A sorority sister of mine's recent facebook status was that she was moving into Meltdown City. I responded that I owned a timeshare in Meltdown City. But folks, we haven't visited the timeshare lately. Or, rather, we haven't visited the three year old's timeshare. Adult meltdowns are par for the course in Elizabethtown. Volitile weather is one of the things Etown is known for.
We've been roughly a week on our super serious no RED40 diet. And while I do not want to overstate the matter, Henry is a different boy. Or rather, the real Henry has stood up. The eczema on his arms and ruddy cheeks are pretty much gone. His heiny no longer looks like the flag of Japan. He has consistently napped every afternoon and we have in no way been playing on playgrounds more to induce this change. I no longer hear him chatting to himself in his room at 10pm. He's zonked out by 8:30, having been in bed since his 7:30 bedtime. He no longer freaks out when it is time to put up Lego Thomas and have dinner. He may not be jazzed about it, but he doesn't fall apart.
At the playground, when a little girl stole his sand shovel, he didn't push or shove, just said, "Hey, that Henwe's. Say pwease." She said please and he handed the shovel to her, promptly telling her to say thank you.
Yes, he is still a three year old. Tonight, we had dinner at Auntie Ann's and she made a special Cookies and Creme pudding for him. He was excited about the pudding. In theory. Upon seeing it was not chocolate pudding, he snapped "No. No thank you!" But he did not throw it, yell at Ann to take it away or fall down. When asked a second time if he wanted the pudding, sure, he was annoyed. Hadn't he turned it down just ten minutes ago?
Simply put, he is less irritable. Not more mature. But it IS something. A noticeable change.
I've also begun trying to say Yes to him as much as possible. Not to spoil him. Just that the other day I was praying about how I could love him better and be more compassionate toward him and I thought about what his day must be like. He wakes up and he's not allowed out of his room until an adult comes to get him. And by this point, he's been sleeping in his own mess for 12 hours. He doesn't get to pick his own clothes. Or his own breakfast. Or what to do for the day. He wants juice to drink but is given milk. He wants a second cup of milk but is given water. He wants steak for lunch but is served hot dog. (This was his complaint today at lunchtime. I can relate.) He wants to look at books but we have to go to the grocery store. And yes, I know that this is just a part of life. Learning to handle not getting what you want. However, when I'm tired, my default answer is no. I need to listen to him more. He's not a baby. His opinion, while not the only determining factor in my decision making paradigm, does matter. He has a voice and wants to be heard. That in as much as he is sometimes going to have get in line with my schedule, I need to adjust my schedule to meet his needs as well. He now gets to pick his breakfast. Praise Jesus he wants Cheerios, a banana, and an Apple Cinammon Zbar. He doesn't want me to give him his medicine. Imagine my surprise when he put the Nasonex correctly up his nose and dosed himself and promptly downed his little cup of Zyrtec. And when we got home from Ann's tonight, he even reminded me he needed to eat his "Singuware" candy.
It may not be much. But even small steps are long strides when you are walking in a three year old's shoes.
Especially when he wears a size 11 shoe.
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