I have a secret to share, and it’s not easy to admit…
“Mom! Jake is outside! Can I play with him?” my 7-year-old shouted, bursting through the front door as a swarm of insects waltzed into our living room.
“Sure, Leo. Just stay in the yard,” I replied.
“Why do I always have to stay in the yard?” He was already off before I could respond.
I have a confession that weighs heavily on me, and if I keep it bottled up any longer, I might just explode.
“Do you want me to grab dinner on my way home?” my husband messaged.
“Sounds good,” I texted back, knowing that the evening would soon descend into chaos.
What’s difficult is that there’s a little boy next door, Timmy, who is 5. He’s respectful, helpful, and downright adorable. In the world of kids, he’s practically a saint.
While my son, Leo, shares many traits with his well-behaved friend, most people only catch glimpses of that side because Leo exhibits signs of what professionals call oppositional defiant disorder. In layman’s terms, he seems to have a knack for saying “no” to everything…
(Ding Dong) Who on earth could that be? Please let them just leave…
“Hello, ma’am, I’m from the local charity…”
When did I start being called “ma’am?”
“Not interested,” I said, swiftly closing the door.
Darn solicitors.
His defiance doesn’t stop at the usual childhood grievances like brushing his teeth or eating his vegetables. He resists things he genuinely enjoys, such as ice cream or movie nights. When I say “resist,” I mean the kind of resistance that leads to him throwing himself on the floor in a store, wailing like a banshee—making everyone around think I’m the worst parent ever.
And the truth I dread to admit is I…
“Mom! Timmy wants to ride bikes, but I don’t want to!”
Oh, great.
“Leo, you don’t have to ride bikes. How about your scooter?”
“I hate my scooter!” he shrieked, sounding like a monkey in distress.
But he doesn’t actually hate it.
“Dinner’s ready! I brought home Italian!” my husband announced as he walked through the door.
“No! I hate Italian!” Leo shouted, kicking the curb in frustration.
He doesn’t hate it.
“I’m not eating that!”
I left him with his dad, contemplating how many times he’d kick that curb until it drew blood or tears.
There’s a part of me that resents Timmy—not because he’s a bad kid, but because he shines a glaring light on my son’s struggles.
His mom never has to remind him more than once to brush his teeth, comb his hair, or take a bath. He picks up his toys without a fuss, while my kid is the one who gets singled out in class for not following rules.
Timmy won’t face isolation from his peers or endure teasing for being “difficult.”
What irks me most about Timmy’s presence is how it highlights my child’s imperfections day after day.
“Mommy!”
Please let this be a minor scrape.
“Mom! I hurt myself! I need a Band-Aid!”
Oh, for Pete’s sake!
“Alright, I’ll get…”
“I’ll get it!” Timmy interrupted, sprinting to his house.
He came back with a whole box of Band-Aids, leaving a trail behind him.
It’s not just my son who is under the microscope; I feel scrutinized as well. I should be more patient and appreciative of this sweet little boy. Yet, it’s exhausting when my son is often seen as the challenging one.
“You want to crush Matchbox cars?” Timmy asked.
“Sure! Awesome idea,” Leo responded.
“You’re my best friend ever!” Timmy exclaimed.
“You’re mine too,” Leo beamed back.
“Am I?” Timmy questioned.
“Yeah, you are,” Leo grinned.
Who knew that leftover Italian could taste this good?
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In summary, parenting a difficult child can be an exhausting and isolating journey. While it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and frustrated, it’s essential to remember that every child is unique, and their challenges don’t define their worth or potential.
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