A lot of wins today in parenting, soccer, relationships, and Ticket to Ride.
Most days aren’t full of wins like these and I’m humbly grateful for all the gifts God has provided me.
I spotted a young Muslim man on my soccer team praying before stepping onto the pitch pre-kickoff and after the halftime break. It reminded me to do my own quiet gratitudes before we started the second half. I quickly realized the list is infinite, even isolated to the context of soccer.
I played the rest of that game and another and spent time with family outside and inside. I smiled through it all. The blessings piled on top of the gratitudes.
I celebrate my wins and I recognize that I would have none of this without God.
She had divorced an alcoholic and her stories of a neglectful husband and father of her children touched a fearful place in my heart.
I didn’t look into that place. I looked at an opportunity to aleviate the terrible loneliness of widowhood. I stopped drinking out of fear of harming myself, my children, and this rare chance at love.
Before our relationship became sexual, it was marital. We were mistaken as a family constantly and reveled in our roles. We thought we were in control, but I was driven by loneliness and lust. She craved the father figure and partner I was so good at portraying.
Sobriety did lead to love making. The dangerous kind that digs deeper and demands vulnerability and truth. The facades were exposed and our assumptions about our future together crumbled.
I started to face my patterns around alcohol. It was a confounding time. I needed to work on myself, yet I was pouring energy into a relationship that would dissolve, quite literally, overnight.
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Now I had to face two big fears. Was I forever an alcoholic? Would that trap me alone in confusion?
I picked up a book I had been carrying with me for twenty years, Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life. Sitting on my kitchen floor in the early hours before my boys woke up, reading her affirmations and discovering my perilous lack of self love turned my life around. Addiction, loneliness, parenting, and all my fears were finally put up against an immutable power: Love.
Hay doesn’t use Christian language, but her words helped me accept the eternal river of love flowing from God. I got a glimpse of that source in my wife’s last moments on Earth. Mary showed me what was possible and it took me more than a year of hurt before I allowed it into my heart.
I bridged the cavity between believing and worthiness. Until you feel worthy of God’s love, you cannot fully receive it.
It turned out that my first chance at love after loss was not rare. I stopped looking at love as a scarce resource and began discovering it in all its forms and in all sorts of places.
Westen, my older son, stole the iPad from my room last night and stayed up with videos and games.
This morning he missed jiu-jitsu because of his late night. I missed out on yoga because I was trying to get him up and didn’t yet know about his deception. Neither of us had a top morning.
A friend needed a favor, so I was blessed with the chance to put some space between me and my son. I don’t handle these situations well and needed the productive cool-off time.
By the time I returned, I was ready to ignore the fiasco as long as it would buy me a quiet house. Our plan was to attend a Delaware Shakespeare performance this evening and that offered enough complications on its own.
My younger son, Isaac, hasn’t been game for getting out of the house as of late. None of my plans seem to please him until the car door opens at our destination, then, maybe, he’ll be the happy little kid I know.
He never used to put up a fight about Shakespeare, but I was expecting one today. With my patience thinned out before noon, I was not optimistic about my plans.
I ordered pizza from Claymont Steak Shop for a picnic before the outdoor show and crossed my fingers. Isaac put up no fight and we got out the door on time. Things seemed to be turning in my direction.
As we got to the park, I looked for the email with our tickets. What I found was a cancellation notice due to inclement weather. I thought, “Here we go. Questions about why I didn’t check sooner and ‘Was this a trick?’ were sure to come.”
But they didn’t come. We discussed where to find cover to eat and got ourselves set up. I often carry a camp table and it came in handy with the other picnic preparations.
We filled our bellies, played a little in the rain, and calmly discussed which movie to watch before bed.
The whole day teetered at the edge of disaster, but cool heads and reluctant forgiveness kept us together.
Disclosure:
In small, strange ways, the items linked below kept our day moving in a positive manner.They are affiliate links, meaning, at no additional cost to you, I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase.
I can’t remember why I was on a tirade. I’m sure it was stupid and embarrassing and my own doing. My younger son brought a piece of art to give to me to calm me down or distract me. I was a shit about it and brushed it aside.
He was away this weekend and I found the spin art created from his first KiwiCo build.
I wanted to express my gratitude in a special way, so I built a special frame for his art.
This is waiting for him to find in his bedroom, but I hope he’s okay with keeping it in a more heavily trafficked area.
I have found that every time I create more freedom for my sons, they take it further than I expected. They push me out of my comfort zone and challenge my assumptions, inspiring a desire to take that freedom away.
