I should have entitled this with the precursor "Teenage" given that two of the three offspring are now of the age that conspicuously ends in "teen." However, any opportunity to lessen their already significant hold on my life is welcomed at this point. Their lives, their struggles, their flippant comments and insensitive remarks have become the very ground on which I tread. I try to squash that faint voice that floats through my mind, but every so often I hear it nonetheless "I told you so." I know Mom, I know. What she really meant to say was "You'll get yours someday you little bitch" and, alas, someday has arrived full force...
I would say that this behavior, this manner of speaking, this sense of entitlement doesn't have anything to do with the youngest, the angel, the baby, the Ty, yet, sadly, it does. Somehow coming into his own at 8 years old, he seems to be under the impression that he not only has a voice but that what he says matters?! Ok, ok, what he says matters, but you and I both know that I'm talking about the hierarchy that exists within the family unit, much like it does in the military, everyone has a rank and no one is supposed to break that rank or lives may be lost. "Do so at your own peril!" I may shout as Ty is poised to hurl that handful of blue playdoh at the ceiling above the very bed where I sleep. Before he wouldn't have hesitated, he would have immediately bowed his head, apologized and marched that gelatinous blob of soft chemicals back to the cylinder from which it came. Now, however, lately, however, there is a distinct hesitation... the other day he brought home an orange balloon that was filled with pieces of rice. They had used funnels and it changed shape and it was "Awesome Mom, watch!" and yet as his arm went into the windup, I found myself wanting to hold back, thinking that he would hesitate or look at me to confirm that what he was about to do was not only ridiculous, but it would inevitably piss me off to no end. That thought alone used to keep all three of them from attempting behavior that would fall into the "Set Mom Off" category. But, his arm didn't even waver, not a flinch... and as that orange melon was set in flight across the living room, I was already moving toward the kitchen, knowing that I would have to get the broom. I turned just in time to see a flash of orange collide into the South wall, exploding on impact. I waited and looked at my son, that sweet faced little boy who I had to leave in the hospital for two weeks after he was born. I looked into those cerulean eyes that clearly come from some previous relatives and I hoped that just for a second that I would see some remorse, some flash of that guilt that pervaded every sense of my childhood. I looked, but, there was nothing, nothing but pure elation, bent over double laughter and the sounds of a human being who may recognize that he may or may not have broken a cardinal rule of balloon/rice/house accord, but who just doesn't give a shit. In that moment, that little boy did exactly what he wanted and he loved every second of it. I sighed and went to get the broom....
I don't worry about a lot nor do I spend an inordinate amount of time caring about things that might drive other people insane. I laugh at the dumbass things that my kids do and say and I make fun of them, just like any quality parent would... but this sense that I get as of late, is that I have turned into or am slowly becoming some kind of sadistic hall monitor that does nothing but nag them and tell them to brush their teeth for the fourteenth thousandth time and when they fail to comply, or when they feel that I am being "unfair" or "overprotective" or "overbearing" that they somehow have the right to question MY behavior. Now, as a parent who has expectations and who sets the bar low in some areas but rather high in the areas of character development, manners and selflessness, I expect all three of those little fuckers to listen to me. Plain and simple. Shut the hell up and listen when I'm speaking and don't give me that face or that tone in your voice that tells me that you THINK that I am this or that or this or that. As we always say, YOU did not come with a manual and even if you did, you probably would have peed on it or set fire to it by now anyway...
