He's not into it

and I have to confess my part

What does anxiety feel like in your body? In my body, it always feels like my blood has gone bad. Like my skin has been peeled back just enough to access my veins and leak some toxin into them. Something to disrupt all possibility of flow. I am on manual. Heart, beat. Lungs, breath. Blink, now. Again. OK. But not really. No, not remotely.

*if you are filled with anxiety and are lost and reeling inside of yourself, no (know), you are not alone.

We have been in some car chaos this winter. Our new little EV doesn’t charge enough for us to get anywhere and the snows on it aren’t really enough to get it up the driveway. It is a great car for summer. Of which we have very little in Northern Vermont. The Honda, equipped for winter driving, is old and tired and as it turns out, not at all impervious to my objectively pretty shitty ability to drive in deep snow.

In fact, right at this very moment, I am waiting to hear back from any number of the calls I have out to various tow companies to come and winch the Honda out of the snowmobile track that I mistook for a plowed thru-way. It was not and the car is well stuck. This is my second time stuck in under a week. The first time, Chris and Eider were able to dig me out but not before I tore the mudguard loose from the undercarriage and needed to cancel the morning’s appointments. I am canceled and stuck yet again today.

And anxious. Did I mention that? It just keeps coming at us, does it not?

Yesterday I relented and decided to throw in the towel on Freddy and his violin lessons. He fucking hates them and as much as I have a relative understanding on the process of learning music for children I have to admit that sometimes the juice is just really and clearly not worth the squeeze and this is one of those moments. His agitation with this required activity has been spilling over into other aspects of his day and no five-year-old needs to manage this level of frustration.

The moment has come for me to admit that he is not into it. That it really might not be for him. I don’t know about forever, how can I? But it is clear that the now is suffering as we persist and our reality is much more served if I open my eyes to the child in front of me, and not the desire I have been holding for him. And I have to confess my part which is that Eider’s journey with violin throughout his childhood has been so unbelievably precious to me. One of the great and surprising joys of my life. I was hoping to have more of this with Freddy. That hope has eased the grief I feel that my time shared with Eider in this way is coming to a close. This is painful for me to admit.

And here we go really. Eid is turning 16 on Monday. As much as he is so solidly here, I can also see his slow turn toward the door, and fuck if there is no way to be ready for that. The hemorrhaging of a parent as a childhood ends. I can’t stop the flow so I just try to stuff the bleed with anything that might staunch it long enough for me to grow some new path forward.

So I am sad that Freddy is not going to play the violin. At least for now, and at least in terms of lessons. He says he will still practice with me. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. I have no real push in me, either way. I do think that if we had access to group lessons for littles here it would have made all the difference in the world. But that is neither here nor there and pointless to get hung up on a moment more. He does seem to be very interested in the trumpet. So, who knows? Clearly, not me.

As for Eider, what a miracle this kid. He really did a number on me, that red-headed unicorn. He convinced me that I knew a thing or two about parenting but the truth is he is simply a magical being. Agreeable and full of love. Compassionate and generous and pretty much up for anything. When I think of the trajectory of his childhood, all the choices we made or life circumstances that made everything more difficult for him, and even so, he stayed optimistic through and through. The covid/adolescence shit show he had to endure… good grief. What a fucking miraculous gift to the universe he is.

And Freddy too. Of course. Exactly. But not when I try to stuff him into the imprint left by Eid. He is himself and he is just right. He is a friend of nature and loves learning about birds and animals. He wants to be a farmer. Not just when he grows up, but right now so get on it mom and dad. He loves to ride bikes and ski. He loves the ninja classes he took in the fall could you please sign him up again mom? He loves to listen to stories and craft. He thinks that the podcast Magic Woods is the best thing ever (thank you Liz W.) and he loves playing with his stuffies. They work for him.

And he does not want to play the violin. Maybe one day but that day sure as shit is not today.

It seems, once again, motherhood is working on me, having her way. I sometimes think I may know a thing or two but more often than not I am left humbled and starting once again from scratch. I know not exactly nothing, but certainly very little. And my little son has been raging against my ideas all while I chalked it up to part of the process, him building up his frustration tolerance as he moves through the difficulty of learning something new. But it was so off, so uncomfortable, so clearly not a match, that he began to decompensate in all manner of other areas of his otherwise joyful reality. What a wretch I was to keep pressing.

But I am done now. Enough is enough. I may be licking my wounds and mourning something wholly unrelated to this kid, but at least now my eyes are open and clear. I can set this aside and really see him now, as he wants me to see him, in the fullness of exactly who he is outside of any longing of mine. This is exactly right and exactly how I want to love him anyway. I just needed to find my way back to the truth of that. There are many magical parts of childhood, and not all of them are for every child. How could they be? Or, if only. But the years are very few and time must be kept in reserve for doing absolutely nothing.

***

My car has since been pulled out of the snowmobile trail. It took the better part of an hour and half and every single inch of cable and chain that the dude with the tow truck had in his rig. He said that the winch was so slow it would be akin to watching paint dry, but I don’t know. My blood pressure seems a little lower with paint. I couldn’t keep that car pulling back straight to save my life and we dragged it sideways through a snow bank for a good half hour before the tires were back on ground they could stick to. He had to use a tree to winch off of, along with his truck, to get my car back on track.

I learned a thing or two about a deep snow winter today, I guess. Fun to play in and hell to have to drive in.

Even after all these years. I still have so much to learn.