Wednesday, March 19

Dear Wesley, {11 years old}

It's been 3 months since you've turned 11.

I've been trying to write you this letter for a while now, but seeing as you have been grounded over half of your time labeled as an 11 year old, it's always turned into a lecture post that suggested more than a few times about smartin' up and giving your poor worn down Mumma a bit of a break.

Who knew this parenting thing meant diligence on being consistently stern.
Every inch given, a mile taken.
Taming one fire, only to have another ignite.
Lessons not learned.
Let me tell you Wesley, it's exhausting.

Anyways, I'm digressing.

What I'm trying to say is, I didn't want this birthday post…. or any birthday post for that matter…. to be stemmed from my frustrations of our challenges. And the last few times I've started to write to you, that is what it have been.

Aired frustations.
Fault Focused.

But, just the other day, you were antagonizing and tearing apart everything that came out of your 5 year old brother's month, with 11 year old sass.

I put up with it for awhile, tried to gently remind you that you're knowledge base, on whether a goat could jump over a house, was a little more realistic than what your brother was saying, but that his imagination was doing just fine without your interrupting.

After a while longer, I spun on my heels and went on one of those verbal rants I can get going on…. you know the ones, where I just talk….. non.stop… where I really dig deep into the specific annoyance that I'm having at the moment, but then bring up every thing else that has ticked me off over the last 31 years of my life… pulling things out of left field… things that have little to no relevance to the actual situation….then I make ridiculous analogies about things that you can't laugh at, because you know I'm mad… but I know you want to…. I know… so you literally bite your lips to try and hide the encroaching smile…. start to raise that one eye brow to distort your face into one of serious concentration…. and after awhile… because I can't stop myself from talking... you finally reside to that glazed look and just agree to everything I'm saying…

So yeah, I was in the midst of one of those…. and it was one of my best ones yet, let me tell you…. it was right after the cocked eyebrow, but right before the glaze shadowed and I was saying….

"…. because it's your job, in this world, to not give into every forsaken impulse you have… if whatever you're thinking is only driven with a force of negative ill purpose and leaves nothing good in it's wake, it doesn't need to be said…."

Right then… I realized… I… your mother… am asking you… my 11 year old…  to have the same level of cognitive control, that most adults can't even bring themselves to display in their day to day as grown ups.

And that's not fair.

Now, if you're expecting me to let you off the hook…. cut you some slack… give you a break….I wont… because it's those very adults that drive my diligence and consistency of expectations for you.

But I will work hard to be better centered.
Because at 11, things really aren't that hard for you or I.

But, I love having those humbling thoughts flood me.
I love a dose of perspective thrown at me unexpectedly.

And as always, we will diligently continuing to find our ebb and flow.
For the times when things are that hard for you and I.

As of now….
Your wit impresses me each day and you don't know the pride I feel when it's compared to my own.
Clearly a compliment to me, because how could I ever be as clever as you.

You wont kiss me when I'm dropping you off at school anymore.
And I wont not call you out on it each morning.

Daddy things we are weird when we expand on imaginative stories to the level we can and laugh like we do.
Weird is more fun.

You still sleep in your brother's bed on the weekends.
I sometimes stand to listen to your giggles through the door, though it's way too late for you to still be awake.

I'm right on the cusp of being that embarrassing mom.
You should know, over the next few years, I plan on diving in head first.
Remember when I screamed "i love you, i love you, i love you" from the van window dropping you off at school?
I've never seen you run so fast.
I've never loved laughing more.

You kiss the top of your sister's head at the most random times, when you're not even aware I'm watching.
It's always when I need to see kindness most.

I get overwhelmed at times.
But I think we're doing ok, Bubby.

I think we're figuring this whole thing out just fine.
Diligently and consistently.

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I love you,

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