Clearly I recognize that someday my boys will understand what I was trying to do and maybe they will even acknowledge the ways in which I was trying to do it, but whether or not that day comes, I have been, as of late, frustrated by their attitudes and their lack of enthusiasm over my desire for them to become more than hunched over, media neanderthals. I tell Jake to put the phone away while we are eating dinner and he looks at me like I'm some kind of delusional inmate at an asylum. "You want ME to put away my phone?" Yes Jackass, although I wanted to talk to you and now I don't, I still want you to put away that phone. Actually, you know where you can put your phone... My special "favorite" is when he says "Mom, look around, everyone else is on their phone." Pause for reaction and no, I don't use the whole "Well if everyone jumped off a bridge thing..." I just simply say, "I'm not their mother" right before he mutters "Lucky them." Or, any time I offer even the slightest criticism, he shuts down and just gives one word answers as if to say "How dare you insult me or try to teach me anything? I am 17, I am a God, I am beyond reproach." Actually, Jake wouldn't use a word like reproach but it looked good and I think that sometimes. Half an hour later he's asking me for money or for advice about some new obsession that he has. Look, either you value my opinion or you don't, but don't ask me if you don't want me to tell you. The other day he was gone almost the entire day; I only saw him when he came home and I was getting ready for bed so like the "idiot" mother that I am, I asked him questions about his day. He gave me two short answers and then started to roll his eyes and he just said "I'm tired Mom." I got irritated and he said "Mom, did you really want to talk to YOUR parents that much when you were my age?" I hadn't actually thought about that, but I had to admit, he was right. I didn't. I didn't like that answer but I understood it. The thing was, that response hurt the most because I thought that we had a different kind of relationship than I had with my parents and until last Spring, I thought that it would always be that way. I love Jake so very much and I respect him and I am very thankful for who he is becoming and I accept that much of this is just his way of beginning to pull away; I know that and I accept that. But, what I don't accept is his brazen sense of self entitlement and his attitude as of late, the one that says "You owe me something for being a good kid." I'll tell you what Jake, you know what I owe you? I owe you a swift kick in the ass and a see you at Thanksgiving next June when I throw your ass out the door. Jake is a good kid with a big heart, but he lives in Jakeland right now where he is the Mayor, the Police Department and every resident all by himself and that self-centered, egocentric attitude, albeit normal for most teenagers, bothers the hell out of me when it rears its ugly head right after he has pulled some completely bonehead move or failed a test or backed into a parked car. People see what they want to see when they look at him and that is, he is a good looking, well mannered, kind young man, which he is. But what they don't see is the evil puppeteer behind the curtain and that bastard likes to fuck with me right now...
There is a seminar on anxiety in adolescents and teens next week at Ty's school and while I would like to attend, I don't think that I can handle much more anxiety in our home even if it is only as a topic along with ways to manage and combat it. Because then I would have to confront my own demons once again and I am not in the mood to do that. I have more than enough emotions and issues to deal with right now. But I started thinking about anxiety when I got the flyer in the mail and I realized that while I don't suffer from this particular state, that two of my children do, in various ways. Both have moments when it overtakes them and when I can literally see their faces paralyzed with sadness or fear or anger because the thought of having to do something or be somewhere or in those moments when they feel completely overwhelmed by their emotions, I can feel it. I can feel their hearts beat faster and their palms start to sweat; sometimes they stutter their words or their voices get softer and I pause and I think to myself, God how awful. Because most of do what any parent would do, we tell them to get in the car, or try again or do it anyway or everything will be okay, you'll see. But the thing is, that kid knows deep down that sometimes, it's not only NOT going to be okay, but that it is going to be horrible. I often send them out into the water without knowing how to swim, but I don't know any other way... and so I consult experts, books, therapists, talk shows, research materials, colleagues, the kids themselves and I try to come to some kind of agreement with anxiety, with their anxiety; mainly, that when I recognize the symptoms that I won't push so hard - this often ends up as one big disaster. I try to remember that I was once little and that I was shy and scared, often feeling alone and guilty about something. That doesn't usually help the situation with the kids and I can feel my own heart start to beat faster, but what it does do is remind me that I don't know any better way to handle their fears than they do; I can only offer them solace and comfort and love and hope that is enough. And when it's not, Baskin Robbins and a day off from school usually do the trick...
Being a mother is a thankless job. It is an unending hill climb where there is nothing at the top but reminders of how many times you've fallen along the way or how long it took you to get there. Erma Bombeck nailed it all those years ago; she wrote of the disasters of parenthood, of family; she wrote of the ridiculous statements and the endless stream of chatter that pervaded her skull and house. She wrote of the humor in even the most humorless of situations, and, she had it exactly right. Being a parent is wonderful and we live for those moments when our children recognize how much we truly love them. It is a difficult transition for us to no longer be the center of their individual universe. And it is even harder because often it happens so quickly; their adoration and friendship, their love and desire to be with us lessens and the moments that once flooded our days have become fewer and shorter and the interim is riddled with scornful looks and resentment and attitude. They think that we should know better, just like we think of them, but the real thing is, we need them as much as they need us and, for me, there is no law that says that I have to stop being a positive and important influence in my children's lives; I just have to now learn how to respect the boundaries that they are fighting to set up. Ironic once more, if I have taught them well enough then they won't need me... should I stop the lessons now?
