To Those I Love Most.

Around the time Ben turned two and his mom developed a fed up voice that previously had not been used in the direction of her sweet baby I heard a story that made me think.

This woman was gardening in the front of her house when she heard her oldest son call from the backyard.
"Pardon me?" she called back. Again the muffled voice repeated the request.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU! COME OVER HERE!" She yelled back, growing increasingly frustrated.
At the third unintelligible request she lost her patience.
"GET OVER HERE IF YOU WANT TO TELL ME SOMETHING!" she yelled loudly into the backyard. Her face immediately reddened at the sight of her neighbor who popped his head over the fence next door. "um. I just wanted to know if you wanted your rake back..."
"Oh my goodness, I am sorry. I thought you were my son calling me."
She realized what a sad excuse that was for her nasty reply. Her son was more deserving of such a tone? Of course not. How often though, do we put upon those we love most to accept treatment we would never dole out to another.

I try to hear myself at times through my son's ears. I hope they hear the love in my voice when I speak to them. I hope they overhear me praising them to others, accepting compliments on their behalf and striving to keep a loving tone. I hope they hear the control in my wavering patience and the volume level kept low, even as it threatens to climb. I try very hard not to yell at my three year old, when he pinches his brother, empties the folded laundry onto the floor or brushes ketchup in his hair. I try to remember that when someone raises their voice to me, talks in a way that shows disrespect or impatience how I feel resentment, anger and defiance. Certainly not compliance and respect. Why then should I expect anything different from small children. And yet. I am not perfect. Sometimes I loose it. Sometimes I shout "JUST DO IT!... Sometimes the neighbors know "I AM NOT ASKING AGAIN!" and I suppose I really meant it, since now I am yelling... And then I feel smaller than the little boy in front of me, whose eyes just dropped to the ground and shoulders hunched over. I remember my friends neighbor, undeserving of such treatment and my little boy, one of the people I love most in the world, even more so undeserving.

I can whisper in his ear almost immediately after I abandoned self control over a ticking clock or a toothbrush in the toilet. "I am sorry I yelled". Of late he says "that scared me. and it hurt my feelings too". Then I feel smaller than his little brother too.

I have been thinking of that story more and more as my patience is tried as frequently. I can see how my tone, my voice and my body language can build them up and just as fast take us all down. Certainly they (including the one who dumped all the change from my purse down the furnace vent) deserve to hear only love from their Mother. I am striving to be more conscious of what they hear from me, I mean really hear.