When You Need to be Carried

One morning last week, it was time to leave, and Miles was at the kitchen table working on building a Lego Spider-Man car.  A really cool one.  He was so focused on it, that he didn’t hear me the first time I said it was time to go.

A second time, I said, “C’mon, buddy – time to go to school,” and he said, “Ok, I’m bringing my Spider-Man car with me.”

We’ve done this before.  Legos get invited into the car because Miles can’t bear to part with them, Legos break apart and end up in tiny bits all over the floor board, Miles is devastated because his Lego creation is no more, and I’m devastated because there is not one square foot in my entire existence that hasn’t been infiltrated by freaking Legos.
 

“No sir – you can leave your Lego car here while you’re at school, and when you get home, it’ll be on the table waiting for you.” “Mommy, I *REALLY* want to bring it in the car really, really, really bad.” “I’m sorry, honey – it stays here.  Pieces will break off of it, and then you’ll be sad – much better to have it all here in one piece when you get home.” “Mommy, I PROMISE I won’t let ANY pieces break.  I VERY promise.” “Miles – please put the Legos down, and go get in the car.  You can play with them tonight.”

He furrowed his angry eyebrows, looked up at me, grunted, and stomped out of the house. Grunt.  Stomp.  Angry Eyes.  (Lather, rinse, repeat).

 “Miles, I know you’re upset right now.  You’re allowed to be upset, but you aren’t allowed to be disrespectful.  I need you to stop grunting and stomping and walk calmly to the car.  No more angry grunting and stomping.  Start here, and walk calmly to the car.” 

[GRUNT. STOMP.  ANGRY FACE.  GRUNT…]
 

“No sir, that wasn’t calm.  Come back here and try again.”

[ANGRY FACE. STOMP. ANGRY FACE. STOMP. GRUNT…]
 

“No sir, that still wasn’t calm.  Please come back here and try again.  You can do this.”

He walked back to the starting point, his angry face melted, and he just started sobbing.  Not mad sobbing…sad sobbing.  Uncontrollable, loud, sad sobbing.

Traditional parenting (at least where I’m from) dictates that the appropriate response to this reaction is to say, “If you don’t dry it up right now, I’ll give you something to cry about.”  Fun fact:  I’ve probably said this before…Even if I haven’t said it, I know I’ve thought it.  You do what you know, right?

Instead, defying my instinct, I looked at his tear-streaked red face and walked over to him and held out my hand.
 

“Hey buddy.  This is hard, isn’t it?  Take my hand, and we’ll walk calmly to the car together.  We’ll do it together so you don’t have to do it alone.”

He blinked and looked up at me, and stretched his arms up for me to pick him up.  I stooped down, picked him up, and held him there for a second while he wiped his tears on my sweater in that comfy spot between my neck and shoulder.  He didn’t speak, he just sniffled.  
 

“We haven’t had a good snuggle this morning, so we needed a big morning hug, didn’t we?  We’ll walk to the car, and this can be our big morning hug, too…ok?” 

He held me tighter.  

“Ok.  I really love you, Mommy.”

 “I love you, too, buddy.  You’re doing great.  Look at us…we made it to the car.”

 ---

And so, I guess I just want to say, we all have days when we feel like we just can’t get it together by ourselves.  Sometimes we just can’t.  Sometimes we need someone who will pick us up and love us when we’re needy or angry or unlovable.  And that’s ok…we belong to each other, and we’ll get through it together.