Tonight, Joe was in a mood. Why? Because I refused to pay $2 for him to breed some imaginary creature in DragonVale. The impetus for buying Joe an iPad in the first place was to help him with his studies. For a while, he was great about doing both spelling and math apps with it. We loved that he spent hours on Google Earth. Bit by bit, though, he started getting more into gaming apps and spending less time on the educational apps. Next thing I knew, he was asking me to check on his Tiny Zoo, feed his make-believe fish, and buy him dragons. Seriously? Is this what it has come to? Now I’m an app lackey in addition to being Laundry Queen and Head Chef?

After I told Joe I would not be putting in our iTunes password to purchase a sack of imaginary gems for his dragon breeding, he had something of a meltdown. I sent him to his room. Soon, Luke came down with a report.

“Joe is really sad, I think.”

“Yep. I told him I wasn’t buying him any dragon gems.”

“Well, I thought you should know he’s hatching a plan to figure out your password so he can still get them,” he tattled.

“He is, huh? Thanks for the report, lieutenant.” I saluted him.

I went upstairs into their room and Joe was not on his bed. I called his name. A noise emanated from under the bed. Yep. My nearly 11 year old son, livid at his unwavering mother, had crawled under the bunk bed in protest. I laughed to myself and then got flat on my belly next to the bed to confront him.

“So…you were going to use my password to get your gems anyway, huh?”

“NOOOOOOOO!” came the reply, which was followed in rapid succession by the confession. “I couldn’t figure it out anyway.”

“Uh huh. You realize that if you EVER input our password to purchase something without our approval we will consider it theft. At that point, your iPad will become MY iPad.”

“I didn’t steal. I told you. I couldn’t figure out the password. I just typed in a bunch of G’s, but that’s not it.”

“No. That isn’t it. So, you do admit that you tried to steal?” I inquired.

“No. I told you. It didn’t work,” he said, exasperated with me.

“But you were planning to go behind our backs and do what we told you not to. That is a problem.”

“If you would just give me the $2 (my mind immediately went to Better Off Dead), I wouldn’t have to be sneaky.”

“Well,” I replied, “I said no. That’s my final answer, and it’s not up for discussion.” And, with that, I left the room.

As I was leaving he said, “I took you off my text messaging list. I’m not sending you any more messages, Mom. Ever.”

“Nice try, sweetie. But you know I don’t negotiate with terrorists. I’ll miss your texts, but my texts from my other friends will get me through.” (Mean, I know. But he has to know that he can’t get to me that way, even if he did just a little with that comment.)

I know he’s mad at me now, but he’ll get over it. In time he’ll learn that his terrorist tactics are a waste of his time with me. I’ve been the target of these attacks for years now and I’ve acquired some skill in handling them. Don’t tell him, but I’m secretly impressed by his attempts at coercion and blackmail. He’s good; he’s just not as good as me.

Last night our boys decided they no longer wanted the flannel sheets on their beds. We were downstairs cleaning up after our Easter festivities and, unbeknownst to us, they stripped the bedding off their bunk bed and then called me up to fix their problem. When I got upstairs, their entire bedroom floor was covered in blankets, dirty sheets, stuffed animals, and confusion. I was exhausted and annoyed.

I got out the regular cotton sheets for their beds, tossed them at the boys, and told them to get busy making their beds before I stomped out of the room. Five minutes later I went back to check on them, and they were still clueless. Nothing in the room had changed. I’ve shown my boys repeatedly how to change their sheets, but clearly they have not been paying attention. So, I stood over them barking directions, trying to get them to finish their own task. They labored mightily. They could not get it together. About 9:45 when the beds still weren’t ready for sleep, I decided the quickest path to rest for all of us was for me to take over. So I did. I finished what they had started and we were all asleep by 10:30. I knew that doing their work for them only encourages them to call me to fix their problems, but I was too tired to care.

