On attending pity parties

Once a year, or sometimes twice, I’ll listen to an audio series by James McDonald about raising kids. I believe what he says to be true, so I listen intently, refresh my memory about discerning ignorance, discouragement and rebellion in a child, and perform a lengthy self-evaluation on where I’m good and where I’m not.

But in that audio series no where does he address the subject of pity parties. I rarely – if ever – attend a pity party, because I believe they are self-centeredness and manipulation all wrapped into one. Lately, however, I’m wondering if I’m too harsh, too cut-and-dry. I tend to look at the surface behavior, glance at the emotional drive behind it, and quickly dismiss the sulking as unacceptable. And while I still won’t attend a pity party, I wonder if my abhorrence for the act renders me unable to fully understand and empathize with the emotions behind it. I don’t easily look past the “whoa is me” behavior to analyze the actual heart issue. Frankly, the sulking is too distracting.

One particular child is a master at throwing pity parties, and I’m concerned that the more that I ignore them the fewer opportunities I’ll have with him to explore the heart of these matters. Am I babbling or does any of this make sense? I’m a tough, intentional mother and that’s because I want to raise men not children, but that often means I’m short on compassion with foolishness, which might result in a regrettable distance between me and my son.

But I digress. These are things I’m mulling over and seeking wisdom to manage. I’ve long since learned that while things like love, affection and boundaries are the same for each child, everything else isn’t so cookie cutter.

In much lighter news, I adore this photo of Jack and a meerkat. This picture is just itching for speech bubbles.