It took almost two hours for Little Man to finish his math, and it ended in a lecture. The thing is, he knows the material. He can do the work, and it's not too much for him. So an hour into his marathon session, I asked what his issue was.
Now, in case I've only hinted at this before, let me just say it plainly: I'm a perfectionistic, task-oriented, achievement-driven freak who has trouble giving (myself) grace. It makes me a really weird mom, I'm sure. I show love through work, and that's how I receive it. I'm trying to broaden my whole love language thing, but this is how I'm built.
This morning in answer to my question, Little Man said, "I just don't like math." And I already knew that. The boy kills it in language and reading, but he hates numbers all day long. Sure, I knew that.
I just couldn't accept it.
So I started my spiel about how we all have to push ourselves. I said, "Son, nothing gets done in this world by people who give up when they're tired of working. Everyone who's ever done anything in life has had to push himself. I push myself. Your father pushes himself in seminary..." and blah blah blah.
I was lecturing; it did nothing except close up my soft-hearted son and make me feel mean.
And then tonight I don't want to push myself, either.
Turns out I'm sick. I have a virus or something, and I didn't want to come here tonight and be honest. But I did it anyway because I need to admit I've been humbled.
Today, humility tastes bitter and feels like a stomachache.
And I wonder if this is the nonsense that makes our Father grin just a little. "Tough, are ya? And perfect? Hmm..." And then of course I'm not.
Tomorrow's a fresh day, though. And I really need that clean slate. Maybe I'll get an early start on it.
Good night, guys.
Needing to apologize to my son again,