Tag Archives: relationships

Lessons from a Lost Balloon: Growth, Safety, and Kindness

Featured

Posted by in buffers and barriers, children, Community, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

A blue balloon is inflated and resting in a bathtub, with a towel nearby.

In this story about small town stranger appreciation, a mom learns lessons while her little kid grows up a little more, making kind decisions about safety, cats, and personal capabilities. Let’s nurture our relationships and read on. To begin, why is this balloon in the bathtub?

Short answer: to protect our cat (Rolo, who can open every door except a shower door) from GI distress caused by eating the string.

Long answer: My 4-year old son is building resilience, self-discipline, confidence, and communication skills. Today, he acquired a balloon from a Habitat for Humanity kiosk at the local Berthoud farmer’s market (which makes up for its well-known lack of vegetables by being located at the new splash pad park, bringing multiple sourdough purveyors, and hosting the beloved Wildfire Arts kids art table. Today there were even dancing local ladies and a massive drum circle. And it’s really not the town’s fault about the veggies. We have a notoriously short growing season, etc etc).

My kids love balloons. Yes, I know they’re dangerous… a family I know had a child fall from a large mylar one at his own party and get seriously injured. In our family we aren’t allowed to put them up to our mouths, and so on. Mine play with them a few times a year under supervision…. STRONG supervision. This is partly because we have a large cat who loves to eat that curly, delicious, devilish shreddable balloon string. He gets very sick from eating it, and he just can’t stop. If it’s in the house, he’s gonna find it and have it for his own.

So we got a balloon anyway. They were gleeful, knowing this was rare. The kids ran to the playground, clutching their strings. Enter some sort of spinning playground equipment and a spill. No scrapes, no blood, no bump… but snap! My son’s balloon was gone like that, soaring to the sky as if we’d meant to poison nature. I’m so sorry, birds. I really should have known.

Well, there was another family observing. I’m not going to say they caused the disaster, but they sure fixed it. (In truth, a park dad had been giving all the kids massive pushes on this spinning piece of park equipment, which led to riotous laughter and a moment for me to call my own father to check on him after some difficult health issues early this month). I saw the spill, the cut string, the loss all play out in slow motion and was ready when my 4 year old sprinted to me screaming as I slammed my finger down on the phone fast to spare my dad the screams in his phone ear. Are you hurt? “No.” Are you ok? “NO!”

That darn balloon. I went into triage mode. The kids were given some options from which to pick (stay here and play a little but we have to use nature friendly voices again; taste a pickle and calm down with mom; go home right away, etc). Kid opted for a pickle and kid 2 went on spinning, her balloon much more securely attached to her hat band. It’s a pink cowgirl hat and she is NOT taking that thing off. But her 4-year old brother was SO SAD.

You know those moments, parents? You know when you COULD go get another (whatever spilled-melted-dropped-broken-ruined) thing, but it’s a long way away, and isn’t there a lesson here crammed in there that you don’t want to miss and don’t want your kid to miss? (And what about the voice from your past reminding you that when you were a kid and that lady next to you at Disney broke your balloon with her 1980’s cigarette and she didn’t apologize and your parents did not buy you a new one and how will he learn a lesson if you don’t inflict on him the pain you felt when you were 6… just me? To be fair, I didn’t remember it. My dad reminded me about it later as I recounted the blue balloon story.)

“OK but mom, it was not his fault!” my brain argued. “He fell and the string broke and he. is. SO. SAD!”

Yet I stuck to my proverbial guns. I wasn’t mean, I was soft and sympathetic, walking with my crying kid back to the car as he suffered loudly and his sister bounced along with her balloon. And guess what happened before we left the parking lot? If you live in Berthoud maybe you already guessed.

The stranger family re-appeared. One of the kids was clutching a lollipop- Oh please don’t let my kids notice that, I prayed. Too late, my daughter instantly said the quiet part out loud. But that didn’t matter, because… the stranger-family-dad (sorry kind sir, this is what my children have dubbed you) was holding out a balloon. “He took a pretty big spill back there,” he said apologetically. “We decided we didn’t want him to have to leave without a balloon.”

Glory be! Is this the small town feeling creeping up my arms, a mix of chill bumps and gratefulness and humanity and embarrassment (my toddler was just about to leave without one and darn it I was going to make sure he was ok with that)?

We humbly and gratefully said big thank yous. My little guy’s eyes were dazzling blue worlds of gratitude staring up at this family, accepting his balloon. He clutched the string like I clutch his hand at Trail Ridge Road overlooks while we stare over the edge.

There were so many lessons today. First, the amazement of my son: “I didn’t realize a stranger would be so kind to another stranger!” Then, the detailed discussion of situations when it is ok, versus not ok, to take things from strangers. We discussed the role of my presence, of the dad asking me “can I give this to him?”, and other nuanced questions only a 4- and 6-year-old can generate. We rode home happy.

And now it was nap time. Here’s where his character development really comes into the story. “Mom,” he said sleepily, “I really, really love playing with the balloon. So I think we better work together to find a safe place that is not inside my room. Especially for Rolo. Can you help?”

Yes, son. I got your back on this one. He’s asleep now, napping after all the excitement, while the cat lies in wait outside the bathtub and I take in the wonder that is 4-year-olds growing up.

Oh… and I love other families as well. I provide mentoring to families, therapists and teams that gives them the tools to transcend trauma. See my courses at www.cuspemergenceuniversity.com, join a group with me, book an appointment, or just email me any time.

