Wild at Heart in the Garland Home

As you may have noticed, being a mother to boys completely freaks me out. 

Aggressive play. 
Random wrestling moves that include having your brother by the throat.
Jumping from the highest point to the lowest point....45 times. 
Climbing the book case.
Climbing the retaining wall. 
Dragging your brother around the floor by his ankle. 
Digging for worms.
Picking up sticks and using them as swords/guns/lasers/arrows to kill the bad guys.
Making all of your toys engage in epic battle with each other. 
Becoming easily obsessed with karate moves. (Justin saw 20 seconds of a karate movie and punched the TV.  I wish I was joking.)

Every single one of these happen weekly, and each and every time, I have an instant response inside my head.  I've heard myself yell "No! Get down! There are no bad guys! Do not pretend to shoot your brother! You are going to get hurt! That is dangerous! That's disgusting!  You are going to break your neck!"  It goes on and on.  The question being constantly asked in my head is "Seriously? Why can't they play quietly like normal people?"

And I would have to admit that a great deal of my efforts are because frankly, it's totally embarrassing when my child tackles his brother or yells "I'm going to kill you!" in public.  You would guess they are watching Gladiator 24/7 in the Garland house.  The fact that I'm a therapist that loves to work with children doesn't help the judgement....or should I say, the fear of judgement.  The quiet, can't-we-all-just-get-along, coffee drinking girl inside of me longs to get my children to sit down, color something besides the wall, and make their toys help each other. 

And in the interest of time, we'll all just acknowledge that it has never worked and I'm causing myself a great deal of grief trying to turn these boys into girls. 

There, I said it. 

So I'm an avid reader (often reading a book every 5 days plus the Bible and occasionally several books at a time), and I ran into a dry spell recently.  At several recommendations, I had bought a copy of Wild at Heart by John Eldredge for Chris to read.  Turns out that Chris is actually too wild at heart to read the book, so it's been sitting around the house.  I decided to look it over, and lo and behold...it's changed my entire perspective of my boys. 

I hate giving synopses of books, mostly because I'm afraid I won't do the author justice.  However, the moral of his book is that God created man in His own image, in the wilderness, prior to the Garden of Eden.  He's built to be an explorer, a warrior, a ruler over all things.  Eldredge says "Like it or not, there is something fierce in the heart of every man."  Essentially, Eldredge argues that God made man with a tendency to seek an adventure to live, a battle to fight and a beauty to rescue. 

So as a mother, I read this book and it stung to the very core.  When I tell my boys to play nice, be quiet, and don't do anything dangerous, I feel like I can see down the span of time to the men I am creating.  Nice, quiet, fearful men who have no idea about the true identity of themselves or the power they possess.  My greatest fear is the picture of them sitting at an office job, knowing they are unhappy and not rising up and walking away.  I am afraid of my sons seeing a challenge and being so fearful that they will fail that they don't even try.  I would consider myself an epic failure were my sons to not recognize the man inside of them. 

I want warriors.  I want men who will rise up to the occasion and fight for what they believe in.  I want my sons to be fierce.  And I want them to be tender to their beauty.  And I want them to protect their babies.  And is it so much to ask for them to take care of me when I am incontinent someday?  (probably.)

So I'm going to ignore my own fear.  I'm going to stop (as best as I can!) trying to get them to settle down.  And I'm going to have faith that they won't end up in prison.  Chris and I have agreed that when they set up fights, we are going to gently lead them into a reason for the fight (like a beauty to rescue).   We are going
to acknowledge wounds, yet bolster them up to know that they can overcome pain.  We will help them to write the rules of God on their hearts, but we won't press them to be nice (that one is hard).  In short, I will step aside so that these boys grow up as God intended them to be.  And Chris?  He's going to show them how to be a man. 

My best quality is my innate, natural ability to give up control.  Not. 

And by the way, if this is being read in court in 20 years, and one or both of my boys are in trouble, can I just say this? 
The alternative was too heartbreaking to accept.   I refuse to break the spirit of my boys.
And I'd rather take my chances on God's design rather than my own.

