He's off the hizzy

This poor kid. I don't scrap stuff about him as often as I'd like because he refuses to cooperate with the photo taking, and I don't blog enough about him because we're so often butting heads. Thomas is a really cool kid. Sometimes I lose sight of that fact when he's being a typical 12-year-old butthead and picking at his sister.

Last week we during parent teacher conferences I met with the school psychologist, who sees Thomas weekly. The conversation led to a discussion of how Thomas views me, and I immediately tensed up, imagining the stories he must have shared about his mean, abusive mother. (He has several times threatened to report me for "child labor." Hah.) Many nights I go to bed feeling certain that I have failed him yet again, that I have not hugged him enough, or have been too hard on him. I often wonder whether he really knows that I love him, even though I tell him often. I tell him, "Actions speak louder than words," but are my own actions showing him that I love him?

We have always believed that God gave us exactly the children we were meant to have, just via a different delivery service than we had planned. Nonetheless I worry often about whether another mom would have been more wise and more nurturing. A different mom might have known instinctively how to raise Thomas to be respectful and honest and kind.

You can imagine my surprise when the psychologist said that Thomas sees me as "stalwart" (her word, not his), as the glue that holds the family together. She said that in his eyes, I can do no wrong. I cried then, because I do so much wrong where he is concerned. The most important, most moving thing she said to me that day was that in almost 30 years of working with children, the ones who were adopted almost always wonder whether their parents really love them, and she sees none of that doubt in Thomas. It feels, at least temporarily, like a thousand pounds has been lifted off my shoulders. And it makes me want to do better, to be more patient and less control freak-y.

I'm appreciative to the psychologist for lightening that load, just in time for Thomas to hit puberty and decide that I am an idiot. :)