
"Butter the Bread not your hand son"
I love my son Joshua. To begin any piece with a disclaimer of love indicates that there is certainly a test of that love to follow. This is no different. Joshua needed a haircut--that is an understatement. There is a reason we waited until he was a ministure version of Fabio to take him to the barber--he has a mild distaste for the act of haircutting. So with our courage girded up and our wits at full levels we ventured into Mike's Style Shop. Mike is a good guy who did not deserve the chaos that ensued. Joshua was all for the idea of haircutting this day until he found out it was not daddy getting a cut but him. Let the kicking and screaming commence. After multiple headbutts, kicks, loudly yelled "NO's" in my ear and eating a few locks of hair I let him down with his new cut. He is a cute kid. My courage had faded into a blur of frustration and my wits were near depleted. We then ventured home covered in the remnants of the battle.
He became a new kid once we arrived at the safety of home and we had the opportunity to distract him with dinner preparation. He likes to set the table--quite a fete for a 2 year old--and help in the kitchen to whatever level we will allow him. The problem presents itself when we do not allow him to do some particular part of preparation that his little 2 year old coordination is not ready for. He then throws a fit and anything that he might have in his hands. So dad then takes him to his room and we sit until he is ready to cooperate. After a moment of calm I ask him if he is ready to join us at the table. He responds with a defiant no and so I proceed for the door. A quick reversal of thinking then occurs and he joins us at the table and we enjoy our Chicken alfredo.
Now he also likes to brush his teeth which is a great habit to be in but brushin his teeth to him means eating the children's toothpaste that he uses. The brush did not figure into the equation this evening. He wisely gets a chair to stand on at the sink which turns out to not be wise as it is not the most stable chair to be standing on. He falls and bumps his head and I in turn comfort him and try to calm him down so that I can explain to him the benefits of the stool that is in the bathroom already verses the chair he chose to stand on. He wanted only to yell and ignore my attempts to speak to him. So I once again take him in his room and we sit until he calms down enough to listen rather than demand his way. I am then able to show him why he fell and a better option. I then let him down and ask for hug. My son gives good hugs. It feels good to have him wrap his arms around my neck affirming that he loves his daddy. Being a daddy is hard. Harder than I could have imagined. But to go from haircuts to hugs is rewarding enough to make me see the joy in spite of the pain. Lord help me be a good parent in spite of myself. Grace and Peace.
3 comments:
I just love the hugs!
Yellow haired monkies are the best blessings that God gives us, aren't they?
John, I heard the haircutting story. I hope my candy hearts helped mend Joshua's hurting backside. Hugs from "sons" are wonderful when you get older also.
Mom
Post a Comment