Lesson Lost

"If you need anything from the freezer, come get it now," Ant says. "I'm making ice cubes."

Why can't I open the freezer?

"Oh, well I guess it's okay here," he says as he slides the ice cube tray into a free spot on the freezer floor.  "Last time, I put the tray in the door and somebody opened it and got water all over the floor."

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A Fraction

Five years of instruction, correction, and explanation... I wonder what the sum of it all will be? He knows how to do laundry, pack for a trip, shop for bargains, read nutrition labels, clean a toilet...

He knows why it's important to hang your towel up, change your pillowcase, brush your teeth, and to never leave the kitchen when the stove is on.

He knows what the road signs mean, why you should clear the snow off the car, and how important it is to let people merge.

He knows how to negotiate an airport.

He knows how to approach dogs, how to raise them, and why he can't have a lizard.

He knows how to measure flour, where to crack an egg, how to make cleaning up easier, and when you can improvise with a recipe.

He knows Ping, Ferdinand, Roald Dahl, Mark Twain, the Gremlins, The Princess Bride.

He knows how to get through difficult tasks, how to come up with a realistic compromise, and which are the best lemon cookies.

This and more. What things did he learn from me that I'm not aware of, what things did I miss? If I had known it would only be five years, what else would I have done? At this moment right now, I feel like I have done well. We read bedtime stories to each other, we played games, we went to fairs and festivals, plays and shows, we made meals and lots of cookies together. We went for walks and watched movies, bathed the dogs, compared books, and did art projects. We argued, we hugged, we talked.

He was so little and cautious when he came to us- he seems so lanky and sure of himself now.

I told him I love him and I'll be here forever, forever, forever, for whatever he needs, but that he'll be fine because he's smart and he's strong and he's capable- and he knows what to do.

He's my kid too.

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Hanging in there...

Ooh, last night I had it confirmed again- QTIP!  Is this how you got through my adolescence, Ma?  I think I need some coaching, but I am trying to channel you.  How you only left me at the grocery store once is beyond me.

He was such a horrid little surly kid yesterday, all snotty and 'tudy.  Just asking about his day brought out the smartass in him, and I don't think he actually meant to be a jerk.  We were walking the dogs and I think my eyebrows were raised the entire time.  Try to start a conversation?  Shot down!  Not the most enjoyable walk, but I just tried to move on to the next topic and see where I could get.  He did not seem to notice.

Our toilet died, which means we have to share Ant's.  At one point on our walk, he informed me that he would be going directly to bed when we got home.  I amended his schedule to include cleaning the bathroom. 

He informed me that he did not have enough time. 
I reminded him that he had been asked to clean it every day this week.
He contested the exact number of times he had been asked.
I explained that he would be cleaning the bathroom.
He told me it was clean enough.
I took some deep breaths and tried not to kill him.

At home, I directed him towards the bathroom.  I puttered back and forth past the bathroom so I could peek in at his progress.  Sure enough, he came out to return the cleaner WAY too soon.  I invited him back to the bathroom so we could check.  I asked that he lift the lid and was immediately repelled by what I could see from the doorway.  He had not even lifted the lid.  You did not clean this part at all.

"Yes, I DID!"

Ignore.  Instruct.  Why does he need more supervision now than when he was 7?  He gets the toilet clean with lots of glares, huffs, attitude, argument, and extremely shitty comments that I ignore.  The toilet is clean.  Whew.

He finishes the bathroom and comes to eat dinner.  I am in the kitchen, cutting up carrots.  I offer him some.  He tells me he is full of snot and the tissues are not soft.  I break out the sickie tissue box that comes with aloe.  He is happy and overblowing his nose.  I tell him it will take days to blow all the snot out and he should not blow his nose too much.  He wants to know HOW he could HURT his NOSE if the TISSUES are SOFT.  I try to explain it to him in terms of inflammation and pressure and I am dismissed.  He goes into the living room and begins to eat his taquitos.  He offers me one.

I go and sit down and eat a taquito.  We discuss how good they are with milk.  We discuss the cookies we made on Tuesday and the restraint Chris showed when he found them.

I go to wash the dishes.  Ant comes in and stands at the end of the counter and talks to me.  He tells me about some things that happened that day, what's going on with his friends, what's going on with his current status with Chris.  He tells me about what happened last night when he was with Chris, how he'd misbehaved and how upset he knew his dad was with him.  He told me about that afternoon when he had been with Chris and gotten a sense of just how bad his attitude must be if his dad is this upset with him.  He told me he knew it had to change, but that it was hard to do.

I reminded him that for me, 13 was way worse than 17- I was a complete asshole at 13, and that things would get better soon.  He reminded me that he would only be 13 for another two months, then laughed as I celebrated.  I think I was 16 when Mom left me at the grocery store, though...

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.

Love Letter

To be composed more fully in personal notes to each.

To the parents of the man I love.

To the Loud family.

I feel so loved.

