I'm waging a battle for self-reliance. A battle for my son's self reliance with a dash of maternal retribution thrown in.
He needs to be up around 5:15 am to get ready for the 6:30 school bus. And I really dislike 5:00 am, but that's beside the point.
I've been waking his ass up for years now and frankly, some mornings it is really annoying to hear his alarm clock go off multiple times, know he's slapped at it and rolled over for another snooze, fully expecting me to get him up, make his breakfast and get his lunch ready, while he showers and then eats that very same breakfast while watching sports center.
Yes, I know, I created this monster by wanting to be the Mom that made sure my kids have a healthy breakfast before school, and I usually enjoy this part of the morning routine; once the caffeine has kicked in, we chat for a little while, clue each other in on details from the day before that were forgotten in the rush of the previous evening, discuss the Mets line-up and other silly shit that bonds us together. This is all well and good when things go smoothly.
They didn't go so smoothly Monday morning and I was cranky because I knew he'd ignored his alarm clock more than once because it kept waking me up and pissing me off. I yelled from my bed multiple times that it was time for him to get up and get ready, he responded each time verbally but failed to haul himself out of bed. When I finally got up and stalked into his room, I was pissed that he could not, would not, get himself up. So I yelled at him, loudly, snapping on the light and told him that he was late and I wasn't making breakfast.
He snarled back that I should have gotten him up earlier. I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN HIM UP EARLIER. My pre-caffeine mind barely took that in and I snapped back that he was old enough to get himself up. We exchanged cranky words for a while before he waved what I consider the red flag - Just because you're too lazy to come into my room and wake me up.
Yes, please read that again: Just because you're too lazy to come into my room and wake me up.
My brain exploded. So did the tenuous hold on my temper. I said many not very nice things to my son that morning. And I meant every word of them as they came spewing out of my mouth with extra special venom. I almost shoved the peanut butter & jelly sandwich I was holding, that I had made for HIM, into his face; it was a close call as I envisioned it in technocolor for a brief moment. Part of me still wishes I had, because every time I replay that scene in my head I want to go back in time and do just that. Childish and mean, yes, but oooh the imagery is so satisfying. Plus I knew he would have been so absolutely stunned that all bitching about not getting up would have been over.
Being the adult (barely), I held back on that action, told him I was not waking him up anymore & that he would have a new alarm clock that night and I hoped that he enjoyed making his breakfast, because I was done there as well.
Once the caffeine kicked in and the red haze of indignant maternal anger had faded, I realized that my temper had gotten the better of me and some of the words I tossed out in my immediate fury-fueled rant at his obnoxious head had been a bit severe, I took the high road and went into the bathroom while he was brushing his teeth and apologized for the meanness of specific words, not the reason, but the words themselves and that using them was wrong. I hate being cursed at during an argument and know exactly how I feel when mean words are hurled in my direction with the specific intent to cause pain, and my son is very much like me in that he takes words deeply to heart and that they cut him more than actions, so I knew that I had to repair the wounds I had inflicted in anger.
I also want my kids to learn that apologizing when you are wrong for being deliberately mean is important. The wounds that hateful, hurtful words cause, hurled in anger, often linger, leaving resentment and unbridgeable chasms or pain in their wake. I lived with that as a child, and I refuse, absolutely refuse, to hurt my children like that. If I do, as I did in this circumstance, I will lay my heart bare so they understand how much I regret the words I said, and then I will explain why I did, so we can address the underlining issues.
When he got home from baseball, there was indeed a new alarm clock on his bed. The packaging declared Extra Loud Alarm. I too can be snotty, with love.
He's been rushed getting ready every morning because he over shoots the alarm, and has had to make his own breakfast. There are lessons to be learned from calling your mother lazy.
I have made lunch however, because I am weak.
This morning was the worst so far, as I deliberately didn’t get up until almost 6, and I woke his sister up, which I knew would rouse his sleeping ass. When he saw the time on his new clock, he was steamed. I admit, I did lie in bed doubting the stance I had taken, twice I almost got up to nudge him out of bed, but damn it, I refuse to cave here. He’s going to be 15 in August and has to take responsibility for himself and for the words he uses, just as well as I do.
As he slammed around the house, showering, packing his lunch, bitching continually that I could have just gotten him up a little earlier, after all I woke his sister up and made her breakfast, why couldn’t I wake him up and help him, don’t I see that he has a problem waking up to the alarm, on and on he went, lamenting the unfairness of his morning and how mean and stupid this whole thing is. He’s like a damn battering ram, stubborn and relentless, when he wants to get his point across.
But not only am I still pissed, and slightly hurt, because you know, the lazy comment, I’m nimmune to this particular rant, because I’ll be damned if this kid thinks he’s going to get away with calling me lazy and not taking responsibility for himself.
So every time he bitched and moaned this morning and ranted why I couldn’t just get him up like I do his sister, I said I was too lazy to get him up. Having his words shoved back down his throat made him nuts.
There is a small petty part of me that feels good about that.
P.S. The worst most awful miserable part of this whole deabacle? I could hear both my very own smartass teenage attitude coming from my son's mouth and my mother's words being vomited from my own. I've already washed my mouth out with soap, thank you very much.
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