I am exhausted. My muscles ache, and I feel weak.
The first half of the day started out good. And then I made a serious mistake.
I insisted that my son, Ares, change his nasty, sticky, food crusted clothes before we go to Hobby Lobby.
Nope. He wasn't going to do it. And he wasn't just going to refuse, he was going to put up a fight. Throwing, hitting, screaming, laying on the ground, the whole bit. Eventually I coaxed him into the house, and he did change his clothes, but within that time frame his father brought in a new couch.
He was livid. How dare someone bring in new furniture without him?
So then he went outside to throw stuff at his dad, my van, and any poor sap that might be in the area. And my Ares isn't just a wimpy 7 year old. He's a young War Lord, and he throws big things with much gusto. The kid can do some damage. So I told him if he didn't stop, I'd run away. He didn't. So I ran.
When I was pregnant with Ares, I often had images of a warrior in my dreams and in meditations. After mentioning it to my husband, he thought maybe it meant that the baby should be named Ares. So we named him that. And it was at that point Ares, the God, entered my life.
A Pagan friend said "You don't seem like anyone who would worship Ares." Its true. A plump, slow moving, vegetarian who often fades into the background doesn't seem like anyone who would develop any kind of kinship for an impulsive bloodthirsty war deity. But when I get past the surface, I understand why he appeared.
Because in raising this kid, I was going to need the strength of a real warrior.
When he was 4, we couldn't take him in public anymore. He'd throw vicious tantrums over things that couldn't be helped, such as his favorite shopping cart being used, or the spaghetti in the grocery store being moved an isle over. And they weren't typical fits, they were amped up past a normal tantrum. He also, being verbally challenged, isn't moved with speech. We just stopped taking him out. Dad tried to put him in a day care so I could have a break, but they kicked him out after a week. In school, he had a staff available for him at all times. We went to the doctor. They tried several things. Nothing worked. Stumped. Tried a psychiatrist. She put him on something that made him about as high as Bob Marley, wanted to declare him disabled, and send him off to a school for the disabled. I was horrified. His teachers were horrified(he does not have any intellectual disability, he is just autistic with speech apraxia). We switched. The new one seemed well meaning, but was unable to remember who he was and wasn't mindful of his meds, so we just stopped going. We just accepted this was how life was now. There would be no help.
And then one day he ****** me off. He had a piece of candy. I ripped it out of his hands and ate it. He screamed. I took note. Later, he started up his nonsense, and I threatened to go into the kitchen and eat some favored food. He stopped immediately. I realized I was onto something. At that point, things turned around.
I started thinking outside of the box. I stopped reading about what other parents do(because it doesn't work here). I stopped asking advice. I just started going with the moment, going with my gut, and becoming absurd, because my situation is absurd.
So when I was running down the sidewalk today, with a screaming child following me, I just went with it. Now, I am not in any shape for running, so this wasn't exactly fun. Just forget the aches and pains. Just keep going. I let him 'catch' me when the moment seemed right. He'd lead me back, and then start screaming when we got close to the house/couch. I'd break free and run again. After half an hour of this, he finally came inside. He freaked out and threw something at the couch. I ran out the door. Do this all over again, until he finally came in and sat on it.
Victory.
He grumbled some more about it later. I did run away one more time. But this is huge progress, and at the end of the night, I told him to get his butt away from my couch, because I'm sleeping here, not him. And I'll make him think I did(though I won't really).
I'm not sure if Lord Ares is here for me or the kid. Maybe both. The truth is, I hold up very well most of the time. I do get pooped and worn out. Occasionally I break for a bit here or there. But there is no permanent damage to my spirit. I can feel Lord Ares lifting me high when I deal with tantrums that last hours(singing a variety of Spongebob songs with Lingashtakam thrown in every so often). I feel his blessings in my endurance and pain tolerance. And I realize that under my squishy exterior, I have become a true warrior.
But then, I see him appear for the sake of the child, as well. When Young Ares(surprisingly, accidently) stuck his head through our living room window, I was certain we'd have to head to the doctor. Nope. Not a scratch on him. When he went down a flight of stairs and landed at the bottom, I was terrified, assuming injury for sure. I found a grinning, snickering kid at the bottom. Let's do that again!
Perhaps he's here for us both. I suspect we have our karmas to work out together. At the end of the day, Ares(the child) sometimes gives me restrictions, but on a whole, I've become a better and stronger person because of them. So on nights like this, I allow myself a glass of wine, a bowl of ice cream, or whatever the mood requires. And I try not to be too hard on either myself or him, because he's just doing what Young War Lords do, and I am one of the few who can handle the job description of War Lord Trainer.
