Happy is a verb

Earlier I would have called today a frustrating day.

We sat down to breakfast to look out our window and see a police vehicle pull up at our neighbor's house.  The officer ran out of his car, jumped their fence and darted into the house.  My heart cramped up as the grandson of our neighbors (who lives with them) bolted from the next door down, (where he was probably trying to get help from the ER nurse who lives there) ran back to his own home, barefoot in the snow, pale faced, also jumping their fence and darting into the house.  Soon, an ambulance, firetruck, and another police officer pulled up as well.  I told my kids to go wake up Daddy, and not to follow me.  Outside, I stood with a small group of neighbors, and we watched.  We were agonizing over the fact that the man in trouble in the house has a wonderful wife who has tried to keep him going through poor health, and was then at work.   Soon she careened into view and briskly walked into the house, upset and covering her mouth.  "We're here for you!" yelled my friend, as they made eye contact, hoping to offer any help in her distress.  Later I found out her husband had died that morning, and was found by her grandson just before the officers arrived.

My heart has been hurting for her all day.  We've watched family members come, and other neighbors too, who love them, trying to offer some support.

They are one of the minority families who live in Utah who aren't LDS, and though I don't have any desire to make religion a point right now, especially when I want to respect her beliefs as a Jehovah's Witness, I hope she feels comfort in the shared belief we have in an afterlife.  I hope she isn't feeling the deep sting death can leave us with, where we feel absolutely alone and sometimes disconnected from one we've lost.

My day has been filled with thoughts and prayers for her, and her family.

My kids actually were really sweet to see the gravity of what was happening, and after dinner, sweet A wrote a little letter to her.  It was darling, and yet disturbing, and I should've taken a pic. of it to put here.  It said "I'm so sorry your husband died" and showed her crying with hands on eyes, and her husband dead with x's for eyes.  He put a huge sad toothy face (scary looking) above her head, and when I asked him what it was, he said it was how she was feeling.  We won't give her that letter, but I bet he can draw her another one that has a picture of happier times with the same message.  Maybe I shouldn't censor my kids.  They're so clear and so honest and sometimes that's the best thing for grief.  I have no idea.

After that, we began our morning chores (even feeling guilty that my day would carry on like usual while our neighbors 2 doors down are changed forever) and our little family did a wonderful job.  At the suggestion of the school counselor, we have changed up the way we do chores, so that when we ask the kids to do 3 chores on a Sat, they get to watch a 20 min. show or play games on my phone for 15 minutes between them as a reward.  Essentially it just breaks up the chores into smaller increments, and rewards the kiddos more frequently so the kids aren't overwhelmed, and we still end up with accomplishing what we aimed for.  It worked so well.

You may have caught that I got that tidbit from a school counselor.  I went to see her on Friday to ask for her opinion and suggestions of how to help our boy, A.  He's been really struggling to obey (which sounds like he's trying and failing.  Really it's more like he's not interested in obeying) and having all sorts of violent outbursts.  From 0 to 60 in 1 second kinda outbursts.  We've tried everything we can think of and can read up on to help him.  It's been going on since, well, maybe all year.  When you're in it daily, you never really see it as an event that 'began'.

We've spent time with him in his classroom (a great deal, in fact) making sure he obeys and respects the rules.  We've counseled with his teachers and the principal.  We've researched oppositional defiant disorder, we've checked into ADD and ADHD, we've changed parenting tactics, and tried motivators and incentives galore.  We've tried harshness, and kindness, extra affection, and demands.  We've let him make his own consequences, and asked the other kids to give him extra allowance.  We've been military-esqe in our consistency, and tried being lax and extra forgiving.  We've prayed our guts out, and tried with all we can to follow the spirit, and yet we feel like things are just as unpredictable: with an angry boy, exasperated parents, tentative siblings.

This last time of having the school contact us, letting us know that he angrily hurt a classmate (again) and scared a few other kids was kind of the last emotional straw.  So without wanting to go into too much detail, we're seeking help for him.  It's so emotionally strenuous.  Just please pray for our little boy, and for us.

At the end of the day, I realize that though things are emotionally raw right now, I still have the most wonderful life.  My husband deeply loves me.  That in and of itself is rare.  I have kids that adore me (so much that the 20 min kid-fit video that they checked out from the library wouldn't be fun without me).  We have work to do and a job that pays for our heater to crank on all night long.  My troop is healthy, and we all have faith in God and want to do right.  And though he really struggles, A wants that too.

SO even if the boys continue to remove the cushions from the couch at every waking moment so as to bounce wildly from the hide-a-bed below onto the recliners at the other side of the room, I can enjoy them.  I can enjoy them despite breaking the furniture, picking the veggies off their pizza, and constantly babbling, tapping and whistling even during prayers and conversations.  I can deal with the tattling and the continual wandering into our bed at 2 AM.  I can even learn to manage myself when I feel like I need to bust up land and creation to get them to hear what I'm saying.

That is the life of a parent, and I'm sure that God put some sort of strength-reserve inside me for just such occasions. I think it even gets deeper when I choose patience over freaking out at them.  Sheesh I just want to do this right.  And there is a right way; it's the opposite way that all the messed up emotionally scarred kids are raised.  Whatever that is.

One thing that helps me put this parenting thing into perspective is that our kids are just like us in this whole eternal plan.  I have weakness and failings as all adults have, but kids, though they be innocent until old enough, are learning too how to manage their weak bodies and curb impulses that come so naturally.  They know and I know they shouldn't do wrong, but knowing is not enough.  Experiencing the temptation to do what they shouldn't and choosing (good or bad) is what they need to grow.  I guess I never thought that I am just the same.  In God's eyes, I struggle just as frustratingly often to do what's right.  Kids are no more prepared to deal with the strength of the impulse than I am.  In fact it's worse for them.  They haven't had years of trial and errror to help sway them to choose the thing that is best. That may be common knowledge, but I've never really gotten it until now.  It helps me feel more merciful toward them.