Anatomy of a Transition Meltdown

I had sort of an "a-ha!" moment the other night while I was putting away the dishes.

I don't know about other people, but I have my "way" of unloading the dishwasher. I spray and wipe down the counter to make sure it's clean. Then I unload the top rack first, setting the clean glasses on the counter to my left, the coffee mugs toward the back, and all the straw-cup and Take-and-Toss parts front-and-center to be stacked or reassembled and put back in the cabinet. Then I put the big knives back in the knife block. Sometimes there is a stray, dirty teaspoon by the coffee maker or a still-in-use glass on the counter with the "cleans," but I make a mental note of where they are in relation to everything else. There. Top rack cleared out. Drinkware gets put away, then the bottom rack gets unloaded, stacked on counter, and put away.

While I was performing my dish ritual (I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this...OCD behavior, anyone?) the other night, I was compiling to-do lists in my head. I knew Prickly Dad needed stamps and strawberry Atkins shakes. I was figuring I would have to stop and get gas at some point. I knew I had to go online and decide what we were going to do in Savannah next month, what we were going to do in Virginia on Tuesday, and why our annual state park passes hadn't come in the mail yet. I was reminding myself that it was getting to be the drop-dead hour for ordering a birthday present to be delivered to my sister on time.  I needed to remember to portion out and re-wrap the meat in the fridge and get it in the freezer. Oh yeah, and those red peppers in there n--

"Where is today's mail?" Prickly Dad suddenly asked as he started rifling through a pile of papers that were dangerously close to my perfectly-arranged lineup of dishes.

I wholeheartedly admit it: I kind of lost it at that point. "HANG ON! JUST HANG ON! I'LL FIND IT!" I dropped everything and scurried around the kitchen, stopping at various piles of junk mail and opened envelopes (that should have been thrown in the recycle bin). In that split second, I had become angry and defensive, and felt hurt, violated, dismissed, and misunderstood (plus, I couldn't find the specific pile of mail that had just come in a couple hours before).

Prickly Dad, understandably irritated with my behavior, herded the boys out of the kitchen and upstairs to the family room as I cried, "I'LL BRING IT TO YOU AS SOON AS I FIND IT! I'LL BRING IT UP TO YOU!"

What the hell just happened?

Let me back up a second and talk about what's been going on with Pie (he's currently 3.75 and is in the three-year-old class in preschool). For the past several weeks, his teachers have let me know that they're concerned about his transition-related meltdowns. According to the school staff, he doesn't move as easily from center to center and activity to activity as the other kids in his class. He wakes up from naptime angry, has a fit if he can't zipper his coat, acts defiant and surly if he doesn't want to go outside for recess. On the other hand, he loves painting. He enjoys helping the teacher clean up. He takes pride in being a good line leader or snack helper. He's apparently above average in math. But the teachers tell me the transition issue is a big problem (they want me to take him to see a child psychologist, but that's a whole 'nother post).

Back to my kitchen meltdown. I have been doing a lot of reading lately on transition strategies, the highly sensitive personality, introversion, the "Autism Spectrum," sensory processing, obsessive-compulsive behaviors, and so on (remember, I just recently decided to embrace my introversion/sensory issues and find coping strategies instead of beating myself up or wishing away the traits that God gave me). As soon as I was able to get back to putting away my dishes and, more importantly, my thoughts, I realized that I had just had a transition-related meltdown--probably the very same kind my little Pie is struggling with!

Think about it: there I was, performing a task (putting the dishes away), that required a slight amount of brain power to keep track of what was clean and what was dirty (i.e. there was an order to things in my mind). While that was going on, the majority of my energy was engaged in mentally compiling and organizing a list of things that needed to be done to keep the household running smoothly. Then all heck broke loose when Prickly Dad approached and asked about the mail: I interpreted it as am invasion of my space and my "order" of things...and as a demand to set aside the tasks I was currently invested in (invested enough to be in a "groove," which is generally a good thing) and do what he was telling me to do instead. Sort of upsetting, right? Now think about the same situation going down for a preschooler. I don't know what they do immediately before recess or dismissal, for example (or how transition times are handled in general), but who's to say Pie isn't totally engaged in the physical act of painting (with his tools and media arranged just so), while mentally challenging himself to count to 100, when a teacher suddenly demands he get out of his groove because it's time to put on his coat? I'd get angry too (and feel disrespected and run around aimlessly and yell, as I just described above)! Can you blame him?

Wow...so I think I have experienced firsthand what it must be like for the millions of kids who don't "do" transitions well. Unfortunately, I don't think I (personally) ever learned the appropriate "coping strategies" to get through these situations with my dignity intact, so I obviously can't effectively help my little boy--at this point. The great news, though, is that I had this little epiphany. Now I feel confident that I will be able to find the proper help and best resources so little Pie and I can both figure out the best way to handle transition times without melting down.

In the meantime, stay away from my dishes!