I love my sons.
Not that I don't love my daughters as well, but I have this place in my heart where only the love of male offspring can live. Because honestly, it has to be a very strong place. Guards have to be stationed at the door of this residence. The walls are high and the gates are strong. Bars are at every window, and there's a drawbridge across the moat. Yup, the love I have for my sons is kept where it can't escape my heart.
Because really, if it wasn't, I think I might sometimes have to knock them into next Tuesday.
Each of them has their own special triumphs as well as their own special challenges. I'll go into more detail in later posts, but for now here's a short synopsis of each.
Eldest Son was recently married. He is successful in his chosen line of work, owns his own home, and lives a very independent life. We rarely see him even though he lives in the same city. His father keeps in touch by telephone most times, and we are blessed with visits on the odd occasion. Mostly when he wants to borrow something.
Middle Son has been married for several years and is the father of Cutie. He lives about three hours away, but we still manage to see him once every month or so. There are still stories being told of his time here at the homestead. Many of them are not pretty, but all are certainly memorable.
That's why I'm so surprised at the way I'm handling Caboose, the final installation of the procreation story here in our home. Having been through this before you'd think I'd know what I was doing this time and it would be a piece of cake.
Think again.
Because each installment of the male tribe is unique. Each one comes with his own inimitable set of joys and sorrows. Each has his own distinctive quirks and challenges. The fun comes in trying to guide each one to adulthood without scarring them for life...either mentally or physically.
Or ending up in the loony bin yourself.
Thankfully, that didn't happen with Eldest and Middle. Of course, it helped that Eldest lived with his "real" mother instead of with me, his wicked stepmother. And lest you think we had it easy, let me tell you that Middle more than made up for the sometimes-absent Eldest. Oh, so very much more.
This brings us to Caboose. Caboose will be 13 in just a few short days, and he is playing it to the hilt. Puberty has taken his vocal range down to the basement. While he has that nasal tone boys of his age get when their voices change, you can tell that in a year or two he's going to have a resounding baritone; deep, rich and full. That's a good thing.
Another good thing is the personal hygiene situation. We've gone from physically placing him into a tub with water running and blockading the door until he's clean, to being unable to get him out of the shower in less than 45 minutes. EVERY DAY. Our water bill is sky-high. At least the house no longer smells of unwashed boy. That's a good thing.
However, the sass quotient has increased dramatically in the past year, along with the inability to actually MOVE when asked to do something. There is no "hurry up" in Caboose. There is no "do it NOW" in Caboose. With Caboose, there is always later. ALWAYS. And later gets later every day.
When asked to do a chore, he always wants to "just finish" whatever he can find to occupy him other than the chore. When he does finally get to the chore at hand, he takes an eternity to complete it, complaining all the while about how unfair it is and how his sister doesn't have to do this so why should he, and about what bad parents we are for utilizing child labor as a source for housework.
In haste, let me add here that the kid has three chores to complete. Three.
1. Every other week he has to load the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen after dinner for an entire week.
2. Every Monday he has to replace the bag in the trash compactor. He doesn't even have to take out the trash - he just has to replace the bag.
3. He has to clean the bathroom every other Saturday and help out with cleaning the house every Saturday.
I know, I know. Don't tell me. We're SLAVEDRIVERS.
And to top it off, we don't even give him an allowance. WHAT KIND OF PARENTS ARE WE???
As I said, you'd think I would have this down pat by now. Instead, I find large bald patches on my head from tearing my hair out as I shriek at him to actually do what I told him to do. As I look at it, I do believe Caboose is the most challenging of all three boys.
So what's the point of this little diatribe? Is it that I'm a poor parent and want to share it with the world? Is it that I should just give up and let him raise himself? Is it that I'm too (insert your own word here) old, tired, impatient, verbal, inconsistent, stubborn, strict, or whatever to handle this correctly? Or is it that maybe there's something that God is trying to teach me through it?
I think it's a combination of all of it.
Yes, I want to share my struggles with others. It lets them know we're all imperfect. And hopefully it guides them to One Who Is Perfect. No, I can't just give up. God told me that in His Word. Maybe I am old, tired, impatient, etc. And maybe, just MAYBE, God is really trying to teach me something by this.
Imagine if mothers felt the same about their sons when they were eighteen years old as they did when they were eighteen minutes old. And what if eighteen-year-old sons felt the same way about their mothers as they did when they were toddlers? No one would ever leave home.
I firmly believe God gives us puberty and the years beyond to get us ready for the time when that child of ours, our precious little-baby-turned-part-monster, will leave the nest. By the time that happens most parents are more than ready. Most children can't wait to get out on their own. And everyone sighs deeply in relief when all is said and done.
This is just another instance where I can see God's hand at work. He moves to do yet another thing that I cannot understand, and yet it always, always, ALWAYS works out for the good of this poor ignorant woman. There are so very many more ways He guides us, if only we'll take time to see them!
My hope for you today is that you take whatever situation you're in, look at it closely, and try to find God in it. And when you find Him, tell Him thanks...from me. After all, He does move in mysterious ways.
Sometimes He'll even let hair grow back into the bald patches.
That's just God.
Psalm 16:7
I will bless the Lord who guides me; even at night my heart instructs me.
Psalm 23:3
He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.
