I was racing through Target again, all four in tow. We used to try that sit-down cart where two kids could get strapped in near me and then the other two would either just walk next to me or sit on the back of the seat with his feet on the seat itself. This was fun for a while, so long as everyone sucked it in when trying to pass through a tight aisle with oncoming traffic. But then the baby started walking… and climbing… and conniving. Since that no longer worked, we found that the two middle kids like to sit in the basket of a normal cart (as long as they can use the scanner on the Target app) so once they climb in, I quickly strap in the little one before he can let out too many wails and quickly start moving, allowing him to forget about the trauma he just experienced. Meanwhile, I get a quick glance around—gotta watch your six—and as usual, I see a few glances peering our way. Some days I feel like a freak show prancing through the grocery store with my monkeys hanging all over the cart cooing and screeching. But that’s life. With hubby on shift work, I don’t have time to wait for him to have time to stay with the kids so I can pick up some diapers and protein bars. We just make it work.
What gets me in these situations though is when my oldest child, who is extremely helpful but refuses to stay “in the boundaries” suddenly whispers to the two-year-old, “Wanna race?” or something along those lines and suddenly speeds up behind me or towards another customer, having to suddenly jerk the cart to a halt causing all of those in the cart to either wack their heads or begin laughing hysterically to yet again, draw attention to the circus act in the middle of the store. One time I had to jump in front of the cart to intervene between him and a lady being pushed in a wheelchair through the aisle perpendicular to us, casted leg straight out. I’ll admit my blood pressure raised pretty quickly, although he really wasn’t going that fast (more so lack of paying at this point).
This is my choleric—the high A personality who loves adventure, challenges, and just does not want to be told what to do. We have had some challenging days, trying to help him understand that I do not just “tell him what to do” because I want to control him or boss him around, but that I really do want what is best for him. Anyone with a strong-willed child can relate, I’m sure. As hard as it is to raise them, these are the children that will grow up to change the world. All of my children have it in them. But that’s okay, because the rule-breakers and boundary-pushers will fit the old adage, “To make a difference in the world, you must be different than the world.”
Thinking back to a need for sheepdog in this world and what plans God might have for my children, I try to roll with the punches (sometimes literally), all the while teaching my warriors to do the dishes, scrub toilets, shake hands like a young man because that’s what you are, respect females (my husband is great at teaching them this), and take responsibility for their own actions when too much of that gift of aggression comes out. And they better kiss their mom good-bye, I don’t care who’s around. They may be hard to raise and often downright embarrassing at times (normally that’s just regular home behavior that suddenly becomes horrific when it takes place out in public), but raising strong-willed children on a solid foundation is what this world needs. Do I do it perfectly? Absolutely not! But once I came to the understanding where God wants our family and what He is doing through us, I am much more able to look to the future and be proud these guerrillas are ours, even when it’s hard.
