A mother understands what a child does not say. –Proverb

Expectations

This is a joke, right? A great cosmic joke triggered by a misaligned moon somewhere that turns previously sane children into raving lunatics. It has to be a joke.

That was all I could think this morning when attempting to dress Ben. Typically, this is a pleasant part of our morning routine, when he's still a bit sleepy with his hair sticking up and we dress for the day.

Today, however, was an entirely different experience. Opening his closet, I removed his brown trousers and he backed away from them with a look of horror, "No! Not dem! The blue ones!"

The blue ones, as luck would have it, were dirty. I explained this to him and he fell to the floor screaming. I mean, surely children aren't supposed to act this way. He's been known to have his volatile moments, but throwing oneself on the floor in hysterics over the simple need to put on clothing cannot be normal.

Luke appeared in the doorway and stopped short at the sight of our son writhing, kicking, and screaming on the floor of his bedroom. At his questioning look, I explained about the brown and blue pants.

He blinked, pointing to the floor, "Brown pants caused that?"

"Apparently."

"Not Force lightning?"

I stared at him, "That's not funny."

"I didn't say it was funny…" Luke knelt on the floor and, half an hour of negotiation later, Ben settled for a gray pair of trousers as, once again, my husband proved himself to be the most patient person in the galaxy.

The day went downhill from there. Everything was a battle: the travesty of putting on shoes, the trials and tribulations of hair brushing, the altercation over what to eat for lunch. Luke bore the brunt of that last one, wearing almost an entire bowl of Likryt stew and picking prunchti noodles out of his hair. I suspected that Luke's seemingly endless patience was beginning to wear thin when he suggested consulting Cilghal, claiming that a child who loses his mind over soup must be sick.

Then there was the incident at the Academy. Luke had called a meeting and Ben is usually very cooperative about going to play with the younger children, but today he wanted to 'listen to Daddy.'

'Listening to Daddy' turned into wanting to sit on Daddy's lap while he talked. Luke obliged him but Ben had no intention of listening and, instead, pulled on Daddy's arms, tried to climb on Daddy's shoulders, and stuck stubby little fingers in Daddy's mouth.

Luke turned to me, motioning for me to come claim the tiny tyrant. Ben protested wildly, kicking and screaming when I tried to disentangle him from Luke, and that's when it happened. He bit me.

The child formerly known as Ben bit me!

Luke jumped to his feet, "Ben! Excuse us," he nodded to the room full of Jedi. Many an eyebrow raised in the room at the sight of the Masters Skywalker wrestling their unruly son. Those who were parents themselves nodded in understanding commiseration, but I was mortified.

I turned my back to the crowd of colleagues and faced Luke, "It's all right - I can handle it." With that, I wrapped Ben in a Baragwin hold, a restraining technique I'd not used since the days of my service to Palpatine, and carried the still-screaming child from the room.

I had expected certain things in motherhood. I expected to love my child. I expected late nights and early mornings, conflicts and resolutions. But I never expected humiliation. I never expected to be so angry with my son that I had to walk away from him to keep from saying or doing something I'd deeply regret later.

I started to feel the familiar refrains of doubt and insecurity that I'd felt as a new mother and could only imagine that his behavior was the result of something I'd done wrong. That I'd somehow failed in his upbringing.

There was a time when I had thought that failing the Emperor was the worst thing that could happen to me. Looking back, I laugh at such thoughts now – at the vain, self-absorbed pride of youth. The stakes had been high then with entire governments, at times, resting on my actions. Looking at my small, defiant son, I realized that the stakes were much higher now.

Tionne found me after the meeting. "I know it's rough, Mara, but this is normal," she assured me. "It is a difficult time for him, when his body and mind are growing faster than he can comprehend. Children Ben's age are also notorious for testing the limits and you're doing the right thing by holding your ground. Don't let him win."

I thanked her and turned to Ben with renewed vigor. If the boy wanted a fight, he'd picked the wrong person. I'd taken down opponents from the vilest backwater criminal to the most sophisticated warriors. My own three-year old son could not be as difficult as all that.

Let me just say that, again, my expectations were misguided.

Our battle of wills culminated in a standoff over the toy chest. Ben outright refused to pick his toys up before bed. Now, normally I would not have made an issue out of something so trivial but, as Tionne had admonished, this wasn't about the toys.

I must say I was impressed with Ben's resourcefulness in his attempts to avoid picking up his room. He went to the 'fresher, made multiple trips to the kitchen claiming that he was thirsty then hungry then thirsty again; he even professed to several ailments, including headaches and an upset tummy. But, following Tionne's advice, I stood my ground.

Luke found us sitting on the floor on opposite sides of Ben's bedroom, toys scattered between us, staring at each other. He shook his head, "Give it up, son. She can do that for days."

Ben proceeded to hold his arms out to Luke, begging for Daddy to rescue him. I'd already explained the situation and tactics to Luke and he agreed, but the sight of his distraught son was almost too much for him. Luke is not a weak man, but Ben somehow knew exactly which buttons to push. I finally had to usher Luke from the room and shut the door behind him.

I turned to Ben and sighed, "Look. Just pick the toys up and this will be over and you can go to bed."

My determined son shook his head 'no.' Stubborn Skywalker, I thought, leaning against the wall. How the Corellian hells Shmi had ever done this as a single mother, I will never know. The woman must have been a saint and I had the strangest urge to go to the Lars' old homestead on Tatooine and place a medal on her recently replaced grave marker.

"Pick up the toys, Ben," I sighed.

"No."

"Wrong answer. Pick the toys up."

"No!"

"Ben!"

"NOOO!"

And something in him snapped. Throwing himself backwards, he started beating his head violently against the wall. I ran to him, "Stop it! You're going to hurt yourself, baby!" I pulled him off the floor and he looked up at me in desperation, then collapsed in my arms, sobbing.

I don't know if it was the Force or intuition, but something shifted in my heart and I suddenly knew it wasn't about the toys for him, either. It was about his world changing in the whirlwind of early childhood. It was about feelings and thoughts and abilities assaulting him faster than he could understand. It was about wanting to be free and held all at the same time.

That's when I knew I couldn't win. I didn't want to win. I wanted his obedience, but not by force. Not by breaking his spirit.

His frustration poured over me with his tears and I held him, rocking him slowly and stroking his hair. "It's hard growing up, isn't it?" I asked softly.

He nodded against my shoulder.

"You're getting to be a big boy, Ben, and we all have to do things we don't want to do. But, listen to me," I held his tear-stained face in my hands. "Daddy and I love you and we will always be here for you. We will always help you when you need us." He wiped his face against my shirt. "How about we pick up these toys together, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded.

Later, when I tucked him into bed, he tackled me in a spontaneous burst of affection, "I love you, Mommy!"

If I'd questioned my actions earlier, I do not doubt them now. Entering today's events in my journal, I realize that my expectations have actually been exceeded. A new bond of understanding has formed between us and somehow, I think we both won.

Glancing over at Luke's stew-stained shirt, however, I make a mental note to prepare food that matches the color of our clothes tomorrow…just in case.