Another Letter to My Son

July 10, 2013

Dear Jack,

Lately it seems all we do is fight.  You have become a master at pushing my buttons.  I try to stay calm, but you push and you push and you push, and often I cave to the frustration.  I yell at you.  I scold you.  I punish you.  Sometimes I resort to spanking you.  I refuse to read your bedtime stories or I deny you a TV show.  I threaten to cancel a play date, and I've even made up fun plans we weren't actually going to do just so I could take them away.  And while you sit in time out and cry on the stairs or scream at the top of your lungs from your room, my heart is breaking, and I'm screaming on the inside too.

I love to read you stories at bedtime.  My favorite part is when you have memorized a book so well that you read it to me using the same voices or intonation that Daddy or I have used when reading it to you.  I love that you want to read lots of stories, and even though it can take forever, I find myself enjoying that time with you so much that I keep giving into your requests for just one more...

I hate to take that away from you...but even worse, I hate to take that away from me.

I really understand the whole "this hurts me more than it hurts you" concept of parenting.  We can be having the loveliest day together, and then like a switch was flipped, you turn into a little monster.  I'm not even exaggerating.  One time you got mad at me for refusing to buy you a HUGE container of gummy bears at the grocery store, even though I told you we had some already that you could have when we got home, so you threw the container into the cart so hard that it broke and the gummy bears went flying everywhere.  In the past year going to Target has been like playing Russian Roulette with our day b/c if you don't leave with a toy, there is a likely chance you will fly off the handle and have a complete and total meltdown; therefore, we try to avoid taking you there at all costs.  And then just the other night you punched me in the stomach b/c I said we were not going to watch one of your shows during dinner.  I sent you to bed without dinner, which turned into about 4 hours of war.  That was a tough night for all of us.  Sometimes when you behave so poorly, Mommy and Daddy have a hard time interacting well with each other b/c we are both so frazzled, and so we end up arguing too.  Of course all of your blood curdling screams kept your poor little sister awake, and we all know her cry is the WORST...add it all up and The McQ Zoo was not the fun, happy family we like to think we are most of the time.

I feel very guilty about going back to work.  I am a hard-working, dedicated employee too, so even though I wish I didn't have to work, I do a very good job and I'm not a slacker.  That part of who I am just intensifies my guilt b/c I am often torn between something I need to get done for work and something I'd rather do with you.  Often work wins b/c it pays the bills.  Then I feel bad b/c I parked you in front of the TV for too long, or I let you have fruities for breakfast, or I didn't make you brush your teeth...all so I could take advantage of a few minutes to finish something up or send an email or make an important phone call.

And while I took advantage of those few minutes, you took advantage of me.  You whined for 2 more packs of fruities and I caved so you would stop whining.  You asked for 2 more shows, and I caved b/c I needed a bit more time.  Then when I finally get up from my computer, I find you have mixed your fruities into your apple juice and purposely poured half of it onto the floor...or some similar sort of "Mommy, look what I did" act.  So now instead of being free to play with you, I have to clean up the mess and decide on a consequence, which sucks even more b/c ultimately I know it is my fault that it happened in the first place since I gave you the opportunity by not watching you closely enough while I worked.

I worry that I am failing you.  I worry that our fighting will drive a wedge between us too deep from which to recover, and sometimes I am afraid that you won't love me as much as you love Daddy or GRandi or Grandma b/c I so often have to "teach you a lesson."  I cry sometimes, mostly at night in bed, thinking about how different our year with you as a 3-year old has been from our year when you were just 2.  Suddenly you are fresh, talking back and having an attitude, sassing me, and again, pushing my buttons over and over.  Your tantrums are spontaneously ignited with no rhyme or reason other than the basic you don't get your way accelerant.  No longer are you my sweet little baby, but rather you have become a feisty, testy little boy.

But your heart is still gold, and I know that.  I know who you REALLY are, Jack.  I know logically that you will always love me no matter how much we fight, but I thought I had at least until you were a teenager to feel this much heartache in our relationship.  And I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU NO MATTER WHAT!  If you don't notice anything else in this letter, read and comprehend that, my son.  None of these fights make me love you less.  And although I yearn for the sweet little baby boy who would never even think to hit me, I wouldn't turn back time to change the amazing little big boy you have become.  These are the growing pains of parenting.

