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My Unfiltered Reality of Raising a Challenging Child
I have a secret to share, and it’s not easy for me to admit…
“Mom! Jake is outside! Can I play with him?” my 7-year-old son, Max, exclaimed, bursting through the front door as a swarm of bugs waltzed into our living room.
“Sure, Max, but remember to stay in the yard.”
“Why do I always have to stay in the yard?” Before I could even respond, he was off like a rocket.
Here’s the confession that’s been weighing on me:
“You want me to grab dinner on my way home?” my husband texted.
“Sounds good to me,” I replied, hoping for some semblance of normalcy.
You see, there’s this kid next door, Jake. He’s 5 years old—polite, sweet, and just about the most agreeable child you could imagine.
While my only child shares many great traits with his little buddy, most people don’t get to see that side of him because he has a hint of what’s known as oppositional defiant disorder. In layman’s terms, he has a knack for saying no to everything…
(Ding Dong) Who could that be? Maybe they’ll just take the hint and leave.
…from the usual kid grumbles like brushing teeth and taking a bath to outright refusing things he genuinely enjoys, like ice cream or a trip to the movies. When I say “refusing,” I mean the kind of dramatic meltdown that makes you feel like the world’s worst parent as he throws himself on the floor of Target, screaming like it’s the end of the world.
And here’s the part I’m embarrassed to admit:
“Mom! Jake wants to ride bikes, but I don’t want to!”
Oh, great. Just what I need. “Max, you don’t have to ride bikes if you don’t want to. How about your scooter instead?”
“I hate my scooter!” he screeched, sounding like a howler monkey in a frenzy.
Of course, he loves that scooter.
“Dinner’s ready! I brought home Chinese food,” my husband announced as he walked in.
“No! I hate Chinese food!” Max yelled, kicking the curb in frustration.
He doesn’t really hate it. “I will not eat that!” I left him with his dad, wondering how many more curb-kicks it would take before he drew blood or tears.
It’s hard to admit that I’m envious of how well-behaved Jake is—not because he’s a bad kid, but because he embodies everything I wish my son could be.
His mother never has to remind him more than once to brush his teeth or take a bath. He picks up his toys without a fuss at the end of playtime. And as he heads off to kindergarten, I can already picture him sitting on the carpet, engrossed in the teacher’s every word, while my Max is off in a corner, separated for failing to “follow the rules.”
Jake won’t be the target of rejection or name-calling from other kids for being “difficult” or a “troublemaker.”
What really stings about Jake being around is how it puts a glaring spotlight on my child’s flaws, day in and day out.
“Mom!” Please let it be a minor scrape this time, not something worse.
“Mom! It hurts! I neeeeed a Band-Aid!”
Oh, for the love of everything good.
“Okay, I’ll get…”
“I’ll get you one!” Jake interrupted, dashing back to his house. He returned, triumphantly holding a box of Band-Aids, leaving a trail of colorful wrappers behind him.
That moment shines a light on my own shortcomings as a parent, highlighting my impatience and frustration with this energetic 5-year-old. I just wish it wasn’t my own son who always ends up labeled as the difficult one, you know?
“Wanna smash Matchbox cars?” Jake asked.
“Sure! Sounds fun,” Max replied.
“Awesome! You’re my best friend ever!” Jake exclaimed.
“You’re mine too!” Max beamed back.
“Am I?” Jake asked, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah, of course!” Max grinned.
Chinese food, straight from the carton, never tasted so good.
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