Drowning

I feel like I'm totally failing at this whole parenting gig right now.  Like I'm in way over my head.  Like it's time for the final exam and I didn't study.  

Everything up to this point has been relatively easy in comparison.  I mean, the first two to three years, you basically succeed just by keeping them alive.  They smile, they cuddle, they hit the milestones close to the appropriate times and you're golden.  The next few years, you teach the pleases and the thank yous and the basic math and alphabet, and again - you feel as though you're a pretty freaking good parent.  

Then they hit their tweens and you're all like "what the eff am I doing?"

It's almost comical that I was blessed with my son, because he is the complete opposite of me. I love him more than life itself, don't get me wrong.  It's just that I find I'm scrambling to find ways to relate to him.  If I had my way, we'd read a book together and then talk about how it made us feel.  That seems like a successful bonding experience to me.  

I tried this.  It did not work.  I started reading Q 'Harry Potter' and we got about 3 1/2 pages in before I threw the book across the room in frustration because I couldn't hear my own voice over his whining and complaining about how boring this dumb book was.  I guess he was talking about his feelings regarding the book, though, wasn't he?

Here's the thing about me...if I'm not super good at something, I give up.  Skiing, rollerblading, university, dating - just a small list of things I stopped doing because I sucked.  I can't just give up being a parent.  Nor do I want to, just to be clear...I don't want to give up.  It just my thing, so I don't really know what to do with this drowning feeling besides just feel sorry for myself and wallow in self pity.

I can see Q slowly withdrawing.  I mean, he's never been one to talk about his feelings, but I can see that we have nothing in common that's bond worthy.  And that really scares me.  How do I connect with him as he gets older if I'm struggling to connect with him now?  I find myself riddled with guilt because I'm just not doing enough.  I feel like I'm nagging and yelling more than teaching and inspiring and loving.  

I feel like I've robbed Q of the kind of childhood I had planned for him.  Two parents together, lots of siblings to play with.  Summers filled with family road trips and weekends filled with family BBQ's.  He doesn't get any of that.  I wonder when he grows up what memories of his childhood he'll have.  Me nagging him to help bring in the groceries from the car, because it's just him and me and we're a team (to which he responds...."if we're a team, mommy....we're a horrible team")

I have realized two things:  

My sole purpose in life really is raising Q to be a successful, happy, well rounded person.  I am devoting all my time towards this goal.  Is that wrong?  I mean, what about me?  Do I count at all? Should I count? Or do I count when he's 18 and my "job" is done? Hmmmmm......

Secondly, if I can't connect with my child then I need to change my approach.  If he relates to sports - then I need to (gulp) become more 'sporty'.  For those of you who know me, you know that I am the least athletic person in the world.  I have a very serious disconnect with my hand/eye coordination and it makes things like kicking a ball more humorous than anything else.  (Well, humorous for others...frustrating for me).  But I understand that if this is the way I need to spend more quality time with my son, then it has to be done.  I'm currently looking for a lazy boy shaped bicycle seat for my larger than average rear end, if anyone knows of one.  We'll go for hikes.  We'll kick a ball around at the park.  I'll have to save the painting nails and braiding hair for my niece, I suppose.

I guess the biggest challenge I have with parenting is that you don't really know how good a job you've done until they've grown.  And isn't it too late by then?

So this Mother's Day, I'm reflecting on how I can alter my parenting skills now so I don't lose my child to video games and the teenage abyss.  Am I alone?  Do other parents feel this way?  How do you relate to your child(ren)?  Am I obsessive?

Because seriously, being an obsessive, Type A, worrier sounds nothing like me.

At all.

But honestly, this Mother's Day, I'm also feeling so blessed that I've been given the opportunity to be my Q's momma.  I guess that's part of my fear - how do I give this awesome gift justice?  

Now go hug your momma.  She's done a lot of worrying over you.  The least you could do is give her some huggin'.

Parenting - Actions Speak Louder

I learn so much from parenting.  

Sometimes, it's humbling.

Sometimes, it's downright embarrassing.

Since forever, Q has had a difficult time reading and writing.  He hates reading.  He hates writing.  And he has to work really hard at both.  Last year, we had the school do some testing, because I was really concerned that he has dyslexia.  Studying for spelling tests were a daily struggle and I felt like I was waaaaay out of my league.  I needed help in helping him.  The testing revealed that he was reading and writing at a grade level lower than he is in.  This spiked my anxiety.  Reading and writing at a grade level lower can be an indication of a learning disability.

Q is always so good at everything he does.  He's awesome at sports, he can do math in his head, he beats me at board and card games all the time.  Everything comes so easy for him.  I knew it must be so frustrating for him to have such a difficult time with spelling.

