Good God, man, relax your face!

When Ben was a baby, his aunt, uncle and cousins always commented that he had a "concerned look" on his face. Eleven years later, not much has changed. More often than not, my oldest goes around with a scowl on his face.

It wasn't always this way. Ben enjoyed a lot of smiley years. I suspect it's the preteen angst that's brought on this resurgence of concerned face. Like every other middle-schooler, I'm sure Ben is battling insecurity and the hardship of dealing with lame parents and their even lamer nagging. 

Of course, I lecture Ben about social graces. Frowny-face is especially a problem when he's consorting with adults. Ben and I have been helping with the running club at the elementary school. The coach, who's also Paul's teacher, stopped to chat with us the other day. She was giving Ben tips about how he could help the kids even more. Through the whole conversation, he glowered and mumbled, eyes cast toward the ground.

I wanted to scream, "Good God, man, relax your face!" 

When we got in the car, I reminded Ben about the importance of making eye contact with people. Just try to smile a little bit, I urged. It makes people feel good. I'm sure he promptly filed it under annoying advice from Mom. 

I know that Ben is experiencing a whole internal storm right now, one that will only intensify. I try to tread lightly with him, but some days I manage to step in it despite my best intentions. 

One particular morning, I was trying to pack Ben's lunch and realized he had (once again) left his lunch bag at school. "Could you have left your lunch bag at school?" I queried mildly.

Suddenly Ben went all Mr. Hyde on me. "I didn't leave it at school! It was probably Paul who left his at school," he yelled.

Admittedly, sometimes I'm spoiling for a fight with Ben. I dig in my heals, engage him when I shouldn't. This wasn't one of those times. I was truly puzzled, and I stewed about it. It's often hard for me to let go of my annoyance after an altercation with Ben, but not so for him. Soon after, it was like nothing had ever happened. Hard as it is sometimes, I think I need to take advantage of this and let it go, too.

Undeniably Ben is at that socially awkward stage, but sometimes he manages to surprise. At his spring conference, I was reminded how kids can be completely different people at school. His science teacher told us how well Ben did on his oral report on vaccines. Most kids constantly look at their notes, but Ben did a great job engaging the audience. Our Ben? Ben Thiel? Perhaps there's hope yet.

Genuine smiles are rare these days. They're mostly reserved for moments of levity between Ben and his best friend, Ben. Every once in a while, though, he breaks into a huge grin, dimples and all, and it's like the sun has come out on a cloudy day. It's addictive, and I want to find ways to get him to do it more often.

Ben's always been a little nervous about rides, but at the Mall of America on Monday, Mark persuaded him to ride the biggest rollercoaster. He was nervous, probably couldn't have done it if not for the short line. But afterward, he wore the biggest smile I've seen in a long time. More. I want more of that.

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I wanted to share a quick update about Paul. We had his appointment with the pediatric neurologist a week and a half ago. The doctor, who was fantastic, explained that Paul has a condition called benign epilepsy with centrotemporal spikes. It's often characterized by seizures that occur either at sleep onset or upon waking.

The news is mostly good, in that Paul will most likely outgrow the condition by the time he's a teen-ager. Paul's chances of having another seizure are about 40 percent, and unless he has another one, we don't need to medicate.

This was a hard time, but in a way it's good to be able to put a name to Paul's condition. I don't imagine that a clear EEG would have provided much more comfort. 

Thanks, everyone, for all your care, concern and support.