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.