Does My Kid Need Therapy?

I was called into school today to have a meeting with the school psychologist to discuss Little Bear's behaviour.  The tiniest little upset can set him off like a firework; screaming, shouting, kicking, hitting and spitting.  It's a pretty regular performance at school, and she was curious to know if he did the same thing at home and, if so, how we handled it.

Six weeks ago I was not handling it.  At all.  I was in despair.  He was throwing fits on a daily basis and i was trying every strategy known to modern and cave-dwelling parents alike.  I tried ignoring the behaviour but that made him worse.  I tried Time Outs but they don't bother him.  I tried smacking him but that just led to escalating tit-for-tat physical conflict.  I tried positive praise but that just enraged him.  I spent nights researching Aspergers and child bipolar disorder trying to figure out what his problem was.  I cried and felt like a terrible mother, not least because I found myself wondering if I still loved him.  I just couldn't understand how a four year old with a loving, attentive family could be so unhappy.  It was breaking my heart. 

But about a month ago there was a shift.  We decided to try a weekend without turning on the computer, so that we would be less distracted and more engaged with the kids.  It was so much fun that it is now a firmly enforced family rule.  Around the same time I also made a conscious decision to give Little Bear more 'colo', which is a wondeful Brazilian word that amounts to cuddling and holding someone like a baby.  Guess what?  In the last four weeks we haven't had a single episode of the same magnitude, at home at least.  He's being utterly adorable and sweet and happy most of the time.

For me, it was case closed.  But today the school psychologist was recommending we should take him for an evaluation with a child therapist to see if we can figure out what is bothering him.  I have my own theories; jealousy of his younger sibling; anxiety about growing up (and even death) and a desire to go back to being a baby, all of which manifest themselves in massive attention-seeking fits replete with baby behaviour.  See, I've got it all figured out myself.  Why do I need to take him to someone else to corroborate my theory?

Truth is that we Brits are not very comfortable with therapy.  I don't know a single British friend of mine that has ever been to a therapist, or taken their kid to one.  The therapy culture of countries like the US and Brazil is a source of total bemusement to us.  It's just not something that we do.  And if we do, I suppose we don't talk about it.  (Do you even get psychologists in British schools?  You certainly didn't in my day).  Of course I think that some people have some serious issues to figure out, but it seems like some people go to their therapist to indulge their precious egos for an hour, talking about how they feel about their broken nail or the boyfriend that just wasn't that into them.  The Brits on the other hand like to figure things out by themselves.  We're just not that dramatic or touchy-feely.  Stiff upper lip, Dunkirk spirit and all that.

Whether or not I take Little Bear to the therapist remains to be seen.  As for me, why would I pay to speak about myself for an hour when I can just spend an hour writing a blog post for free?  Thanks for listening.

Senhora, Your Baby Is Freezing To Death

In Brazil it is very common for total strangers to advise you that your child is dying of discomfort, hunger, or some other woeful act of motherly negligence. And top on the list of the Brazilian busy-body's preoccupations is whether or not your child is cold.

Most conversations of this kind start with lavish praise for your infant: "What a cutie", "The most beautiful thing in the world", "Is it your first?". You nod and smile with pride. Then, "He needs socks on!"

Usually, it isn't malicious. It derives from a very sincere adoration and concern that Brazilians have for children. (In what other country could you take a toddler to a smart restaurant for dinner and let him wander the floor chatting to all the other diners without generating a single bad vibe?)

Sometimes however, it oversteps the mark. On one 18 degree day, a man informed me that the supermarket vegetable aisle was not the place for my poor cold baby. (Said baby was fully clothed, socks aside, and gurgling.) I politely replied 'I think he's OK' and inched the pushchair closer to the overpriced imported grapes. At this point the man started screaming at me in disgust. He had been a pediatrician for 20 years and apparently had never witnessed such irresponsible parenting.

My stock reply in such situation is "In Scotland, where I come from, this temperature would be mid-summer", for in all cold-related arguments I claim to come from Scotland. Gives me the upper hand, don't you agree?

I remember going to Portobello beach in Edinburgh as a schoolgirl, and having to dig a massive trough for us all to lie in so that our goosebumps wouldn't get windburn. I also remember we ate a lot of ice cream. My Scottish grandmother had a freezer-full of the stuff, and famously boasted that she had never knowingly turned one down in her life. All those Scottish Italian ice-cream families, with successful businesses despite the cold climate.

In my opinion, there is no circumstance which disqualifies a day from the ice-cream or lolly-consuming calendar. Here in Brazil, you do not eat ice cream, let alone go out to the park, if it rains. You certainly do not eat ice cream if you have a cold for you will surely catch pneumonia and probably die. You don't give your children iced drinks or let them hang around the house naked or let them swim in months without 'r' in the name, all for the same reason. I have witnessed more cross-cultural couples bickering over these matters than anything else.

It's winter here at the moment, around 23-degrees in the afternoon. People here are donning their novelty jumpers and gloves. My children are still going to the beach to play in the sand, drinking apple juice on the rocks and watching TV in their birthday suits. (No matter how hard I try, my 3 year old Little Bear will not keep his clothes on).

The weekend before last I let them swim in a pool. Admittedly, they were in wetsuits, but still, it was cold.

On the Monday, Little Bear got a temperature. By Tuesday it was really high. He didn't go to school for the whole week. On Saturday he was diagnosed at the hospital with bronchial pneumonia, and I'm wondering if maybe the Brazilians know something after all.

He didn't eat for 5 days, the poor little mite. Finally, today he got his appetite back, and what did he want? An Ice Lolly. And did he get it? Of course he did. Just don't tell anyone.