The LORD is my strength and song,
And He has become my salvation;
This is my God, and I will praise Him;
My father's God, and I will extol Him.
The LORD is a warrior;
The LORD is His name. 
                             - Exodus 15:2-3

Why I was fired by PT

I flunked my first thing ever. 

Always the perfectionist unto death do we part, I finally got the ax-- in physical therapy, no less. 

Why, you ask? 

I have to admit...I was flabbergasted as well.  Somebody can be fired from PT? Really?  I can come in pain, and then leave in pain?  What kind of treatment plan is that?  As a mental health therapist, I would never get away with that.  Can you imagine?  Client came depressed and left depressed.  I guess my job is done here. 

The reality is that I'm about to whine.  If this bothers you, you might want to cease reading here. 

THEY GAVE ME HOMEWORK THAT I COULD NEVER ACCOMPLISH.  EVER. 

And here is my homework;  Do 10 exercises/stretches, 3 times a day. 

Doesn't that sound easy? 

I guess you might be wondering what kind of injury brought me to physical therapy.  I have three bulging disks and an annular disk tear in my lower back, and one (just one!) bulging disk in my neck.  Usually the result of significant trauma, mine is simply the result of nothing.  I love that fact so much.

MD: "Wow.  This usually happens to older men who are ripping out trees in the back yard or something.  Not really 30 year old women.  Did anything happen recently?"
Me: "Nope.  Just a 4-year-old, a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old."
MD: "Huh. That's weird."

So I didn't have a mental breakdown and I consider that a win. 

Anyway, back to the most impossible homework of all time.  Ten stretches, three times a day.  Is there a mother in the universe who can accomplish anything three times a day?  I mean seriously! Three times a day?  I'm tasked with doing something three times a day that doesn't:
1) poop
2) puke
3) pee
or
4) cry?

Sorry.  That homework is so impossible that I don't even know where to start.  Anybody who is requiring a mother to self care three times a day is out of their freaking mind.  And if you, physical therapist, cannot understand my limitations, well then I guess we're kind of done here anyway. 

And the saddest part was that my inability to partake in regular stretching was considered some kind of anarchist refusal to do anything.  Crazy. 

So here is a list of things that I can accomplish three times a day:

• Change diapers
• Say "Justin, you must wipe your buns.  Yes, every time you poop.  Seriously."
• Look for three pairs of underwear after Justin has refused to wipe. 
• Break up a fight
• Put children in time out
• laundry
• dishes
• meals
• pray (but only because I do that while doing other stuff too)
• make a pot of coffee and then turn it on twice to reheat the coffee since I got distracted and never got to drink it the first round
• Go to the restroom and get interrupted for ridiculous reasons (i.e. "where's my green car that I saw two years ago?" and "can I have some cheese?" and "Mom? I just saw a flying monkey!")

That's it.  No joke. 

Their other idea is for me to take a break from volleyball on Mondays.  Never going to happen.  Again, I sound like an anarchist unwilling to follow any instructions.  However, what kind of improvement will it be if I can move easily, but I'm locked up in a padded room in four point restraints? 

Because volleyball nights are the one thing that I guard with my life.  Suddenly, this mother of three is self centered, hostile, and completely unwilling to bend.  I will be at volleyball on Mondays so that I can be supporting all you other freaks my family every other day of the week.  My family has become accustomed.  Stay out of mom's way on Monday night - then you can bug her until kingdom come for the rest of eternity! 

So I was fired.  But the mother of three young children cannot be on a standard treatment plan.  You have to adjust for the fact that between 20 and 40 pounds will be picked up more than 20 times a day.  And a mom has to bend over for boo-boos and tears and hugs and toys and diaper changes and moments of discipline and laundry and sweeping and picking off stickers from the hardwood floor. 

(I could go on and on....that's only what I thought of in the last 5 seconds).

Put simply, I'm not an anarchist, Mr PT man.  I'm a mother in charge of three anarchists who could give a crap about stretches. 

Didn't you hear?  They need me to find the green car that they saw two years ago.  Sigh.

