The Challenge

Quick! Someone please tell me that there is something more challenging than raising a 13 year-old boy! How is it that one minute they can be just a larger version of that lovable toddler and then the next, they can be so abominable you want to run as far away from them as possible? I will never understand it; and for good reason. After all, I am certainly not a boy and I cannot fathom what he is going through as a boy. I can't use the, "Oh, Honey. I know how you feel..." thing. Because I don't. I can only ensure that there is at least 3 feet of space between us at any given moment in case he spontaneously combusts.

How hard it must be to live with the male brain. This is not a male-bashing blog. This is simply an observation. No matter who they are. No matter their age or their intellectual level, men have issues with listening and memory. Most of the time the two go hand in hand. The first, listening...Tonight we were sitting in a local gourmet pizza place (just an excuse to charge more for crust, sauce and cheese). Tyler sat to my right. While perusing the menu, he insisted that he could eat a whole 12" pizza on his own. Deciding to pick my battles, I caved. He did pretty good. We were talking about our plans for the weekend. He wants to roam the mall with his friends, and I calmly explained that there are responsibilities at home he must tend to first. Keep in mind, that I do not expect anything out of my kids except that they keep their spaces picked up; void of empty milk glasses, dirty socks, and banana peels. Clean clothes should be put away. When there is no more room in the dresser, its time to organize and take a load to Goodwill. That is the plan for tomorrow. A compromise is reached - "Mom, if you let me go to Billy's tonight, I will get all my chores done in the morning and then go to the mall." I feel that's a fair trade, as I have lawn mowing to add to his list as well. I drop him off at Billy's and go home to do homework and catch up on my blog. The understanding is that he will be home at 10pm, and that he will get a ride from Billy's mom or dad. Well...It is now 11:10pm. I have just gotten off the phone with my son who told me that he was playing video games, lost track of time, and Billy's parents are asleep. Hmmm. It doesn't seem like he kept up his end of the bargain. I think consequences are in order. Perhaps a Saturday of helping me around the house is in order. It has to be done anyway. According to him, that is unreasonable.
Here is where listening and memory kick in - he remembered us speaking about our arrangement, but didn't hear the part about getting home on time. I call it "Male Pattern Selective Deafness," or MPSD for short. I'm sure that it afflicts about 99.9% of the male population of the United States. I'm not sure about other countries, as I have never been out of this one (does Canada count?).

I told my precious baby boy to come home. His response was, "Yeah right. Its DARK." Well, yes it is. Its the middle of the night. One would expect it to be dark. I took him there, it was his responsibility to get a ride home. He blew it. Am I wrong not to go and pick him up? We do not live in an area of high crime. I'm not terribly worried that he wouldn't make it home unscathed. At least I wasn't worried about it until I just reread that last sentence. I imagine that once I end this tirade, I will take my pajama clothed body outside, into my minivan, and pick him up along the road like a lost puppy. I can only hope that he has had his shots.

After all, his bite is definitely worse than his bark.