“Have a good day,” I said as my firstborn stumbled out of the minivan door, significantly encumbered by a giant Jansport backpack loaded with textbooks and a lunchbox packed with my own hands. “I love you.”
“I don’t love you,” he answered confidently, each word measured and punctuated by his eyes piercing mine. He slammed my passenger door and stalked off toward his friend awaiting him at the end of the sidewalk at our carpool drop-off, his exit less dramatic than he wished due to the way he had to shift his own 90 pounds of body weight to hoist his ridiculous backpack.
I watched his back for a few moments. I saw his friend glance furtively in my direction as he exchanged a few words with my angry son. Finally, I set the car in motion and drove away, down the street, so that we could both start our days without each other. The subject of our disagreement was nothing special; the problem is that these small, tedious disagreements happen almost daily, and they wear on both of us.
This is how our story goes these days. When he was little — when all of them were little — I found myself frustrated and sad because being The Mommy was not very fun most of the time. Once we left their infancies and entered their toddlerhoods and beyond, I felt even less like I was on the same team as my children. I was the bummer, the fun sponge — the one who had to enforce the bedtime, end whatever dangerous activity was occurring that moment, or announce the next transition that would frustrate them. I tried hard to provide discipline and guide them without being their adversary, but in the end, it’s too often Them vs. Me. I am their primary caregiver and the parent most often on duty. And, frankly, it can suck. It makes me feel hard to love.
But it sucks in a whole new way with my tween. I’ve been told these middle school years can be harder than the high school years in some ways, and I am hanging on to that thought — that if I can just eke through these next few seasons of not-awesomeness, it might get better, or at least smoother, afterward. Then I get to do it all over again. (And again. Oh, and again, because I thought once that four kids would be a grand adventure. Woo-hoo! Adventure!)
In the meantime, I have the privilege of being the one to drag my firstborn out of bed in the morning, all the while struggling to remember days when he woke me up way too early almost as if for sport. I have to usher him, however reluctantly, through the morning routine and make sure he gets to school on time. I have to receive him in the late afternoon when he is tired and cranky after a long day in the jungle of middle school. Then the real fun begins: the constant dance of do-your-homework/is-your-homework-finished/I-told-you-to-do-your-homework, with him pulling and resisting the entire time, desperate for just a little more time to play, to decompress, to resist thinking. The truth is, I don’t really blame him. That makes it even less fun to be The Mom, the Enforcer, Buzzkill-in-Chief. I’m on his side, and I can’t even tell him so, because I’m not ready to take on the whole school system and the way it doles out homework.
We still have our moments, and I hang onto them with both hands: when a new book arrives that I ordered without telling him, and he eagerly scoops it up and begins reading it immediately with a genuine, “Thanks, Mom!”; when he comes back to my room a second time before bed because he “forgot to give me a hug,” even on the days that started out with a door slamming and icy words; when my husband is away on business and I let him stay up with me, his nose deep in a book while I finish working on my laptop in my big white bed. He’s fun to be with when our internal agendas align, and I want so desperately to be able to enjoy him more and nag him less. We’re just not always there yet.
He is my firstborn. There is no one in the world that holds his unique place in my life. He is the boy who made me a mother, the boy who has challenged me unlike anyone else. He knows exactly which buttons to push; he knows the nuances and personalities of our little family better than I do. He is still my heart every bit as much as he was the first day we brought him home from the hospital. But sometimes, in hormone-filled (me), puberty-rich (him) moments, when his assertions of independence and will meet my obligatory parental push-back, he doesn’t love me. I have to be okay with that, and I will be, as long as I have hope he will always come home at the end of the day loving me again.
So far, he has.
This post originally appeared at Brain, Child.
What a great perspective to have. We are in a ‘phase’ with my eldest and this reminder is so helpful.
Thanks so much, Annie — it helps me to hear I’m not alone, too!
I am SO glad you wrote this. My oldest is only 8, so we are not quite there, but some days, he just seems to resent my presence and it’s so hard. Words come out of my mouth so differently than I intended and I just want to get to that soft spot, where we can both relax. Thank you for company during the prickly times and for writing so skillfully about it.
Thank you, Pamela. I don’t always show grace. Today we had a particularly rough time. I often feel defeated, like a failure, and I despair at where our relationship is. But it ebbs and flows, and he gives me hope that it might even out someday. Maybe.
I was your son nearly 30 years ago. My mom’s first born and vacillating between super nice kid and total douchebag. It was never anything personal and I always knew that my mom was my biggest ally, so don’t screw it up!
She would always, ALWAYS get me to smile in a situation where I was mad at her. She wouldn’t have let me leave the van without acting stupid or whatever until I smiled. I see now that it’s really the best way to leave a person you love. You never know when that time you split will be your last, so don’t leave it on an angry note, right?
