Where the Wildcats Play

"What rink are we going to?" J. asks as we pack up our skating gear.

"Where the Wildcats play," I respond, smiling on how my answer reminds me of one of my favourite children's book. You know the story, don't you? The one about a mischievous little boy who is sent to his room without his supper and how his room transforms into forest and sea. He romps and roars and dances with fearsome creatures. But love calls him back to his room to find his supper waiting for him. All is well and forgiven.

In this stage of Motherhood, I am trying to navigate loving and gracious discipline. Some days I do much disciplining and forget the loving and gracious part. Other days, with God's wisdom, I get it right and really take the time to talk about the emotional hurts we inflict on each other. Then we work towards reconciliation. Such moments are beautiful.

I grew up in a culture where the elders were always right (especially if the elder was male). It is not that my parents always felt this way in their relationship with us kids. However, since they grew up in a strong patriarchal culture, they found it difficult to completely divorce themselves from the mindset. Elders were to be highly respected and treated as if they were infallible.

I'm all for treating our elders with high respect. I think our society is too flippant with those who are older.  We are often tempted to write off the sagely wisdom of our senior citizens to run after the new, the dazzling, the brilliant. But nobody is perfect, no matter how old or young we are.

"Mommy, you didn't apologize for yelling at me," J. retorts from the back of the car during a errand trip. Yup, I had a Mommy failure moment, where my pounding headache, hormones and sin nature combined to create a very short fuse during one of J.'s extensive question sessions. Hey, I didn't want to talk to anyone. Not even my cute brown-eyed son. So I yelled. Not cool.

"I am sorry for yelling at you. But -- " I wish I could say I ended that conflict well. I proceeded to explain to my son why I yelled: Asking Mommy endless questions when she is not feeling well -- while driving -- isn't such a good idea!

"I am sorry Mommy." And J. was pretty quiet after that as we drove home.

I got out of the car and realized I hurt the feelings of my son. I leaned in close to his pouting face as I unfastened his seat belt. "I love you very much," I whispered gently while kissing his sweet cheek.

"I love you too," came the honest reply.

While I didn't resolve the conflict ideally, I knew in that moment that all was well and forgiven on both sides. I am my son's elder. And I am definitely fallible. I may romp and roar and dance with the wild things once in a while. But love will call me home.

I am sorry J. Forgive me for being a wild thing today.

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