Z-boy being weird weirds me out. Or at least it had, until Saturday, when I decided that he is who he is, and who he is is a weirdo. And that’s fine. As long as his weirdness isn’t having a physical negative impact on those around him, I need to just let him do what he needs/wants to do. If he wants to whoop and holler like a howler monkey at the playground, I should let him do just that, and not worry about what the other kids are thinking, not give a crap about the odd looks they’re giving him, and the wide berth. He is making loud, weird sounds – but is it physically hurting anyone around him? No.
I have been too sensitive to how his behavior effects those around him, I have been too much of a control-freak mommy. I have been too aware of the how other kids demonstrate their disdain for him, and not aware enough of how beautifully unique he can be. I so want him to fit in. And I don’t want him to turn out like his father, and so I have been too willing to view some of Z’s behaviors as precursors to B-style crap that I try to stop them, redirect, or expunge through punishment or threat. L (and her love of child control and discipline) has been a bad influence on me in this regard, and she and I have come down on Z too harshly for small things.
Z finally got bored of being a howler monkey, then he started exploring the non-play-structure portion of the park when L cam to pick us up. She saw the owl box and wondered what it was, and I told her, and asked Z if he wanted to see if it was still inhabited by looking for evidence of owl pellets in the dirt below. He came back with a microtus femur, and went on to find many other tiny rodent skeletal elements. I was so proud! He has an excellent, sharp eye, better than his archaeologist mamma.
Bird Yurp – an excellent mother-son bonding experience!