Not that I don't love my daughters as well, but I have this place in my heart where only the love of male offspring can live. Because honestly, it has to be a very strong place. Guards have to be stationed at the door of this residence. The walls are high and the gates are strong. Bars are at every window, and there's a drawbridge across the moat. Yup, the love I have for my sons is kept where it can't escape my heart.
Because really, if it wasn't, I think I might sometimes have to knock them into next Tuesday.
Each of them has their own special triumphs as well as their own special challenges. I'll go into more detail in later posts, but for now here's a short synopsis of each.
Eldest Son was recently married. He is successful in his chosen line of work, owns his own home, and lives a very independent life. We rarely see him even though he lives in the same city. His father keeps in touch by telephone most times, and we are blessed with visits on the odd occasion. Mostly when he wants to borrow something.
Middle Son has been married for several years and is the father of Cutie. He lives about three hours away, but we still manage to see him once every month or so. There are still stories being told of his time here at the homestead. Many of them are not pretty, but all are certainly memorable.
That's why I'm so surprised at the way I'm handling Caboose, the final installation of the procreation story here in our home. Having been through this before you'd think I'd know what I was doing this time and it would be a piece of cake.
Think again.
Because each installment of the male tribe is unique. Each one comes with his own inimitable set of joys and sorrows. Each has his own distinctive quirks and challenges. The fun comes in trying to guide each one to adulthood without scarring them for life...either mentally or physically.
Or ending up in the loony bin yourself.
Thankfully, that didn't happen with Eldest and Middle. Of course, it helped that Eldest lived with his "real" mother instead of with me, his wicked stepmother. And lest you think we had it easy, let me tell you that Middle more than made up for the sometimes-absent Eldest. Oh, so very much more.
This brings us to Caboose. Caboose will be 13 in just a few short days, and he is playing it to the hilt. Puberty has taken his vocal range down to the basement. While he has that nasal tone boys of his age get when their voices change, you can tell that in a year or two he's going to have a resounding baritone; deep, rich and full. That's a good thing.
Another good thing is the personal hygiene situation. We've gone from physically placing him into a tub with water running and blockading the door until he's clean, to being unable to get him out of the shower in less than 45 minutes. EVERY DAY. Our water bill is sky-high. At least the house no longer smells of unwashed boy. That's a good thing.
However, the sass quotient has increased dramatically in the past year, along with the inability to actually MOVE when asked to do something. There is no "hurry up" in Caboose. There is no "do it NOW" in Caboose. With Caboose, there is always later. ALWAYS. And later gets later every day.
When asked to do a chore, he always wants to "just finish" whatever he can find to occupy him other than the chore. When he does finally get to the chore at hand, he takes an eternity to complete it, complaining all the while about how unfair it is and how his sister doesn't have to do this so why should he, and about what bad parents we are for utilizing child labor as a source for housework.
In haste, let me add here that the kid has three chores to complete. Three.
1. Every other week he has to load the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen after dinner for an entire week.
2. Every Monday he has to replace the bag in the trash compactor. He doesn't even have to take out the trash - he just has to replace the bag.
3. He has to clean the bathroom every other Saturday and help out with cleaning the house every Saturday.
I know, I know. Don't tell me. We're SLAVEDRIVERS.
And to top it off, we don't even give him an allowance. WHAT KIND OF PARENTS ARE WE???
As I said, you'd think I would have this down pat by now. Instead, I find large bald patches on my head from tearing my hair out as I shriek at him to actually do what I told him to do. As I look at it, I do believe Caboose is the most challenging of all three boys.
So what's the point of this little diatribe? Is it that I'm a poor parent and want to share it with the world? Is it that I should just give up and let him raise himself? Is it that I'm too (insert your own word here) old, tired, impatient, verbal, inconsistent, stubborn, strict, or whatever to handle this correctly? Or is it that maybe there's something that God is trying to teach me through it?
I think it's a combination of all of it.
Yes, I want to share my struggles with others. It lets them know we're all imperfect. And hopefully it guides them to One Who Is Perfect. No, I can't just give up. God told me that in His Word. Maybe I am old, tired, impatient, etc. And maybe, just MAYBE, God is really trying to teach me something by this.
Imagine if mothers felt the same about their sons when they were eighteen years old as they did when they were eighteen minutes old. And what if eighteen-year-old sons felt the same way about their mothers as they did when they were toddlers? No one would ever leave home.
I firmly believe God gives us puberty and the years beyond to get us ready for the time when that child of ours, our precious little-baby-turned-part-monster, will leave the nest. By the time that happens most parents are more than ready. Most children can't wait to get out on their own. And everyone sighs deeply in relief when all is said and done.
This is just another instance where I can see God's hand at work. He moves to do yet another thing that I cannot understand, and yet it always, always, ALWAYS works out for the good of this poor ignorant woman. There are so very many more ways He guides us, if only we'll take time to see them!
My hope for you today is that you take whatever situation you're in, look at it closely, and try to find God in it. And when you find Him, tell Him thanks...from me. After all, He does move in mysterious ways.
Sometimes He'll even let hair grow back into the bald patches.
That's just God.
Psalm 16:7
I will bless the Lord who guides me; even at night my heart instructs me.
Psalm 23:3
He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.
No comments:
Post a Comment