heart takes over in the last ten minutes before she is returned to me. Pickup has manifested physically and merged with my body’s cells. Invisible to the world, pickup undeniably dominates me.

We had a bad series of weeks that became months in Year 4. The family vernacular now refers to that time with a wince shudder combination as if to acknowledge our unlikely survival. During that time, I would get a feeling in my stomach around 2.30. Each day, I was carefully knitting a family peace that was unpredictable and elusive, I had no time or tolerance for the outside world. I withdrew to handle my girls’ regular explosions and my body’s unwelcome response. In an insipid way, life changed. It was the slow end to park plays, play dates, library and activities. We couldn’t even stop for milk. Peace was my singular goal and everything was shunted in its pursuit.

Lately, we have been trucking along well. I dropped my guard. They were happy and the school was wonderful and then, well, then it wasn’t. Yesterday I waited for her and she was late. I had the chance to chat to other people, I checked Facebook, I was daydreaming about dinner. All the other kids had come out. I gave her space. Lately, she was doing a good job of finishing her day. I needed to give her the space for that victory. It was worth the wait.

So, I waited. Her brother came and we waited. It seemed like an eternity and it was only minutes. She will be here soon I told myself. My inner voice was confirming it was good to let her sink or swim, at the end of the day, when she has to take responsibility, for her things, and homework, and pack her bag. Building resilience, right? I wasn’t a helicopter. I’d read that somewhere. It was good to plant a tree in the resilience garden. I’d read that too.

And then she didn’t come and I couldn’t hear what the Mum in front of me was saying. My heart punched out a loud rhythm. I looked at her little brother and he knew. “She hasn’t come out yet Mum”. I smiled reassuringly. “Let’s give her some time.” At 8 he knew enough time had passed and offered to go in. I nodded. You see, he is the half way. I’m not interfering if he goes in, and she won’t fold into me if I’m not in there. There is still a possibility she can keep the victory of independence. I silently agree to send him into our known unknown.

My body betrays me again and I walk towards the classroom. Fuck resilience and responsibility, she isn’t a convicted felon. She needs someone, they both do. I fix my happy face and breeze into her classroom. I chirp my firm sunshine “hello darling”. She looks up and the red creeps across her face and her eyes swell with all the tears in this world and she gives me the TO…THE…CAR signal. (link hand signals post) He grabs her school bag and loads up. We all have our roles in this. My eyes rest on him. He can stand down now. He has been here before, I’ve been here before, because it was where we lived for a while. Something heart breaking has happened and I cloak him protectively with one arm, as I put her back together, before she completely falls apart.

means: What I do when pick up turns sad?

I have been to talks and read the books. They were good talks and good books. I know I am the safe place. I know she might hold on all day, to fall completely apart in my arms.

I have found that the post school outpouring of worry and reporting of the day’s tragedy can become habitual. It can be a daily grind for her conveying that day’s tragedy. It is torture for her brother. Here are some of the things I do for her, for me and for her brother.

I get to the car quickly, it’s not a good day to stop for a chat with another Mum.

I don’t bother asking for 3 fantastic things in the day. I know gratitude is great, but wait until the fire has died down for the positive approach to really work. I go for eye contact, a reassuring back pat (more undercover than a hug) and say “I can see you are having trouble so let’s get to the car”. Sometimes that little bit of calm empathy and a manageable goal diffuses the rising storm.

I take the bags, go on, you know you want to. I put some swagger into it while I turn a blind eye to the all-knowing, all seeing teacher, parents and other kids who have an expectation that she needs to carry her bags. Imagine carrying the weight of the world and that massive bag. Anyway, I am on a clock to avoid total meltdown.

When I get to the car, it’s all swift movements in and belts on. Its not a day for them to clamber in and sort it. I just get them in the car, where some kind of food and drink is waiting. It doesn’t have to be ice cream or paleo. Somewhere in between, that isn’t unhealthy but will bring them some comfort. Sometimes, just sometimes the biggest of dramas shrink to a calmer size once hunger and thirst have abated. Plus, this gives me a second to get in, strap on and drive.

I play an audio book or music. It has to be something that transports the day out of the acute pain in that moment. If they are loving listening to Harry Potter, sometimes, throwing it on for a minute can change their tempo. It’s like tapping my ruby slippers. A sensory game changer can buy some time, to get off the road, for the insurmountable to become a mere worry.

