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. 

Lessons at Middle Age

I've learned something about myself recently - which in and of itself is pretty amazing considering how old I am.  You'd think that by the time you hit 35, you'd know everything there was to know about yourself.  Evidently this is not the case, because I just had a pretty big life lesson.

Feeling as though life was passing me by, that I was wasting my nights away with my nose in a book, or blogging, or watching "Greys Anatomy" - I resolved to take on more projects.  I was going to be busy.  Life was going to be hectic.  Every moment from dawn to dusk would be filled - it was going to be great.  I was going to feel useful and productive and a real live contributing member of society. 

And it's not like it's any big deal.  I mean people do it all the time and they thrive.  They're the better for it.  I was so excited.  There are two people who come to mind immediately who are constant over achievers and they LOVE it.  You two, you know who you are.  I am amazed by how much they fit into a 24 hour period.  I wanted to be just like them. 

At Q's school, I volunteered to be the 'Emergency Preparedness Coordinator', Editor of the PAC (they don't call it the PTA anymore...it's the PAC - Parent Advisory Committee) newsletter (monthly distribution to 245 families), and I also volunteered to organize a Christmas craft for 66 children at a Christmas Craft night at the school.  This involved cutting out and sewing together by hand 66 felt coffee sleeves. 

Next, I joined a book club.  I was super excited about this.  A whole bunch of ladies sitting around discussing a great read, drinking wine and eating appies?  Seriously, what could be better??  Nothing much in my books.

Q has soccer twice a week and skating lessons on Tuesday.  Tack on a half an hour to an hour a day practicing for his spelling test on Friday (by Thursday night we were still spelling Invisible, i-l-l-i-s-e.  There were tears and I don't think they were Q's).

Christmas at the Post Office is always a little...hectic (and that is putting it mildly).  It's pretty much a given that I will work 6-7 days a week for the month of December.  This is the deal.  Co-workers post statuses on FB about not being contactable for a month and not to start looking for their body or knocking their front doors down.  The thing is, I love being super crazy busy at work.  It makes the day go by fast.  I feel useful.  I feel smart!

I was busy seven days a week. Busy, busy, busy.

Turns out, I do not thrive being busy all the time.  Turns out, I am the type of person who thrives being at home in the evening reading a good book, watching a t.v. show or two, imparting my wisdom on my blog and getting an average of 9-10 hours of sleep a night.

Seriously.

I had four loads of clean laundry sitting on my couch for a week because I didn't have time (or was too exhausted) to fold it.  I hadn't grocery shopped in weeks and just ran to the store for essentials like milk and bread.  The house was a mess.  Q was eating Chef Boy-R-Dee or McDonald's for dinner like every night.  Christmas cards that I pride myself in making every year had gone unmade.  My blog was neglected.  My friends were neglected.  My life was in disarray.  I was in a continual state of agitation and panic.  

The rush I get from being busy at work is not the same rush I get from being busy in LIFE.  

I haven't read a book in months.  I had to bail on the book club.   I bought store made Christmas cards and have been carrying them around in my purse for a week now, hoping to find the time on my lunch break to write "Merry Christmas, Love C and Q!!"

I learned my lesson. 

I am not an over achiever.  I am an achiever.  That is it.  I love having my nose in a book whenever I get a free moment.  I love writing on my blog.  I love having a clean house, with clean clothes.  I even really like making Q a healthy meal for dinner and having time to clean it up afterwards.  I love, love, love sleeping - and functioning on 6 hours is NOT an option. 

I cannot change who I am. Well, I guess I could...if these qualities were really super bad or destructive.  But I think in this case I'll just roll with it.  I don't want to run myself ragged for the rest of my life.  I want to be happy.  I can take on a volunteer project here and there, sure.

But my number 1 priority right now, is raising a healthy, happy child.  And the best way to do that is being healthy and happy myself. 

And by actually being there, present.  That's pretty important too.

I guess an old gal really can learn new tricks.

Let me Check my Schedule

I wonder if I should be concerned about the amount of time I spend alone.  I spend a lot of time alone.  I'm actually a little bit embarrassed to admit how much time I spend by myself. 

