empathy

Our very wise teacher says that the way you teach a child empathy is by digging deep and giving all of yourself when it really means something. As in, sure, it's nice to reach out and give your kid a hug when everything is hunky-dory. But what really counts is when your kid has driven you up the wall and fried your every last nerve and is screaming about who-knows-what and you're able to go over to them and give them a big hug and say, "I know it's hard."

Possibly Luke is starting to get it because one of his new favorite games is asking me to cry about something (getting a haircut/dropping a pizza/not wanting to go to bed) and then patting me on the back and saying, "Feel better, Mommy."

But the scenario our teacher didn't cover was, what about when it's 3:30 in the morning, and your kid has inexplicably been awake since 2 am, and is ready to do anything as long as it doesn't involve going back in the crib? Are you teaching them anything if you just tell them, "I know you don't want to go to bed, but I need my sleep and I have to go to bed now"? Then you give them a big hug and go back to your room only to listen to the most anguished screams of "Where did mommy go?!?!?! Where did mommy GOoooooooo?!?!?!?!"

For the record, Dave, the King of Empathy, took over at that point and magically brought him down to calm, then peace, then sleep. But it's been a real test of push-and-pull. Do I worry about how Luke feels or how I feel?

I guess today we tested the limits by putting both of us through the ringer. First we had a doctor's appointment, with a shot. Luckily we had Reindeer on hand to go through most of it first - get his eyes checked, then his ears, then his tummy...Reindeer checked out OK, and happily, so did Luke. We were basically doing just fine up until the shot, then there was a moment or two of trauma, and then the shot was forgotten quickly enough.

Then Luke and I went on to have the Best Morning Ever. We went down to the "water" park and just played and talked, without the social pressure of other buddies or other moms to distract us. Then we had Special Mommy-Lukey Lunch at In-N-Out burger, involving large quantities of milkshake and very little burger. Then I successfully talked him out of nursing after his nap and the world didn't end.

But those experiences perhaps gave me too much confidence because I decided to swing a haircut this afternoon. I don't want to go into the full-blown details but let's just say it involved at least 20 solid minutes (I'm not kidding) of screaming, and me, Luke, and Pudgy Bear completely covered with hair (Reindeer wisely decided to sit this one out on the counter). I jokingly said to the manager afterwards, "Well, I hope we didn't drive too many of your customers away," and all she could manage to come back with was, "Not too many." Yeesh.

It's after a day like this that I just want to wrap him up and say, "I'm sorry. I know life is hard. We made it hard for you by doing most of the hard stuff all in one day. But tomorrow we have a birthday party, and the day after that we have Suzi and Bill, and I love you every single day even more than the last." I could be teaching him some real empathy. But he's busy running naked down the hall, singing "Shimmy Shimmy Cocoa Pop," and not even listening to me.

If I could draw myself right now, I would do one of those cartoon smiley faces where the smile is all squiggly up-and-down, glasses are crooked, and hair is askew.

Feel better, mommy.