Bringing Up the Boy

This week has been brutal. Winter storm Toby dropped 8" of snow on Wednesday, resulting in a day off for all of us. Normally, that would mean snow ball fights and hot chocolate but all it meant this week was that Blue was underfoot for 8 hours, trying to salvage everything I was trying to get rid of. Packers will be here in 31 days and we are losing 1600 square feet and a basement. Some stuff has to go. I lost count of how many times I said, No, you don't need 17 leis from your first birthday party. We will get rid of 16, you can keep ONE. This was followed by a lot of foot stomping, yelling about what a terrible mother I am and general huffing and puffing. Replay that scenario about 39 more times and you have a pretty good idea of how my Wednesday went.

But life with Blue has been rough lately. Neal and I were ready to blame it on 5-year old testosterone, but one of our neighbors mentioned yesterday that her kids just need to get outside and play. It's been so cold and snowy for so long (really since November) and this area of PA only has a few indoor places where cooped up kids can run it off. Even a jump and bounce place is a sorry substitute for God's playground. But Blue hates the cold and hates to layer. We can't get to CA fast enough. I'm hoping by the time we move back to PA, he'll be a fan of winter.

So, there have been a lot of time-outs, a lot of screaming and slamming of doors and yesterday at the farmer's market, Blue kicked me in the shin while I was chatting with the family who runs the produce stand. He's angry, aggressive and making terrible choices. I've hugged him, disciplined him, got down on his level to talk, put him in time-out, taken away toys and TV tickets and tried to love him through it. But I can only take so much. When Mom's patience tank dings empty, it's probably best for everyone if they just step away slowly. Neal brought home a liter of Cabernet last night. That works, too.

And perhaps it really is just a fierce case of cabin fever. But what if it's not? As a first-time mom of a boy (a mom, I remind you, who really wasn't around kids - much less boys - until I had one), I'm constantly second-guessing the situation. It feels like every phase is going to last forever. I worry that my parenting is going to come back to bite me when he's in middle or high school. We don't have cable but we do have AirTV so we've been watching some ME TV at night and on the weekends. That means he's now familiar with Andy Griffith and Beaver, but he also knows about Bonanza. There's a lot of "shoot em up" in Westerns, but my general belief is that my husband grew up watching it and he turned out just fine. But we had to have a long talk with Blue about how he can't act out scenes from Bonanza at school. I was hoping Marcia Brady and Opie Taylor would offset the adventures at Ponderosa Ranch. That may have been wishful thinking.

All we were doing was trying to find entertaining TV to watch during an especially blustery winter but what we've got now is a shit storm of pent-up energy and aggressive behavior that he's picked up from the likes of John Wayne and the Cartwright family.

Parenting is hard. I probably deserved that kick in the shin.

I did not deserve that kick in the shin and he was swiftly disciplined which resulted in him making a scene of epic proportions on the floor of the farmer's market, but they're all Mennonites so at least I know the floor is clean.

As luck would have it, this is all fortuitously timed with Blue's first intruder drill at school and the March for Life happening this weekend. All week I've swung wildly from heartbreak about how our child is growing up in a world where intruder and active shooter drills are routine to wondering how someone who is barely over 4' tall can slam a door so hard it rattles on the hinges. (I would take the door off the hinges but then we just have to put in on again in 30 days. And by "we" I mean "Neal".)

This morning I happened to see a video posted on Facebook that featured a young woman who had the courage to stand up in front of her classmates and speak during a school walk-out. She acknowledged that many of her classmates were only walking out to get out of class. So, she took a breath, threw all of her f*&cks to the wind and said what needed to be said. She called out the bullies for creating a situation where kids finally strike back, but with bullets. And she pleaded for her classmates to simply accept one another for who they are, to just be nice. It was an impassioned plea that may have reached a few, may have fallen on a few deaf ears. Regardless, during a time of life when kids are the most cruel to one another, it was an incredibly courageous act. And it occurred to me in that moment...I want Blue to be kind...and brave.

We have ten years (or less) to shape Blue into someone who will stand on the steps and plead for his classmates to be kind to one another. When we held our hours-old baby in our arms, it felt like a lifetime. Now it feels like the blink of an eye. The active shooter drills have already started. He can barely spell gun but now he must know how to run from one. And this is how he will grow up. Our parents feared Russia's nuclear attack. We are buying bullet-proof backpacks. What did we fear growing up? I can only remember the earthquake drills.

I've been told that when Blue is out from under our watchful (and perhaps overly critical) eye, he is a helper and a friend. His teachers have told us that he's inclusive and kind. Maybe we are doing something right after all. Maybe he's building his brave and I'm taking the brunt of it. Kids should come with manuals.

As much as I want to march in DC, or even locally, tomorrow, all three of us have made commitments. Neal and Blue have the Boy Scouts awards banquet and I'm helping with his school carnival. These decisions were made months ago and while I 100% support everyone who is marching, I also don't want to set the example that prior commitments can take a backseat when something better comes along. These are the kinds of difficult decisions parents make everyday - what example am I setting? What will my child learn from this? A million tiny decisions will create a child that is brave or a bully, kind or self-centered. Yesterday, Blue proclaimed, "I'm so tired of you telling me what to do!" To which I replied, "Well, get used to it. Big Mama still tells me what to do." He thought about this for a minute and said, "When you're dead, you won't be able to tell me what to do." That's true, son. And hopefully by then, you won't need me anymore.

Also, UK lost to Kansas State last night so March has been a bit of a bust around here. I think we are all ready for April.