3/7/2016

Monthly Miles Memo #98

Filed under: — Aprille @ 3:29 pm

Hey there, Mr. Miles,

We’ve known since you were just a few months old that your personality tends toward the shy and sensitive.  New things are difficult for you, and you’re easily overwhelmed.  That’s why I was so happy and proud when you did two things recently that showed great growth in that area.

The first time we went to your school carnival, when you were in kindergarten, it was a borderline disaster.  The crowds and noises and general chaos sent you into a panic.  You broke down into tears and refused to try any of the games.  That made me annoyed in part because we’d spent the money on the tickets and also because I was afraid you would never get to enjoy a lot of fun things in life due to fear and inflexibility.  Your dad ended up taking you to play on the playground, and when the night was nearly over, I coaxed you in and you tried a couple of very low-stakes games.  Last year was a little better, but it was still about an equal ratio of fun to pain.

This year was a completely different story.  You anticipated the carnival for weeks before it arrived.  Your teacher gave you a map of where each game would be in the school (a smart move on his part:  if we’d had a chance to explain to you what to expect in detail in the past, it might have gone better).  You picked out the games you were most looking forward to playing.

The night came, and it was a huge success.  You were proud of the fancy cake we designed together for the cake auction.  You burned through your tickets so fast I had to buy another batch.  You had fun on the simple, cerebral, and rough-and-tumble games alike.  You were thrilled when you won (especially the cake walk), but you kept a good attitude when you lost.  It was exactly how a carnival night is supposed to be.

I know you had a blast, but I don’t think you know how much it meant to me to see you have a blast.  Some day you’ll have a kid who has his/her own struggles, and some day you’ll know the surge of joy a parent feels when that kid triumphs.  It might not seem like a big deal—having fun at a carnival night is pretty much the default for many kids—but it’s a big accomplishment for you.  Congratulations on your cake, but congratulations on a lot more, too.

Photo by Gary Clarke

The second achievement was at Family Folk Machine yesterday.  You’ve been doing solos in our concerts for years now, and stage fright doesn’t seem to be an issue for you.  One thing you’ve never done, though, is had the guts to volunteer for the solo yourself.  In the past, it’s always been something we’ve talked about privately, then I’d email or talk to our director on your behalf.  I don’t know why it’s harder for you to raise your hand when she asks who’d like to do a solo than it is to actually sing the solo in front of hundreds of people, but that’s your way.

Yesterday, during kids’ rehearsal time, I was sitting around chatting with another parent.  I was half paying attention when Jean asked who’d like to do a solo, and I didn’t see you volunteer.  I hadn’t had a chance to talk to you or her about it, so I  mentally shrugged and figured you just wouldn’t do a solo this time around.  But you must have volunteered without me noticing, because a few minutes later, I saw you confidently walk up to the mic and sing a verse from one of the kids’ songs.  I could tell from the huge smile you shot across the room to me that you were proud of yourself.

This is not to say that every day is full of growth and accomplishment.  Sometimes you still have trouble with your ongoing issues:  flexibility and nuance are tough areas for you.  Sometimes you get an idea of how something ought to go, and if things turn out differently, you can’t move past it.  The other night, your dad asked you to help clean up the basement before you played any Wii.  You decided to pick up the alphabet blocks.  A few of them were missing (much more likely due to Callum than you), and even though your dad tried to explain to you that it was okay, you wigged out.  He told me later that you were ready to tear up the house looking for the blocks.  You just couldn’t handle the idea of the block box not being full and not completing your task.  I wish you were that goal-oriented about getting your shoes and jacket on in the morning.

On the other hand, you did something good the other day.  You and Tobin were playing chess, which is a new hobby of yours.  You’re a much more advanced chess player than Tobin—you’re still a novice, but he’s an ultra-novice—and playing with him can be a frustrating experience.  I overheard an interaction not go well.  He wasn’t listening to your instructions, and I could tell you were on the verge of losing it.

Instead of freaking out, you got up, went to your room, and cooled off.  I’m so glad you found a coping mechanism.  I get overwhelmed too sometimes, and time alone is the only thing that will get me back into the right mental space.  After you had some time to yourself, you were able to get under control and rejoin the family.  I’m especially proud that you did this all on your own, without it descending into yelling on anyone’s part.

Well, geez.  Now that I look back on it, it’s been a big month, hasn’t it?  Eight seems to be suiting you well.

We leave for our spring break in the Florida Keys this weekend, and I’m looking forward to a relaxed, low-stress week with you and the rest of my guys.  There’s nothing better to me than the beach with my babies.  We’ll be sure to take lots of pictures, eat lots of popsicles, and read a whole chapter of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix every night, even if it’s twenty-four pages and it’s getting to be past bedtime.  We get a little wild on vacation.

Photo by Gary Clarke

Love,

Mommy

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