Just being honest
It's hard to appreciate the things about your child that make life more difficult for you as their parent.
I find myself praying, "Please let Jonah be a fast nurser," and "Please let my delivery be quick," and "Please let him learn to sleep early on."
But oh, Asher. The child of my soul. The one who takes all of me, every part, who sets forth requirements every day, always asking of me. Who is constantly calling me to be stronger and more patient. I see so much of myself in him. So much of my emotions and need for human connection and desire for things on my own terms and not anyone else's.
I may have spoken too soon with my rejoicing that the horrific "threes" were behind us. There have been so many times lately as I have stood by his bed and watched him violently kick off his covers, refuse to lie down, cry until he gags himself, and thought, "This is just like watching thirteen year old me!" Seriously. Having a preschool boy with violent emotions has to be somewhat equal to having a teenage girl in the throws of puberty.
From birth when he took over an hour to nurse, when he would cry for hours, fighting sleep, when he would stand up in his crib and fall asleep and we would rush in to the sound of him choking on the monitor, having caught his neck on the crib railing as he drifted off, still standing. He has been so strong-willed. He has been called high-needs.
I remember when I was younger, my step-dad said in regards to my brother that he felt like he could never do enough.
That's how we feel, too.
We can never do enough. Seth can take the day and spend it doing fun things with Asher, with nothing else vying for his attention, and Ash will still come home asking for more, begging, discontent with something.
And I will take time out to be alone with him, to do what he wants to do, make myself shoot cannonballs out of a plastic pirate ship for half an hour, and it's always as if I've done nothing. As if all he has known is neglect.
Seth said the other morning, "He is so hard!" And I just nodded. I know.
It is hard to appreciate the things that make life harder.
Zimrie will play by himself with toys for hours. He will come to me with smiles and ask nothing of me, except maybe to cuddle. He will apologize for silly things like putting his shoes on the wrong feet and spilling his juice. Things that any two year old do everyday! Zimrie is (for the most part) easy. Sure, he's had his phases, and given me some gray hairs, but he doesn't feed my already insecure nature that often.
Asher, on the other hand, fights every day for every thing. And while it sure makes it hard to be his mom, his tenacity and strong will are actually good things. And Zimrie will have other challenges, like maybe he won't express his emotions very well, or he might get caught up in being charming and forget how to be sincere. They are so different. And incomparable. And will both have their strengths and weaknesses. But today, Asher's strengths and weaknesses, both, baffle me. How do I help him utilize his skills? How do I teach him, simultaneously, that I love him unconditionally and that he is not the center of the universe?
I am so tired of having the argument about going to preschool every morning. I have considered quitting--with just two days left in the school year--because it is that exhausting. And since I am not supposed to be picking them up anymore, physically putting him in his car seat is not an option. I see why my mom used to let me stay home from school at the least little complaint. It is so hard to argue, to stand your ground, to stick with the plan and make them go. I pray, Please, please, please don't let Asher grow up like me, hating every day of school for all twelve years. I would hate if for him. And I would hate it for me.
Everyday I drop him off I feel like a failure. As I get him in the car by telling him about all the fun things we will do that day or that week, as I talk about the value of our commitments and friends at school and fun and how we learn. As I bribe him with things to get him out of his car seat, walking the hallway, into his classroom. As he holds onto my leg and whimpers and tells me he doesn't want me to go. All I feel is failure, when I grab Zimrie's hand and we leave him, sullen and forlorn, standing there, refusing to participate in table time.
But maybe I shouldn't. The failure comes from him not being excited to go (like he has been for all but the last month or so). But maybe it's a victory because we got there, and he's doing it (half-heartedly, but still). Maybe it's a victory.
I've said a few times that next year we will try it for a month and see how he's handling it. That I thought this was a phase and the excitement would come back over the summer. That I couldn't handle the fight three mornings a week with another baby in the equation.
But today I met with Ms. Marj, our parent educator through the Parents as Teachers program, and I asked her advice. She recommended sticking it out. She said she always did with her kids, they always finished their year of T-ball or gymnastics. She stuck by the commitments they made. She said with kids like Asher, it might make the transition to kindergarten a lot harder, since he might not love the idea in the first place. She said going three days for half days is a great transition to going five full days a week. She said it really helps kids recognize other authority figures and classroom structure and following directions. She even suggested that it would probably be beneficial for him to go to the pre-kindergarten summer school that they offer where they go half days for three weeks just to get the hang of new teachers in a new school.
I remember at the end of junior high, I joined the pep squad with lots of my friends because we thought it was cool. But by the time we got into the high school, we realized it was not as cool as we had thought. My friends dropped out, one by one, but my mom (somehow, miraculously) made me stick it out. She said I had made the commitment, she had spent a ton of money, and I needed to finish out my year. And I did. Even though it was more work for her. Even though it would've been easier if she didn't have to drive me to games and to practice and listen to me beg and whine and complain about it all the time. I think about that a lot. About what a good decision that was on her part. And isn't that the weight of parenting, anyway? Teaching our children that they have to live with the consequences of their decisions?
(Also, the thought of attempting to homeschool Asher for preschool next year makes me hyperventilate. I mean, this kid. Just the last five days, getting him to take his steroids for his allergies has made me cry, scream, yell, throw up my hands, punch a pillow in my room. I don't even know. Add a toddler and a nursing baby? I think we'd have utter chaos. I think my sanity would be the missing member of the team. I knew a homeschooling mother of five who once reached her breaking point and told her husband, "Either I go jump off a cliff, I will leave you, or we enroll the kids in school." Somedays I feel like that already. And I only have two kids. And I don't even homeschool.) :/
I find myself praying, "Please let Jonah be a fast nurser," and "Please let my delivery be quick," and "Please let him learn to sleep early on."