This morning when the boys busted into my room at 7 a.m. on their day off, still reeling from the bed fiasco last night, I told them to hang around for a minute. I had my second wind and I was ready to be patient. I hauled my butt out of bed.

“You need to make my bed,” I said, still sleepy.

“What?”came the response, times two.

“You heard me. You’re making my bed today.”

“Is this because of last night?” Joe inquired. “Is this my punishment?”

“Oh, sweetie. It’s not a punishment. It’s an opportunity.”

So, I stood there and I let them struggle with the sheets and the comforter. I gave them tips but allowed them to do it all themselves. I coached and encouraged. I told them how to stack the pillows. When it was all said and done, my bed was made and I hadn’t touched it. I felt like Samantha on Bewitched. A little twitch of my nose and the housework was finished. It was a watershed moment. They’re learning to be self-sufficient. I was proud. I was pleased with them but more so with myself for letting go of the reins and giving them control. I felt powerful. So powerful, in fact, that I folded some laundry and had them put it away themselves. Then, I sent them make their own beds because practice makes perfect.

Wonder what I can have them do tomorrow? The more work I have them do in my house now, the less I think they’ll want to live here when they’re 25. If you feather the nest too nicely, they’ll never fly. If I know one thing for sure, it’s that I don’t want to be doing their laundry 15 years from now.

 

 

 

This morning our oldest woke us up at 6:30 a.m. He does this quite often because, well, he has massive impulse control issues. At any rate, we sent him and his brother downstairs (presumably to watch Phineas and Ferb quietly so we could continue sleeping). A few minutes later, however, I hear Joe’s whiny cry. It’s not a true cry but a sort of cry/whine hybrid whereby he sounds not unlike a tornado siren. Actually, they should substitute the current tornado siren with Joe’s whiny cry. It might get people to run for cover more quickly. I sensed that any moment his problem would become ours. He burst back into our room, still whining.

“I didn’t get to my crossbreed fast enough, and he got sick,” he whined, referring to his Tiny Zoo app.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. That sucks,” I replied, trying as hard as possible to sound truly sympathetic.

“I had to abandon him because I knew you wouldn’t give me even $1 to save him. Now I need $20 to buy more coins to breed him again, but I know you won’t give me that money either.” Tru dat. “And I had to spend all my coins to get him. Now I don’t have any left. I’ll never get enough coins to buy this crossbreed again.” Drama queen.

“Oh, Joe. You will get enough coins eventually. Just keep saving. You’ll get there.”

“No I won’t. If you would just spend the money this would all be fixed.” Ha. This kid is delusional.

“I’m not buying imaginary coins to save a fake animal on an app, sweetie. Sorry.”

His cry became louder and more desperate but, sensing that he was getting nowhere with this discussion, he charged out the room letting the door close a bit too loudly. I put a pillow over my head to drown out his whining, tried to remember that it was early and his ADHD meds had not yet kicked in, and attempted to go back to sleep. A few minutes later, there was a light knock on the door. It was Luke this time.

“Mom,” he whispered, “I just thought you should know that Joe deleted you from his friends list on Tiny Zoo. Don’t tell him I told you.” This was getting hysterical.

“Thanks for the heads up, Luke.” And, with that, the informant exited as stealthily as he had entered.

“Wow, hon. I’ve been unfriended by my own son,” I told Steve.

“Thank God we haven’t given him his own Facebook account yet,” he replied, “or he could unfriend you there too.”

The whining steadily grew louder again. Clearly he was on his way back upstairs to have a second go at me. Apparently unfriending me was not punishment enough. He reappeared in our room.

“Joe, before you say anything, let me remind you that this was your mistake and no one else’s,” I said, trying to curtail his complaints quickly. “You knew what time you would have to collect that animal and you didn’t make it back in time.”

“But, you never TOLD me that crossbreed animals could get sick if you didn’t get them fast enough. I didn’t know. Maybe if I had known….”

