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Tuesday Night

Updated: Feb 25, 2020

His face contorted, holding his breath until turned red, his blood vessels protruding. Words from under his breath full of insult and detestation: "Bully. Moron." I wasn't sure how we went from "fun day of new experiences" to "yelling at each other at midnight."

Photo by jean wimmerlin on Unsplash

Me, my husband, and my son.

We took turns dealing with his defiance, his anger. I called for back-up and a tap-out. We'd tried most everything we could think of, but the situation would just not diffuse.

I went in the room and my husband stayed with our son. Immediately I began to pray. I know others are praying too because I've asked them to.

"Lord, I love my boy, please help him. Please help me. Jesus I love my son, please, please, please."

It continued in this way for a little while, through hyperventilation and tears. And then, a light bulb. Like in cartoons when the animator adds a literal light bulb above the character.

I ran out to where they were, forcing myself into the center of the conflict.

"When we were sitting around before bedtime, did you think we would all stay up while you laid down and fell asleep?"

His little voice replied through tears, "Yes."

"That sounds frustrating. What happened was different than what you thought would happen. We all went to bed without playing games."


My husband nods his head, seeing what He has shown me.

"Then let's stay up and play a game at the table, you can lay here."


Situation diffused.

He's not angry, he's scared. Sad. Lonely. Little.

My boy feels safe when we are around. Being alone is scary. It always has been. He feels safe when he's around big people, people who can fend off anything scary. Why would tonight be any different? He's sleeping in a new place, without the comforts of familiarity of home. I struggle to feel safe all the time, why should I expect him to have it mastered?

It's no doubt in my mind that what happened this night was a miracle. And it's not the first time.

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