On parenting, discipline, faith and forgiveness - how I got to show my son the nature of God while revealing it to myself too.

On Friday we had some of Moose's little friends over for lunch and a playdate after preschool. I was upstairs preparing lunch so I didn't witness the incident, but my friend was downstairs in the playroom with the children. And when I called everyone upstairs for lunch, Moose chucked a pretty decent sized toy at his friend's head and hurt his friend pretty bad. All I heard was a crack and his little friend crying, then Moose trying to flee the scene. When I heard it I made my way downstairs and asked Moose what happened and he kept saying, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry" but in that way that you can tell a person doesn't mean it, they're just saying what they think is appropriate to say. Like when someone asks "How are you?" but they really don't care how you are, it's just the socially appropriate phrase to initiate small talk so you can have the illusion of a social interaction without any real substance. While he was being fake-sorry I asked my friend if her son was okay, and what happened. When she told me what happened I was so embarrassed and really frustrated with Moose. I mean, what in the world??? He knows better! And his poor little friend is only TWO years old and he's chucking big, heavy toys at his face?!?! My son looked up at me and I told him, "That was a very mean thing to do. We don't throw toys and we don't hurt our friends. You're grounded from your Leapster." And I looked down at Moose and I said "Look how your friend feels. What should you do?" and once my boy's eyes really SAW the results of his actions he paused and genuinely apologized to his little injured playmate. Moose's attempt at an apology hug was refused as his friend was too much in pain to leave his mother. We all came upstairs and had lunch and then everyone played together nicely after lunch until our friends went home.

Later that afternoon, Moose asked if he could play his Leapster. And I told him no, because he was grounded from it and I asked him if he remembered what he did earlier. He said "Yes" as fresh tears rose in his eyes. And he looked at me as he blinked and the tears rolled down his fat little cheeks and he said, "But Mama, I sorry." And for a second, I thought about how he would perceive me as his parent if I backed down from his punishment. Would I be flaking out on him as his mom if I was inconsistent? Would he lose respect for my words and decisions if I didn't enforce his punishment?

And then I realized that if I did enforce his punishment, I would be doing exactly to him what I am so grateful that God doesn't do to me. I would be withholding forgiveness even after his confession and expression of contrition.

Is there room for Forgiveness in Discipline? I certainly hope so. If there wasn't, there would be no hope for me, or for any of us for that matter! That's when I decided that I would seize this moment to show Moose what forgiveness is all about. I had an opportunity to show my son a tiny little peek of the kind of forgiveness and redemption that God offers to all of us.

Moose was so sad remembering what he'd done earlier that day. He laid his head on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around my neck and quietly whimpered, "I'm so sorry Mama. I'm so sorry." I answered, "I know. You don't have to be be grounded anymore because I know you really are sorry and you will try to do better next time." My son flicked his head up towards me with a look of total disbelief across his face. The kid looked like he won some kind of lottery or something but his expression quickly clouded over as his relief faded into a look of worry. He said, "You not tell Daddy, okay? You please not tell Daddy I hurt my friend." I said, "Daddy already knows, but I'll tell Daddy you're not grounded anymore."

Moose said, "I not grounded anymore?" as the sun started rising in his eyes, the burden of his punishment lifted. I said, "Nope. You don't have to be grounded anymore. Do you want to play on your Leapster?"

And my son said, "No."

He added, "I just wanna hug you now."

And that's the story of the day I learned that:

1. A child can learn more from forgiveness than he can from punishment.
2. So can I.

Preschool: The Next Frontier

I just dropped Moose off at school for the first time, and I'm writing this from a Starbucks about a mile and a half away.

I am entirely too far away from my baby.

Except he's not a baby.

He's a boy, a fully grown boy, and he's taken over my baby like some kind of evil pod person from outer space, inhabiting the body where my baby used to be.

This suuuuuuuuuuucks!

But here's the thing that is messing with my head more than leaving my son in the care of someone else on a regular basis: I didn't cry.