Honey, one of the hardest parts of being a mom is the constant battle between wanting to make you happy and wanting to keep you safe and healthy.  I can't make you happy all the time.  You just can't always have your way.  Sometimes I have to make decisions that you don't like.  I have to protect you, and that extends beyond just holding your hand in the parking lot, although that is one of my biggest rules.  It means I have to feed you good food, make sure you get enough rest, show you how to behave in social situations, how to be respectful and kind.  I have to educate you and ultimately raise you to be a grown up, a man, a contributing member of society, and I have to teach you about God.  A lot of this stuff is easy for me b/c I already am a grown up, and I know logically what to do, but then again, so much of it is harder than I ever imagined, and some of it, like God, I don't really know how to explain.  I want you to appreciate everything I do for you, but I know you are too young to really understand what that means.  I know it, but it doesn't make these trying times hurt any less.

And then I am torn again when I hear a tragic story about a family who has a sick child, or worse, a family who is mourning the loss of their child, and all I want to do is snuggle up to you in your bed, kiss you a million times, take you for ice cream every day, buy you every single toy you ask for, give in to whatever your little heart desires b/c I should be grateful that I am lucky enough to have the opportunity to do so if I want to b/c you are here and you are healthy.  I think back to when you were in the hospital for that surgery you never should have had; that was a horrific experience for me to see you in so much pain, but you were so brave, and I know I was your hero then.  Am I still your hero now?  I hope so...

You are almost 4 now.  The time is flying by and I cannot stop it.  You keep growing and learning and getting bigger and smarter, and I know a lot of that is just natural and out of my control, but so much of it is how Daddy and I parent you.  When you behave in ways we don't like it can be a hard lesson on us b/c it is often a reflection of ourselves.  Sometimes it hurts to accept responsibility for your behavior; I hate when I realize something you have done wrong is my own fault.  But then sometimes I feel defeated at the end of the day when I know I did everything I could do and yet you still behaved terribly.  It is a true challenge just to have faith in myself as a parent, and even though I do believe overall I'm doing a pretty good job raising you,  there are definitely days I doubt myself.

Jack, I am so incredibly proud of you.  Not a moment goes by that I am not totally and completely in love with you and thrilled to be your Mommy.  I feel sad that so much of our recent time together has been spent in conflict.  Our battles are so unnecessary, or maybe they are exactly the opposite, and totally necessary to help us both grow to be better people.  I honestly don't know.  I know that I pray God will guide us through these challenges and bring us out on the other side, both of us stronger and our bond deeper b/c we got through it...but then again, I am not naive to the fact that with each new phase of life comes a new something to get through.

One thing I can tell you without a doubt is that you are extraordinary.  You are a dynamite stick of energy and you already encompass the phrase "go big or go home" in all that you do!  You never give up, and even the magnitude of your tantrums impresses me b/c I see your perseverance.  I see it in how you taught yourself to swim again and how you learned to ride your bike.  I see it in your love of sports and in your karate!  You are brave and tough, but your greatest strength is your heart.  Despite our spats, I know that a kind-spirited, loving, bright and sensitive soul lives inside of you, and even on your worst behavior days, I can see the light in your eyes and know you.

And Jack, I already forgive you for whatever is to come.  And I hope one day, you will forgive me too.

You are my favorite boy in the whole world.  I love you a million 250 80 zillion 3 hundred 'o six...and then some.

Love, Mommy

Glass Half-Full

With our first breath of living, we are dying. Or maybe it is from the moment of conception; I don't know for sure. I just know that the journey of Life ultimately leads us to Death. For most, it is a slow process, and there is enough time between the beginning and the end so that our everyday thoughts are not consumed by its morbidity. But with each passing day we are living, we are one day closer to dying.  Glass half-full or half-empty?

