We Might Have to Switch Schools…..but it was worth it

I’m not sure what’s happening in my house, but my kids are reverting back to the Toddler Picasso stage of life. We don’t even have toddlers anymore, yet here I am finding artwork in weird places the past few weeks.

The oldest drew all over the backseat of the car – the leather, the window, the cupholder.

The middle drew a whole mural on his wall after I told him his art teacher had bragged on how talented he was. (HECK YEAH I AM, he whispers to himself, marker in hand)

The youngest drew a nice family portrait on his brother’s bedsheets.

I don’t even know.

Circling back to the middle, we had a WHOLE CONVERSATION about how proud I was of his artistic abilities….but “perhaps let’s not use them on the wall. Let’s find a piece of paper, maybe?”

4 days later, more art. Like, so much crayon. The this-is-never-coming-off-we’ll-just-have-to-paint-over-it-or-burn-the-house-down-and-start-over kind of wall art.

Thinking back on it now, it just wasn’t that big of a deal. Disobedient, needing to be addressed, but not A Big Deal.

Until I made it one.

To be fair, it was about the 10th point of tension with him that morning.

We only have an hour between waking up and getting to school, and that boy packs a lot into that hour. He is a Slow Person who takes life at a veeerrrrrryyyyyyy leisurely pace.  After waking up and stretching for a bit, he wallows his way downstairs (stopping here and there to take Lay Breaks), meanders into the kitchen for some breakfast, savors each bite of egg, lays on the couch for a little bit more, strolls upstairs to start thinking about getting dressed…………….

He teaches me a great deal about patience.

And I teach him the art of efficiency.

I’d said, “MOVE WITH PURPOSE, MAN!!!” no less than 12 times that morning – my frustration building as I was watching the clock, his motivation and obedience declining with every minute – and then I saw the second installment of art on his wall. Not only had he not done a dang thing to get ready, he spent ample time defacing his bedroom. Again.

I straight up lost it. And not in a funny, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad” way. In an awful one.

I lit into him.

I was crystal clear, made quite sure he knew – on multiple levels – just how much he’d failed.

There was no self-control, no kindness in my response.

I tore him down with my words. I belittled him.

When we got to school and I watched him walk away, I noticed his demeanor. Shoulders sagged, head down, and I realized – he was walking into that building a smaller version of himself, because of me. He was not as tall, not as brave, not as confident as he was when he’d woken up that morning. He was smaller, he was lesser, and it was my fault. I’d cut him down with my careless, sinful words.

I nearly picked him up an hour into the school day so I could apologize. I couldn’t handle it.

Thankfully, by the time I got him that afternoon, he was fine. His teacher, his friends, and other people had built back up what I had torn down.

As soon as I could get my hands on him, I pulled him aside, grabbed his face, and begged him to forgive me. He did. It was gracious and sweet and underserved.

…..and then the next morning happened.

Same story, second verse.

I’ve told my kids before that if they choose to not show integrity at home in the mornings (being responsible, obeying, being respectful) and it makes them late to school, they have to go apologize to the principal.

It was an experience we’d had the pleasure of avoiding until then.

That morning, dude straight up would not get his stuff together. Wouldn’t get dressed, wouldn’t pick up the can of peanuts he’d strewn about our home (?!), wouldn’t…anything. And was being mean in the midst of all his wouldnting.

It made him late to school. And it was not okay.

But I was okay this time, even as we marched into the school office, requesting a quick meeting with the principal.

I didn’t want my son to feel shame. Conviction, maybe. A desire to change, yes. A recognition that our actions affect others, absolutely. But I didn’t want him to feel shame.

And so as he and I both stood in front of the principal – tears streaming down his face – I started by saying, “Good morning. I think you know this boy. He is my son and I could not be more proud of him…”

I felt him straighten up under my hand. He sat a little bit taller.

“He is amazing. And smart. And funny. And cooks like a boss. And he is FULL of integrity, which is why he needs to make something right with you this morning.”

At some point during this monologue, my boy had stopped crying, I had started, and the principal was on the edge of his seat wondering what in the world we were confessing to him with such pomp and circumstance.

My boy started speaking. “I….uh….well, I tried to open this can of peanu–”

*me, whispering* “skip the peanut story, baby.“

“…so, anyway, I wouldn’t clean them up and I wasn’t showing integrity and so it made me late.”

The principal was very confused. (My silent sobs probably didn’t help.) “So…….something about peanuts……..and being late? All of this is because he is tardy today by” *checks his watch* “10 minutes?”

Well, yes, sir. Kind of. But also no. You know what…I realize I appear emotionally unstable right now but THIS IS A GOSPEL PARENTING MOMENT FOR US, OKAY??? Also could I bother you for a kleenex.

• • •

Guess what?

My boy hasn’t been late again. He’s been AWESOME in the mornings.

He won’t always be, but we’re celebrating the now.

Maybe it’s because the principal thing scared him, but maybe it’s because I spoke life over him – boldly, publicly, and in front of someone he respects, nonetheless. Maybe it’s because I called him to a higher standard out of respect and love, not out of force and control.

UUuUuGgGGghHhhHHH.

Parenting is harddddd.

I guess I should say parenting well is hard.

Or maybe trying to parent well ….or whatever. You get the gist.

What does it look like to teach and train with mercy? To follow through on consequences with kindness? To keep expectations high and respect even higher? To make things right when we botch it miserably?

Grace in parenting doesn’t mean we excuse all of our kid’s behaviors, it means we treat them with respect and kindness while addressing the things that need to change.

And, ya know, I think the reverse is true, too.

Grace for ourselves doesn’t mean we excuse our own behaviors, it means we treat ourselves with respect and kindness while addressing the things that need to change.

After all, that’s what God does for us.

He’s it in for our hearts. And we’re in it for theirs.

• • •

May we always extend more grace than we have – to our kids AND to ourselves.

May we be constantly on the hunt for new mercies and unfailing compassions.

And may – for heaven’s sake, please Lord Jesus – our principal have terrible facial recognition of that poor, crazy mother who broke down in his office last week.

“Throughout the coming ages we will be the visible display of the infinite, limitless riches of his grace and kindness, which was showered upon us in Jesus Christ.” Ephesians 2:7 [TPT]