He's Six!

Every so often, one too many dinosaurs on the floor or cars between the couch cushions breaks this mama-camel's back and the frenzy begins.  I'm off on a mission to return every stray creation to the Lego table, organize the helter-skelter book shelf, and declutter the bulletin board of its many now-one-eyed masterpieces.  As I work my way room to room, I eventually find myself staring at the cave that is Niko's bed.

First I haul out the blankets - of which there are four, plus a bathrobe that is used as a blanket.  Then the five pillows, eight stuffed animals, two Hot Wheels, four pieces of Lego, a paper airplane, two books, and a basketball.  Not to mention the four brightly coloured shoelaces that are woven through the slats of the bunk above his and hang down like stalactites and the rat's nest of scotch tape supposedly keeping them in place.  

It makes me claustrophobic just to think about sleeping in this chaos as I put away the toys, books, shoelaces, two pillows, and half the stuffies.  I spread the remaining stuffies out, hoping I can get away with this purging.  Because if there is one thing I know about Niko, it is that he is equal parts method and madness.   

The same kid who carelessly forgets where he put his favourite toy for days on end, can remember that the small dog won the jumping competition when we went to the Brandon Winter Fair almost two years ago, while the big dog knocked the obstacle down trying to jump over it even after three tries.  

The same kid who struggles to grasp the bigger picture of how his behaviour affects the people around him, has built a detailed map in his mind that allows him to navigate routes to Gramma and Grampa's, the ice cream store, McIvor park, the arena, downtown, and countless other places.  

The same kid who has been wearing shorts all winter, who sleeps between fleece sheets all summer because he 'needs to be cozy', who throws tantrums before every Christmas family gathering that I want him to wear a polo shirt for, is also the one who is most likely to give hugs, drape his arm across my back, lay his head on my shoulder, or sit his 50+ pounds on my lap.  

Negotiating the juxtaposition of Niko's extremes can make some days a bit of a minefield, and I find myself on my knees in prayer at least as often as I find myself on them to clean up a mess of toys or a mess of hearts.  

In it all, I find my mind wandering once again to the enigma that is my Saviour.  Full of juxtaposition of His own, His holiness butts up against His humility.  His majesty interfaces mysteriously with His mindfulness of me.  He is brimming with glory, yet it is His grace that overflows.  I almost have time to finish my thought when I hear the accusing words.

"WHERE ARE MY STUFFIES??"  

I shake my head in amazement as my son lists, ridiculously, every stuffed animal I dared to remove from his bed.  Apparently there was, as I should have known, method to his madness.  

Mighty (Isaiah 9:6)

Papa,
You are the mighty God.  Today I adore You in that might, even as plead for it in this little pocket of family that is overwhelming and fragile.  Lord, my biggest little needs Your might today, this week.  He has looked his weakness in the eyes, yelled at it, and been brought to tears of humility.  Show Him Your might in overcoming.  Show Him Your might inside of him in places He never knew.  May my heart and his beat in rhythm with the movements of Your mighty grace within these walls.

Shaggy Headed Reader (Acts 7:2 & 7:33)

Sometimes, no mosttimes, this house and our days feel so ordinary.  One morning looks much like the next and it is fine but hard to feel much excitement.  

But today my heart bursts with thanks and pride and joy and awe as I watch this boy that is first His before he is mine.  He gathers all three littles around his shaggy head, asking which of the cartoon character chairs they prefer.  He confirms that they can all see the pictures before beginning to read his rendition of the story.  When one of them points out that he is using the wrong word, he gently explains that he doesn't actually know how to read and he's doing his best and that's okay too.  I swear he's older than five today.

Thank you, Papa, thank you for the gift that is Niko.  Thank you that every so often this very ordinary place becomes holy ground and I can sense your glory so much closer than I would have thought in my self-absorbed distraction only moments before.  You are the God with a years-long habit of appearing in glory and making holy that which, by all accounts, is the most ordinary of ordinaries.

Reframing

Lights dimmed, torches burned, and fog rolled over the castle wall, flowing across the stage and down into the orchestra pit where the ominous tone was being set by brass, strings, and percussion.  The old lady, who really wasn't, cast her spell on the prince and away the story went.  A tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme.  

