Four times these pieces have leaned against a wall waiting to welcome a new family member. When joyful butterflies blotted any threat of tears.
Today, I stood and thought of the weight of sleepy heads on my shoulder, koala bear legs wrapped around my hip, chubby toes curled inside footed jammies. And oh that sweet moment that started each day with outstretched arms over railings.
My tears are caught somewhere between the journey we're leaving behind and the one that lies ahead.
"Some kids are born with their 'windows and doors' all open" ~ Michael Reist
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This post took its time.
It was hard for me to write. It's a topic that reveals some of my greatest failings as a parent. That's never easy.
The first time I heard Michael Reist, he was on CBC radio speaking about differences in the way boys and girls perform in school. I had to pull my car over; I wanted to take in every word.
Our boy was three at the time and sandwiched between two sisters. He had just started preschool and was having a different experience than his sister: fidgeting during circle time, resisting transitions to new activites, struggling with communication.
My husband and I wondered: a phase? the teacher? the school?
But listening to Michael, it was clear the differences we noticed were common for boys. We were relieved.
So for the past several years, with the help of phenomenal teachers, we've navigated a sometimes bumpy road as our boy makes his way through a school system better-suited to girls and extroverted kids.
A few months ago, I heard Michael was on a speaking tour for his newly released book Raising Boys in a New Kind of Worldand I made it a priority to attend. I hadn't read it, but expected to come away from the seminar with some valuable information on boys, school, and technology (i.e. screen time).
I was sitting in the audience taking notes when he started to speak about raising emotionally healthy children and landed on the topic of introverted and sensitive personalities.
He said parents of introverted children often fall into the "If you look bad, I look bad" trap. My pen froze above the page. There was no reason to write those words down—I already knew them.
I thought of the countless times I've made excuses for his silence. An adult would put him on the spot and I'd speak over top of the quiet: he's shy, he's tired, he's distracted. I would add a good-natured eye roll to dispel the awkwardness. Even worse were the times I corrected him in the moment or allowed someone else to, while I stood silent beside him.
I didn't want people to have the wrong impression—he is wonderful and I am a good parent. I told myself I was doing the right thing. But it never felt good or right and, in the quiet of night, I would often shed tears for my boy.
Sure I could pat myself on the back for working with his teachers to find ways around his shyness, but, every time I made excuses, I was showing him I wanted other people to accept him. And, worse, I was telling him I didn't.
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"When these children come into our lives, we should take special care of them. They are not disordered or deficient in any way. In fact, their sensitivity is a great gift, but one they will in a sense have to 'pay for' in a world that lives by mottos such as 'suck it up' and 'just do it' -- a world that explicitly rewards insensitivity." ~ Michael Reist
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In his book, Reist writes about Teflon kids -- those who seem to possess confidence and strong core self-esteem. He believes this can be learned at home, in an environment where "parents have not taught their children to twist and contort themselves for social acceptance." He says these types of kids "have been given a great gift."
He's so right.
While I'm proud of the way I parent my children, there are so many words I wish I could take back.
I can't.
I can only give these.
My boy. You walk through life with the windows and doors to your heart wide open. You face every situation heart-first. You are true to yourself. You are smart and funny and phenomenally creative. You are endlessly kind. You delight in every thing you are given. You are good. You are a gift.
I am so proud that you are mine. I always, always have been.
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There is a lot more to be said about this amazing book, but I can't find the words through my tears. If you are the parent of a son, it will resonate with you. If you are lucky enough to be the parent of a sensitive child, it will move and maybe change you.
To hear more about the book from Michael Reist click here.
I am thrilled to be able to give one of my readers a brand new copy of Raising Boys in a New Kind of World -- simply leave a comment below and I will randomly select a winner before the new school year begins.
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Thank you, Michael, for your wisdom and for giving me the opportunity to share it with my readers.
The kind of sticky hot that makes the back of your thighs scream for mercy when you get out of the car.
But still, I drive with the windows rolled down.
And this, here, is the kind of song that makes me want to hang my arm out of that rolled down window so I can bang out a beat on the side of the sizzling car.
Summer is here. That means four kids under my two feet. Not enough of me and a WHOLE LOT of them.
It means more time at home and more time for my budding artists to make a huge mess.
When I was a kid, every art supply had its place. I always coloured inside the lines. I grouped my crayons by colour. I hoarded erasers. I loved rulers.
The pencil shavings, the shredded paper, the scattered glitter, the dried up glue, the splattered paint.
Why does it drives me so crazy?
I catch myself standing over top of the kids:
"Who is going to clean up this mess?"
"Not the glitter!"
"NO painting inside the house!"
So many "put the crayons back in the box" and the "lids back on the markers". And yet, they continue to come at me with their treasured creations. They continue with an enthusiasm that makes me want to tell myself to shut up already.
At the end of a messy day, when I'm wading through the piles and making decisions about what to keep and what to toss, I find gems like this one.
And so I sit down to write myself this note:
Don't worry that they'll never learn how to clean up after themselves. Let them make a mess and worry instead about how to show them its beauty.