JKenny School of Hard Knocks

Dear Justin,

Your daddy and I have officially kept you alive for three years (in just 3 days).  This feels like a major victory on our behalf, and while it may seem like we are exaggerating, your daddy and I literally high fived each other last night at the prospect of celebrating your third birthday.  Justin is three years old.  Wow.  We did it.

First of all, this year, you forgot your name.  You've always had a family nickname of JKenny (as in jay-kenny....it's your J-Lo name).  But maybe we've used it too much, because now when people ask you your name, you say JKenny.  It's so adorable, but I'm kind of concerned that people might think your daddy and I were on drugs or something when we named you.  That's a goal for year four.  Be able to give your actual name when you are asked.

So at the completion of your second year on this planet, you became a big brother.  And I'll admit, your daddy and I held our breath.  Because....how should I describe it?  Well, son, you are W.I.L.D. 
We wondered if you'd grab her, swing her around like a toy and throw her.  Just because you can.


But you joined your brother in the ranks of great big brothers.

You were exceedingly sweet with your sister.  And really, that defines the paradox that is you.  You are all boy - 100% male.  You leap, run, attack, assault, dig in dirt, spin in circles, climb cupboards, pick up bugs, freak your mom out, risk your life, and show absolutely no fear.  (It's inspiring to those of us who grip the side of the swimming pool for fear of what might happen.)

Crazy boy.

But there is this side to you that almost always catches me by surprise.  First off, your favorite colors are pink and purple.  Could I even make that up?  Just the other day, you said "Mom, I want a pink big boy bike for my birthday."  I asked you what color of cake you wanted for your birthday, and you said "purple, just like Adie.  And I want the cake part to be pink.  My favorite colors!" Just in case you are wondering, this is not new.  You have always said these were your favorite colors.  But you know what?  If any boy could make pink and purple look manly, it's you.  The colors don't seem to make you more feminine...you have managed to make pink and purple look tough. 

Your smile is one of a kind.  Takes my breath away.

And while you have that carefree, wild tinge to you, you also are the person who said "Mommy, I'm so happy to see you" when I got home from work today.  And you can hardly go to bed if somebody doesn't sing a lullaby or rub your back at night.  And sometimes you come running to ask for a hug, and you often then say "Okay, Mom.  You can have another hug after school today." 
Also, you happen to be the life of the party.  Your teacher at preschool always tells me that you are the first to jump into a project and get other children to engage in activity.  Your smile, dimples and happiness are electric.

Your play knows no boundaries.

However, our house has taken a beating this last year.  You colored the cabinets in the kitchen with a green marker, and I still haven't figured out how to get it off. (You cracked me up because you said Adie did it, and then you said Santa did it.)  And there is a hole in your wall from when you took off the wall protector thing and then slammed the door handle repeatedly into the wall.  Also the towel holder in the bathroom broke this year after you swung on the towel and the holder fell down.  And you swung from the ceiling fan over mommy and daddy's bed, breaking off one of the blades. 
But do you know what's nuts?  Every time I see something that you've destroyed, something inside of me just smiles.  I know I should probably be frustrated.  Maybe even angry?  Maybe other moms would be upset that you've done some property damage.  But somehow it makes me love you more.  The energy that you bring to this world can't be contained.  That's always been true about you.  How can I be surprised when you do what you do because you are who you are? (If you are reading this as a teenager, don't you dare use that against me, young man.)

You thought you played soccer in the Fall of 2010.  Not true...

This year, it finally happened that you had to experience a bit of separation from Chase.  Chase played soccer, and we dressed you as close as we could to help you adjust to his activities.  We even bought you soccer gear.  You were adorable, and stood right next to Chase.  But it was evident that he was moving into something that you weren't ready for.  Then Chase started preschool in the older room, and you didn't attend school until November.  You struggled with this, but you and I spent extra time together and I think it helped you develop some individuality. (Because, certainly Chase wouldn't be caught dead saying his fave color was pink.  That's all you, darling.) And now, in school, you are in the younger room and Chase is in the older room.  You still track him carefully, but you are starting to branch out into your own stuff. 

But you both still desperately love each other.

