Someone Turned Onety One (or eleven...for those of you who are normal...)

It seem as though this blog has kind of morphed into a once a year check-in / birthday letter to Q.  Truth be told, I've gone through a bit of a writer's block and life has just become a routine of work, hockey (for Q...def not me), school, sleep, eat and repeat.  No one wants to read about that on a blog.

 

But lately we've gone through a lot of changes - well, to be more specific, Q has gone through a lot of changes lately and my hope is that if I write about it, I might stop bursting into tears at random, inappropriate times.  (p.s. I am not a crier...)

 

See, my Q is growing up and the past few months have been both beautiful and devastating for me all at the same time. 

 

Q is eleven and for us, that means spending weeks away from home with the grandparents - all of them.  It means sitting in the front passenger seat of the car.  It means FLYING in an AIRPLANE all by himself.  It means staying home alone after school.  It means owning a cell phone (for safety while being home alone).

 

This is beautiful and exciting, because Q is doing exactly what he should be doing.  He's growing up.  He's following the path that many boys have walked before him on their way to becoming a man.  And who am I kidding?  We all know I'd probably be freaking out if he weren't meeting these milestones with such perfect timing and accuracy.  None of it has been forced either, my Q is eagerly jumping from milestone to milestone, barely stopping to take a breath.  And he's not just growing personally.  He's physically growing...and that makes my bank account cry. 

 

We've had so many great conversations lately.  He is such a smart insightful kid.  He's an old soul and some of the things he says actually make me think about the choices I am making in my life.  While he was in Calgary, we had some awesome text talks.  One day he asked what I was doing and I told him I was just watching a movie because all my friends were out of town and I had no one to go to the beach with. 

 

He texted, "Maybe it's time you made a few more friends."

 

And maybe he's right.

 

The past 11 years I have devoted my life to Q.  Where I live, where I work, is all because of Q. And I have willingly given most of my spare time to him - because it's just him and me, I've been blessed enough to have that time to give to him.  I've not really dated.  My hobbies are relatively fluid (as in, I can read in a hockey rink while he's practicing).  My friends are used to either Q coming with me, or me bailing at the last minute.

 

Q doesn't need me as much anymore. 

 

And I'm completely lost.

 

This is the sad thing for me.  I don't know who I am if I'm not *little* Q's mom.  I've loved being needed by him and the center of his little universe and it makes me so sad that his universe is getting bigger and bigger.  I have shed many a tear over this.  I am mourning the loss of my baby.  (geez, am I being like seriously overly dramatic?!?!?!)  I don't know if it's different for women who are married or who have more than one child - because they have a spouse or other children to distract them. 

 

But if every woman goes through this, I can completely understand why we have the reputation of being crazy emotional. 

 

Because if you pulled up beside me at the stop light yesterday, you would have wondered why that red light made me cry.

 

I'm super proud of my boy.  He's becoming such a great *person*, you know...not just a little boy, but a person.. 

 

I will leave you with one little story... While texting me on his trip to Calgary with the grand-parentals, he asked what I was doing.

 

me:  I'm watching 'Far From the Madding Crowd'.  It's about a woman who has 3 men who fall in love with her.

 

Q:  Weird

 

me:  Well, yes.  It's definitely not a movie you'd want to watch 

 

me:  Who doesn't want 3 men to fall in love with them?

 

Q:  Would you?

 

me: No.  Probably not.  It causes her many problems

 

Q:  Ya.  That's what I mean

 

me: Ha.  You're very smart

 

Q: Ya

 

(and yes, I use punctuation in texts..)

Dear Quinn

Today, you are 10.

Double digits.

A decade.

I have so enjoyed getting to know you these past 10 years.  It has been the most fantastic journey and nothing in my life has compared to this experience, being your mom.  We've traveled through mama, mommy, and now here we've settled...mom.

I love that I know you inside out.  I know what makes you laugh (and how you laugh...it's bubbles out of you), what makes you sad.  I know how you deal with anger, and what makes you tick.  I know your hopes, your fears and everything in between.

I love our talks where you come out with the most insightful thoughts and ideas, and when I ask you where you heard them you say, "Just me...I have thoughts in my head, you know mom."  It gives me hope for the future, when it will be very, very important that you have your own thoughts in your head and that you've learned to listen to them so early on in life.  

I remember back to when you were just a baby, and then a toddler, and I would stare at you, wondering who you would grow to be.  It seemed it would take forever, and now it feels like it was just the blink of an eye.  Here you are 10 years old and I cannot imagine you any other way.  It feels as though I have known you forever.  You have always been a part of me, long before you were ever born and you will be until the end of time.  Of course you are who you are, who else would you be?