My son asked me tonight “how many years until i go away to college?” He’s 11. He’s not allowed to have texting or certain x-box games. And “EVERYONE ELSE DOES”.
I’ve been looking for a poem/quote that I’ve seen many times before that talks about being a mom at the different stages of a child’s life. From 2 – 60 years old. Something like at “10 I thought you were cool, At 15 not so cool, at 25 I came back around, and at 30 I value your opinion. Now I”m 50 and I wish you were still here.” Something along those lines. I wish I could find it and put it on my fridge during these tough days.
Love your blog!
Your piece hit me on so many levels today. I have three children, ages 10, 9, and 4. Today was an unusually terrible morning with 2 of the 3 not being cooperative, in the least. As I pulled away from the drop-off at school, I felt tears well up in my eyes. Some days just suck! By the time I arrive at school (I teach 5th grade), I generally feel mentally (and physically) exhausted–and that’s just the first shift!
Life is hard enough most days, but one thing that just kills me (and you reminded me of this) is the importance the school culture has put on kids doing homework. Seriously, we have taken most of recess, or any other physical activity, time away because we need that instructional time to cram more curriculum down their throats. We ask them to hold it together all day, and as a reward, we give them homework. I know that some people are aware that there is actually research that really doesn’t support the effectiveness of homework, but I think the vast majority of people (teachers included) think that homework should be given for a multitude of reasons. One that I hear commonly is that kids “these days” should have homework because their parents did. Really? Very frustrating, and as you can imagine, I could go on and on.
Thanks for your words today. Not sure why it feels so good to know that someone else is going through similar trials and tribulations, but it does. And now it’s time to go to bed so we can start it all over tomorrow. (-:
They are going to shatter my heart. To tiny freaking pieces. And then put it all back together again in seconds.
Just wait till he is a full blown teenager and he tells you he hates you and you crumble with a broken heart, living for the moment he tells you he didn’t mean it. It is a hard job, and being a parent is not for sissies, I tell ya!
Ugh! It does get better. I have 3 boys (19, 17 and 10) and have been there*.
If you can view it as him simply asserting his newfound independence it won’t feel so personal because he NEEDS you even if he isn’t outwardly showing it. That said, this means cutting back on the homework nagging. He wants independence… he learns how to handle it. And it comes with consequences from the teacher. YOU don’t have to be the bad guy. 🙂 I know it feels like you’re just letting go, but that’s not it. You’re just giving more opportunity for those good moments. My oldest moved out and knife in my heart, but our relationship is amazing now. Because I am not standing over him anymore. 🙁 I hope it gets better soon, because it sure feels awful. But, IT DOES GET BETTER.
My “dear” son is dipping his toes in these dangerous waters. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.
Such a powerful, honest post. So glad you shared it here too. (in readable font.) 😉
Oh my do I remember those days. The only thing I can tell you is, hang in there IT WILL GET BETTER. Actually it will get great. My first born, my son, my beautiful little boy is now 27 and I couldn’t ask for a better relationship. We had our times when he was a tween and even his teen induced depressed years of “you have no clue Mom my life sucks” but then one day when he was about 20 it all changed and today even though he lives a country away from me and has his own life he calls regularly and shares everything with me. He refers to me as his mom and best friend and I adore him. It was hard and we did have a few good moments during those years but once we got past them he was all good and he has grown into a caring, empathetic and loving man. As hard as it was, I would gladly do all over again.
Yup, I’ve totally been on the son’s side of that situation. But the worst part is, that I’m an only child. Although, my parents are divorced, I’m adopted, AND I have ADD/ADHD (fortunately my ADD/ADHD isn’t too terrible), but that’s not the point. Now in my third quarter of high school (freshman year), with a HUGE presentation looming like the devil himself on the horizon (apologies if the mention of a certain being from a fiery underground realm offended anyone), I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place and I’m pretty close to just cutting myself loose (not literally, of course). ANYWAY, there have been many a day when my response to my mom’s,”I love you.” have been,”whatever.” or,”I don’t love you too.” and trust me, if it’s happening on a regular basis, then something besides raging boymones (see what I did there?) and/or the nightmare that is *dramatic pause* middle school may be to blame (no matter how hard it is to believe). My best advice (I am running on my haven’t-gone-to-bed earlier-than-2-in-the-morning brain) for you is to try to connect with your son and develop a bond with him no matter how many barriers you have to smash, slip, or carefully navigate through. Just take it slow, don’t rush him with every question in existence, that tends to have the opposite affect. On a more nostalgic note, I actually envy the relationship you have with your son a bit. The majority of the relationship that I have with both of my parents consists mainly of homework, homework, arguments, a dash of yelling, and me finding more refuge in my friends than I ever have found in my parents. I feel like you will have a much easier time with your son. This blog is something that I can relate to more than you know, thank you.