Chet is the happiest, silliest little guy, except when he's not. He's been having a lot of full-on freakouts lately and I'm trying to figure out what they're about. He's six, and at school the teacher tells me he's a model student. With me, usually, we wrestle and I wrap him up like two Ultimate Fighitng Champions and toss him over my head onto the bed and whenever I'm watching TV he climbs onto my back and perches on my shoulders.
But these days the very slightest thing can reduce him to a wailing puddle, a screaming alien writhing on the floor. His nine-year-old sister opines that it's just a phase. I tell him he's too big for these freakouts now but I'm not sure. I don't remember how I was at that age and I don't even remember how his sister was three years ago. I think that racing from school to work to school again five days a week has scrambled my brains. My entire 45-years seems like one continuous smudge.
Complicating matters is our situation. Whenever they start acting a little off I can't help but wonder if it's because their mom isn't around. They just saw her in Atlanta a few weeks ago but now she's off to visit her boyfriend in Germany. She calls every couple of days, though, and they're always excited to hear from her.
So when Chet suddenly turns his body into rubber, slides down off his chair to the floor and wails just because he's convinced that Ava didn't actually brush her teeth but is faking it because he didn't see her do it and why don't I ever believe him, I worry.
Yesterday, after yet another freakout I sat him down and asked him to take three deep breaths. I told him that spies and detectives (his favorite professions) need to keep their cool when things don't go their way. I told him that panicking never helps and in fact often gets you into more trouble. I asked him to take those deep breaths and then I tried to teach him a Buddhist mantra that I read once in a Thich Nhat Hanh book.
You take in a breath and as you do you say to yourself, "Breathing in I calm myself..."
Then you breathe out you say, "Breathing out I smile..." And then repeat.
I was going to teach him the last half, ("Dwelling in this present moment, I'm aware this is a wonderful moment.") but for now I left it at half.
I'm not saying it worked miracles but he did like the game of it and the mere act of smiling does miraculously lift your spirits.
What was nice was that this time, after he eventually calmed down and then was soon silly and jokey again, I was able to be jokey right back. Typically he gets over his freakouts much faster than I do.
What do you do when your grade schooler flips out?