So I did everything I could do to help.  We studied those 20 words for hours every week.  Hours.  Like, I'm talking hours.  On average, we were spending 30 minutes to an hour every night practicing the words.  I would have him stare at the word, write the letters, say the letters - all in an attempt to help him succeed on the spelling test every Friday.  And then I would stress that it didn't matter what the mark was, as long as he did his best, I was super proud of him for doing his best.

We finally hit out breaking point.  

I called the principal.  

She reviewed his file.

She called his teacher, a learning specialist, and me into her office so we could discuss how best to help my child with his learning disability.

So you know when you take your kid to the doctor because he's super sick and the second the doctor walks into the room, your kid is fine.  Totally fine.  And you look like the paranoid, overprotected mother??

Ya.  

This meeting was kind of like that.  

It was Friday, so Q had a spelling test.  He got 26/30.  Twenty six out of thirty words that have* ie* and *ei* (and don't follow the rules).  Words like receive and believe.  And he got 26 of them right.

Pretty fricken awesome, right?

Then the learning specialist had him read...where he read perfectly at a grade 4 level.

He's in grade 4.

The LST says, "So where's the problem?"

The principal says, "Does he have a lot of pressure from home to do well?"

The teacher says, "I've brought his journal.  It's very well written."

I started to sweat.  

What was going on here???

"Yes, but we had to study an hour every night for him to get 26/30..."  As the words are coming out of my mouth, I'm trying to grab them and put them back.

The principal says, "Does he enjoy sitting and practicing for an hour every day?"

Uh, no.

The teacher says, "He should be practicing for no more than 20 minutes per night."

They all just stare at me.  

As I'm sitting there, it finally hit me.

I'm telling Q that it doesn't matter what he gets on his test as long as he tries his best, but my actions are telling Q that he needs to try harder, do better, and sit in that chair until he gets every single word right. Because as long as your best is perfect, we're all happy.  

I wanted to crawl under the table, slink my way to the door, and then run for my life.  

Suffice it to say, my son does not have a learning disability.  He has an insane mother with outrageous expectations.  We're going to practice spelling for 20 minutes a day.  We're going to read for 20 minutes a day.  We're going to celebrate (one of his spelling words, btw) no matter the results.  We're going to practice what we preach.  As long as we do our best, we're super proud of ourselves.

I'm also going to stop reading Harry Potter to him while he cries that he's soooooooooo bored and hates Harry Potter.  I'm going to stop telling him I'm doing this for his own good - to inspire his reading and if he would just listen, he would love it, and he would love reading, and he will feel passion for reading.

Like I do...

Oh...and one more thing....

Momma, you were right.

I Have a Tween

(which is nowhere near as inspirational as "I have a Dream...")

 

I've always thought boys are waaaaaaaaaaay easier than girls to raise.  Boys are a little more difficult during the toddler years because they're so active and have so much energy, but once you find a way to channel that little something extra, you're golden.  Easy sailing for the next 15 years.  I've also been so blessed because Q has been such an easy kid.  I mean, I can count on one hand the number of out of control temper tantrums he's had.  He's always been very active - he started walking (and by walking, I mean running) at 9 months -  but by keeping him busy in soccer and hockey, parenting him has been a breeze.  He's polite, remembers his pleases and thank yous, does what he's asked (usually with me only having to ask twice...haha), and he has a very strong sense of right and wrong. 

 

This whole tween thing has knocked me over on my ass. 

 

At first I thought there was some sort of outside source that was influencing my sweet little angel.  Then I thought he needed a nap.  Or maybe he was just hungry.  I thought of blaming his dad.

 

But this nasty attitude is just not going away.

 

So, I googled the symptoms....

 

...and I found out I have a tween.

 

And that this is...

 

(pause for effect)

 

...normal.

 

*sob*

 

I feel sick to my stomach.  My heart actually physically hurts.  I do not recognize this mopey, insolent, miserable person living in my house.  I mean, don't get me wrong - sometimes, I see the kid that I know and love and we have some really great times.  But other times, he's a monster.  Last night, during a calm spell, I said to him..."Q, be the kind, funny kid that you are deep inside, the kid that everyone wants to be around.  Don't be the mean, grumpy kid."  To which he responded, "I know, but I just don't think twice.  It just comes out."

 

I get that he's starting to *find himself* and that can be a daunting task for anyone, let alone a 9 year old boy.  I get that the testosterone is starting to flow, and he doesn't know what to do with all that man-ness yet because he's...well...9.

 

Is there a solution?  Because I seriously don't think I can handle this attitude 24/7.

 

There bloody better be.  I think there is...