 

I'm not sure if Death comes calling or if we arrive to it, but somewhere along the path of living, dying is an inevitable road block, not only taking its victim, but also disrupting the flow of what may have been smooth sailing for those who loved, knew, or maybe just knew of that victim. These days I find myself struggling with Death; I'm haunted by its realness. I'm saddened by its presence, as it fogs the clear vision of joy that truly IS my Life, as my glass overfloweth! I can't seem to shake the feelings of worry and guilt and confusion that are racing through my mind day-in and day-out, and as a parent, I grow more fearful of the possibility of losing my children at God's will, finding it hard to trust in Him to keep us safe and protected and healthy. Why me? Why us? Why not me? Why not us? How does He pick and choose? What rock can I hide us under so that we may not be found by Death?

 

But of course, I don't really look for hiding places along Life's journey. I'm not sealing my kids in a bubble so that they remain untouched by all that could possibly hurt them. I'm not peeking over my shoulder for anticipated evil or even just rotten luck. Instead I wake to each new day with a full and thankful heart because I believe in miracles, and even though Death is lurking, Life is happening - right here, right now. And if Death is going to come anyway, I want to experience Life to its fullest, most joyful extent. Logically, or maybe illogically, I know that is what I'm supposed to do. I know it deeply and honestly. I know it faithfully.

 

But recently Death has made itself known to me, reminding me of its authority, and beating into me my lack of control over it. I'm not depressed. I'm not ill or insane (although that may be debatable!). I'm just affected.

 

I normally take a glass half-full approach. I am usually optimistic, checking the flip side and seeing the silver lining wherever it may be. As I write this piece, however, I'm finding no resolution to my confusion about Death. I remain ambivalent, for while I fear dying, I love living, yet ultimately, they are one and the same.

 

I don't know what is on the other side, but I imagine it is a beautiful place filled with angels and soft voices, like dreamland, that place between being awake and asleep, where you only partially know what is happening, but it feels so good to keep your eyes closed. I like to think that our most confident, beautiful self is the self that lives there, despite the self we are when we go. I believe there is no pain, no suffering, and that once we submit to being there, we don't even try to go back. I tell myself we really will be "in a better place," just as we insensitively, but with the best of intentions, tell those who are mourning of the ones they have lost.

 

But I'm still not ready to go there...or to say goodbye to the ones I know who have already gone there...and most definitely, I am not ready to think that my babies or my husband could possibly EVER go there.

 

My heart is aching for the loss of someone I hardly knew, but whose random, kind words touched me so deeply that I was affected.  I despise that she has met Death so early, so young, so unfinished. She was full of joy for what her future held: loving and raising a beautiful child and watching him grow into a man, and an upcoming marriage to that sweet boy's father, who loved her with all of his heart and soul. I could feel his love for her in his written words; I could see, as they gazed at each other in a picture, the light in their eyes, bright, cheerful, radiant. I could sense they were meant for each other, meant to be together forever...

 

But even "forever" on their journey through Life has been met with Death. And although Death is what is inspiring this post, I believe her Life is what affected me...her thoughtful, joyful, expression of interest in a single moment of a random day in my Life...

 

I am sad, and I grasp desperately at bits and pieces of joy that I've stockpiled in my memory to refer back to in moments of despair and uncertainty - a video of my son dancing at the zoo on a rainy day, my daughter saying "mama" for the first time, my husband laughing with me at a shared joke...

 

I didn't know she was sick. I didn't know much about her at all other than we were classmates years ago and she was a genuinely, kind-hearted person. But a simple comment she took the time to post on my facebook page in response to a picture of my baby girl laughing was enough to affect me. When I noticed a few days ago comments of prayers going out to her, I instantly joined in and blindly offered her my own, feeling connected to her by just those two sentences and that smiley face icon she’d posted on my “wall.”

 

I know Death is a part of Life. I get it, but I don't have to like it. I don't have to embrace it and act all tough about it or be ashamed if my glass half-full feels a bit closer to half-empty.  Even an optimist can take a day off.  I'm reminded that the only way to know joy is to know suffering. It is a hard lesson, the lesson of Death, but it is a Life lesson.

 

I am affected so deeply by Death that I want to soak up every detail of Life! I think of how short Life can be and how vulnerable we all are on its journey, and I don't want to waste a single breath.

