Today, my beloved youngest and I had a throw down.

Well, actually we sat in the parking lot of his soon-to-be-preschool and waited 20 looooong minutes to get him to buckle his seatbelt on his own.

Here’s the thing: He knows what he needs to do.  He knows step one, step two, step three, aannnd buckle! 

But he wasn’t doing it.  First he said he didn’t know how.  I said, “Yes, you do.  We’ve been practicing for a week.”

Then he said he needed help.  So I started to reach to help.  He didn’t want that.

Then I said I would talk him through it.  He started crying louder.  (To be exact, he had been crying/whining this whole time.)

So I stopped talking him through it and turned around and listened to the radio.

He kept crying.

He accused me of “never helping him.” 

Truth be told, I was so stinking annoyed at him.

I wanted to tell him I had tried!  He hadn’t wanted it.  Then he had wanted it.  He’s so confusing!

But I (believe it or not) didn’t rail on him.  I simply said, “I will help you if you need help.  But you need to ask nicely.”

He did.

I helped.  It didn’t work perfectly the very first time, so he let go of the belt, letting it retract back and wailing about how he can’t do it.

Finally I said, “You can do it.  You’re choosing not to.  I will help if you want, but we are going to sit here until you do it.”

Guess what?  He did it. 

Two things:

1.  He didn’t do my step 1, step 2, step 3 method.  He pulled all the way down first, then scooted the buckle all the way to the holder.  It was a good idea.

2.  We sat there way too long while he apathetically “tried” to get the buckle to go in.  First he wasn’t even looking.  Then he looked but weakly slapped it against the holder.  Finally, after I looked away – but still helped him hold it so it wouldn’t retract again – he slid it in.

I cheered.  Way too much.  That made him fuss louder.  He didn’t want a parade.  He didn’t want a cheerleader.   He just wanted someone near enough to help when he needed it, to stand back and make him do it himself when he didn’t need it, and to acknowledge the effort in a low key way when he accomplished it.

One more thing?  On the way home he found other things to accuse me of.  Other reasons why I had done something wrong or said it not the right way.  How frustrating!

The worst part was how much of myself I saw in those blue eyes. 

I am the Queen of I want this/I don’t want this. 

Move closely, pull away.  Have a deep connection one time, then knee-jerk backward the next in fear.  Whine that no one will help me or I can’t do it, then resent advice or help or even encouragement.

Bleh.

God wants me to write.  I think He wants me to share it with others.  I don’t want a parade.  I definitely don’t want to be put on a pedestal. 

But I want to help others put words to their fear or pride or anger or whining.

I want to know someone is there for (low-key) encouragement when I need it and to back off when I don’t.

I want others to (kindly and in love) call me out when I’m whining and accusing instead of working and trying.

I want people to directly ask me if they have a question about what I believe or how I feel instead of assuming.

And I want those same people to hold me up to the same standard: don’t assume, just ask.

I want people to not expect me to be able to be there for them in a way I’m only emotionally capable of being with a select few.  But to receive what I have to give when I can give it.

I want to take my fear and shame and smash them publicly in the hopes that it will encourage others to do it, too, with whatever their strongholds are.

And I want God to be made famous through it all. 

Because He has told me we’re gonna sit here until I do.