I try very hard to see that as my fear and not project it onto my children. I look for ways to empower them within their new found freedom. A tracker is not a neutral thing, it is a message to your child.
No judgment and no advice, just a call to consider what messages we want to communicate with our children.
Situational awareness and some self defense training make an individual much less likely to become a victim. A tracking device may offer a false sense of security that leads the child unprepared into unwelcome danger.
I always return to a couple ideas. One, there is no “safe,” there are only degrees of risk we are willing to accept. Two, what parenting strategies will most benefit my children as they become adults.
I feel that the danger they put themselves in will teach them more than an excessively safe childhood will. With practice, they will come to master their own boundaries and have no fear when it comes to pursuing their dreams. This is what I hope they gain from a free range childhood.
A single parent can’t build a lasting relationship without the consent of his or her children.
Patience and trust are all I can bring to the process. If my young sons don’t want a certain person in their lives, I don’t have the will to force it.
We’ve gone through a variety of missteps in the last two years. Sometimes it feels that more has gone wrong than right. It’s through this series of storms that I can now recognize how bright the prospects are with a new lover.
We all camped together this weekend, me and the boys and my partner and her daughter.
It was seemless. The kids made friends at the playground and carried on for hours. When we denied a request to turn our respective family tents into “adult” and “kid” tents, they not-so-clandestinely fell asleep together in a hammock.
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The next night we all piled into one tent and closed the evening with a goof game of Cards Against Humanity: Family Edition. We’re all clowns and, even though we were exhausted, we played past midnight.
The morning brought rain that exposed a compromised roof and soaked a good amount of our gear. Undaunted, my partner and I closed up camp while the kids slept in and entertained one another. The challenge of adversity with new people was the perfect ending to an otherwise effortless weekend. I’ve found a partner who wants to work, play, laugh, and enjoy all the moments together. Our children have found kinship in each other and tentative bonds with the new adult in their lives.
It has been a perfect few weeks cultivating a romance that not only works for our children, but gives them room to thrive. We’ve each worked hard on ourselves to get to a place where this is possible. I don’t know what mystery is behind the comfort that our children are experiencing, but I am eternally grateful for it.
I did all the things. Gave the game plan for the day, arranged for extra game time with friends, sat down and watched the finale of WandaVision before leaving the house, brought snacks, reiterated the game plan throughout the day, made time for screen time, invited friends on our evening adventure, and who knows what else I managed to provide…yet…the meltdown.
He can recover once my promise of fun and excitement and social interaction comes to fruition. I’m slower to recover from his crying accusations and seemingly complete misery.
Now he’s shooting hoops with his brother and a new friend. I’m not sure if I failed in yelling on the way here, or did okay by apologizing and following through with the promised adventure.
I skipped my Wim Hof Method breathing and cold therapy today. It’s been a long time since I missed a day. I showered late last night and slept in today. We got going on adventures with friends early and I didn’t think much of it.
The lack of intention rolled on through the day. Small impositions and improper self care wore on me. As time for dinner came close, I realized I was too hungry and too tired. The awareness of it wasn’t enough. I screamed at my sons for fighting (oh yeah, that’s a good model of conflict resolution). I threw things that were left out of place (look at that, more modeling of hurtful behaviour).
I finally broke down and hugged them, apologized, and hugged them again.
The pain I caused them and the anguish I caused myself seem unforgivable. It took someone’s loving words to remind me that I am not perfect. I’ve been on this intentional journey of positive parenting for more than two years. I’ve made great improvements in our lives because of it. Our house is more full of love than ever.
These backslides are difficult, even in the bright light of those improvements.
But, as I was told tonight, I should give myself grace. And I will.
There is a lot of talk among homeschoolers this time of year about what kind of “break” to take. As much as I agree with the concept of taking a break from formal homeschooling, it’s not a “break.”
It’s a shift of priorities. In the wake of losing the mother of my two young sons, I shifted all my focus to our emotional, psychological, and spiritual wellbeing. There’s a lot of work in that. I’ve come to believe that learning the skills to cope with tragedy is more important than any book-based lesson.
An emotionally balanced, psycholgically self-aware, and spiritually grounded individual is unstoppable in whatever learning they desire. That individual can never be “behind.”
That work isn’t just for those in the throes of trauma, it is for everyone. Our society is sick with worry over where each of us exists in the rat race. The only real race is the one against ourselves. Finding deeper peace in each day will bring us ever greater riches until our last day.
