Yesterday, I had a temper tantrum. I yelled at my son. I yelled at the wall. I yelled at my daughter who saw it necessary to correct something I yelled at the wall. I even stomped my feet. I could have passed for any two year old.Like most temper tantrums, it was a result of immaturity combined with tiredness and a sense of powerless with a small catalyst to ignite the frustrations. While making dinner after four hours of driving in a car with small children who were entertaining themselves by seeing how loudly they could sing, my son decided to drool on the piano and spit on the kitchen floor.
That is disgusting. Not normally cause for a meltdown, but it is disgusting.
It also leaves me feeling powerless. I may have learned a lot from my son because he is different. But I haven't really learned to accept that difference. I lack that casual, come-what-may attitude full of grace and patience. I must admit that I really do not want all that. I just want him to be "normal." But it is not in my power to change.
We dragged our feet in ordering the Chewey Tubes, an occupational therapy toy to help him with oral sensory stimulation. Somehow, that seemed like affirming there was a problem. His arrived in the mail yesterday, and I made him a little necklace so that he can keep it with him without losing it.
So now my little four year old boy has about his neck the mark of being different. I worry about how he will be received at church. I worry about how he will be received at the Y, where he has already had trouble with the workers trying to stop him from chewing on the sweatband we put on his arm to help with some of the licking and chewing. I wish I didn't, but I worry.
So I have a meltdown. The person who admittedly matters most in determining how my son is going to accept himself through all of this.
A few minutes later, he was giggling on my lap, gnawing at his Chewey Tube while I tickled him. And I was so thankful for the forgiveness of a child.
