Release

Elias, the boy I could hold in the palm of my hand, can now wear my shirts. The adult smalls may be long on him but they fit Elias in the shoulders, which are as broad as mine from years of walking with his arms.

And don't even get me started on the strength of his grip.  Believe me, when he squeezes, it hurts. And when he grabs his sister's toy it practically takes two of my hands to get his one to release.

I recently spoke to his 5th grade class when he wasn't in the room and when I mentioned how strong Elias was in his upper body, a boy said, "I know he almost twisted my arm right off."

That's my boy.

On a recent evening blow up when he chased his sister around the house, angered by the clash of her creativity with his concrete, I told Olive, "Lock your door!"

Nick and I stood side by side and told him as we do often that it is OK to be mad but it is not OK to grab, squeeze and hit people.

"Go punch your bean bag if you are mad. Squeeze it and kick it and get out your frustration. You have a right to your anger but not to hurt people."

He didn't follow my directions but he did walk over to the futon and sit down, he brought his legs up criss-cross and looked down at his hands.

"Are you done?" Nick asked.

"Yeah," he replied without looking up.

The next day as I walked down the hall at school a new staff member said, "Your boy is so sweet."

"He can be. And he can be really challenging."

"Can't we all?" he said.

Elias charms most adult who are not asking him to perform a specific task. He walks up to strangers and brightens their days with his questions. He is both overly friendly and overly curious in a world where it seems like fewer and fewer people even look up when passing to say hello.

And man, do I love him but there are times when I don't like him at all. When he gets that look in his eyes and his voice changes and he comes at me or my baby girl or the man I love with his too-long nails, ready to rip our faces off because he doesn't think Olive should hang the spent flowers I clipped on the Mountain Ash tree.

It is that unpredictable switch from creative backyard play to chaos that keeps me up at night. That keeps me from leaving my two children alone for more than a moment. That keeps me feeling a bit crazed.

On a recent neighborhood ride, Olive pedaled ahead of Elias on her two-wheel bike and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to look at something. Elias's skinny legs pedalled his recumbent trike as fast as he could with no plans to stop or go around his sister. Nick and I walked too far back to intervene and could only yell, "Don't run over Olive!"

But he tried to anyways.

To pedal right over her leg when she fell to the ground and by the time I reached him with my angry Mom face he swung his arm at me and cried, "But Olive is always ahead of me! She's always in front!"

And for once I heard his anger instead of responding with more of my own and said, "And I bet that makes you mad that your little sister is faster than you."

"Yeah!"

"Its ok to be mad about that. Her bike is faster than yours and her body cooperates more than yours, so yeah, she is a faster now. And that should make you angry. But you know what, you are faster at other things, like remembering street names and directions. We all have different strengths and challenges."

And I just wish I could be this calm and responsive all the time.  That I could hear what he is needing beneath the rampage. That I could speak to the under-layers and not just to the visible aggression.

But too often I respond from my own well of tired frustration and stir up the situation instead of settling it down; especially after responding to inappropriate behavior all day long in my work as an elementary school counselor.  I sometimes feel like I left my patience and compassion back at the school door.

But I all I can do is keep trying to respond in a way that releases anger instead of fueling it.

And keep hoping that Elias's violent outbursts are just another phase he will outgrow, because as I said in the beginning, my little one pound baby boy is so damn strong.

And oh so sweet.

Comments

[fleming]

I wish you were around to intervene in my home sometimes! This post made me think how it is even more important for you to go out on a date night or for the weekend if you are that lucky, and leave your kids in someone's capable care. You never shut off when you are together and it is critical to do that once in awhile too. Take care of yourself friend!

[Cheryl Childers]

thank you for your honesty, your openness and your amazing writing - for painting a picture of the life of dear Elias and his loving family - so that we can all continue to learn and grow. i continue to stand in awe of the 4 of you... xo

[Christy]

Thanks Flem:) On the 13th we are off to see Alabama Shakes and I know a date night will be good for both of us. What makes it hard is we worry about someone watching both kids b/c we don't want them to have to intervene during one of Elias's "attacks' on his sister so we divvy them up. But luckily Nick's parents often help, and Ms. Julia and now a family friend Reni who I once babysat is old enough to watch Olive. And she is always happy to go to here friends houses. Still searching for a Mary Poppins figure:)

[Christy]

Thank you Cheryl, writing helps me make sense of my world and so I am just thankful for the opportunity to share and receive wonderful comments like yours:)

[Tabatha]

I wonder what Elias would think if you asked him "What if someone who couldn't walk at all was angry that you can and they wanted to run over you with their wheelchair?" or some variation of that. Would he be amazed that someone might envy him? Could he picture the danger of being the recipient of envious anger? Glad you have a date night coming!

[Kate]

Beautiful post about the complexities of loving our kids as they are. Haven't been commenting much but still reading and living your work. Can't wait to see it print in brain child or elsewhere. Love the dip netting one too. Such great description and imagery felt like I was there.

[Christy]

Tabatha, I'll have to try that type of question, not sure how he would respond. I like the thought...

Thank you Kate, and good, as always, to hear from you:)