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Roast Beast
Snapped again.
I hold things in and then when it get’s to be too much I boil over.
My son is currently headless as I bit it off.
I had been cooking him and his friend a beef roast. My kitchen is tiny, I was creating space for carving – while stirring mushroom gravy and fluffing the potatoes and cooking the vegetable. All this was accomplished, barely, on probably 2 square feet of counter space.
I flipped the dog a piece of meat and got a comment from the living room (6 feet away) “Oh! Feed the DOG before us”.
Hold it in.
Kept cooking – almost done, where to put two plates??
As a hand snakes around my body to place an empty ice-cube tray into the sink – I started to vibrate with frustration.
The microwave beeps and it’s blocked by a cup being filled with soda.
Hold it in.
Son get’s the point (after a not so subtle ‘Really??’) leaves the kitchen. And leaves the two plates I’ve now prepared.
Oh hell no.
“Come and get your friends plate, then yours!”
Sulkily he comes for it.
Then the already dismantled living room is further dissected. Well, my papers to be exact. Since they’ve been moved from one spot to accommodate the gaming devices, they must now be moved to accommodate eating.
I stomp (very maturely, not) into the living room muttering something foul and say “Give me my things!”
And right then – I feel about as ugly as I have ever felt, but cannot stop.
I’m hurt.
I gave up the living room, the peace that was my Saturday so Nic could have his friend over.
I spent time cooking them a meal.
And ended up feeling used and invisible.
I cleaned up the kitchen, washed the dishes and then took my food into my room.
I was literally shaking. Mad that my son never seems to be aware of his surroundings. Mad that he doesn’t seem to appreciate me. Mad because of his momentary lack of consideration.
I decided I would apologize for my outburst.
Until I came out with my empty plate and saw a dirty dish sitting by the sink.
A giant is coming!
I slept until 9:30 this morning. It was delightful. I do vaguely remember being roused from sleep to let Butters out, but I blissfully found my way back to bed and back to sleep.
It’s my last full day off. Tomorrow the alarm will sound and I’ll be off to my Sunday morning job. I’m so grateful for it. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not already looking at the clock like it’s an hour-glass.
I do that. I live this juxtaposition of soaking in every moment while a countdown is happening in my head.
I’m currently counting down until my son returns from picking up his friend, who is a giant. When he’s here, in our little shoe box, the living room is impossibly dwarfed even further to the size of a matchbox.
He’s a good kid. (I suppose he’s not a ‘kid’ really – he turned 18 and graduated from High School last year). Nic has a knack (say that 10 times fast) of attracting ‘good kids’. What a blessing.
But I’m sitting here typing and … tangent. Hold on. I heard somewhere if you use ‘but’ in a sentence, you’re not saying what you really want to say. But I couldn’t very well just put a post up that says ‘I’m losing my living room’ could I?
Okay.
But I’m sitting here typing and the hour-glass is almost out of sand on my vacation time with my living room. They’ll be hooking up Xboxes – my little 3 foot Christmas tree (yes, I already put it up) will be scooted off somewhere to make room for his friends laptop – or monitor or whatever it is.
I’ll be like a jury member on a high-profile case – sequestered to my room with a hall pass to the kitchen.
And that’s okay.
I’ll clean around them and maybe paint this afternoon. I’ll go to the market and pick some things they’ll smile about when I unpack them from the grocery bags.
I’m so grateful. Grateful that my son chooses to be here. That his friends like to be here. Grateful that the electricity bill is paid so they can plug their consoles in. Grateful that I can go to the store and bring food back.
UPDATE:
See what happens when I assume? They got creative with the monitor and the little tree issue.
And, now they’re all settled in. Time for me to run errands 😉
A Necessary Truancy
“Is this Amanda?”
Yes.
“I have your son in the health office – he says he has a headache and is nauseous”.
(refrain from asking if she means to imply he’s making others feel sick, you grammar nazi! Besides, there are now two definitions for ‘nauseous’)
“Would you like to speak to him?”
Yes please.
Nic get’s on the phone.
Me: What’s going on?
Nic: I don’t want to be here – I’m having a really bad day”.
I’m seeing this in my head:
And this too:
OK.
Honesty really racks up the points in my book. Honesty will earn you respect, and today earned me using my lunch to leave work, drive to his school and collect him.
I didn’t need the details yet, he told the truth and from the tone of his voice I got it.
Sometimes, we just want to go home. We’re done. We want comforting and to be surrounded by comfort.
I pulled up to the school and sprung him. I got the scoop about what possibly could have ruined his day in the whole hour and 20 minutes he was there. I won’t share the details – that’s not fair to him, but suffice it to say – he was in fact having a pretty crappy day.
Yes, he needs to learn to ‘decide to be happy’ to ‘soldier on in the face of adversity’ and to ‘not take things so personally’. But he’s 17. I’m in my 40’s and am still honing those skills.
When you’re a teenager, sometimes it does feel like your entire world is crumbling down around you, and you just want a time-out.
I am SO very grateful that my son can be honest with me. Oh, I know. I’m not so naive as to believe that he tells me everything, and nor should he. But when it really counts – we’re close enough that he trusts he can tell me the truth and not regret doing so.
Our ride from his school to our house was filled with conversation, observations, lessons and advice. Of course I stressed the importance of not missing anymore school – about not letting people ruin his day. That he can’t run away from every problem. About resentments – how futile they are. Metaphors flowed. “Nic, resenting them is like taking poison and expecting them to die!” Concerns were soothed, smiles were exchanged and I felt so very blessed.
No. He’s not my little boy anymore. No, I can’t save him from the world. But today I could give him a chance to regroup. To feel loved. To take a breath and collect his thoughts and I could take a rare opportunity to share some wisdom and experience with him.
When my grandson or granddaughter calls him years from now having a bad day, I hope he picks them up. Figuratively and literally. And I’m pretty sure he will. Because this young man who I am so lucky to call my son – is a kind-hearted, sensitive, funny, bright, loving soul.
All that being said, if he hadn’t told the truth, his butt would have stayed at school. 😉
Debauchery Soup 