Today, a little boy turns 7.
Not just any little boy.
But MY little boy.
Yes, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Var… my little Ishi Kweh (a nickname that goes back to when he was a baby.)
Is 7 years old. He actually was 7 as of, super early this morning. The time escapes me.
Because I was up until 3:30 AM making 30 cupcakes for his class.
Because I was two hours behind due to technical things for the job I just got. Which was exhausting, I wanted to be to bed by the time I was done with those issues. Or just about done with cupcakes was my logic. But the night didn’t turn out in my favor. At all.
He’s always has such an adorable smile. Look at those cheeks even!
He wasn’t very old in this picture, but gosh he’s so darn cute!
I can even almost hear him making his little coo.. which sounded like “Kweh… Kweh…”
Which is how he got the nickname. Chocobo’s in Final Fantasty 7 say “Kweh!” and… his coo was just like that. Landing him with Chocobo-baby, Kweh Kweh, Kweh-t/Kweh-ttles/Kweh-ttling and Ishida (or Ishi) Kweh (It’s the one time got slurred to Ish-da! by me when I was tired, and it stuck!)
I have a lot to say about how bad the day has been already. How he yelled at me and complained about his birthday cupcakes for class right off the et go. Not even a thank you before a complaint.
But I’ll save that for later.
This should be a happy post.
But my wish that turning 7 would flip some magical switch to help him chill out and be a nicer person. To have his ADHD and ODD magically… poof, be not there?
Didn’t happen.
I love you Var. 
Even if my heart hurts when you treat me poorly.
Even when I wonder if I should grant your dad’s request.
Let you live with him for a year.
Because maybe I’m the problem.
Because I’m a single mom right now and have been for awhile.
Because maybe he’s right. Maybe having the 3 girls means I can’t take care of you.
Even though you occupy the most attention.
Even though I’ve had to reschedule so many things around your 3 day a week PSR, your 1 day a week therapy. The inability to feel safe in crowded public spaces because I still can’t manage to get through that it’s not safe to wander off into crowds.
Like so many different parents at school, and even your teacher tells me. You’re so stinking cute, you’re adorable.
Your smile lights up the room and your giggle is like music to my ears.
Where’s my magic easy button? A magic wand? A magical Genie in a lamp? Where… is the way to make this easy? So instead of yelling at me for over half the drive to school, having me on the verge of tears wondering how I could have failed so badly to have a 7 year old treat me as badly as his father does? It can’t be nurture, because that’d meant you’d been around him more when he treated me that way.
Where have I gone so wrong?
I want the sweet moments, I can take some bad… SOME, key word against all of this.
I’ve written this so edited, crying after few hours of sleep and the utter depression I felt as I walked you into class. The way I felt defeated when I handed those cupcakes to your teacher, and warned that it’d already been a difficult morning.
But still I melted a little when a little girl declared quietly after telling you happy birthday “I even brought him a present” and pointed to a bag on the counter in the classroom. Red, with tissue paper sticking out.
Then a little boy came up to you and wished you a happy birthday as well.
And you beamed. Your blue eyes so bright and that giant cheeky smile plastered on your face. You seemed so shy, so happy. Like you were magically all better after how the car ride had been.
I even clapped when the principle announced your name over the speaker for the entire school. The only birthday child there today was it? Out of the entire school. Go you, it’s a special day only for you then. For sure.
Though yes I know I get grouchy, though I know I can yell when I just can’t take it anymore. When I give and I give and I do and I do… yet get complaints, yelled at, screamed at, listening to you kick doors and walls when I try and remove you from situations where you spit, get up in your little sisters face, or start doing something else where I think a cool down is good…
I do love you.
So much that not knowing what else to do to make your life a happier one hurts so much.
I feel like a failure.
Even as you stood there beaming over it being your birthday.
Over being celebrated by your entire class and school.
I felt like a failure who spent so long making those cupcakes. Because turning 7 didn’t flip any sort of switch at all.
This is a terrible picture, I know that but it’s recent and… all I can do right this moment. I need to take more pictures of you.
I want to hug you more, but you don’t seem to want to hug me.
Even when I snuggle you to help you wake up in the morning, tickle, pretend to eat your belly and toes like you ask.
20 minutes later you’re yelling at me just because I want to keep you safe on the 4 mile drive to school.
Still, I. Love. YOU.
Please, don’t say that I don’t. It breaks my heart each time. I don’t know how else to show it, and say it. Than as plainly as I have.
I love you and I am trying my best to be mom AND dad still. Since your dad only see’s you 4 days out of the month usually.
——————————-
Anyway, wow. Look at me go.
Happy Birthday Ishi-kweh! My little stinkingly cute Chocobo baby. My only son. My hardest challenge as a parent. The one that made me believe in “be careful what you wish for”. Not that it’s always a bad thing. You’re adorable.
Be good, smile, have fun, enjoy your day. Remember that no matter what, no matter how many time outs you get. I do love you. WE do love you. Your sisters and I love you. Lots, tons, a million thousand times we love you.
You’re 7 years old now. What will this year bring? Will we get more smiles instead of screams and yells? More cuddles instead of tantrums? Move love instead of ‘hate’?
I hope so. I want to see that smile, those cheeks, the light in your eyes as you take in the wonder of life. I want to enjoy those moments too… not to be beat down by the low-points that shadow the days right now.
Please gods, let Var grow to be a wonderful person. Let therapy, PSR, the school counselor, and myself… help him grow into someone wonderful. Let him smile and love the world and himself…
Let him love me.
Because I try…
_______________
Now here’s a video, far less depressing. From back in December when Var and Lisi were singing. Back then, Var was trying to grow his hair long. But his dad threw a fit over ‘boys with long hair’ and pressure from kids in class had him decide to cut it.
I still thought he was cute, always. No matter what.
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