Fathers & Sons (again)

(I feel like I've posted this a thousand times. At the very least, I've thought it a thousand times, and it never stops feeling like this amazing new idea that I think should change me.)

I returned from my softball sabbatical tonight. We were short a couple players, so I had to play OF. I haven't caught a fly ball since middle school, and I didn't catch many of them then, so I was a little concerned. (My 2-inning trial in right center last fall didn't go so well.) I was the guy muttering please don't hit it to me, please don't hit it to me under my breath. Only 1 ball came my way all night, and I was able to get under it for the putout. Praise, praise the Father...

As I was grabbing a bat and heading for the plate, I overheard a conversation between Robyn and The Tobe. He asked her why she wasn't spanking him. Of course, this must mean he wasn't being a good boy...

(He only gets spanked if he's putting himself in a potentially lifethreatening situation: running away from us into a parking lot, running away from us into the street, running away from us in a store... get the point? We don't want him running away where he could get hurt or lost.)

I called to him "remember, booger, if you're a good boy tonight, we're gonna get ice cream after the game. Don't run away from Mommy, ok?" I hit like a pathetic little girl and the game went on.
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Later, Robyn informed me that Toby made quite a few bad decisions during the game. She and I wanted ice cream, and we were going to get it. Would we put our foot (feet?) down and eat ice cream in front of our little man who would certainly be emotionally crushed to not get any? Yep. We did. And he wailed... and he wailed... and he sobbed... and... yeah. It was terrible.

Through tears, our very loud toddler was able to say "but I not want to be a bad boy..." No, bud, you're not a bad boy. You just made a bad decision. "But I not want to be a bad boy... I want ice cweam... I not want to be a bad boooooooooyyyyyyyyy...." You aren't a bad boy. You're a good boy. You just made some bad decisions tonight, and Mommy and Daddy are trying to protect you. When you run away from us, you could get lost or stolen. We need our Toby to be safe. And if we let you have ice cream right now, you'll forget about all of this. Make a better decision next time and you'll get to have ice cream.

He calmed down. He understood. And he expanded his vocabulary, to boot. "I want to make better deciswone. I make better deciswone next time."
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Robyn and I ate our ice cream as we drove home. Toby had none. Sometimes, he was ok, giving himself a "next time" pep talk. And sometimes, he wailed. Eventually? He wore himself out and fell asleep. He doesn't ever sleep in the car anymore. He was exhausted.

Poor kid. He knows what is right. He wants to do what is right. But something, something mysterious, is telling him to run away. Sometimes he does right. But sometimes, he runs. He looks so free when he runs. He looks so... excited and full. But it doesn't last. When he realizes that he has let his parents down by making a bad decision, that apparent freedom shows what it really is: a mirage.

He wears himself out from the internal struggle, and eventually, he just collapses. And Daddy looks on... not angry, just... bummed. Daddy knows that the rules aren't there to restrict life, but to make everything better. And Daddy's still madly in love with the dumb kid, and he just wants to hold him while he rests...

Microcosm, much?
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He was a solid 15 minutes into sleepytime when we arrived home. The last time I tried to pick his sleeping body out of his carseat, he woke, and he's much bigger now, so I figured I'd accomplish nothing. But I was able to get him out, still sound asleep.

I carried him up the front steps and into the house, and I crashed in the recliner. (He's a big boy, you know.) I only sat down because I knew there was no way he'd stay asleep all the way up to his room. So why bother trying? He stirred a bit, but he didn't wake. And within a couple minutes, he was back into deep sleep, on me.
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I miss the old days when he'd fall asleep in my arms. It was such a struggle to get him to sleep, but once he was peacefully resting, I didn't want to set him down. One particular night stands out in my mind:

He fell asleep, I went to set him down, he woke up. Repeat. Repeat. And repeat. It was 3am. He was finally asleep. Again. And the thought hit me... how many more times will there be when this precious child will just rest on you? He's growing so fast, you know... So I held him, just a little while longer. And then a little while longer. And then the sun came up. I was tired, but I was closer with my boy.
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Back to tonight. I put the footrest up and relaxed... and he just slept. For the first time in a really long time, my little boy slept on me. His head on my arm, I wasn't thinking about his disobedience. His body in my lap, I wasn't thinking about punishing him. His feet on my legs, I was just loving my boy who was resting in my arms. All was right.

And then I fell asleep. After about an hour, I woke up, carried him upstairs, and put him to bed. He may or may not wonder how he got to bed last night. But I won't forget. Ever.