You have introduced me to the worlds of Pokemon, Beyblades, Skylanders, Lego, sharks, dinosaurs, cars, airplanes, soccer and hockey.  You have tested my patience and helped me (and it) grow.  You have made me laugh more than anyone I know.  You've made me cry a time or two as well, I'll admit.  You have held my hand.  You have pushed my boundaries.  You have brought me out of my comfort zone on many an occasion.  You have shown me how to love.  

You are honest, almost sometimes to a fault. You have a natural talent for sports, all sports.  You 'get' sarcasm, and have perfect comedic timing.  You have determination, and for a 10 year old, a very good plan for the future.  You understand things far beyond your years and part of me is sad that it's because you're an only child shuffled between two households.  I'm sad that I couldn't give you the life I had planned for you, with two parents together and tons of siblings running around annoying you.   But I do promise to do my best to help you make happy memories that you will cherish your whole life long.  I promise to teach you to do right by people.  I promise that I will help you through the terrible teens and the hormones and the acne and your very first broken heart.  I promise to help you make the right choices in life and help you grow with strong morals and values worthy of a man of honor, a man of his word .  I promise to teach you about God and Jesus and the gift of grace.  I promise to remind you to see the best in everything, and to notice the beauty in every little thing, like the mountains and the super moon, and a beautiful sunset.

You and me, Quinnie, we can get through anything.  

You are my greatest joy and my little love.  You are so loved, by your Momma, your Nana and Grandpa and Matana, your Auntie Alice and Uncle Steve, and your Papa.  We can't wait (well, I guess we can wait...please don't grow too fast) for the next decade, and the one after that, and the one after that.

And the one after that.

Happy, Happy Birthday, my love!

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.

Q-isms: Smart A$$

Me:  Hey, Daddy is taking you to hockey tonight but do you want me to come and watch too?

Q:    I don't care

Me:  Oh....you don't care? Okay...so if I stay home and watch t.v., you're okay with it?

Q:   Well I want you to come, but if you have other stuff that's fine.

Me:  How about, "Mommy, I'd like for you to come"?

Q:    Okay

Me:  How's dinner?

Q:   Fine, I guess.

Me: Well, I guess you don't have to eat it and can go to bed without dinner...

Q:   No, I really like it. It's good.

But then...

(after a trip to Hawaii where he went snorkling every day with his dad)

Q:   Mommy, remember Dory from Finding Nemo?

Me:  Yep, I sure do...

Q:   Ya, I saw her!

Oh my goodness, what a conflict that must be going on inside that little 9 year old head of his. One day, moody and too cool and then the next, he's calling me mommy and thinks he's met a fish from a cartoon. It reminds me he's still my little boy, even though he swooshes his head to the right to get the hair out of his eyes, and says "I don't care" more than any one I know.

Parenting a Tween - Separation Anxiety (mine)

More on the ever evolving relationship between me and my son...

My Q just came home after spending a week in Hawaii with his dad, and dad's new gf.  I missed him like crazy.  It was the longest we've ever been apart.  Eight whole days.  

He says he didn't miss me (even though he's been sitting on the couch beside me every chance he gets).  And I kind of get it...I mean, he was snorkeling with turtles and Dory for a week.  I wouldn't miss me either.

It's also a natural progression in our relationship.  

Wouldn't there be a problem if he cried himself to sleep every night because he missed me?  

I imagined him coming home and us spending quality time together playing board games and watching movies and laughing over milk and cookies.

Instead, he asked if he could go play with the neighbor's kids.

I realized that this is how it's supposed to happen.  This is how it always happens, with every parent and every child ever in the history of parents and children.  Children grow up, and eventually they move away.  It would be unnatural if they didn't.  While I'm mourning the loss of my baby, he's feeling pretty okay with venturing out on his own a little more.  

My job now as his momma is to just be.  

I mean, he is only 9 so it would probably be pretty irresponsible of me to leave him home alone and have him make his own dinner.  

But...

I should be proud that there's a pretty huge chance he's not going to be living in my basement, with an extensive action figurine collection when he's an adult.  

It's my perspective that has to change on the situation.  

I think this is probably why God imagined a husband and a wife raising children together.  As the children grow, the parents' relationship with each other changes and evolves, and grows stronger.  Meanwhile, my relationship with my blog is growing...