An angry, threatening beast, an arrogant, intimidating hunter, and growling, snarling wolves had my 50-pound son on my lap within seconds.  Though we had paid for two seats, it looked like we'd be cozying up together.  I wrapped my arms around him and we watched, barely getting to know characters before they were locked away in a dark dungeon, attacked by menacing wolves, or at the mercy of a hideous and turbulent beast.  So much was unexpected, so much was too much.  

My little boy, the big one who can ride his bike around Bird’s Hill Park, clean the bathroom, add two-digit numbers, and use the word ‘tepid’ correctly, huddled against me.  Heart racing, body tense, overwhelmed, too scared to look and too scared to look away.

I could have stood up and carried him out.  We would have had to squeeze awkwardly past seven people to get to the aisle and then climb the stairs in the dark.  We would have lost the $40 we spent on tickets.  But that isn’t why we didn’t leave.  We stayed because I knew he could make it through and because I knew it could be worth it for him.  

And so as the intensity of music and scenes built, I saw things as my son saw them, even as I softly spoke the truths I knew.  Character after character, song after song, dialogue after dialogue, I whispered into his ear, giving context, simplifying motives, making feelings relatable and actions understandable.  My words reframing what he was living.  Bit by bit his body relaxed as he accepted that what he was seeing on the stage was not the whole story it was just a story.  He could allow himself to be drawn in, experiencing fear and unknown with the characters, or he could allow himself to believe my reframing.  To trust that maybe, just maybe what he was seeing with his eyes, hearing with his ears, and feeling with his heart was not the full picture.  To trust that I knew things he could not know.  

Forty-five minutes and numerous scenes later, he slowly started to learn the truth of the words I was pouring from my heart into his.  The act of trusting when truth seemed to contradict reality wasn’t intuitive at first.  But his instincts had urged him straight into the lap of someone who could speak truth and so he practiced listening to the voice until, almost without warning, he clung to trust and crawled back over to his own seat again.  Still holding hands, confidence rooted in someone who could reframe scary and unknown and overwhelming and dangerous.  

It’s not hard to draw a parallel from this story.  Put an uppercase S on Someone and picture yourself curled up on the lap of your heavenly Papa.  The One whose thoughts are higher than your thoughts.  The One whose ways are higher than your ways.  The One who is faithful and worthy of trust.  The One who can reframe what you are seeing and hearing and living, if only you will sit close enough to allow Him to whisper into your ear.  

Can you let Him whisper now?  Praise Him for being the One in whom you can trust, simply because of who He is.  And let Him show you where you can trust Him more.  

(If there is anyone who actually reads, I'd welcome a response.  This is a devotional I am preparing for this weekend.)

Trust (Psalm 2:12)

Words are halting; my fingers slow to type.  Stakes are so high and I am never sure.  Never sure that my tired sighs won't rob him of self-worth, that an unchecked eye-roll won't make him question the depth of my love, or that another conversation about his behaviour won't make him second-guess his intrinsic value.  Could it be that a wayward word might derail his capacity for intimacy, a mistaken comparison might give way to self-doubt, or an overheard exasperation might set the course for bitterness?  What if my own blindness means he fails to lift his eyes to the One who could bring beauty from these ashes?

With the increasing height of the stakes, so the pressure inside builds exponentially.  Reflecting and reassessing, I try and try again - until I cry and cry again.  And then I see Your reflection in the pool of my own weakness and You speak words that I want so hard to believe.  Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.  I try to allow my heart to feel those words, try to persuade it to believe.  For to believe that You respond to my trust with blessing frees me.  It frees me from worry and obsession and the pressure of having to get it all right.  It frees me from the burden of forcing him into all the goodness crave for him.  It frees me to love, trusting that You are more than enough for him.  

Father in heaven, I want to trust You to parent both me and my child.  You respond to my trust with blessing.  Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!

Lion (Psalm 29:4 and 34:11)

After we passed camels came their moment of choice.  Both kids had been adamant that they did not want to see the lions or tigers, but in that moment there was still hesitation.  Allure was almost enough to overcome fear, so we cautiously walked just enough around the corner to see them from a safe distance and then quickly retreated to follow the other path around - past wild horses, sea eagles and to mountain goats.  And that's when we heard him.  At first, it was almost like rumbling of a stomach, and I thought they might not even notice.  But seconds later it picked up volume and intensity a bit.  Lion was roaring.  I could just make out the outline of his body through chain-link of multiple enclosures between us.  He was horizontal on his perch, one paw elevating his head and chest a little.  Relaxed, in disposition.  This was probably his inside-voice.  Even as I steadied them with my arm around their shoulders, kids' nervousness was catching as I found my pulse speeding up.  Mesmerized by powerful voice, my heart knew allure and fear in equal proportion.

