Raising kids: thoughts on when the times, they are a'challenging

It's possible that you won't be surprised by this admission: we're having a bit of a tough time with J right now. I am sure that this time, these times, will come again as we head down the pipeline of maturation with Ol, but presently, it's our darling firstborn who is issuing new and vexing challenges. I feel as if I'm standing on the shores of Lake Your-Children-Can-Bring-You-To-Your-Knees, and boy, the vista isn't a terribly sunny one. No, the skies are cloudy, visibility no more than slight; the winds are swirling, storms threaten. Do you hunker down? De-camp? Wish you'd better prepared in some way?

This tumultuous landscape might also be an accurate description for whatever inner struggle is bewitching my Jack, and I keep that thought present because it helps me maintain empathy. When I can look upon him with empathic love, rather than as some sort of insane urchin who switched via body double with my real J, I am able to put aside enough of my frustration and instead make space for reminders of just why and how terribly much I love him. In addition to all of the things no one ever tells you about parenthood is this: you will definitely dislike your sweet child(ren) more often than you suspect. Sometimes you will even look at them, aghast and angrier than you can believe, and consider that perhaps you even more than don't like them. But as you are in it for the long haul, you've got to figure out how to proceed in the healthiest, most positive way possible.

It is uncomfortable enough to grapple with feelings of "I don't like him/her right now," but to make matters tougher, I've found that close inspection of what you become most frustrated and angry with, what disappoints you most deeply, are often the elements of your own (or your partner's) character that are/were not the most appealing. Put more simply, I recognize that I dislike some of J's current behavior because it reminds me, uncomfortably, of me as a young person. It reminds me of how hard it was to grow up and to learn life lessons, how painful and scary those developments were. Are. Because I've managed to shed some parts of my own self I didn't much like, when I see them in J, I not only feel so deeply sorry that I passed them on to him, but I also recoil to some extent because, shit, didn't I just spend however many years trying to excise that from my life? The same goes for what T donated.

Jack is such a blend of me and Tom. He looks like both of our families, he's extroverted and loves words like me, he's got T's nearly photographic memory and ability to do math and like it. He articulates his emotions a bit more like T than like me (slight boo!), he can be overly cautious like I was, he is moody at times (me; boo!), and he has a hell of a dramatic bent (I attribute this to osmotic influence in utero by certain female members of my family). He has an unceasing imagination, he is insatiably curious, he appreciates beauty, and he is kind. He is a great kid, but his stew is his own unique brew, and like everyone else's, it needs some tweaking: what makes Jack Jack is not just the inputs we passed on but also the combinative effects of those traits.

This honest appraisal and appreciation of the nascent person my eldest is helps me when I feel utterly baffled and a little bit scared. Motherhood has largely been an instinctual experience for me so far, and I feel immensely grateful for that comfort with the "job". But I sure don't have all the answers, and I am desperate to do my best by this little boy. I think that's all any of us can do at the end of the day: our best. We should honor the lights of individuality in each of the children we're fortunate enough to have but remain firm when needed, seek help when we don't know or feel lost, remember how much we've all learned and changed as we've grown and give them the space to do that as well.

As I wrap this up, a steady rain has started to fall; the floodgates up above have opened, washing away the vista I had not long ago. It remains cloudy, not a ray of sun in sight, but I feel hope because growth is equal parts water and light.

Hit by a car, busted by Siri, abominable customer service = you have to laugh

So today has been slightly challenging, and I have a bitchin' headache. For starters, it feels like we're living on the sun's surface here in DC. It is mofo hot, and you know me and my Louisiana blood: I can stand a lot of hot weather. But the past few days of 90s and skeeters are bringing me down. Did y'all see that recent study showing that increased temperatures caused by climate change are likely to fuel violence in those countries most affected? I get that, man. When it's SO hot for SO long, people feel stretched, their fuses are shorter. Add challenging elements like poverty or unstable electricity provision and you've got an even greater potential for trouble. In any case, after taking Jack to have his palate expander installed -he looks part droid and loves every bit of it; he even loved getting the thing put in; I have to crank it for the next 14 days- I submitted a simple request to Mpix, the online service I always use when I print photographs, for a receipt that showed I'd paid in full. Their email receipts show the charge but not a zero balance, as I'm submitting this receipt to school for reimbursement, I need one that demonstrates proof of payment. My first reply from DanR was a copy of the receipt I already have. I wrote him back, explained the situation and asked for a more complete receipt.

