Benjamin had a melt down last night. It revved up just as a meeting was ending and lasted about half an hour. I did not lose my cool, and let him yell himself to sleep, but I was still miffed in the morning. John offered to help with hustling him out the door and I scurried out to do chicken chores.
Funny how the idea
of throwing on a coat and bringing pellets and grain to a flock of birds in freezing weather felt like a vacation. I wondered why they made better companions than my own son.
For one, they have never told me they hate me three times in five minutes, or called me stupid. Neither have they said they love me but when they see me coming with a slice of bread they run as fast as their skinny little legs can carry them. That is affirmation enough for
me.
I thought about stories I have heard of men who retreat to the garage to buff their car, or women who spend time playing Minecraft to avoid interacting with their husbands. I wonder what kind of name calling or criticism precedes that need for escape. It is not as if I started raising chickens in order to spend less time with Ben, but it is hard to ignore which direction I sometimes go given a choice.
Fortunately for all of us
his tantrums don't last forever or even erupt every day. In between he can be pretty sweet. Yesterday he added a few more words to his continual quest for definitions.
"What does pompous mean?"
"It means you think you are important."
"Also big and fancy!" he added.
Unacceptable is one of Ben's favorite words. I guess it is acceptable to have diversions
like cars and chickens. As long as we come back to each other eventually.
