Running Away.

Noah kept taking the head off of one of Dad's Transformer toys he'd been made steward over... He said the zapping Decepticon was doing it. I told him if he did it again, I'd have to take the transformer away because he wasn't treating it responsibly.

He pouted. For several minutes, he silently stewed about the situation.
Then he quietly walked out of the living room, toward the entryway.

"I'm running away."

I sat, saying nothing, and played another round of "Draw Something" on my iTouch.

"I'm running away forever."

Words from the other room. The sound of shoes being taken off the shelf, tugged onto little feet... (His first pair he can fully put on by himself).

"I'm running away."

I still said nothing.

A pause.

Three steps back toward the living room, a miserable, sad face tugged into a frown... hopeless, helpless eyes. Waiting. Then----barely keeping tears in, reluctant to speak---

"I'm running away and you could come wif me."

I saw in his eyes genuine hurt... a genuine struggle between TRULY wanting to declare his independence by actually going out the door alone, and the need to have his mother, still. He was so near tears. He really needed me to know he was leaving me. But paradoxically wouldn't do it without me.

I continued to simply sit there and look at him... No words from me. He stayed mad. He looked at me levelly, with hurt, and said again-

"I'm really running away. I will run far from here." A catch in his voice. Tears edged closer. His eyebrows knit together above his sad eyes.

I asked quietly, "Where will you go?"

A pause. Thinking hard.

"Colorado."

"Do you know where it is?"

Miraculously, he pointed in the correct direction.

Slowly, we began to talk about it. Negotiated. Worked out a compromise. I made a deep frowny face. He mirrored it and stomped behind me. I made a "smiling" sound and he stomped back around to see that my face had accidentally flipped into a smile. He quickly hid his own smile and sternly forced my lips back into the deep frown. He walked away. My face smiled again. He stomped back, laughed quickly, frowned, and made my face frown again.

Repeat. Again. Until both of us were genuinely laughing.

And then I taught him how to scream into a pillow, and we safely crossed the threshold of the first "runaway threat".

I watch him sometimes, and see an entirely different boy in his face than the one I know. And it scares me, mystifies me, humbles me, and fills me with wonder. There is this older "self" in him, and he is finding it slowly... And then revealing it outward. Someday he will be 22. 35. 46. 81.

Shocking. Incredible. Humbling.

I'm lucky to be his steward a while longer yet.

But if you see a little guy with a couple of Transformers and new blue clogs somewhere in Colorado, call me to check if my Noah is still safely home with me.