QTIP

Do I really need to censor my blog?  I automatically reject that and then wonder if that’s an entirely coherent idea.  This is not a journal, of course.  I clearly don’t write everything here, but it surprises me what repercussions arise from what I think are harmless, encouraging posts.  This is often my place to process, but to be accused of sharing more than what I should seems crazy to me.  I write.  What else would I write about?  Besides, I think I have portrayed everyone accurately and in a light that I would proudly show them myself.  But then, this whole situation is bizarre enough- I don’t know why I expect any of it to make sense.

So JENNYWAY…

Yesterday afternoon didn’t start well at all.  I asked Ant to do something in a way that he promptly ignored, which pissed us both off.  He begged to go with Chris and I seriously contemplated asking that he be able to go, but the priority is that it’s a school night, so I had to keep him home no matter what any of us felt like.  Chris advised me to ignore Ant’s attitude, but I am completely incapable of that.  Chris left and I asked Ant if he wanted to walk with me.  No, he did not.  He’s grounded- grounded entirely and completely by Chris- and can’t skate or use the iPod or go play or anything.  I asked him at least twice if he wanted to come with just to get outside and away from chores for a few minutes.  No.  Well, you know I can’t get out of the house in a timely fashion, so I was back and forth starting laundry, finding keys, feeding the cat, testing my blood, and here comes Ant.

“Can I bring my board?”

Hey, no fair.  You know you can’t bring your board, don’t even ask me that.  He starts to lose it and I urge him to talk to me.  No.  I try again.  On the third try he tells me he’s tired and he’s been doing chores for hours.  All that’s left is a gentle nudge and he decides to come with me.  Come on, let’s get some air, let’s walk.

I resist several urges to point out what got him into this mess.  I employed the WWMD strategy: What Would Mom Do?  I ignored snotty comments and was nice, encouraging.  Outside, he informed me that he would not be walking far because his feet hurt.  I did not share my initial reaction to that, but instead offered that we had taken a long walk the night before, so maybe we could just stay close and let the girls sit outside for a while.  We made ambling progress and I made tentative probes, asking for a little information at a time.  More and more came out and I would be shocked if there was anything left in there- problems at school, problems at home, problems with girls, problems with friends, problems with grades, problems with teachers, problems with guidance counselors, problems with injuries, problems with family, trying to find ways to deal with problems and creating more problems in the process.  In other words, everything.  No wonder this poor kid is getting into so much trouble.  We had to stop several times so I could give him a hug.  At the end of our walk, we sat on the hill and threw the ball for Jasmine.  Some kids came by that he knew and they started rolling down the steep hill, giggling.  Ant resisted, saying his elbow hurt, but I threw him a nudging nod and he rolled down after them, giggles escaping.  They rolled down the hill over and over in ways that looked like they would end in a trip to the ER and at the end of it, Ant and I walked back home and his mood had lifted.

“Do we have stuff to make cookies?” he asked.  “I need cookies.”

Yeah, we can do that.

So we made cookies.  Snickerdoodles.  Snickerdoodles with chocolate chips in them, even.  (The end result was kind of a weird, competitive flavor, but Ant and Chris both loved it.)  Ant made the cookies with minimal supervision from me.  He was still a little on edge and the attitude was still there, but more silly and without the malice behind it.  He tried to bail on the dishes, but finished them with me.  The night ended with a peace I never could have imagined earlier that afternoon.

It felt like he hated me.  That felt so upsetting because none of this was brought on by me- how is that fair?  I knew he was aware and trying to deal, but I felt so hurt and shaken by him taking it out on me.  He did not want to be left at home with me, or maybe with chores, but I’m pretty sure I had a lot to do with it.  I felt sick and sad, a little angry and very, very hurt.  But something did not let me walk out of that house without him, would not let me stop trying.  A while ago on NPR, there was a parenting segment urging even us stepparents to Q.T.I.P.  Quit Taking It Personally.  Oh my god, how relevant.  It was nice to get confirmation of that- if it had anything to do with me it was barely, or misplaced entirely.  He even told me in a roundabout way that he was taking out his frustration… at home.  Maybe he’s trying to take it out on both of us.  Maybe because we deserve it.  Maybe because we can take it.

Chris tells me that I look to get credit for everything.  Well yeah, because I’m a Leo.  But beyond that, a blog like this is meant for me to acknowledge credit to myself, not get credit from anybody else.  It’s a way for me to put things in perspective, a way to laugh, a way to not just notice these important things when they happen, but to reinforce the idea in my head.  Things like Q.T.I.P.  And later on, when I reread them- and I reread my blogs often- I get ideas reinforced and gain even more perspective, which helps me in future dealings with an impressionable teenager.  Trust me- some of those blogs make me feel like an idiot and an asshole.  And those were scenarios I felt comfortable talking about!

I personally think the reason why I am given so much credit (and no, I don’t think I am Ant’s sun and moon and stars) is because I try very hard to be as much as I can to a kid who depends on me.  He depends on his dad- don’t get me wrong- but the fact that he depends on me at all is AMAZING to me and it makes me want to be worthy of such trust.  It makes me want to be there for him even when he is a perfect, surly, turdy teenager.  And even when I am a wicked stepmother.  I may be wicked, but I will never, ever, ever give up.  I think that is worth pointing out to myself as often as possible.