Give That Kid a Pillow

It may be just another Sunday in many homes around the world today, but at our house it's a circus of gift-giving. Not only is it Easter here (at our home that means chocolate, jelly-beans, and anything else you can stuff into a basket), it is also Ainsley's 4th birthday. I will not go into my memory of the nearly 30 hours of labor or the epidural that didn't work as my body came close to exploding while giving birth to her in 2003 - that I'll save for another day. I also shall not elaborate in detail about how precious she looked at her birthday tea party. That, as you probably know, is a given.

This post is about Ian.

Ian spent the better part of last week anticipating his sister's birthday. He had no choice. It was often the topic of discussion as we made the final plans for her big day, which we celebrated on Saturday. He was a terrific sport about it too. With my mother's help, he got dressed in his new suit, put on his top hat, and said, "I look dapper!" And he did indeed.

Ian held it together under torturous circumstances. His cousins, Jamie and Regan, were here for the big event. The kids get along great. In fact, the entire neighborhood must have heard how much fun they were having all weekend, because the echoes of it are still ringing in the back of my head. Seven more girls arrived for the birthday party. Most big brothers would hide in their rooms and play video games with that many women in the house; but not Ian. He really wanted to be part of his sister's special day. Besides. . .he looked GOOD!

He made it through the first round of gifts at the party with sparkling enthusiasm. His excitement grew when the family gathered later in the day to shower Ainsley with more gifts. We gave her a pedal-powered race car and fully expected Ian to jump on it before she had a chance to catch her breath; but he didn't. He waited for his turn.

Today, the Easter excitement was overwhelming. The candy...the trinkets...the new spring clothing line...our living room looked remarkably like it did on Christmas morning, except there was no delicately adorned tree in the middle of it all. I admit it, my family goes crazy for every holiday. We even make up holidays just to have an excuse to give each other gifts. It is insanely fun and frivolous and should probably be stopped because of the chaos it causes before, during, and after; but it is difficult to break a family tradition.

After my parents and my sister's family left, it became eerily quiet in the house. Ian was taking it all in, letting it gel. He played with new toys, spent some time on the computer, went on a walk with the rest of us. He seemed perfectly fine. And that is why I knew that he wasn't. The bomb was going to drop, hopefully at some time today.

It hit as we were sitting down to dinner. Since I was expecting it, the damage was minimal this time. Ian was furious that we were having chicken-fried steak instead of fried chicken strips. [Let me state for the record that this is only the second time in my life that I have ever made chicken-fried steak and that I am not accustomed to consuming it on a regular basis, even though it may just be one of the yummiest comfort foods in the world.] Ian must have misunderstood when I announced the evening's menu, but it was enough to set off the fuse to the dynamite.

Very calmly and quietly, I said:

Ian, I am sorry you are disappointed that we are not having what you were expecting. That must be very frustrating for you. But you have two choices. You can stop yelling, sit down at the table and try what we are having, OR you can go to your room and yell all you want to.

He grumbled and stomped out of the room.

The rest of us continued to eat our meal, ignoring his rantings in the next room. Eventually, it seemed he was going to break something, so I decided to try to calm him down a bit. He attempted to punch my arm and shoulder, but I was able to deflect his throws and block him from further attempts. Again, very calmly and quietly, I explained that if he wanted to hit something, he had a number of options that did not include bruising a family member that he loves.

Hmph!

. . .was his reply. So I walked back to the kitchen and continued eating my dinner.

Steve decided to speed things along. After all, it is a school night and both of the kids needed baths. He got the Tempurpedic pillow from our bed - it weighs a TON! - and took it to Ian. He punched it a few times then grabbed it from Steve and started swinging it at him. I have no idea how many G's he had going on that spin, but the kid practically took of like a helicopter. The weight of the pillow pulling on his arms and the crashing sensation as it hit Steve were enough to relieve the frustration and overwhelming emotions and sensations that he kept in all weekend. Dad scored big points with this one.

So Ian returned to the kitchen. Steve heated up some microwaveable chicken nuggets, and Ian ate a decent dinner. As he sat at the table, he said to Steve:

The big wild horse called 'Anger' is gone now.

I am not kidding.

He took a shower, had his bedtime snack, and is now asleep in bed without further incident. The only regret I have is that his really loose tooth didn't get knocked out during all the pillow bashing. We could have rid him of that anxiety as well. Sigh.