Control Freak

 “If you hold on to the handle, she said, it’s easier to maintain the illusion of control. But it’s more fun if you just let the wind carry you.” –Brian Andreas

Maggie’s parents and her 90-year-old grandmother have arrived from Ohio. They’re moving here to be close to Maggie and a bigger part of their grandkids’ lives. They’ve rented a house nearby, but stayed with us for a few days while they readied the house and waited for the truck with their belongings to arrive. So the Crandler house has been even more chaotic than usual (if you can imagine).

One morning, Maggie’s dad found me in the kitchen getting my coffee, put his arm around my shoulders and poked a little fun at me with a keen observation: “Every morning I walk past your room and see your perfectly-made bed and I would swear, were it not for the fact that there’s not enough floor space in your room to do so, that you had slept on the floor next to it, rather than in it. And every morning I think, 'there’s someone trying to carve out a little slice of order amid chaos'.”

Maggie’s dad is a very astute man.

I do, in fact, protect rather fiercely the 8 x 11-foot space in this house that is mine alone, for I am one who appreciates order and predictability and who enjoys at least some measure of control when it is possible. Perhaps it’s no surprise that I have a son who very nearly requires these things.

Recently, a long break from school, the holidays and the arrival of Maggie’s family has made for an extended interruption of our routine, and Ben, understandably, has been a little off his game. I encourage him to try different strategies to cope with his anxiety with some success, but it’s an arduous (and probably life-long) process for Ben and kids like him. So, in addition to encouraging him to work hard to accept what he cannot control, I work hard to control what I can for him. You might call it over-parenting or hovering, or even whisper “helicopter-mom” or "control freak" behind my back. Unless you’ve walked in my shoes (or perhaps lived in my household) it would be difficult to understand.

I serve donuts on Sunday morning… no matter what. And say the exact same thing at bedtime every night… no matter what. And always, always serve corn on the white plates (never the green)… no matter what.  I control what little I can for Ben because there’s so very much that I cannot. I consider it to be just about the least I can do for him.

I will most certainly continue to hold on tight to the handle so that I might maintain the illusion of control when it helps Ben…or me. And I will do so unapologetically. But I will also try to remember to let go whenever I can and experience the fun of letting the wind carry me.