You are the best of friends. 
By the way? There is not a more stubborn person on the planet.  Despite our multiple attempts to cajole you into doing something you don't want to do, the only thing that has ever worked is by telling you that you can't do it.  Suddenly, you get this enormous grin on your face and nothing will stop you from doing what you were told was off limits.  Daddy and I have used this to get you to stay in the backyard, to get dressed, to eat your vegetables....you name it.  One thing is clear....this is going to seriously bite us in the you-know-where someday soon.  But child? It's really your own dang fault.  (It could be ours, but I'll never admit it.  You did get the stubbornness from somewhere, mind you....)

At some point this year, you became a boy.

You also have a wild temper. Daddy and I have noticed that you really need help calming down.  We are getting good at noticing the moment where you switch from angry rage to devastation and need for comfort.  Again, it particularly strikes me that somehow this inspires a smile from me.  You are so passionate.  Your emotion is pure and honest.  You hide nothing.  We have some work to do around the rage, but still you recover.  Heaven help the person who gets in your way though.  I've made that mistake before. 

You get red cheeks when you are tired.

This past year was a big year for you and me.  Your first year, you were a busy boy.  You really couldn't be bothered with anybody besides Chase, or anything besides physical development.  Your second year, you were a busy boy.  You were so physically active and continued to be intimately tied with Chase.  But this last year, you seemed to finally recognize my role in your life.  We bonded pretty tightly as soon as Chase went to school.  I, of course was always here for you and always full of love for you, but this past year it seems like you noticed me for the first time.

I love you so much.



You are pure joy

I love being your mom, Justin.  Sometimes I wonder if it's for selfish reasons though.  You're inspiring.  You push me to be more bold.  And as if that wasn't enough, this past year my love for you has shoved me straight into the arms of God.  Your seizure in 2010 really freaked me out.  So much so that every time I think about wandering away from God, I can see your face that particular day.  It was blank and you were gone.  For those three minutes, my blood ran cold.  The idea of losing you was crushing.  There really isn't enough words to describe how frightening those minutes were.  It's safe to say that I'll never be the same after having a glimpse of...well I just can't even write it.  But my love for you changed me forever in that moment.  Oddly enough, it's the worst moment of my life, and also the best thing that ever happened to me.  And that's only true because of how much I love you, JKenny.  Somehow the amount of love I have for you ends up feeling selfish.

I guess there is a moment as a parent where you are sacrificial in nearly everything you do, yet it's so rewarding and fulfilling that the sacrifice is pure joy.  You are pure joy.  Each year that passes, not only do I become a better person by knowing you, but my respect for who you are becoming grows ten-fold.

Maybe this year, we could avoid swinging from the ceiling fan.  But, you know, it's just a thought.

Jkenny.  You are one of a kind.  Thank you for being my teacher and enrolling me in the JKenny School of Hard Knocks.  I kind of wish you had not made me the mascot. 
Love always,
Mommy



My Batting Average for Crazy

After Justin's seizure, I ended up being this changed person in hiding.  I remember sitting on my bed, thinking to myself "How am I ever going to tell Chris that I talked to God?" and "what will my friends think?"  and "should I commit myself to the psych unit?  I've admitted several people who also talked to God.  Sure, they were naked, but I'm only missing the naked part.  That's only 50%.  That's .500.  That's an excellent batting average for crazy."

I think that the desperate desire to find God immediately after Justin's seizure was intimately related to the fact that a few weeks later, I became the mother of three children that were officially outside of my body. 

When I had one baby, I was scared because I didn't have any idea what I was doing.  But I had time and it was really fun.  I was mildly panicked because I wanted to do it well, but I was reveling in the realization that my heart had doubled it's capacity to love in about 2 milliseconds.  That was nuts.  I kept waiting for it to go back to normal...waiting for me to become the self-centered person I'd always been.  But it was permanent.  The day after Chase was born, I couldn't remember what was important to me before I laid eyes on him.  I still can't.

When I had two babies (21 months apart), I started to panic more because I still wanted to do it really well and I started to get overwhelmed.  Two kids in diapers?  Two kids in cribs? Two part time jobs?  I put a lot of pressure on myself, trying to be all things to all people and working 48 hours a week while trying to convince myself that I was only working part time (since 20 of those hours were at night).  I ended up sucking at both being a mom and being an employee.  And my seizure disorder got worse.  Basically I was mildly awful at everything I did, mostly because I was working at 200% of my capacity.  I hit a brick wall with the seizures, reduced my hours and found balance.  I had been the one ruining myself, so I just stopped....easy enough. 

