Murky Hollows

Today was a day that began an argument in my home. My precious, dear son whom I love more than life itself, is also incredibly challenging in the parenting department -- and that is independent of his medical condition. It has always been this way with Toby...he was the infant who cried every night for six weeks straight wanting to be picked-up and rocked, refusing to be alone at night. All of the books and seasoned parents assured us that after a few rough nights it would stop. It never did. After six weeks, we gave up...and tried again...and again...and again. He's now six years old and still comes into our room most nights. He is a persistent little bugger. This is only one of a litany of parenthood traumas for me. But, I'll save the rest for later.

This morning I was irritated. With Greg to be honest. When Toby woke up clearly on the grouchy side of the bed, I new that the morning might be long. He began the day pushing pushing pushing me. My irritation grew as I worked not to take it all out on him....hustling him out the door for school...hurrying him along as he ever so gingerly chose his careful steps on our walk to school. At one point I said to him, "Honey, I am irritated and am sorry if I am taking it out on you. I need you to please cooperate so we can get to school on time." He threw a fit, turned his back, and threw something like, "You are a bad mommy!" in my face. Count to 10...deep breath.... More patient negotiation ending with two clear choices from me. More resistance from him. "Walk now," I insisted. The battle continued the five blocks to school and only escalated at the classroom door...tears from him, my threadbare patience breaking, and the loud bell signalling that we both best go to our own corners until the next round.

I ran home swearing under my breath something about how lucky Toby is to have a patient mother like me. A mother who is accountable and acknowledges missteps and parenting slips. My dear friend phoned when I got home as she had witnessed part of the sparring at school. Her words were encouraging and included an observation that Toby "just doesn't give you a break" with his persistence. Oh how true that is. It pains me to see how contorted with anger he can get...he feels so inadequate and small and constantly compares himself to others. He struggles to acknowledge the gifts of others instead choosing to be aloofly unimpressed by others achievements and advertising his own. My heart aches for his little spirit when I witness this.

I was determined to turn this around when I picked him up from school welcoming him with a big hug as he ran out the school doors. Within two minutes he was engaging in rough play with a peer. When I reprimanded him saying, "Toby, keep your hands to yourself! If you want to stay after school and play, you need to be gentle with your friends." He responded, "So." And walked away. When did he turn 13?! Needless to say, that was the beginning of round two. This included me dragging a screaming six-year old out of the playground and working incredibly hard to keep my cool. With the principal and music teacher watching, I worked to discipline Toby as he threatened me, shouted insults, and ran away from me down the path towards our house.

During our sojourn back home, I kept reminding myself that parenting is a lesson in loving those parts of me that are dark and murky. The parts that my child unabashedly flaunts to the outside world -- the smallness, insecurities, jealousy, envy...all of it. Sure it is easy to love and acknowledge the parts that are acceptable to the outside world -- he's incredibly smart, articulate, physically agile, responsible with his diabetes. If I can be present with him in his smallness, while providing him with solid, clear boundaries, I am not only showing up for Toby in very important ways, but I'm also healing my own wounds.

Talk about the long walk home. We found our way back to each other over crackers and cheese and Harold and The Purple Crayon. I felt fortunate to be his mother. In innumerable ways Toby shows me the path back to God. This path is not the one lined with gleaming emerald steps and pearly gates however. This path, at least for me, is a treacherous one that is often very dark and desolate. With unlit passages and uncertain turns, it is all I can do to stay committed to the journey at times. Forgiveness seems to be a torch that can quickly light my way if I let it. Certainly there are many rays of light and rainbows along this road but the murky hollows are never too far around the corner.