Momo is only 3 years old. I am thirty….something.
You would think I’d be the more mature one.
But instead, I have begun to glare at him. When I have lost my patience. When we are at an impasse. When he is being a normal 3 year old boy who just doesn’t get my thirty-something year old demands.
I didn’t know I had begun to use the glare until just these past couple weeks. It’s the kind of glare that shoots daggers, arrows, bullets, nuclear bombs… you name it. These weapons of choice pierce the air and aim straight for the heart in passive-aggressive stubborn silence. He has learned to glare back too. It becomes a battle of wills.
The glare is useless. It achieves nothing. Just some brief but empty satisfaction of being spiteful.
Worst of all, I offer my children a first-hand lesson on how to glare. I think I’ve seen them practice it on each other. They also like to send each other to time-out.
There is no point to writing this other than to simply state that parenting is hard. So hard it makes me want to melt down into a tantrum like my Momo. You see, not much separates a 3 year old and a thirty-something year old. Like marriage, parenting reveals with painful honesty the true nature of my heart and my weaknesses.
Parenting is hard and my glare is just plain spiteful. Yet God is gracious as I learn, Momo learns, and we all learn together as a family what it means to love. The kind of love that heals, forgives, and changes a person. The kind of love that can soften glares and reconcile hearts.
You know what gives me hope, even after a tough day? Despite the glares and all the other rollercoaster moments I am too ashamed to describe in further detail, my Momo is still my buddy. Through our ups and downs.