 

First of all, we had a visit recently with Nana and Grandpa.  Grandpa tried everything to cheer Q up and when nothing else worked, he put him to work.  After Q moved firewood for about 15 minutes, it was like he was a different kid.  He was talkative (no grunting), he was smiling (no perma-frown) and his eyes weren't rolling at everything I said.

 

Secondly, I am giving Q more responsibility around the house.  He wants to act like a moody teenager, well then I'm going to give him moody teenager chores.  Active chores like taking out the garbage and organizing the recycling...

 

Actually, I'm kind of at a loss for some more active manly chores...so if anyone has any ideas, throw them my way, please!!

 

Hand in hand with more responsibility comes more serious consequences.  I've explained to Q that he's the man of the family and men need to take care of their household.  There are no more time outs as punishment - there are privileges that get taken away, there are video games that disappear. 

 

We are going to be more structured.  We're going to have routines around here so Q knows what to expect and what is expected of him and for him. 

 

Of course, sports start up in the next few weeks and that will help his energy levels.  He's going to busy almost every day with some sporting event or another, and this will help channel that wayward testosterone.

 

To Re-Cap:

 

1.  Put him to work

2. Give him more responsibility

3. Give him more serious consequences

4. Create structure and routine

5. Lots and lots of organized sports

 

I'll keep you updated.  Hopefully, we'll both make it through this phase without going me mad myself.

 

Now if I could just figure out how to stay on top of him eating me out of house and home, because oh. my. goodness. the kid is hungry all. the. time. 

Parenting - The Trouble with Growing up

Parenting gets harder as Q gets older. I thought it would get easier, and I suppose in some ways it has.

There are no midnight feedings or messy diapers. There are no temper tantrums or toddlers with boundless energy. Babies and toddlers are just sooooo needy. I mean, Q can feed himself and dress himself. He can go *potty* without assistance. 

So that’s something, right? 

The thing about the younger years that I like is the amount of control you have over the circumstances and events surrounding your child. You can protect them from outside forces. You can control who has influence over them, by limiting/screening what T.V. they watch, who they hang out with. Even so called “un-controllable” temper tantrums are really within control, because you can shut them away in their bedroom until they stop being ridiculous. You can control their behaviour with consequences and discipline. 

I think I used control at least 5 times in that paragraph…do you think I have control issues? 

No. Me neither. (I think by *control*, I mean *protect*…that sounds better…) 

The point I’m getting at is that as your children get older, I’m finding, you begin to lose control over their lives. And I guess this is the natural progression of aging. I suppose it’s healthy. I’m just not sure how much I like it. 

Q has a new friend, a neighbourhood boy. This boy I do not like. At all. But he’s 8. How do you tell an 8 year old he cannot play with your child because he’s a rotten little shit? It’s kind of impossible. He yells at his parents (they lead by example, always yelling at him…), he’s rude to his little brother (“Move your fat head”), he’s impolite and mean. 

He comes to play video games with Q – I would much rather they play in my house than theirs – so I can….uhhhh….supervise… While playing video games, his dialog with my son is much similar to this, “Awww, what are you doing? You’re so dumb. Do you even know how to play this game? That was a stupid move. This is so boring. I hate this.” And on and on and on it goes. When he goes home, I tell Q he needs to stand up for himself when this kid says these things. I don’t really know how he does this. Admittedly, ‘don’t say mean things to me, it hurts my feelings,’ sounds lame, even to me. I’m torn between refusing to let this kid play with my beloved son and acknowledging that as an only child, Q needs other kids to play with. This one just happens to be the only one we can find… 

Not wanting to appear to be an uber-controlling mom and in an attempt to try not to embarrass my child, I keep my mouth shut. Most of the time. Occasionally, I cannot bite my tongue any longer and have to say something. Like in this instance: 

Neighbourhood kid: Q!! You’re such a PUSSY. 

Say what, now? Are you effing kidding me? This child is 8. 8. Eight!!!! While I’m sure he didn’t know what the word really meant because he looked at me like “what’s your problem, lady? I called him a cat…” I’m still so shocked that this word was even in his vocabulary. Q just the other week stuck up his pointer finger and asked me if that meant he was giving someone the finger, by pointing at them. (Yes, yes, it is…by the way…).

What is going on in this child’s life that he knows words like this exist? I’m still shocked. 

Me: (Internal Dialog…) Listen here, you little shit. A word like that comes out of your mouth again towards my son and I will kick you so hard, you’ll land in next Friday. Got it? 

ME: (External Dialog…) Excuse me? We DO NOT use words like that in our home. Do you understand me? You use it again, and you’re going home. Got it?