I love you more than biscuits

Featured

Posted by in adults, Autism, Behavior Analysis, children, Community, Cusp Emergence University, CuspEmergenceUniversity, TI-ABA, TIABA, TIBA, trauma, trauma-informed behavior analysis, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

Another article in the trauma-informed series by Dr. Teresa Camille Kolu, Ph.D., BCBA-D

In relationships we do rituals.

“BLECH!” Startled, I looked down at my sweet, expressive daughter with a true disgust face. Everybody laughed. I was kinda mortified but I laughed too. The woman at MeOhMyCoffeeAndPie (you HAVE to go) had just answered her question with “it’s sauteed onion” when my kid asked “what’s the scone flavor today?”

Ok, I guess she wasn’t expecting that.

I was too caught up noticing this awesome tiny, framed quote by the display case. As a young reader I LOVED Larry McMurtry, see, who wrote Lonesome Dove and a whole lot more. He and I both went to UNT (decades apart, of course) where he gave us a wonderful author meet and greet (early 90s for me, when this kid was not even a twinkle). The coffee and pie shop had quite appropriately chosen to frame this gem of a quote: “She made great biscuits, but her behavior was TERRIBLE”.

My daughter and I were out doing a ritual Saturday thing. My mom used to sing “Come Saturday Morning” with me (we had the sheet music, so it was right up there with “Country Roads” and “The City of New Orleans” in my book). And sometimes we would spend time just us, and I would look at her hands and sing this song in my head. Saturday mornings, for a couple precious hours, are time when my daughter doesn’t have to share me with her little brother, and she pays me back by asking me questions I can’t answer. It’s at this time I learn that even 5 year olds wonder things about God and the universe, have nightmares, they can have crushes, they have fears, they might still want to hold my hand.

I LOVE biscuits but I love her even more. I love her more than her behavior, even that sort of behavior that makes you want to fire the babysitter just so you’ll never have to greet that face that saw the terrible behavior you thought your kid would never do in public and after all, you are a behavior analyst! (Do I think it’s easier because I’m a behavior analyst, my new friend asked recently? Heck no. I personally think it’s harder. But I do think being a parent has made me a better behavior analyst.)

So in relationships we do rituals, like setting up meaningful goodbyes when we leave the room, or when rhythms change and we won’t be spending as much time together anymore. If not, we leave devastation.

When I watch animals grieving each other’s deaths… especially horses and dogs… I notice how fully present they are for the goodbye.

And I am always grieved to consider the implication: such a meaningless slog of goodbyes without reason, or participation, we inflect this on clients when caseloads shift; when a therapist moves; when a client with certain behaviors moves into Hall B, so we just HAVE to abruptly move Client A into Hall D, so they won’t antagonize each other and never mind Client A will never again see her best friend client, or even the janitor—who was like a mother to her and had been there for 12 of the client’s 15 years in this mental facility again.

We often have to make hard decisions, but we should ask questions (“what really hurt your feelings this past week? Today?”) because in relationships we apologize when we’re wrong.

When we realize we hurt others, we shift so that we won’t keep doing the hurtful thing.

My mom remembered the pain of being hurried as a child. I knew that, and I forgot it. I remembered it again this month when I was going through an exercise I was making for a new workshop we will offer at cuspemergenceuniversity.com. The exercise has us grownups go through questions that reveal the triggers for us – the things in our everyday situations that make us more likely to react swiftly (often in a hurtful way) to the others around us. And I realized two things: being hurried doesn’t feel good to children, and hurrying children doesn’t feel good to adults. So what do we do? This week, maybe you will notice a ritual that is always done with urgency, and think, how does this feel? What would this feel like if I slowed down? Now, the harder part: What would it take for me to build in space around this… ten extra minutes before it, so that we don’t have to experience this, every single time, in hurried mode? I tried this, and my children really love it, although I won’t hear about it from them. Their lingering hugs (mama, don’t let go first!) and their wonder as we have time to look around the yard for a new flower before we buckle our seatbelts… the absence of urgent reminders and exasperated sighs… perhaps even a reduction in tense moments when I’m about to lose it and yell. These changes are rewarding enough for me to keep doing this. Because I love them more than biscuits.

Yes, rapport is often transactional. Although it was by design at first, it doesn’t always have to be that way. I talk about this just a little bit in my buffers article, in the relationship section. And in the trauma sensitivity course we talk a little about how to be more sensitive to what folks go through (including your staff) so that YOU can be a little less harsh, a little more supportive, around things you didn’t even realize were hurting the other person.

In relationships, we apologize; we give freely; we do things uncontingently (yes, I know you won’t be able to look that up, and there’s a reason- we talk about it more on instagram and it bears more attention); and we are generous with things the person really needs, like time, kind words, and those little rituals that they consider special. Have you ever worked with a therapist the client really adored? Or a professor beloved by their students? I remember two. The professor is loved and really loves. She gives generously of her wisdom, time, and appreciation for students. (You wanted to ace her class and reflect what you admired in her, even as she whispered the things that made you more of yourself, more creative and passionate and able to grow confidently in the direction of your dreams.) The other person I remember is a therapist who had kids riding on her shoulder at recess in our mixed school for kids with developmental differences and peers. And those folks taught me that you can have instructional control when it’s time, and still have fun with the people who look up to you. Rapport IS often transactional. But the relationship doesn’t have to be.

Thanks for reading.

Oh… and I personally think, in the Longmont area, that Lucille’s has the best biscuits.

And OhMeOhMyCoffeeAndPie has the best lemon bars, if you’re wondering.

I love you more than biscuits, daughter of mine. And I love you even when your behavior is terrible.