Captivate me, Lion of Judah.  

Flashing cursor taunts me from blank page and I am humbled.  I have as little to say as everyone else, but our silence speaks volumes.  Is there are word for the disappointed and ashamed sadness that yearns to delight?

Weak (Psalm 6:2)

I'm losing my mind and I'm losing my voice.  Incessant whining and selfish entitlement are sucking me dry.  How did they get so irritating, self-centered, unlikable?  I raise my voice in frustration more times than I am willing to admit.  Because I know I am supposed to be patient, be kind, model love, and model grace.  I am the adult, the parent, the role model, the bigger person.  I know this time is short and these battles will drift away too quickly.  I know my time of influence is so limited and so critical.  I know what I want to be to them.  I know what I want to teach and instill.  But they hover and grumble and demand and never stop.  And I am just so weak.  I don't deserve this responsibility.  I don't have enough to give.  I am so weak to resist the impulse to be aggravated again.

With the psalmist I cry out, "Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I am weak."

And then I praise with all the confidence this pitiful soul can muster today, "Thank You, O Lord, that (of all the options) You respond to my weakness with mercy.  Thank You, Lord.  Thank You, Lord."

Introducing Our 5-Year-Old

If you just see Niko on occasion, you might describe him as tall, blue-eyed, shaggy-haired (I've been calling him 'Shep the Sheepdog'), and fun-loving but shy.

If you spend time with him on a regular basis, you might talk about his love of board games, his quick math skills, his strength and speed in sports, his incredible memory, his interest in maps, and his generally over-the-top wild and crazy boy-ness. 

Having now loved and lived Niko day in and day out for 5 years, I am blessed to see not only the facts about who and how he is, but also the trajectories of who and how he is becoming.

I see the way he deliberately asks his little cousin to repeat himself in an attempt to decipher what the words mean.  The way he gingerly holds a new baby and notices how perfect she is.  The way he graciously lets Emerson play 'Trouble' with him, although his little brother plays by his own rules.  The way he is so much more likely to melt down in tears of heart-wrenching disappointment than of angry rage.  The way he gently redirects Lachlan, using his baby-voice and trying to distract him (from destroying yet another Lego masterpiece).  The way he excitedly looks forward to "our small group" coming over and is a little offended that they are not solely coming to play with him.  The way he is endearingly disappointed in himself when he has a rough day of listening.  The way he uncontainably leaps into a bear-hug after doing something he is exceptionally proud of.  The way he confidently teaches Emerson how to stand in net in order to make a few saves.  The way he courageously overcomes his fears as he ventures out on his own and even reaches out to make new friends.  

The way these glimpses reveal Niko's trajectory makes me thankful for where he has been, proud of where he is now, and excited for where he will be going

The way God is glorified in Niko is spectacular in these and so many moments.

The way God sees this wonderful boy He created and entrusted us with is evident in these portraits.

The way I love, guide, teach, discipline, struggle, wonder, and pray is worth it for these rewards.

Left with Love and Grace

You kick your brother, forcefully and unprovoked.

I love you.

You taunt your brother and chase him around laughing at him.

I love you.

You whine and complain about your breakfast.

I love you.

You throw tantrum about getting dressed.

I love you.

Having abandoned time-outs, consequences, yelling, and threats for the day, I'm left with love and grace.  Which sounds so much less difficult and messy than it really is.

While you whine and complain, while you throw yourself on the floor, in between kicks and yells I whisper.  I love you.  I love you.  Can I lay with you here on the floor?  I love you.  Can I hug you?  Can I rub your back?  I love you.

Know that there is nothing you can do to get outside of my love for you.  Believe that there is no transgression that renders you unworthy.  See that my love for you extends beyond your ability to comprehend.  Feel that my love for you flows over every bit of you - even the bits I am working hard to shape.

I love you, my son.

Exalt Devo 1

You know those days when you mess up?  Not the ones where the photo radar catches you or you discover you've been mispronouncing a word all your life or you swear in front of your Oma.  The ones where you hurt someone you love.  The ones where you say things you regret the second they are out of your mouth.  The ones where your reactions are ungodly, your attitudes impure, your motives selfish.  The ones where, even while you are still kicking yourself for the last blunder, you can't help but fall again.

