My husband had to work this weekend, so I spent the majority of Saturday sitting on the sidelines and watching my kids play soccer - not to mention, counting my blessings, thankful that my two oldest, you know, don't play - and, when Mini-me was through, I dragged my chair over to the other side of the soccer fields to watch the second-half of The Boy's game.
"I'm going to kick your ass!"
[eyes go wide]
My head whipped around, so fast, and - judging by the look of the OTHER mom's face - I'm pretty sure that my voice may have changed from the force!
"WHAT DID HE JUST SAY!?!?"
"He just told your son that he was going to kick his ass."
That's what I thought he said.
"Hey, Number-Eleventy...the mouth...there's no ass-kicking in soccer!"
Later, I come to find out that my kid wasn't the only one being picked on - most of the defensive players were being, you know, offensive - and that Number-Eleventy was pretty much used to talking trash on the baseball field AND basketball court, as well.
"Remember, in one ear and out the other!"
Our team's coach did a really good job of addressing the unsportsman-like behavior exhibited on the field (the entire game, I hear) however, The Boy took it to heart and I can't say as I blame him, either.
"I hate you!"
Because, this weekend is the first time that my 9-year-old son said he hated me and...STILL...it's tearing me apart.
You see, my mother called to tell me that she had to take my father into the hospital (again) early yesterday morning and the weekend sort of just went down hill, from there.
"Is it heart, is it his sugar, does he need insulin shots?"
My kids know that Papa is not well and are also getting to the age where they understand that each day we get to spend together...no matter how tough...is a gift.
"I'm sure the hospital is taking good care of him."
But, my mother is still not right since her double-knee replacement (the right one needing surgery, twice) and then there's that spot on her lung.
"And I'm going to go down and help Mama, just in case."
My father is on 20 different prescriptions, for various conditions, and his poor body is beginning to give out.
"Why don't you take The Boy?"
"Nuh-uh, no way."
You see, my dad is pretty much maxed-out on his meds and his doctors are unsure (or, in non-agreement) on how to pursue treatment.
"I'm not sure what's going on."
Frankly, my nerves are shot.
"Besides, I don't want to get him upset."
"I hate it when you go away!"
"I need you to stay home and help Daddy take care of your sisters."
Not the best explanation, I know - but, a pretty damned good representation of a double standard in action, yes? - still, I already grounded the 14 yo for entering into an online chat room, during a sleepover party (when I explicitly told her, you know, NOT to) and it was the best I had to offer, at the moment.
Aaaaand, it worked.
Later, my cell phone rang and I pulled over - I'm a bad parent, not a law breaker - so, I could talk to my son.
"Just calling to check up on you and Papa."
"He's okay and I'm on my way home."
Honestly, how do I do it?
My husband made dinner, but none of us felt much like eating.
"I need a volunteer to do the dishes."
Apparently, no one felt like doing much of anything.
I lifted my hand and rolled my head slightly off the side of the couch.
"I nominate The Boy!"
[eyes go wide]
"You can't do that!"
The girls reminded him that, since I was "the mom," I apparently could.
"Nevermind, and the next time will someone also PLEASE remind The Boy to beg me to cook dinner!"
That's when it happened.
"I hate everybody in this family!"
Okay, so he didn't actually say that he hated me...only...but, believe it or not, this IS the first time any of my kids said it, just the same.
But, I pushed him to it.
My husband, Garth (not his real name) still says he doesn't understand why it's bothering me.
"Why are staying home, Daddy?"
But, I think he does.
"Because, Mommy needs me to."
Actually, I feel better now.
"And someone needs some extra hugs, today."
I nominate The Boy.