With a cherry on top

In my post last week I wondered whether I overstepped my mommy rights by signing Sam up for Brain Balance. I was unsure if it was my place to decide that he needed some improving. Since then I have been thinking about this non-stop (obsessively, actually!) and have decided that my job is to provide Sam with every tool available to ensure he has the best life possible. Brain Balance is our newest tool.

Brain Balance claims that kids in the program’s motor skills, eye hand coordination and academic performance will improve. What parent can say no to that? We all want to do whatever we can to provide an advantage - or at least remove the disadvantage - for our child. Whether you “red card” your son with a September birthday so that he’s the oldest in his class, or hire a tutor, or send her to soccer camp in the off-season or take him to Brain Balance - all level the playing field and may even give your child the upper hand. And in my book, this is a good thing.

Within two weeks of starting the program, Sam morphed into a happy, more confident kid. He is now peppier, more outgoing, smilier, funnier, more connected and chattier. He seems semi-comfortable in his own skin. Did all this happen because he has more control over his body? because he is getting loads of attention from me and the staff? because he thinks the exercises are kind of fun? I have no clue and I guess it doesn’t really matter. Getting Sam to feel good about himself has been the primary goal since the moment I knew he was in my belly. Finally he’s catching on to the fact that he’s one of the coolest boys around. It really could make me cry.

So now that we have a happy, more confident boy is it ok that I hope this translates into a less shy Sam with an increased number of friends? No, no, no. This is where I cross the line into pushy and controlling mom. It’s not my place to tell him to be a social butterfly. He’s allowed to have a couple of good friends to play video games with. It’s fine for him to be the shy guy who likes to be alone. What’s not ok is feeling stuck. Or holding back because he has a skewed perception of himself. Brain Balance is providing him with the power to choose who he becomes.

Back to the debate. Was it ok to sign Sam up for a program that made this happen?  Absolutely; giving him access to the best life possible fits right into the rules listed in the mommy handbook. No doubt about it.

Does any of this mean that I didn’t like the old Sam? No way. But I like the new and improved one even more. Just because I flip over a warm and gooey sundae doesn’t mean that a single scoop isn’t pretty awesome too. But who can say no to caramel and cookie crunchies?

What's fishy?

We went out for dinner tonight at Sapporo, a local Japanese restaurant. Ben and Sam love it there. And since it’s pretty much the only restaurant they are happy at that keeps my calorie count at a manageable level, we are there a lot.

Same as always, Sam ordered shumai and shrimp teriyaki. Ben ordered edamame and chicken teriyaki. Tom and I got some sushi. The only dairy free alteration we make here is that Sam replaces his Yoo-Hoo beverage order with apple juice. Not an upsetting modification.

Sam did a great job ordering. In fact, he was more polite than me. As he pointed out, I should have said please when talking to the waiter. And next time I ask for a drink I should correct myself. So right. And so present.

As we all tried to shoot the edamame into our mouths and not into our laps, we discussed Sam’s 8^th birthday that is on Friday. What should we do? How about coming back here and getting hibachi? Yes, yes. That’s fun. Will he throw the food in my mouth like last time? And make an onion volcano? Yup. Let’s do it. 

But wait, says Tom. Is there butter in that? What about in his chicken teriyaki…did you ask?

Oh no, I moan. Did you? Can we just forget about it? Sam don’t eat anymore. Let’s not tell them. People must do that. Right?

No, we can’t. Let’s ask.

Excuse me; is there butter in the chicken teriyaki?

No, no. In the hibachi yes. But not in teriyaki.

It’s amazing how quickly I managed to calculate how many days into the dairy free diet he was (14 out of 84) and then quickly realized that if he screwed up and we had to set the dairy free clock back to Day 1, it meant we could go get some froyo after dinner. There’s nothing better after sushi than frozen yogurt. You could have heard my sigh my sigh of relief (and then disappointment!) all the way in Summit at Sweet Orange.

And let’s not even discuss that I was ready to lie. Nice mom, I am.

Ethical dilemna

Do I have the right to mess with Sam’s brain in order to make him more social? 

Part of me says yes. Absolutely. Having more friends and becoming more comfortable in his own skin will make him happier. And as his mom it’s my job to do everything I can to help him become the best version of himself.

Watching Sam struggle in most of his social interactions has been the hardest part about being his mom. After school last year, he often asked to stay and play on the playground. It gave me a much needed chance to catch up with some mommy friends and he would ramble around next to – but not playing with - his classmates. The other boys would make up games, race or play with a ball while he struggled to climb the monkey bars or picked at paint on the swings. He didn’t seem sad but watching him hurt me. If I were him I would feel so alone and heavily self-conscious.

