Saturday, December 10, 2011
Wrecked is not forgotten!
Hi, if you're stopping by for the first time, please don't go too quickly. I assure you this is not a forgotten blog! We're in the process of merging some content, so though the dates may fool you, there is most definitely more to come!
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Bearing their burdens, building our faith
Big kid is well past the age where most kids learn to tie their shoes. I'm well aware that other people may think we're lazy parents by not teaching him. It's one of the things that has been on my mind a long time, and as he has grown in height and weight, looking more and more like a true big kid, it has concerned me that maybe his classmates would start to catch on as well and perhaps tease him about his lack of skill in this area.
Looking back, I can't really say whether I never taught him because just as he emerged from the toddler years, my own life took a turn for the worst and I was too caught up in grief over a baby lost, a crippling financial blow or a myriad of doctors suddenly rushing me through a series of tests and procedures to rid my body of cancer - or if somehow, deep down, I just knew that teaching him would turn out exactly as it did today.
You have to understand, my big kid is the sweetest boy anyone could want. He is big-hearted and wants to help others in need. He is helpful and can do tasks independently. He makes us laugh and when he finds a subject he is interested in, he learns every detail about it. He, so far, has been a straight A student. Therefore, one would conclude that he is intelligent. So why this same child adamantly insists that he can not and will not ever be able to learn a task such as tying his shoes, is beyond me.
As a natural encourager, or maybe it's partly from being a mom, it's second nature for me to go to my Mama bag of tricks. I pull out all the examples. You didn't used to know how to do multiplication, but now you do. Someone showed you how. Now I'm showing you how to do this. But I can't even remember all the instructions, he cries. But you will, I reassure him. Nobody gets it right the first time, maybe not even the fiftieth time, but you keep practicing. Well, I better get it right after fifty times! This thought has obviously upset him. I try to keep my cool. How many times did Thomas Edison fail, I ask him. I don't know, probably a hundred, comes the answer. Okay, so then you keep pushing through until you succeed. What makes you different from the people who end up as failures in life is that you don't give up - not when you've wasted money or time or people have told you you'll never do it. When you finally do it, that's when it becomes a big deal.
But this is different, he says. Okay, well, you didn't used to know how to build all those huge Lego sets I say as I point to the shelves full of displays he has built. In his twisted logic comes his response, well, the Legos have instructions and the instructions aren't moving! Good grief, why is this child so difficult? It's a shoe. It has a string. I'm not asking you to train a crocodile to tap dance.
Do you think that you are a stupid boy, I ask. He hides his face. I ask again, do you think that you are not able to learn things, that you are stupid? He's still hiding. Great, so now I've got a game of cat and mouse which I would much more expect from the three year old. I remind him that when he was little, he didn't know how to snap and zip his jeans or button a button down shirt. He tells me that's different because we snapped and zipped his jeans for him. Yes, but not forever. Now you do it on your own. How did you go from not knowing how to do it, to knowing how to do it so well that you don't even think about it anymore? Well, you and Daddy didn't even teach me how to zip my jeans. I just learned that on my own! I disagree and my patience is wearing thin but I resist the urge to strike back.... okay, and so, you'll learn this on your own too, I say.
At one point, he was so frustrated that he threw the shoes. I remained quiet, searching my bag of tricks and coming up empty. Was it me? Great, now the failure complex is settling in to my own brain. So, I ask him. Is it me? Is it just that you don't think you can learn from me? He says no. I'm not sure whether to be relieved for my own sake or throw a shoe back and him and say, then WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?
I show him once. I show him twice. When he fails, I show him why it failed. I show him where he had placed the laces and he insists that he did not, in fact, hold the laces that way. And yet, the shoe is still not tied, so gee, uh, yeah, you did. I begin to question why I did not go directly to the computer and begin to work. Why did I even make this sudden detour into his room and ask him to get out the shoes that have sat new in a box for over 6 months. Why, why would I do this to myself without any time to gear up for such an ordeal? These are the burning questions I'm sure I will have for God upon entering the pearly gates. Why did you allow my brain to malfunction in such a way that it would only add more stress to my already bowing body? Somehow, I picture God amused.
