Dragonslayer--Part 1 of 2

I'm am sitting in a pile of unfinished school schedules, unshelved books, and unopened curriculum guides.  School starts on Tuesday, and I'm not even sure what grades my kids are supposed to be in this year--so of course, I'm blogging:)

What would I do to me if I were one of my children?  Who is supposed to be here making sure I'm being responsible?  Where is the oversight for the overseer? 

(On the outside chance that a random, bored, bureaucrat happens to stumble upon my blog and gets any big ideas, I was joking. No extra oversight needed here.  I am having a scheduled break and will resume organizing shortly.)

But first, I have to share two stories of bravery.  Here is the first.

Dragonslayer #1:  Jude Christopher, age 5

Loves:  Mom--and some others, but to a lesser degree:)

Fears:  People who aren't Mom, strange places, strange food, textures, smells

Recent accomplishments:  giving up thumb-sucking, adjusting to glasses, saying "hi" to the UPS guy

Strengths: tender-hearted toward the small and weak creatures of the world, grateful spirit, forgiving to a fault

Recent Memorable Sayings:  "I'm not a lumber-jack, I'm a lumber-Jude."....and......"Mom, you need to know that I am a terrible jag-wow (jaguar) and also a ferocious eat-meater."...and..."Where are my servants in this house?"....and...."Every time I wake up in the morning, I'M STILL JUDE!"  (said in a grumpy, accusing tone)

SO...

Jude had orientation for our Classical Conversations program this week.  It will be his first year in an actual class, so I explained on the way that we would be meeting his tutor and the children who would be learning with him, and seeing his new room.  

As soon as I mentioned the tutor, he stiffened up and informed me that he would be staying home with Grandma this year--or going to work with Dad, but NOT to a new class.  Even the reminder that I would be in the class with him didn't help.  He DID NOT want to meet any new friends.  Period. 

This did not come from a place of defiance, but from a real, gut-wrenching fear of new things.

Which is why I did not pry him off my leg when his classmates were called to accompany their teacher to the new room.  I walked down with him, among a scampering crowd of 5 year olds, and sat behind him in the small circle.

A game was announced, wherein each child would roll a beach ball to a classmate, and that child would say his or her name, and one favorite activity.  Jude looked back at me in panic, scrunched down, and sat very, very still, looking at the rug as the ball got closer. 


I gave him my hand and as he held it--so hard--looking down at the rug through his little red glasses, I wanted nothing more than to be able to GIVE him the confidence and courage I knew he desired at that moment.

The thought came to me that I have had hundreds of these moments with my children over the years--where I am looking into that vulnerable place in their souls, seeing the lack, knowing the fix, treading the balance between under and over-mothering.

Should I barge in and "save them" --and rob them of the joys of owning a hard-won victory over one of their personal dragons?

What if I wait too long, and miss the flares sent up by a tiny, trusting spirit being dealt a crushing blow?  

How hard it is to know the difference sometimes!

So I just held his hand.  And the ball came to rest on his lap.  Without looking up, he took a deep breath, wrapped both his arms around the ball and waited.

"What is your name, sweetheart?" the tutor inquired.

From deep within the plastic depths of the ball, a breathy little voice whispered, "Jude".

Then a little stronger.  "Jude!"

I think he surprised himself, because he looked up over the top of the ball for a moment.  His glasses were a little crooked and his face was bright pink. 

"My name is Jude!  And I like to......ROLL THE BALL."  And off it went to the next child.

I am still so proud thinking of it!  What an achievement!  Jude, saying his name three times to a perfect stranger.  Nay!  A group of perfect strangers!  Jude, coming up with an activity in spite of the great swirl of fear which surrounded him.

So what if "ball rolling" is not an activity which I have EVER seen him engage in--much less a favorite activity.  He came up with something that fit the bill and saved the day in his little world.  Yay!  Is there a ribbon for that?

Three cheers for Jude, my quiet conqueror!

Did he know what he accomplished?  Yes!  Because later he proudly told all his siblings about his tutor, and his classmates, and the whiteboard in his room, and the red chairs, and how he is going to sit in the one by the window this year.  And he couldn't stop smiling when he said it.

May I have many more front row seats to such sweet victories!

Part 2 tomorrow (or whenever I get my schoolroom put back together).