The ten year old is entering puberty and is all of a sudden fascinated with my body. I can’t even wear leggings at home without getting some uncomfortable stares. Each time I tell him “No thank you” he runs off in screams yelling “NO BRIAN!” to himself.
I wonder if I’ve somehow made this Oedipus Complex occur through some method of parenting but the hard truth is he is a boy entering puberty who knows nothing of social norms and how to deal with it.
That makes two of us, because I have no damn clue how to deal with it either.
The screaming from being told to stop staring at his Mom’s butt starts to escalate to other tantrum-like behaviors.
Meanwhile, my husband and I are in the midst of trying to transform the boys’ single beds back into bunk beds. The beds keep falling apart and we keep realizing we have put the wrong board here or there. The damn thing falls one more time and I knock over the cup that holds the screws everywhere. My husband looks like he is about to blow a gasket.
We’re putting the beds into bunk beds because it looks like the boys will be sharing a room in our new house much longer than anticipated as we can’t start renovating the upstairs in the back part of the house, where Corbin’s room is supposed to be, until after we replace the foundation on the back part of the house. Which, of course, is a lovely thing to hear only six days after closing on the house.
The husband and I keep puttering, trying to put the bunk beds together, while the screams and bangs downstairs escalate. Colin says, “I got this, go check on him.”
I go downstairs to be instantly greeted by Corbin who tells me that Brian is yelling at him for no reason and he’s sick of it. I start applying deep pressure to the boy, who I notice is feeling pretty hot at this point, but I can’t officially check his temperature because the thermometer is still packed in some box somewhere in this mess.
I’m supposed to be helping Corbin study the 50 states that he’ll have a quiz on next week. He hasn’t figured out how to focus and study on his own yet- inattention and executive skills deficits are killer, you know. Yet, another night is going to have to pass with that because all of my attention is now focused on Brian trying to figure out how to calm him.
After bonding and spinal walking (from the Masgutova Method and Brain Gym for Special Needs Kids, if you are interested), Brian starts breathing normally and becomes quiet.
We venture upstairs where we find the bunk beds, that should have taken about 10 minutes but have now taken about 30, finished. Brian starts losing it again at the sight of the bunk beds, he seemed happy at first, but as far as I can tell it’s because he wanted the top bunk and we gave it to Corbin. Of course, this is just me guessing because Brian can’t actually tell me what is wrong.
I tuck him into bed with a weighted blanket and his favorite zebra but the sobs don’t stop. I cover him with kisses and hugs and then do the same to my oldest.
I go downstairs where I find a trail of Brian’s dinner on the floor in the kitchen. I clean it up and change the laundry over, after squeezing between a pile of boxes and a dolly just to reach the dryer. We’re waiting on a longer cord before we set up our own washer and dryer so we’re using the one that was left here that I swear has a personal vendetta against me. It gives me an error code for the tenth time and I’m just about ready to kick it when it decides it’ll start and work as if nothing happened. I then head to the sink to wash the dishes from dinner. The piles of boxes every where I turn are never going to get unpacked between work, parenting, and the daily chores.
My husband stops before heading back into the basement to work on more insulation to tell me what a fabulous Mom I am and I blink hard to stop the tears from falling into the sink water as I certainly am not feeling anywhere close to what I assume a “fabulous mother” is.
Because some days, I don’t have it all together. And I don’t have enough time. Or enough patience. Or enough answers. Hopefully, tomorrow I will.