And yet, right now, I am not amused. I'm wavering between wanting to scream, pick up the doggone shoe already and try, just try, that's all I ask - just try - and wanting to take him in my arms and hug away whatever is hurting him so much that he truly thinks he is incapable of learning. I try the gentle approach, rubbing his back, telling him that it bothers me that he lacks the confidence to try. It bothers me that he already has it set in his mind that he will fail the moment he sees the task before him. I tell him that he is strong and smart and capable. He still doesn't want to tie the shoe.
What is a mother to do when her child is so lost? How did he get this way? He cannot go through life like this. I don't want him beaten down by life or never experiencing the thrill of new things because he was afraid to try. I ask him if sitting in a desk at school is the only kind of learning he thinks he will ever do. I tell him that he will be learning new things his whole life, whether it's driving a car or driving a fire truck or flying a plane. I tell him that people learn all kinds of things like skiing or skydiving and when they first learn, they look like a fool. I tell him I understand that when he was little, he was just so used to mom and dad helping him that it was easy to say, I'm little, I need help. But now that he's big, he wants to be able to do things on his own. I get that, but he still has to start somewhere and he can't be so afraid to fail that he doesn't even try.
He is tired of me now. I can see it. He just wants me to stop talking and he never ever wants to learn to tie a shoe. I have encouraged and instructed and even shown him two different ways to tie a shoe and yet he remains defeated. And so, I am defeated.
Why is that? Why as moms are we so intertwined with our children and their emotions that we feel them as if they are our own? The crazy thing is, this is not the first road I've been down with him. There have been many other attempts to teach or instruct or encourage and they have turned out the same way. He freezes up. His first reaction is that he will fail. He feels incapable, frustrated, defeated - before he even tries.
There is part of me that thinks he will secretly try on his own, when he's not under the watchful eye of Mama. Mind you, I offered to go away and let him try on his own but that was met with frustration too. It's like his brain just locks up and he isn't really even sure what he wants, other than for the task to go away. He lacks the skills to go through the process of learning, meet the frustrations but push through to the other side. So, I wonder, is this something that can be taught? Or, is this just a personality trait that we are born with?
There are people in the world who just seem to be able to persevere through any trial - the guy who lives for 7 days in the wilderness, treating his own wounds and surviving off berries, the girl who learns to walk again after a terrible accident, the woman who helps her family press on after losing everything in a fire, the boy who refuses to give up his dream of a college degree, despite the poverty he lives in as a child. There are the people who can survive military boot camp and come out even stronger and there are other people who end up broken, addicted, suicidal. What makes that difference in people? I am fascinated and terrified all at once.
When our children are small and we accomplish tasks for them, we don't give it a second thought. We are there to be their caretakers. But somehow, as our children grow, no one tells us that we, as parents, must grow too. Oh sure, we realize that we can not send them to kindergarten with a pacifier or diapers, so we take the necessary steps to help them gain some independence. But somehow, once those main milestones that we've had our eye on for several years have come and gone, we let ourselves fall into a routine and we don't see the other milestones up ahead.
I sure didn't see them coming. And now, looking back, I'm not even sure what they were. Should I have forced him to try more things? Should I have given him harder tasks, but ones in which I knew he could succeed? Should I have talked to him more about what would be required as he got older? I just don't know. I am baffled. He is a straight A student after all. I think that therein lies the problem. Knowing that he is learning and getting high praise from teachers threw me into a false sense of security. Just because he is smart, does not mean he is confident. I never realized those two things may not go hand in hand.