The first half of the day started out good. And then I made a serious mistake.
I insisted that my son, Ares, change his nasty, sticky, food crusted clothes before we go to Hobby Lobby.
Nope. He wasn't going to do it. And he wasn't just going to refuse, he was going to put up a fight. Throwing, hitting, screaming, laying on the ground, the whole bit. Eventually I coaxed him into the house, and he did change his clothes, but within that time frame his father brought in a new couch.
He was livid. How dare someone bring in new furniture without him?
So then he went outside to throw stuff at his dad, my van, and any poor sap that might be in the area. And my Ares isn't just a wimpy 7 year old. He's a young War Lord, and he throws big things with much gusto. The kid can do some damage. So I told him if he didn't stop, I'd run away. He didn't. So I ran.
When I was pregnant with Ares, I often had images of a warrior in my dreams and in meditations. After mentioning it to my husband, he thought maybe it meant that the baby should be named Ares. So we named him that. And it was at that point Ares, the God, entered my life.
A Pagan friend said "You don't seem like anyone who would worship Ares." Its true. A plump, slow moving, vegetarian who often fades into the background doesn't seem like anyone who would develop any kind of kinship for an impulsive bloodthirsty war deity. But when I get past the surface, I understand why he appeared.
Because in raising this kid, I was going to need the strength of a real warrior.
When he was 4, we couldn't take him in public anymore. He'd throw vicious tantrums over things that couldn't be helped, such as his favorite shopping cart being used, or the spaghetti in the grocery store being moved an isle over. And they weren't typical fits, they were amped up past a normal tantrum. He also, being verbally challenged, isn't moved with speech. We just stopped taking him out. Dad tried to put him in a day care so I could have a break, but they kicked him out after a week. In school, he had a staff available for him at all times. We went to the doctor. They tried several things. Nothing worked. Stumped. Tried a psychiatrist. She put him on something that made him about as high as Bob Marley, wanted to declare him disabled, and send him off to a school for the disabled. I was horrified. His teachers were horrified(he does not have any intellectual disability, he is just autistic with speech apraxia). We switched. The new one seemed well meaning, but was unable to remember who he was and wasn't mindful of his meds, so we just stopped going. We just accepted this was how life was now. There would be no help.
And then one day he ****** me off. He had a piece of candy. I ripped it out of his hands and ate it. He screamed. I took note. Later, he started up his nonsense, and I threatened to go into the kitchen and eat some favored food. He stopped immediately. I realized I was onto something. At that point, things turned around.
I started thinking outside of the box. I stopped reading about what other parents do(because it doesn't work here). I stopped asking advice. I just started going with the moment, going with my gut, and becoming absurd, because my situation is absurd.
So when I was running down the sidewalk today, with a screaming child following me, I just went with it. Now, I am not in any shape for running, so this wasn't exactly fun. Just forget the aches and pains. Just keep going. I let him 'catch' me when the moment seemed right. He'd lead me back, and then start screaming when we got close to the house/couch. I'd break free and run again. After half an hour of this, he finally came inside. He freaked out and threw something at the couch. I ran out the door. Do this all over again, until he finally came in and sat on it.
Victory.
He grumbled some more about it later. I did run away one more time. But this is huge progress, and at the end of the night, I told him to get his butt away from my couch, because I'm sleeping here, not him. And I'll make him think I did(though I won't really).
I'm not sure if Lord Ares is here for me or the kid. Maybe both. The truth is, I hold up very well most of the time. I do get pooped and worn out. Occasionally I break for a bit here or there. But there is no permanent damage to my spirit. I can feel Lord Ares lifting me high when I deal with tantrums that last hours(singing a variety of Spongebob songs with Lingashtakam thrown in every so often). I feel his blessings in my endurance and pain tolerance. And I realize that under my squishy exterior, I have become a true warrior.
But then, I see him appear for the sake of the child, as well. When Young Ares(surprisingly, accidently) stuck his head through our living room window, I was certain we'd have to head to the doctor. Nope. Not a scratch on him. When he went down a flight of stairs and landed at the bottom, I was terrified, assuming injury for sure. I found a grinning, snickering kid at the bottom. Let's do that again!
Perhaps he's here for us both. I suspect we have our karmas to work out together. At the end of the day, Ares(the child) sometimes gives me restrictions, but on a whole, I've become a better and stronger person because of them. So on nights like this, I allow myself a glass of wine, a bowl of ice cream, or whatever the mood requires. And I try not to be too hard on either myself or him, because he's just doing what Young War Lords do, and I am one of the few who can handle the job description of War Lord Trainer.