So when Adelai was born, one year ago today, I was overjoyed.  I really was.  I love being a mother to each one of these children. 

But.  I have not woken up a single day of the past 365 days without feeling the heavy weight of being a mother of 3 children, 4 and under.  It is the sense of having a hundred balls in the air, and they are all falling down and all that I can do is try. 

The message constantly running through my mind from the day of Justin's seizure was this: these are God's babies.  He knows exactly how to care for them. I've got nothing. 

So I went and found me some Jesus. 

But it doesn't mean that the balls aren't falling out of the sky. Put another way, if you've ever done a squat with free weights, it's the sense that you have a load on your shoulders that is excruciatingly heavy but your tasked with a rep of four to six.  And you can feel the weight all the way into your feet because the weight is overwhelming, and your whole body is shaking...but you keep going.  The only thing you can really do is focus on your form and hope that your spotter is paying attention.

The only thing that helps me is knowing that I'm not the one holding up this weight either. 

So I've stopped watching TV and I've immersed myself in scripture.  It's all I've got.  And it's enough.  He is enough.  And it steadies the panic in my heart and I'm on solid ground.  I don't think a psych admission is in order.  At least not right now. 

It's intriguing to me that I'm the most blessed I have ever been - I have a family I dearly love - but I look like I've been hit by a bus almost every day.  For 365 days, I've thought to myself each morning "it's okay if I look trashed today.  It's just one day, right?" 

One year later.....I'm understanding why moms have a reputation for wearing bizarre clothes, looking exasperated and desperate.  I've yet to brush my teeth in the car, but I get it.  I finally get it.

Anyway.  My point escapes me.  I guess I'm saying that having three kids has been really tough.  I love them so much.  They are the only people on the planet that could push me this far past my own abilities.  Because believe me, I have been pushed beyond my abilities....emotionally, physically, spiritually, financially, you name it. 

But, I've learned to focus on my form.  And I'm trusting my spotter.  And I believe with my whole heart that when these babies are raised up, I'll finally be able to put the weight down and I'll see that God was raising me up, too.

My Adelai

Dear Adelai,

You are turning 12 months old next week.  It honestly blows my mind that you are nearly one year old.  Feels like just yesterday that the ultrasound tech told me that you were a girl.  I had been coaching myself on how to respond if the tech told me you were a boy.  Because oh, how I wanted you.  I knew I was missing somebody and I knew I was missing something.  And I knew, walking into that ultrasound that if you had been a boy, I would have spent my whole life loving you just the same, yet missing something. 

When the technician said "It's a girl!",I instantaneously burst into tears.  Not the cute weepy tears, but the sobbing, snot filled tears.  I think I even immediately attacked the tech, saying "You aren't kidding me, are you? Are you sure?  How sure are you?" Then we had this incredibly awkward moment where she showed me your...ahem...body parts and I walked away from that appointment with absolute glee. 

I couldn't wait to see your beautiful face.

And when I saw your face, I loved you immediately - meaning, the moment that my eyes saw you, I loved you with every ounce of my heart.  It's the kind of love that transforms a mother's heart into something brand new.  As in, one hour before you were born, I thought I'd be overjoyed to see you.  The second you were born, I was overjoyed at the prospect of giving my life for you.  I was 100% willing to do whatever it took to guard you and nurture you and love you all the days of my life. 

You found your place quickly....right on my chest, burrowed under my chin. 

We spent the first 72 hours of your life just like this.

I was a bit concerned that you'd be crushed by your brothers.

But you really aren't.  You handle them with innate skill.  As if they are basically your entertainment, and if they happen to flip you around and drag you around the house (that only happened three times), you are just fine. 

You are a trooper.

So you came into our family like a breath of fresh air.  Previously I had been gravely outnumbered.  It looked grim.  I saw smelly boys with potty talk humor and many sport programs on TV in my future.  And I wondered how a baby girl would handle it.  But Chase, Justin, Mommy and Daddy all agree:

You are our princess.

