Implosion

Max’s whole world came crashing down today.

Granted, it was just a few pieces from his Imaginext castles that fell off. Just a few well-positioned knights that lost their footing. But for a kid who spends hours carefully creating worlds occupied by knights, pirates and clone troopers from Star Wars…for a kid with a perfectionistic streak that borders on compulsion…for a kid who doesn’t handle frustration very well…it might as well have been his whole world.

My cleaning ladies had been over earlier in the day. And because Max’s bedroom floor was covered in toys, I told Iryna not to bother with his room. It was easier for me to handle a little extra dust than whatever rage I may face should Max’s play scenarios be disturbed.

When I arrived home at the end of the day with the kids, Max went to check out his room. And that’s when the screaming started.

His room had been cleaned. And in doing so, things got moved, ships were detoured, cannons were repositioned, turrets had collapsed.

Like his toy castles, Max fell apart.

The tears were real. His anguish, genuine. And I felt terrible. I specifically told him his room wouldn’t be disturbed. I wasn’t sure why it was. All I could think was that Iryna had forgotten to mention my request to the friend she works with.

Part of our job as parents is to know what sets our kids off, and, when possible, to try to steer around those things. Dave and I have spent years trying to detect – and sidestep -- the landmines that are Max’s temper tantrums. We’re not always successful. Nor are we always patient enough to stop and consider every little thing that happens every single day through a Max filter. When we’re able, every action is evaluated under these criteria: What kind of mood is Max in? How even has his disposition been today? Can he handle sitting in a restaurant for an hour/running two errands/picking up his toys/spending five minutes doing homework?

Fortunately for us, Max is able to control his frustration and manage his moods in just about any environment – except home. He has no trouble following the rules at school. He does what is asked of him in speech therapy. He is a happy and compliant participant on the soccer field, in swimming lessons, on the gymnastic equipment. He is perfectly well-behaved at his friends’ homes.

It is only in the safety of his own home that he falls apart. Maybe it is because he recognizes that he can’t control what happens out in the world, so he has no choice but to roll with the punches.

But within the walls of our home, there are certainties Max can depend on: A cup of milk and a chocolate chip waffle for breakfast. Time to watch Scooby Doo before school. His lime green bear by his side every night. And, when he makes the request, that his castles, skeleton pirates and assortment of Darth Vaders will be right where he left them.

I don’t think it’s too much to ask. I’m just sorry someone didn’t listen.