Tag Archives: wrestling

Armegeddon: The Tween Years

Lately, I feel as though there should be an announcer in our home, yelling over a microphone,”Let’s get ready to RUMBLE!”

I say something, I get a snarky comment.  I make an observation, I get a rude look.  I ask for something to get done, I get an argument.  I demand for something to get done, well, let the battle begin.

Nothing is easy lately- not that it ever really WAS, but it certainly isn’t getting any easier.  People told me it would get easier once kids get older, but now I have to ask- how old?  13?  16?  18?  21?  The day they have their own kid hit their tween years and they get it?  HOW OLD???

I can’t even ask for a simple request of,”Can you please put your dishes into the sink?” without it turning into a throwdown worthy of Pay Per View.  Suddenly, I’m the witch from a thousand Disney movies, all rolled into one horrifying mother figure, all because I’m trying to teach my son skills that will keep his future wife from maiming and/or killing him.

Its a scary thing, puberty.  If the changes could JUST be confined to his voice, we could all just have a laugh and call it a day, but no.  Suddenly, along with the hair, height and hilarity, there are evil things called “Hormones” lurking about.  Testosterone runs wild, waiting for the chance to take a joke too seriously, overreact to an everyday situation, or duel to the death over an imagined injustice.

Its enough to make a mom want to throw up her hands and ask,”Brangelina have adopted so many kids- maybe they’d be interested in 1 more…?”

And, I know, “This too shall pass”, but- really?  You’re going to put your brother in a head lock because he messed with your deck of Pokemon cards?  Come on.

Soooo… yeah.  Now that puberty has hit, its apparent that everyday will be a battle; sometimes us parents will win; sometimes heads will roll; but in the end, I’m almost certain the hubby and I will win the war and our obnoxious tween will come out a mature young man.

I think.  I hope.

How long does puberty last again?

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Let’s get ready to RUMBLE!

“Is she awake?”
“I don’t know- check.”
“How do I check if she’s awake?”
“Poke her.”
“If I poke her, then she’ll definitely wake up.”
“Mom, you awake?”
“I TOLD you to poke her.”
“I’M AWAKE!”
Thus begins the start of my day. I could try and act like I’m sleeping for a little bit longer, but it just postpones the inevitable.
Every day is like this- a fight to sleep a little bit longer, a fight to get them dressed in an outfit resembling something other than an extra from Les Miserables, a fight to get them to do their hair so they don’t -once again- look like street urchins…
My life, as much as I love it, has started to look like a dialed down version of a WWE match- without the pile drivers and what not…
…though those MIGHT not be far behind.
My parents got me a program by one of those M.D.’s with all the credentials that promises “for $400, you’ll have your kids saying ‘Yes, Ma’am and Sir’ in NO time!”
The problem isn’t always them fighting with ME, though. I often find myself shouting out to the Heavens, asking if there’s a program that will help with sibling bloodshed/maiming. I’ve yet to hear God answer me back, but it could be because I can’t hear Him over the cacophony in the background. To be honest, though, I think -if we’re going to go down the Biblical route- if God allowed Cain and Able to fight like cats and dogs for a reason, well, maybe there’s a reason for the continual boxing match in MY house; and if THAT’S the case, it shouldn’t be too long til I hear one of them shout out, “I’m not my brother’s keeper!”
And all this happens before breakfast.
When I pictured my life with kids, the daily battles weren’t part of the sweet scenery I envisioned. I know I was naïve, but I had a lapse in memory of how things had been with MY parents. I briefly forgot about the grand confrontations my brother and I had- one of which broke the back of a recliner and involved a stick.
I let it slip from my mind that “Yes Ma’am and Sir” weren’t part of our vocabulary- that we had embraced the word “No” from the time we could talk.
I had discarded the memory of when my mom tried DESPERATELY to get me to dress in something she had wanted me to wear, and I adamantly refused.
I don’t get to deny it any more, though. Those thoughts drift in and out of my mind- poltergeists, intent on tormenting me; reminding me, in every action my boys do, that I am their mother.
“Go do your hair.”
“I like it this way.”
“What way? You didn’t even DO it.”
“And that’s how I like it.”
They may win the battle, but I will win the war…
I hope.

Zoology is the study of my home

Wanna know the difference between my house and a zoo? There really isn’t one.

Sure, the animals are different, but in the end, if not for certain safety precautions taken, my little animals would eat us alive. Yeah, they LOOK cute and cuddly, but there’s a reason why they have a sign out in front of the bear cage that says ‘Do Not Feed The Bear’. Its not because they’re trying to cut down on the costs of diet products for the poor guy- its because if you get up close, he’s likely to rip your arm off!

Cute and cuddly looking, they may be- friendly? Well, that’s to be questioned.

Today has been – how shall I say it?- difficult. Of course, if you were to look up ‘difficult’ in my specialized dictionary (that I’m planning on having published one of these days because it really is remarkable), you’d see some poor soul about to jump off a cliff rather than face the burning flames about to engulf him.

