It was past bedtime when Ezra stumbled out of his room. He stood in the hallway door frame leading into the living room, visibly spent. Illuminated by the light behind him, his silhouette took on the look of a performer right before hitting the stage. I looked up from the couch to acknowledge his presence and he hit me with the money line: “I can’t sleep.”
The night was a tough one earlier between us. He wasn’t listening to me. He fought me when I tried helping him with his homework. He delayed jumping in the shower after my repeated requests. He didn’t budge when I asked him to brush his teeth. With my patience wearing thin, he became overly emotional and even shot me some attitude. It was then where I lost it, raising my voice and coming down hard on him to get it all done. The tears began flowing down his face. l didn’t console him. I did not give in as he cried himself to sleep. I had put my foot down and all was finally quiet. Or at least I thought so, but I learned silence and sleep aren’t the same thing.
Now, there he was not even 15 minutes later, standing in the doorway, looking at me.
Part of me was still frustrated; part of me wanted to continue his punishment so he understood that he couldn’t goo-goo eye his way through this one. Instead, I waved him over, took his lanky body into my arms and rocked him to sleep.
Sometimes the struggles of life and the ups and downs of parenthood put you in positions that test every ounce of your patience and decision-making. This moment definitely pushed me to a place I hate going but it also served as a subtle reminder of something intrinsic that lives deep within every parent – our kids will always be our babies.
Today, Ezra turns 8 years old, and I have one thing I want him to know: We are going to figure this out.
It starts with me understanding and accepting who he is. We sometimes dismiss children because they are children. Newsflash: he’s still a human being with his own thoughts and individual, unique personality.
It helped to learn that Pisces are naturally emotional, and those emotions are in a constant state of flux. Hard to know exactly what you’ll get, but I can visually see him battling those feelings as they pull him in like a strong ocean current. In those moments I tell him to breathe and focus. I encourage him to use his words so we can talk it through. In a lot of ways, I’m speaking to myself.
When I learned that Pisces adapt to their emotional environment and reflect it back like a mirror, my eyes opened wide. I realized I needed to look within and change how I approached things. Keep my cool. Set the example. These were things I was telling Ezra to do but was I showing him? He’s supposed to be learning from me and yet, in a bit of irony, in the midst of everything that has transpired in the past year, he’s exemplified grace under fire. It became clear to me that I am learning from him. With the world on his shoulders, he’s carried it with a maturity that I admire and draw inspiration from. As emotions ebb and flow throughout his body, he’s tapped into the most powerful one. Love.
At his last parent-teacher conference, Ms. Williams pointed out explicitly how much he genuinely cared about his classmates. “He cares so much,” she said a few times to drive the point. That made me smile. Empathizing with others is a rare trait. It can be taxing and demanding. It can drain you. It can consume you. But it also gifts you a power that can move mountains.
Ezra and I watched the movie Captain Marvel this past weekend. The main character's super power comes from absorbing an all-encompassing energy source that she wields on command. Sound familiar? Our children take in our love, our fears, our expectations, our mood swings, our frustrations, our words of affirmation, our hugs and kisses. They process it all. They manifest it within and miraculously transform into the best versions of themselves. Like a superhero, their ability to absorb and release an energy so great it can not only save our present universe (the idea of self) but alternate ones as well (the effects of generational love). How beautifully amazing is that? The thought of Ezra having so much more to take in and infinite amounts more to give.
So now can you see? When I hold him close and rock him to bed, I hope to be infused with the immense power that naturally emanates from his being. It soothes my soul. Now and forever.
