The oldest and I had a date the other night. When one of my friends, a been-there done-that boy mom who I think is the bee’s knees, let me know of a boy activity, I was on it like white on rice. It’s been a goal of mine for some time to do a better job of date nights with my sons and since coming up for air, I resolved to get one on one with each of my boys. I want to make this effort while they are still small so it becomes the norm. And it offers the gift of me seeing them for the individual wonders that they are when I take each of the parts away from the whole.
The littlest gets a lot of momma time. That’s one of the beautiful parts of staying home. But the middlest and oldest, well, most of their one-on-one activities end up being with daddy. To Husker games. To soccer. To football. While I hang back at the house for naptimes and such with the wee one. When there’s more than one child in the mix, there has to be a division of labor. And since I’m the walking breastaurant, I usually stick with the babe.
So B and I had a date. On the calendar. And I was almost giddy. Of course, part of the date was derailed by a 45 minute screaming fit earlier that day that accompanied the mere thought of a flu shot. Before the shot was even administered {I know. Some of you flu shot haters are thinking smart boy}. So that resulted in the dinner portion of the evening being removed as consequence. But we still made it to the programming portion of the evening. Which, for that night was a program called Bravehearted Boys that was taking place at a local church.
I liked the programming {talking to your boys about their strengths and helping them to become real life superheros.}. But what I most enjoyed was just getting to focus on him. Just getting to stare at his cowlic {I love that little permaswirl}. Getting to hold him in my lap so he could better see the stage. Hearing him giggle. And getting to have him sit and hear from me, affirmations about every way that I think he is amazing. And hoping that he soaked even one ounce of it up.
At the end, all the kids were asked to go on the stage for a dance party. I encouraged B to go. But he did not want to. If you’ll recall his Kindergarten Roundup situation, he does not like new. I’ve found that he can be quite timid, oddly. Oddly, only due to the fact that his father and I aren’t exactly timid creatures. But I asked him to try, for me. And so he went, guided by another young boy. And then, all the kids were dancing, and he stood center stage, bottom lip curled out, eyes wide as could be. He seemed scared. Definitely uncomfortable. And watching him made me feel uncomfortable.
It was one those parenting moments where you feel like you’re playing a game show called What would you do?! I wanted to run up there and tell him he could be done. I wanted to scold him for not being able to try new things. But mostly, I wanted to cry. I stood in my pew and watched him until the song finished, and he returned to me. When it was time to be done, we walked hand-in-hand to the car. Chatting about the program, the next day, and the flu shot incident. I decided not to break in to a whole philosophical convo with my 5 year old at that moment. And rather, preserve the goodness of the evening.
We went home and I put him to bed. And after I left his room, I cried. I am completely aware it doesn’t make any sense now. But I cried. Because sometimes feeling for your children and yourself can be completely draining. And emotionally exhaustive. It may have been due to the 45 minute tantrum I’d dealt with earlier in the day. Or the 9 month well-check earlier for the littlest. But at that moment, I was fixated on the thought that he would ever feel that uncomfortable or alone or scared. And I felt conflicted about the proper way to have parented in that teachable moment.
I told Adam, through tears, that in that moment, I felt like I’d somehow failed Barrett. Like I’d not helped him to grow his confidence. Or as though I’ve caused him to be too safe. To not take chances. And that maybe I’ve even passed down my anxiety. And that it was heartbreaking. And honestly, I think I was obsessing over feeling like I didn’t know that boy on the stage. It was definitely an over thought, over analyzed cry. One that this mama is prone to. When I feel like I’ve done it wrong. Or when I feel like I suck at this business. My husband tells me I make it all bigger than it needs to be. That I put too much of it on myself. And I agree. No one is responsible for every action of another person.
But gosh, don’t we all have those moments as parents? Heck, maybe even as humans? The times where we question if what we’re doing is right. Where we know there are many ways to handle a situation and we just hope the one we choose is right? And if we’re parents, we wonder if how we’re parenting is right for that child. No matter their ages, we have moments where we want to know when to give more and when to help less. We wonder how we know when to teach, when to cherish, and when to wave our hands in the air like we just don’t care. How we know if we are making an impact each day. And if we’re actually doing it the best we’re able to. And if so, when we’ll know that to be true?
The next morning, Barrett woke, rested and ready to head to Legoland and to see his cousins. He was bubbly. Giggly. And the Barrett that I feel like I know better. Not the sad boy I saw on the stage. Not the boy I’d shed tears for the night before. He seemed like my own bravehearted, tender, loving boy.
I found myself watching him more closely over the weekend. Trying to figure out where that timid, shy, less-confident boy was hiding. And what, exactly, brought him out into the forefront. But you know what? The more I thought about it, I realized I should have expected that. I should have been prepared for him to act like that on the stage. He didn’t want to go up there. And he was going to make that very clear. I know that boy. I know the boy who gets tired. And crabby. And I know the boy that loves to sing in the church program as loudly as possible without a care in the world. I know the boy who talks back. And I know the boy who other mommas say is the sweetest little guy ever. So I should have reminded myself that there was a chance, he’d get up there and be a negative Nelly.
I think, honestly, I just didn’t want everyone else to see that timid, shy boy. That was a big part of it, I think. Part of the reason I felt such an emotional response. Because I want my children to be confident. To never be walked all over. I want then to have brave hearts. And honestly, I want other people to experience the parts of my children that I know to be good, and lovely, and the best. Not because I need people to see me as a perfect parent {I think it’s likely pretty evident by now that perfection is neither my goal or my reality}, but because as a mother, I have to admit that there are days where I believe that my children truly are the best… the sweetest… the funniest… and more. Don’t we all think that of our children? Despite the things that drive us bonkers about our children, don’t we believe that they are absolutely incredible beings? I guess that’s a perk of being a momma. Finding perfection daily in imperfect children. And knowing how lucky we are to experience it all.
Parenting is not easy. But spending time thinking about parenting and how to be a better parent, well, that must be easy because I think about it more than most things. And I suppose I am content to spend my time that way. Because these little dudes have stolen my heart in a way I honestly truly never ever anticipated. So I’ll take the good with the bad {and if I take it all, then I’d have the facts of life…} over not having any of it, any day.
Overall, date night was a success. And I look very forward to more and more of mama-little dude dates. But next time, I hope that neither of us ends the night in tears. Unless they’re tears of laughter. I suppose, that’ll be my next goal.
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