DanR: "Your credit card was charged for the entire order or you would have no way to submit the order."

Me: "I understand, Dan. But the reimbursements aren't usually accepted if the receipt doesn't clearly show a zero balance or PAID. This email receipt does neither. Is there any way you can simply add the word paid to the bottom of my receipt?"

DanR: "Have you taken your bank statement to your school to show them the charges?"

Me, feeling unusually sassy: "You're kidding me, right? This is a pretty basic request. I'll be happy to speak to someone else about this of you can pass me along."

I have since received no response nor can I locate a phone number anywhere on the Mpix site.

Seriously?

Whilst dealing with DanR, I got into my car to go pick up the boys. About 12 feet from my house, a ponytail in a minivan runs into me. WHAM!

Really?

I look into my rear-view and see her flapping her arms like an insane, gesticulating bird. Yes, chacha, I understand that was probably an accident, but still. I pull over, she pulls over, I get out, she leans out of her window, and sings "I'm sure I didn't hit you hard." I was so mad at DanR that I just yelled, "be careful for pete's sakes," got back in my car, my phone dropped into an open cup of water, that managed to activate Siri just as I said "stupid b&*()*^@*&)" (because yes, road rage is a real vice of mine and DanR and Ponytail were throwing me challenges on a day I didn't need them) and Siri says, "that doesn't sound good."

"Oh my god, I've been called out by Siri," I thought and had to chuckle.

As soon as we returned home, I put a bottle of white in the fridge for this evening and planted the kids in front of Busytown Mysteries. We've gotta be somewhere at 5, and when we get home around 6:15, I am puttin' my feet up!

Boys will be boys?!, din-din

Y'all, don't you think I have been wonderfully zen about the child-escapees and the FBI? I think that overall, I really took and have taken things quite well. Then there was the iPad snake, some assorted fibs, the end of grounding and the start of school. All's well and good, right? And then there was the "utility sock."

Yesterday, Jack went ape-shit when he couldn't find a pair of socks that suited his fancy. There was a concurrent spaz-out about not having an exact-replica green t-shirt and short-sleeve navy hoodie that some Wild Kratt wears, and in attempting to assuage his immersive-character guilt (who is he? Daniel Day-Lewis?), Tom went to J's sock drawer to help.

"Jack, what is in this very full sock?"

"Dad, do not look in there. It's my private utility sock." --please keep in mind his age; 7 and change; this is not some nutso pubescent story

"Hmm, OK, Jack. Well, here is a pair of matching socks."

Meanwhile, to me: "Em, you better investigate that 'utility sock' at some point. It shakes in a weird way."

Me: "Is it all the coinage from his bank."

T: "No, not a shaking like that. Like some object. Is it drugs?"

People, please.

Me: "Thomas, go the eff to work."

T: "Ok."

Fast-forward to this evening. T recalls the suspicious package in J's upper right drawer and investigates the sock. What does he find? Eight boxes of matches and a handful of nails. Jesus H, people, don't we deserve a basic week of non-WTF'ness?

For a full twenty minutes, J swears that he did not put the matches and nails in the sock. Finally, Oliver was like, "not only did he put those in the sock but he lit the matches downstairs."

Longer story less short, it comes to pass that Mr. Pyromaniac has lit six matches, blown them out, run them under the faucet (so responsible, yes?) and then thrown them away. What he was planning to do with the rest, I dunno. I get the interest in fire. It's cool. But really. And the nails? Who the eff knows. After a come-to-jesus, T asked if J had anything else he'd squirreled away. Out came a Swiss Army Knife. Y'all, my god. Is it any wonder I drink a bit of wine each night?

All I could do was hug my baby (who would never hurt a thing EXCEPT via rampant curiosity himself accidentally), basically make him swear on his life he would stop lying and then go cook dinner. I made a nice marinade for some fresh tuna, cooked some brown rice in mushroom stock and shelled and cooked some fresh lima beans. I LOVE lima beans, could eat 'em by the bushel. T is infinitely less enthused so I basically did get to eat the bushel.

Say it with me: It is ALWAYS something.