The kid just looked at me. The thing is, I kept my voice low and calm. He’s so used to being yelled at, he didn’t know how to react. He kept his mouth shut after that, and each subsequent time he’s been in the house. He keeps looking at me too. So I stare him down. That’s okay, right?? 

After he left, my kid says, “I think you should write a letter to his parents. He shouldn’t say things like that!!” Oh, how I love Q. So eager, just like me, to make sure everything in life is put right, with no loose ends. I did consider it, but what were his parents going to do? Yell at him? Give him a pat on the back? Chances are this horrible word came from them. In the end, I figured my method was much more effective. 

I got to experience it this time, but what about the next time…when I’m not there? What happens then? I know that I have to trust that the parenting I’ve done thus far will sustain my child through these events. How? 

• My son knows what’s right and what’s wrong: He knows. I’ve modelled it. I’ve guided him when he’s been wrong. He has had to endure consequences when he steps out of line. And while a conscience isn’t built into children, a strong knowledge of right and wrong somehow helps one grow. I need to remember this. 

• We’ve built the communication lines: Q can tell me anything. We’ve built this road over the past almost 9 years. He tells me the little things, the big things and everything in between. There is no filter. And truly, for an 8 year old, there are no little things, are there? Everything is pretty significant. We talk things through. We rationalize, we debate, we come to a resolution. Every time. 

• I’m a safe haven: Well, first of all…I’m his momma, so you would think it obvious that I’m a safe haven, but is it? I’ve created a non-judgemental environment for Q. We have no gender bias, no race bias. We have guidelines and routines and rules. This allows him to bring home new/different ideas and share them with me, without fear of my reaction. This way, we get to figure things out together. He doesn’t have to go to his friends to find out what this means or that means. He can come to me and KNOW he’s getting the truth. And, he know I love him. Always have, alway will NO MATTER WHAT. I tell him often. Like, all the time how much I love him. 

• I have fear on my side: Seriously, I use everything I can to my advantage. We’re watching COPS – see, cops catch you every time. This is why you don’t do anything illegal. They will catch you. We’re reading the news, and someone has died of a drug overdose – see, this is why you only take drugs that come from a doctor for a specific reason. Otherwise, you die. 

And then I remind myself that a mustard seed is soooooo veeeeeeeeeryyyyy tiny, but once planted it grows and grows and grows. I believe it’s much the same with Q. I have planted the seed of goodness, and I know it will grow and he will grow into someone amazing. I also hope, that by allowing this boy into our home, I am planting a seed in him as well and one day good will prevail over evil. 

How do you sleep at night, knowing that this is just the beginning? What are we going to do, once they’re teenagers in high school or they move away for college? 

How do we control them then????

Q-isms - Wise Beyond his Years

In many ways, I'm a conventional mom.  Q knows his manners, eats his veggies, takes a shower twice a week (if we're lucky), and goes to school on a regular basis.  We've tried to implement chores, but I mostly forget or if I do remember I do it myself because it's easier.  As he gets older, though, I see the value in teaching him the quality of responsibility, the importance of a job well done and a dollar earned - so I'm working on that.

In one way, I am not a conventional mom.  Q still sleeps in my bed.  There are three reasons for this.

1. He sleeps with his dad, too.  Every time I try to wean Q out of my bed, his father does not follow suit, so I relent.  If it's not consistent, it is fighting a losing battle.  I end up with too little sleep and then I'm ugly and grumpy.  Not a good combination.  Coincidentally, him sleeping with me in the beginning started as a way to get more sleep.  He slept longer with me beside him.
2. As an only child from two separate households, Q has some unique challenges that other children with siblings or with parents who are together do not have.  He gets separation anxiety.  If sleeping with me gives him a little extra confidence to get through his day, I see nothing wrong with that at all.
3. There is nothing more wonderful than feeling his little hand on my cheek as he falls asleep, hearing him breathe or talk in his sleep, and watching him sleep.  It is something I cherish.  It gives us extra time together where there is no "eat your dinner" or "do your homework" or "hurry up" or "slow down".  There is just us.

We often have our best talks just before he is going to bed.  I don't know if Q is like other children and I haven't given kids enough credit for their depth of understanding or if he is incredibly wise beyond his years.  Sometimes his insight is so wise it amazes me.  I think he is destined for great things, my little man - just because his compassion and his understanding is so great.

One such occasion was the night before Grade 3....

Q:  Daddy says grade three was his worst year ever.

Me:  That's because grade three is the year his mommy died.

Q:  Oh.  I didn't know that.  I just knew she was 42, but I didn't know he was only 8.  What happened to daddy?

Me:  His daddy moved to Libya to work, so daddy went to boarding school with Uncle Duck (or Doug as everyone else calls him).

Q:  What's a boarding school?

