transitions.

This has been a rough week for me.

The boy so ready for kindergarten that the weeks can't turn under his feet quick enough--
His brother, finding his footing, expression, and attitude as they all do at three--
And that little dog who's making my life a living nightmare, yelping and peeing and biting and scratching and waking up during the night like a newborn-- are all wearing me down.

We have friends that lost their mom unexpectedly this week and our hearts are heavy for them.
Lance's new schedule is taking some getting use to.
The broken arm.  And orthopedist.  And cast.  And bill that hasn't come yet.
Four trips in to Fort Worth over a 6 day stretch.
Extra call shifts.
Bickering...
Again, the dog...
And of course hormones, those nifty little surges of insanity that brighten any of our days.

****

It feels like I go through this a few times a year.
I grade my performance as a mother, give myself an A for effort but flunk my skills as a whole.
I cry a little, promise myself to do better, and then keep moving forward-- not really changing a thing.

I read those articles that people post on FB-- and solidify that I am in the losing bracket.
Mom on the iphone... me.
Mom who still hasn't anchored the furniture... me.
Mom who keeps a messy house because playing and learning are more important than being a good house keeper... not me. 
Mom who doesn't want you to help her kid... maybe me?  I didn't really read that one but I would prefer you not touch my kid if I don't know you.
Mom gone gluten free, GMO free, preservative free, all natural, organic and green... wish it were me, but not me.
Mom who doesn't yell... have you met me?
Mom who stopped rushing her kids...  I am raising Lance's children.
Family who got out of debt eating beans and selling all of their extras... broke. Not me.

To be honest, I can't even take a stance on most of them because I get a few paragraphs in and I usually start reading blh, blhp, and so forwarth.  I click out, encouraging myself with, "I'm doing the best I can."
But am I?

Beckham knows the letter B.  That's it.
He can count to 10 if you don't try and make him.
He knows his colors and can build great things from legos.
But he isn't interested in trying to be smart, he would rather play.
And we have time for that.

Kindergarten starts in a month.  My time is up with Maddox.

Maddox can't read any more or less words than he could 2 years ago.  But I haven't worked with him.
Maddox knows zero sight words and I am a stay at home mom.  That's no one's fault but mine.
He has friends his age reading chapter books-- and he's over here writing "Gnr" (Gunner) in his "love garden" on Minecraft, and I'm like, "great job buddy!"
He types more than he writes, therefore his handwriting is out of control.

Sure, he knew all of his letters by 22 months and their sounds by the age of 2-- but he was interested in them then.  He spied them out and asked questions, so I followed.
Now he loves Minecraft and Legos and I am equally as impressed with the creativity with those two, and spend the majority of my day hearing about diamond swords and minifigures.

I want him to be little.
I don't want him to feel like he owes me anything.
I want kindergarten to be kindergarten, like it use to be.
I have created a little being, cut from my cloth of anxiety and desire to be perfect, and I only want him to do a much as he is entertained by and I don't want my wishes to interfere with his dreams.
If I am honest, I do want him to be perfect, but I don't want him to know that-- and equally speaking, I want him to fail, but only to test my ability say "that's cool too".

I have zero doubts that this kid will do great things.  Yes, I am calling that at days into 6.  But I don't care if he is the next Nolan Ryan, billionair inventor of the running cup (his latest invention of a loop that goes on your head and attaches to a ring that holds your water bottle and long straw, while you run), or just becomes a heckofa dad with a 9-5 job and a little house on a hill. 
I want Maddox to follow his dreams-- not ours-- and never be in competition with anyone other than himself... and certainly not my idea of who he could be.

I think it is these things that keep me from pushing him, when I know he's capable of giving me anything I request.
But also that race that he has been in since the day he was born, "is he crawling yet?"  ... "is he walking?" ... "Can he ride without training wheels?" ... "has he memorized the encyclopedia yet" ... "is he the best player on every team he's ever played on?" ... "Does he play for the New England Patriots?"  --"Weird,  My kid has."
I don't want to buy into that--
Although I have a lot of guilt like I should be doing more....

The kid can count to 100, he loves to do math, he can carry on a conversation deeper than some adults I know, and I was told he scored the highest test score going into Kindergarten... so I can't be failing completely, by letting him lead this journey-- right?

If you have read my blog for any period of time, you've seen me here before.  Usually it is hormone driven and time cures my worries, but last night I read this blog and though I didn't share it on FB, for fear of hurting the feelings of my friends in the race to grow the next valedictorian-- I loved what she said, and wanted share it here.

In this house we play.
We get dirty.  ...Filthy, some days.
We ride the Ranger with our hands in the air, and our hair blowing back, and the sun beating on our shoulders.
We fight like warriors, and superheroes, and the boys are always on the same team fighting the common enemy.
We build massive legos.
We get wet at the water park with our friends.
We pray together.
We dance.
We work hard on our manners, and fail daily.
We kiss each other on the lips, no matter who's watching because the world hasn't told us that is weird yet.
We laugh.  A lot.
We cuddle  A lot.
We are always together.
We are best friends.
Most days we watch too much tv. 
Everyday we spend too much time on the ipad.
Sometimes we get in trouble.
And occasionally we get in the car just to change our scenery.

We aren't any more special than our friends around us...
but we aren't school.
Not yet.
We have 13 years ahead of us for that.  And day one isn't for a few more weeks.

I remember my friend Nicolle saying that her son got difficult right before he went to kinder and she wondered if it was God's way of helping us deal with the transition.
I think she's right.

My little love bunny is testing my patience most days--
And I have a little guilt admitting it, but I can honestly say that I am ready.
He is ready.

His handwriting... not so much.
But I trust that it will get there.
...or he'll be a doctor.  Their handwriting always sucks.