The Zion Chronicles: Slap goes the two piece

To give you an example of just how damn QUICK it gets on and poppin’ between my loving son and I:

Friday afternoon. An easy pick up day as the weekend is upon us and there was no need to deal with homework right away. Wait? I’d already said I wasn’t anyway. So there really shouldn’t be an issue right? Ten minutes into our car ride I remind him I had a show and see if he still wanted to go (as he said he wanted to earlier). He says yes, so we head off to get some subs before I’m called. We get said subs, everything is going great and we strike up a conversation about acting.

I have always said and believe that my son is a stronger actor than me. He just has an ability to shed fear instantly when faced with an audience that I have yet to acquire. He says he didn’t know I felt that way. I once again acknowledge what I’d said. Then I’m not sure if he starts to analyze any of my prior performances in his mind, but a second or so later he tells me that he’d noticed how nervous I’d always seemed on stage. I, having to perform that night am not stomaching this too well (maybe I would have at a different time, but not just then. Alas children have no filter.) I ask him firmly and repeatedly to not use my compliment as a weapon to make me feel bad about myself. He glares at me momentarily, and as I’m asking him to confirm that he won’t he refuses to open his mouth. I told him since he can’t answer me he could stay home because I didn’t need to bring that type of negativity with me to a performance.

(side note: This is a pet peeve of mine. Why the hell do people always want to stir up some unresolved whatever or some new bullshit right when you are about to do something major?! Aarrgh!)

I let it go with little struggle, and even managed to turn on some music for the remainder of the ride home. We get to the house. He rushes out of the car, and speed walks to the door not wanting me to get the opportunity to unlock it. He bangs on it so his Grandmother will answer. She does. He jams through the door. She give me the “What-happened-now” face. I tell her what happened and mean while Zion has descended upon her left over two-piece chicken and biscuit from lunch. Like his Mom he’s an emotional eater. I tell him point blank to put it down and that he doesn’t get to pig out because he’s pissed with me. He chooses to ignore me and attempts to brush past me still snacking so I slap it out of his hand. It felt pretty juvenile, and it was a direct response to how disrespected I felt and how furious I was (I even made him pick it up 😦 ).

That is the kind of stuff that I want to stop doing, and I know if I keep acknowledging the behavior and trying to make changes those changes will assuredly come.

Keep dancing, singing, swimming, praying, and waving your magic sticks for me.

Rosie.

The Zion Chronicles: Prelude to a break through…or break down.

Today, I decided to let go and let my son take his educational reigns as he believes he knows far more than I do about, well, EVERYTHING. I can safely say that everyone in this house is 100% miserable based mainly in the fact that Zion can’t get it together academically. Now I’m for sure not trying to say it’s his “fault” it’s just that all the screaming, crying, cussing, fussing, breaking of things has left our spirits a little worse for the wear. Btw, go ahead and call DSS if you want. I could use the break.

I’m just plain damn tired, and I want to love my son unconditionally, and look forward to seeing him after school, and not get a stomach ache when thinking about homework time with him. Now some may be shocked when I ask for the ability to love my son unconditionally. Aren’t we supposed to love them with our whole entire selves the second they slip out of that warm inner dwelling called our womb where for nine months (give or take) they have drained us of nutrients, made us nauseated, caused us to projectile vomit in some cases, gave us gas, indigestion, made us raging bitches, weeping dish rags, gave us high blood pressure, gestational diabetes, swollen feet, aching everything, and a general case of the why-am-I-alives? Yep, that’d make anybody brim over with love and adoration.

Old folks say they didn’t ask to be here. They’re right they didn’t, and you know what they didn’t ask for either? All the shit we expect of them. If my last 11 years with my son has taught me anything it’s that he is his own person with all the rights and priviledges that come with it. We in our infinite need to control our destiny and the destiny of everyone else have concocted a fantasy of what our children will be and how they will please us and make us proud and validate our sub par existence. Horse shit, all of it. First, how self centered is it to think that we are SO important that a brand new life has been created to generate happiness for us by becoming miniature more successful versions of ourselves purely for our satisfaction until we die. Second, we’re afraid that if they don’t it some how reflects some great flaw within ourselves (again self centered). And third, heellloooo? don’t you remember how bad you hated your parents and other adults for trying this shit with you?

Which brings me back to the beginning of the end, the letting go of the reigns. Yes, it does sound strange to leave an 11 year old in charge of his academic affairs but I don’t know what else to do. The realization that Zion is not going to become what I envisioned and that I have completely no control over it is terrifying, but I’m glad I came to this realization. The truth is that I become down right rageful and verbally abusive when homework isn’t going well. It simply isn’t worth it to try to maintain some illusion of control at the expense of my child’s self esteem, mental and physical well being. I’m definitely not turning my back completely, I’ve told him if he needs genuine help, I’ll definitely be here. Disrespect disqualifies him for any help (which is an issue he has at home, but fortunately not at school give thanks for small miracles.) So we’ll see where it goes from here.

Keep me in your prayers and pagan ceremonies!

Rosie.