Me:  It's when you live and go to school and eat and play all in the same place.

Silence

Q:  I'm understanding some things more now.

Me:  Like what?

Q:  Daddy was offered a job in Dallas a while ago, and he didn't take it.

Me:  Do you know why he didn't take it?

Q:  Yes, because of me. 

Me:  Yup.  Because he loved you more.

Geez...for all the times I wish I was flexible enough to kick my ex in the face, I lied there thankful for knowing that my Q knows his daddy loves him.  He knows that his daddy wants something better for him than he had as a boy. 

I wonder how many children notice or appreciate what their parents sacrifice for them.  Anyone of us parents can name several things we've sacrificed in the name of our dear children, but how many of them know it?  How many know but don't appreciate it?  How many have to be told to be grateful?  And yet here is my little 8 year old boy not just knowing, but reveling in the knowledge?  It makes me want to cry just thinking of it.  I know it's something he'll carry within him well into his adulthood. 

We're seriously going to save on therapy bills for this one.

Parenting Advice - Single Mommy Style

I have a wonderful, beautiful, amazing friend who has a daughter who is predisposed to learning languages.  By the time she was one, she was spouting full sentences and saying words like, "Stethoscope".  She is now almost eight and she speaks fluent English, Croatian, and French.  Her next language will be German, she says, because it's so useful.  My beautiful, amazing friend and her husband would smile to themselves and think, "Ahhhhh, we know how to teach our children languages!" and then they had a boy.  Now, I'm not saying it's because he's a boy...but Q was slow with his words too.  Anyways, my friend and her husband now realize their daughter is amazing with languages and they had something to do with it, because they are her parents after all, but she had the most to do with it.  I tell this little story because I have a brilliant little boy (and yes, I am a little biased, but hear me out...)  I can list on one hand the number of times he has had a temper tantrum in 8 years.  You know when they have to do something by the count to 3, well I have never, ever reached 3 - neither Q nor I know what happens when I get there.  He tells me when he does something wrong before I find out, because he has a conscience.  He has such a gentle demeanor with other children who are either less fortunate or who have special needs.  While I think I'm a great mom, I also know that a lot of these qualities are *just* Q.  He most likely would be exactly as he is, whether I was his mommy or not. 

However, I am going to take some of the credit because I have spent the last 8 years with him, and it's not always a walk in the park.  Without further ado, here is my advice for how to raise a little boy as a single mommy...

1.  Tell him you love him.  Like, every single time you think of it, say it.  This might mean that you say it 20 times a day, and that's okay.  One of the many reasons my relationship with his dad didn't work out was that he couldn't say (nor show, really) that he loved me.  His response to my question would always be, "Well, I'm here, aren't I?"  Knowing you're loved is one of the most amazing feelings in the world.  It makes you feel safe, secure and well...loved, for lack of a better word.  And, you never, ever, ever know when may be the last time you get to say it.  So say it, and say it often.

2.  Cuddle.  If you have a cuddler, take advantage of every single minute.  One day they won't want to cuddle anymore (and that makes my heart ache), but as my child turns 8, I see there is no way to stop  him from growing.

3.  Tell him you're proud of him.  Yes, of course, when he brings home a test that he did really well on, by all means tell him then...but I'm talking about when he's standing there and he remembers to say please or thank you or he does something the first time you ask or when he tells the truth when a lie would have been easier.  Tell him you're proud of the person he's becoming.

4.  Let them talk.  And talk, and talk and talk and talk.  Q went on a road trip with my brother and sister in law last month and I laughed out loud when A said he talked the whole 5 hours it took to get there.  First, it means he's comfortable, because he doesn't do that with everyone, but secondly...it might not seem like anything important to you, but it sure is important to him.  If you listen, really listen, to all their little *nothings* they'll come to you with all their *somethings*.  

5.  Give them choices.  This sometimes bites me in the butt, because it takes patience, and sometimes one of the choices doesn't end up working, but for the most part, giving him two choices works really well.  It works because he feels involved, but it also works because when he has the choice to do the good thing or the bad thing, he recognizes it as a choice.  For instance:  You can put your toys away where they belong, or I can put your toys away in the garbage.  It's your choice.  

6.  Encourage alone time.  This is actually also 'Have a sibling', but like me, not always feasible.  It's exhausting trying to entertain him all the time and get everything else done around the house.  He's going through a you're-not-entertaining-me-so-I'm-bored phase right now, so I really understand how important it is for him to be able to entertain himself.  What is he going to do when he's 20 if he needs me to entertain him???