“Stop right there. You made a mistake. It’s okay. In a day or so you will be able to get that animal for your zoo again. No worries. And,” I added, “I still love you even though you unfriended me.” I smiled brightly at him.

Exasperated, he moaned out loud and then turned and left, ushering his way out with his whiny cry once again. He hates it when I love on him when he’s angry with me. I may go on record as the meanest mother ever for today. But by tomorrow when his zoo has a brand spanking new axolotl, a gilled salamander nearing extinction in Mexico, I’ll be back in his good graces and on his friend list once again. And he will understand (at least on some level) these two things: 1) Tiny Zoo is a game and not a life or death situation (even if the game plays out that way) and 2) the world doesn’t come to an end when you don’t get what you want at the exact moment you want it. I figure that lesson is plenty worth being unfriended over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was struggling tonight to come up with something to write about, so I decided to let my sons do my writing for me. In October of 2003, I started keeping a journal of funny or insightful things my boys said. I am still writing things in it and plan to continue until they become teenagers and stop talking to me. Every once in a while, I pull the book out and read to the boys from it. They truly think they are hilarious. I’m too biased to have a fair opinion. All I know is that this book is the only non-living thing I would try to save if our house caught fire. Here are some memories of my young boys that I will always treasure:

February 23, 2004 – Joe found my box of OB tampons. He pulled one out and brought it to me. He asked if he could have “this mint.” I guess it looked like the mints we get in our meals at Chick-Fil-A. Oops.

July 15, 2005 – Today as Joe walked out the slider I heard him say, “Today is a good day for digging, I think.”

January 10, 2006 – Yesterday Joe says, “Mommy…cows pee milk.” To which I, of course, go into this entire dissertation about how a cow has an udder to give milk. His reply, “Mom, my penis is an udder.” And that’s what I get for trying to talk to my boys like they are adults. I give up.

November 9, 2007 – Joe and Luke are fighting. Luke starts in with his fake cry. I ask Joe what’s going on and he says…”We have big time sharing issues, I think.”

August 8, 2008 – Today Joe noticed he’d put a tiny hole in his new stuffed toy. He was noticeably upset about it. His comment: “Mom, I think I loved him too much.”

February 12, 2009 – Joe just said, “If you really want to find out a mystery, you ask God.”

May 8, 2009 – I heard Luke taunting Joe saying, “I’m gonna cook your mouse.” Joe had just gotten a stuffed mouse from a prize box at school. I told Luke to knock it off and stop teasing his brother. A while later, I hear Luke say, “Joe…I’m cooking your mouse.” So, I turn around to tell him to stop with this “cooking” talk only to find Luke at the table, Joe’s stuffed mouse tied to a stick from the yard, the stick stuck between two upright clothespins, and a paper drawing of fire underneath him. He was roasting Ratatouille on a spit, just like he said he would. He’s a creative kid. Scary, but creative.

March 20, 2010 – The other night we were in a Brazilian steakhouse with the boys. In an effort to try to get Luke to try some new foods, I offered him a dollar. He looked pointedly at me and counter-offered with $6. I said, “No way, Luke. $1 is my offer.” To which he replied, “Okay. Okay. $1….plus $5.” The kid is way too smart.

April 16, 2010 – Buddy (our springer/lab mix) is still alive. He’s over 13 years old and still kicking. The other day Joe said, “Buddy must have drank from the doggy Holy Grail.”

May 8, 2011 – Today Luke said to Joe (after Steve poured me a big glass of wine), “It’s Mom’s lucky day.”

February 6, 2012 – Tonight I heard Luke chastising Joe for being mean to him. I backed Luke up and told Joe to knock it off. Then I heard Luke tell Joe, “You see that? Mom’s nice to me, Joe. Dad’s nice to me too.” Then there was a long pause as Joe returned to Luke the toy that was the cause of the discord. “And, you’re nice to me too, Joe.” Awwww.

I knew there was a reason I wanted two sons.