Before I get into this post I want to give a shout out to everyone who visited my blog yesterday. Being on Freshly Pressed is kind of awesome. Lots of you commented and subscribed, which is also awesome. I am going to visit your blogs too and attempt to reply to everyone. I’m overwhelmed so give me a day or two. Thank you…yes, you!
For about 24 hours now my eldest son, John, has given me the silent treatment. I have no idea where he learned this counter-productive and immature behavior. Not from me, I assure you. I’m a talker. A yeller. A stay up all night and cry and fight until it is figured out kind of person.
It’s a really delightful personality trait.
Yesterday, my son got into trouble at school not once, but twice. As a parent I am actually ok with an occasional slip up. He’s 14, not capable of making the right decision all the time. I totally get that. But there still has to be a punishment, even if you know they are being normal.
Also, normal for a teenager is completely stupid and devoid of any reason or consequences.
He came home and told me about one of the incidents, a little scuffle with another puberty-stricken teenage boy. They got sent to the principal for it. He neglected to mention that he also got into trouble for chattering in math class. Luckily, the teacher had already emailed me.
I talked to him about the problems. I felt like he understood that he needed to make better choices and take responsibility for his actions.
Ten minutes later he asked if he could meet his buddy at the soccer field. I said no.
He looked at me like a had a wiener on my forehead.
“Ummm…. you got into a fight at school and got kicked out of math class today! So, no. No, you cannot go hang out with your friend at the soccer field.”
He said, “But, soccer is going to help me!”
I said, “Yeah, so is math. So is learning to control yourself so you don’t get sent to the principals’ office.”
Apparently that was a completely foreign concept to him.
He sulked most of the evening.
Finally, I asked him if he was just not going to talk to me anymore.
He said, “Yeah.”
Fine. Two can play at that game.
This morning I figured it would be over. He never follows through on anything else, why would this be any different?
So again I asked (not very nicely), “Are you just not going to talk to me?”
It is now 10:00 PM and he has barely said three words to me.
It was my night to drive the soccer car pool.
Not one word.
He even rode in the backseat.
If this is what I have to look forward to for the next 4 years, I’m going to need a new liver.