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I picked up the boys on foot today. The fall weather has been way too beautiful to drive; it will be nasty soon enough. Preston whined a little about walking home, but made it fine and was in a good mood (so I thought).  The boys had some snacks, checked out some new Halloween stuff I bought and generally just hung out.  About 15 mins before we needed to leave , I asked Preston to go the bathroom.

That’s where it all fell apart.  Hell, it didn’t fall apart, it freaking imploded. Preston fell to the floor, crying, not wanting to try to go. I cajoled. I joked. I insisted.  I counted. I threatened. Finally, I yelled. And I’m pretty sure that I didn’t stop for those 15 minutes (or longer). I carried him to the toilet and put him on it. I yelled about him being lazy and how if he had just gone to the bathroom when I first mentioned it, he could be back to playing and getting ready for practice. I told him he made me sad and that I didn’t understand what happened to my sweet, laid-back, totally cool and easy kid.  I told him if he was going to act like a baby, then he wouldn’t get to do big kid things like video games and ipods and DS.  I was seething. I slammed the bathroom door. Twice.

And then I gave up.  I told him I loved him, but I didn’t very much like how he was acting. (He’s been having whiny meltdowns and crying about the little things a LOT lately and it’s such a change from how he normally has been!!)

He insisted he wanted to quit soccer and dissolved into heartbreaking sobs when I told them he would have to tell his coach, his teammates and his dad himself.  I threatened to make him turn in his jersey (he was all for it – hello, backfire). He cried all the way out to the car. On the way to practice, Matt tried his best to help, but Preston was having none of it. When we got to practice, I sent Matt to play so we could talk.  He continued to cry and I realized I had absolutely no clue what I was doing.  I want to raise my boys to finish what they start, to live up to their responsibilities.  They chose soccer, they should finish soccer.  But at what point is that just not worth it? Is this really a life lesson with potential for future implications; will he think it’s ok to quit anything, anytime?  Or is it really that he’s 5 and in all day kindergarten and probably simply exhausted and should be able to quit?  I felt completely lost and near tears myself.

Then my knight in shining armor rode up on his white horse drove up in his car and saved me and the boy from the imminent meltdown.

Mike got him to put his stuff on and go to practice “just for a little while”. And then, he was going to send me home, but Preston wanted me to stay, so even though I was totally sad panda, I did.

Mike got him out there, his teammates and coaches encouraged him and he had fun.  He had fun.  He laughed, he ran and he practiced.

His next game is on Saturday.  Mike and I figure if we get him there about an hour early (without him knowing that) he will have plenty of time to wake up, warm up and be ready to play.

Fingers crossed.

The house is quiet now.

Damn, I’m glad this day is over and we get to try again tomorrow.

I waited, wanting to make sure it was a real cry, not just a ‘I can’t reach my water’ whine.  It was.  I walked in with purpose; not a night goes by during which both boys don’t cry out for us multiple times and it has gotten very old.

“This better be good, mister” I said sternly as I walked in.  And it was, of course.

“I can’t stop thinking about my school and our house catching on fire!” he said, tears glistening. I immediately sunk to the floor next to his bed.  A few minutes later, we determined that the watching of the smokejumpers video on the National Geographic site was to blame.  While we do have some trees around our house and around his school, we are no where near to being in a forest. Or near a forest.  He thought that just because the trees were near, we lived in a forest that would catch on fire. Sigh.

From there we moved on to him missing Fooby. Which he always mentions when he’s exhausted.  It hurts a lot less now when he says it because I expect it, but 2 years later, I still miss my dog, too.  So we spent a good 10 minutes on Fooby, and my mom’s old dog, Bosley, and the neighbor’s dog, Callie all living in doggie heaven together, sleeping in a big pile on their clouds, playing all day.  It was going well, and then? He broke my heart.

“Mom? Can we call up there?” For a moment I was confused, then it hit me. He wanted to call Heaven to make sure that our dog was ok. OOF.  I tried to explain that we couldn’t call, but that we could talk to the people and pets in heaven anytime we wanted to. I told him how I talk to my grandma, and how my mom talks to her mom and dad all the time.  I told him that I’m positive that when Daisy stands in the yard barking at absolutely nothing that she is talking to Fooby and letting him know how we’re doing. We chatted a few more minutes about that, then he got me again.

“Mom, how do the dogs get to heaven?” OH MY HELL. Honestly, I wasn’t sure it was the time to get into the whole body vs. soul thing, so I kept it as simple as I could, telling him how we took away Riley’s pain to make him comfortable. He seemed satisfied, but I’m sure this won’t be the end.

We talked for a few more minutes about random things, trying to get his mind off of sad and scary things so he could fall asleep.  Among our topics: those paddles with the ball attached with elastic, the difference between bunnies and rabbits, counting pennies, and his inability to get comfortable plus my inability to physically make him be comfortable. Finally, he settled in to sleep, Mr. Ploppy on his head, Elly in his arms, and giant bear next to him.

It’s in these moments, my head resting on his bed, looking into his deep brown eyes, listening to him seeking answers and weaving stories, that my heart is full with amazement.

And then I go out of his room and I hear “MOM!!” again.

Dammit. Go to sleep kid!!!

hehe