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Tonight as I was trailing several seconds behind you on your way to go potty before bed, I heard you in the bathroom putting the potty seat away. We have a hook on the wall, and if you stand on your tip toes you can barely reach it to put it away. “‘Siah do it!” you often say. You pretty much always refer to yourself in the third person like that, and you always call yourself ‘Siah, which is funny. I think I’ve mentioned that is the name you’ve chosen for yourself before. These days, I usually call you Jo (or Josiah John if I really need your attention.) Sister calls you Josiah in her sweet almost-six year old voice. You call her “Sissy,” only Sissy. Daddy calls you many things, but I’d say that what comes out of his mouth most often is “Claw” or the longer version, “Bear Claw,” or “Bubba Boo Boo,” or… well, actually, your Daddy still can’t pick only one. There are at least a dozen others. You are many things, and have many names. At that suits you, you my crazy little ball of emotions, unpredictability, and never-ending surprises.
Back to my story.
You were hanging the toilet seat and I was preparing myself for a battle of wits with you. Nearly everything with you is a battle of wits. I figured you had decided that you didn’t want to go pee because, well, you decide you don’t want to go pee a lot, and that you don’t want to in general do many things that you generally required to do. You are like a velociraptor, constantly testing the electric fences. You do not take for granted that boundaries are boundaries. So I walked in, prepared to battle. And instead, you are standing with your pants down, on your tip toes, peeing in the toilet like a grown man. You’ve done it before, but only outside, and only a couple of times. In a couple of months of training, you have always sat down. Today, you showed me how a real man does it. All on your own. Your own idea. You’re so little, and in that moment, you seemed so grown up. Of course, this will probably all embarrass you someday. Oh well. I am your Momma, and I have changed 5 million of your poopy diapers (still not wanting to do that business in the toilet.) I have rocked you before bed nearly every single night of your life, a thousand times and more. I am doing my sweet time with you, so I don’t think you’ll begrudge me a few embarrassing stories that make me smile, that warm my heart and make me laugh.
There is so much. It has been too long.
You say such grown up things now, in grown up ways, in your baby voice, and it’s still novel enough and that you can make us burst into spontaneous laughter with the surprise of it. You still talk like a baby. Not everyone can understand you all the time. It’s real talk, with the classic baby lisps and letter substitutions. You say things like “Bank You.” We usually can understand you just fine. On the rare occasion we struggle, 9 times out of 10, Adela can translate for us. She speaks Siah. Since it’s Halloween time right now, there are decorations everywhere and you are constantly seeing things, a bat, a witches hat, a creepy, leafless tree shadow and saying, “Scawy!!” And you don’t say it once. You make sure we acknowledge the danger and are sufficiently concerned before you will move on. You have reached the age of repetition. You have reminded me of when Adela was like this. She, not too long ago, went through a phase were she would repeat her observations indefinitely until that had been properly acknowledged. You are doing the same thing now. If you say something, not even directly to me, but just while I am in the same room, I better repeat it back to you and nod my head, or answer the question, or participate in some way. If I don’t, you get stuck on repeat, just like she did. You need to be validated in everything you say. It’s cute. It’s social. You do this cute thing (when you’re feeling less defiant than usual, but you really don’t want to do something) where you say “no, no, no, no.” Always 4 times in a row in quick succession on a downward tonal scale, starting high and ending low. Come to think of it, I think I do that. It’s funny how many things I never realize I say or do until I see them reflected back to me in you and your sister. The way you “ask nicely” for things is pretty cute too. “Peeeeease?” but imagine it 2 octaves higher than your usual voice. Always high and always with a big, scrunched up smile on your face, while you rub your chest with a flat palm (the one baby sign we taught you has never left you.)
You’re getting big so fast. I don’t write enough specifics down as they happen. Like water through a sieve these memories. I hate how quickly they are gone. Little things. Little memories. What else?
You carry a truck with you everywhere you go. If not a truck, a train. You choose your favorite and will usually keep that particular vehicle as your favorite for an entire day, perhaps two days, keeping him with you, putting him down for naps on your nightstand with it’s very own teetee, putting it to bed at night in the same way, getting it up in the morning first thing. Anything with wheels. And it doesn’t have to be a vehicle. Strollers, shopping carts, vacuum cleaners, if it rolls, you’re in to it.
