November 13, 2013 by Catherine Schembri Leave a Comment
My boys were still young when I saw my first teenage meltdown from a parent’s perspective. I was (unfortunately) in the crossfire as a young girl became inconsolable over a situation and then turned all of her frustration toward her mother.
My heart broke for both of them and I quickly excused myself to let them work it out. Before I managed to make it past earshot I heard “the h word”. Hate. In her frenzy this poor child was insisting through her sobs that she hated her mother and that she knew that her mother hated her.
As I mentioned, my guys were still young – but I tried to imagine what it would be like if either one of them ever said such a thing to me, or even worse, believed for one second that I really hated them or wished they weren’t born! I comforted myself for a few minutes contemplating how many things I did to show my love for them. I considered how I began each day telling them that I loved them and ended each day the same way. Then I mentally chided myself for a few more minutes when I arrived at reality. It was just plain silly to think that in a moment of high drama my goodnight kisses would save me from the wrath of teenage angst.
The problem with words is that once they are spoken they are gone. Even the ones we treasure are difficult to recall with absolute clarity. I realized at that moment that what I needed were some touchstones. I wanted my boys to have a way to measure how much they are loved and wanted.
When I make up my mind to do something, it gets done. I began to show them where to look when they needed reassurance. We sat down with my pregnancy journal and their baby books. There they could see more than five years of carefully chronicled photos and lovingly penned thoughts about how amazing they are. I showed them the scrapbooks from their grade school years, too. They have seen all of our photo albums and I set up my computer’s screen saver so that it became a slideshow starring Boy One and Boy Two. These pictures tell the story of their lives in a parade of Kodak moments.
When they got to be a little bit more mature and slightly reluctant to snuggle together looking at cute baby pics, I added something new. I bought a leather bound journal and began jotting down a few sentences every night about the day we just shared and how much I love them. I never miss an entry. We have filled one book and begun another. If the day ever comes when one of them accuses me of hating him, I hope he will turn to these touchstones and see that there has always been love – and there always will be.
