Too Stubborn

My older son, R., is too much like me. He gets a vision of what he wants and then he will not be deterred from his vision.  So when we had the idea of saving a few pine needles from our Christmas tree in a little box he went on a 20 minutes search.  That meant we couldn't read before we went to bed (we're on the last chapters of Harry Potter). I kept offering him boxes. Finally I realized that the box he wanted was a silver jewelry box my brother and sister-in-law gave me when they got married.  But I couldn't give him that one, so I found a box with a bird on it that was very nice.  Then he wanted to tape the pine needles in a certain way. More tears, more yelling. 

When I tucked him into bed, I told him that he is just like me, he has visions of what he wants and no one can stop him.  I told him we were bound to butt heads that way, just like two goats. He didn't quite get that one.  I later realized that he had taken a velvet board I have for my beading for his hovercraft for his birds. It seems he had created a hovercraft (a box with lights in it), for six of his stuffed birds.  When he again became teary-eyed at me disturbing their hovercraft nest, I told him he could keep it but then I was so annoyed that I slammed the box down and disturbed the hovercraft. So I had to apologize all over again and tell him he could keep the darned thing.

Sometimes I feel like nothing is sacred in our house.  The kids feel like the can take anything - anything is up for grabs. I'll see the turkey baster in the bathroom, the timer will be next to the bed.  It makes me crazy.

But it's good to keep in mind that the reason that R. and I get so mad at each other is he's just like me.  When I get mad at him, I'm really getting mad at myself. Hmmm.

Homework nightmares

Last night, my son R. had a homework assignment in which he had to write a letter to  Ruby Bridges.  It seems they had watched a move in school about Ruby Bridges, who was the little six-year-old girl who had to have U.S. marshals walk her into her all-white school. 

At 6:30 R. said he wanted my help. I was cooking dinner but I got things started and then we looked Ruby Bridges up on the Internet.  Then we had a long conversation while I was cooking about why she was important.  R. then wrote one sentence.  We had dinner and my husband came home.  R. still needed help with his homework and just stared at his paper.  Then Dad stepped in and informed R. that we would not tell him what to write and gave him a few more suggestions.  Tears. Wailing. Protestations that he couldn't come up with anything. I came over to offer to help because I became convinced he really couldn't do it. But Dad held fast and eventually R. came out to read us his sentences.  This process, mind you, went on until 10 p.m. W. went to bed, R. was still writing. We had dessert, he was writing over dessert. Finally, he came up with a pretty good letter that was in his own quirky style. "Did you lose many friends when you went to your new school?" he asked in the letter.

My husband gave him a pep talk about how elephants in the circus are conditioned not to break out of their chains and that he doesn't want R. to accept failure like the elephants. Well, I'm not sure about the analogy but it was great. And it does go to show that I'm not always the best one to help them be independent.