Learning.

Phone pic 2/27/10

phone pic 3/17/10

**Originally written 2/2/11**

I love when J wakes up in the morning. He always runs to the couch, looks out the window, and yells, "THE SUN IS AWAKE! It's a brand new day!" without fail.

That kid teaches me so much.

Unfortunately, sometimes it's at his own expense.

I was hurrying around this morning, trying to head off to Disneyland. I just finished getting Hugh all dressed (and by getting Hugh dressed, I mean sitting next to him as he shouts, "NO! I DO IT." and takes a hundred hours to get his shirt situated just-so), and started to clean up from breakfast. J comes running in yelling, "I NEED TO GO POTTY," all frantic like.

"Then go." was the only obvious response to a child that has been doing so for two years all on his own. For some reason, this morning he forgot that simple fact, and just could not handle the task at hand.

"NOOOOOOOOO. I can't! I need YOU to do it."

"I can't go to bathroom for you. That's absurd."

"Mommmmmmmmmm I need you to heeeeeelp me!"

"No way man. You're a big boy."

"No I'm not! I don't want to be a man (think: Peter Pan. his current obsession)."

"Too bad."

"HEEEEELP MEEEEE."

"No."

And then the tantrum of the century occurred. J was weeping and wailing about how he needed help, and for no other reason, then I simply knew he could do it on his own (and I was scrubbing off some dishes that could have been done any other time of the day), I didn't want to.

Good greif, right?

I agree.

But at the time, the annoying factor was off the charts. I told him he wasn't allowed to cry in my kitchen, and I moved him into the front room to oblige my request. So of course, because he is my son, he defiantly, and oh-so-very deliberately, reached his leg over the threshold of living room-kitchen area, and gave me "the stare down" to prove that my blood runs in his (oh! the stubborness), accompanied by the on going weeping and wailing.

I was not impressed.

So I moved his body into his room and told him to cry into his pillow, because no one wanted to hear it. He was granted freedom, upon choosing to act like a human, not an enraged beast.

He didn't think that was fair.

The weeping and wailing continued.

And then I became the beast-child, only when it happens with "the mother", it's slightly less charming. The power struggle continued back and forth; in and out of his room, declaring he needed to stop crying, stop yelling, stop pounding on the door, or kicking and screaming. Each time, deliberately reminding myself to not slam the door on my way out, like the toddler in the situation.

I can only assume how much my neighbors must have enjoyed hearing J max out his tantrum powers with full force. At this point I was ready to pack him up and drop him off across the border. Honestly, I was fuming. As I marched down the hallway, I think my blood even began to boil. When I opened the door, and saw him standing there with his pants now soaking wet, sobbing, I stopped in my tracks.

it came over me like a wave.

"...suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not..."

Instead of shipping him off to Africa, I picked up the crying little boy, and just held him---nasty pants and all.

He squeezed me tight and said, "I'm so sorry Mama... I'm having a hard time!"

And all I could think was, "You have no idea, little man."

As I held him, I began to rock him in my arms. I told him how much I loved him. I started listing off all the different reasons why I thought he was so perfect.

His tear stained face looked up at me with those eyes and said, "And Mom you are the most perfect Mom I have ever had!" And the smile on his face was bigger than ever. All was better in the world. All was forgiven. All was right.

He has no idea.

That kid teaches me so much.

Unfortunately, sometimes it's at his own expense.