He screamed “I hate you” at me over and over again for 20 or 30 mins. It broke my heart.
He’s tired. School seems to breaking his spirit.
Like a teenager so full of a rage he doesn’t know where to place, he lands it on the closest, softest target.
After almost an hour of furious growling (his – like a wild animal – not mine!), scratching, kicking walls, throwing toys and shoes and cushions etc, he finally calmed down. He reached out his arms and asked for a “Huggle and start again”. I accepted.
At bedtime he sang a song with Sunday and me, then leaned over and hugged and kissed, and said “I love you” to his little sister. In that moment everything was alright again.
The dichotomy of experiences in parenting is just so intense:
I’m filled to the brim/I’m torn apart
I’m hopeful/I’m terrified
I’m overjoyed/I’m overwhelmed
I’m proud beyond possibility/enraged to bursting
I couldn’t love them more/can’t wait for a second alone
The push and pull is the most confusing/confronting/exhausting element.
Now they are asleep and I’m looking at pictures of their divine faces and couldn’t imagine being screamed at by anyone more perfect.