How to Love the Wild Ones

Let me set the scene for you. I'm at Publix, picking up something for dinner. Normally I avoid grocery shopping with the kids as it is the fifth level of hell to an ADHD Mom like myself. Oliver brought a truck with him, a flat bed trailer, which he refers to as, "the truck that carries sticks". I don't normally let him bring toys but coaxing him out of the house is a feat in itself and with truck in tow, he followed suit easier than usual.
It was just a few things for dinner. Two steps into the store and Oliver is revving his internal engine. Before I can say anything, Oliver is running, revving, and eventually knee-sliding down the aisle. I try to get him to stop, I really do. Only half-hearted, I admit. Because as soon as I take his truck away, Oliver will become an unstoppable storm of questions, demands, whines. He's difficult, always has been. He's smart and older than his years. And incapable of being bored. He's a wild one. I have to admit, I kind of love it and loath it about him. I'm a little too good at being bored. We are two sides of the coin, he and I. So I let him rev, I let him knee slide. Penny isn't shrieking. She's actually being pretty quiet. I just need something for dinner.
When out with Oliver, I am met, daily, by two types of people. The first are the ones who look at me from the corner of their eyes with mild disdain. They are the ones thinking about the dirt on the ground (I'm thinking about it too--but I have come to understand in these almost 5 years what a losing battle looks like). They are the ones whispering to their older children, "If you acted that way I would have...". They are the ones who were blessed with calm children. Easy children. Children who would stop with a look, a threat, a pop on the rear. I'm convinced that I could beat Oliver with two trees worth of switches and he still wouldn't change. He's a wild one. He's unstoppable. And truth be told, I'd be judged either way. For letting him be him or for yelling at him non-stop. And it would be non-stop. He's incapable of containment, especially at the grocery store, with the wide clear aisles and slick floors (perfect for knee-sliding!). And this isn't every trip, just this trip. I'm just going to blame it on the truck.

I'm just going to blame this on the truck, too.

And then there are the people who look onto Oliver with kindly amusement. They stop what they are doing to watch him with a wistful smile, to crouch down to talk to him. They are the ones who lightly scold me as I take away his truck for the 3rd time (after he was a hairs-breath away from slamming into a woman in a motorized wheel chair). "He's just having fun," they say. They are the people who say "beep beep" as he almost collides with them mid-aisle, his eyes on the ground instead of up. They are the people who had wild ones or loved wild ones or were wild ones. And as their eyes meet mine, I see their memories and I appreciate their kindness and empathy more than words could ever say and in that one, brief wistful moment, I miss him already. I know too soon I will be the one "beep beeping" and telling the frazzled young mother with her wild and unruly one that their child is precious and hilarious and to wave at her and mouth, "It's fine!" when they cut me off on a turn. I will remember this day fondly. I will see Oliver's face in every wild one I encounter, for the rest of my life.

I'll remember fondly what it was like to not  have any personal space. Or not.

And for those out there who find themselves heavy with side-long glances, who judge and scoff and are annoyed--please remember one thing: you are not more annoyed than me. You are witnessing less than five minutes of my every day life. (And the little one is even being quiet. God help the whole store should she find herself displeased! You haven't even experienced wrath until little chicken is buckled in the seat). I am trying my best to wrangle him, I wish he would listen better, no one wants that more than me. But I can't control him, not in that way. I can't (won't) make him stop playing. It's not worth the battle. It's the grocery store, for crying out loud! It may not be appropriate but you learn quickly to do what you can to do in order to do what has to be done. Sometimes you might have to give a stranger a flat tire in order to get dinner on the table. It's the ugly truth of life, folks.
Because here's the thing here, boys and girls, the more control you think you have over your life, the more your child will burst your bubble and unravel all you thought you knew. You think you can control a child, until you get one who is uncontrollable. You think you'll keep him off the floor, until you realize yelling at him non-stop is not making anything (including him) better. You think you'll be embarrassed by the judgement until you realize that no one in the entire world knows what it's like to live with this wild creature you and your partner created and you find yourself (miraculously) freed from caring at all. Because that's the thing about loving a wild one, in a way, you become wild too. You become free. Free from what others expect of you, free from caring what other's think. You live your life the way you can, the way you need to in order to find happiness, in order to cultivate this little heathen into a productive member of society. And if that means he gets his knees a little dirty (filthy) in order not to squash his spirit (and your own)--so be it. Because if you don't, you'll miss it, all of it. You won't enjoy your children. And they won't enjoy you.
So have a little patience. Find a little joy. And know that, if you don't, the one you spawn will be ten times worse.
The Universe has a wicked sense of humor that way. And a keen way of teaching us what we desperately need to learn.

Me? I learned that the worst pictures are my favorite ones.