In the big picture, it was a good thing that I didn't go, because me not going meant almost everyone else DID get to go, and it was very important that Anna get to go, as it was her birthday party substitute.
Me? I got to experience my first massive teenager-meltdown. You know, the kind where the teenager in question stomps off and disappears, prompting a neighborhood search wherein he needs to be boxed in by two parents while a third on the phone begs him to stop being stubborn and get in the car.
That kind. Many mentions of police involvement were made, but they didn't seem to interest him one bit. Nothing broke through - not yelling, not sarcasm, not being calm, nada. I guess when teenage boys get that angry, the testosterone takes over and they don't care about ANYthing.
When all was said and done, I finally had to do something I hate doing more than anything in the world and tell him that for now, I was going to step out and let his father handle him exclusively. Unless there is a real emergency, involving fire, blood, or both, he is to ask Lloyd for anything and everything, and Lloyd will handle his discipline, priviliges and anything and everything else. Period. I had to do this with Trevor a few years ago, and it was MISERABLE, and I'm not going to enjoy it any more this time.
AND, then once he has been transported back home (and I have succeeded in begging Lloyd to take Trevor, Anna and Anna (her twin/best friend) to the circus as planned, since it IS Anna's birthday party equivalent, and because by the time we mapped out directions for me to drive them, we'd miss the show), the child locks me out of the house (luckily I had insisted Lloyd not drive off until I made sure my keys were in my purse), and then when I go upstairs to his room, he's throwing things at the inside of his closed door, attempting to barricade me out.
I had to push my way in against his throwing things, getting rather bruised and battered in the process (I was already DEEEEEP in the middle of a massive lymphedema attack and other side-effect fun, which was yet another reason for Lloyd to go and me to stay), so I could demand his cell phone.
He responded by screaming at me to "take it," which I calmly refused to do, explaining that I would A) never do such a thing and B) that if I actually tried, he would doubtlessly hit me in some way as pure reflex, and I wasn't going to let that happen either, because *that* would have to have severe repercussions beyond my control. ::sigh::
"WHAT THE FUCK IS LIFE ANYWAY?!" was his response to that.
A ****very**** calm speech from me later (explaining that life was actually about people who love you, and continue to love you no matter whether you are sad, depressed, happy, triumphant, etc., and never stopped loving you even through shit like this; and that nothing he could do at that point was going to change MY feelings about him, because I chose him as my stepson, etc, etc, etc. AND discussing ways of getting out aggression, such as why smashing things was both therapeutic and a very bad idea, AND some deep sarcasm thanking him for the workout, since I was trying anything I could think of) he finally handed over the phone without incident and threw himself on his bed like (in his mother's words,) "a little girl."
She pretty much nailed it. She and I must have spent over an hour on the phone that day, in 2 or 3 conversations, which I know helped me - I hope it helped her, because we were both really upset.
After a couple hours of letting him calm down (and collecting all the things he was no longer allowed to use AND locking all my meds in a lockbox; yet another exhausting round of exercise), I went up to see if he was even awake, and tell him to start his homework - huge, ridiculous piles of homework - found his door barricaded AGAIN........had to push my way through it AGAIN....and found him still as pissed as he was in the first place. Actually, I think the fact that I was capable of getting in pissed him off more than anything.
After that one, I explained to him that if he kept up with the barricades, his father would *probably* take the door off the hinges, and he seemed to believe me, because he finally stopped that one and got to work on his homework with the door open. I gave him his iPod as a peace offering, but I guess it didn't work, because he was still verbally abusive and nasty to me yesterday.
The really fun part? I don't have the faintest idea why he was mad in the first place!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And so begins another enjoyable period in my step-mothering career. NOT!
Right now, I am tired. I am swollen with huge amounts of fluid. I have bruises up and down my right leg and random other places from fighting through barricaded doors. I have sore muscles in every part of my body.
I am depressed beyond comprehension.
But other than that, things are peachy-keen!
I'm going to go sit downstairs (I spent the day in bed yesterday, which did help immensely) and elevate my legs and sort through photos, as I await the receipt of our neato-coolo new photo scanner, so I can finally get them all digitized.
In the meantime, for your entertainment, I'm going to post the big pile of pics from our trip down South on Flickr, but be warned - I'm not sorting out all the blurry or strange ones yet. I'm too damned tired, and my hands hurt too much. That will come later. I got some incredible pics at the San Diego Zoo, so you should enjoy it anyway.
More when I can... Advice for the day: Don't have teenagers. Force your children to skip from about 8 or 9 to 25 in one step. Or send them to Hogwarts to wait it out. ;-)
5 comments:
Oi...yeah, these are the fun years, the years when the kid is bigger than you are and rage is the order of the day.
Invest in a dart gun and rhino tranks. It's the only way. That or a desert island of his very own.
As for what he was mad about? Pick anything at all from the last two years and you're likely to be right. Teenagers are just bigger, louder and more vocal toddlers.
And it is entirely possible HE doesn't know why he's mad. If I had to take a wild assed guess, he might be acting out in reaction to you being ill and not getting better. I could be and probably am wrong, but...it wouldn't surprise me. Kids can cope well for a long time and then fall apart all at once.
Good luck. And send Lloyd out for that dart gun.
Love you
Mom
NOT KNOWING what set him off is the worst and .... when asked he probably said (or would have) "nothing or I don't know" anyway!!! Ness was thankful to have me around for the first couple of years. By that time, she was 17 or 18 & we expected more of her for that reason, but she was used to being just a kid in every way and getting away with it- & since I WAS the MORE consistant of the two (like the typical mom) .... I was the one reminding her to pick up her room or clean up after herself & suddenly I was the bitchy stepmother. THAT didn't go away until Ken FINALLY stepped up to the plate and stood his ground with what was expected & what would happen (WOULD HAPPEN) if these rules weren't followed. Rather sooner than later ..... cuz it only gets worse it seems. HOPE IT GETS SORTED OUT FDOR YOU :o) You got enough on your plate without teensy stuff!!
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Thanks for posting this nice blog.
Dude, you should really patent that phrase of yours, the best thing you ever taught me when dealing with 'others' and I quote as you told me in a Mexican restaurant in Fremont (La Casita?):
"Unless there is a real emergency, involving fire, blood, or both..."
I hope your situation has improved, that everyone in the circus is playing nicer?
When a teenage boy is that angry I find the best thing is to let him keep running away! When the rage and testosterone do wear off they find that the need to pee, eat dinner and sleep off the weariness draws them toward a more peaceful homecoming. They really will find a way home or call for a ride. Then they get to hit their bed too worn out to barricade doors or throw things. I know they are scarey beasts and 2 year olds at the same time but remember that they rarely run away and become hobos ( Reyna is obsessed with hobos lately) or harm themselves. They just need somewhere for the rage to go. Better it dosn't go your way!
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