I’m a Terrible Mother
This morning my middle child was a holy terror. When I went to wake him up he was already laying in his bed awake but he pretended to be sleeping. Sign #1- Paris is not up and asking for food or terrorizing the pets, he is trying to ignore me.
I went and got socks from the laundry room and trotted back to the boys’ room and held out two pair of socks. One was plain black and the other was a pair of print covered Sketchers. Paris reached out and grabbed the black ones to my surprise. Sign #2- Paris didn’t pick the socks that were the “better” of the socks so he could rub it in Bristol’s face.
I walked out and went to do my make-up and it was only a few moments before I heard some shuffling around and Bristol was crying. I waited and when he didn’t stop, I walked into their room to see what was happening. Bristol was laying on the floor against the wall crying, “Paris took my socks.” I told Paris that he couldn’t take the socks after he had already chose the black pair. Paris got throughly pissed and then started crying after a “Daddy” plea. Sign #3- Paris only calls for “Daddy” when he’s really mad at me.
Paris throws himself in a heap on the living room couch in complete darkness and continues to cry for 15 minutes. I am at my wits end from the constant crying all morning and to try and make light of the situation, I jokingly tell Paris that he is being a “Crybaby”. Water works get worse and while choking back sobs he says, “My counselor says it’s not right to call someone names.” I say, “Paris, I was just playing with you. Wait, when did you get a counselor?” More crying. Sign #4- My kid threatens me with a counselor. He’s 6!!
I take the boys to daycare and they walk into the room, remove their coats and shoes just like normal. I yell back at them, “Love you guys.” and Paris completely ignores me. Sign #5- Paris is THE most loving child you could ever imagine. When he doesn’t hug and kiss me and tell me good-bye, there is a HUGE issue.
I drive to work, basically already forgetting the hell that was my morning when an email arrives from Paris’s teacher.
” Hi. I am sure Paris told you what happened at school yesterday. Another student in our room has been picking on him and harassing him about kissing and having sex with first grade girls. Yesterday, he told Paris he was gay and that Paris wanted to make out with me. I had someone cover my room and took the other student to the office. He is in big trouble and in ISS today. I will not allow him in my room treating my students this way. Paris is not the only one he is picking on. I wanted to touch base with you so that you know that I know and that I am doing something about it. Poor Paris said “I only kiss my mom and that is just to say hi and goodnight and I love you”. He talked with me about what has been going on and I told him to ALWAYS tell me when people say stuff like this and that it is not tattling.”
Here’s your sign dummy.
My child was in terrible pain and mentally exhausted and I was a complete and total asshat to him. As I read that email, tears streamed down my face and I felt ashamed. Paris has dealt with this whole “gay” issue since Kindergarten, so much so that I have written previous blogs about it (you can find them on here somewhere). What’s so scary is the fact that this happened and Paris didn’t tell me. The kid tells me everything. I know when he takes a big poop, when my butt looks big, when I am looking too sexy and when his dad takes a poop. I’ve known about every tear he shed while hiding it by looking out the bus window and about every terrible thing his dad has told him about “gays”. I’ve been in on the secret when he pulls a page of Justin Beiber out of a magazine and wads it up in his pocket so he has it. Why was I left out of this?
I’ve fought an incredible need to go to the school and ride in on a white horse and rescue him. Problem is, I don’t know that I can lift my chubby leg high enough to get it in the stirrups, let alone swing my body up and over. I picture myself galloping towards him with my arm flaps flying and my gelatinous belly bouncing into my face. I refrain from using the white horse images and try and convince myself that I can talk to him tonight.
Just exactly what do I say? I’ve told him a million times that people are cruel, that he has to turn his head and ignore it. I’ve encouraged him that I would love him no matter how he is. I’ve tried to make it clear that I am always behind him. Is this the sign that my baby is growing up or that I am a huge f-up.
To be determined.