boys will be... good humans

I took a bag of things to a neighbor one street over this evening, and walking back the older gentleman who lives across from us came out to chat. If I'm being honest, I was actually a little worried that he was upset about something. But he wanted to tell me what good boys we're raising. How glad he is that we moved in. How much he enjoys watching the kids play outside. How smart and polite they are, how kind.
And then he told me I was a good mom.

I want to be a lighthouse of a calm, a deserving mother. Someone who is able to focus energy productively. But when sophisticated thinking goes dark and defense mechanisms kick in, it's easy to forget that I am in charge of my own responses.
Sometimes I feel angry, but the news does not "make" me angry, traffic does not "make" me angry, my children do not "make" me angry -- I decide to feel it. Or not.

I want my boys to be angry sometimes. Not petty anger, but righteous anger - there's a place for that, isn't there? How, though, to explain whether it should spill out on the tennis court or the supreme court, the board meeting or the kitchen floor?

Instead of asking them not to get angry, I want to offer the boys practical alternatives, actions that help strong feelings dissipate, that make a positive difference in their day or somebody else's.
Like collecting a bag of October treats to "Boo" a neighbor, or baking apple cake to share with the grumpy old guy across the street. Like getting lost in a good book or finding time to write a note to a relative. Or to the principal / mayor / congresswoman.
It’s like a super power, really, the ability we have to shape our own intentional reactions.

What I've got to offer as a parent feels pathetically scattered. Be brave but don't be reckless. Regard boundaries but don't let go of dreams. Be fierce and opinionated but respect your parents. Don't let the world make you mad but get ANGRY.
Good thing part of my job is to show them they do not need to be perfect.
But mercy, please let them be kind.

among other things

with tremendous success

I'm not sure he could ever pretend to be without preference. 

But I am fairly certain that he will continue to right foot left foot his way into or one plus one his way out of anything.

Most of the time we know exactly what he means.

Puh puh puh church, he said, over and over again. Except the "church" part sounded like tut. And it was fairly out of context, as he sat building with magnatiles. So it took us a long time to understand what he was actually saying. 

When he gets frustrated because we don't understand, he tries to enunciate the initial sound, but it's always with the letter P, whether the word starts with P or not. Like puh puh puh diving board. Or puh puh puh solution. 

So, not particularly helpful. But super cute.

trying

I only cried once this weekend. I might blame the tears on an accumulation of things, on missing and medicating and re-cleaning and refereeing and who knows what else. Well, maybe the national news.
Mostly though, I spent a lot of time trying to hold it together.

The boys went from co-conspirators to sworn enemies and back again, practicing every single emotion they'll ever use in life on each other. Over the course of one weekend.
My patience evaporated with the coffee I reheated sixteen times and my muscles ached.
I tried using charitable words, tried helping them navigate humanity in the wake of my own, but everybody was crying and everything needed batteries and nobody felt quite right.

So in search of fresh air and improved moods, we went to the zoo. Driving home, I noticed we all seemed a little less tired and a little more optimistic. The boys spent an afternoon smiling, and I had too.

the climber

When his teachers explained that he'd scaled the classroom shelves a couple weeks ago, I was like Really?

autumn

Tolliver woke up this morning talking about the scent of fall, how it makes him hungry for s'mores.

It feels like just last week I cut pants into shorts for the onslaught of spring. Most boasted holes in the knees anyway.
Summer invited polka dot shins, little legs marked with bruises and knicks.
Could a mother tell the seasons this way, I wonder, from pale to bruised to tan?

Suddenly it's time to think about cooler weather again, to find pants that will cover longer bodies. This weekend we tackled tubs and dressers and closets, preparing to embrace a wardrobe of light coats and tall socks and fleece jammies.

And then, shelves stocked with sweaters and jeans that should fit for a minute, we headed outside, enjoying crisp air and sunshine, a fresh crop of acorns and a little chocolate graham cracker treat.