my wild colt

I've been worried about him.

He dances around like his pants are on fire. Every sentence ends with a somewhat maniacal laugh. He throws things, and climbs things, and runs through our house like a tumbleweed caught by an angry wind.

When he wants to be, he's brilliant. He designs and executes complicated mazes. He memorizes intriguing facts (spanish phrases, secrets of the solar system.) He organizes his sacred collectibles (Thomas the Tank Engine and friends) with passionate zeal. He goes to his room to pray his rosary in peace. He reads at a fourth grade level.

He's six years old. He's making me crazy.

I've searched "does my child have ADHD?" more than once.

I don't know if he does or not, but I suppose it doesn't matter.

He's my little bundle of feisty, joyful mayhem, and that's all that counts.

Today I received encouragement from an unlikely source: my fourth-grader's history supplement "George Washington's World."

It seems that young Abigail, future wife of John Adams, was a "high-spirited" child who couldn't follow her mother's directions and was often sent off to her grandparents because she was such a handful. (Wow, does that ever sound familiar.) Grandmother Quincy, in her wise old Quincy-esque way, gathered the young dear up in her arms, and declared her an absolute treasure. She and the mister took it upon themselves to school the young vixen, seeing potential genius where Mom saw problem child. (I just had to ask Luke how to spell genius, I swear, and he got it right.)

Grandma Q, where are you when I need you?!

Anyway, GW's World had an awesome quote about this feisty little girl that I liked so much I wrote it on my marker board and christened it quote of the day:

"Wild colts make the best horses."

Love it.

(By the way, upon realizing I used the adjective "feisty" twice in this post, I just asked my precious nine-year-old John for a synonym for feisty. His response? "Luke.")

Don't know if Grandma Quincy was hacking someone else's words, just know that I've claimed them as my salvation.

My Luke is a wild colt, to be sure. For a while I thought I had to break him, and now I'm not sure that's best. I think I just might have to patiently lead him around the stable a few thousand times, and then everything will be smooth sailing.

Right now he's reconstructing Bionicles (John helped me spell that one) to his specifications and watching "Myth Busters." He's pretty calm, but any second he might spin out of control like a spastic tornado. Soon I'll send him off to bed, and he'll bury his face in my neck and whisper "I love you, Mom. You're the best mom ever."

Usually, I don't believe him. Today I feel a bit more confident. I may not be the best mom ever, but I'm the best mom for this spicy little boy. My wild colt. He'll be the best horse, ever, guaranteed.