Urban is a marvel to me. If he had a motto I think it would be, "Go big or go home." His energy is boundless and his dialogue incessant. He is hilarious and exhausting and a wonder all at once. His extreme personality that has no "off" switch and has challenged us from day one. By the time he was 3, we looked outside our family for help. Brett and I struggled to stay calm in the face of all this energy. We needed someone to tell us that "this is hard, but you can do it." Family therapy has helped us more than you can imagine.
Urban loves attention. He walks into a room and introduces himself to every person, animal and even a few toys. By the time you've known him for 5 minutes you will surely know his name, our names, his brother's name, his favorite color and food, and that he loves video games and super heroes. Sometimes he reminds me of a spider monkey (with an excellent vocabulary.) One second he's scrabbling on the floor and the next he dangling from a door knob all while reciting his inner monologue.
After a long day of work, I sometimes have to steel myself for his desperate need for my attention every moment. No matter what. I have learned to try to engage him in my tasks. He helps me make dinner. He helps me change the baby. He helps me clean. Sometimes it's amazing. Sometimes it really sucks. Like when I have a one-year-old on my hip spitting and pulling my hair, the last thing I want is a 4-year-old wrapped around my leg jabbering about bad guys. But therapy has helped me, in those moments, to take a deep breath and redirect. It works sometimes. Sometimes I'm short with him and get angry. And sometimes I just roll my eyes.
Yesterday was a big day for Urban. He went non-stop, which he loves, from exciting time with me at work to his favorite class. No nap. No down time. No good. He had a day as near perfect as he can get. He earned 4 stickers. (Major!) And then it disintegrated. Doors slammed. Screams ripped the air. He was mad. And I'm certain no one had moved. Nothing had changed. I stood bewildered and looked at Brett whose eyes flared with the "What the F?" look.
By 7:30 he had woken Beringer with his antics. And Brett and I sat on the couch - the chorus of Glee being drowned out by the chorus of drama bellowing from two separate rooms and two separate brothers. Urban was mad. Beringer was mad. Brett was mad. I was mad. One of us had to take that deep breath and begin the process of bringing everyone down.
I retrieved Beringer to play with Daddy in the living room until Urban settled down. I went into our room and lay down next to Urban. I didn't say a word. He sobbed and howled and thrashed. I still didn't know what even made him so very angry. I wrapped my arms around him and curled my legs under his. He began to mellow. We breathed together in the quiet. I wiped the tears from his face. "Mama?" "Mm-hmm." "Am I horrible?" "No. You're tired. You need to sleep. You had a good day that ended badly. I love you no matter what." "Mama?" "Mm?" "I think tomorrow maybe I should take a nap." "Mm. I think that might be wise."
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