Thursday, September 17, 2009

Mommy Vent

Well, I don't know the exact reason, but I have been in a right royal snit all day. I'm cranky! Man-Cub has been wearing on my nerves and I'm ready to sell him to the first gypsy wagon I see! Within 20 minutes of his arrival home from school I had had enough! He is a whiny, nagging, complaining mess, interrupting me every twelve seconds, climbing up on things he knows he shouldn't be climbing on, making a fuss over having to take his bath, do his homework, go to bed, making a fuss about everything! And the noises...ugh. His latest trick is to make odd noises of protest. I tell him he needs a bath and he hisses at me like a jungle cat. I tell him to stop pestering his sister and he growls at me like a wild dog. Whenever I ask him to do anything he responds with a forceful, "Never!" like an old British General refusing to surrender (complete with the accent) and sometimes he answers with a cock of the head and sidelong glance and a, "Maybe," like we're going to open negotiations or something.

Reading over that last paragraph I realize I am not painting a very good picture of my dear youngest child. He sounds like a brat, though The Viking says he is not a brat. He says he's just an eight-year-old boy and he's only going to get worse until puberty is over. Aye, me. The Viking has warned me that twelve-year-old boys are the worst people in the world and we are going to want to move away and not give Man-Cub the address when he hits that age. Is this just the build-up to that horrible day?

Today, at Redheaded Snippet's game (more on that later), Man-Cub was wreaking havoc (or reeking of havoc as my dear friend, Mrs. Brown, says) with a simple grocery store plastic bag. First, he was attempting to put it over his head. Then he stood on the third step of the bleachers with the bag over his head like a parachute, poised to jump. Fortunately, I caught on right as I saw his muscles begin to tense and aborted the flight. Why am I having to tell my eight-year-old not to put bags over his head or use them as parachutes? Isn't this four-year-old stuff? Or are we just getting into territory where my complete and total lack of experience with boys is going to be a problem? I just don't seem to understand him most of the time.

If I were reading this on someone else's blog I would think, "Hmmm, that boy is clearly screaming for attention." But he gets a lot of that and doesn't seem to appreciate it. He sure doesn't want it from me! All I seem to be good for is feeding him. I guess my role as his mother is changing and I haven't yet gotten used to what he now needs from me, though I know it's not cuddling or fussing over him! He tripped on the bleachers today (go figure) and I could tell by his face that his hand really stung but he was trying to pretend it didn't. I had to promise not to fuss or make any noise before he would come near me for me to look at it.

Anyway, I did not intend to spend this entire post venting about my boy. I think his biggest problem is he's bored and hates being cooped up in school all day long and then being dragged to hockey games three times a week. He's the kind of boy who needs hours of running outside in the fresh air and he's been spending way too much time sitting and having to be still. I think The Viking is going to take him out for a nice, long hike or bike ride this weekend. That should help.

Redheaded Snippet had another game today, a grudge match against a team that beat us last year. She didn't play at her usual level and only got about 5 minutes in the Varsity game, but she played most of the JV game and scored three goals! The Varsity team won the game 2-1 but the coach was spitting mad at the end and all the girls were crying. They won, but none of them played at the level they should have. They had much higher expectations of themselves and didn't come close to meeting them. It was a strange thing to see a team that had just won a close game standing around looking like they'd just lost the most important game of the season. But I guess that's one of the things that makes them so good; they treat every game like it's the most important one and set extremely high standards for themselves that have only a little to do with winning.

Well, it's time for me to finish my evening chores and get to bed. The Viking took the kids out to get some water ice but they should be back any minute and my few moments of solitude will be over. I still have to load the dishwasher, fold a few loads of laundry and, if there's anything half-decent on tv (like maybe there's been some kind of miracle), I'll get the ironing done before I turn in. Tomorrow is a shopping day and there is no game and we're celebrating The Viking's birthday! White Castle here we come!

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