Yesterday we went to Big 5. On the door there was a yellow notice. "We are low on amunition. Only 3 boxes per customer please." I read it to my son. We were on our way to check out an airsoft gun I told him he could buy with his own money - It had to come from his allowance and I had nothing to give for "extra" chores, so he'd have to save up. It was a clear-plastic-barrelled airsoft gun, the kind with an orange tip so no one would mistake it for the real thing. We walked in the store and to the left was a wall of other more real looking airsoft guns (I was glad we weren't getting those.) He showed me the one he wanted. I put in my hands and it felt like a real gun.
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.
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.
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