Short Posts
I've been doing my best to keep my spirits up these past few days. The random cheekiness of my recent blog posts should show you just how desperately I am trying to hold on to any shred of humor or positive thinking. Hey, some people don't even try so you have to give me A+ for my efforts here.
Today is Sullivan's last day of school and I realize that he is a totally different boy now than he was when I first took him to school in September. My fear is that he is now out of my hands and I will be so far behind in relating to him that this is where he starts to seriously pull away from me. I can see the signs. I cramp his style. He hates needing me. He ignores me when his friends are around. He's not even 5 yet and already his growth has outstripped my ability to cope. He wants more freedom and responsibility and I know he won't be trustworthy unless I trust him. Boys are crazy that way. The less you trust them, the more they prove to you that you are right. The more trust you give them the more they rise to the occassion. It seems that raising a boy well takes tactics that are completely contrary to any sense of logic you might have. It requires constant vigilance and incredible faith. I don't know if I have that.
Sullivan likes to play "bad guy" and I am afraid he is casting himself in the role rather than experimenting with the pleasures of being powerful and selfish. He told me that he and his friends are really bad guys. I hope they don't really see themselves that way because they are truly the most loving, sweet, caring bunch of boys I've met. They love each other deeply the way children often do, and I don't want them to shut down the way men often do. I don't want him to be a girl. I don't want him to express himself like a girl or be compliant like a girl. I want him to be a boy- a boy who isn't afraid of himself and who thinks well of himself and his world. For the first time I am begining to see him turn toward that dark and challenging forest of boyhood and it is a place I cannot follow. I can only send in carrier pigeons with (hopefully) helpful messages and hope to meet him on the other side. I'm feeling the loss.
It isn't the only loss I am feeling these days. The Universe does tend to clean house from time to time and sometimes things get thrown out piece by piece. It seems less painful to hold on to some things rather than let go, but as it is in raising boys, the truth is often contrary to logic.
I have to let go in order to hold on. Somewhere in my twisted psyche lies the belief that if I don't hold on tightly it is like announcing that this person, concept or situation is not important enough to me. I feel an incredible need to make those declarations and to force myself to feel pain in transition and in loss. Really, I'm not doing anyone any favors. I'm just torturing myself for not being, doing or feeling "enough".
After our little half day of school we are going to get the kids together and play while the parents sit down and cry.
Moving on is hard.
Today is Sullivan's last day of school and I realize that he is a totally different boy now than he was when I first took him to school in September. My fear is that he is now out of my hands and I will be so far behind in relating to him that this is where he starts to seriously pull away from me. I can see the signs. I cramp his style. He hates needing me. He ignores me when his friends are around. He's not even 5 yet and already his growth has outstripped my ability to cope. He wants more freedom and responsibility and I know he won't be trustworthy unless I trust him. Boys are crazy that way. The less you trust them, the more they prove to you that you are right. The more trust you give them the more they rise to the occassion. It seems that raising a boy well takes tactics that are completely contrary to any sense of logic you might have. It requires constant vigilance and incredible faith. I don't know if I have that.
Sullivan likes to play "bad guy" and I am afraid he is casting himself in the role rather than experimenting with the pleasures of being powerful and selfish. He told me that he and his friends are really bad guys. I hope they don't really see themselves that way because they are truly the most loving, sweet, caring bunch of boys I've met. They love each other deeply the way children often do, and I don't want them to shut down the way men often do. I don't want him to be a girl. I don't want him to express himself like a girl or be compliant like a girl. I want him to be a boy- a boy who isn't afraid of himself and who thinks well of himself and his world. For the first time I am begining to see him turn toward that dark and challenging forest of boyhood and it is a place I cannot follow. I can only send in carrier pigeons with (hopefully) helpful messages and hope to meet him on the other side. I'm feeling the loss.
It isn't the only loss I am feeling these days. The Universe does tend to clean house from time to time and sometimes things get thrown out piece by piece. It seems less painful to hold on to some things rather than let go, but as it is in raising boys, the truth is often contrary to logic.
I have to let go in order to hold on. Somewhere in my twisted psyche lies the belief that if I don't hold on tightly it is like announcing that this person, concept or situation is not important enough to me. I feel an incredible need to make those declarations and to force myself to feel pain in transition and in loss. Really, I'm not doing anyone any favors. I'm just torturing myself for not being, doing or feeling "enough".
After our little half day of school we are going to get the kids together and play while the parents sit down and cry.
Moving on is hard.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 9:20 AM
4 Comments:
"It's not what you feel inside that counts, it's how you look on the outside. That's what my mother taught me...just push those feelings down deep inside you and smile. Boys will like you, you will be invited to parties and happiness will follow."
--Marge Simpson
She's a sage, that Marge Simpson.
But boys always liked me just fine as morose little ol' me.
I make a fabulous damsel in distress.
Yeah, but they were mostly the wierdos weren't they?
So?
It is quite clear that I have always liked 'em weird.
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