Like Us

He is just like me.

And he drives me nuts.

Just like I drive myself nuts.

He shows me my strengths.

He shows me my weaknesses.

He is causing me to see how much I must grow.

To be a better Christian.

To be a better mother.

To be a better person.

He is pushing me to my limits.

And then past.

He is showing me where I need to improve.

I am woken in the morning by screams from the two littles.

He is irritating them once again.

I fight all day with myself.

I fight with my emotions.

I am so frustrated.

I am so anxious.

I get so.very.angry.

But I must.

Hold it in.

I must remain

Calm

Patient

Loving

Compassionate.

And it is so hard.

Everything is a battle.

Everything is an argument.

So much makes him angry.

Most of his words are spoken with attitude.

Many more are spoken with disrespect.

Not sure why.

Not sure what to do.

Not sure how much is normalcy of adolescence.

Is it that he is 9?

And starting to inch closer to 13?

Is it that he is bitterly angry at his father?

Who rejected him and abandoned him.

Who refuses to attempt to see him.

While he lives only a few miles away.

Is he this way because he is like me?

High-strung.

Emotional.

Opinionated.

Argumentative.

There is so much good in him.

I tell him. Often.

He is a brilliant boy.

He has big dreams.

He loves to read.

He loves to ride bike.

He loves to fish.

He loves playing football.

He is my helper.

Doing the man chores.

Takes out garbage.

Weeds.

Waters gardens.

Loves cooking with me.

To learn how.

So he can cook for his wife.

When she’s tired.

(There’s hope for him!!)

Frying eggs for the kids’ breakfast

They only like his; not mine.

Can work so hard.

He loves little babies.

So gentle with them.

Tickles their toes.

He is funny.

I love laughing with him.

He’s tough.

I love play fighting with him.

He’s thoughtful.

He brings me flowers.

He writes me notes.

He’s my boy.

One of my best friends.

And I’m so worried about him.

Tried something different tonight.

Unique.

Most likely not in parenting books.

But it should be.

“Write me an essay on

How you feel when you are disrespectful.

How you can be more respectful.

How it makes me feel when you are disrespectful.”

I’ve spent 3.5 years writing essays in college.

They take great thought.

It might work for him.

I was firm.

I was patient.

I insisted.

He did it.

I pushed for more.

More words.

Deeper thoughts.

It worked.

Softer face.

Gentler tone.

Calm.

Control of emotions.

Snuggled me.

We chatted a bit.

I understand now.

His fears.

His frustrations.

He wrote them down.

He agreed: He was out of line.

He understood: It hurt me when he talked back in a mean tone.

I assured him.

To not worry.

To not be afraid.

This isn’t the end.

There will most likely be more essays that will be written.

Potentially a few (or more) as a teenager.

I’m saving them.

For him.

When he has a child.

Just like us.

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.  Psalm 51:10