Spoke Too Soon

We’ll be taking scouts out of rotation for Nic for the foreseeable. Last night did not go well, for a number of reasons. After dad gave me what he knew, I had a one-on-one with Nic to deconstruct the evening. He cried. He wants fun! Weenie roasts! I quietly replied that he needed to figure out what he wanted to do, and then figure out a way to make it happen.

Because it won’t happen by itself. And it won’t happen if he doesn’t make it happen. I can only do so much—it’s coming on time for him to do more of the heavy lifting.

His limitations sadden him. I understand—probably better than he does—how sadness converts to other things. In recent past, he has tended to push blame away. Now begins the difficult task of teaching ownership, and using and applying the lessons from disappointment to future wins and successes.

I’ve known far too many adults who continue to blame everyone and everything else for his or her life’s disappointments. I don’t want that for my boys; I want them to claim and own responsibility for that which they can control. Ask the question: how could I have handled this better?

Next time, do it.

I understand why people give up. I wander through the valleys of darkness probably more often than I care to admit. Hubby and I talked after my conversation with Nic, and what I came away with was that he wants, as much as possible, to protect Nic, to keep his good humor and happiness intact.

“He has a long road ahead,” I answered. “I came out on the other side okay. But I worry about him.”

And this is where I fold in on myself, worrying about what middle school is going to do to him, worrying about the mean kids and their mean parents who defend the actions of their children with “If he weren’t so different, if he just TRIED to fit in, he wouldn’t be such a target.”

As if he chose to be this way.

I continue to struggle. Are these activities just a distraction? We do as much as we do because my kids do learn from these interactions with their peers. Yes, it is painful for me to watch, but it’s not about me. It’s about learning, interacting, figuring out where my boys fit in the world.

Some days, I admit, in this little corner of the universe? There’s no fit.

Only with me.

For all the rest of the time, I pray. Hard.

It’s all I have.