You sing bits and pieces of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Itsy Bitsy Spider and the ABC’s. But you get embarrassed or perhaps frustrated that you don’t know all the words fairly easily. You have to be in the right mood in order to really go for it. But it’s sweet. And as far as I can tell, you have a good ear for music. You can carry the tune. And you bob your head along with the beat of the music too. I think music will come to you fairly easily.
You pray. Have I told the story about how you tell God you “got no money” every night? I can’t remember. You’ve been doing it for a long time, months, but I haven’t written in months either. You started learning to pray after a very traumatic episode in which we were at dinner and you wanted to purchase a toy set of keys out of one of those quarter operated toy vending machines. Keys or a soccer ball. I told you I “had no money,” and told you to check your pockets for change. You did and found none and were devastated and threw a massive fit. It was an unpleasant experience. But either that night, or a night shortly after, you began praying, in a rambling, almost unintelligible way about it. The bits we can always make out are something like, “Siah got no monies. Momma got no money. No money keys. No money socca ball. No pockets! No money in Siah pockets.” Some variation of that, all prayed in a very serious, dramatic tone, with your hands raise, both palms up, in a passionate plea to heaven. Poor Siah has no monies. It’s truly funny, and it’s a long running funny at this point. You mix it up just enough to keep it interesting. But for about 3 or 4 months now, the “keys”, the “no monies” have been your main concerns when talking to Jesus. I’ll usually prompt you or ask you if you want to say Thank you to Jesus for anything. Mostly at that point you tell Jesus Thank you for each of your immediate family members, one at a time. “Thank you Jesus Mommy. Thank you Jesus Daddy. Thank you Jesus Sissy.” And you always include, “Thank you Jesus Siah,” too.
If you are a storm, your rocking chair continues to be the eye of the storm. I cherish our cuddles so much. You are easily subdued when I truly think about it. With an appropriate transition, that time in the rocking chair is always calm, always sweet, it binds us together. You love to be squeezed, held, hair stroked, back rubbed, arms tickled. You eat it up. It turns you into a compliant puppy dog. Outside the rocker, we’re making strides too. Of course, we have to take it one day, one moment at a time. We haven’t arrived. But things are getting better. I think? Thanks to prayer. Thanks to consistency. I don’t always feel out of control (and I mean that in terms of myself as well as of you.) I have let go so much of the concept of controlling you. What that does NOT mean is that you get to do whatever you want without consequences. What it does mean is that I physically can’t make you do many things. I cannot force you to have different attitude. I can’t make you chew and swallow your food. I can’ t make you not whine. I can’t make you be compliant. But I can refuse to participate in many of these situations. And sometimes I can let you choose something that will allow you to learn a lesson as a result of a natural consequence. I have become a little more emotionally distanced from discipline. It’s difficult, and I’m not perfect. But things have improved.
You’re an individual, so different than your sister. I don’t think that the same methods that work on her will work on you. They haven’t. She doesn’t battle with us about everything. She is obedient. She is easily swayed. She is easily bribed. She is easily guided. You are not. You challenge everything. And it doesn’t make her better than you. It’s a different strength. She will need our guidance and help learning how to deal with life based on her unique personality. Her struggles will be different than yours. I can hear authoritarian parents thinking at me, “Immediate Obedience! My kid would never do that. What that kid needs is a good spanking!” And that’s okay. Anyone who feels that way likely hasn’t tried to raise a Josiah. It may not be as simple as we want it to be. I am far from having all the answers when it comes to what is best for you. You still frequently catch me off guard. It is a constant “battle of wits” when it comes to raising you, anticipating when and what you will do and how to counter it. I am prayerful about how to discipline you. I beg the Lord to help me. I want to do what is right by you, what will be effective, what He wants me to do. I have no desire to force you to do or be anything (well, in my flesh I do at times and then repent of it.) I want you to have a heart that wants to do right, and a mind that believes the truth about the world, about relationships, about what the Lord wants for you, about why rules are in place and why they are good. I don’t want to exasperate you so that you lose heart. I don’t want you to lose heart! I want to bring you up in the instruction of the Lord. I want you to have a heart that follows Him, not one that is focused on toeing a line I’ve manufactured. I want that with all my heart. You are his. I just get to hold you for a little while. And I want His best in your life. He knows what that is, and will enable me to guide you on that path. God, give me wisdom.
