Like mother . . .

My son is four years old. He is a delightful, intelligent and exuberant child. He also tries my patience to the utmost on a rather regular basis. He spent the better part of this afternoon yelling at me from my bedroom where he had been exiled in an endless and unfair timeout by a "mean" mom.

My husband and I regularly discuss how best to handle this strong-willed child. At the end of days like today, I have to remind myself that my grandmother always said that strong-willed children make wonderful adults. I am also reminded that these are precisely the characteristics which, if channeled and honed correctly, will safely carry him through the perils of peer pressure into adulthood ("hey Ethan, wanna do drugs?" "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! YOU'RE MEAN! YOU'RE STUPID!")

In today's conversation with my husband, he gently reminded me that Ethan is much like me in this area. I seem to remember my mother telling me of the days she would say to my father "I give up, her will is stronger than mine"--I think I've said that myself recently. Oh, and the time I was sent to my room by my ultra-patient mother, after which I posted a sign on my door that read "Mom is stupid!" Then, my brilliant father promptly revoked my door privileges by removing my door from it's hinges and storing it in the garage for at least a week (I need to have a good sit-down chat with grandpa about how to come up with such appropriate consequences).

Then, as my anger cooled, I began to think about the things which make me angry. The things which make me desire to be contrary, if only for the sake of being contrary. And the ways in which I have learned to cope with this generous helping of spit-fire in my life.

Then I left my husband with the boys, and made a late-night grocery run. I thought some more. I remember living in Florida and being angry at myself and at God. I rode my bike to the beach to walk in the moonlight and shout. I remember being calmed. I remember being angry at my brother and driving to a quiet spot where I could sit under a tree and think. I remember being angry at my husband when we were engaged, and running off to a deserted beach to walk and let the wind drive out my anger. I found a rock that was not perfectly shaped or colored, but it was beautiful. The very flaws and irregularities made it more so. I brought it home with me. I remember the last day I had like this--a couple of weeks ago here in FairyLand. I hiked down to the falls and sat and listened. I remember that I've always sought out solitude and nature at my most trying moments.

I've decided that I will help Ethan create his own quiet spot or secret garden where he can escape when all the expectations of good behavior seem just too much to bear. Here he can shout and scream, cry and sit. It will be his little piece of FairyLand.