the eugene bean

First off, I'm consoling myself about your lack of replies with gentle caresses and whispers that you can't comment because I did some Blogger update. If this is not the case, I don't care. I create my own reality.

I feel the need to share. Bear with me, this is gonna be quite the rambler.

My son J is a pain in my ass. He is many other wonderful things as well, but I don't really remember those right now seeing as he is such a pain in my ass.

Here's the story:
For the past few weeks, bedtime has been ridiculous. E goes to bed at 7ish, J at 8ish. What usually happens is that E gets in bed and then throws himself around the mattress because if he stays still he will fall asleep and God forbid that happens at bedtime. Then at 8, J goes in and he and E chat for a bit. They have wonderful conversations about the rotation of the Earth and the extinction of animals and what stars are made of. I usually allow the conversation, because E is learning more from J than I could ever teach him. Not because I don't know the answers, (Hey! I do know the answers! Shut up and stop laughing at me.) but because E actually listens to J.

Anywho, lately the conversations have gone from whispers to loud laughter and bodies being thrown about the bunk beds. And then, inevitably, one of them gets either their bodies or their feelings hurt and they come out crying and we have to deal with it. And this can go on for hours. Hours that are supposed to be all about Ty and I. Hours that are supposed to be free of any and all peoples under the age of 29. So this isn't working, and random threats of stuffed animals being taken and early bedtimes haven't quite done the trick. So the night before last, at 10 pm, mean bitch Corrie came out and laid down the law. It went like this:

Me: (After loudly slapping my hands on the door as I open it, and throwing the lights on. I find that startling my kids saves them from corporal punishment.) I have had more then enough of this. You are crazy if you think I will put up with this bullshit for one second longer. (I curse. It hasn't hurt anyone yet. Jury's still out.) I am done. You are done. J, at this point, Anakin is not sleeping over on Friday night. You have 2 days to earn that back. E, at this point, you have one stuffed animal and one blanket on your bed. You can earn the rest back one at a time for good bedtimes and following directions. You guys don't get to pick what rules you follow. Shut your mouths, be completely still, and go to sleep. Now. (Finger in the air for emphasis.) Now.

J and E respond with dead silence. They probably fell asleep with their muscles clenched because they were afraid to move. Do I feel ashamed about this? Hell no.

So the next day, yesterday, comes pretty uneventfully. I go to work to finish up my report cards, E comes with me, J goes to school, and Ty studies at home. We had delicious Turkey and Andouille gumbo for dinner. (Word apparently doesn’t like that fine sausage. These are some of the words the spell checker suggested: Indocile, Ampoule, Anouilh, Mandeville, and Nodule. I looked up the definition of indocile, just for shits and giggles, and it happens to mean resistant to authority or discipline; recalcitrant. Ironic, you say?)

Along with our gumbo we have broccoli. Everyone is happy with this except J, which should be no surprise to anyone that has ever been within 10 feet of him. He exudes a hatred for all things healthy. J gets one floret on his plate, and opts for no cheese on it. This should make it easier to wash down with milk, his favorite way to eat things he finds disgusting. Because everyone knows that sloshing gross food and milk around in your mouth until it becomes a hard to swallow paste is the best way to eat food you dislike. During dinner Ty suggests ice cream and our yearly viewing of Pee Wee’s Playhouse Christmas special as an after dinner treat. This suggestion is met by loud applause, who doesn’t love Pee Wee?

About 5 minutes later, Ty and I are finished dinner and the boys are still eating. E is complaining about the spicy gumbo and J is avoiding the broccoli in hopes that it will sprout wings and fly off his plate. J (who you all believe to be the smartest boy in Eugene) says that his stomach hurts. And you know, this would be a good avoidance trick if he hadn’t played the stomach card last month. I swear to Moses, last month we were going for ice cream after dinner and J complained about a stomach ache so he wouldn’t have to eat the ONE green bean on his plate and he had to watch us eat ice cream. I thought that an important lesson had been learned. I thought wrong. I calmly look at J and say, “Kids with stomach aches who don’t eat their dinner do not get ice cream. And, because I know that you are lying about the stomach ache, I am disgusted with you.” He proceeds to freak out, remember that I mean what I say, and starts hysterically crying. I put my hands on his shoulders, and tell him that if he can sit and eat all the food on his plate without a word of negativity, then he will still be available for dessert.

OK. It’s all good.

A bit later, Ty states that the ice cream car is leaving in 5 minutes if all food is eaten and a boy or two is ready to take a ride with him. If not, no big deal, we’ll watch the movie tomorrow. To which J replies, “Anakin will be here.” To which I reply, “We’ll see about that.”

E clears his plate within 3 minutes and starts to get his shoes and jacket on. J says his broccoli is gross on one side. I stay silent because I know reality is about to smack him in the face. Two minutes later, Ty gets his shoes and jacket on and tells E to go outside.

J then loses his mind and starts screaming and crying. Screaming. And. Crying. I stand in front of him and say, “At this point, Anakin is not sleeping over. No way are you having a friend sleep over with all this crap over a piece of broccoli.” He opens his mouth in a huge, silent, painful scream. I snap my fingers and tell him that if he can shut it down immediately and get in bed, Anakin can still ride the bus home with him and then I’ll bring Anakin home before dinner.

He does it, sobbing and moaning the whole time, and gets in bed. When he was a bit calmer, I went into his room and told him that he didn’t get to pick when to act like a big kid and when to act like a baby. That having a friend sleep over is a huge privilege that little kids don’t get. If he wants to walk to the bus stop alone, ride his bike around the complex, go to bed later, and have friends sleep over, than he has to be responsible and do things like eat his food and go to bed when he’s told. He seemed to listen, but he certainly wasn’t happy with me. And he ended the conversation saying, “I don’t know why I have to have a mother anyway.”

E and Ty come home and E happily ate his push up while we watched a Looney Toons video. (I’m not mean enough to watch a Christmas special without my oldest son.) E went to bed with no problems and earned his dog Roger back.

Ty and I sit on the sofa and look at each other, not sure whether to laugh or to cry. After years of struggles over food, we’ve gotten nowhere. But really, I feel like I did what I had to do. And I don’t feel bad about it.

Well, maybe a little.