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STOP … in the name of love

Who doesn’t know that song? I was never a fan, which is why I sometimes don’t get the message. You know… STOP before you tell your husband every reason why he doesn’t do exactly what he’s supposed to do for you the moment he walks in the door after work and he’s worked 10 hours and you’ve worked 10 hours and the kids are hungry and there’s no dinner made and you’re running on 5 hours of sleep and your kid is TICKING like a clock and you finally have had it UP TO HERE and you sit him down and, ever so nicely… even though you are well aware that he can’t help it…. you say have the following interchange:

Me: (through gritted teeth): “Sweetie, is it possible to breathe through that? I know you can’t help it, but it’s been almost a month. And, well, Mommy loves you so much but she just needs a break.”
Stink: I can stop–
Me: Great! That would be great!
Stink: But you know it’s hard for me.
Me: I know. I do. But… well, I’m not a saint. After a while, I lose my patience. Maybe, just maybe… (Warning: Many of you saintly mothers, or people with tics yourself, might have issue with me) … maybe we could consider getting you some meds to calm it down just a bit? Because, you know… it’s been kind of relentless.
Stink: (Big crocodile tears) But Mommy! If we did that, the tics would go away!
Me: In the name of Jesus and sales on Two Buck Chuck Hooray! But why is that so bad?
Stink: Because it is how I was made!
Me: But I can’t be the only one who gets frustrated at the sounds at times. Doesn’t anyone ever get bugged in class?
Stink: Sometimes, but that’s their problem, not mine.
Me: (Standing on a very wobbly soap box) But… it is in a way your problem if you can do something about it. The drugs might just take a wee bit of edge off of them so I am a little less uptight and we’re never having this conversation again.
Stink: (After blowing his nose) Yeah, but why would I want to do something that would make me be just like everyone else… a brainless copycat who is boring and comes off drunk?
Me: (Flabbergasted) Dude, do you really like your tics that much? How is that possible?
Stink: (Duh stupid) Because Jesus made me this way! (Then, excited) Hey, I know! Since I don’t have a problem with them but you do, why don’t YOU take the drugs!

Out of the mouth of babes. And into my heart. And now onto this blog. NEVER again will I ever say something to my son. Especially after bedtime prayers later that night.

Me: Stink, I was thinking about what you said, and I want you to know how sorry I am.
Stink: About what?
Me: The tics! I’m sorry! I just get a bit nutty sometimes and this is not your issue. I’m thinking that I will continue to look up to God as a perfect model for me and I ask you to do that also. Perhaps by looking at God, you will be able to really forgive me because I only he is perfect. And, man, I’m so far from it.

Stink gives me a huge hug.

Stink: Mommy, you are perfect! You are perfectly imperfect. Don’t you get it?

Squeak, squeak, gulp. (A small cringe from me, but nothing else.) I just hug him close. He is so wise. Next to Jesus, Stink is my greatest teacher — perhaps because he embodies Jesus more than anyone else I know. Stink he loves me, yes I know, for he always tells me so.

As I fall asleep listening to his heart beats take over the sounds of his tics until there is nothing but quiet, I think of his wisdom about perfection and have more clarity than I’ve had all day. One word enters my mind and washes me in peace. “Duh.”

0 Comments

  1. This reminds me of that Conditional post from the other day, where it talks about how we make too much of TS and tics sometimes. I agree with you son! :)

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