Worry

If worrying were a sport, I am sure I would excel.  I am sure I have a pre-disposition to worrying that I have inherited from my father's side.  See Dad is Jewish and I am sure there is a direct DNA gene passed down through his linage.  I know, I know, that I am not technically Jewish if my mother was not, but scientifically speaking I am sure that the male is just as capable of passing down the code for worrying and nagging. 

I used to believe my mom was the worrier.  I have sense learned that my father wakes her up at 2 in the morning to express all of his worries.  She then shares those concerns with me and my siblings, probably hoping to solve the issue to achieve a full night's sleep.  I get this.   I am now a mother and I will do just about anything to grantee sleep. 

In my father's defense he is winding down on his worrying tendencies.  He has always said too, that I should not stress over my worries unless
A.  I can do anything about it
B.  Will the issue matter to me in 5 years. 

With those two criteria I have whittled my list down, but there are two big things eating at me, and thus I was awake at 2am with worry.

First, I should start with the great thing I was not worried about (because I recognize that reading anguish is about as fun as having anguish.) 

As Isaac approaches his 5th birthday he is really coming into being his own boy.  We have asked this of him repeatedly, but he just did not know how.  Yesterday I had a down right pleasant afternoon with him.  He drew me pictures, he chose not to watch a movie with Emerson, but to play with cars instead.  He sat on my lap eagerly and showed off for me as we did his speech homework together.  He voluntarily swept the kitchen floor, then because he loved the praise so much, he swept the sun room floor.  He shine, he was true to himself and I was proud and hopeful for my little man. 

OK now on to worrying about my other little boys.

Yesterday John had a rough day.  He has been working very hard on getting our wood stove installed and in his defense he has never done this kind of work before.  He has lots of great skills but he doesn't really have a good person to talk to about it and that is how John learns best.  In Oregon we had great friends that he could go to and talk about project, creating things and problem solve with them.  People in rural Oregon were good at this because you could never get someone to come all the way out there to build or fix something.  Everyone was a do it yourself sort of person and there for if you went to talk to the neighbor about a tool or how to do something they were typically happy to help.  Mostly likely they were just thrilled to have a conversation after days of solitude. 

Well that is not really the case in suburbia in Alabama.  Most people here are engrossed in the rat race of life.  They work all the time to be able to pay someone to do the work for them.  When John tries to talk to someone about it, they just tell him to hire someone, or that they don't have time to talk about it, or they charge a fee for such consulting.  Yesterday this hurt his feelings and his sense of trust in the world.  He finished the day feeling alone, lonely and like he just doesn't fit in.  I tried to let him know a big part of his frustration also comes from the fact that we now have two very needy kids, a lousy economy, and lack of quality time with adults.  This didn't help much, but regardless I am worried about him.

Then there is Emerson.  My darling little boy who brings me so much joy and so much heart ache.  Yesterday was the second day in a row that he refused to take a nap at school.  As a result, I had a little boy who was a melt down a moment.  Emerson was born 1lb 7 oz and as a result he has a very underdeveloped nervous system.  His disability manifest by a complete lack of a sensory filter.  He absorbs everything.  Taste are intense, smell is overwhelming, every conversation is listened to with the same level of attention.  By the end of the day he is like the computer that refuses to budge because it has 500 files open. 

So last night, he couldn't sit still for dinner.  He wouldn't eat it.  He wanted desert.  No desert when you don't eat dinner.  Meltdown.  I want to watch another movie.  No, you only get one a day. Meltdown.  I want to play my video game.  You only get an hour of screen time and that is up.  Meltdown.  I am hungry.  Then eat your dinner.  Meltdown. 

Poor little guy was a sobbing wreck who could barely hold his eyes open, but refused to sleep.  I am told it will get better as he ages.  I am told to hold my ground and not give into the fits.  I do, but I can't seem to stop my heart from breaking at my beautiful little boy who crashes and burns so easily.  I am worried about him.