Friday, January 6, 2006

Motherly Love (and frustration)

The boys wanted me to spike their hair this morning. They go through stages of wanting it and then not every few weeks. Today Taylor's was gold and Jordan's silver. But it doesn't stop there. Taylor wanted to know which shirt would look best with his hair, and even gave way when I advised him on the choice of sweat shirt. When we bought him new shoes recently, he had definite opinions on what would look best. Beyond that he supported his argument with how practical and long lasting they would be. (He won, and they look good.) Taylor (and Jordan) trudged out the the door looking very "cool" this morning, and the thought runs through my mind that I'm not too far away from him returning with a girl in tow. *face blanches*
He's nine. That's only a few steps away from thirteen. No wonder there's such a power struggle in our home recently! He and Jord have been at it from here to Kingdom Come almost constantly. Both trying to stake their territorial claim on property, whether it's the spot on the couch or the chair at the table or the sink in the bathroom or the one lego piece left that they booth need. They're getting older, and when one doesn't respect the other the affected sibling tends to try and drag it from the offender either verbally or physically...or both.

Boys. Sheesh.

All I can do is pray and lovingly, often times forcefully, step in and guide their clashes so they end with true resolutions instead of "fine!" "fine!" "fine, then!" "whatever..." And cling to the hope that moments like yesterday morning give me.

Taylor: "Jord, I'm gonna walk this morning."
Jordan: "Okay, I'll walk with you."
Taylor: "Well, I know your bike is getting too small and it's hard to ride. If you want to ride mine this morning you can, since I won't be riding it."
Jordan: *looks at me surprised, then back at Taylor* "Really?"
Taylor: "Yeah, that's fine."
Jordan: "Okay, I'll ride."
And they're out the door peacefully, as if they're always best friends who love to share.

Boys. Sheesh.
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