*Sigh*

Joel. 

Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

Why did God give him to me?

Of all the children in the world, all the options, all the genetic possibilities, why is this child mine?

There must be a purpose, something I'm supposed to learn, from him.  The only lesson I can imagine is humility.  And perhaps self-loathing.  And despair.  And hopelessness.

I can't see God wanting me to learn most of those lessons.

He truly does go in spurts of being wonderful and being monstrous.  For weeks things will be great.  He'll love me, obey me, snuggle me, try desperately to please me.

And then the moon changes phases, and he's back to the monster-child.

The other day at the store he was mad at me about something, and he said, "I wish you weren't my mom".

I replied, "I wish I weren't your mom either, but God gave you to me, so we both have to deal with it."

That sounds horrible to say to a little boy, and I suppose it is, but it's the truth.  If I got to choose, I would not choose a little person with whatever is different about Joel.

I am not equipped to be an adequate parent to him.  I'm not.  I feel like I have the ability to be a good parent to the other three.  I can handle their issues, understand their moods, figure out how to discipline and direct them.

Joel- not a clue.  Just when I think maybe I understand, or maybe we've found help, or maybe something is working, everything goes wrong.

I have honestly wondered if I could voluntarily put him in the foster care system or something but still be able to see him whenever I wanted and take him back whenever I wanted, just so he'd have access to people, professionals, caregivers who have more experience with kids like him and might be able to do a decent job with him.

Because I am not doing a decent job. 

He can be SUCH a sweet little boy.  He loves to sit by me.  He begs me to snuggle him at bedtime, although that's more of a delay tactic than true desire to spend time with me.  He kisses me for no reason.  He tells me several times a day that he loves me.  Yesterday he wouldn't play a draw-two card on me when we were playing Uno, but had no problem slapping it down once someone reversed the direction.  He thanks me for making meals for him.  He sits and watches me cross-stitch and asks if I can get sewing things for him too so we can sew together.  He loves to read books to his little brother, and stands next to the toilet and encourages Daniel by telling him what a great job he's doing potty training and how proud he is of him.

And at the same time, he disobeys me as if he doesn't even hear my voice.  He argues with almost everything I tell him.  He refuses to help with chores that he's happily done in the past.  He torments his sisters horribly.  He looks for ways to hurt Naomi.  He yells -no, screams- at Daniel when Daniel gets upset or angry.  He gets irate when I can't understand him, can't answer his questions to his satisfaction, when his schedule is interrupted or things don't go in the exact sequence he expects. He's physically destructive as a way to retaliate.

I am not equipped to raise this little soul.  And I wish I were, because he's so precious and he deserves more.