It’s time to go out the door.
And Brian is throwing a shit fit.
He’s always very happy to go to school (this year) and I don’t know what the heck the problem is.
Until I hear the shower running upstairs.
I’m able to tackle him to get his snow pants on but then he slips out of my grasp and runs upstairs where he paces the hallway, flapping his hands, and making repetitive vocalizations.
See, we can’t leave the house if Colin is in the shower.
If Colin is in the shower when we are leaving the house then Brian will never know if the toilet seat is down, the lights are turned off, and whether the bathroom door remains closed.
His whole day will be a nightmare.
He will not let that go.
So, like any sane person would do, I knock on the door and ask Colin how much longer he’ll be.
He hasn’t actually got in the shower yet, the water was still warming up, so like such a great fiance, he turns off the shower and wraps himself in a towel and joins our fiasco in the hallway.
Brian immediately runs to the bathroom, puts down the seat, turns off the light, and closes the door.
He is smiling and skipping as he puts on the rest of his gear to face the Maine weather.
Colin hangs out in his towel until we leave.
No big deal, this is our family. This is a typical morning.
And I shake my head as I realize I am doing nothing to help this child learn how to deal with these anxieties in the real world.
However, I can not, for the life of me, send him to school knowing that he is going to be crying and upset all day because a routine wasn’t followed through. That’s what OCD does to him. He will not come out of that anxiety-mode until his routine is followed through.
So this will continue to be the norm for our family…at least until we get off this purgatory they call a wait-list for our new developmental pediatrician who is supposedly going to help us figure out how to navigate the roads of OCD.