The Wall

"Some times people put up walls, not to keep people away. But to see who cares enough to tear those walls down."

I ran across this quote a couple weeks ago. But its truth hit home late last night.

I'd just finished reading a bedtime chapter with Noah, hugged him good night, turned off his light and went to load the washer one more time before going to bed.

Water was running. Suds were forming. I was turning clothes inside out and checking pockets for tissues, gum wrappers and the like, when Noah popped up beside me, looked up into my eyes and said, "Thanks Mom! "He grabbed me in a BIG bear hug and held on tight. I hugged him back and asked, "For what?" He whispered his reply and went back to bed.

Tears ran down my cheeks. This time, they were ones of joy. Hours earlier, I'd shed ones of despair.

Noah had tormented me all weekend long, pushing boundaries to see whether I'd cave into his demands to veg on the couch with the TV remote in hand, play computer games, eat sweet snacks, forego skiing, homework, church services, Sunday School and just about anything else that wasn't HIS idea. This afternoon when his tactics turned toward causing physical damage, I took him down onto the floor in a bear hug to physically restrain the spirited nine-year-old beast within. He lashed out in a struggle reminiscent of ones I had with my youngest sibling in her preteen years.

Oddly enough, that sister (now a successful career woman, wife and mother of two) called me yesterday. Among other things, we discussed those trial-some times. She reminisced, "I remember you (three) girls all got mad when Mom let me do things that you had to wait years to do. You said, I was too young. None of you wanted to do anything with me. SO, I know what Noah is going through... competing for attention with two older brothers."

In short, she understood why Noah was building walls of discontent.

My sister's savior was our mother. When Mom made the conscious decision to take her youngest under wing, things slowly began to turn around - but not without heartaches along the way.

Noah's short retreat to his room gave me time to vent and pray. I was making mini pizzas when he returned for the next go-round. Fortunately, he picked up the bag of Canadian bacon in truce and fixed two pizzas to his own liking. When supper finished, I offered Noah the chance to "earn" Pokemon cards for his collection by helping me put away laundry. "I don't want to," he snapped. "You don't HAVE to," I replied. "But that's how the boys built up their collections - by helping."

"Oh FINE!" Noah said running folded towels, pants, shirts and socks to various closets and dressers throughout the house. "Count Mom. Time me!" And so the game began. With three cards to his credit, Noah hopped in the shower. Then, Isaac offered Noah use of his PC to play the game that started the whole afternoon tantrum. I shook my head, "Noah's still got homework: math and a Valentine's mailbox for his class party.

"Math's not due until Tuesday," Noah quipped. I nodded, "But you need to start your mailbox TODAY - I'll help you." I dug out a shoebox, glue sticks, scissors and wrapping paper. Noah chose shiny red for the outside and penguin print for the inside. He explained how he wanted a regular mailbox door with a paperclip latch and a few penguins for applique. We worked together for two hours to see his vision through.

When it came time to make the door latch, I had to walk away. Noah INSISTED on using Dan's jackknife to make two slits in the door and attempted to spin the paperclip through in key ring fashion. I was certain the cardboard would tear, ruining our painstaking work. "It's the process not the product," I reminded myself as I paced - out of his sight - in the kitchen.

Noah beamed showing off the finished product.

He pointed to the paperclip I'd bent into a U shape.

He'd decided to insert and twist the ends to secure the tab.

"What do you think?" I asked.

He said, "Nobody else is going to have a Valentine's mailbox like THIS one."

Too true. The penguin appliques on the mailbox door wore glasses just like Noah. And he wrote out stickers with his name and "Peek-a-Booo!" to surprise his classmates when they insert their deliveries.


Noah hopped in bed. We read. He held out his arms for not just one but two long hugs. "Thanks for helping me with my box, Mom."

"Thanks for letting me help you," I said. Walking to the washer I thought about Saturday's struggle: tearing the TV remote out of Noah's hand, offering him the option of staying home with his ill dad and playing alone outside all afternoon (No Way!), ordering him to put his foot into the ski boot to check for proper fit, demanding he put on his winter clothes and coaxing him into the truck to come as my trail guide.

Yes! You can ride the chairlift by yourself, come find me on the bunny hill, let me know which runs are in the best shape and lead me to them. I NEED YOU, Noah!"

Oh so, carefully chipping away at the wall... letting it fall...

In that BIG bear hug by the washer, Noah whispered, "Thank you for everything, Mom, especially taking me skiing yesterday."

Tears of joy, love and hope.

My youngest child - on respite. And so, to me returns this quote:

Who cares enough to tear down The Wall?

Happy Valentine's Day!