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Archive for May, 2019

There’s a lot of poop talk in this house. And talk about butts and buttholes and all sorts of variations that are probably much more inappropriate than I realize because they’re smart enough to keep it in Norwegian. I mean, honestly. Is it really necessary to throw in some anatomical slang when asking your brother to pass the cereal? At breakfast? Before we’re even really awake?

It seems that, once again, we are entering a new phase. Those teenage hormones haven’t had an effect on his height yet, but the signs are there that they are beginning to infiltrate the firstborn’s brain. Mood swings, anger, sadness, wanting to be alone but not alone at the same time….gah. I know i should be sympathetic — hello, monthly cycle of hormonal upheaval — but it’s caught me a bit off guard. Especially with my kind hearted pacifist.

 

Projecting again, folks. I remembered yesterday that I’d written a post when the boys were smaller about how I was hoping they’d behave someday. Still waiting to find out, but when they are at their most unguarded I sometimes get a peek. Like seeing a bright light shine from behind a curtain.

CR was tense and nervous about playing in a soccer tournament yesterday. He fell in the second game and hurt his arm, but stiff-upper-lipped it and didn’t make a sound until he came out and folded himself into me. Afterwards he ran off to find his brothers, and when I went off to find him, they were sitting together in a heap per usual. CRs head leaned against K’s shoulder, K stroking his CRs hair, disappointed he’d forgotten his wallet because he’d liked to have bought something from the concession stand to help CR feel better.

Two things went through my head: 1) Thank you, God, for giving them each other. They will be able to deal with anything the world throws at them as long as this God-brother-love bond remains.  

2) I relax a bit about the unrelenting, near constant, totally maddening references to below-the-waist body parts (WHY??? WHY MUST WE WORK ‘BUTTHOLE’ INTO EVERY SENTENCE??? AND WHO TAUGHT THEM TO MOON??). In this case the words are, thankfully, only skin deep.

Fast forward a few hours, and we’re home again. CR scored a goal in the final game, and his confidence switched on like a hundred watt light bulb as the muscles around my heart simultaneously relaxed. That beautiful moment when your child realizes what you’ve known all along: he IS good enough. He CAN. Send a silent shout-out to God, rejoicing with Him in all the moments like that He’s surely shared with us, nodding and fistpumping in the heavenly realm.

 

Now I’d promised them that I’d go out of my own comfort zone and join them — digitally — in Minecraft. (Is not being physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually present for them enough? Honestly.) So they set me up and there we are, all of our little block-headed avatars frolicking in the cubic mountains of some Minecraft realm.

I understand the game’s appeal. I mean, the landscapes are quite lovely. So many flowers! And random animals! And look over there, is that a mushroom the size of a tree? A lava waterfall? What IS over this next mountain? Does it really go on forever?

And just like that, Mama was lost. No clue how to get back to the house we’d been building.  A sigh from the couch, ‘Mom, where are you?’ And then the curtain parted again, and my 8 year old was suddenly the adult. ‘Don’t move, okay? I’m going to come to you. Do you see me? Now just follow me. Stay close. Look, this is how you fly.’

I meekly did as I was told, and returned to togetherness.  

We’re all going to be fine.

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