I have reasons (excuses). I work very hard.  I spend 8 hours a day with my *A* game.  I need to know multiple business processes and recognize multiple product types.  One mistake and my company can lose money.  I like to think I have a strong work ethic and I don't like to make mistakes.  I carry it personally, so screwing up is not an option.  I need to be decisive.  Work can be stressful only because I make it so.  I manage people and my job is to be really super personable.  It's not just my job, though.  I enjoy being kind and compassionate towards people.  I think it's important to be caring towards others, because everyone is fighting a battle of some sort.  But sometimes, it can be taxing to be nice to that person in the grocery store when all you want to do is tell them to move their slow, fat ass out of way so you can reach the Activia yogurt.  Or to the guy banging on my car window this morning - while I'm in the drive thru line with my son in the back seat - because I won't give him a quarter so he can go buy a smoke off someone. I had some choice words for this guy telling me I have more money than he'll ever have.  That may be so, dude, but I've also worked my ass off for it, so why don't you go get a job and then we'll talk.  Instead, I just smiled.  

I'm a single mother to a very busy 7 year old boy, and that's a full time job in itself.  Homework and reading and hockey and soccer and he asks, "Why?" an awful lot.  He's an only child, he needs (wants) me to play with him and entertain him and interact.  I can't say, "Go play with your brother."  And I don't really enjoy playing hockey.  I'm a 'Game of Life' whiz, let me say.  Me time, often, is quiet time.

I have friends.  Really, really great friends.  Like awesome friends.  I have single friends and married friends.  I have new friends and old friends.  I have friends with kids and friends without.  I have friends that have been there with me through thick and thin, and friends who I know would be should the need arise.  I am so blessed by the people I have in my life.  But schedules are difficult to coordinate, and a social life is expensive. 

I'm tired.

I'm exhausted.  I look forward to getting home and putting on my fleece jammie pants, my favourite hoodie, flipping on the t.v. and watching 'Dancing with the Stars'.  I look forward to eating chocolate when no ones watching.  I look forward to Grey's Anatomy.  In fact, it's a highlight of my week.  I love my computer and my iPhone and stupid little word games that shut off my brain. 

I'm a homebody by nature.  I can easily watch a documentary on Thailand and feel completely content that it's there and that I've seen it without actually having to experience it.  I can read a book about a love story written in France and feel as though I've lived in France for my whole life.  I can imagine stories in my mind and feel as though I'm missing nothing of the world.

I love going to bed.  I have a really, really comfy bed and an awesome duvet.  After Q was born and I suffered post partum depression, sleep was instrumental in my recovery.  I notice whenever I get silly and super stressed and anxious, it's usually because I haven't had enough sleep.  And enough sleep for some is 6-8 hours, but for me...10 hours is perfect, but I can function on 8.  Sleep is my coping mechanism.  It keeps me sane. 

But I have to wonder if there is more to life than the one I'm living.   While I'm sitting at home scrolling through Pinterest, people are out there....living.  While I'm playing 'Words with Friends', there are real live friends out there for the taking.  I wonder if I'm missing out on the finer things in life, and why am I okay with it?  Is it fear? Am I so comfortable in my bubble, too fearful to see what's outside?  Is it complacency?  Coming home to my jammies is so easy.  I'm so concerned with my life meaning something and yet I'm not really doing anything to make it so.  My greatest fear is dying and my tombstone reading, "Who?" but at the rate I'm going, people might just wonder where User 3738499 went on Draw Something. 

Even my mom (extreme irony here) says I need to get out more.  She gets out more than I do, and she's more than 20 years older than me.  I mean, if anyone should be getting 10 hours per night, it's her.  Right, Ma?

So, I guess what I'm saying is....have a free evening?  Give me a call.  I'm free.  I'm reaaaaaaaaally free.  Except on Thursdays, cuz that's Grey's Anatomy.  I guess there's PVR, though.  I could PVR it...Okay, so ya I'm free.

The Crazy Fish Lady

I have no fear of becoming the 'crazy cat lady.' I don't have any cats. I have fish. Two of them. I talk to them. They get all excited when I do. They come to the surface of their bowls and flitter their fins, and I can feel their love. I feel it. I feel the love.

