I am a parent, most of us are and today I encountered one of the WORST feelings I have had since birthing this child. My five year old son has taken up stealing, as in getting into mommy and daddy’s and uncle Dicks room and taking things and hording them in his room. I will not tolerate stealing, my husband feels the same. Even though he is only five we both feel a strong need to “nip this in the bud” as they say. It is a horrible habit and I feel it needs to be addressed NOW, while he is young.

Those of you out there I am sure are saying “but he is only five”! My son is very above average on the “emotional” scale. He has a good understanding of right and wrong. He also can manipulate like a congressman.

Our punishment was that he was not allowed to attend his BFF’s birthday party and when we pulled up to drop off presents and balloons he had to see the party and the other kids without being able to participate. His tears made me want to put my head under the tire and release the emergency break. It hurt to punish him so severly. I almost thought I would rather spank than this. But it got through to him. I watched the light bulb over his head. Stealing = get caught = very bad bad punishment = no party.

I guess my point is for all other parents out there who are trying to do their best and have encountered this. My heart is with you.

Still who was more punished? My son or I?

The Hunter

I can feel the hunter coming around the bend.

The desert has become his mind and numbers, like grains of sand count his moments.

He is coming for me.

My foe, my counter. Desert numbers. Desert time. Desert love.

My hunter is now seeking me. Prey.

It is my babe. My dream. My passions. My Father. My husband. My immortal.

The hunter is held by my mother, the soft solace of acceptance.

The desert now covets my restless mind and everyday I am drawn to the countless sands.

Everyday I feel the grains of heat slip between my fingers.

He has come now for me.

I am hunted by the hunter. I am prey to the preyed.

Tis my childe I will lay for. Tis my childe that hunts me.

My blood will spill upon the desert floor. I will see it done.

It is my babe. Who will pray upon the sands.

My one. My all. Who hunts me like a desert wolf.

I lay. I bow to you.

My son. My one. My all.

-For Hunter Robert Clark.