Everyday Crosses
Monday morning Deacon woke up agitated. Probably from a crummy night’s sleep (thanks allergies), and was generally cranky. He got more and more worked up as the morning went on– whining, stomping, crying, the works. I tried to talk him down all while doing what I call “the morning sprint”: chase down two kids who hate getting dressed, make breakfast, clean up breakfast, pack lunches, load the car, supervise teeth brushing, take the dog out, give six different five-minute warnings to put on shoes, and search for the always missing pacifier so the baby doesn’t scream in the car. I usually try to do as much of that as I can the evening prior or before the kids wake up, but I was too tired the night prior and woke up late that morning. So I did what most mothers do when they are tired, rushed, and over it: I yelled. I resorted to shouting at him to calm down while explaining how we didn’t have time to get upset right now. In case you’ve never attempted it, shouting “calm down” and using rationale to an upset four and a half year old does not make the four and a half year old any less upset.
On the way to church (we go to church on Monday mornings for mom’s group) I started feeling awful for my response to him. Deacon has some sensory sensitivities and usually outbursts like that are a result of him being overstimulated from situations. In this case my hectic pace to get out the door on time made him even more upset. My franticness resulted in a frantic boy.
(Background: One of Deacon’s goals at school this year is a pre-writing skill to draw a plus sign on his own without help or demonstration. We have been practicing a lot lately - “line down, line over”.) Once in the parking lot, after unloading everyone and while wrangling the baby, a purse, a diaper bag, a coffee, and two sippy cups, I started towards the sidewalk. Deacon was dawdling. I snipped at him to please hurry up. He continued to take his sweet time, drawing with his finger all over my filthy car. I half ignored half acknowledged as we moms do and said, “Oh yeah, bud I see your plus signs. Let’s go please.” He got loud and said, “No mom! They’re not plus signs. They’re crosses!” For the first time all day, I paused. I stopped and looked at the message written there on the car and on my son’s face. As Deacon stood proudly next to his crosses I felt the nudge to recall that this life is a gift, one that shouldn’t be lived 100 miles an hour. I remembered how important it is for me as the mom to slow down because my pace becomes my child’s mood. And If I don’t slow down, I’ll miss all these little miracles that happen with our little people each day. If I don’t slow down, I’ll miss the everyday crosses.
