After months of relative calm, the volcano has returned, flaring up in our boy, never quite sure when he'll explode, tears of rage over a Dot to Dot book with pages torn out--I want Olive to put them back in now--Elias swatting his Dad just for walking past, grabbing his sister's arm, hitting his Mom.
Last night after a baked ham dinner at David's table, Olive feeling grown and helpful, cleared the dishes with me, and made the mistake of reaching for her brother's plate. Elias squeezed her small hand in his toned one, now thicker and stronger than mine. When David and I both mentioned that his behavior could cost him dessert, he stood up and clomped to the freezer, grabbed the tubs of vanilla and chocolate chip and thumped them on the counter. I picked them up before he could, holding them up high, and he came at me, all hot lava and ash, until Nick picked up our twelve-year-old son and carried him to the porch, forcing him out as Elias tried to hold onto the sliding glass door.
It sprinkled on us, light raindrops, like tears, as Nick and I blocked our boy from bringing his fire back to David's house.
Nick eventually carried him sideways to the trailer, where he cried and threw his bag of clothes to the floor, before forcing his way out and making it back to the porch, where I attempted to hug-hold-restrain my boy, saying softly: "I love you, Elias, you're safe."
"Let me go! Mom, let me go!"
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to hit you!" His voice a rumble from the deep.
"You want to hurt your own Mom?" I ask, hoping he'll say no.
"Yes!"
Just an hour earlier, Elias picked a Lilly from our neighbor's cabin, with prompting from their gentleman friend, and handed it to me with the words: "I love you Mom."
"You don't really want to hurt me, Elias." And I know this to be true, even when he wants to, even when he reaches for my face, hands aflame.
"Yes I do!!"
Nick stands above us with a jug of water, hopeful a technique that worked for me last week might work again. Elias had charged after his sister, over what, I can't remember, and when I stood between my children he hit me hard in the chest. As my own fire welled up, I made an impulsive decision to dump the cup of water I planned to drink on my son's head.
Better than hitting him back, I suppose.
Elias's aggressive flow down the mountain stopped, as he stared down at his wet fleece, stumped. Olive and I walked towards the shed, her eyes wide, a hint of glee overtaking the fear from a moment ago. When Elias ran after us calling my name--Mom, Mom, Mom- I turned, forced light into my voice, and said, "Well, that was just ridiculous. What was I thinking dumping water on your head?"
"I don't know?!" Elias said in a voice between laughter and tears. Olive smiled at her strange Mom and brother and the situation shifted, just like that, as our smoke dissipated into the clear air.
Back on the porch, after the explosion over lost ice-cream, with Elias writhing around on the splintered wood, as I attempted to contain him with my arms and legs, Nick held the jug of water over Elias's head and dumped again, only this time my boy's eruptions grew deeper and more dangerous.
Nick heaved Elias up, his sweatshirt half over his head--Dad No! Dad stop!-- and threw him in the back of our car. Elias opened the door and tried to jump out but Nick forced him back inside, hopped in the driver's seat and started the Honda Element. Out of habit, Elias put on his seatbelt, forcefully and without grace, and Nick drove away, around the corner and up to our clearing, where my husband jumped out of the car and locked our son inside. It took Elias a bit of time amidst his rage to realize he could unlock the doors from the inside, and when he emerged he was no calmer, all spit and fire, so Nick left him there, amidst the Alders and Spruce, and drove the few hundred yards back to David's place.
As I stood on the porch to meet the car, I saw Elias far behind, at the bottom of the driveway, walking without shoes, without canes, over gravel and stones, dirt and sticks, fully on his own.
No longer on fire, but alone.
Sigh,big sigh...so very complicated and friggin' hard.
Posted by: Peg redding | 07/03/2016 at 05:50 PM
Beautifully shared. So hard. Sending hugs and thoughts. Hope it's one of these touch points that precedes big growth.
Posted by: Kate Faber | 07/04/2016 at 02:56 PM
Oh my goodness.
But wow are you guys a good team.
Posted by: Sara | 07/05/2016 at 04:46 AM
I agree with Sara, you guys are a good team!
Posted by: Toni Rieger | 07/05/2016 at 03:13 PM
Dear Christy, holding you in my thoughts...and thinking of how tough puberty is. I am going to say something now that I really hope you will take in the right spirit because I have had to learn this the hard way myself. When you say 'you don't really want to hurt me' you are probably wrong. He does. All our kids want to hurt us sometimes. If, after they have admitted something huge that on some level they worry will keep us from loving them, we tell them that is NOT how they feel,then we are implying that such a wish cannot even be verbalised, it is too monstrous, and by extension they are not normal. Telling him instead 'I know you want to hurt me but it is not allowed' acknowledges the depth if momentary rage, but gives him YOUR limit. Or 'You wish you could hurt me but that's just not allowed.' I totally know how awful you felt and I am just posting alternatives that, dammit, are awfully hard to come up with in the moment! Big hug.
Posted by: Danielle | 07/06/2016 at 01:17 AM
Yes, Toni and Sara, Nick and I are most definitely a solid team and though I know I am strong enough to survive without him i hope I never have to try.
And Danielle, THANK YOU, i love what you wrote and I will try this next time, bc as much as i don't want there to be I know there will be a next time, and yes, he does want to hurt me in that moment, you are so right, bc I have also learned that when he gets my fire going I want to hurt him, I don't bc I know the limits, but he doesn't know the limits, not yet, so this is so helpful and so needed, thank you. Plus, I am working on an essay about some of his rages and my own response and monstrosity verse human nature is a theme of the essay so your words couldn't have been more perfect.
And Kate, I'm hoping for growth too, thanks for the kind words of support.
Posted by: Christy | 07/06/2016 at 08:23 AM