The Mouth

This precious little boy who loves the comfort of a blanket even in 101 degree heat, who adores "nature walks," and who doesn't think flowers are too girly to be fascinated by their petals or to carry in a bouquet back to the house so he can put them in a peanut butter jar vase

This same beautiful boy is going through a phase that is trying his mommy's patience. It started with the crocodile tears over everything, and I do mean everything: my sweeping his newest "special" rocks back in the driveway, Amelia pulling one of his puzzles off the shelf, Jonah the cat playing with his blanket.

I have become one of those mothers I never before understood--you know, the ones who totally ignore their children's tears in the checkout line at Wal-mart? The ones whose faces show serene calm as if they're listening to a calming Mozart piece rather than the fevered-pitch of an angry child in their buggy?

Wyatt knows I refuse to watch a tantrum. It's a well-defined rule--if you want to cry, pitch a fit, or yell, that's perfectly fine....in your room. Mommy has sent herself to her room more than once over the past three years. And sometimes, Wyatt sends himself to his room, too, before I even have to say a word.

But now the phase has morphed again. To keep my cool, it is taking everything I have in me (and then some Godly grace along with many, many sentence prayers sent heavenward). Along with the tears, Wyatt has added what I call "the mouth."

It's not like I didn't expect this. With his love of books, he has unusual control of an expansive vocabulary for a child his age. The problem is that same vocabulary is exploding into out-loud, powerful words of defiance.

Tonight, he spent over an hour in his room because, as he put it, "I not sorry! I not sorry!" And later, when daddy told him to pick up his toys, he said, "I not have to listen!" a stance he quickly changed to "I not have time to!" when he saw me enter the room.

And yet, as aggravated as I was with him this evening, moments before his defiant hiney stomped down the hall for the night, he redeemed himself. As his daddy sat down to read Amelia her night time book, he walked over and started reciting it to her. So precious. Such an expression of brotherly love.

There's hope for him yet.