I think my kids and I are reaching an impasse. It's a sort of a mutual loathing thing, probably brought on by too much "bonding" time. The kicker was probably the road trip last week to my sister's, in which I was their personal valet and lackey, available 24/7, at their beck and call.
When are these kids going to start taking some responsibility for their lives?! One night on vacation, I sent The Boy to the bathroom to take a shower, and 20 minutes later, I checked on him, only to find that he was standing naked in the middle of the bathroom, waiting for God knows what. I told him, "Bathe!" He answered that he didn't have a towel. I pointed at the towel and returned 10 minutes later. He was still in the same place. "What?" He answered, "I'm afraid the hot water is too hot." Now, that's about when I start wondering when he'll start acting like a ten-year-old child and not a six-month-old baboon baby. (Note that his last complaint was just understandable enough to make me help him. But I probably shouldn't have.)
Or maybe it's just my expectations are too high.
This afternoon, after a long morning, I sent him to type up an essay he had written. I told him to take the laptop to the kitchen and type up the paragraph. After 15 minutes of getting, "I'm working on it," I found him playing with Microsoft Paint. "Why aren't you doing your work?" "I don't have my paragraph that I wrote." "Sooooo, go get it! What are you waiting for? Solve the problem. Go get it!" "I don't know where it is." "Where did you put it? It's in the drawer marked 'writing', where you put it. Go get it, take it to the table, open wordpad, type in the paragraph, and save it. Do not play, do not insert pictures, do not goof off any further! Do you understand?! Just DO IT!!"
The Husband doesn't understand why I yell so much, but I do. Example. I call over the partition wall, "Boy, go brush your teeth; it's bed time." No answer. I softly pronounce the word "cookie", and the answer comes back, "What? Cookies?" Busted. They hear, evaluate, and disregard. Little bastards.
Ahem. Sorry.
Seriously, what's up with that? After ten hours of being ignored by The Boy and having The Girl shout random phrases at me all day until I repeat them for her -- "'Every Dinosaur Poops' is a Dinosaur Train episode!" -- I get a little nasty. It's like having a really needy cat that won't leave you alone.
Even now, I get a sour feeling in my stomach even admitting this. I'm stuck homeschooling for the next eight years. There isn't a school in this county (public or private) that could teach The Girl, and The Boy is just too easily stressed to put back into the public schools right now. There is an aspie school that The Boy could attend, but their academic standards are pitiful. The moms of these kids are just desperate to send their boys to a school where they're not beaten up every day.
So here I am. I have no options. I can't change the children. I can't change my lifestyle. Oh, wait, wait for it -- I can only change myself. Doesn't that sound like a plaque for your kitchen wall?
Too bad I don't feel like it. I'm constantly changing myself, going the extra mile, doing the extra research, finding ways to teach reluctant, resistant children. And they have the nerve to behave as if this is their role -- to resist learning and be as rude about it as possible.
*sigh* We're going to a "music for young people" orchestra concert in The Big City this Friday. We got our reservations back in August before it sold out. Now, The Boy is refusing to go. I even played Spike Jones' William Tell Overture for him! Nothing is moving him from his position. He won't say why he doesn't want to go, except that it's stupid and he hates it. He gets stressed out easily, but this isn't reasonable, even for him. I'm going to drive an hour and a half each way to a concert during which my children will try to make me as miserable as possible. Yayyyyyy... Maybe I can glean some major public humiliation from it, too.
So, let's recap. They hate everything I hold dear, they ruin the furniture and barf on the rugs, they're uncooperative, and they make my life miserable. I hate to say what I'd do with them if they were dogs...
Stay tuned. Last I checked, the ASPCA won't take children. This will work itself out. Somehow. It always does.
4 comments:
Take two margaritas and call me in the morning. I feel your pain. I fear the day my children have to make decisions on their own or solve a problem about ANYTHING. They freeze. Instantly. It's the only time they ever hold still.
Maybe I'd stump them more often if it didn't consistently end in tears and screaming on their part and sheer frustration and headbanging on my part.
I sense burnout on your horizon. Or maybe closer. Take some time for yourself soon if you can!!!
Thanks for the encouragement. I just panic some days when I realize that they may never move out. They'll just travel with me forever like little lampreys, while I ask the question, "What happens when I die?" I think I'm going to need more chocolate -- and not the cheap stuff.
Ugh. How very hard and frustrating for you. Any chance you can find a tutor to take the edge off? I'd be EXHAUSTED being responsible for ALL OF IT.
But the bath story? That really cracked me up. Because mine have done the same thing.
OMG, it's my life! Wow, and here I thought it was just us, not-so-quietly going bonkers all on our own. Deep breathing (and those kitchen plaque sayings) get me through the days. Thanks for writing this.
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