Change of Plans

Three pm Friday. Car is packed. ENTIRELY packed. Including the items that Sam meant to pack but forgot. Grass is mowed. Vegetables watered. Kitchen cleaned. Bed made. (Why, I don't know.) Carpets vacuumed. Floors NOT mopped because I figure the dogs will just mess them while we're gone, anyway. Instructions left for pet-sitter. I'm feeling quite proud because the timetable is working. We told Paul we'd pick him up at Y-camp after swimming, swing by and get Sam at the art studio, then head south for our first family vacation with Paul.

Change unnerves Paul. Anything out of the ordinary makes him feel out of control. And summer is utterly out of the ordinary. Kindergarten graduation, while an exciting event, meant leaving the structure, classroom, friends and teacher he has grown to love. Promises to see them again "in August" were received suspiciously. His life history has too many disruptions for those promises to hold much comfort.

The first week out I still had a bit of work to do, so I signed him up for basketball/football camp at CAL. He had one tough moment at camp, which I only knew about because a teacher friend saw him crying in the hallway, so she called me, so I called Coach. (I love this about our school, the knowledge that other people are looking out for my kids and won't hesitate to call me if they have a concern.) Coach said Paul and another kid got into a pushing match, so he removed them from the drill, and Paul got mad and stomped off. "No big deal," Coach said. "One of my guys hung out with him until he calmed down, then they worked on tackling drills. He's fine now. Doing great, actually." (Really, does discipline get any better than this? Hang out beside a huge high school football player until you calm down, then knock stuff over.)

The next week was Y-camp, so I could attempt to get caught up with my editing job before our week away. Y-camp was Paul's first camp experience last August, and he also went over spring break, so it's not an unknown entity. Also, he has a neighborhood friend and a small group friend going. I didn't anticipate any difficulties, especially after the warm welcome he received walking in. Counselors from the spring remembered him and greeted him enthusiastically.

At two o'clock, I got a call. "Mrs. Thompson ma'am? He's having a hard day. Could you, um, come and get him?" That's never a fun phone call to get, ya'll. Sparing the details, Paul was mad and they were fresh out of huge high school football players. His MO, stomping off somewhere, made them nervous.

He stayed mad all night. Asking what was wrong got us glares and backtalk. Trying to empathize, "You seem really mad," got us glares and backtalk. So we kept him close and put him to bed early. Which got us glares and backtalk, too.

Trent left early, early Tuesday for a work meeting in Los Vegas. So I called an audible and skipped Y-camp. Paul would stay close to me all day. There is an attachment parenting theory, utilized by many by clarified by Dr. Brian Post, called the stress model. The theory postulates that children from hard places, due to early trauma, trigger easily and often into the lower, reptilian, flight-flight-freeze brain, resulting in the dysregulation that gets one sent home from Y-camp. The key to regulation, according to Post, is bringing the child in close to a calm and regulated adult. Something about mirror neurons and dopamine levels and the amygdala. For those of you who have never seen Dr. Post in action, let me describe - he is a huge black man with a beard, looks like a football player but with a warm, teddy bear persona. Calm, mellow, unflappable. And did I mention huge? No kid with an ounce of sense is going to take him on in a fight.

I used to watch the Dog Whisperer Cesar Milan, who also modeled calm, alpha dog behavior with freaked out canines. He could just walk into a room and the spazzed out dog that had been terrorizing its owner immediately submitted. I realized then that I am not naturally calm and soothing. I am genetically predisposed to be high strung and insecure (although I prefer the terms artistic and sensitive). This is something I've been working on. So on Tuesday I pulled Paul close and tried to infuse calm into our relationship.

Tuesday also happened to be the day that Sam had activities scheduled on opposite ends of town every couple of hours. So Paul and I drove a lot and ran a lot of errands and, in between, did a lot of chores. I tried to make this time positive - he was being disciplined, yes, but this wasn't meant to be punitive. I was aiming for calm, remember. We sang camp songs and counted the sleeps until Trent was home and talked about our upcoming trip. On the way to Sam's art studio, after a conversation about going to the beach, Paul asked, "Is the beach a long way? Long, long?" "Yes," we assured him, "it's a long way." He paused, then asked, "Will I get adopted again after the beach?"

Boom. There it is. The fear that had been triggering him into chaos. Previous trips and big changes in his life led to the loss of all he help most dear. And now we were proposing another trip and big change. The rest of the day we worked through this fear, showing him that he was ours now, forever, and any trips or big changes we undertook would be together.

On Wednesday I let him choose. Y-camp or hang with me. "You hafta do chores?" he asked. Um, yes. "You hafta drive Sam to art?" Yes. "I'll go to camp. OK?"

Perfect. And he had a great day. When I picked him up, his teacher said he was like a different kid. Fun and funny. Hmmm. Take away the fear, and the real child can peek out.

Back to the vacation plan - three pm Friday. Car packed. We are ready to head out the door to pick up Paul, then Sam, then drive south for five or so hours before stopping at a hotele with a pool. Trent bends over and completely wrenches his back - a recurring injury but never with this much pain; pain that requires a trip to the emergency room.

Change of plans.