..... since I had my heart broken by a 14 year old boy. And after all that time, I've become fairly confident that it wouldn't happen again. I quit dating boys that age when I was that age. I grew up, dating older boys. Eventually marrying one of them. Started my own little family. Began the rewarding task of raising my two beautiful boys. Boys that loved and adored me. Boys that thought I could do no wrong and was the most perfect, "bestest" mom in the whole wide world. Life was working out wonderfully.
Until I suddenly found myself the mother to a 14 year old boy.
Who, for reasons known only in his testosterone-soaked, frustrated with all things related to Freshman English and Algebra 9, nothing my parents ever do is right or good enough teenaged mind decided today to reduce his mother to tears. Not once, but several times.
The first was over, of all things, his stupid cell phone. That, even though he will claim it was due to incidents and cosmic forces completely beyond his control, he broke. We went to the Verizon store to see if it could be fixed. Nope. No suck luck. Which apparently was the result he was hoping for, as in his mind it meant he could get a new one. Totally sucked for him, though, when it was discovered that I've been carrying insurance on that phone; so all I have to do is call the number and they will send him a new phone exactly like the one he's currently using. (Well, mostly. They don't actually make his model anymore, so he'll get the updated version of it.) That was not what he wanted to hear. Apparently, rather than just accept that I *still* have to spend $50 on the stupid replacement phone, he would rather I spent $150 on the phone he really wants. It might have helped me at that point to just calmly remember that ungratefulness makes me cry. Then I could have just taken him home and avoided the next confrontation.
It gets better.
We moved on to the pet store for dog food, and he refused to get out of the truck to come in and help me carry the 50 pound bag of food. Ok, to be fair, he didn't so much refuse as do the whole eye-rolling, huffing and puffing, whining thing about how he'd rather stay where he was, thankyouverymuch. So I left him, and went inside where at least the animals there were friendly.
This next part of our afternoon was probably the worst. This is where we progressed to name calling and full on, Category 10 attitudes. In the interest of fairness, I was probably almost as bad as he was at this point. I had been enduring several solid hours of his puki-ness (yes, its a word!), and had reached my breaking point.
Jock has an English paper due on Tuesday. Its a fairly major research paper/persuasive essay. He's had the assignment for 6 weeks. Guess how much work he's actually completed on it? Go on.... guess. If you guessed any number above ZERO, you'd be wrong. Well, he has done something. He picked a topic.
Now, I can make excuses three ways to Sunday for this kid for almost anything. I'm just weak like that. However, the fact remains that once he found himself having any sort of difficulty with this assignment, he absolutely should have come to SOMEONE for help. His teacher, certainly. His mother should have been a given. *sigh* But he didn't. He waited until his baseball coach came to me to discuss his eligibility, which prompted me to email his English teacher, which prompted our confrontation. (And yes, it was a confrontation. I'm not proud of that, but I've never claimed I had this parenting thing perfected, either.) Anyway, after much whining and excuse making, he agreed that he should have come to me before this, but could I please, Please, PLEASE help him now, Mom? Being the weak, give in to almost anything sort of mom that I apparently am, I agreed to help. Of course, that was when I was under the impression he'd appreciate it. Silly mom, thank you's are for grown ups!
So we are spending this long weekend working on his English paper. I take a break every time he gets pissy, so we don't start fighting again. Which means that this whole process will take at least twice as long as it needs to. But as God is my witness, this paper WILL get done.
And as an added bonus? I'm learning WAY more about the damn NFL Instant Replay System than I ever thought I would. That ought to make me a lot more fun when football season rolls around again!