I looked at my son and said, "Come let's go. I think I'm going to throw up."
Depsite his intense anger later, I told him I was done. Done with his toys guns. Nerf and water that's as far as I would go from then on. I got clear. I checked in with that queasy stomach feeling, I let go of all the negative stories about my bad parenting and his "normal" hunter-gatherer desires and what's the research say anyway? And I applied my nurtured heart approach. The queasy feeling said - "Hey, it may his home, but it's your house...and you don't want anymore of those things in it....respect our needs." And then I was clear. No more toy guns.
His Dad is out of town so he's sleeping at my house. I remember a day when I could still hold him and his sister in my arms and I watched a neighbor at our apartment complex get her kids out of the car while they were still in their pajamas, part of an early morning divorced-couple-kid-switch. And I very inappropiately mumbled to my children "See that....Cassidy's Mom and Dad live in two seperate houses. That will NEVER happen to us." Was that some kinda pathetic arrogant innocence, or what?
I voicemailed his Dad the gun story, he texted back. "I'm done with guns!" I texted back. "Me too!" And that was it. We may be divorced but eventually we come around to the same positions.
This morning the usual routine of fear was brewing. Would he get to school on time?
So mostly I ignored him...and I said a few things like..."It' very good that you aren't being rude right now...and....your bike is on the porch, I'm going to walk the dogs....and don't forget to brush your teeth" That seemed like the kind thing to do for his teachers. And just before he would be late, he got up, got dressed, didn't eat his eggs, and I think he made it there on time.
I'm noticing that my little fear has nothing to do right now.