7.  Let them use technology.  Our children are going to have jobs that we don't even know exist yet.  Technology, whether we like it or not, is not going away.  I have a co-worker who always jokes that he never thought computers were going to catch on, as he types with his two index fingers.  Oh, it's caught on.  My child can use my iPhone just as well as I.  He knows how to record series on our PVR and I don't.  He can log onto my computer and access his websites.  And these are basic skills that a whole lot of children his age do not have.  When I volunteered in his class, some children didn't know how to even hold the mouse.  These children will be left behind.  Give your child a head start now.  Give them a time limit, monitor what sites they're seeing, obviously, but do not kid yourself by thinking computers aren't going to "catch on".

8.  Sports, sports, sports.  I have a couple of friends with teenage boys and these kids are really, really good kids.  Of course, it's the parenting (!) but it's also because these kids have been involved in sports from an early age.  They're too busy playing sports to get into any trouble.  Their friends are too busy playing sports to get into any trouble.  They're having fun, they're busy and they have positive roll models.  Win-Win-Win.

9.  Make memories.  One day, my son will be a man with smelly, hairy feet.  Ugh, it makes me shudder.  But I want him to have memories with me now, that make him the man he is to become.  I was thinking the other day of all the opportunities my son has had that many are not as fortunate.  We've been to Hawaii, the Dominican Republic, DisneyLand, Science World, The Aquarium, the Capilano suspension bridge, fireworks, the beach, zoos, day trips to Seattle, movie date nights.  My heart swells with joy when he says, "Mommy, remember when we...."    

10.  This is my favourite...

I tried it the other day, and it was awesome.  It really worked.  It even freaked me out a little bit!

Oh, and I have more...but 10 is such a nice, even number.  Maybe I'll do a part 2.  Any parenting tips, either for boys or for single mothers or girls or not single mothers that I should include???

Bursting at the Seams

Q eat, sleeps, breathes hockey!!! Fine form, young man, fine form!

This morning I was up at 6:30, on a Saturday I think it's fair to point out, getting Q ready for his ball hockey game.  I think it's a cruel, cruel world that makes people wake up so early just to freeze in the bleachers, watching 6-8 year olds running around after a bright orange ball, listening to other parents yell instructions to their kids and obscenities at the coaches.

But here's the thing.  My kid is good!!!  He runs out on to the rink and other mothers cheer him on by name.  He gets in the middle of the action, he is the action.  He scores the goals, he defends his net, he centers the center.  I'm sitting there this morning, with my freezing feet on a wooden bleacher that is too high, so my legs dangle down and too straight, so my back aches...and I am so proud of my kid, I can hardly contain it.  Like so proud, I don't just want to cheer for him extra loud and make a complete fool out of myself (he says he can't hear it anyways), but soooooooo proud, I want to run out there, in the middle of the game, and hug him and kiss him and point to the top of his beautiful head and say:

"This kid, right here....he's my kid and he's incredible.  He's amazing!!  He blows my mind every.single.day and my life is so much richer because he's alive!!!!"

I didn't, because that would probably have embarrassed him maybe...a little.  But I really, really wanted to.  Instead, I sat there, completely calm-ish, as he scored the only goal for his team this morning.  Just as I did last week when, with 21 seconds left in the game, tied at 4, he scored the winning goal!  I'm bursting at the seams with pride for my kid, my offspring, he has my blood coursing through his veins.  It's incredible to me.

It's amazing, this love I have for him.  It's something I can't describe to him, and I don't know if he'll ever know how much I love him.  I tell him all the time, "I love you more than you'll ever know!" He often times will roll his eyes and says, "I do, too."  I'm so proud of the little man he is, and so excited for the future that is in front of him. 

It's All Gonna Be OK (right?)

So, my kid.  He's a good kid.  Really, he is.  I've been lucky.  He adapted really quite well to being a only child to parents who live in different households.  It's gotta be tough on him, not knowing or remembering who's house he's sleeping at because it changes daily.  In our mind, it's fairly standard....Sunday, Monday, Thursday, Friday nights he is with Mommy and the rest of the time he's with Daddy.  But for Q, it's here and there and here and there.  He's way more resilient than I give him credit for.  It always breaks my heart a little when he asks, "Where am I sleeping tonight, Mommy?"

The thought of one week here and one week there breaks my heart.  I can't even imagine not seeing him for a whole week.  As difficult as it would be for me, I think it would be hard on him too. 

He doesn't have brothers or sisters who *understand* what it's like to be shuttled back and forth from home to home.  No one to commiserate with and talk about how much it sucks when so-and-so happens.  I try to get him to talk about how he feels but he just shrugs his shoulders and says, "I don't know."  What he probably means is "you wouldn't understand".  And I don't.  I know where I'm sleeping every night.  It's the same bed in the same house every single night.  I know where I'm eating dinner, where I'm spending my weekend.  I know this.  It's standard.  For him, it changes all the time.

