When I woke up this morning, I heard thunder rumbling, and thought "Great. More rain." but when I looked outside, the parking lot looked slick, which solicited a "Crap." and rousing N with a little more gusto than necessary so I could go out to warm up the car. When I opened the door, all I saw was white. Snow? During an apparent thunderstorm? Apparently so. I ran down the stairs (yeah, I know) and started my car, then ran back up them. I live on the edge, what can I say?
When I was digging through the closets looking for N's heavy coat that he wears maybe once a year, I realized it wasn't there...so my kid who missed 3 days of school because he was sick went to school in jeans and a hoodie. He fought me on the jeans, even though he saw the snow, and I might've flipped out and said, "I don't freakin' care if you want to wear jeans or not. You're wearing them, now go put on a long sleeve shirt, your hoodie, and get your butt to the car." I might've used "mad mom voice" too. I might've also mentioned how I couldn't wait for the bus to come so I could go back to bed.
When we headed down the stairs, my footprints had already been covered by fresh snow. N started to say, "See, Mom, it's not that cold outside. I could've worn sho..." and trailed off when he got the death glare of the century, or at least I think he did. Snowflakes, big fluffy snowflakes, were blocking my vision. He left, I went back upstairs, crawled under the covers...and couldn't go back to sleep. I hate it when that happens. Luckily, I was totally dedicated to going back to sleep, and eventually managed to complete my task.
And, y'all? It was glorious.
After school, N asked where B was, and I told him he was coming home tomorrow instead. N expressed sadness about this, and I asked him if he was feeling bad again. It just slipped out. He said he even went by B's class on purpose today to say hi and to tell him he'd see him later. It made my heart jump and my eyes got a little bit wet at this OBVIOUS display of affection for a brother that he normally claims to despise. OR maybe he's just really tired of me. I'd probably go with that one.
An hour or so later, I get a call from B's dad, asking if B can go ahead and come home because he's crying and saying he misses his brother. What?! Seriously, at this point, I'm wondering if I'm in an episode of The Twilight Zone because not one, but BOTH boys have been complaining about missing each other? Call it a January 15 miracle if you want, but I agreed to have B come home and bet that they'd be arguing in less than 45 minutes. (It was 37 minutes, to be exact. I set a timer.)
After the "fun" wore off, B started crying again, and all of these things just started spilling out. He always says he misses his dad, so I acknowledge and move past it, but he was crying about baseball. Apparently, his dad & stepmom told him he couldn't play this spring, something we had originally agreed upon, because B? The kid needs a team sport to "ground" him a little bit. He's out of control.
I sat him down on the couch and asked him what he wanted to do. He said he would skip baseball this spring and play it later, and my heart broke. I told him to think about it, and if he really wanted to play, I'd make it happen. Y'all should've seen his little face light up. He threw his arms around my neck and jumped his bony little butt into my lap.
Such an easy fix to a problem that should have never existed...you can't sit a 7 year-old down and explain to them, in "kid friendly" grown-up terms, that they can't do something they've already been told they could do. Whether he claims to understand what you're saying or not, he doesn't. It just frustrates me to no end.
And it makes me mad. Oh man, does it make me mad. Both of my boys will play ball this spring, and I will drive myself insane doing double practice/double game duty, but I'll do it...because I have to, because it's important to both of them, and that makes it doubly important to me.
I know that, at some point, they will both recognize that I hate being the "bad guy" parent, the one who sets and enforces the rules, the one who disciplines, and the one who sticks to her guns. I know that, one day, they will appreciate the fact that I did punish them, but that I also loved them. And even though they don't see it now, their punishments are acts of love...because there are far too many kids out there who don't see any repercussions for the things they do. My kids may be wild and out of control from time to time, everyone is...but they know when I mean business, and they know if they do something wrong, they're suffering the consequences.
And if that's all they remember when they grow up, well, I'll take it...Anyone can be a pushover parent. It takes emotions of steel, a mend-able heart, and an unwavering love, among so many other things, to be a respected parent.
When they grow up, have families of their own, and see that parenting is a true labor of love, I hope they think of me.
Aubs
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