Seabass

Not quite sure what to do when I flounder.

When I feel like, maybe, I have no idea what I am doing.

This was that sort of day - an epic clash with Sebastian, when he was mean to his siblings in succession, then mean to me.  I got mean back.  He got meaner.  And none was resolved by more of the same.

I know I am supposed to be the 'grown up,' but I can't always remember what that looks like in every situation.  I have never been praised for my measured discipline.

I am so grateful to others who do it right, or do it wrong and know it - and talk about it, and blog about it.  I am so grateful to those who step in - to my mother-in-law, who has him tonight for an impromptu sleepover.  My mom, who knows him so well and talks me through my most frustrating parent moments.  To his Aunt Agatha, who loves him unconditionally and gently guides.  To his favorite teachers, who ask, tell, and nourish.  

Never have I met a child who needed those teachers more.  For whom knowledge, and learning, were actual life-sources - like breathing, or water.  

When he was littler, I would say that he was just too big for his britches.  That he was born a 30-year-old lawyer and it would take time for him to grow into the role.  Now, 9 years later - he's been in practice for 9 years.  So, he thinks he is entitled to the partnership, an equal vote. Compensation fitting his elevated role.   

I burst with pride when a teacher has the chance to recognize who he is, stops and gets him still long enough to catch a glimpse of his very old soul.  He had two of him this year, and they saved us all.

There is nothing he won't read.  No question he won't ask.  No science show he won't watch.  No answer he won't attempt to give, himself.  He is smarter than me, and I have always known that. He is smarter than me, and he has always known that - which is tougher.

He is so sensitive, intuitive, and scary smart.  He is so insensitive, volatile, and impulsive.  He rocks my world, daily. All this at 9.  What will be left of me when he is 11, 17, 35?

Oh, sweet Sammy Butterbean.  My original pain-in-the ass.  The one person who always laughs at my jokes, and sings along to the same songs on the radio.  You taught me to be a Mom.  And I am still learning.