For this reason, I've been really lenient with Q.  We eat dinner on the couch more than the dinner table.  We go on dates to the movies or bowling more than most kids his age.  And, he sleeps with me. 

Yup.

I know.

It started as a coping mechanism when he was a baby so I could get some flippin' sleep and then one thing led to another and through all the uncertainty, it was certain.  His little hand on my face, the even sound of his breathing (and snoring...), the elbow in my back, the heel dug into my thigh.  What can I say...it's not always fun sharing the bed with a bed-hog seven year old, but it is comforting. 

So I get that he has to sleep in his own bed, and I get that it has to happen soon.  We've been looking for beds, have his room all set up...just waiting for a bed. 

But...

We've been having a whole lot of troubling behaviour lately.  The most upsetting was last night when he didn't get his way, so he wound up and punched me in the back of the head (closed fist) while I was driving.  Immediately when we got home, I threw him in his room and called his dad.  Q is supposed to be going to a B.C. Lions' football game on his birthday and I thought taking that away would be a perfect punishment. 

His dad (the retard) says we need to sit down and talk about his behaviour and what we can do to change it.  I'm like, dude...we don't need to sit down and discuss anything.  We need to take something away from him.  I don't need a pow wow with you, I need you to help me discipline him.  He didn't think that punishing him was the *right* thing to do and he needed to *think* about it.  He says to me, "See.  This is why I'm sending him down the street to play with these other kids.  They're so well behaved and they're teaching Q how to behave."  I'm like, dude....it's not the kid down the street's responsibility to teach our child how to behave.  It's OURS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

So I hang up on his dad.  (We remember I'm PMS-ing, right????  Ya.)

I go talk to Q.  I settle on no bunny rabbit, no iPhone for two weeks, and no Lego Ninjagos.  HE was more upset with the punishment than the fact that he had punched me.  But I've read two things recently about this...1.  Boys get a surge of testosterone when they're two and when they're seven.  My girlfriends son started talking like he was Rambo when he turned two..."I STUBBED MY TOE.  I'M THIRSTY.  I WANT SOME MILK."  It was hilarious.  I think Q is going through a surge of testosterone and doesn't really know how to deal constructively with the aggression that comes with it.  Secondly, children do not get *empathy* until they are well into the age of 7.  They don't understand that their actions affect how other people feel.  They don't understand the concept. 

So, I have to move Q into his own bed.  I have to teach him boundaries.  I have to teach him is actions have consequences.  I have to discipline when ding dong in the other house has no intentions of supporting me.  He wants to be the fun parent, the parent who says, "Don't do that, k?" and gets results.  Basically, I'm a lone enforcer.  He goes to daddy's, does what he likes - comes home and gets mean mommy.  He said that to me...You are a mean, mean mommy.

Here's the lesson, kids.  Before you procreate with anyone, make sure you have similar ideas on parenting.  It makes it SOOOOOO much easier.  If you can actually test your theories out on other people's kids...even better.  Mr. Ex agreed with me on every parenting ideal until we actually had a child.  Then he didn't want to parent at all.  He just wants to be Disneyland daddy.  So test 'em out.  Make sure they walk the walk.  Make sure they're not bluffing.

In the meantime....any words of advice?  Can anyone relate?  Misery loves company so if your babes are acting out too, I'd love to hear about it...and even more, I'd love to hear how you're coping.

Here's a great read. I'm going to go through all my boxes, find it and read it again....

 

Read this one too!!

In Which a Mommy Manual Would Have Been Helpful

Alrighty, how was your weekend?  Did you enjoy it?  Was it fun?  Restful?  Did it rejuvenate you and prepare you for the long week ahead?  Ya?  Did it?  That is so nice. 

Mine sucked.

If ever I was in need of a parenting/survival guide, yesterday was it.  And that's really saying something considering I'm a single parent who is required to randomly answer questions like, "Why do you and Daddy fight all the time?" or "Why can't you and Daddy live together like other Mommies and Daddies?"  Those I can always dig deep down and find an answer that is truthful yet not too disturbing for a 5 almost 6 year old to understand.  I've resigned myself to the fact that he'll need therapy when he's older anyways, so whatever damage my *intuition* my cause, I'm hopeful there will be a cure for it later on.

And if I had done a fabulous job parenting up until yesterday, I royally screwed it all up - while in a water park of all places. 

Of course, I didn't plan to scar my child, but then does anyone ever really plan to do it?  I really just needed a how-to manual that I could flip open to page 145 and find out how to best deal with the situation.  I needed an 'ask the audience' button or 'call a friend' or maybe even just a time out to gather my thoughts and then deal. 