Now if you know me, you know that I openly claim crying as my "superpower". I am a crier. It used to bug the hell out of my parents and they tried to get me to not cry so much as an emotional outlet when I was little. Of course, that only made me cry more. It wasn't until I journeyed through therapy as a young adult that I claimed my ability to be quickly moved to tears as a gift. I have the gift of a tender, sensitive heart. I love big and I feel deep emotions. As a result I am usually attuned to the emotional needs of those close to me. Coming to that realization made me a little resentful of all the times my folks tried to hush my crying when I was little. Instead of nurturing my sensitive heart and bringing out the best in my natural tendencies, they tried to squash them. That experience was a hurdle for me to overcome, all those years of being invalidated only to find that not only could I use my superpower of crying for good but also it was nothing to be ashamed of.

So anyways, I am quick to cry. Except not this morning. Even as I've traced over and over the morning: putting his things in his new cubby, showing him where to hang his backpack and coat, saying goodbye as he pretty much ignored me because he was playing with the other kids, watching him through the window as I walked away...I still haven't been able to muster up a tear. It's not that I don't care. I'm excited for him to transition into this next stage in life. I miss him. It is very weird to be somewhere without him. I feel very confident in our choice of preschool for him and I feel very comfortable that his sweet spirit will be nurtured and respected there.

I still feel like the Worst Mother In The World for not crying. All of my Mommy Sensibilities tell me that I should be crying. I can't recall how many people told me to bring tissues today...like, everybody! But...nothin'. I don't feel like "Woo hoo! I'm FREE!" but I also don't feel like "WAAAAAAH, MY BABY, MY BABY!!!!" which I kind of thought I would. Or maybe I just thought that's how I was supposed to feel. But it wouldn't be the first time I haven't done or felt the things I thought I was "supposed to" in life. Still, I can't shake the nagging feeling inside that maybe I'm failing by not being conventional. But let's be honest: conventional is soooooo boring. I guess that in addition to the superpower of crying, I also rock the superpower of unconventionality.

What, my hair didn't tip you off?

You've come a long way, Baby

Today my son is four years old. I can hardly believe it.





As I went to sleep last night, I let my mind wander back to the days leading up to his birth. There was this day, where I was surprised to learn that my placenta was dying, and Jack needed to be born faster than I had anticipated. And then there was this day, where I started out exhausted and hungry and wanting to just give up. I honestly believe that if someone else had walked in and said "hey, I'll have that baby for you" on that day I would have been all "Okay! I'm going to go out for a walk and a bagel, you can have this pitocin!" But after that day, I got to have this day. I got to have this boy:

I know, right? SO worth it. Worth every 2 am finger stick, worth every minute of pitocin labor, worth every second of swollen feet and sore back. Completely and absolutely worth it.

The day he was born, all I knew was that I was exhausted and I was elated. He was perfect and pink. I had no idea about the amazing kid he would become. Jackson is sweet and smart. He is compassionate and caring. He would give a hungry person the last bite of his favorite sandwich. His smile lights up a room and his laughter make my heart jump for joy. He is the physical manifestation of all of my hopes and dreams of becoming a mother. He's one of the best gifts in life that God has ever given me.

There was no part of his birthday that went the way I wanted, the way I had planned. But that was an important lesson for me to learn early on in my mothering journey: it doesn't always have to perfect. I've grown from that day of self-loathing and bullying myself as a "failure" and come to realize that there is no single one right answer or way of parenting that will be right for everybody. That was a huge lesson for Little Miss Type A Personality. From the very beginning, nothing I had planned worked out the way I thought it would, and that gave me the freedom to make it up as I go along. My boy's botched birth story is the best way I could have started on my path of motherhood. Because life is not easy, it doesn't always end up the way you thought it would and success isn't a only reward for those who plan and execute, it's also the reward of those who are flexible and adapt. When I dreamt of being a mother, I thought when God made my dreams of being a mother come true that would be the thing I was most thankful for. Instead, when I became a mom I learned to cut myself some slack, to go with the flow and to improvise. I didn't know how to do that before I was a mom. I only knew how to succeed or fail in shame, there was no inbetween.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that becoming a mother gave me so many more important life lessons than just mothering. Becoming a mom changed me, and changed my life in ways I never expected but am forever thankful for. Sometimes I still can't believe that God let me be this kid's mom. Because this kid is amazing. He makes me a better person; I thought it was supposed to be the other way around. And if he can change my world that much in four short years, I can't wait to see what else he accomplishes in life.

Happy fourth birthday, Jackson Phoenix. I'm so thankful that I get to be your mama.