 

When we first discovered our daughter's heart was beating, after being diagnosed with a "non-viable pregnancy," our doctor told us "this is what faith is." Never have I understood those words more than in that moment. I carry that faith with me every day in my full and thankful heart. Despite the suffering in the world, and regardless of our journey to Death, Life is a miracle! 

 

Just as I am affected by the tragedy of Death, I am equally affected by the miracle of Life, and that, my friends, is a glass half-full.

 

 

Sweet Dreams

(Feb 7, 2013)  Based on the volume of my son's screams during what has become his usual bedtime tantrum, it would not have surprised me to see police at my door tonight. We live in a town home community, and the walls only have so much between them to buffer noise, and had I been on the other side, I may have wondered what the heck was going on as well!  As it was, my neighbors did not call the police, and for that I am thankful.

But Jack did tell me I was going to jail.  He also shouted at the top of his lungs that I was going to time out, and then he proceeded to wrestle with me over brushing his teeth and again over washing his hands, hitting me in the face multiple times and kicking me as I tried to pick him up and place him back on his step-stool to continue our night-time routine.  I'm exhausted, and as I type this, I notice my writing also seems tired, and I doubt I can adequately describe the chaos that just was putting my child to bed.

Two years ago, I wrote this, a piece dedicated to my beautiful boy, documenting his spirit and spunk as well as boasting about the love and kindness in the heart of my then 18 month old.  I explained that his alter-ego, Destructo Dan, is how we adoringly referred to him when he was feisty and mischievous, and that out of that spark within him bore the nickname, Jack-Bo, which we still call him today.

Jack-Bo is still loving and kind-hearted.  He has a sweet and thoughtful spirit.  His overall personality is still very much go-with-the-flow and laid-back.  He tends not to get worked up over things as much as some of his peers, and sometimes when he does, he is usually quick to recover and move forward with life.  He is very brave, extremely tough; he loves to "tackle with Daddy" (and also unsuspecting friends!).  He is tall, trim and strong.  He truly IS physically advanced, riding a bike without training wheels this young and hitting pitched balls with a real metal bat.  He also loves to play basketball and dribbles quite well, and football is another sport in which he shows some natural talent, often effortlessly throwing spirals.  This athleticism he gets from his father, certainly not from me.

From me he got a steel trap mind, a memory that doesn't forget.  He got my eyes, which are officially green now, and of course he still has my chin.  We have the same hair color and texture, the same mouth shape and his baby teeth look just like mine did.   In fact, he is basically a clone of me at age 5...but of course he is only 3.  It never ceases to amaze me how mature he can be for his age, referring to both his appearance and his personality (at non-tantrum-throwing times).

Fast forward to a few days later, and here I am writing about how once again, the tantrum at bedtime was excruciating.  Tonight was another "battle over brushing," and thank goodness he had a bath so I got to skip the hand washing!  The age of 3 is torture.  We did not experience the "Terrible Two's" by any means.  I think that when 2-year olds are frustrated, but unable to communicate well using verbal language, tantrums are how they act out, thus the whole "Terrible Two's" concept.  But Jack communicated beautifully at age 2.  We always understood him, and we were very close, connected by such a deep bond, and he just didn't seem to get frustrated much, but rather he continued to be our easy-to-please little Jack-Bo.  Other than some regular tears over going to pre-school, I can honestly say the kid never cried.  

Now, on the other hand, not only is he a great communicator, but he is also a smart-ass!  Yes, I said it!  He is F-R-E-S-H.  He is basically a manipulative genius who can smooth-talk us into almost anything just by utilizing his natural charm.  Oh, he is sweet.  He is precious.  He has eyes so big you can see deep into his soul.  He is sincere and kind-hearted, and when he swears he won't cry at bedtime or promises he won't hit you again, you believe him.  Because who wouldn't believe that sweet little, innocent angel-faced boy?

But how quickly he forgets those promises when the time finally comes to execute them, and we are reminded instantly that he is still just a normal tantrum-throwing toddler.  Of course even his tantrums are exceptional in our eyes!  Exceptionally awful, I mean.

