Parenting teens is hard, yo.
I did it twice already and I am pretty sure 1 out of 2 teens would say I fucked up royally.
But I did the best with what I had. And one day I will believe that shit.
Nothing. NOTHING, The Damn Emos threw my way prepared me for parenting a 5 year old man mountain with testosterone squirting out his hypothalamus like a fucking firehose.*
One minute he wants to sit on my lap and turn my bones to diamonds from the weight.
The next he is having some alone time in his room and we have to knock on the damn door.
School holidays are the hardest.
Routines are broken and loooooong stretches of not leaving the house (while I am at work or lazing around watching tv and eating chocolate) peppered with mum wanting to DO THINGS! and GO PLACES! and BUY FOOD AND TOILET PAPER!
Yesterday morning he had a bit of a sleep in, and as it was my day off work I was
hobbling around like an old woman till my pain meds kicked in pottering around the house and then jumped in the shower.
I heard him get up, and as I was still towelling off I quickly snibbed the bathroom door. Seconds before he tried to get in.
Wrapping the towel around me, I unsnibbed the door and opened it to see what he needed.
All. Hell. Broke. Loose.
Apparently he didn’t want me to open the door at THAT particular second and therefore he was going to let me know his displeasure by standing over me and screaming in my face.
That shit might work on others buddy, but I lived with MOTY until I could get myself pregnant** and the hell out of that house. Your childish intimidation tactics don’t even register on my radar.
I sent him to his room for 5 minutes.
When time was up, he called out to ask if he could leave his room. I let him know that he could as long as there was no yelling or slamming doors. (usually if I send him to his room he will come out and do the same thing again… it is an OCD thing or an autism thing or a fucking butthead thing… I have no clue but this is the dance we do)
He came out stamping his size 14’s and walked out the front door screaming ‘That’s it mum! I am moving out!’
Now, normally I would freak the fuck out and run after him, lest he run out on the road or get lost or start doing naked dirt angels in the neighbours driveway, but today I was all… meh.
And it scared the shit out of him.
He was back inside within a minute, and seconds later sent to his room again. This time for half an hour for leaving the house without permission.
While drying my hair I got these text messages from the prisoner.
Which resulted in me letting said little shit know that if he even tried threatening me again I would take away the internet.
When his 1/2 hour was up and the aforementioned dance completed, he stormed out of the house again. To the backyard. So technically leaving the house, but not really cause the backyard is his domain.
But it was raining. Heh.
And then, in a twist that even Stephen King couldn’t see coming, he sent HIMSELF to his room and then texted me this.
Fuck I love that butthead. But I am still the damn boss.
* I am fully aware that testosterone is not produced in the hypothalamus, but production starts there so I am partially right and here is a fancy diagram drawn by a scientist to support my firehose hypothesis:
** technically I moved out of home a year or so before I fell pregnant. But lets not ruin a tale with facts and shit.
OMG I am so looking forward to these school holidays to be done.