As much as I talk about the challenges of raising you, let me say that the joy you give me immeasurably more than the struggle. And maybe I don’t focus on that enough. I’m sure I don’t. I hope you don’t read this someday and don’t immediately know that being your Mom is the best thing in my life. You, Adela, Daddy. And you, in your own unique way give me something that I don’t get from anyone else. I hope you always know how special you are to me. There is a part of me that is made just for loving you. No one else could be you in my life. I adore you.
We are not the same, but we overlap in dramatic ways. You are my object lesson from the Lord. You are headstrong. I am headstrong. You are stubborn. I am stubborn. You are emotional. I am emotional. You have a problem controlling your emotions. I have a problem controlling my emotions. You want your way. I want my way. You want to know the reasons for everything. I do too. Your strong will, it is me, amplified. And you are so smart. When I see you acting out in ridiculous ways, the Lord oftentimes taps me on the shoulder and opens my eyes to see my own ugliness, my own immaturity, my own inability to accept the things that happen that don’t fit into my own little box of “what I want.” If I lose my cool with you, why wouldn’t you lose your cool with me? I can get away with nothing anymore. It is in my face. Always. I can’t expect you, as a 3-year-old, to master your emotions when I haven’t done it in 37 years. I have far to go. And when I see myself in you, it isn’t despair I feel, it’s compassion. And when I feel that compassion for you, I know the Lord must feel it for me despite the patience it requires of him. He’s going to help me. I’m going to help you.
You have such joy in you too, son. It pours out of you. I can’t tell you how often people interact with you in stores. And not just talk, but giggle and “awwww.” You are a bright little light of smiley energy everywhere you go. I feel like we’re in the spotlight sometimes when we go out. You wave, and smile, and say hi (when you’re not having a fit or mood over something, and those fits and moods are super-transient. You can change in the twinkling of an eye. After you’ve yelled loud enough and long enough to get everybody in a building looking our way.) Your grin is contagious. It’s sunshine, and everywhere you go, you go brightly.
Lately, I have felt caution when it comes to telling you too much about what I think you kids are going to be like someday. It isn’t for me to say. I know little about who you will become and nothing about what the future holds. I hope you and your sister both know that when I imagine things for the future, it’s just that. Imaginings. You will surprise me in many, many ways, I’m sure, and nothing I say should ever limit who you become or direct you away from God’s call on your life. Anyway, I just see you in a people job. I can see you as a politician. A good one hopefully. Maybe you’ll be the first truly good, moral politician in many decades. I don’t know. I can see you fundraising. I can see you teaching. I can see you in sales (Daddy likes that!) I see you as a leader. I can see you doing so many things. I can just imagine people following you. You are so strong. You stand out. You make people pay attention. You have a way of making everybody around you feel special. It’s a gift. Sometimes it’s fun for a Momma to wonder.
As you turn three… You like trucks, trains, wheels. You like stacking things, blocks, crayons, glue sticks, anything you have in plenty. You like Mickey Mouse. You love Looney Tunes. You like music. You like grapes, strawberries, carrots, crackers and anything you deem a “snack” (starchy and sweet. Most other things are usually a battle.) You like pockets. You like blankets. You love teetee. You like books. You like bedtime. You love cuddles and “rock-a-bit.” You like your bike. You like tea parties. You like baths. You like to drink tea water and bath water. You like tools, plastic hammers and wrenches. You like tracks. You like to know what’s coming next and where we are. You like to hide under the covers. You like sister. You like to chase sister, to make her to scream and run away. You like going to childcare in the gym and at church. You like rocks. You like throwing rocks. You like jumping. You like small toys you can carry around and fit in your pockets. You like monies (coins) and putting them in various bags, boxes, socks and gloves to carry around with you. You like balls. You like to be tickled. You love to laugh. You like me to take your picture. You like life. You’re a happy little boy with strong opinions, a loud mouth, a busy body, and a ready smile, and I love every inch of you.
And now, you’re three. Just like that. I love you, son. Happy Birthday to you! And many more.
