Nine years old...

 It was Super Bowl Sunday and the entire weekend my sweet child was obsessed with a toy he had seen during a grocery trip the week before.  A Lego set that had caught his eye.  No amount of distraction would calm his puppy dog energy and determination for nearly forty-eight hours.  After being in the house for a few days I decided to head out to the grocery store.  

 “Pick up some chocolate and wine,” my husband said.  Odd request for the super bowl, but hey…I hadn’t been out and welcomed the thought of some distraction.  Aidan was begging to go along so I obliged. 

“Meet me in the car,” I said as I gathered my things, silently wishing I could go alone.  A book store, Panera Breads for coffee and a scone.  No, the grocery store again.  That’s where I was going with my time out on this cold winter day.  Then I mentally patted myself on the back for putting my child’s needs ahead of my own.  Mistake number one.

Driving across town staring out the window there was peace still in this trip.  Aidan hummed from the backseat resembling a teen in my mirror.  All was good in the world.  Twenty minutes later I pulled into the parking lot. Aidan said, “Mom.  There is a little problem.  I forgot my shoes.”

My mind froze and repeated the words I had just heard.  And then when it all registered my face curled up like a rotten potato – “WHAT?  YOU WHAT?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” 

“I’m wearing Dad’s shoes.”  And sure enough, when I turned to verify, he was wearing his father’s dress shoes.

All good parents know that you do not scold with the words, “What is wrong with YOU?”  But I am not a good parent in this moment.  Mistake number two.  I am certain that my saliva has made its way to the once-clean windshield and that my head is going to pop off.

“Take a deep breath mom.”

I do.  And then out it comes again…more bad parenting comments like “What the H E double-hockey-sticks were you thinking?  You can’t go in there like THAT.  What will people think?”  And then the guilt: “This entire trip was about you!” 

“Kids make mistakes, Mom.”

He was right!  But it only gave me a moment’s pause.  By this time I had no idea what to do.  I was threatening to turn the car around and head home.  And then I remembered the chocolate and wine request.  Then, casting all my Oprah-show, fear-based child abductions stories aside, I left the car running and told him to stay put.   I slammed the door so hard I was certain it vibrated through his entire body – much like my words.  Mistake number three and four.

I walked around the store breathing and doing a great deal of self-talk.  I knew I was in the wrong but I was so angry.  What was wrong with my child?  Nothing.  What was he going to be when he grew up?  Who knows.  How was he going to ever make it out of high school?  Of course he will.  I don’t understand boys.  Yes you do.  I’m a horrible mother.  No you’re not.  What am I going to do now?  You will figure it out.  I heard my grandmother’s voice in my head – poor boy won’t get his toy and he has wanted it so badly.  I heard expert’s advice about how we never let our kids have natural consequences and indulge them too much.  I grabbed the wine.   Then the chocolate. 

I walked some more.  Up and down the aisles. 

I walked through the melted snow puddles and fog to get back to the car where my boy sat waiting for me.  As I reached for the car handle it hit me.  The words like sweet acceptance.  This is not your problem Tracy.  It’s just not.  Love him.

I opened the door and said nothing for a while.  Then I turned and looked at him.  “Aidan, this is not my problem.  I am sorry that I over reacted.  I love you.  If you want to go in and get your toy, you can.” 

“I CAN!?” 

“Yes, yes you can.  I’ll be sitting here until you get back.”  Inside my head I was adding “all be damned if I go in with you looking like that.”  Aware too that I sound like a woman from another generation.

He carefully got out of the car with his huge feet and I watched him walk into the store from where I was parked.  The image looked similar to the scene in the movie Big when Tom Hanks is walking down the street in an over sized man’s suit and dress shoes – minus the suit.  I watched him slowly clunk his way to the electric doors and disappear inside.

Just like that, in an instant, I realized that this is his life.  That he is going to do it his way and it’s going to be imperfect.  He’s going to make mistakes.  He is going to look silly sometimes.  It’s not about me.  It’s not my job to make it harder.  It’s my job to just love him through his life – as I so often feel that I do – but even in the difficult moments too.  It’s only shoes for crying out loud.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to the car the same way he had left it.  Now with a toy in his hand.  Not even the toy he had gone after.  A smaller version because he was .45 cents short after going to the register the first time.  He was equally excited about his decision and said, “I don’t even think anyone noticed the shoes, Mom.”  He ripped open the packaging and began chattering about his treasure as if nothing had ever happened.  But we both knew it had.  I apologized again for overreacting and he talked about his experience in the store, forgiving me and himself.

“You’re the best mom.  Thanks for letting me go in after all.  But one thing.  Can we keep this between you and me?  You know, don’t tell Dad?  He would have really freaked.”  We both laughed.  And I never did tell his father (until now).

Thank you for the lessons my child.  Thank you.