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Raising sensitive kids

in Parenting, Random Musings

Photo by educ8n4 on

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not an overly-emotional person. I am not prone to tears. I can get along with most anyone, but there are only four people in my life that I am comfortbale being touched by (my kids and my husband). The lovey-dovey, huggy, kissy, sensitive, “girly” stuff is just not my cup of tea.

If I cry, there is a hormonal imbalance. Plain and simple. Sure I have emotions and feelings, I just keep them in a safe little box and I am very selective of who I share them with. I’m not a cold person, I am just consider my emotions to be private.

Because of this perceived lack of comfort with all things uber-sensitive, the good Lord put an extra dose of sensitivity into each of my three kids. I am convinced He did it, not to stretch me like many would assume, but just so He could have a constant source of entertainment.

“Look at her now!” He laughs from Cloud Nine. “That kid just loves squirming all over her lap while she tries to watch cartoons with him. This is good stuff!”

How are my kids sensitive, you may ask. Let me explain.

I have one child who has dreams that knock my socks off. I do not mean dreams as in ambitions, I mean like nightmarish middle of the night terrors. The kinds of vivid and realistic dreams that make you not want to go back to sleep again… ever. Monsters under the bed I can deal with. I have Magic Monster Spray (aka Lysol) that knocks those suckers out every time. But dreams of real things happening to real people that you love, I have no solution for that other than holding my child in my protective arms all night.

Another child has only two emotions: extreme happiness or extreme sadness. If one person is being mean, everyone in the world hates their very existence. This is the best day ever or the worst day ever. Nothing in between. The drama associated with this child keeps me up at night wondering what life is going to be like when hormones kick in. Wowsers.

And my other child is a toucher. I must get 50 I love yous a day. Hugs and kisses are plentiful. While this is a good thing, it stretches me sometimes. I cannot sit on the couch without a hand, arm, or entire body laying on me. Knees, elbows, and ankles cram themselves into every soft spot on my bruised body.

My home is a sensitivity, lovey, cuddly, free-fall of affection. I swear that heart-shaped bubbles must ooze from my windowpanes.

But you know what? I have come to love it… ok, maybe not love it, but tolerate it at least.

Sensitive kids:

  • are hurt easily but love easily too.
  • are eager to please and a compliment goes a long way.
  • need us to love them as much as we love them to need us.
  • are exhausting, but are totally worth the effort.

As much as I always dreamed of having a star football player for a son and confident go-getter for a daughter, God thought it best for me to receive three balls of emotion and drama instead. But while I would still much prefer a hand-shake or high-five to a hug from people outside my immediate family, my kids have shown me that emotions have their place too.

(A very small place, mind you… preferably under in the shadow of a big oak tree with the other nuts… but a place nonetheless.)

I guess God knew what He was doing when He gave me three dramatic kids, some days I just wished He’d ask me my opinion on these things. You know?


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