Have you ever heard the warning sound that they play on TV announcing,”This has been a test of the emergency broadcast system’? Now, have you ever wondered what it would be like to listen to that sound for an entire day??? I do! I can tell you! Its the sound of a screeching 4 year old when he starts to get annoyed at his 10 year old brother who is INTENTIONALLY annoying him!

All day.

Today.

Up until about an hour ago.

After that, they banned together- with Cameron’s friend-, rode a skateboard 4 feet in their room, slammed it into the mirrored closet doors, and cracked one. Amazingly, when asked what happened, neither one could come up with stories that matched.

That’s when I shut them up in barrels like Mark Twain spoke of and fed them through the knotholes.

No, I didn’t do that- although, don’t think the thought never crossed my mind. No, that’s when they were confined to their beds. Come on now- I’m not a monster.

Yet.

Anyways, so to say that today has been “trying” is putting it lightly. Part of me is already questioning my sanity for having a third, but I’m sticking to that old saying (IS it an old saying?) that you can’t lose what you’ve already lost. There’s really nowhere to go but up from here, so there you go. Besides, we’ve made our beds- now all that’s left is to hide under the blankets.

Besides, I’m banking on the hope that ONE of them will make it big in life and support me and Corey in the lifestyle we’d like to become accustomed to.

And then, when they’re older and have little hyenas of their own, I can look at them adoringly and say,”Some animals eat their young.”

Hey- I just want my boys to know they have options.

“So, you wanted boys, huh?”

Noah was given an ark to build. Moses was sent to lead God’s people through the desert to the promised land. And me? God gave me boys.
Its funny how after you have one boy, people ask you with every succeeding pregnancy, “So, are you going to try for that girl?” My answer is a resounding “NO”.
I’m pretty sure that God wanted to ensure that I never try for another child by keeping my hands full with 3 boys. Yes, we wanted 3 kids- 3 boys? Debatable. Sure, we knew what to expect with boys… but there’s the problem: we knew what to expect with boys. Well, we THOUGHT we knew what to expect with boys. I’m starting to wonder more and more as they get older.
Today I walked in on my 2 oldest sons using whatever wasn’t nailed down as projectiles. These items included, but were not limited to, blocks, crayons, and -at one point- a plush Elmo chair that actually sang as it hit Jacob. It was as if Elmo was singing out a war cry, which seemed to instigate Jacob, who retaliated by picking up a tee ball bat and swinging it at his older brother’s head. Cameron quickly used a pillow as a shield while wielding a plastic drumstick, but Jacob couldn’t have cared less because he was already on top of a craft table they have in their room ready to jump on his brother’s mid-section.
I’m unsure of why I allowed the fight to go on that long-
Eh, who am I kidding? It was a long day and if they knocked each other out, I wouldn’t have had to listen to another fight later.
Which I did.
Because I ended up stopping that particular fight just in time.Eh, give me a break- blood is difficult to get out of fabric surfaces.  I couldn’t have let it go on too much longer.
And no, I won’t tell you who “won”, although, in the future, if you see Jacob’s name in lights at a boxing match, don’t hesitate to place your bet on him. The kid has some moves. Its as if he’s being positioned by some unseen force…
When I finally stepped in, though, to stop the madness, that’s when I realized that this -these boys- are my mission from God. They looked at me with pissed off looks and whined, “But mom! We were having fun!” Yeah. Fun. Its all fun and games until Elmo takes you out.
If I can raise them up to adulthood without them killing each other (or me killing them- I’m kidding! Sort of.), then I’ll win God’s favor.
I have to tell myself this, honestly, because its either this or God is up in Heaven right now saying, “HA! You asked for 3 kids! Well, here you go!”

Ah, the sounds of nature

As you slowly open your eyes, you can see sunlight overhead.  In the distance, you can hear water trickling and smell coffee brewing.  You’ve barely raised your head off your pillow when you hear the sounds of something akin to a National Geographic special on animal packs- growling, hissing, screeches of pain…

One might think they were camping somewhere off in the wilderness.  Not you.  You know that you’re home, and those sounds you hear aren’t TECHNICALLY animals- they’re your children trying desperately to thin the herd.

Unfortunately for me, I cannot afford ignorance.  I know all too well that I’m not camping, although the question of whether or not the  sounds are coming from wild animals is debatable.  I’ve read in books about small children who awaken their sleeping parents with cereal, convinced they’re helping guard their parents’ hearts against the evils of cholesterol-

-or was that a Cheerios commercial?-

-either way, I’ve heard the tales of small children who behave in a way that makes their parents go,”Awwww….”, but so far I’ve only experienced small children that make ME go,”Ahhhhhhh!!!!”  Small children (with not-so-smallish intentions to maim and destroy) who awaken me with the gentle blood curdling screams that only a mother could ignore.  Sounds of crashing and evil laughter gently rouse me from my peaceful dreams, while every nerve in my body screams at me to run as if a hungry bear were on my tail.  But, much like you wouldn’t be able to outrun the bear, I can’t escape my job as mom- or, as I lovingly refer to myself, zookeeper.

Suuuuure, camping is great if you want fresh air and scenic views, but if you want to save a few bucks, let me know.  I have a big living room where you can pitch a tent and wait for the howling to start.