Transitions, schmansitions, part deux

When it comes to transitions, David is his mother’s son (and his Pop’s grandson). He doesn’t like them. He wants things predictable, the same. No surprises.  No new things. And because he’s quite literal, he has certain expectations for how things are supposed to be.  And he doesn’t do well well things don’t work out the way he anticipated.

This presents a parenting challenge for me, as I never know how far to push him to try new things.

Yesterday was his first day of day camp. We counted down the days for what seemed like weeks. We talked about what it would be like.  And yet, as much as I tried to convince him that there wouldn’t be a tent to sleep in (“camp” = “tent”), he was so disappointed when I picked him up yesterday, because they hadn’t slept in a tent all day. 

After dealing with the stress of his first day of camp (everything new) and the tent disappointment, all he wanted to do was come home and play with his trains. But he had a soccer game (which also threw him off, because we’ve never before had a soccer game on Monday night, only soccer practice.)  In hindsight, I probably should have let him stay home. But I made him go to the game.  (“We made a commitment to the team…” Yada yada.) And he was pretty miserable at first. He wanted to be the red team, and they were the white team last night. (He says that wearing the jersey with the white on the outside makes his tummy hurt. Sigh.)  It took about 15 minutes of coaxing from me, his coach, and his teammates, to make him turn the jersey inside out.

He didn’t play much. But he played some.  And he survived. And at camp today he was fine. Didn’t even complain about the lack of a tent.

Fortunately, the anxiety of the transition doesn’t last long for him. (Or for me, I guess.) 

Once again, there are few right and wrong answers with this parenting thing.  As with most things, you do the best you can, and hope you’re doing okay.

And I guess you put up a tent in the backyard.


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