My oldest son…my first born. The little peanut who grew from the time of my honeymoon and came into the world after almost 3 days of beyond painful labor and instantly forgave the moment I saw his sweet little face. The very person who made me a mom for the first time. The person who inspired me to be a better me – for him.
The person who today, is one of my best friends (he may differ) and my worst enemy. He can unexpectedly be a ball of sunshine and then expectantly these days, a jerk.
Considering how I was to my own mother at that age, it is a curse well-deserved and brought on it’s karma biting like a bitch! (I’m so, so, sorry mom!).
“Mr. Man”, as I like to call him, is a stranger to me these days. A known stranger. He is at the age where, “You don’t have to wait up for me” and “I’m 16, I’m almost an adult and can make my own decisions. Don’t tell me what to do!”, is heard daily for EVERYTHING! I breathe deep, step back to assess, try to find calm, rational, and creative ways to interact with this person. It’s almost ALWAYS wrong. And it seemed to have began overnight. I often question if I’ll ever see any remnant of my little peanut again.
When I do suspect a possibility of that remnant, it is usually during a he and I day where we are running errands – mainly for his benefit and therefore he is more human-like. Either way, it’s a day to let our hair down with a flow of worldly conversational topics in the way of latest video games, war, metal music, new technology, strategic college goals, why I piss him off, why dad is so cool…why I’m not…you know the drill. I take it all in stride being ever so careful not to bring up personal or potentially controversial topics that would set him off scolding me and wanting to jump out of the car in motion. I’m just pathetically thrilled he’s engaging.
We do have one thing in common; we both have a love for crude and witty humor. Case in point: We will be walking by the bra section and I’ll glance at a cute bra. He displays his embarrassment and tells me, “No! Keep walking!” I see this as a perfect opportunity and I grin a sly grin. As he walks off seemingly humiliated, I yell, “What do you think buddy, will your dad like this bra?!” He continues to walk off shaking his head. While the lady walking past him laughs and shakes hers.
He gets me back. Ten-fold.
He farts near someone we happen to be next to and blames it on me.
He tells random people I think they are pretty.
He covertly places random and undesired items in the cart in which I don’t realize is there until checkout, where he appears apologetic to the cashier, explaining for me that I have “old timers”, and haven’t picked up my “memory meds” yet.
He yells out publicly that I do not support his dream in becoming a Christian minister and proclaims I’m an atheist and horrible mother. (He actually wants to be a music teacher and I believe in the Christian faith, and I’m a good mom who is slightly self-questioning if I’m screwing it all up).
He tells me my life is over and the time has come to sit back and watch him live his life (Um, Okay).
I pretend I’m going to bonk him on the head, and he yells out, “Help, someone call CPS!”
And sadly, it’s all in fun.
We make bargains. If I buy him a milkshake, I ask if he’ll sing one song with me (He has an awesome voice). He tells me, “probably not”. I then say, “Don’t be unfun, it kills the soul”. He responds, “I have no soul mother”.
(And he knows I’m a sucker when he calls me “mother”.)
It’s the crude humor and witty remarks that is our common ground for now. It is my hope to be a tiny bit more civilized and expand on our commonality some day, but for now, this works on some level.
He is for the most part, a “good kid” and a typical “you don’t have to tell me, I know already” teenager with an intense Type “A” personality; striving for personal excellence and achievement – including a strong desire to always be right. If only he’d be nicer to his mommy.
In times of astronomical frustration, I have given him the infamous curse that my mother and so many other parents have given to their children; “I hope your children treat you like you treat me.” And as soon as it comes out of my mouth, I realize the high-pitched and screeching tone of my voice sounds just like my mother. (Heavy sigh.)