Okay, so we decided to go to the water slides yesterday - Q, my brother, his girlfriend and me.  I even gave Q a choice...beach or water park?  Enthusiastically, he responded "Water slides, water slides...I wanna go to the water slides..."

So, not much of a question, right?  It sounded pretty convincing to me.  We went last year and he was a little cautious at first, but this is Q.  He's always cautious.  He's an almost 6 year old who thinks that motorcycles are dangerous, tattoos are painful and my hands should always be at 10 and 2 when I'm driving.  There is no dancing with both hands while steering with my knees in our car...that's just...well...dangerous.  Not to mention speeding.  If Q knew he could make a citizen's arrest when the speedometer goes over the posted maximum, he would have put me in jail like 20 times...last week alone. 

We drive the hour and a half to the water slides, we pay the $100 for the four of us - just to get in.  We pay an additional $10 to rent a locker so we aren't robbed of the remaining pennies we have left.  We find a life jacket that fits Q all snug and comfy like.  We begin to walk up the ramp to the first water slide, and Q freaks out.  FREAKS out.  So we stop.  He refuses to go on the water slides.  Refuses.  ANY of them. 

We tried reasoning.  We showed him how shallow the water was, how kids smaller than him were going down them, how he was with three adults who knew how to swim, how he was wearing a LIFE jacket.

We tried common sense.  Has Mommy ever put you in a position that would put you in danger?  No.  Would I make you do something if I thought you were going to die?  No. 

He wouldn't budge.

I tried the guilt trip. 

Ugh.  I still feel horrible.  Horrible.  My only defense is that I was disappointed.  If he didn't go on any of the slides, that meant that my day would be spent following him around all the baby slides.  It meant that I just forked over $50 for the two of us to watch everyone else have fun. 

It reminded me of when I was a kid and we went to Disneyland for the day.  My dad, for reasons that are known only to him, decided to make the whole day difficult for everyone.  "We're not waiting in that line up.  That's ridiculous" and "I'll just wait here.  You go on the ride, you don't need me" or my personal favourite, "No, we are not staying for the parade and fireworks.  I don't care if they're free.  We've been here long enough already."

I felt like that kid again.  The kid who got the bum end of the deal.  Here, let's take you to a super fun place...like just the most fun place on earth...so you can be miserable. 

I took it out on Q, just a little. 

We went and sat on the grass for a while.  Q sat there, totally unassuming, eating grapes, totally not understanding the complete angst and fire welling up within me. 

I couldn't really punish him for being fearful.  I mean, c'mon this is me we're talking about...only the most fearful person on the face of the planet.  I couldn't punish that when I understand it, when I live it practically every day. 

And so I took a deep breath and thought...

What would my mom have done when I was little if we were in the same situation?

Aha!

I had my answer.

"Q, where would you like to go?  To the pirate ship or back to the kid slides?"

He looked at me.

"Can I go back to the little slides?  Not the big ones?"

"Is that what you'd like to do?"

"Yep."

"Alright.  That's what we'll do then."

I cannot even remember the number of times my mother sacrificed something for me and my brother.  From going without things, to saving $10 from her weekly 'grocery' allowance for our family vacation, to wearing the same pair of winter boots for like 5 years so I could have a frilly Christmas dress to wear to church on Christmas Eve. 

She did that for 18 years.  There was never a guilt trip.  There was never a punishment.  There was only a smile, a kiss and a hug. 

Once I decided that I would do the same thing, the whole day changed for me.  I watched while Q went on the kiddie slides a tra-billion times.  I watched while he splashed in the water park.  I watched and I smiled.  At one point he says, "Mommy.  I'm really having fun!"

"Mmhmmm,"  I answered.

"Didn't you say when I have fun, you have fun?"

"Ya, let's go with that..."

I felt his hand inside mine.  It still tears me up inside.  

Hopefully, when he's 30, he'll remember how much fun he had at the water slides and not how Mommy made a complete ass of herself because she didn't get her way.   And if not, then maybe I'll spring for a therapy session or two. 

I apologised to my brother and his girlfriend too.  Nothing like having a spoil sport along to ruin the day.   They even volunteered to watch Q so I could go down a few slides, but I was already in martyrdom-ville.

Quite honestly, I still feel like shit.

What would you have done?  Taken him kicking and screaming up 40 thousand stairs, wait in a line up for 20 minutes and force him to *have fun*?  Would you have left on the spot in an if-I-can't-have-fun-neither-can-you revolt?  Would you have smiled and said, "Whatever you wish, dear"?  Or would you have handled it completely differently?

And if so, then where the hell were you yesterday?  Lotta good it does me now...