I went through the pains of babyhood, toddlerhood, and am now enjoying the multiple and varied pains of elementary-school-hood. This brings with it pain in the form of disciplining your child when it truly does hurt you more than it hurts them. For example, when I take away the Wii, DSi, iPad and iPod, and have to actually talk to them. There's the pain of accidents, illness or just plain boo-boos where you play triage nurse and dispense critical advice along with bandaids, icepacks or Benadryl. Even worse are the pains of emergency room visits because of serious injury or something they were born with, wishing desperately to take away their physical pain, and while blaming yourself handing your baby over to terse, hurried, masked but well-meaning strangers who are going to anesthetize them, cut on their tiny bodies and hopefully bring them back up from the deep deep slumber you agreed to in writing on no less than 43 forms with all their parts in the right places.
Another pain that I'm having right now is third grade math. I mean, What The Hell. Didn't I learn this crap 30 years ago?? As you should all know very well, I am not very math-y at all. However, I know enough to know "they" didn't invent new numbers in the last few decades. It's 1 - 9 and then 0. That's it. You can add, subtract, divide and multiply with those numbers. I think there may be a couple other functions, however, that the super smart nerds do in the advanced calculus classes, but since those weren't required for my degrees, I'm not totally sure. Thankfully, my husband has an excellent mathematical brain and helps with those difficult third-grade math worksheets. I gratefully await my turn to assist with diagramming sentences or writing essays, which I can do in my sleep with 105 degree fever. With bamboo shoots shoved under my nails. In an Arkansas summer and no air conditioning or "Off" spray with extra-concentrated Deet. If you are from Arkansas or anywhere close by you know what I mean. If not, say 25 Hail Mary's and shut the Hell up.
How.Ev.Er. Today I realized a new pain. I am not sure what it's name is. If it has a name, I do not know that I want to know it. We will never be friends, so it's probably for the best we aren't formally introduced. Let me explain...
Recently Dan's company, Endo Pharmaceuticals, down-sized by almost 30 percent. There is a recent George Clooney movie that you might have seen which closely resembles this situation. No, I don't remember the name of the movie because, I mean, why bother? It's 105 minutes of watching George Clooney!!! I'm sorry...I got distracted.
Just like the movie, Endo hired some outside consulting group to come in and assess how they could save money. No one from this company ever met with the people from Endo who were down-sized, of course. Again, I'm not very math-y, but even I know t30 percent is A LOT. Obviously, Dan's position was eliminated. Long story short, it was decided weto move back to Arkansas in the middle of October. The people met this news with mixed reactions, and admittedly I was not happy. Over a very short period of time, I think we all began to mentally prepare for the move. I looked forward to the close proximity to family and friends, decent and even great barbecue, people knowing what I mean when I use the word "tump," and pre-Bobby Petrino motorcycle-wreck Razorback football. But a curveball was coming our way. Last Friday, Endo offered him a sales rep position in Philly. After an agonizing weekend, we decided he had to take it. When we told the people we were not, in fact, moving back to Arkansas just yet, Jack became very upset. He was despondent. This is the pain I want to tell you about.
Backtrack two weeks ago...the people are sitting on the couch in the den stoic and un-knowing. Dan tells them we have to move back to Arkansas in a month. Katie shrieks in happiness, Cole's expression remains the same, but Jack is visibly upset. He immediately begins listing the ways we have ruined his 5th grade year, such as missing the end-of-year field trip to Washington, D.C. I forget the other reasons, but the point is he was very disappointed and mad at both of us. So fast forward to present time. When Jack found out yesterday his dad took a job here and we would not be moving back right now, he was even more upset than when he thought we were moving back. Did I ever predict this one wrong or what.
Apparently Jack had been absorbing the move back to Arkansas more than I thought. I think he and his dad had been having some conversations about "huntin' camp," Razorback football, being close to old friends, and, of course family. His despondency now made two weeks ago look like a picnic. He launched into a dissertation on how all we cared about was money (well, yeah...actually we do care quite a bit about it...), and how we should have consulted him first before "lying" to him about moving back to Arkansas in the first place. He is very good at arguing and is increasingly better at proving his point. For example, he said that if Dan has to drive all the way to North Philly for his new job then the cost of gas will take away from any extra money he would earn. Hmmm....the boy is really thinking this through and could have an excellent point...EXCEPT that Endo will be providing him with a car and paying for the gas. After I told that to Jack, he thought about it for a minute and then said, "Well, why did Dad just swipe HIS credit card in the gas machine when he got gas today??" I laughed (probably not the appropriate response). "Because he was filling up OUR car, and he doesn't even have the company car yet."
Jack abandoned this argument, switching instead to his perceived mistreatment at not being included in the decision-making process. I talked to him at length about the fact that he is a child, and we are the parents, and while we are certainly interested in knowing what he feels about things, it's ultimately up to the parents to make such decisions. He did not agree. Lord help us in a few years as he practices his persuasive argument techniques!