But unless this child is going to become some sort of barefoot nomad the rest of his life, I've got to figure out how to fix this. Or maybe I can't. Maybe this is the part where I have to lean on God and believe that he will not let my child fall. I'm not quite sure why that always feels like I am dangling my child over a cliff while balancing myself on one foot, but suddenly I'm feeling the need to read the story of Abraham and Isaac again. There's probably a faith lesson in here somewhere. I just wish I could learn it while Big Kid marches past me with his new shoes securely tied to his feet.
Looking back, I can't really say whether I never taught him because just as he emerged from the toddler years, my own life took a turn for the worst and I was too caught up in grief over a baby lost, a crippling financial blow or a myriad of doctors suddenly rushing me through a series of tests and procedures to rid my body of cancer - or if somehow, deep down, I just knew that teaching him would turn out exactly as it did today.
You have to understand, my big kid is the sweetest boy anyone could want. He is big-hearted and wants to help others in need. He is helpful and can do tasks independently. He makes us laugh and when he finds a subject he is interested in, he learns every detail about it. He, so far, has been a straight A student. Therefore, one would conclude that he is intelligent. So why this same child adamantly insists that he can not and will not ever be able to learn a task such as tying his shoes, is beyond me.
As a natural encourager, or maybe it's partly from being a mom, it's second nature for me to go to my Mama bag of tricks. I pull out all the examples. You didn't used to know how to do multiplication, but now you do. Someone showed you how. Now I'm showing you how to do this. But I can't even remember all the instructions, he cries. But you will, I reassure him. Nobody gets it right the first time, maybe not even the fiftieth time, but you keep practicing. Well, I better get it right after fifty times! This thought has obviously upset him. I try to keep my cool. How many times did Thomas Edison fail, I ask him. I don't know, probably a hundred, comes the answer. Okay, so then you keep pushing through until you succeed. What makes you different from the people who end up as failures in life is that you don't give up - not when you've wasted money or time or people have told you you'll never do it. When you finally do it, that's when it becomes a big deal.
But this is different, he says. Okay, well, you didn't used to know how to build all those huge Lego sets I say as I point to the shelves full of displays he has built. In his twisted logic comes his response, well, the Legos have instructions and the instructions aren't moving! Good grief, why is this child so difficult? It's a shoe. It has a string. I'm not asking you to train a crocodile to tap dance.
Do you think that you are a stupid boy, I ask. He hides his face. I ask again, do you think that you are not able to learn things, that you are stupid? He's still hiding. Great, so now I've got a game of cat and mouse which I would much more expect from the three year old. I remind him that when he was little, he didn't know how to snap and zip his jeans or button a button down shirt. He tells me that's different because we snapped and zipped his jeans for him. Yes, but not forever. Now you do it on your own. How did you go from not knowing how to do it, to knowing how to do it so well that you don't even think about it anymore? Well, you and Daddy didn't even teach me how to zip my jeans. I just learned that on my own! I disagree and my patience is wearing thin but I resist the urge to strike back.... okay, and so, you'll learn this on your own too, I say.
At one point, he was so frustrated that he threw the shoes. I remained quiet, searching my bag of tricks and coming up empty. Was it me? Great, now the failure complex is settling in to my own brain. So, I ask him. Is it me? Is it just that you don't think you can learn from me? He says no. I'm not sure whether to be relieved for my own sake or throw a shoe back and him and say, then WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?
I show him once. I show him twice. When he fails, I show him why it failed. I show him where he had placed the laces and he insists that he did not, in fact, hold the laces that way. And yet, the shoe is still not tied, so gee, uh, yeah, you did. I begin to question why I did not go directly to the computer and begin to work. Why did I even make this sudden detour into his room and ask him to get out the shoes that have sat new in a box for over 6 months. Why, why would I do this to myself without any time to gear up for such an ordeal? These are the burning questions I'm sure I will have for God upon entering the pearly gates. Why did you allow my brain to malfunction in such a way that it would only add more stress to my already bowing body? Somehow, I picture God amused.
