How to (mostly) have patience when your child acts up

"In one post (I can't remember which) you mention having endless patience for your child. Really? I struggle with this so much," the email read. "My little girl is 3 1/2 and her more challenging behavior makes me want to scream with frustration. The refusal to eat by herself (even though she can), the fits of screaming in public places when we take her to something we had hoped she would like, the running away when we ask her to come, the constantly taking off her clothes (although I'm obviously proud of her new skill)... small things mostly but frustrating nonetheless. I end up feeling angry and resentful with her and wishing that life were easier, then guilty and wretched for not accepting her as she is. If I don't, who will? Endless patience? I wish! Do you have any advice?"

I instantly: 1) Knew how this mom felt; 2) Realized she must have mistaken my blog for one Mother Teresa used to write, or something like that. I most definitely do not have eternal patience, I told her, and have felt similarly distraught when Max has screechfests or refused to do stuff I know he can do.

If we're at home, my go-to solution is to put Max in a place where he can lose it safely, like his bedroom, and let him cry or shout it out for a few minutes. Bonus: This gives me time to regroup. If I run out of patience I often let Dave take over, especially if we're in a public situation; he is less emotional about dealing with meltdowns. If we're at a restaurant, for instance, he'll grab Max and head outside.  

We've also learned that timing is everything. Max is most in danger of losing it when he's hungry, so we'll leave the house only when he's well fed—and give him a snack before we hit restaurants, so he's not starving. Headphones have helped with transitions. When Max screeches, I've been known to put them on myself. This has the effect of cracking Max up; distraction can work wonders, though it's not always possible.

Taking care of me helps, too. I try to grab time to relax every week, whether it's girls' night out or having an iced latte in a coffee shop and reading for a half hour. When I recharge, when I have treats to look forward to, I'm better equipped to handle whatever the kids throw my way. A time efficiency expert I once heard at a seminar recommended that on Sundays, you plan something fun for next weekend instead of leaving it to, say, Friday; it helps power you through the week.

Yes, sometimes I wish life were easier. But that comes with the gig of parenting a child with special needs, and it's nothing to feel guilty about. You'd be hard-pressed to find a parent who hasn't wished her child would behave differently—special needs or not.

What tactics help you deal when your child has a meltdown or acts out?

Toys aren't us: Dealing with special needs parent buying compulsion

I did a huge toy purge this weekend—perhaps you heard me screeching "I can't believe how much crap the kids have!!!" as I unearthed yet another game that was missing approximately 97 pieces. 

It's been years since I sorted through the kids' games and toys, and there is a mind-boggling amount of them. This is mostly because of the buying sprees I went on during Max's early years, when I figured the more toys to simulate him, the better. I looked to toys for salvation, hoping they could spark his intellect, encourage him to better use his fingers and hands and even get him to walk.

Toys have most definitely been therapeutic for Max. The Mozart Magic Cube, with its different instruments and bright lights, encouraged Max to reach at a time when it was a real strain for him (cerebral palsy messes with your muscles that way). The Fisher Price Laugh & Learn Fun With Friends Musical Table encouraged him to pull to stand. When he started taking steps but needed support, we'd load up a toy shopping cart with cans to give it weight and he'd walk around the house with it, Dave and I joking that someday Max would make a great personal shopper.

Problem was, I couldn't stop buying toys. Whenever the therapists recommended a toy, I got it, hunting it down on eBay if it was discontinued. If Max's teachers said he took a particular interest in one at school, I got it. If we were at a store and Max took a liking to one, I got it. No occasion necessary; every day was a day worthy of more toys. 

Playing with them and Max wasn't always fun; at times I'd be so anxious for Max to better engage. (Also: Floor time can get really boring. What an awful parent am I!) I'd put stuff in bins so it wouldn't distract Max, but then I'd forget about those toys, and the clutter built up, threatening to take over our kitchen—I'd already converted the dining room to a playroom. 

In recent years, I've gotten better about not over-buying. Experience has taught me that more toys does not equal better kid. And buying educational toys that Max has no interest in does him no good, and wastes money. I still ask therapists for recommendations at birthdays and holidays, and we just have a leetle Cars 2 merchandise problem, but in general we no longer OD on toys. I just never dealt with the pile-up. Now that our basement's done we've socked away a bunch of toys there but still, our house felt like toys gone wild. And so, this weekend, Dave took the kids out and I mercilessly tossed stuff into big trash bags to donate. 

I hesitated the most over Max's fleet of dump trucks and fire engines, because he still loves pushing them back and forth and back and forth, but I chose some favorites and out went the rest. I had no problem getting rid of the bazillion party-bag favors we'd accumulated; those plastic things oughta be illegal because the kids forget all about them the second they are home from the birthday party, they consume space and they are a waste of resources. If you happen to be interested in owning 42 hand-clapper things, though, contact me.

I felt good knowing the toys would go to deserving kids, yet sad because I had such a vested emotional connection to so many of them. The echoes of play and therapy sessions past filled the room as I sorted through everything. I could picture Max trying so hard to hold them and use the toys, and me, Dave, our babysitter and his therapists sitting on the rug, encouraging him. 

"Push it, Max!"

"Touch it there, Max!"

"Use two hands to hold it, Max!"

I'm about three-quarters done and I've filled five huge bags to give away. Sabrina started looking through them last night, complaining that she still needed a bunch of stuff, exactly what she did the last time we had a garage sale. I suspect she may be destined for a starring role in Hoarders (like mother, like daughter) but meanwhile, I reassured her she still had a whole lot of playthings. 

Happily, Max didn't seem to care. I carved out a cubby for him in the wood organizer completely filled with Cars 2 stuff, and he was ecstatic. Play is still plenty therapeutic for him these days; Lighting McQueen is excellent motivation to get him to talk and stretch his arms when he drives him around. Mostly, he just has fun with it—like any kid with any toy.