Change

I was offline yesterday. It is amazing how dependent some of us are on technology. Not being able to access this blog or the outside world just about put me into a state of withdrawl. (Heaven forbid I actually call someone.)

I am watching our younger son experience something very similar right now. We had the good fortune to inherit a larger TV. Other than the size difference, the new TV looks very similar to the one we've been using for years. However, our younger son is not embracing the idea of a new TV.

For him, change is baaaaaaaaad.

The buttons are different, he says. Heck, there were "tons of things" that he could see were different. Surely this must change the course of his day!

He was sullen for a good hour in proper mourning for his old friend, the smaller TV which he must think we are sending to some forgotten land. Then, once the larger TV was in place, he flicked its screen with his fingers, testing the sound quality of the tubes. Then he walked to the corner of the room where the smaller TV sat and flicked the screen with his fingers. Larger TV. Smaller TV. He put his lips to the larger TV to see if it felt the same as the smaller.

I am quietly letting him conduct his inspection alone. He can't live in a bubble. After all, sometimes people get new TVs.

We tried to create a bubble for our older son. Consistency means a feeling of security and less anxiety. What parent wouldn't want to establish this for her cbhildren, particularly when everything in life seems to be a struggle for them?

Boy was that a slippery slope! It seemed as though one day, I gave in to a demand of his to not change something and the next thing I know, I can only drive to the mall on a specific route. I have to put his socks on both feet first, starting with the left side, followed by shoes, left side first, or else all the clothes clothes come off. And, just once I would like to be able to take off my glasses without having him demand that I put them back on.

"Maybe we could have two TVs in this room?" our younger son just asked in an effort to soften the blow of the television crisis.

"I don't think so, buddy," I said. Tough love.

He spread his secrity blanket over top of the smaller TV, sat down beside it, and leaned in to them both to suck the tag. There they are, the new Three Musketeers: my son, his blanket, and our old TV.