Tuesday, March 20, 2007

My Mirror Image

He'd better be an actor. A working actor. He'd better bring home major loot to pay us back for all the aggravation. You know who, if you've read any of this before. My son, that's who.

We are living between two houses now. All of our clothes and such live in our house while we continue to sleep at Nana's house because Daddy ordered a new TV - unbeknownst to Mommy - and wants the satellite and TV all hooked up before we go in. Now, I figured as much. The kids could probably be adequately distracted for a bit but between them and Daddy wanting their TV, I'd probably be twisted like taffy by the time they got done. So we wait. Daddy swears we'll be in there this weekend. The great satellite conversion is supposed to hit Thursday or Friday. "You just wait. I'll order HD and when you see it, theeeeen you'll see!" I don't doubt it. I never do.

Anyway, with our clothes elsewhere, Son, has to take whatever I bring home when I make the run to the house after work. He is Mr. Picky. Always has been. Hates for his T-shirts to show in any way, which is difficult with kids' clothes given how they make them so roomy these days. He hates his pants to hang down - and that I do hope he never changes. His socks have to feel just right in his shoes.

He's particular and I know this. Sometimes it's a battle of wills. I know he'll give me grief but I lord my parental authority anyway just because I don't feel like doing whatever it'll take to quiet him down. Sometimes I make the effort to do what I THINK he'll like. I say think because even if he wears something one day, it doesn't mean he won't hate it the next time and me? I'm naively thinking, "He wore this already. It fit great. No complaints. Wait. Better take 2 choices." Then he hates them both.

"It's down to my chest," he said this morning. This means that you can see a sliver of skin at the top of the neck hole.

"Son, it fits fine. Just get dressed. Your bus will be here any minute."

" But it's down to myyy cheeeest!" (Here we go.)

"Son, you have 2 choices. That shirt or the other. That's it."

"But it's down to myyyyyy chhhhhheestt!" Whine, whine. (I'm gonna blow.)

"Go open the drawers." He does. They're empty. "See? Your clothes are at OUR house now. These are your choices!" He goes to my room because I must be lying. Back to his room to whine some more. The bus usually shows just before 8:30. It's 8:24.

"Huff. I'm done. Husband, your turn. You are - going to - miss your - bus!"

He sits in his underwear waiting for the Clothes Fairy to deliver a perfect shirt from Beyond. As I've said a million times here, it's all I can do to just walk away.

So he's 7 now and I suppose this stuff will just get worse until he gets a job and starts buying his own clothes - which I am going to recommend if it looks like he can handle it down the line.

I look at him, wanna shake him but I just know I'm battling with myself.

All that drama - I think I was a dramatic kid myself. I refuse to ask my parents to confirm it, though. I know it's a sign of creativity and he got that from me for sure.

All that pickiness - I can't leave things any old way. They have to be done MY way and the folk at my job praise/jibe me for my organization (and they come expecting me to have the answer as a result). I'm a obsessive-compulsive perfectionist (getting worse as I get older) and he got that from me.

All that selective hearing - I can't tell you how many times I have people repeat themselves when I heard them the first time but I just didn't really want to answer. I know I do that. If I responded to people right away, I'd be praised for my excellent hearing. I hear you, I hear you - most times - I'm just deciding what to say or hoping you'll go away. Son gives me the innocent look - "What? Isn't that what you meant?" - and reacts to what he chooses to hear. He got it from me, I just know it.

One day I'm going to take the time to stop and deal with him in a new way and surprise us both with my ability to not be so stubborn. I'm always praying for patience, I just have yet to actually try to BE patient. I sure hope I get this thing right before we both end up on opposite sides of a fence we can't scale. I'm aware of things so I'm trying. Really I am.

1 comment:

Lynn said...

I can relate SO strongly to what you're saying. I keep praying for patience, I do see myself in him, and I'm so scared of creating a wall that will go so high it can't be scaled (you brought a tear to my eye there) .... Thank you for the good reminder. Patience, patience, patience ....