So I loved you at sight, but the more I learn about you, the more I'm in love with you all over again.  Funny how that works.  I think one of my favorite things about you right now is your disposition.  You are literally so gentle.  All year long, you have learned things very early, yet held out to use your skill until you are 100% certain that it will work out.  Recently that applies mostly to walking.  We've all seen you walk.  In fact, both Daddy and I have seen you lift a stool up over your head while standing without support.  But nevertheless, you aren't 100% confident, so you aren't about to do it.  And it turns out you'll walk without a second thought when you are moving towards food.  (You love food.  Really a lot.  Like, more than anything.) But, for now, you book it old school by crawling.  You actually did that with crawling too.  You didn't crawl for the longest time, and then suddenly you just crawled across the house like it was no thing.  It's as if you have this thing you are working on, and it's in your back pocket until you've worked it out in your head.  And you won't budge until you are ready.

Right now, you race around the house like a pro with the walker.

And every time your brothers "toot" and consequently nearly die from laughter, I look at you and wonder if the boys laughing at "toots" might break your gentle little heart someday.  You honestly look offended already. 

And you are happy.  Everyone always tells me that you are so happy.  I love that about you.

My happy girl.

But my all time, most favorite thing about you is that you already know how to hug.  You come crawling over to me, out of the blue, pull your self up and lunge your body towards me.  Then, you rest your head on my shoulder and you talk.  Sometimes, you hug me so long that we dance to music and sing and you say "mama mama mama" the whole time. 

So, my sweet girl, Happy Birthday.  If you had anything to do in picking me as your mommy, I'm so thankful.  God's fingerprints are all over you and I can't wait to see all that He has planned for you.  It is my honor to be charged with raising you up into a gentle woman of God. 

And one more thing. 

Adie, I don't know everything.  Actually, if we are being honest, I pretty much know very little.  I know I will mess up a lot.  But it won't be because I didn't want to be perfect for you.  It really is because I really need Jesus every single day - all day long.  I hope you know that, as much as I'm head over heels in love with you, God loves you so much more. 

And Adelai? I pray for you every day.  I pray that 1) you will grow to love God with all your heart and 2) that you will grow to love God with all your heart, despite your imperfect mother.  And all I have to say about that is that, by the grace of God, we will get through this...you and me (and some other people too, like your daddy...but nonetheless...you and me.)

I love you with all my heart, Adie-girl.  Words will never tell you the full extent, but I'll spend my whole life trying to show you. 
Love,
Mommy

Family Movie Night

I love this age with my kids where we get to decide on traditions and establish the identity of our family.  Recently I've been focusing on showing Chase what it means to be a Garland.  This is actually pretty tough, since I don't really know what it means to be a Garland either.  But, nonetheless as a parent, life doesn't wait for you to figure it out before you are tasked with the responsibility of explaining it to your child. 

It's pretty crazy, when you think about it.  I'm the mom, yet the kids teach me all day long about the meaning of life.  All I'm really doing is teaching them that wiping your buns after you go to the potty is not optional, but rather mandatory.  Because that's what Garlands do. 

I guess when I think about all that the kids teaches me vs. all that I teach them, it's probably very accurate that I do chores and they are served meals.  It's sort of spot on. 

Of course, the world would not recognize that, but Jesus would.  I hope I remember this the next time I'm doing dishes for the 4th time that day.  They are baby rabbi, and I'm the student.  I should follow after them carefully....

Anyway, I digress.  (shocker?)

We have started a tradition a few months back called Family Movie Night.  We made a sign that says "Please Do Not Disturb. Garland Family Movie Night In Progress!".  Hand prints of all the family members are added to the sign as signatures and it's placed in the window by our door.  Chase makes extra effort to make sure that all the doors are locked and everybody who walks by our home hears through the window that they cannot come in. (Next month will be our lesson on hospitality.)

In our defense, we have decided that (via family vote), were somebody to actually come to the door and have to be turned away, we would invite them back in the morning for doughnuts and chocolate milk. 

