The Lady Behind Me In Line Would Probably Trade Places With Me If I Let Her But Just For the Record, I Wouldn't.

I am grumpy
for 12345678910 different reasons
dragging my offspring
from store to crowded, overpriced, store
as Superman insists
on pushing the cart
bumping into
walls
and
displays
placed in the middle of the aisle (WHO THOUGHT OF THIS?!!)
I bribe
with donuts
and
chocolate
and
try one nostril breathing
(some yoga crap I saw once)
but it doesn't work
and the blood pressure climbs
as I continue to
deplete my bank account
at record speeds

We are
standing in line
and I
tell Superman to
"Knock It Offffffffffffffffff"
as he throws his
beanie baby up and down
up and down
up and down
and I growl when he
touches the gummy worm display
giving him a dirty look as I bend down
to scrape Monchichi off of
the Swine Flu-Infested Floor
I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder
and turn to meet the smiling gaze of a stranger
standing in line
alone
dressed in red
smelling of "I can shower for thirty minutes if I want to because no one pounds on the door trying to barge in"
and she says
with a twinkle in her eyes no less
that she WISHES
her son were still that age
since now he's all grown up
and it wentsofast
I imagine her twenty years ago,
standing in line somewhere
growling at her little one
she tells me how she misses those frustrating, exhausting, exasperating jaunts
with the child
who is taller than her now
and has better things to do
then stand in line with his mother
throwing beanie babies
into
the personal space
of a stranger

She watches as
Superman begins
tossing that stupid toy again
up and down
up and down
tells him what a good job he is doing
giggles at his pride
and I am reminded again
what is most important
in this very short
very fragile
very unpredictable life
so I THANK her
for saying
exactly
what this
grumpy
yet
suddenly
so grateful
mommy
needed
so badly
to hear

Everyone Should Have a Calm Chart

I am observing Monchichi in therapy with Wonder Woman, our wonderful, irreplaceable, brilliant autism therapist who we lovingly refer to as "BOSS."  He is learning a new technique to keep his anger and frustration in check.  He can't tell us to "piss off" so he yells and grunts and flaps instead.  It's okay now, at seven years of age.  But if he's still doing it at 16 then I predict high hospital bills.  For everyone.

The beauty of behavioral intervention though, is that we can give him other ways of coping with those high-octane emotions.  Hence, the calm chart.

So I'm watching as Wonder Woman directs him towards the wall, where his brand spanking new Calm Chart is hanging.  It's just a laminated board, with velcro on it, and corresponding cards illustrating things that he likes like stretching, squeezing a pillow, getting a head rub and taking a deep breath.  He picks three cards and I watch as he begins to squeeze the living daylights out of his little monkey pillow. 

This.  Is.  Brilliant.

I need a Calm Chart, I think. 
Oh! 
The endless possibilities!
I imagine the choices on my GIANT laminated board
Chocolate.  Cheese.  Full Body Massage.  Pedicure.  Double Nonfat Vanilla Latte.  Seven Day, Six Night Trip to Bora Bora.

Squeezing a pillow?
Clearly my son is an amateur.

I think about the people in my life who would benefit from a Calm Chart:

My mom.
My husband.
My sister.

YOU.

I think about the fact that if everyone had a Calm Chart, we might not be so inclined to hiss at each other when in a crowded mall (yes, I'm talking about you weird mullet guy who was clearly offended that I didn't cower away as you stomped up the sidewalk towards the mall entrance and then proceeded to HISSSSS at me.   Ew.)

He could have definately used a Calm Chart.

Or
a Behavioral Interventionist.