A Love of my Own

Das Geschenk eines Childs Liebe

There are very few things in my life that have brought me to my knees. Being a mom is one of them. Whether for the need to praise the Lord, or beg for mercy, I’ve been there…on the ground.

Lately one of our teenagers has really, really been trying. Our personalities clash all the way down to a molecular level and our wants and desires for his life are about as far apart as they could ever be. I say wear pants (because you know, it’s 20′ outside) and he walks by me to the outer realms of his universe wearing what else – basketball shorts. Awesome. His constant desire to be loved has vanished, and he’s got facial hair. What the hell happened while I was loading dishes and slicing apples?

There are many, many, MANY days that I look into my broken mirror and think that perhaps I have failed. I see the wrongs, the mistakes, and so many what ifs. The cracks grow, and I can feel the tears fall. I lock the door. Sitting on our toilet I try to remind myself that there doesn’t always have to be a bad guy. I’m not the bad guy, nor is my son. He’s learning how to be.

Do you remember that taste in your mouth you got when you realized everyone on your bus knew it was picture day except you? Or perhaps you tried to trim your own bangs in 7th grade and there was no turning back from the EPIC failure? Maybe it was more serious, and you were pregnant at 16…. Imagine if all that was on Faceflop, tweeder, instafail…?

My son is not me. He will have his own failings, trials and tribulations. I forget that I didn’t have social media to hound me, belittle me, trash me, and then make me feel ‘likes’ again. Oh the abuse. It’s no wonder the the kid is BEYOND my teen mood swings, my adolescent angst. I could not have survived it if it had been his way. For that I commend him.

Anyway….back to the point of this post….

Through that same broken mirror I am reminded of his love. The way he opened all the doors and cleared the entire sidewalk of branches and pebbles, nuts and leaves…just for me, when I was pregnant with his little sister, each way, every time we walked it. The cracks grow smaller. He is still that little boy. I leave the bathroom, as I remind myself to breathe. This too, shall pass.

As the time passes he will walk into my bedroom. He will grab his baby brother and kiss him sweetly. Baby feeling the stubble on his cheek.
“I love you honey” he says.
The baby growls back, in a language just for him, in understanding, and pulls him close.

I take the moment and place it deep within my heart, for this….this is my little bit of heaven.


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