We are so flawed.  We are so weak and powerless.  So human.  So sinful.  A thousand times we've failed.

I know a lot about days like this because I live with many small children.  Sometimes I can't even tell when these days are starting, as they begin fairly benign.  Maybe one kid will get out of bed and immediately go to claim the favourite cereal bowl for himself - this month's favourite is yellow.  Not necessarily malicious, just centered very much on the interests of self.  But it doesn't take long to devolve into shoving matches over who gets to hand out the vitamins, hollered accusations about who is being too loud, and words like 'poopy-head' being spat in each other's general direction.  Sometimes, but not always, we manage to avoid teeth marks on flesh.

Maybe it's easier to think of on toddlers.  Maybe it's easier to think of as just happening the odd time - to delude ourselves into believing that that's not the real us.  But those days are more reflective of our hearts than we would like to admit.  We might not push, yell, name-call, or bite, but if we are honest, that sinful ugliness is right there inside of us and it comes out in one form or another day in and day out.

So what happens with my kids, in the middle of those days when I want to hide in the shower, eat their whole stash of Halloween chocolate, or take up drinking?  Eventually, after they are separated, the tears are wiped away, and the drama has quieted, my four-year-old asks to pray.  He asks to pray because he already know that he can't just decide to change his behaviour.  He knows that resolving to do better is not going to fix things long-term.  And he knows that spending time sitting with Jesus is what his heart needs.  In simple words, he shares his struggles with Jesus, confesses that he is weak, and asks for more love in his heart.  Oh-so-innocently, he trusts that Jesus has the power to change him on the side.  Those few minutes fill him up and he marvels at the power of Jesus inside of him.

The trouble with being a grown-up is that we are more practiced at hiding our sin.  And we are better at appearing more competent at doing things by our own power for longer periods of time between major down-on-our-knees-before-the-Lord melt-downs.  Let me tell you, daily surrendering on the inside, is so much better than fighting to do things ourselves, somehow trying to prove that we can.  We are so flawed.  We are so weak and powerless.  So human.  So sinful.  A thousand times we've failed.

But God?  He is everlasting and His light will shine when all else fades.  He is never-ending and His glory goes beyond all fame.  Would you do what my four-year-old knows we need to do?  Would you go to Jesus now?  A thousand times we've failed, still His mercy remains.  Should we stumble again, still we're caught in His grace.  In our heart, and our souls, let us give Him control.  Let Him consume us from the inside out.  Take a few minutes right now, in your own heart,  and tell Jesus where you are at, confess what you need to confess, and then praise Him for His grace and for who He is to you today.

...

Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades.  Never-ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame.  And the cry of our hearts is to bring You praise, from the inside out, Lord, our souls cry out.  Amen.

THAN(i)K(o)FUL

The way you go back outside to push the stroller into the garage while I am undressing your brothers after our first real winter walk.  You don't say a word before or after and I don't even notice until half an hour later when I remember to go put it away myself.  As I find it perfectly returned to its place and the garage door closed - who knew you could even reach that high? - I am so overwhelmed with thankfulness for you, Niko.  Your awareness of what needs to be done, your willingness to help out where you can, and your humility to allow your work to go unnoticed.  I am so honoured to parent the amazing little dude you are.

Quote of the Day

Me: Niko, why are you still awake?
Niko: I'm not.

Like a Weaned Child

I am calmed and quieted, like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother's milk.  Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.  Psalm 131:2

When Niko was in the newborn stage, he was so so good at snuggling in and sleeping on anybody.  He liked to be upright on a chest and would just burrow himself in there (I think Karen will have a memory of him doing this to her once during church).  He was so cozy and cuddle-able and content - especially on Bernie's chest.  But pass him to me, and a slow but steady transformation would occur.  He'd start shifting and wriggling.  He'd begin to turn his head from side to side and grunt.  Before you know it he was completely awake a desperate for milk.  Where peaceful sleep had been totally blissful only minutes ago, now only hunger remained.  

So I imagine being calmed and quieted as the place where Jesus is really all my heart wants and needs.  I don't find myself distracted at the faintest hint of a milky fragrance, because I have learned that my whims don't ever take me to that place of complete rest.  That peace is only found snuggled tight, cozily dozing on Jesus' chest.

That said, my weaned children certainly don't cuddle the way they did when they were still breastfeeding, so maybe I missed the message of this verse.

That said, David never breastfed anyone.