I have felt your appreciation throughout the years and known it to be genuine, but this weekend I was blown away by your kindness and care.  This weekend would have been overwhelming in the best of circumstances, but you made it easy and even fun.  I had to worry about nothing- not dishes or cooking or shopping, no logistics- not even my sanity, because you tended to that too.  You were my shoulder and my strength, my protectors and my friends.  I emerged from this weekend feeling like I was standing on solid ground again.  I was complimented and encouraged, supported between two people who came together once again for the benefit of their family, a family that I feel so honored not just to be a member of, but a member that they would fight for and be so protective of.  Thank you for your shelter, your warmth, your advice, your love, and your unwavering support. And thank you for restoring my house after the tornado- running laundry, cleaning my kitchen, vacuuming... Who ever heard of such an end to a visit from the in-laws?  I adore you, I adore you.

Thank you.

I love you beyond words.

Jenny

I can't type all this on a phone.

I couldn't tell you all of it anyway.

I do know that it feels better to get it out. My counselor said paper is different. It will all come out eventually, but for now it's about functioning: going to work, trying to eat, trying to sleep. I feel close to a breakdown because the exhaustion is unreal and my blood sugar is terrible. My doctor was kind, but said it would be like this as long as I'm in chaos. I need sleep so bad, but I cannot. Not for long, anyway. And not the deep, restful sleep that is occasionally interrupted or prevented by daily surface worries, but the kind you would get in a cold, wet cave, knowing that you will soon be eaten by bears.

My dog is scratching her eyes. They are red around the edges, probably like mine.

Maybe I can avoid a crash. Maybe by being aware of what's happening and bearing this really awful, jarring turbulence, I can avoid just falling out of the air. Because things are different now- they cost more.

Current game plan:

Take a shower
Drink some water
Read

Or maybe something more attainable:

Lie here and try to breathe.
Remember that panic attacks aren't heart attacks.
Practice being present.

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Sorry, Mom.

"You ate all those peas?" I asked.

"Yep.  And I had more spaghetti.  I'm a teenager now, Jenny.  You've got to get this."

I've got to get this?  Somebody tell me that this is just a normal thoughtless snotty teenager comment and I should not be taking this personally.  I am forcing myself to remember what an asshole I was at thirteen.  This is not personal.  I must have a very short fuse these days.  After all, I am the one who has been talking to him about making sure he's got fruit and veggies in there with whatever else he's shoveling in.  I've been the one trying to remind Chris that while he and I don't need to be eating this crap, we are going to have to keep food in the house for his teenager.  Yes, he has Ramen and frozen pizzas, but he also has tons of veggies and fresh bread.  Here, look at today:

Ant comes in from skating with his friend and informs me that they are here to eat pudding.

"How about you eat lunch first, THEN you have pudding."

They make sandwiches and I hear Ant in the kitchen asking Ruben what kind of fruit he wants.  Uh-huh, that's right, that came from me.

After discussing his food intake the other night, I looked up the current recommendation for daily servings of fruits and veggies.  What I read said the new plan is 5-13, depending on obvious factors.  Good grief.

Jennyway, goddammit.  Why am I the perpetual stick in the mud, uncool wicked stepmother?  Even when an issue like this one arises where I am clearly championing his cause, I get slapped down so carelessly?  Ugh.  You should have seen him on the walk tonight, all surly and whiny.  He said he couldn't walk because his knee hurt, so why did he ask to bring his skateboard?  You don't use your knees to skateboard?

"You use them in a different way, and it doesn't hurt," he informed me.

Ok, well...

"So hey, that movie you weren't able to watch doesn't have to go back tonight- you can still watch it."

"I don't want to watch it.  It looks cheesy."

Ok...

Karma is a nasty creature.  I was a horrible child.  No, I was a horrible teenager.  No, I was a teenager.

I wondered how Mom endured my adolescence.  There were some horrified looks, I remember, and then she would just carry on as well as possible.  So that's what I did.

We were almost home before any of my attempts worked.  I said we had enough time to watch something short with dinner.  Then he finally got animated and suggested The Cleveland Show.  He said he likes it better than Family Guy because he understands it better.  He said it's intelligent and asked me if I'd seen it.  I said I had and he started chattering about the show.  Inside, I reheated spaghetti and asked him what veggie he wanted.  He always wants peas.  Chris is very anti-pea due to their lack of enough nutritional content, so we can only eat them on nights when he's gone.

When dinner was ready, Ant came in to fix his "bowl plate," as he has decided they must be called, and said thank you.  I stayed in the kitchen to wait for the steamy peas as Ant set up the show.  I served myself a small bowl and gave him the serving bowl.

"Peas and thank you," he said.

This is not a horrible teenager.  This is a normal teenager.  He has a mouth that functions faster than his developing brain, he is part vacuum, and has snowshoes for feet.  He's still sweet, still silly, still friendly and warm and helpful and kind, just wrapped in a body that is growing gangly and run by a brain going haywire.  That's not me being mean, that's science.  It is fascinating to learn what happens to the adolescent brain.

After dinner, while I'm in here typing out my frustrated confusion, he comes in post-shower to say goodnight.  He hugs me and tells me he loves me.  There was nothing personal or spiteful in his comment, just a cheerful statement of fact: I am a teenager, Jenny.  Get used to it.