Reciting the months of the year, Trinidad (age 7) is angry that Sam (age 5) wants his own turn without "help" from his brother. He storms out of the house. When he returns, Trinidad says the only support he would like from me is some help in "killing" someone (doesn't everymother quake to hear it?). I ask him how he is feeling and we move toward playfulness in saying it louder and louder, giggling a little, but still "frustrated and annoyed."
Clarity surfaces about Trin's needs to be seen for what he knows but a desire to be "invisible" around what he does not. He only wants to be heard reciting the months he can successfully put in a line. With Sam's help, we come up with a solution that works for all. Trin will "help" me by saying the ones he knows. Quickly he realizes that he knows almost all and feels relieved, his confidence returned.
Then Sam shows how the stuffed bear can do yoga on my ball. His older brother takes the bear, saying he is afraid that if he does not just take it, Sam will not offer or be willing to share it. I take a breath and glance furtively about me for the nearest Deep End. The previous conflict, only moments under our belt, took about 20 minutes to work through. And now we're 7 minutes into this one.
How long will I last?
I connect with my own feelings of exhaustion, really longing for ease in this moment. Peace. Connection. I find relief in this self-empathy. And I realize that the overwhelm I felt a moment before had to do with the thought that the challenges might go on and on, be more than I could stay present for. But only this is the present. Only now.
And I am doing it.
Then comes the sweet reality that my children don't enjoy conflict either. While we prefer the resolution process of NVC to simply duking it out and dividing ourselves into different rooms (not that any of these are entirely abandoned, mind you), we would all still rather find the places we do connect with joy. We prefer the ease of harmony to the tension of dissonance, every one of us.
And I know that my greatest support lies here. In being human -- all of us, not one with an infinite capacity to stay present for conflict, nor the slightest inclination to spend more time here than would meet needs.
We get through the challenge of The Bear on the Ball, the boys agreeing to turns, hearing each others' frustrations, needs for autonomy unmet. And then I ask, "Can we all take a break from conflict for awhile? I'm feeling tired and needing some rest and the simple joy of connecting with you both. How does that sound to you, guys?"
"Yeah, no kidding, mom!" they both say with a laugh.
The sun breaks and we head for the garden.
Calendar and Current Events
13 years ago
2 comments:
That is sweet. So good to be your co-parent, and to see you work through these things. It's a lesson for me, very precious.
Dearest K--
Every moment of every time you put yourself on the line for a child will be returned.
Max often gets calls from his friend when he's visiting me.
"Whatcha doin?" his friend asks.
"Vising my mom."
"Max, you're the only one I know who visits their mom!"
In another incident, Max, 16 says, "oh, I'll run to the car and get it!"
A parent asks, "is that a teenager?"
We're surrounded by people saying how wonderful Max is. Do they remember saying he would be a serial killer when he threw tantrums at 2? They wanted me to lock him in his room then, and I didn't. Hardheaded or pigheaded, I don't know. It just seemed inhumane.
Now, he's a human, a real human.
They do their dance of fire and anger, pushing and fighting for their share. But when it comes time for them to give back, they are there.
The most moral thing we can do for this world is what you're doing--raising human beings to help us out later.
TRIN, YOUR MOM DOESN'T TREAT YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL!!!!
hooray!
Post a Comment