Dusk is fading into darkness. Fireflies dance in my backyard, and I cringe with each tiny twinkle as I watch from my bedroom window. I can hardly make out where the grass meets the brush now, and in just moments, night will have finally fallen onto this emotional day. I am exhausted and defeated; today's battles nobody won.
I should sink into my bed with my head deep into my feather pillow and my down comforter pulled up and tucked around my neck. I should count sheep until I fall asleep and then hope I dream of nothing so that my wandering mind can actually rest. I should forget about writing and complaining and draining my thoughts into this post as if anyone will really care or relate b/c let's face it - everyone has their own battles and no one needs to give a shit about mine.
Except that maybe someone out there is feeling the same way I feel and maybe she will stumble upon my blog through a series of clicks and read about my heartbreak and be able to make some sort of sense out of her own simply by knowing she isn't alone.
So I give you the truth about what is happening these days.
I am in a season of what feels like hopelessness. The demands of adulthood are all too real and present and I am half-assing every obligation I have b/c there are too many to count and keep up with. Friendships neglected, marriage a mess, bills out of control, house a tornado, work unmanageable and then the worst part, my children unstable. I'm not really sure if "unstable" is the right word to describe them though. It just seems like the end result.
My sweet baby boy is turning into a monster. He and his sister have been controlling our family. They make the rules, they call the shots, they set the pace and they run the show! Somehow, in the midst of all the craziness that consumes us, we have forgotten who is in charge.
After months of whining and tantrums and meltdowns and freak-outs every time they don't get their way, we finally adopted a "no second chances" policy. Well, let me tell you how that is going so far. TERRIBLY.
We give an inch, he takes a mile. We say 10 minutes til bedtime, he tries to negotiate for 20. We say don't throw that, so he throws something else and it hits me. We say no, he does it anyway. So we take away this and we take away that, and we shoot consequence after consequence and he literally laughs at us on his way into crying and then that transitions into a full blown fight scene. Trying to get him to his room, we have to drag him kicking and screaming the whole way. Getting him into his bed is like wrestling an alligator. When our patience finally runs out and we yell back and lose our own shit, he changes his tune to clingy and pitiful, begging us to stop being such "big meanies" and to give him another chance and listen to him say he's sorry, and meanwhile he is desperately trying to grab me and hug me and breathe my air and share my space when all I want is for him to leave me alone and not touch me b/c I am so fragile from the raw and overwhelming flood of emotions that I can't give him anymore of me for fear he will OWN me...and yet I take him in my arms and hold him and hug him and listen to him sob and sometimes sob with him, and then just like that I feel guilty, like a failure, like the worst parent in the world, and all he wants is for me to lay with him, and that's all I want too, but I can't b/c I said I wouldn't if he didn't brush his teeth when I asked him to the first time, and then it seems so ridiculous that all of this happened over brushing teeth, and I just drown in the sea of "how did we get here?" and "why is this happening?" And to think he is only 6 years old.
Enter 3 year old sister: Monkey see, Monkey do. Wash, rinse, repeat.
The battle ended with more scars than with which it began. I just can't help but wonder if a night like tonight will be rooted into one of his "core memories," that he will draw upon this example for how to handle stress and conflict and anger and sadness, and Lord, help him if he continues down this jagged path. I know it all too well, and it is the road less traveled; it is lonely here. I know it b/c he is me made over into a 6 year old boy with electric green eyes, swollen, tear-stained cheeks, chapped pouty lips and an unbridled ability to become unhinged at the heart. He is emotionally charged...and he gets it honest. He is his mother's son.
As a parent I want to give my children every opportunity to be successful in life. I want them to be loving and kind and helpful. I want to protect them and teach them and encourage them as they think and learn and grow...but this season is miserable. It is summer and we should be outside catching fireflies, but I am inside, cooped up with my own feelings of failure and dwelling on the guilt I feel for taking away some of those opportunities, and they are in bed, with their salty eyes and puffy cheeks and shattered little spirits. Why is it such a fine line between teaching a lesson and giving in?
And is it really so bad to give in??? I think of a dear friend who lost her son a few years ago and what she would give to go back to this season and relive it with her baby just for one more day. I think of another friend who has yearned for a child of her own while I am complaining of the challenge mine brings. I know thinking of their pain doesn't lessen my own struggle, but I am not naive to the fact that ultimately I have 2 beautiful, healthy children who are just going through one of life's many phases (Right, God? Please tell me that a phase is ALL this is!).
And yet my own heart breaks. It breaks with every hurtful word my baby yells at me, with every push or punch or shove he pounds into me, with every tear he cries while glaring at me through squinted angry eyes. I am physically sick to my stomach, queasy at the playback in my mind. I am caught between a rock and hard place b/c I need him to go to camp tomorrow so I can work, but I took camp away as a consequence tonight. My mistake...too bad owning up to this one is the equivalent of selling out, and alas, I am already trying to rationalize letting him earn it back so I can justify sending him. Did I mention I am tired?
It is black outside now. All I see is my own distorted reflection and the glare of the computer screen in my bedroom window. The fireflies have long since stopped their flickering. I am surrounded in my room by my many pets and it really is quite peaceful right now. I almost feel a sense of relief just from spilling these words onto the page...with no filter, "The Zookeeper - Uncaged."
I always tell my children I love them. I make sure they know they can never do anything to make me love them any less. Today Jack told me that his coach at camp would not allow them to watch a certain video during lunch b/c it had bad words in it like "the d-word and the s-word." He said the d-word was "dang," but then a minute later he said "actually it was damnit." I said, well I am glad your coach didn't let you watch it. Sometimes Mommy says those words and I shouldn't say bad words so much. He replied "yeah, but it doesn't make me love you any less."
How easily they forgive. Maybe that will be my fool-proof way for him to earn back camp; just forgive him and start over. Offer up a second chance. Life is full of so many hard decisions. We are damned if we do and damned if we don't. Maybe my policy of "no second chances" is flawed, or maybe it just needs some fine print and an escape clause. The point is this: tomorrow, I am going to be outside at dusk, catching fireflies with my kids, in this short, but not so sweet season.
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| Carefully catching fireflies last summer (2015) |