He finally revealed that he was particularly upset because now he could not be on the 5th grade Safety Patrol or participate in Band. After talking about it, I discovered he believed the deadlines had passed to apply for both of these, and it was our fault because we didn't allow him to sign up earlier when we had "lied" to him about moving to Arkansas. I grabbed his hands, and pulled him closer to me. "Jack, honey, I can fix that. I had visited with Mrs. Eberly (the principal) about our situation, and she knows our family very well. She is very understanding and I am certain she will allow you to do both. This is something I can fix." Jack's chin quivered, and tears welled in his eyes.
Very quietly he said, "I don't want to anymore, Mom."
"Why, Jack?" I asked as softly as I could.
"Because you killed my spirit!" And with that he ran into his room, slamming the door. Normally this is a huge no-no, but I let it go. I just sat on my chair in my bedroom where he had left me, the pain resonating in my stomach, making me feel sick. I thought I could actually feel my heart breaking.
My inner intellect knew that this was just an emotional knee-jerk reaction that would probably pass, and he would be interested in me helping him get into one or both of these activities later. But my emotional mother's heart found this new pain to be unbearable. Never, ever, ever would I do anything I thought remotely possible that would even begin to quell his spirit, let alone kill it. He was so earnest when he said it that I knew he truly believed it. Now I know that any mother of a teenager (probably my own mother too, to whom I would like to AGAIN apologize for what she had to put up with when I was a teenager) will tell me that this little incident is nothing compared to the rantings and accusations I will hear in a few years from probably all three of my children. I know that, okay? But for now, this was the first time he genuinely accused me of hurting him like that. Of intentionally doing something to hurt him. Of discounting his feelings.
I'm seeing a trend here. The pains keep getting worse. The emotional stakes keep getting higher, and my people know it. I am going to have to work on my pain tolerance or I won't make it through the next few years.
Apparently Jack had been absorbing the move back to Arkansas more than I thought. I think he and his dad had been having some conversations about "huntin' camp," Razorback football, being close to old friends, and, of course family. His despondency now made two weeks ago look like a picnic. He launched into a dissertation on how all we cared about was money (well, yeah...actually we do care quite a bit about it...), and how we should have consulted him first before "lying" to him about moving back to Arkansas in the first place. He is very good at arguing and is increasingly better at proving his point. For example, he said that if Dan has to drive all the way to North Philly for his new job then the cost of gas will take away from any extra money he would earn. Hmmm....the boy is really thinking this through and could have an excellent point...EXCEPT that Endo will be providing him with a car and paying for the gas. After I told that to Jack, he thought about it for a minute and then said, "Well, why did Dad just swipe HIS credit card in the gas machine when he got gas today??" I laughed (probably not the appropriate response). "Because he was filling up OUR car, and he doesn't even have the company car yet."
Jack abandoned this argument, switching instead to his perceived mistreatment at not being included in the decision-making process. I talked to him at length about the fact that he is a child, and we are the parents, and while we are certainly interested in knowing what he feels about things, it's ultimately up to the parents to make such decisions. He did not agree. Lord help us in a few years as he practices his persuasive argument techniques!
He finally revealed that he was particularly upset because now he could not be on the 5th grade Safety Patrol or participate in Band. After talking about it, I discovered he believed the deadlines had passed to apply for both of these, and it was our fault because we didn't allow him to sign up earlier when we had "lied" to him about moving to Arkansas. I grabbed his hands, and pulled him closer to me. "Jack, honey, I can fix that. I had visited with Mrs. Eberly (the principal) about our situation, and she knows our family very well. She is very understanding and I am certain she will allow you to do both. This is something I can fix." Jack's chin quivered, and tears welled in his eyes.
Very quietly he said, "I don't want to anymore, Mom."
"Why, Jack?" I asked as softly as I could.
"Because you killed my spirit!" And with that he ran into his room, slamming the door. Normally this is a huge no-no, but I let it go. I just sat on my chair in my bedroom where he had left me, the pain resonating in my stomach, making me feel sick. I thought I could actually feel my heart breaking.
My inner intellect knew that this was just an emotional knee-jerk reaction that would probably pass, and he would be interested in me helping him get into one or both of these activities later. But my emotional mother's heart found this new pain to be unbearable. Never, ever, ever would I do anything I thought remotely possible that would even begin to quell his spirit, let alone kill it. He was so earnest when he said it that I knew he truly believed it. Now I know that any mother of a teenager (probably my own mother too, to whom I would like to AGAIN apologize for what she had to put up with when I was a teenager) will tell me that this little incident is nothing compared to the rantings and accusations I will hear in a few years from probably all three of my children. I know that, okay? But for now, this was the first time he genuinely accused me of hurting him like that. Of intentionally doing something to hurt him. Of discounting his feelings.
I'm seeing a trend here. The pains keep getting worse. The emotional stakes keep getting higher, and my people know it. I am going to have to work on my pain tolerance or I won't make it through the next few years.
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