Enter Miss Lander.  Our darling "Baby Girl" has brought a new dynamic into our crazy zoo.  She giggles when her big brother makes faces at her or kisses her.  She adores him, and he reciprocates 100%.  They are buddies, and it is beautiful and heart-warming to watch as their relationship grows, sweet siblings.  Lander is much more dramatic than Jack ever was as an infant.  He rarely cried.  She goes from zero to pissed in about 3 seconds.  He never seemed to care when he ate, but he was always a good eater when it was finally time, sometimes settling down for a good half-hour to nurse.  Lander is more demanding, and when she wants it, she lets me know she wants, and it has to be RIGHT THEN.  There is no cushion, no gray area, no room for error with her.  Either Mommy delivers, or she freaks out.  

Then of course there is sleeping.  Jack has always been what we call the "Ultimate Sleep-Fighting Champion," consistently battling over bedtime and naturally a night-owl like his Mama.  But Miss Lander is a sweet dream where bedtime is concerned.  Naps well too!  I cannot even express how relieved I am that she is so different from Jack in this way.  God knew what I could handle...

Lander is also just the world's happiest baby.  (Except for when she's not!)  She smiles infectiously, and she bats her arms up and down and kicks her little feet excitedly when she is pleased with attention.  She flirts with everyone, and all of our friends and family comment on how sweet and happy she is.  She is this way 95% of the time.  The other 5% she is completely freaking out as I mentioned above.  I'm not sure what this means for the teenage years, but I am up for the challenge!  ;-)

And as challenging as things may be with my Drama Queen and USF Champ, I wouldn't change them for the world.  My kids are awesome.  And I'm doing the best I can with them, loving every minute of it, and dreading how quickly the time flies by as they grow and change daily.  Jack is no longer a baby and hardly a toddler, but rather a little boy, my "big kid" now, and it both pains and excites me as we enter the next stage with him.  Lander is 6 months, and it feels like just yesterday I was still waiting for her to be born (probably b/c she was 16 days late!), and yet now she is sitting up and eating solids and (OMG) she has two teeth!  

Last night I strapped Lander onto my back and took a walk around the neighborhood with Jack riding in his Power Wheels truck.  We went to get the mail.  During our adventure, we stopped for a few make-believe trains, and Jack had to get out to check under the hood at least once.  Lander babbled and kicked her feet and grabbed at my hair as she happily tagged along, and when we returned home the fun continued as we played basketball in our driveway.  It was a beautiful night, mild temperature, pretty skies.  We were out there, just the 3 of us, for a solid 2 hours, waiting for Daddy to get home, and enjoying a leisurely Friday.  "This is a fun day," Jack remarked to me.  Yes, it was a fun day.  One I'll not forget.  Ever.

I'm not sure what the cops would find if they were called during one of Jack's bedtime tantrums.  Maybe they would arrive to see him finally giving in and defeated, standing with his mouth open as I brush his teeth with the blue Sponge Bob toothbrush, his face still flush and his tears still fresh.  Or maybe they would be in time to witness his wild outbursts and manic behavior, kicking and screaming and fighting with all his might.  Or, better yet, perhaps it would take them longer than the 5 minutes all of that lasts and they'd find us in bed, reading stories and cuddling, the tantrum well behind us, at least until the next night.  No matter what, they'd find us loving our boy...

And they'd find Baby Girl sound asleep in her comfy crib, sucking her thumb, and snuggling with her stuffed animals and Pink Earth Bunnie, her bottom up in the air with her legs tucked underneath.  And they'd hear the sweetest little breathing sounds and sighs...

I'm all over the place in this post.  Maybe it is b/c I am emotional, maybe just tired.  I know it is a bit mixed up, but I think my overall point is the same as always: to record some memories and reflect on how wonderful my life really is.  So often I begin a piece emphatically with a problem or challenge only to talk myself down from the ledge throughout its composition.  Once again, the writing proves to calm me, providing my own personal therapy and helping to remind me of the important things in life.  Thanks for being a part of this journey.  Thanks for reading...

~The Zookeeper