I Hate 6th Grade

Cooper and I fight every day. Every. Day. He is obstinate, argumentative and a total pre-teenager. It doesn't matter what I do, I'm wrong, I'm stupid, I'm not enough. It's breaking my heart. I'm finding the easiest thing to do is ignore him and I can't tell you how much that hurts. He doesn't want me in his space anymore. My little boy who clung to his "nurseys" and his blanket named "ga" is nowhere to be seen. At least that's how it feels.

Typically, Eric gets up with Cooper before school--I just make things harder--and takes him to school. This morning Eric had to go plow so I got the honors. I got up and he immediately bristled at my question of "Did you take a shower?" He actually stomped out of the room and slammed the door. What's worse is if his dad asks it's usually a response like, "Oh no ... not yet!" as he gleefully tip toes into the bathroom.

I'm not sure what I'm doing that is insulting his sensitivities so greatly. Do I call him out too much? We have always been so close -- almost too close and I'm sure that part of this is his separating from me. Which obviously needs to happen -- but I didn't know it would be so hurtful.

I laid back down after he got on the bus before I had to wake up Jackson and Aiden for school and cried. It is just so hard. It's so sad to me that the biggest heartbreak I have is between my son and my own heart. I thought I had a little more time before he left me but I was wrong. In a lot of ways he's already gone.

After he got out on the bus I texted him that I loved him and hoped he had a good day. He answered he loved me, too. I tried to remind myself of all the ways he's still with us -- with me -- the hug I got after school (that followed another argument, actually), his concern for me when I don't feel well, how he appreciated when I surprised him with "The Blind Side" book a few weeks ago. There's still a lot of good stuff, and a lot more to have, it's just all different and I wasn't ready for it to change so drastically so fast.

I'm trying to let him go and make his mistakes and rise to the occasions he's given on his own -- but he's only 12! Aren't I supposed to have a say, still? It seems as though he's fine with me unless I'm the one bringing the heat about homework, his room, his attitude ... so as long as I just get along he'll be nice to me?

I know I'm telling him too often what to do--I get that. But to be honest I'm scared. This is when everything you've said and done (and while I think I've done (we've done) a good job there all the sudden seems to be a danger around every corner) is coming out. I'm afraid he's not going to know. I am afraid he's going to be hurt. Little hurts I can live with. The big ones I can't.

I think Jackson's accident has been more traumatic to me than I am willing to admit. I have been so afraid of them being hurt, lost, gone ever since it happened that sometimes I can't breathe. Obviously, I need to get over that. I just want a window into his life, I don't need the whole thing--just a little bit. Is it so hard for him to give me that? Maybe.

WInter 2010 ... Hmmm ...

This winter feels different. Maybe I will live through the searing cold winds and heavy gray skies instead of merely surviving this year. My body still feels angled and hard, missing it’s rounder, softer, summer-self. My edges are sharper with word and thought as they usually are during these short days--it will take a conscious effort to endure January, February and March. Wishing away minutes, hours and days is not my way of living--but I know I have a difficult time not clicking my heels together three times when the clouds seem to hang so low they fog my thoughts and the sun is absent for weeks on end. “I want summer. I want summer. I want summer.”

Add the weather with a pre-teen son with a girlfriend and an attitude, a ten-year-old who’d like to grow up sooner rather than later, a six-year old who is swearing like a sailor and isn’t afraid to take on the world and a husband who detests these icy winter months and it is difficult to smile around this ole house sometimes.

I have added on the ten pounds I have fought off dozens of times before -- and am back to detailing, scrutinizing and rationing my food. Nearly all our parents have all gone to sunnier, warmer skies for the winter leaving us to tend to their animals and homes--while I’m grateful for the opportunity to repay their continual support and generosity, I’m also a little jealous. Life just feels better in the sun.

Despite all the caveats of the impending Michigan winter I feel somewhat optimistic. Eric has convinced himself to head back to the gym--which always helps his attitude and spirit. I am taking over the ordering and preparation for class at the lab. I will be working for Matty again soon. I’ve herded up enough courage to tackle these pesky ten pounds and am hopeful I’ll come out on top. The boys are all healthy, happy and engaged in activities and school.

Most years I start out January 1 with a thought of reorganizing, restructuring and rehabilitating my overindulged family -- back to TV limits that were ignored during the holiday hubbub, packing lunches and attempting to eat dinner together and earlier bed times all with the intention of dragging this sleigh through the winter months. This year my thoughts are similar -- only I don’t feel the anxiety of the winter months like I usually do. I know I can get through it.

I’m not sure what’s so different this year from last. Maybe a more acute sense of the boys fleeting time with us as Cooper’s 12th birthday shone a searingly bright spotlight on how fast it all changes. We do have a trip to Jamaica planned with family and friends that I’m so looking forward to--but we’ve had that to look forward to before, nothing life changing new there. Eric gave me a new winter coat for Christmas--I feel warm and happy to wear it--maybe that’s it?

As I think back to year’s past it seems that the months of winter were irrepresible in many ways--the mechanics of simply taking the three boys out anywhere felt overwhelming. Finding 6 boots, 6 gloves, 3 coats, 3 hats and 3 pairs of snow pants, let alone matching socks was always a challenge that I rarely lived up to. We’d have one glove, mismatched mittens, boots without liners, NO socks and holes in the knees of our snow pants. That was just the getting ready to leave--sloshing through snowy, rainy parking lots just added to the misery. The boys are old enough now that the boots are theirs to find (at least the older boys) and I rarely have to drag all three of them out for errands these days. They’re older. They’re a bit easier in some respects.

Last year these months were not only absent of sun and warmth but also very trying times for Eric at work and the country in general. I distinctly remember running on the treadmill last year as I watched CNN, praying we’d just make it a few more months. IDC was perilously close to trouble and our livelihood with it. The weight of the economy and money stressors for Eric magnified the weight of the heavy hanging clouds--that has eased significantly. There are still mountains to climb--but we are standing on much firmer ground.

Perhaps I should not analyze or curiously wonder where the feeling of dread and claustrophobic anxiety I am usually saddled with went to. Perhaps I should enjoy being able to walk with a daily focus of the tasks at hand rather than carrying an omnipresent wool blanket of yuck draped across my shoulders. I have a stack of books to read and I’ve found “House Hunters International” on HGTV--I can make it.