Some days, life is all strawberry snowcones and rap music. And some days, it's not. Motherhood, and lately the circle of life in general, has really been presenting some large challenges, and while I feel like I'm up for the battle, my heart keeps getting caught up in the crosshairs. I'm praying constantly that God will show me the way. His way.
We've started t-ball again this year. I love t-ball. I love the dirt, and the uniforms, and the big huge smile and sheer joy that covers Porter's face when he hits the ball. After he hits, he runs to first base, at turtle speed, giggling and shrieking the whole way. In that moment, he's just the picture of honest, innocent, pure happiness- makes my heart jump right out of my chest. I love watching Brad coach the littles with patience and encouragement, and suppressing his competitive spirit for their sake. He's such a white hat. I love sitting in the crowd with Fischer, who is his brother's biggest fan, and my Mom, who is now the biggest supporter of my sweet son, just like she was for me. 
What I don't love is how our league takes it so seriously, like toddler MLB style. I hate the coaches who yell and cause the littles so much stress and anxiety, even under the guise of "teaching". I hate how we forget to have fun, forget to be silly, forget that in the end, the gatorade and snack for the team is probably more meaningful to the five and six year olds than what is on the scoreboard. Honestly, Porter can't even read the scoreboard, so unless someone tells him (DON'T), he'll never know that we haven't won a game yet. I am semi-ashamed to say that I begged him not to play. I just want to protect him and keep him safe, and I know that every activity, every interaction has the potential for pain. The other part of me thinks there's a possibility that any event could make it "click" for him. Maybe t-ball could wake him up. Maybe riding a horse will make something change. Maybe public school will be good for him. I hate that he has to grow up.
I hate that at every milestone I feel like I have to defend him. I want so much for him to just be on top, in something, anything. If he were the best at picking up sticks, I would celebrate it with a fierceness.
We registered for kinder last week. There aren't words to express what I'm feeling about the whole thought of him in public school. In a school with tests, and benchmarks, and expectations that he won't even understand. All I can say is that my prayer is "please, God" and I KNOW that He is listening.
There are already bullies. Mean kids who don't have any manners and who aren't held responsible for the way they make others feel. I am prepared to experience a lot of this in the future. I refuse to teach my kid to be ugly, since so many others get it naturally. Porter will be okay in kinder, because he has a heart of gold. But there will undoubtedly be some heartbreaks along the way.
Last Tuesday he had a melt down at practice. Crying, fit throwing, and general ridiculousness. I tried to ignore. I tried to talk him down. I tried encouragement and comforting. None of it worked.
On Friday, he took a scary fall off of a merry-go-round at the park. He hit his head, an immediate goose egg popped up. It was frightening and frustrating and just not something that I can live through again.
On Sunday, we went to pick him up from Nana and Papa's for church. He screamed and threw a fit because I tried to put his shoes on without socks. And because he didn't want to leave. And because there aren't as many rules and "no's" when he isn't home.
On Monday he had to come to work with me after school. He was watching movies in my office, happy as a lark, while I sat in a meeting across the hall. After his movie ended, he freaked out... I guess because he was alone? I heard him (and could see him) hyperventilating and crying at the top of his lungs.
Last night at his game there was an incident. It ended with spankings and too much crying to continue at the park. We waited out the game in the parking lot, and my heart was broken more so than his.
It just been one thing after another. Literally, days and days on end of crying, fits, and more drama than this mama can handle. I can't do it anymore. Seriously. Can. Not. Do. It.
But that's the point, right? I can't do it. I never could, and I never will be able to. But God.
John 15:4-5 (ESV)
4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.
God can. He will. He does handle things on my behalf. He does show up when nothing else will do. He does have a plan for Porter's life. He does hold us in the palm of his loving hand. He does.
In saying all of that, I still have Fischer. I have this crazy-smart, witty, fun-loving and adorable two year old who is a ball of energy, running around and loving on us all. For every second that I spend worrying, reprimanding, and correcting Porter, I spend two laughing at and delighting in Fischer. He is my relief. He is joyful and calm and courageous. He forgives quickly and catches on quicker. I think God gave us Fischer because he knew we would need something easy... some sort of distraction in the midst of chaos and frustration. Fischer is our windfall.
Porter is so caring and kind. He doesn't know mean, and he wouldn't harm a fly. He cuddles so well, and has the unique ability to wrap himself around my leg, look up in my eyes, smile that beautiful grin with his whole face and make my soul shake. Just last night...
I don't have a favorite. Just like God doesn't have favorites. I know that there will be a time when the tables are turned and Fischer is causing more problems (probably as a teenager), and Porter is our angel, but for now, this is our season.
Our season is tears, dirt, bickering, picky eaters, unflushed toilets, little sleep, rushing from here to there, and late night baths. Our season is giving our anxieties to God daily, carving out time for our marriage, and encouraging development and growth. Our season is not easy, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
This is my prayer:
God, please take it away. God, please open his eyes to the world around him and help him to learn. God, help me to be the Mom he needs. Give me peace. God, help Fischer to be kind. Help him to love others and seek you. Help our house to be filled with love and understanding and forgiveness and help us to point them to you every day. Every single day.
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