Moving the mouse pad
Ian walked into the kitchen yesterday to ask me something while I was making lunch and on the phone. He wanted something from me. I sent him away abruptly. I even started to complain to him that I never see him except when he needs something but paused that thought, which is good because it's not true; it just feels that way.
He had malware on his computer and needed help removing it. I agreed to do it after my lunch call. I removed it pretty easily (it was one of the simpler ones to uninstall) and went back downstairs. As I was sitting at my desk, I heart a weird wailing noise. Ian sent a text, "Can you please come up here?" I assumed he was playing a game and needed more tech support, but I trudged up the stairs.
When I walked into his room, Ian was sobbing. I looked for blood, dead pets, broken windows, anything that might give a hint as to what was wrong. I tried to ask him why he was crying, but the words that came out were unrecognizable. The only thing I could pick out was, " ... I've messed everything all up ..."
I took off my shoes, turned out the lights, and escorted him to the bed. We curled up while he continued to cry into my armpit. I stroked his hair. After several minutes, I managed to learn that all this upset was because when I came upstairs to fix his computer, I moved things so I could type. "It took me a really long time to get the mouse pad where I liked it, and now I can't get it back to how it used to be, and it will never be the same. My headset fell when you were at my desk, and the microphone moved, and I'm not sure I can get it back to where it was. And I accidentally hit a button on the computer, so the lights are no longer rainbow; they're only red."
Whew. I could tell Ian he was acting ridiculous about the computer. But something told me it wasn't about the mouse pad. It's about things never being like they were before, and that honestly feels like a legit reason to lose one's cool for a bit.
I told him that his tear-filled report didn't sound like anything was ruined. We could fix all of that with enough time and effort, possibly even making it better than it was before. We can make a little computer stand to put next to his desk and give him more room but still allow him to see the rainbow colors inside the computer tower. We can rearrange the headset so it won't fall. We can try out some new mousepad scenarios. The first step, though, was for him to manage his emotions so he wouldn't fall apart during the solution portion.
We cuddled and sat for a few more minutes until he was ready. I found the button that changes it back to rainbow colors (you have to press and hold it). We reattached the headset and scooted the monitor an inch or two to the left. The situation improved a bit.
Later that evening, as we were playing badminton, Ian thanked me for helping him. "I was stuck. I needed your help to get unstuck." I'm super proud of my kid for how emotionally honest he is. It's such a gift, particularly during a pandemic.
Honestly, I think many of us get stuck from time to time. My version of stuck is to rotate through the tasks of answering emails, cleaning something, and doing a PT exercise for my knee, trying to will my joint into full recovery. For some, stuck can look like barricading yourself in your room, internalizing everything that isn't perfect as your fault, or consuming endless hours of news. It could also involve throwing yourself into work or projects, sleeping either 4 hours a night or 15 hours a day, snapping at loved ones, or fantasizing about other lives you could have lived that might have been better during this global predicament.
All of those ways of being stuck are normal. We each have to find the best way to get un-stuck, hopefully with a little help from others here and there.
