Domestic duties
I’ve been putting this off for weeks: stripping beds, umpteen loads of laundry, shelves in the kitchen to be emptied and scrubbed (post ant invasion), stemware to be rinsed and put away, dry cleaning to set aside, and last but not least – tending to the hand wash. The huge heap of hand wash.
No, this is nothing special; “just life” and the many chores I’ve neglected while focusing on paperwork and organizing. As for the hand wash, I loathe doing it, knowing what it takes to get through it – patience, a delicate touch, strength, and for me – determination.
Then there’s the fact that my younger son travels home today, and the past two nights I’ve been worrying. That, following a particular conversation.
Traveling teens
My sons are magnificent. I adore them. But they’re still teenagers – they gray my hair and drive me nuts!
This summer my 18-year old worked overseas, wandered Europe, and came home to helping out, taking my car, and nightly parties before his sophomore year in college begins. As for my 17-year old, this has been his first experience of independence, spending six weeks in a grueling academic program hundreds of miles away. We traveled together to orientation, settled him in, and I flew back the same weekend.
As for traveling home, that’s up to him, with plenty to keep track of beforehand. This isn’t a test, but then again, it will tell me a great deal about how he’s managing critical logistical details. And when we spoke two nights ago, he had misplaced his flight information, had no idea how to ship his architectural models and drawing portfolio, had forgotten that he needed money to pay for baggage, hadn’t looked into the airport shuttle, had lost his carry-on backpack… and this, three weeks after the lost cell phone. Speaking of lost, let’s just say, I lost my cool.
How not to talk to your teen
How not to talk to your teenager? Don’t raise your voice when he’s exhausted, especially if he’s coming to the trusted source – as he should – wanting help, not hassles.
Sure, I’m only human. I was tired, cranky, and his call the other night caught me off guard. I didn’t yell exactly, but my displeasure was obvious.
“You were yelling,” my older son said afterward.
“That wasn’t yelling,” I said. “That was exasperation, and it was deserved.”
“You were yelling,” he insisted. “And he’s beat, Mom.”
Then I felt terrible, naturally. I heard the fatigue in my son’s voice, and ragged on him all the same.
Netting things out, he’s done well this summer. He’s taken on tough challenges and new responsibilities. He’s worked damn hard, and I’m proud of him.
Checking in
When he checked in with me, my frustration with what he hadn’t done got the better of me, not to mention years of this particular kid having his head in the clouds. I started lecturing, and he got angry.
“You’re treating me like a child,” he snapped.
“You’re acting like one,” I replied.
Not my finest mothering moment. An hour later I called and apologized, then sent him an email with instructions for flight check-in and other things he needed. I also asked that he keep me posted on every task, to his annoyance. Yes, micromanaging, but that was the only way I could ensure my peace of mind, not to mention the state of my wallet.
Hand wash
My younger son begins his senior year in high school Monday morning. He will spend tomorrow studying, after arriving home tonight. There is no slack, no time to breathe, no time to play at the end of summer. And right now, I’m focused on tasks and schedules and dependencies. I’m shoring up infrastructure, largely for my sons. As for the other night, I couldn’t seem to access the mothering that my creative kid requires.
This morning’s two hours of hand wash were a necessity. Patience, a delicate touch, strength. But my arms and fingers are weak. Soaking, swooshing, and squeezing are difficult. So is rinsing, wringing out the fabrics, and laying the clothing on a towel in the bathtub or hanging it up on the rod to dry.
By the time I’m finished, I’m tired and in pain. What gets me through is determination.
Exceptional cloth
It’s afternoon. There’s one more load of laundry, the table to clear, the sink to empty, the dishwasher to run, London Broil to defrost, and a special dessert to bake. Yes – Motrin popping is on the agenda.
“On the bus,” said the first text, about two hours ago.
“Thx,” I messaged back.
“No prob, Bob,” he wrote.
“Washing your comforter. Cake for dessert tonight?”
The immediate response: “Yummay.”
I smiled. I’ve missed my son.
A half hour ago he called from the airport security line. Bags were checked, he was on time, and things were going smoothly. Meanwhile, I will wait for the text that he has landed, continue with chores and then baking, and remind myself that exceptional kids require patience, a delicate touch, and strength.
Hand wash.
Your story reminds me of my own experience. When I was 16 I spent the entire summer in Israel. I remember my father grilling/lecturing/talking/advising/yelling at/with me. A few days before I left a TWA plane in Athens was hijacked. Needless to say this didn’t slow down the conversations.
It grated on my nerves and I hated it, but then I left and I discovered that much of what he had said was exceptionally helpful. And now as a father it amazes me that parents can let their kids do these things.
My own children are much younger than yours, so maybe I’ll become more comfortable when they are older. But it doesn’t sound like you were completely unreasonable.
Wow! He’s already home! That 6 weeks flew by (at least in my mind).
Handling our own children really does require a delicate touch. I have noticed this even more since spending time at my family’s home. My siblings are all different, some are offended easily others are more tough. My brother with Aspergers is by far the most difficult. Delicate, indeed.
Oh how I appreciate this post. My daughter is entering that phase where I don’t know what is hormone talking and what is her personality – sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference. I grew up with banter and teasing and laughing at myself – I have had to learn how to not do any of that as she is sensitive; her heart right there for everyone to see… and when people push her to any extent her first reaction is to push right back or to resist at all costs. Finding ways to work with her is sometimes challenging and yet, it is rewarding. It seems to be about letting her do her thing, suggesting that there might be other ways (suggesting is the key) and allowing her that choice… but it is also about giving her the space to talk and create and use her words – the child is old beyond her years in some ways and yet… she is such a kid in others!!
Enjoy our son’s return and your cake…
The cake is about to come out of the oven. Son #1 is driving to pick up Son #2. I’m still doing laundry… Ah, the dilemma of giving them space, TE. So important, and so hard. Suggesting rather than telling. Yes. It works so much better. (Why is it so hard to actually do?)
It’s laundry day here too. I try to keep handwashables to a minimum since I have little patience with that particular chore. I hope that doesn’t bode too badly for my parenting skills 😉
Too funny, CT! Well, hand washing is still preferred over dry cleaning. It’s just so time consuming, and for me, a little more than that. It is a great deal like parenting. Somehow, I think you’ll manage, when the time comes. We all do.
I know what you mean, The Exception. My son is a riot — keeping everyone in stitches. A good student, nice to his sister, a chess nerd. But try to tease him gently or even admonish him, and you wish you’d never done it. All of you are worn out.
Nice post, BLW.
This reminds me that there’s a transition that takes place in the life of all parents and children wherein we won’t be treating them like children anymore, where we can’t harangue anymore, and where they, ultimately, have to accept the responsibility for everything they mess up instead of blaming it on us.
Sometimes, I think, this transition never happens. I’ve overheard conversations my mother’s had with one or two of my sisters and I’ve been kind of amazed that they still have this type of relationship with her even though she’s elderly, especially in light of the fact that we’ve moved beyond being equals and into me being her caretaking mother in many ways by now.
I don’t have anything to add – just beautiful, BLW.
I am coming to the conversation late, BLW, but I like the analogy of hand wash and raising kids. My daughter is much younger than your children, but I am certain I will have moments like the ones you described.