Lovey

(This picture of my Lovey is about a year old, just before his 11th birthday. It's a beautiful picure of him though)
11 years old. I can't believe that my sweet curly headed little boy is 11 years old. Not only that. He's going to be 12 in just a month! How is that possible? There are times, when he's being really sweet, I can still see the chubby cheeks and halo of blonde ringlets and it seems like just yesterday. Other times, when he's being an smart alek, it seems like a million years ago. How does time do that?

I love, Love, LOVE this boy. Everyday he does something to amaze me, teach me, and make me love him even more. He is beautiful. He is smart. He is funny.

Everyday, I feel like I am failing him. How can I possibly be a good enough parent to him? Am I spending too much time with him? Not giving him enough space to grow? Am I spending too little time with him? Leaving him feeling alone?

He loves movies and music. The movies he especially likes always impress me. The Power of One, for example. A movie about the atrocities of apartheid, the ugliness of hatred and bigotry. About the power that one person has to make a change in the world...He has always understood this movie and taken to heart what it was trying to say. That says a lot about who he is. Sure all of the normal boy stuff is there. But inside this child is a heart and soul that understands more than he should. Nothing I've taught him has given him this insight. It was born in him.

He's an only child. Partly because I was and am terrified of bringing another child into this world. (But that's another topic.) Partly because of time and circumstances. Mostly because I truly believe I am not a good enough parent for more than one child. I have a sister who could win the Noble Prize of mothering. How can I compare to that? Not a day goes by that I don't worry that I have let him down. That someday he will realize all that I didn't provide for him and he'll hate me.

I tell him all day, everyday that I love him. Even when he's mad at me, or I'm mad at him. I'm honest with him. I let him know when I think he's made a bad decision. The only thing this beautiful boy ever gets in trouble for is his mouth. He never does anything to get in trouble, just says things. It's not that he swears (at least not in front of me, but being 11 going on 12, I'm pretty sure there have been a few swear words in the company of his friends), or that he says especially mean things. Sometimes they just don't come out very nice. There is rudeness and disrespect in his tone of voice. I have said "Yes, Lovey, I am mad at you, but I still love you" more than I probably should have. I don't want him to think that the way he says "SORRY!" is acceptable. That it doesn't hurt my feelings or make me a little bit angry. I want him to realize that an apology should mean something. It should come from the heart when he says the words "I'm sorry". Sometimes it does. But how do you teach someone that the sound of their words means as much as the word itself?

This boy started life happy. He rarely cried, and when he did it wasn't for long. He slept through the night after just a month or so. Only occasionally waking up. He was happy. He was sweet. He was loving. As a toddler he was perfectly content to sit and look at a book or watch The Lion King. He just wanted to be with me (or his Ta, his 2nd, sometimes 1st, favorite person on the planet).

Something happened when he was 4 though. This is where the terrible twos bloomed late. His temper emerged and when he got mad, there was no dealing with him. We would literally just have to let him go until he got tired. Rationalizing with an angry 4 year old is impossible. That anger leveled off and he returned to his sweet self again. Now, as he approaches his teenage years I can see it looming again. It's a bit terrifying. The things and angry 4 year old will do are much less dangerous than an angry teen. I can only hope and pray that my love will carry him through. I know he loves me madly. We are close and he appreciates that. He knows he is lucky to be able to talk to his mother. I think I am the lucky one.

I know there will be a struggle with his father. They are too similar, to stubborn. I think they both, though unconsciously, harbor a bit of jealousy towards the other one. There is a bit of a competition for my love. They will butt heads. My hope is that their relationship will not be damaged by the coming battle.

A mother of an old friend told me once, that boys always go back to how they started. They just have to struggle through and find the road back She had watched her own boys start out they way they ended up as adults. They struggled. They came back. That road ahead of us seems long. I hold onto her words though. Believing in my heart that the sweetness he has in him will survive. It's still there. I will do everything in my power to foster it, and encourage it to grow.

I think that is what a mother is. A sign post in the road, reminding her children of which direction to take. Watching and letting go a little bit with each year. Jumping in front and waiving a STOP sign when things start to go too scary. Flashing warnings when trouble lies ahead or they're driving too fast. Telling them they are going the right direction That sounds a bit strange now that I see it in print. But I still believe it.

My child makes me sing with joy and sob with despair. He is everything I love and want to protect in the world. He is bird in a cage struggling to break free but where he is safe. He has given me love that I have never before had. He makes me want to be a better person. If only to earn his love and respect.