My 12 year old son has been known to have anxiety and OCD. To know him is to love his perfectionism, his lining up everything in the colors of a rainbow, and his constant obsession with rings.

Right now we have a little extra anxiety going on, so in addition to seeing a therapist I made an appointment with the pediatrician. She had him complete a survey on his inner-most feelings.

And, while we have concerns about some of his behavior clearly we don’t have to worry about self-esteem, because when he checked off Item 25 he scoffed then said, “Oh, please! EVERYBODY loves me.”

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My 12 year old son came home with a monumental packet of papers on Ancient Civilizations tonight. There were 10 pages of notes fastened to the back of it. In total, he handed me 48 pages on Aztecs, Mississippians, Mayans and Incas, then exclaimed, “This is ALL on the test tomorrow!”

Tomorrow.

After I finished work and made dinner, I borrowed some blank notecards from my daughter and got to work listing the key facts, dates, and giving him anagrams to remember information.

“The Incas were from PEACH, but it’s a B instead of an H. Peru, Ecuador, Argentina, Chile and Boliva. Or, it could be BEACH, with a P instead of the H. Either way, there’s an EACH in there, but the H is really a P or a B. Got it?”

I won’t tell you what I did with the Mayans BEGHM. Okay, it was BEGAN, but the A is really an H and the N is really an M. I WAS HELPING HIM THE ONLY WAY I KNEW HOW, PEOPLE.

After nearly two hours of this desperation and certainty of his failure, a few minutes ago he looked at me and said, “Mom, there is one good thing about this test.”

“Really? What could be good about needing to know all this information by tomorrow?”

With no idea of the palpitations I had been having for the last 120 minutes he took a matter-of-fact tone and said, “Well, I’m allowed to look at my notes.”

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If I hadn’t been there myself I wouldn’t have believed it. My son made a stranger cry today.

My 12 year old with special needs, who struggles desperately with decision making, had a melt-down in the patriotic shirt section of Old Navy today. We spent 15 minutes going back and forth between the shirts and the register because he couldn’t pick the one he liked. Because we’re trying to get him to focus on this much-needed skill I told him that he had to make a final decision and couldn’t change his mind again – it was that shirt or NO shirt.

Of course, by the time we got to the front of the store he had decided he wanted a different one. Again.

So I took the shirt back and told him he wasn’t getting anything and that’s when the melt-down began. He doesn’t throw traditional tantrums with kicking and screaming, but with tears and thoughtful manipulation. He stood in front of the check out line with sweet, silent tears then said, “Please, mom! I will sacrifice myself for that shirt!”

imagine those eyes, filled with tears

By the time we got in line, his face was red and splotchy and his shirt was dotted with tears. Did I mention the line was LONG. It looked like Black Friday and we were sandwiched between people in the front and back and the racks of impulse purchases on the sides. Well played, Old Navy. Well played.

My son continued his pleas and I continued to say that he was not getting a shirt, that he has to work on decision making because if he can’t make a choice about a t-shirt, how can I trust him to make big decisions later in life, to which he replied, “I WILL make big decisions! I will be a good driver and I won’t do drugs!”

Then I got tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to see the woman behind us crying. With heartfelt sympathy for the 12 year old she probably thought was 6, she said, “He’s making me so upset.”

I nodded and said, “I know. This is hard, but I’m trying to set a precedent here.”

Then my son looked at her with his sad, tear-filled eyes and said, “Sometimes kids have a hard life.”

As we neared the register we stood next to a bin full of miscellaneous things like dog antlers, plastic Slinkies, and Beanie Babies; to one of which my son became quite attached. Since he couldn’t get the shirt he asked if he could get the Beanie Baby instead. Because I’m the meanest mom ever, I said no. The woman behind us continued to cry.

And, wouldn’t you know, that lady who was moved to tears by my kids dramatic display ended up buying him the Beanie Baby? As she handed it to him she said, “Here you go. Now maybe your life won’t be so hard.”

Though in the end he got his way and that was not what I wanted, part of me was moved by her gesture and how she was touched by this little boy and his sadness.

But, really? Couldn’t she have bought him one of those shirts?

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Two days ago was my son’s 12th birthday; the day to commemorate how far he’s come after beginning his life being whisked away via ambulance to another hospital. The same hospital where his dad and I have sat, time after time, wringing our hands in the waiting room during his many surgeries. This child of mine, for whom I have given so much time and even more energy is now nearly a teenager. I never thought we’d make it this far.

And, yesterday was Mother’s Day; a day to remember the first time I held my son. A day for me to cherish my boy and his sister and, honestly, after the 12 years we’ve had with my youngest that’s all I wanted to do. I wanted to savor every moment of motherhood.

The combination of these two important dates were churning up a lot of memories. I was feeling pretty emotional, so when I found out my son was writing some nice things about me at his Scout banquet the other night I thought it was perfect timing. I knew it would be just what I needed to make me feel better and focus on the present.

As I stood with other parents, he approached me with this.

Then he handed it to me and said, “Here, Mom. I’m sorry I drew you so fat.”

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