All the Ways

The way you deliberately ask your little cousin to repeat what he said so you can try to decipher what his words mean.  The way you gingerly hold a new baby and notice how perfect he is.  The way you graciously let Emerson play Trouble with you, but by his own rules.  The way you are so much more likely to melt-down in tears of utter disappointment than of angry rage.  The way you gently redirect Lachlan, using your baby-voice and calling him Lachley.  The way you excitedly look forward to "our small group" coming over and are a little offended that they are not only coming to play with you.  They way you are endearingly disappointed in yourself when you have a rough day of listening.  The way you uncontainably leap into a bear-hug after doing something you are exceptionally proud of.  The way you confidently teach Emerson how to stand in net so that he can make a few saves.  The way you are courageously overcoming your fears as you venture out on your own and even reach out to make new friends.

The way God is glorified in you is spectacular in these moments.  The way God sees the wonderful you he created is evident in these portraits.  The way I love, guide, teach, discipline, struggle, wonder, and pray is worth it for these rewards.

Join In

The Creator I love and adore, the One I am training the eyes of my soul to look to every chance that I get, the one that I praise for His glory and grace, He is the One who made you, my son.  He formed your adorable dimples and stunning eyes.  He knit together the muscles that have such talent in sports.  He connected the wires of your brain that can learn math and maps in an instant.  And he placed within you passions and gifts to love and serve others in your own unique way.  I don't want to be so busy looking for the thing I value, that I'm missing what God put in you.  There is nothing wrong with you learning to see the world and those in it in many ways.  But I don't want to push my ways on you in a way that they eclipse yours.  I want to join in with what God is already doing in you.

Father, direct my exploration to where you have gifted Niko so that I can help him understand and develop those gifts.  Guide my curiosity as I live with eyes wide open to see where his passions align with his gifts, so I can better nudge his soul and character into who you are growing him to be.

Looking-Glass

This looking-glass warps time as I see the future and the past at once.  In your checkered shorts and polo shirt, you're all ready for this morning's photo shoot.  You were surprised by your own handsomeness as you looked in the mirror while getting ready and I nearly died of cuteness while attempting not to giggle.  Trying hard to do everything the photographer asked, you were so grown up, taking this so seriously and wanting to do your best.  With your arms folded across your chest, it was like junior high was around the corner.  Yet laying on your back and looking into the camera, your face shone just like it did when she took the same photo of you at age one.  She made you say the kind of silly boy things that I can picture making you laugh until you are 15 - or maybe 50.  But the laugh they elicit shows those dimples and you are just a chubby-faced toddler again.  Your eyes sparkle as though you both know this is just a game to make you smile and still you can't help losing yourself in the goofiness of it.  Your shaggy hair is adorably tousled from the front and a testament to your big-kid-grow-it-out plans in the back.

All alone with you, I have the luxury of remembering so many of your firsts (because they were my firsts too) and imagining where your character will take you as it evolves with age.  You and I, right now, we are living in a little muddled puddle where past and future amalgamate in cloudy confusion and neither of us quite knows whether you are big or little.  It's a messy, mesmerizing mesh of worlds.

Strong-Maker

He screams when his clothes get even the teeniest bit wet and we've been through this a thousand times before and he can recite the solutions and he knows it's trivial and temporary and he is fully aware that we hate his response and that most kids don't react that way and that it's actually kind of irrational to freak out about it and yet he screams when his clothes get wet and I cannot.

He hits his brother on the head and it's not fair because he is way bigger and stronger and he knows he shouldn't be doing it and he could solve the problem with words and he could just walk away and he could avoid time-outs and punishments and anger and fights and disappointment and he could choose to let it go and still he doesn't hardly ever and it happens twelve times a day and I cannot.

That's the thing, is that it happens so often.  If my kid was a monster the odd time, I think I'd be okay.  But he whines a lot.  And he overreacts more than he reacts.  And he instigates fights.  And can be aggresive.  And wild.  And obnoxious.  And deliberately disobedient.  And in so many moments, he is none of the things I am teaching and guiding and striving and hoping and praying and working and speaking and modelling.  Sometimes I am desperately wondering what to do next.  Most times I am just wondering what I have done wrong.

Because I cannot.

I cannot even imagine how to turn this behaviour around.  I have tried so many things.  When I sit back and look at the situation, I am rational enough to see that I am doing things right.  And yet, I cannot see the way through.  Nothing I do matters.  Nothing I do is enough.  I am so helpless.  So hopeless.  So insignificant.  So weak.  So incompetent.  So exhausted.  So ashamed.

