Your thirteen-year old speaks to you with disrespect. You:
a) Are incensed and pull rank or dole out a punishment.
b) You ignore it.
c) You laugh it off.
d) You are proud as punch.
While it may seem an odd reaction I was c) & d), and after a little reflection I now know exactly why.
Late last night, our parental duties fulfilled, my husband and I finally sat down with treats to watch the rest of The Voice on playback in peace. When I say treats, I mean that he ate a Belgian-chocolate-coated, full size Magnum (deluxe ice cream on a stick) and I had this sad little sugar-free, carob-coated crispbread to trial.
Yes I freely admit I’ve been irritable on this (boring) sugar, yeast, wheat, dairy, alcohol (and the rest) detox*… So when Mr suddenly snapped off a chunk of my sugar-free treat to try after scoffing down his real-deal dessert, the dirty dog… I may have used some language which prompted Mr13 to come out of his room.
He stuck his grumpy nose through the sliding doors:
“Shut your swear-hole. I’m trying to sleep.”
I’ve never heard him speak like that before! (To anyone, let alone me.) There was a pause. Then, like the Mother of the Year I am I burst into fits of incredulous laughter in his wake. Who was that?!
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My boy has always been naïve, without malice, clueless to all non-gaming- related teen culture and a vehement anti-swearer. A delightful combo that invites teasing and worse from fellow students.
“Why are teenagers so rude? Why do they need to swear so much?” he asked in his first year of secondary school last year. I know, right?!
I don’t openly swear in front of my kids, but I now take less care to self-censor in the presence of Mr13- especially if he happens to be awake long after bed time. He wants me to stop this bad habit but I won’t- I’m stubborn like that. I don’t pepper all my language- just when all the occasions call. It’s an adult privilege of choice if you ask me, just like a glass of wine is. I think we’ve earnt it.
I worry about him remaining too child-like in an adolescent world. He knows where babies come from of course but most grown-up culture soars over my son’s head. So much so that every now and then I feel the need to gently introduce him to all sorts of adult concepts, with humour, to keep him up with his peers and to not find life too much of a shock.** Example: This weekend we watched The Fox and the Hound for family movie night. Tod and Vixy emerge from their first night in a burrow together. She’s glowingly happy and says something to that effect. So I cheekily muttered to my husband: “Especially after last night.” We glance over at the boy, the boy pauses, knits his brow, then his jaw falls and eyes pop as the penny drops. We smile. He’s somewhat disgusted. I am pleased. He’s coming along.
It’s these sorts of moments- all kinds of them- that give me hope for his future as an independent adult. It takes him longer to catch up, but catch up I hope he does.
My boy was rude to me last night. He asserted himself; he did not melt down. He spoke to me with the attitude and language appropriate for his age. It was unexpected and adorable, with all the fearsome potency of a bear cub making his first squeaky little growl. This time- it was an absolute gift.
Linking with Essentially Jess for IBOT.
*Anti-Candida diet
** Well, me and the racy bedroom scenes in Big Bang Theory: *Huge sigh, “Not again”, covers eyes*
