Inside the Tornado, or maybe watching from afar

Parenting feels like a tornado--only sometimes I feel like I'm outside watching the tornado spin by and sometimes I'm inside the tornado and not sure where the ground is or where I am in relation to anyone else. (Sorry, I just finished reading Wicked so excuse the tornado metaphor.) And the perspective switch happens can happen so quickly. What I mean is, sometimes Nicky will say or do something and I catch myself not knowing. Not knowing what I think is right anymore. Do I respond to sassy behavior with a strict limit, do I make a point to give him more nurturing, do I use it as an educating moment, am I concerned about how others see his behavior, am I unconcerned?, when is the time to make a shift in what we're doing for discipline? how much is the right amount of talking to him, setting limits, and just trying to live and hang out? What if I'm stern when what he really needs is warm, or vice versa? And if I'm using my intuition to decide on how to respond, how do I know if I'm not off? The tornado just shifts, and I constantly feel like I have to look around and see where I am in relation to everything else...and then the tornado is gone and it's calm and sunny. Wow. Why? What brought the calm? Was it something nuerological that started firing and then calmed down? Was it the effect of whatever I did to respond? Or the exact opposite. And the discipline thing is just one of many doubts I find myself tuning into.

You've probably figured out by now that Nicky is the tornado. Unbelievable to think that I've spent the past 10 years guiding parents, without knowing about the tornado effect. I don't mean to write off everything I said or did as a social worker, but there just is that KNOWING that comes from the NOT KNOWING of being a parent. And through the NOT KNOWING comes a different learning. Sometimes I feel like I just question everything...and that powerful connection of being a parent only makes it harder to find the clarity of how and when to respond.

So here's the latest example. Nicky doesn't really play with other kids at school. When I write that, my heart bleeds for him. But then you break it down. What does this really mean? Is he playing sometimes? Is he ok with this? The teachers say that he seems content, that he is "where he needs to be," that he's particular about who he plays with, and that he doesn't seem to be stressing about it, essentially. But I see him play at home. Wanting that intense back-and-forth, so sad when we don't have the time and intensity he craves for us to give to him. I wonder if Nicky looks content playing alone, but really is accomodating the fact that he doesn't know how to bridge the social gap (and is likely unwilling to sacrifice getting his way.) Tornado--to what extent am I projecting onto him? What criteria would help to evaluate how much of an issue this is for him, and if it is an issue, how to help with it? Or let it sort itself out as he grows? Or give him help in bridging the gaps? I fear that he is just reconciling himself to solitary play. I saw how proud and excited he was to have kids calling his name, and self-conscious and delighted both. And didn't know what to do with it.

Why should it be so complicated to help your kid be happy and play? Is this the curse of the social worker? Or am I tuning into my child's needs. How much is too much, how much is not enough. Hurry, answer quickly, because a tornado is coming.