But He speaks.

That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in tantrums, in exhaustion, in meltdowns, in helplessness.  For when I am weak, then I am strong.

And I must speak back, whether I believe it yet or not is irrelevant.

Jesus, you are the strong-maker.  But you don't just make me strong by using my areas of gifting, ability, and confidence.  You make strength from utter weakness.  From this exact arena in which I feel nothing but incompetence as I watch day after day of failure.  That is where you make strength flourish.

Power, energy, spirit, fortitude, resilience, power, influence, supremacy.  All those things?  In my weakness?  Because of you and only you.   It doesn't make sense by my logic, but you are in the business of turning things upside-down.  If anyone can make me strong where I am weak, it is you.

God who makes me strong.  God, you make me strong.  The 'evidence' of feelings and of results aside, I choose to believe that here in my day-to-day struggles with Niko's behaviour, you make me strong.  In my moments of helpless, hopeless weakness, you make me strong with the strength that can only come from above.

One day, maybe I will understand why the weakness was necessary.  But in the meantime I will cling to your truth and declare it back to you.

You turn my utter-weakness into strength.

Delight In

Delight in me, he says with every "Look, Mom!"

And I want to.

I want to fully enjoy his presence without being on edge waiting for his next move.  I want to play with him without feeling like he's always only one misstep away from losing it.  I want to giggle at him and his brothers without leaning forward in anticipation of needing to separate them at any moment.  I want to enjoy a meal without the looming inevitability of a meltdown.  I want to start a morning cheerfully with no sign of the daily struggle to get dressed.  I want to ask him to help out and know that he gladly will.  I want to invite people over and be excited that he will have a chance to play with friends, not exhausted at the prospect of more misbehavior and timeouts.  I want to leave him at a sitter's with confidence that he will be respectful and obedient.

I want to love and like my son.

I want to remember that he is not only made up of all his struggles, meltdowns, tantrums, rudeness, timeouts, wildness, and disobedience.

Those things are abundant right now, but really they just get in the way of who he really is.

He is good and funny and smart and independent and helpful and fast and strong and energetic and curious and thoughtful and sensitive and handsome and lovable and organized and logical and excited and effervescent and loyal and creative hugable and awesome.

And created in the image of God.

And entrusted to me.

I want the good, great, and wonderful to way overshadow the battles.  I want the good, great, and wonderful to shape my attitude as I approach him.  I want the good, great, and wonderful to be the filter for my words.  I want the good, great, and wonderful to motivate my actions and choices.  I want the good, great, and wonderful to be reflected back to him so that he knows.  He needs to know that that is how I see him and that is how God sees him.  And that is who he is.

F***in' Fours

Dear Four,

You are so very capable and independent.  You are a delight to be around with your clever observations of your world and the witty way in which you word things.  I enjoy doing "big" things with you, Four, teaching you board games and noting how smart you are at picking up the strategies.  Your competent help around the house is now actually helpful as you can legitimately put away your laundry, empty the dishwasher, bring in the garbage bins, and vacuum the back entrance.   I rejoice with you in your accomplishments, watching you climb high heights, bike far distances, and make great shots.

And then with a subtle shifting of the wind, everything about you changes, Four.  You'd think it would happen with a crash of thunder for the impact it has, but it sneaks up on us in stealth mode.  I imagine that's what makes it's effect even more devastating.

Now you are angry.  You spew rudenesss and rage and complaints as you erupt over all of us.  Your settings are so tense that your first reaction to every little thing is loud and messy and painful for both of us.  You can't, you won't, and you don't - and angrily at that.  You are out of control.  I don't really want to be around you and I'm ashamed of that.  I am embarrassed by your behaviour and feel like I need to defend you in front of others, even while I am rolling my eyes inwardly.

At this point any glimpse of the Four of moments ago just taunts me from the sidelines as I remember your glory days.  The ones I want to call 'normal' or 'the real you' because this monster in front of me can't possibly be the same person.

And yet it is.

Oh, Four, you make me bubble up and grin one moment.  Only to make me cringe and curse the next.  You tease me with your apparent ability to be pleasant and helpful and roll with the punches.  And torture me with your apparent loss of sanity and any semblance of the son I know.

Four, you are tumultuous and a love-hate relationship seems inevitable for us.