Back to School 2013/2014

Where does the time go?

 

My baby, who it seems like just started crawling yesterday, is in grade 4.

 

Grade 4.

 

*Sigh*

 

Back to school is notoriously hard for us in the M household. 

 

The week before starts with major anxiety (Q's yes, but I'm not going to lie...me too...), tummy troubles, mood swings and tear.

 

Oh, the tears....they kill me.  They break my heart.  I want to say, "Okay, okay, you do not have to go to school.  Ever.  Who needs to read and write?"  And then common sense gets the better of me and I remember that even if I want to keep him home, it's kind of well, isolating and uhhhh, illegal. 

 

Sooooooo, we try to deal with it in other ways.

 

We do some cognitive therapy (who knew that depression in my early 20's would come in handy when parenting!!!).  As in:  What is the absolute worst thing that could happen?  Like the most outrageous, ridiculous, impossible thing that you can think of?  And then let's work our way back from there.  Forgetting your homework isn't such a big deal when you stat by being kidnapped by aliens.  And then we can kind of laugh about all the ridiculous scenarios.  Not to make light of the situation, but to acknowledge that by talking about things, you immediately take some of their *scary* away. 

 

We went to the school early on the first day so that we could walk around before too many people were there.  We became familiar with the surroundings again.  We found his class.  We came prepared. 

 

He was super moody the night before, and I was beyond frustrated.  I received some really good advise though, from some moms with 8 kids combined.  And so I tried it.  Even though I was irritated and angry, I said...

 

"Q.  I love you so much.  I always have and always will.  Nothing you do will ever, ever change that." 

 

Slowly, his mood changed. 

 

He said..."Mommy.  Can we talk about school before I go to sleep?"

 

And so we did.  We talked about his friends, the teachers through the years, his classmates, his favourite class, recess, lunch, everything.  We talked about everything.  For a long time.  I told him I was so proud of him and he was so brave for tackling this fear head on.

 

There were minimal tears.  A few the night before, but he did not burst into tears while standing in line.  He did not cling to me.  Even other parents commented on how well he did. 

 

I think I'm getting the hang of this parenting thing...although every time I think I've reached a comfort zone in parenting, everything changes and I realize I have no idea what I'm doing. 

 

Here's to Grade 4.  May it be the least stressful year yet!!

 

 

Well....there were no tears but I guess a smile was too much to ask!!!  Cool kids don't smile, and I'm pretty sure I was lucky the two of them stayed still long enough to take a memory :) 

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. 

Happy Birthday to Q

My little bug turned nine last week.  Nine whole years of wonderfulness filled with Q.  I cannot imagine my life without him.  He makes everything better in a million different ways.

 

But....

 

I'm having a really hard time with Q turning 9. 

 

And going into grade 4.

 

I'm mourning the loss of my baby.  My toddler.  My little boy.

 

Because now he is 9.

 

His feet smell (worse than before)...

 

He'd rather hang out with his friends than with his momma.

 

He says I'm weird.  There was a time when he wanted to marry me - okay....so I guess it's a good thing he doesn't want to do that anymore - but still how do you go from that to *weird*?

 

He has opinions on everything from his hair (it's long) to his clothes (baggy). 

 

I'm flooded with memories of him being a baby lately, and it makes me so sad that I can barely remember the smell of his sweet skin, his new voice, his soft skin.  I miss holding him in my arms and rocking him to sleep.

 

Plus, he's going through this really annoying phase (Eeps, at least I hope it's a phase...).  It's like his goal every day is to annoy me.  He sass talks me.  He's loud. 

 

I guess that he's going through this little thing called...growing up.  Whether he or I like it or not, this is a process we cannot ignore or think won't happen.  I read somewhere that boys go through a testosterone surge at 2 (sooooo funny, my friends son started grunting everything at 2 - like from "owwww, I stubbed my toe" to "hi! how are you?") so maybe they go through another one at 9?

 

I am no longer the center of my son's universe.  I know it's normal for this to happen.  It's even really good for this to happen.  I knew it was coming all along.  But nothing could prepare me for it.  Especially because he is still the center of my universe. 

 

I am so dreading the teen years. 

 

At least I cannot legally leave him alone yet.

 

At least he can't drive.

 

Or drink.

 

Or do long division...

 

I guess we've got a while to go yet. 

 

And he still sleeps with his favourite blanket...

 

So, no matter what, he'll always be my baby.  Even though he can't see through his hair...

 

Happy Birthday to my beautiful (baby) boy!!

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????