My fear, especially recently, is becoming the crazy fish lady. The ranting crazy fish lady. I feel myself slipping into rant mode more and more often. You think I'm joking, but I was actually in bed and had to get out in order that I may write a rant blog. Let me tell you, I am pounding the keys right now. Oh. Yes. I. Am. and it feels good. Sooooooo good.

For instance, I feel as though writing a rant letter to the newspaper would be absolutely appropriate right now. Why? Oh I will tell you why. On the third page of the newspaper (so important, right?) they do a full article about this MP (Member of Parliament for my US counterparts) named Hedy Fry who thinks that they should put an H1N1 clinic offering vaccines at Parliament Hill in Ottawa specifically for government type folk. For the simple reason that she has to shake hands all day long, and God knows who she's touching. Are you KIDDING me?!?!?!?!?! Isn't it the Government who has created a whole campaign around not shaking hands at all, but maybe giving "knuckles" or touching elbows instead? Oh, yes. Yes, it is. So why the Newspaper decided to make this breaking news is beyond me. And furthermore, who says you're more important than I am? Really? Get in line, sister. Get in line.

Along the H1N1 rant....ever since it was discovered, there has been mass hysteria created around it. Where ever there is H1N1, you can be sure there is a reporter and a government official calling it a 'pandemic.' So, Health Canada goes around spouting off about some vaccine that has been created and tested and they're suggesting that EVERYONE gets the shot. In fact, they go so far as to call this the "young person's" virus, and then officially recommend that everyone get it. They say it's "critical" that everyone in Canada under the age of 65 get it. People are dying, dammit. Dying! What's wrong with you people? Do you want to die????? They fail to mention that people die from the ordinary old flu every year. So, get the flu shot, okay? Oh, and by the way, we don't actually have enough for everyone. We weren't expecting such a big response to the vaccine shot, I mean, geez people it's just the flu...

I decide to get Q vaccinated. Only because I would feel absolutely horrible if he did get it, and I knew there was something I could have done to prevent it. So, I call my doctor's office last week and I'm told by the receptionist that he's not high risk, so call back on Tuesday. Today is Tuesday. I called back. And the exact same woman answers and tells me they're all booked up for 5 year olds. Oh no no no no no. (Please note: I am usually very passive aggressive...) I say: "Well, this is really frustrating, because I spoke to you last week, and you told me to call back on Tuesday. I'm calling back and you're saying there's no available appointments?" She gets all snotty with me and puts me on hold for 10 minutes. She comes back on the line and says "I have Thursday at 2:20." "Uh, he has school until 2:35" "Well, then I guess you're going to have to pull him out early, aren't you?" I take a deep breath. "Okay." See, she has the power. She can cancel that appointment without telling me, if I'm not polite. That is cruel. Just cruel. She tries to hang up, but I have more. I need to book my physical. "Look," she says. "I'm busy. There's a line up out the door. I don't have time for you. Call back tomorrow." And she hangs up. Are you kidding me? Are you?!?!?!?!?!

I'm yelling at drivers. This is completely fair, though. Last time I checked, we all had to learn the same rules of the road and take the same test before we could drive. So, you all know - just as well as I - that the right lane is for the slow cars and the left lane is for me. GET OUT OF MY LANE. We also all know that when you're turning left, you pull out into the intersection and then turn when safe to do so. So, pull out into the effing intersection. You also know that there is a speed limit. Go the speed limit. If you don't feel comfortable going 50km/hr, then you don't get to drive. My kid can drive better than you. And by the way, if you're not turning...why are you driving with your signal on? And yes, I am perfect. Check my record. Not even a speeding ticket...

If this is supposed to be therapeutic, we are in trouble my friends. My blood pressure is sky rocketing. I can feel it with every word I type. So, I am going to spare you (and my heart) the agony of listening to me rant about my ex. And my best friends ex....what is it with men? Sometimes, all I can do is pray for a big bus (uh.....ha, ha....ha...)

I am single. I have fish. I dislike the BS that comes with men. I talk to my fish. I rant. Out loud. Oh, did I forget to mention that - I'm talking out loud to myself? Well, it's more like muttering, but whatever. I fit the bill. The crazy fish lady bill.

What a week to quit smoking. Note to self....pms + withdrawal = does not play well with others...

I'm going to go take an Atavan. Maybe that will help.