Photo by Marcus Woodbridge on Unsplash
My son is fascinated with pretty much all aspects of keeping time. He even dutifully stays awake waiting for 11:59 pm to turn into a new month, season, year. So, during winter break, I had a Normal Rockwell daydream of my son and I going to Barnes and Noble to buy calendars together.
But where I envisioned a quick, efficient errand, skipping in and out with smiles on our faces, the conniving Barnes and Noble architects had other plans. We entered a labyrinth of book displays so tall it discouraged any type of navigation and found ourselves at the mercy of where their marketing team wanted to lead us.
And, of course, the path led you first through an expansive (and expensive) toy section.
Needless to say, my son immediately forgot about the calendar and picked up a Calico Critter toy, a small bunny and a birthday cake that was about $3 million dollars.
As he began to walk toward checkout with confidence, I intercepted him with a firm “no!”
Immediately, he began saying, “No nothing!” with increasing vigor. I could feel everyone’s eyes on us.
As an autism mom, I know the difference between a tantrum and a meltdown. A tantrum happens when a child doesn’t get something they want. A meltdown is sensory overload.
But this situation quickly became the perfect storm of BOTH.
Clearly, it began as a tantrum. He wanted the toy. When he was told no, he protested.
Clearly, we would NOT be leaving with that toy. Otherwise, as all parents know, a dangerous equation is birthed in the kid brain: screaming+protest= toy.
But once he saw he was in a losing battle, I could see the flood of emotions hit. He began to squeeze his hands, shake his body, and hit his head with his hands (which never stops being alarming).
Right in the middle of the first battle, another had begun. And I had no idea what to do.
I had that brief parenting moment of panic–was I going to have to carry him kicking and screaming out of the store? Would I have to call for backup? Or would we be here through closing, locking horns, neither of us backing down?
So this was the point I lifted up a half-faith prayer for help. I knew God could do anything, but surviving this seemed like a tall order.
But I needed help beating back that voice of self-preservation that whispered, “Just give him the toy!”
This is how the situation unfolded:
I kept my voice calm, even, and soothing through the entire exchange.
I assured him I understood what he was asking, but the answer was no. We took a picture of the toy so it could be something he earned at a later date.
As it escalated I remained calm and gave him a hug with a little squeeze.
I distracted him by asking if he wanted to go to Chick-Fil-A.
When this didn’t work, I led him, as he cried and protested, by the shoulders to the car. (This part–miraculous.)
It was there, nestled in the nest of blankets, stuffed animals, and sensory toys (he calls it “Camper Van”) and after a handful of Cheerios that lived up to their name, that the storm passed.
And to my surprise, the joking began…that went on for days.
Caleb: “No nothing toy Barnes and Noble!” (Giggles from the backseat.)
Mommy: “Yes, nothing toy Barnes and Noble!” (More giggles from the backseat.)
Flooded with relief, I lifted up a quick prayer of thanks. I could only attribute our unscathed existence on the other side of this storm to God.
Looking back, I could see how the elements of a tantrum and meltdown started to entangle. My “no” was in the context of bright lights and a crowd of people, right around the time he should be eating lunch.
Once we got to the car and eliminated the sensory issues and hunger, he was able to accept the situation and I could explain that we don’t always get a toy when we want one.
And so shattered my naive belief that tantrums and meltdowns happen independently of one another, wrapped in neat, labeled bows. But even as the indicators of both got tangled up, I found that my response could also be a combined tantrum and meltdown response. Refusing to give into the request, but remaining calm, distracting him, and providing space and tools to self-regulate.
A friend of mine likened scenes like this to de-escalating a tiny terrorist.
Accurate.
So if this happens to you and your kid, it’s okay that it is messy. It does not indicate bad parenting or a bad kid, it just indicates a mind that processes emotions in a unique way. Give yourself and your kid tons of grace in these situations. You both deserve it.
Where has this perfect storm of tantrum and meltdown happened for you? What did you do? Any advice about what works well?