Recently, I read a blog about how the author (I'm not mentioning names here) felt that she was unfit to be a mom sometimes.
With my chin held high, I explained that she was an awesome Mom because she cared. And I typed my comment with confidence and pride in the fact that I'd felt that way before.
Today is ONE OF THEM DAYS, folks.
I have to be honest, I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of fighting with the kid. I'm tired of constantly pointing out the things he does wrong, because the things he does right, are fewer than those he does wrong, lately.
His whole attitude of late is: "I can't do it!" or "I don't want to do it!" or "I need help - my homework is too hard" or "I'll do it tomorrow - i want to relax cuz, phew, I'm just too tired," [Enter exasperated sigh, with proverbial back of the hand to the forehead, looking upward, head shaking and dumbfounded, with an unbelievable dramatic flare, here].
I'm at my wits end. My patience has gone from unsurmountable - to an empty tank. I think, both, LilDeblynn and I are at a loss.
I'm not an over-achiever by any stretch (tho' Deb arguably is), but Jeezuz...
Here's what happened yesterday - but first, I'd like to give some history as to why I thought yesterday's drama was simply RIDICULOUS.
When i was 7 years old, I would visit my grandmother every Friday night - and I would spend the weekend with her. It was a thing. Times were different then, I realize that, completely, Ok? I get that. To show HOW different a time it was. I would get off of school at 3:30pm (not 2:15pm), and I would walk to the bus-stop at the corner of the street, and I would take public transportation across the city to my grandmother's apartment building - on my own. Armed with the $5 that my father gave me THAT morning, I would walk down the back alley way, leading to the back door of an Italian Restaurant, (no doubt run by a mob), place my $5 down on a half-door ledge and order a box of Zucchini Fries (which came in a large pizza box full!!!! With my $1 change, I would walk up to my grandmother's apartment and visit with her, while having my zucchini fries and a can of coke ... ALL at the age of 7 years old.
On Saturday mornings, I would wake up at 6am, and watch my cartoons. By 10am, it was breakfast time, and my grandmother would ask if I'd like to cook my breakfast myself. "Hell ya!!! Gimme a frying pan, some bacon grease and potatoes, and I'll whip us up some home-made home fries and eggs baby! ya!!"
My Grandmother showed me how to cook eggs and bacon, and homefries... I wasn't allowed to do it until she was up, however, but when she woke up - i fired up the stove and cooked for myself.
by 8 and 9 years old, i was baking cookies, and cooking steaks. I could cook a roast when i was 10 - and Spaghetti by 11 -- was cooking dinner for my family between the ages of 12 and 18 ...
So when Raymond, last night, said, "I'm hungry," i thought in my heart of hearts, "I'll let him cook an egg sammich!" just as my grandmother did. When i was allowed to cook at age 7, I was excited.
Raymond? Not so much! Not giving in to his misgivings, I encourage.. "no - you do it yourself.. you'll see - it's super easy."
And then the same ol' words came out.. "How 'bout if it isn't?!"
GOD I HATE THOSE WORDS!!! Fucking "What if.." questions drives me insane, people. IN ...... SANE!
I explained the entire process. Not once.. but 3 times. I wanted him to do it on his own.. we were in the very next room, with quick access to the kitchen... if there was a nightmare, we could be there in two seconds... we just wanted him to be proud of a NEW accomplishment. Like i did when i was a boy!
We talked him through it - all the while, he was tear ridden... After 3 minutes of "pulling teeth" Raymond, in a HUGE FIT of drama, he started screaming like he was shot in the back with a .45 pistol at a drug-raid! We get up - and he's bawling.. "I "accidentally" touched the metal part of the handle when i was moving the pan" ... he cradled his pinky finger. Now.. the metal part of the pan, would be next to the INDEX finger... NOT the pinky... there was no burn mark.. and he kept poking at it saying it hurts...
Essentially, he sabotaged his entire effort in order to get out of doing it..
That is the story of our lives people. Raymond trying to get out of doing ANYTHING he doesn't like. Homework. Chores. Eating dinner that's good for him (instead of Toast with sugar on it - which is what he wanted instead of an egg sammich).
Oh, btw, the finger today? Not a mark!
It drives me insane. Batty. Crazy. up the wall and around the bend.
I push hard because, Raymond needs to be pushed. If we didn't... he would do nothing. The boy is smart, bright .. but lazy as fuck. And I have to be honest, I'm starting not to care. I'm getting to the point where, I don't care what he eats. I don't care if he wears a sweater on a cold day outside or not, because the sweater is upstairs, and even tho' it's cold out, going upstairs seems like too much of an effort to stay warm - so best just freeze and who cares right? Ya.. I don't care about that anymore. I don't care what he eats. Wants to eat Sugar in a bowl... Fuck if it means peace and quiet in my home - then so be it!
Homework? What's that, anyway? Dont' wanna do it.. DON"T .. i don't care. Flunk..
I said that to deb last night. He deserves to fail. In fact, I think he needs to. he needs to taste failure because he doesn't realize how good he's got it.
He's content to be like his dad (which isn't me btw)... A grade 9 drop out - and a non-owner truck driver by necessity, who recently bought a t-shirt for his child with "School Books for sale; NEVER BEEN USED" on its chest. Way to enforce your stupidity ASS HAT!!!
It's too bad he doesn't aspire to be more like his mom ... who's a hero really. She's fuckin' smart. Accomplished, by working HARD with very little and successful. But that'd require work, and it's much easier to have other people do everything for you.
I'm saddened and depressed about it. I'm depressed because it reminds me of the fact that I'm not happy in my working situation, and i'm hard pressed to find the courage to leave it. Simply put.. I can't afford to take a pay cut. we are at the very limit of our finances and a move at this stage of the game would mean at least ONE missed paycheck, and a huge financial strain.
After Raymond went to bed last night, I looked at Deb and said, "I'm not cut out for this, I don't think. I simply don't have the patience anymore." and what saddened me even more, was she looked as helpless as I felt.
Fighting back with the boy isn't working. It's not. It's worthless, and i'm loosing far too much hair over it, and the hair that is remaining it turning white. I've endeavored not to care.
When he came down this morning he said, "Good morning Al.. You know.. I think i want an egg sandwich for breakfast," I told him in no uncertain terms, "Don't frackin' start with me,"
I'm afraid that this kid may be doomed as an adult, eating hot dogs and microwave kraft dinner for the rest of his life, and that I've failed to be a parent.
I'm not perfect. And sometimes I think my life would be so much simpler if I just didn't give a shit!