At home, there is some space. I walk and if I can’t walk with them, I make something with them, and if I can’t make something then pet play with them and if I can’t pet play then, bathe. I do or make something with their hands or feet and somehow, we transition out of the bad thing that happened and into home. The aim is to do something parallel to her recount. The retelling is secondary, it isn’t the object of the attention.

Failure to launch- things that didn’t work for me and my crew

Talking about it at school. I’ve dropped to my knee, hugged and the closeness forced an outpour. She didn’t want it, she thought she did, but after it happened, she really didn’t.

Talking to a teacher or parent in the moment. I’ve done this super charged with the emotion wafting off her when really if I had a bath, a sleep and a cup of tea, I may not have.

Sugar- an ice cream, a sugary treat, a milk shake, while comforting is fuel to the emotional fire.

Talking about it in the car. My attention is divided.

I’m sweating now, must be pick up soon.

needs: Have theme song, have lots of theme songs.

I was storming from the minute I woke up to get my crew out of the house and into a theatre that guaranteed some positive feeling. The reviews and my astute cinephile brother had promised a feel-good feeling and after the cluster fuck that life had thrown at us in March, I was determined to declare the 1^st of April (no fools here) a good vibe only zone for my beloved, my dudes and me!

When family life is a shit storm, I’m not going to bother with the roulette of meaningful art house cinema that potentially casts us into the quandary of our existence. Distraction not introspection was on the menu. I had reverted to 100% reactive living, considering meals at meal times, not making any diary notes or plans or getting the “stuff” done. So, after 4 weeks of terror and sadness and pain, I woke up determined to see “The Greatest Showman”. My thoughts hadn’t moved to planning so getting out the door was not the usual well-oiled machine but we had a session, a park and got tickets just before.

It was a lot to ask of our Hugh and our Michelle (by Matilda default). It was a lot to ask of the schwepervesent Mr Efron, but I didn’t just ask. I took my literally broken crew to “The Greatest Showman” and sat down thinking – ok I got them here, now sprinkle some of that magic on us. As my aching carers body settled into the dark room, I thought, at the very least I might sleep a little.

You know what happened next? “The Greatest Showman” delivered. It was bombastic fantastic, collywobble bliss-bomb shaker maker starry starry wonderment of fantastic. It was a film filled with musical anthems of hope and promise and dreams and acceptance and everything we needed. The film sparkled and nurtured us gently back into smiling. When Hugh and his friends suffered hard times, they visited with us in ours. When they sang of dreams, we could barely breathe until they climbed back to life. In the dark suburban multiplex, I sighed and thought we could climb our way out as well.

By the time the beared lady sang “This is Me”, I was already sold but not ready for the power of it. I watched as my dudes sat a little taller, a little higher, and a little stronger as their anthem was presented. Here it was a song, about making no apologies for being as extraordinary as you can be, even when it feels likes the world is built to hurt and harm you. Someone had gone and written a theme song for my dudes when they needed it most.

When was the last time you left a film wanting to listen to the soundtrack straight away?

When was the last time you saw a film that instantly became part of your family?

When was the last time you saw a film that touched each of you and connected you to each other?

I’m sure in this post post modern meta world there will be ways to dissect this film, but for now, naked to those claims, I am happy. I am generally happier for seeing that film and 5 days on I am playing that soundtrack to extinguish the harshest of medication realities and it works like magic.

means: Our Set List

On the way to school we often kick it with Kanye, who says a lot I don’t like or follow but there are bits that Velcro to my dudes and make them feel ten foot tall. He is sometimes angry, always proud, sometimes dismissive but he never fails to rally my dudes, on their own terms, before a tough school day or medical appointment. Clare Bowditch reminds us to love who we are and Kesha speaks to my dudes when they feel out of step. Christina Aguilera is sung in the shower, with a hair brush after a shit school day. Anything from Her Madgesty Madonna, don’t ask, just do because her magic is powerful and Lord David Bowie reminds us to swagger our own kind of wonderful and just in case we forget how to walk we go for Aerosmith and Run DMC. Florence and the Machine are good for a reset, and whatever the mood A-ha always takes us higher. I’ll be coming for your love ok…