On Children and Ego Shattering

I am not sure where I acquired the misconception that I was going to be God's gift to my children and them a gift to me. In so many ways they are special and wonderful gifts. In other ways they are awful and ego shattering. Please hear me out, and don't write me off as the worst parent ever.

My love for my children is fierce. I needed a good dose of humility and soul crushing. So God gave me Grayson. 

I often joke that Grayson was God's humbling gift to me. Its funny, because its true. 

This little politician is a riot, and he can win over almost anyone. He has no sense of personal space or volume control. We had a 14 year old girl move in with us for a period of time through an organization called Safe Families. Grayson broke the ice in about 10 seconds flat. It's hard to stay isolated when you have a persistent 3 year old banging on your door. He was essential in her feeling like a part of our home and our family and helped us to dig in and get messy, fast.

I know many little boys are crazy, fearless, energetic, and nutty. I love the dirt and the grime and the fact that my boys can play outside from sun up till sun down. 

But here's the thing I started noticing. Boys will be boys. But if lined up next to ten others, Grayson was usually the king of the crazy circus.

Jon and I have read articles upon articles about parenting. We have asked professionals within our circle for advice and ideas to help G succeed. To help him learn, listen, and actually hear us. We noticed that if we aren't ten steps ahead of Grayson, we were losing. 

Parenting is the most important responsibility we have. 

We have never felt so ineffective in our lives.

The host of my mom's group sent out a group text asking us to talk to our kids about taking care of their basement and toys. My heart sank. She was being honest, and I was immediately wondering what I had to replace. I was 99% sure it was something my kid had done. He is almost always "that kid." There are few places I feel comfortable outside of our home and the great outdoors. This group had been one of them, and I was afraid I just lost it. 

We have stayed with friends twice now while going on trips. I no longer will refer to traveling with my children as vacation because that is just utter bologna. Both times we stayed with close friends who we trust and love. Both times by the time we left we wanted to curl in a hole and never come out. Our friends may have not felt the tension and despair with the same intensity as us. Add some less that ideal sleeping nights on top of our already crazy children, and it was a recipe for disaster. It didn't help that Grayson's playmate was a typical rule-following first born. Sure, they might have to teach him to be flexible and break rules when he grows up. I have to teach my 3 year old how to not be a giant turd today. I wanted their problem. My insecurities glowed like a flood lamp in the night. My already fragile heart cracked a little bit more.

I have trouble faking it. Major trouble. I am a truth teller to a fault. So when people come up and ask me how we are doing, I want to tell them that my insides are reeling. I want to tell them that what appears like a picturesque family feels like a complete facade. I want to tell them that we are only surviving this season. It is making us question whether we are capable of a third child or adoption. I want to unload all these thoughts and feelings that flow through me like a babbling brook. They trickle in the distance and wash away the pebbles of joy I am trying to collect.

And then there are the good days. Like this exact moment where both of my children are playing with Play-doh on our back porch. No one is crying, no one is fighting, no one is screaming. And in this brief moment I feel like I nailed it, and I fist pump the air like I own this parenting crap. The good moments make me question how dramatic I am about all the hard moments. Why do hard moments seem to be much more frequent and significantly more powerful? I want to minimize the challenges we had just the weekend before. They feel like a painful reminder that I am not enough, and that despite my best effort I might fail.

And then I remember. Children are blessings. I remember that those big brown eyes that test me and push my buttons all day long were grown within me. They are mine to nurture and look deep into. Those boys' souls are ours to develop. It is our responsibility, and we are capable. I cling to the support God has put in our lives like I cling onto my postpartum fat cells. The friends I can be so truthful with and those who love our boys unconditionally carry me through the week. I am not alone. 

So there is this fine line we are walking, where we tell the truth about the hard days and the challenges we see in our kids. But we also allow ourselves to be completely overwhelmed by the joy we can find in the small moments. I celebrate every small victory by rewarding myself with some sort of dessert. Both kids napped today: cookie. Made it 30 minutes without someone in timeout: lemon heads. Rewarding myself with every little victory is rotting my teeth out.

I have never been more aware of my own soul's need for redemption. It was not my mother's heart attack or passing that broke me. Instead the sweet and spicy little gremlins I grew and delivered have brought me to my knees. As painful and challenging as this season is, I know we need it. I know our marriage will be deeper and capable of more as time continues to move forward. I know my patience is growing. At a snail's pace, but growing none the less. I know that I have to trust that God knew what he was doing when he entrusted us with these boys. He loves them more than we do. 

So please forgive my emotional vomit in the playground conversation. While your sweet, angel children take turns on the slide mine will continue to chuck wood chips in the air and pretend the sand is snow. I am trying my absolute best. And please don't tell me that boys will be boys. I know this, and I am still losing my ever loving mind. Don't tell me how fast this season goes. The years may go quick, but my days feel so long I should have 30,000 steps on this stupid Fitbit. Please feel free to sit with me in this mess, but keep the advice giving to a minimum. We are seeking advice from professionals. G has a sleep study coming up because he snores like a fat man. We have reached out to our pediatrician and have some next steps. We are sitting in the tender space of wanting answers and solutions. But we do not actually want anything to be wrong with our babe. We are getting advice from the experts, and what we need are friends. Friends that can not only tolerate us in this mess, but who can jump in with us. If you are a mom needing a friend who will let you say that parenting can be ego crushing and at times emotionally debilitating, I'm your girl. I will share my cookies, candy, and wine. I am sure the challenges will continue in different ways through the years as wee ones grow into big ones. But today I will sit in this space. I will give myself grace. I will divvy up time-outs equally between myself and my children. I will snuggle my littles when they let me and hold onto the pebbles of joy we collect on our treasure hunt. I will trust that God is creating something beautiful from what feels like a disaster within me. One time-out at a time.