No one told me that mothering an 11 year old was going to be hard. Everyone mentioned the terrible two’s, which we never really experienced ~ Pierce was a monster at 3. Everyone has mentioned the “teen years”, but no one said that they’d start at 11, and not in high school as we had been led to believe.
I’m being honest when I say, I was completely not prepared for this. The words “calm yourself” come to my mind and out of my mouth more times than I care to count in a week.
Luckily, a complete stranger warned me, so I will warn you. She was a teacher in the 5th grade at another local school, and she was on spring break when she visited my office. As we were chatting she asked, “has your 5th grader stopped speaking to you?” She then said, the transition usually took place “over spring break” which we were on at the time. When I said, not yet, I felt lucky as she mentioned the mood swings, closed doors and the break from wanting to hug and be around mom at that time. I thought I was the lucky parent that would somehow skip this stage. But I was wrong.
Over the past few weeks, Pierce has begun sleeping with his door closed. His door stays closed most of the time he is in there even when awake these days. I have become what feels like the enemy, and I no longer get snuggles, I get “mom you are embarrassing me”, or “mom I already know that”.
I have almost uniquely overnight become an outcast in my own home and the dumbest person to walk the planet. Anything I say, is countered, with sass. The sass is strong in this one. I guess all those years of loving Star Wars will now haunt me. My former “sidekick” and “assistant” would rather not be seen with me, or have much to do with me.
I can tell you, that as a mom, it’s completely like having the wind knocked out of you. Had that teacher not mentioned it to me, I would have not been on the lookout and I would have been completely knocked down. It hurts. To have someone go from showering you with love and affection to thinking you are the most embarrassing thing walking the earth, it’s earth shattering.
This morning, I had come downstairs to make breakfast for myself. Pierce and I have been trying to cook together daily for breakfast with me cooking mine and him cooking his. I had finished cooking when he finally dragged himself downstairs. That’s when the day went to crap.
P: What can I have for breakfast?
Me: You can have pancakes, a bagel, toast, a grilled cheese or daddy picked you out these pastry things that are in the freezer.
P: I don’t want any of those.
Me: Want me to help you make eggs?
P: No.
Me: Well what do you want?
P: I don’t know.
I continue to eat and tell him he needs to hurry up as time is wasting and I need to get him to school and get myself to work {I also started a new eating plan today so I was trying to skip Starbucks and stress to make the transition easier}.
*Crash goes the pan on the stove*
Me: What are you cooking?
P: A grilled cheese. *As he is rifling through the fridge and pouting about not finding the pepperjack cheese*
P: *loudly* Where is the pepperjack?
Me: I put it in the bag with the american cheese because you can’t lay deli cheese in the drawer unwrapped. *He just put it in the drawer the day before and threw away it’s wrapping ~ who does that?*
P: Will you make me some bacon?
Me: Sure. I’ll do it in a second let me finish my breakfast.
P: *freaking out and crying* Why won’t you help me with the bacon?
Me: “Calm down”. I’m trying to finish my eggs while they are hot. Bacon takes 30 seconds.
{end scene}
But it doesn’t end there. He cried. He got red faced. He got mad because I told him to calm down, and calmly saying “calm down” means you are “mad at him” and that you screamed. So then, as an adult, you choose the high road, and by high road, I mean, you loudly scream “Calm Down” and mention that’s what screaming sounds like. Because that’s good parenting folks. NOT.
He cooked his grilled cheese ~ on high. It blackened, and I mentioned never cooking on anything more than 5 (medium) and was met with complaints, groaning, and more crying.
After much more crying, grumbling, and him sassing, we make it to the car. I remark to my husband that I now know why mother’s eat their young for about the millionth time in 3 weeks. We drive to school, and while on the way he tells me to say “I’m sorry”, after which he will apologize and somehow I have to say it 15 times while he gets to say it once. For the record, I said it the first time nicely and to make peace {new diet, lack of Starbucks ~ I want no stress and peace} and that rendition wasn’t good enough. So, I was told to say it appropriately, 14 more times, and each time I changed my voice and said it quickly or ridiculously because it was a charade to prove he was in control ~ and he can’t control me. He finally said I’m sorry, we hugged and he walked into school and sat crying at a table while I left. Because there is nothing more calming then crying on display for everyone to get some sympathy that your mom is the dumbest and most embarrassing person to walk the planet.
If I survive this next year it will be a miracle. Remember this story friends. It starts over Spring Break in 5th grade. Prepare yourself. Because it isn’t pretty and your baby will turn into a monster you no aren’t prepared to meet.
