Pre-Teen Drama

So, N is officially better.  Halfway through the day, he tried so hard to have a fever, but it failed.  Miserably.  At one point, he told me he was going to be so healthy...he was going to make his temperature lower than 98...like 95 or 96 or lower. 

I told him that's called hypothermia.

I had to run a couple of errands today, so I left him at home.  First on the list was going dark.  Every October, I dye my hair dark to commemorate my mom's first real treatment battling her cancer.  In October in 2009, the chemo she was taking for her stem cell transplant made her hair fall out, and I volunteered to shave my head with her, but she declined.  Secretly, I was glad (sorry, Mom!), but I would've done it.  Solidarity is huge, you know.  Instead, she suggested I do something different (she also doesn't really remember this, but I'm an elephant, so I do), so I went out and dyed my hair dark.  It was a dark brown with red undertones and it was beautiful.  I loved it!  And then, several months later, my hair was STILL red.  And for 2 years, I worked with my hair girl to try to remove the red.  It was a long process.

But, every year, without fail, I dye my hair dark during the second week of October in honor of my mom and her ongoing battle with cancer.  And then, I keep it dark until the spring when I experiment with all sorts of colors found in nature while returning to my natural dark blonde color.  It's what I do.  And I had to do it a little early this year because I will be in Houston hanging out with my dad and Seester and brother-in-law (Oh, and Stella!) next weekend because the boys have a long weekend from school (4 days) and they will be elsewhere.  We're going to a hibachi place for Stella's birthday on Thursday, so I have to make sure I'm there by 5:00 or I'm missing out. 

I. Am. Not. Missing. Out.

After I stopped by my mom's office to show off my newly darkened hairs, I headed home to assess the situation.  What I saw was a kid who did the absolute minimum of work sent to him by his teachers.  And I was mad.  So I blew up.  Loudly.  And then he blew up equally loudly and might have said, "Oh, there you go...you're back to being mad mom 'cause I'm not sick anymore.  Shocker."

It was not his finest afternoon/evening.  It ended with ugly crying and a whole lot of spewing...venom, hate, the whole nine yards.  To recap, I'm the bad parent, the worst mom in the history of forever, and he will never want to be anything like me ever in his life.

Fast forward 20 or so years...he'll be kissing the ground I walk on.  I'm not worried.

Been there, done that.

Aubs