And yet, right now, I am not amused. I'm wavering between wanting to scream, pick up the doggone shoe already and try, just try, that's all I ask - just try - and wanting to take him in my arms and hug away whatever is hurting him so much that he truly thinks he is incapable of learning. I try the gentle approach, rubbing his back, telling him that it bothers me that he lacks the confidence to try. It bothers me that he already has it set in his mind that he will fail the moment he sees the task before him. I tell him that he is strong and smart and capable. He still doesn't want to tie the shoe.
What is a mother to do when her child is so lost? How did he get this way? He cannot go through life like this. I don't want him beaten down by life or never experiencing the thrill of new things because he was afraid to try. I ask him if sitting in a desk at school is the only kind of learning he thinks he will ever do. I tell him that he will be learning new things his whole life, whether it's driving a car or driving a fire truck or flying a plane. I tell him that people learn all kinds of things like skiing or skydiving and when they first learn, they look like a fool. I tell him I understand that when he was little, he was just so used to mom and dad helping him that it was easy to say, I'm little, I need help. But now that he's big, he wants to be able to do things on his own. I get that, but he still has to start somewhere and he can't be so afraid to fail that he doesn't even try.
He is tired of me now. I can see it. He just wants me to stop talking and he never ever wants to learn to tie a shoe. I have encouraged and instructed and even shown him two different ways to tie a shoe and yet he remains defeated. And so, I am defeated.
Why is that? Why as moms are we so intertwined with our children and their emotions that we feel them as if they are our own? The crazy thing is, this is not the first road I've been down with him. There have been many other attempts to teach or instruct or encourage and they have turned out the same way. He freezes up. His first reaction is that he will fail. He feels incapable, frustrated, defeated - before he even tries.
There is part of me that thinks he will secretly try on his own, when he's not under the watchful eye of Mama. Mind you, I offered to go away and let him try on his own but that was met with frustration too. It's like his brain just locks up and he isn't really even sure what he wants, other than for the task to go away. He lacks the skills to go through the process of learning, meet the frustrations but push through to the other side. So, I wonder, is this something that can be taught? Or, is this just a personality trait that we are born with?
There are people in the world who just seem to be able to persevere through any trial - the guy who lives for 7 days in the wilderness, treating his own wounds and surviving off berries, the girl who learns to walk again after a terrible accident, the woman who helps her family press on after losing everything in a fire, the boy who refuses to give up his dream of a college degree, despite the poverty he lives in as a child. There are the people who can survive military boot camp and come out even stronger and there are other people who end up broken, addicted, suicidal. What makes that difference in people? I am fascinated and terrified all at once.
When our children are small and we accomplish tasks for them, we don't give it a second thought. We are there to be their caretakers. But somehow, as our children grow, no one tells us that we, as parents, must grow too. Oh sure, we realize that we can not send them to kindergarten with a pacifier or diapers, so we take the necessary steps to help them gain some independence. But somehow, once those main milestones that we've had our eye on for several years have come and gone, we let ourselves fall into a routine and we don't see the other milestones up ahead.
I sure didn't see them coming. And now, looking back, I'm not even sure what they were. Should I have forced him to try more things? Should I have given him harder tasks, but ones in which I knew he could succeed? Should I have talked to him more about what would be required as he got older? I just don't know. I am baffled. He is a straight A student after all. I think that therein lies the problem. Knowing that he is learning and getting high praise from teachers threw me into a false sense of security. Just because he is smart, does not mean he is confident. I never realized those two things may not go hand in hand.
But unless this child is going to become some sort of barefoot nomad the rest of his life, I've got to figure out how to fix this. Or maybe I can't. Maybe this is the part where I have to lean on God and believe that he will not let my child fall. I'm not quite sure why that always feels like I am dangling my child over a cliff while balancing myself on one foot, but suddenly I'm feeling the need to read the story of Abraham and Isaac again. There's probably a faith lesson in here somewhere. I just wish I could learn it while Big Kid marches past me with his new shoes securely tied to his feet.
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