It seems especially important that we discuss in advance who "The Garlands" are.  We go through a roll call (4 times) and determine that, in fact, we are all present (including God).  Then Adelai goes to bed and we take our designated spots on the couch to watch the movie.  Somehow, Chris scored an entire couch to himself while I cuddle under a blanket with the two boys.  I think I won that. 

I'm not sure what this will evolve to when they grow.  Probably a game night?  And surely, it will move from the Saturday night position to a different night where they are willing to choose us over fun....but I'm hoping that when the day arrives that the choice has to be made (family or friends???), we'll at least have a long standing tradition of picking our family full of friends. 

We are establishing a sense of belonging and esteem for these children, but truly it just comes back full circle.



     

Toughness

There are many words to describe my oldest boy.  Recently I've added some things like "limit-tester" and the like, but a few descriptors have remained constant the past few years. 

Here is a tentative list:

• Cautious
• Aware of all things that might go wrong
• self parent
• comfortable with both feet on the ground at all times
• easygoing in all things, except when he feels like his life is in danger..which is always.  Actually, let's not be dramatic. It's only, like 98% of the time.

The best way to describe Chase's disposition is probably by example.

Example #1: At family camp last year, we camped by a lake.  The boys were both in horrifying bathing suits....(in my defense, the picture on the swimsuit did not reveal that each child's...ahem...genitalia (?) ...would be outlined like spandex....except for worse than that.  Is there a worse than that? See below. I think you'll agree that yes...this is so much worse.)


You may take a few moments to collect yourself.

So how close did Chase, given the safest swimsuit of all time, come to swimming in the lake? (Which, by the way, was boxed out by the dock for children?)


This close.  And no closer.

Occasionally he would get into this blow up boat, or maybe a floater.  But NEVER when the water went above his knees.  (The boat was even worse....when it started to leave the sand and actually float, he nearly had a panic attack.) We were there for 2 days, and he never advanced further than his knee.  He even knelt down in the water to try and get his floater to touch the water "like the other kids".  But dare-devil, he is not.

He would be the perfect insurance auditor. 

Example #2 is simply that, whenever offered something that makes him nervous (bikes, scooters, really anything where his body is not 100% in his own control) he will tell people "I'm going to do that when I'm 5.  When I'm 5, I'll be ready."  Who needs to parent that kid?  Can you see why we were wholly unprepared for Justin, who at Family Camp, ran at a dead sprint on the deck towards the lake with full intent to jump in the water? 

Parenting Goal #145 for Chase:  Encourage him to realize life isn't scary.
Parenting Goal #1 for Justin:  Encourage him to realize that he should at least be somewhat scared of life, since he's going to break copious amounts of bones. 

So, all this to say that I had the most heartbreaking conversation with Chase last night.  He climbed up on my lap and with big solemn blue eyes,  began to tell me that his friend at school "is tougher than me". 

"Why do you think that, honey?" I asked.
"Well, (insert bully name here) yells at me and calls me bad names, and then (insert tough kid's name here) yells back at him and hits him in the head.  I never do that." he replied. 

He looked so sad.  Here is this moment.   As his mom, it's evident that part of the heart of Chase puts him out in the world wherein his giant heart and careful manner are both occasionally going to be viewed as weakness.  He's kind of right on that.  And he's perceived it which, in retrospect, shouldn't be shocking.

So I said "Chase, the real tough people in this world are the ones who have hurt feelings, but don't hurt back.  That's being tough.  That's real toughness.  And you're the toughest guy I know."
And then Chris the man added "and also they get hurt and don't cry."
(Child therapist Jessica and Man Chris then shared a glance wherein I gave him a piece of my mind and he informed me that I was turning his boy into a wussy girl.)

Then Chase looked at me and said in a very quiet tone, "Mommy?  Am I tougher than Justin?"
This completely broke my heart. 
And all I could say was "I love exactly how tough you are."  I'm crossing my fingers that this was enough. 

I just love this boy.  My hope is that you can teach toughness, but I know for sure you can't teach what Chase has.  He's full of empathy, brilliant, affectionate and he'll change this world. 

Nope, you can't teach that.