At this same playground, my friends would hold my hand and lovingly point out that he is not me; he is having his own version of fun. What if they were right and I need to back off? Maybe I don't get to choose whether or not to balance his brain.  Sam doesn’t mind being alone. He doesn’t want a lot of friends. He’s shy. And there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s not breaking any laws. He’s not hurting himself or anyone else. And how would the world go round if there weren’t different kids like him?

You’re wondering why I’m making myself crazy about this now. It probably would have been a good idea to think it all through before we embarked on this journey. It’s because he is on the verge of making a social leap.  I write, talk and obsess metamorphosis. Over coffee and sushi I proudly boast about how hard he’s working and the changes we’re starting to see. He’s on his way. He’s connecting. He’s waking up. 

All true. All sound good. All excite me. And I guess there’s no real way to determine if I have overstepped my maternal rights. All I can do is cheer him on, drive him back and forth to appointments and hope that as an adult he will never lay on the therapy couch crying over his evil controlling mom who pushed him to have more friends. 

Bliss

On the days leading up to a holiday weekend, I’m always brimming with excited anticipation. I imagine all the fun activities. Maybe we’ll go off on an adventure. Eat a new food. Discover some hidden gem. Reconnect. Make each other laugh. It will be bliss.  The stuff that photo albums are filled with.

But by Sunday night of President’s Day weekend, I’m ready for all my boys to head out. Please go back to your respective day jobs and leave the house to me. I want my dog back, no dishes on the counter, no random lights left on in empty rooms and what I really need is just a few minutes with no one asking me for anything. It’s the only child in me. She rears her head at funny times.

But there were a few Sam highlights that made this long weekend more bearable than most. None were shocking. None made me run to the phone to thank Betsy. But they made me stop. And the best part was that Tom was home enjoying the long weekend with us so they made him stop too. And then we looked at each other silently and smiled.  Because the only thing better than seeing a change is having someone there to confirm that you’re really seeing what you’re seeing.

On Saturday, we went to Ben’s basketball game. Pre Brain Balance, Sam would have brought his iPod Touch and would have been lost in it. He would have sat in the adjacent room; removed from the game and all the spectators. It would have been like he wasn’t there. A family friend’s younger son is often at the Y for his brother's game at the same time. When they’ve seen each other before, they’ve played video games. Or if that wasn’t an option, they ran around being silly. Sam likes kids that are younger than him. Socially they’re more on his level so these two get along well.  This was a fun 45 minutes for them both. They ran. They laughed. Best of all, Sam saw him and was present. And when Robby had to leave, Sam asked if we could have dinner with his family at Bunny’s. Sam hates going out to dinner. He only likes to hang out with us – at home. Instead, that day he wanted to connect. Our first smiling moment.

My psychoanalyst dad came to visit on Sunday. He knows all about how brains work so we spent a lot of time talking about the theories behind Brain Balance. I was relieved when he nodded and agreed that it sounded interesting.  After dinner, we dropped him at the train. My dad has been trying really hard over the past year to develop a stronger connection with our boys. Each unexpected effort he extends makes me happy for them in a completely selfless way. They are so lucky to have his attention and they’re starting to notice the effort he’s making.  Is Sam responding to his warmth? Or maybe it’s that Sam’s able to express feelings that he couldn’t before – Grandpa, don’t go. Stay with us. Can’t you sleepover? This made my dad even happier than it made me and Tom. We were all smiling.

The weekend finally came to a close with Ben’s soccer tournament. Sam and I went to watch the first game and then had to leave for his appointment.  Again, this would have been a iPod Touch moment. His eyes would have been down. He wouldn’t have felt the intensity surrounding him. This time he didn’t have anything to look at but the field. He watched Ben. Then he watched some of the other boys. And when we got up to leave, he walked as close to the field as he could and waved. Bye. Good luck. Have a great game, Ben.  More waves. This is a kid who never watches his brother play and doesn't ever cheer. And in a room filled with whistles, echoes and overly competitive screaming dads he would have rushed out to avoid the noise. As we tripped through obstacles - siblings sleeping in strollers, discarded sweatpants and half full bottles of neon blue Gatorade he grabbed my hand and bounced out beside me.  I looked back at Tom and his grin was just about as big and goofy as mine.

Did we get to enjoy these awesome eye-opening moments because of all the hard work Sam has been doing in that sensory gym? Or is it just that we’ve taken that stupid zombie maker out of his hands and now he has to find other ways to be entertained? It doesn’t really matter. Either way, these are moments we wouldn’t have had and smiling feels so much better than worrying. Especially when the house is empty and Daisy and I can blissfully enjoy a quiet Tuesday morning to ourselves.