Can I have my friends round? Part 2!

Almost 18 months ago we had one of my son’s friends round for tea. It was a very traumatic experience. If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you probably lived through that experience with me (see: Why cant I have my friends round?).

I vowed then never to have another friend round but like everything you make these vows then things change, and to be honest for the last 18 months, as hard as that experience was for my son, he had asked several times for friends to come round.

“Can I have my friends round?”
“Can I have my friends round?”
“Can I have my friends round?”
“When can I have a friend round for tea again?”
“Why can’t I have a friend round for tea again?”

Over the last 18 months, he has regularly asked for that same friend to come back round. But we weren’t in a good place. He was barely going to school, and his emotional state was fragile. Having a friend round after school wasn’t an option — not then.  That boy — the one who came round the first time — is still someone my son considers a friend. But sadly, the relationship with his mum changed. After that first visit, she had suggested my son come to theirs for tea. I tried to explain where we were at — that school was a struggle, that we were awaiting neurodevelopmental assessments. After that, she never text me again. The boys remained friends. My son was invited to his birthday party — but this time, the contact details were the dad’s. And when the boy came to our party, it was his dad who brought him, not his mum. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. But it felt like she was avoiding us after I shared something vulnerable. That hurt. It still does. But that’s life, I guess.

We’re in a better place now. School isn’t perfect, but things are more stable, and we have more strategies that help, thanks to the OT sessions we had and time and experience with my son. So when my son began asking again for a friend to come for tea, I said yes. It was a risk. I knew that saying yes meant taking on a big emotional and logistical load. But I wanted him to have this experience — to feel capable and connected. So I asked him who he’d like to invite, I messaged the mum, and a date was set.

To say I was nervous about it was an understatement. The night before I paid special attention to my son – I spent all night while he was awake sat with him in his bedroom. I knew this was required to make this work for my son so that is what I did. It’s a bit like going into a black hole. Nothing else matters, nothing else can be done I just have to completely focus on him. And I know I am lucky in how our home life works so that I am able to do that. But I know for many parents, especially with younger children, this level of emotional availability isn’t always possible. And I don’t take that for granted. He thankfully had a good sleep the night before and he seemed excited on the morning – we had no dramas at all getting to school.  I almost couldn’t believe it.

When I picked him and his friend up they were both excited. I am always very intrigued to see how my son is with his peers so as nervous as I was this was also going to be fascinating for me. The first thing my son said, with a hint of embarrassment, in the car was….

“Oh I still have my dinosaur bedding on. I should have told my mum to change it.”

I found this fascinating. That my son believed his favourite bedding was not appropriate, or maybe he believed his friend wouldn’t think it was appropriate. That moment stayed with me. He loves his dinosaur bedding. But here he was, second-guessing whether it was “appropriate.” Whether his friend — who is what people might call a “proper boy,” into football and all the usual “boy” things — would judge him. It broke my heart a little, this quiet self-editing. I suspect where he gets those ideas from, but all I can do is keep reassuring him: if he wants dinosaur bedding, he can have dinosaur bedding. He just needs to own it. Easier said than done sometimes though.

I naively thought I might be able to get a bit of work done while they played. But instead, my son asked me to follow them from room to room — outside, inside, wherever they went. So I did. I stayed close but gave them space, trying to look busy in the background so his friend wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. And while I was outside trying to look busy I thought I would revisit the blog post I wrote the last time a friend of my sons came for tea. These blog posts serve as reminders for me, like diary entries, I refer back to them a lot and that really helps me.

I sat and read it and while my eyes filled up reading it, because it took me back to place that I never wanted to go to again, a place that I was sure would come again, a place I had spent the last 18 months desperately trying to prevent, I felt pride too. We had come far. We understood more now. Yes, the days were still hard. Yes, I was still unbelievably tired. Yes, there were still moments where I wondered why me? But we were no longer in that place from 18 months ago.

And then — boom. A croc hit me in the face.

Yes. An actual croc. Flung by my son.

Thankfully his friend didn’t see this. He had thrown them because his friend wasn’t doing as he wanted and so he took it out on me. I could see this was the start of the unravelling for my son. But after about 15 minutes my son came out and asked me to pass him his crocs I knew he had righted himself and I also knew that when his friend went I would have to really work at it. The rest of the tea went well, his friend went at 5.30pm. They’d had tea together — my son had pizza and smiley faces (not his favourite, but more “normal” in his eyes), and his friend had chicken nuggets. My son barely ate. After his friend left, he asked for a bowl of pasta — his comfort food. He ate it all.

He was on a high from his friend coming round and I knew when he came down from this high he would really crash. I could see the crash coming. He was still riding the social high, but the drop was inevitable. And sure enough, as bedtime approached, he began to unravel. He said his socks were irritating him. He started inspecting his feet for thorns. I knew what was coming. And it was then he demanded he wanted to sleep on the floor in a sleeping bag. A big thing with PDA kids when they are struggling is they will ask you to do something impossible. I’ve had all sorts over the years…

“Your arm is irritating me, can you chop it off?”
“I am not going to school unless you find me those favourite pyjamas I had when I was 3 years old.”
“If you don’t take me to the shops now and get me 15 yellow oranges I am never going to sleep.”

It sounds ridiculous (as with a lot of things I write about) but this a big thing in PDA. I am in a WhatsApp group of PDA parents and the ridiculous demands that PDA’ers ask of you when dysregulated is actually hilarious. It’s a way of the child regaining a sense of control when they feel anxious. I have learnt to just say that I cant do that as this is impossible and leave it there. Don’t negotiate. Don’t get drawn into it. Just state the facts and leave it there. That is what I usually do and this works on the whole. Now here when he asked if he could sleep on the floor, he technically could have, this wasn’t an impossible demand but I really needed him to have a good sleep.

Its not very often I say no to my son and I usually never say no to my son in these moments but I didn’t want him to sleep on the floor. He isn’t the best sleeper anyway he needed as much sleep as he could possibly get so to then allow him to sleep on the floor. With hindsight I should have created a den for him on the floor and gone with it but I didn’t. So as I said no he got more and more angry. Stated he was never going to sleep. I just sat in his room and said nothing. I sat there for over an hour and over an hour he kept saying every now and again I’m staying awake. I knew he would fall asleep eventually and he did. In the grand scheme of things this went ok. Only the morning would tell me whether it was worth it or not.

When I woke my son up in the morning he immediately woke up angry. And stated..

“Why didn’t you let me sleep on the floor?”

That was the first thing he said. Once again I said nothing and just sat in his bedroom not looking at him, barely breathing so I didn’t make a sound. Just sitting there remaining calm. And after about 20 minutes he asked me if I wanted to watch him play on his ipad. This was my opening. I said yes and I took an interest in what he was doing. And everything was right with the world. We had got through it.

In the grand scheme of things, it went alright. There were a few moments — one involving crocs being launched at my face, which I handled with the calmness of someone who’s had much worse hurled at them (metaphorically and literally). It wasn’t perfect. It was hard work, and I was shattered by the end of it. But it was so much better than last time. And that’s the bit I keep coming back to. Last time left us both bruised. This time, there were wobbles, but no collapse. There was frustration, but no devastation.

I think that’s what progress actually looks like — just a little less fallout than before. A bit more understanding. A slightly softer landing. I stayed steady when things got messy. That seems to be the job now. I anchor us both through it — through the build-up, the storm, and the crash.

And for now, that’s enough.