It's interesting when a child describes himself as "selfish." Albeit, a negative meaning, it was explained to me as "being interested in only what I have to do because I can't keep track of everyone else." Not quite the dictionary definition, but more of an introspective and broader definition of selfish. I like that definition, not because it fits teenagers, but because it actually shows a real truth about human behavior during the teenage years. The angst or anxiety that they feel these days stems from a very wide, very intricate net of information that binds them all together, but only superficially. How can one be expected to keep up with EVERYONE and EVERYTHING else on a day to day basis. We would all go crazy, we would all develop anxiety, as many of us are doing now. The pressure to be involved at multiple levels with hundreds of people and their activities on a daily basis is too much pressure. And eventually the pressure crushes us, one way or another;it destroys the fragile nature of that first shape, of that first idea. People cannot exist positively, hopefully in a world that demands a commitment level from even the youngest of its citizens, a level that ties them into everyone else's world, whether they want that or not. And if they don't make an attempt to be a part of this network of individuals and photostreams and pages, then they are ostracized, ridiculed, bullied and, really, just plain on the "outside" of it all. And being on the outside of an inside "joke" will only create more angst. And so, you focus on yourself and those within your immediate circles and you hope that the ones that you truly care about will return those feelings. And if not, you have to figure out a way to reconcile the fact that you will never be able to keep up with it all, not physically, mentally and certainly not emotionally. Selfish... loving one's self, taking care of one's self and not worrying about what everyone else is doing minute by minute... I like that.
It's my fault for the most part; the things that I bitch about, particularly with the kids, it's my fault. I mean, I am raising them, well, Tim is here too, but let's face it, I do most of the "kick 'em in the balls" parenting. Just because he is the voice of reason doesn't give him extra points. Well really it does and that is another issue that I have; the kids seem to respect him more, like him more, listen to him more because he gets to be "good" cop and I, I have to be the "Did you brush your teeth, do your homework, pack your lunch, call that coach back, get your cleats, bring your water bottle... overbearing, schedule oriented crazy ass bitch of a mom." That too pisses me off. I'm not insecure enough to sit here and to think that my children don't love me, they do or that they don't respect me, they do or that they are terrible, rotten morons who can't tell their asses from their elbows sometimes... well... ok, they aren't, MOST of the time. Parenting is the most frustrating and simultaneously exhilarating jobs that I've ever taken on and while I am knee deep in the good and the bad and the days are filled to the brim, I can see myself, just a few years from now, longing for someone to lecture, for someone to clean up after, for someone to patronize me for a change.
It's not that we aren't ready to let them go out into the world or even that we want to delay that inevitable trip; it's just that we know that once they go, we just won't matter as much as we once did. We will always be loved and thought upon with kindness but, on some level, they are already pushing us aside to make more and more room for others in their lives who will occupy that daily space that we once filled, those arms that once reached out for us when we picked them up from preschool, that new life that they are carving out for themselves, regardless of the fact that we helped to set them on that path. I try to remind myself that it is coming quickly and that I am looking forward to all of the joys that they will have in their lives, but, I am also fearful for them, of what is in store and of what may come. I only hope that when each of them, in turn, steps out the front door of our home as a resident for the last time that I will have prepared them to handle the angst and the anxiety and to not have too much attitude with others. I will hope that and I will probably smile whenever I think of the aborted ceiling playdoh attempt or the time that they spray painted green stripes on the dog. I just wish some days there were less eye rolls and sighs, less censure in their voices and instead, more days like the ones when they ran to me in their feeted Carter jammies, holding out their arms, kissing my cheek until I laughed so hard that we would fall to the ground.
I'm tired of the teenage crap. I'm ready for a new chapter. Luckily Ty has 5 more years before he hits the "teen" age. Then again, with this crowd, it may be sooner than I'm ready. In fact, I know it will be. I can feel my blood pressure rising already...
