Happy Birthday, Stone!

Last week, Stone turned 7. Most people who know me will laugh when I say in many ways Stone is my most challenging child. Maybe that's not the right way to put it. Most people who know CADE will laugh when I say in many ways Stone is my most challenging child.


Let me clarify. Stone isn't challenging to raise. He's very well behaved, very responsible, very compliant. He's challenging to me because we are so different.

He’s taciturn; I’m gregarious.

He’s introverted; I’m extraverted.

He’s realistic; I’m idealistic.

He’s more like Chad than I am – and where that leads to an interesting marriage, it’s challenging to me as a mother. The parenting skills that worked with Pearce and Cole (both very much like me) do not work with Stone. My humorous parenting style earns blank stares from Stone. Sometimes he even groans.

I’ll confess that when he was a toddler, my parenting methods exacerbated his negative emotions or behaviors. I once told Chad I worried that Stone didn’t like me. That was from a naive, ego-centric point of view. I’m so thankful I’m not looking at it from that perspective any more. And for that, I have thanks to give.

I thank my former Pastor, Steve Langford for teaching me about personality types in light of how they function in family systems. He taught me the value of all personality types and how to balance mine (which can be a little over-the-top) in order to relate to others. He also taught me to be self-aware and to constantly be open to growth, even if it stings to learn something about yourself that needs to be changed. Luckily, he also taught me that growth is something you let God help you with, so you never have to do the heavy lifting alone. I’ve grown as a mother to understand that Stone and I are different in ways that we can celebrate. We are different in ways that lead to growth for both of us.

I also want to thank the myriad of books on parenting that have said over and over that I’m the grown up and that the onus of relating to him is on me. He doesn’t have to change for our relationship to be amazing. And neither do I. But I have had to learn to relate to him in ways that are foreign to me. He doesn’t do silliness unless he decides it’s safe to be silly. He doesn’t ‘do’ silly on command like my other boys. Like me. And that’s ok (she repeats to herself over and over).

I want to thank my mom (this is starting to sound like an acceptance speech) who has given me an example of what it’s like to be the mother of a child who is very different from you. My mom is a Stone. And she raised a Dori. And she did it without stifling me or trying to make me into a Cherryle. We are so good together BECAUSE we are different. Because she values my differences. We ground, but also fuel each other. And she did all this intuitively where I needed parenting books. My mom is amazing.

Finally, I want to thank God for giving me this little boy who is so smart I can’t keep up with him. Who wears khaki slacks and tucks in his shirts even on the weekend. Who is sometimes more mature than his 12 and 14-year-old brothers (it’s not an insult; Pearce and Cole would agree). Whose contagious laugh makes his family want to make fools of themselves just to hear it for a second. Who is a perfect reminder of the wonder and mystery of God.

Happy (belated) Birthday, Stone!!!!!!!

Raconteur

A raconteur is someone who can spin a tale. One who is skillful in telling anecdotes.  A storyteller. 

I believe my 7-year-old son is a raconteur.  

Today, I got a phone call from the school nurse.  This was what she told me:

Nurse: "I couldn't stop thinking about your family last night after the story Stone told me.  Did this actually happen?  Stone told me that a man broke into your house the night before last and your husband shot him in the stomach."

Me: "What?  Oh my gosh - NO!  That didn't happen!"

Nurse:  "Oh. (laughs) I didn't think so, but his story was so elaborate I thought I'd check.  He told me that a man who was being chased by the police drove up to your house in a black car.  He got out and...do you have a play room with a door?"

Me:  "Yes, our upstairs playroom has a door to the deck."

Nurse:  (laughs) "Ok, he said that the man jumped out of the black car and ran to the door and busted out the window to come in.  He said he and his little brother were in there playing XBox and he (Stone) grabbed his little brother and ran through the house yelling.  Then he said that his dad grabbed a gun and shot the man in the stomach."

Me: "Uhh..."

Nurse: (laughs) "Then he told me that they called 911 and the police and an ambulance came to get the man who wasn't dead."

Me: "..."

Nurse: "I decided to ask his teacher - actually his substitute - about it and he told her the exact same story down to the details..."

Me:  "Wow.  I'm not sure what to say." (we are both laughing now)

Nurse: "I just needed to make sure that it didn't happen because if it really did, I'd need to report it to the counselor.  That would traumatize a kid!"

If this were the only story that Stone had recently told, I wouldn't call him a raconteur.  Last month, he had a school project that we completed together.  It was a diorama of an opossum habitat.  I went outside and brought a small pile of leaves from the ground and we glued them all over the outside and inside of a shoebox. 

He came home the afternoon he turned it in and told us that a big brown spider had crawled out of the leaves on his project and one of the kids in his class screamed out "SPIDER!"  His teacher then grabbed a flyswatter and killed the spider by swatting it several times on top of the shoebox.  He told me she vanquished the spider.  Vanquished.  His word - not mine. 

I sent the teacher an email because I was mortified that I'd taken a project up to school with a big spider in it.  She emailed back - "There was a spider in it?  I didn't know!"  So I recounted the story to her and she replied that it was just that - a story.  It hadn't happened.  When I asked him that afternoon whether he'd told me a story; he grinned.

Raconteur.