But oh, Asher. The child of my soul. The one who takes all of me, every part, who sets forth requirements every day, always asking of me. Who is constantly calling me to be stronger and more patient. I see so much of myself in him. So much of my emotions and need for human connection and desire for things on my own terms and not anyone else's.
I may have spoken too soon with my rejoicing that the horrific "threes" were behind us. There have been so many times lately as I have stood by his bed and watched him violently kick off his covers, refuse to lie down, cry until he gags himself, and thought, "This is just like watching thirteen year old me!" Seriously. Having a preschool boy with violent emotions has to be somewhat equal to having a teenage girl in the throws of puberty.
From birth when he took over an hour to nurse, when he would cry for hours, fighting sleep, when he would stand up in his crib and fall asleep and we would rush in to the sound of him choking on the monitor, having caught his neck on the crib railing as he drifted off, still standing. He has been so strong-willed. He has been called high-needs.
I remember when I was younger, my step-dad said in regards to my brother that he felt like he could never do enough.
That's how we feel, too.
We can never do enough. Seth can take the day and spend it doing fun things with Asher, with nothing else vying for his attention, and Ash will still come home asking for more, begging, discontent with something.
And I will take time out to be alone with him, to do what he wants to do, make myself shoot cannonballs out of a plastic pirate ship for half an hour, and it's always as if I've done nothing. As if all he has known is neglect.
Seth said the other morning, "He is so hard!" And I just nodded. I know.
It is hard to appreciate the things that make life harder.
Zimrie will play by himself with toys for hours. He will come to me with smiles and ask nothing of me, except maybe to cuddle. He will apologize for silly things like putting his shoes on the wrong feet and spilling his juice. Things that any two year old do everyday! Zimrie is (for the most part) easy. Sure, he's had his phases, and given me some gray hairs, but he doesn't feed my already insecure nature that often.
Asher, on the other hand, fights every day for every thing. And while it sure makes it hard to be his mom, his tenacity and strong will are actually good things. And Zimrie will have other challenges, like maybe he won't express his emotions very well, or he might get caught up in being charming and forget how to be sincere. They are so different. And incomparable. And will both have their strengths and weaknesses. But today, Asher's strengths and weaknesses, both, baffle me. How do I help him utilize his skills? How do I teach him, simultaneously, that I love him unconditionally and that he is not the center of the universe?
I am so tired of having the argument about going to preschool every morning. I have considered quitting--with just two days left in the school year--because it is that exhausting. And since I am not supposed to be picking them up anymore, physically putting him in his car seat is not an option. I see why my mom used to let me stay home from school at the least little complaint. It is so hard to argue, to stand your ground, to stick with the plan and make them go. I pray, Please, please, please don't let Asher grow up like me, hating every day of school for all twelve years. I would hate if for him. And I would hate it for me.
Everyday I drop him off I feel like a failure. As I get him in the car by telling him about all the fun things we will do that day or that week, as I talk about the value of our commitments and friends at school and fun and how we learn. As I bribe him with things to get him out of his car seat, walking the hallway, into his classroom. As he holds onto my leg and whimpers and tells me he doesn't want me to go. All I feel is failure, when I grab Zimrie's hand and we leave him, sullen and forlorn, standing there, refusing to participate in table time.
But maybe I shouldn't. The failure comes from him not being excited to go (like he has been for all but the last month or so). But maybe it's a victory because we got there, and he's doing it (half-heartedly, but still). Maybe it's a victory.
I've said a few times that next year we will try it for a month and see how he's handling it. That I thought this was a phase and the excitement would come back over the summer. That I couldn't handle the fight three mornings a week with another baby in the equation.
But today I met with Ms. Marj, our parent educator through the Parents as Teachers program, and I asked her advice. She recommended sticking it out. She said she always did with her kids, they always finished their year of T-ball or gymnastics. She stuck by the commitments they made. She said with kids like Asher, it might make the transition to kindergarten a lot harder, since he might not love the idea in the first place. She said going three days for half days is a great transition to going five full days a week. She said it really helps kids recognize other authority figures and classroom structure and following directions. She even suggested that it would probably be beneficial for him to go to the pre-kindergarten summer school that they offer where they go half days for three weeks just to get the hang of new teachers in a new school.
I remember at the end of junior high, I joined the pep squad with lots of my friends because we thought it was cool. But by the time we got into the high school, we realized it was not as cool as we had thought. My friends dropped out, one by one, but my mom (somehow, miraculously) made me stick it out. She said I had made the commitment, she had spent a ton of money, and I needed to finish out my year. And I did. Even though it was more work for her. Even though it would've been easier if she didn't have to drive me to games and to practice and listen to me beg and whine and complain about it all the time. I think about that a lot. About what a good decision that was on her part. And isn't that the weight of parenting, anyway? Teaching our children that they have to live with the consequences of their decisions?
(Also, the thought of attempting to homeschool Asher for preschool next year makes me hyperventilate. I mean, this kid. Just the last five days, getting him to take his steroids for his allergies has made me cry, scream, yell, throw up my hands, punch a pillow in my room. I don't even know. Add a toddler and a nursing baby? I think we'd have utter chaos. I think my sanity would be the missing member of the team. I knew a homeschooling mother of five who once reached her breaking point and told her husband, "Either I go jump off a cliff, I will leave you, or we enroll the kids in school." Somedays I feel like that already. And I only have two kids. And I don't even homeschool.) :/
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