Eight, Going on Nine, Going on Eighteen

HCP_0105rtSM
Photo credit: Happy Chick Photography

I’ve been a mom for going on nine years and I’ve heard a lot about the drama involved in raising girls. Admittedly, I’ve breathed a sigh of relief that conversation in my house will never involve talk of the latest must-have from Justice or how much makeup is the right amount for a dance recital. As a mom of boys, I have often considered myself lucky; my home life is relatively drama-free and arguments with my kids typically involve one of three things – food, screen time, and/or whether they need to bathe. And, it’s not unusual for all three topics to be covered simultaneously, my boys trying to convince us during dinner that there is no need to shower after dinner and their allotted tablet-time has not yet been used for the day.

This is the way it’s been for years — my attention focused on making meals that cause as few nose wrinkles as possible, saving furniture from certain destruction and walking around the house doing paint touch-ups after games of balloon baseball gone terribly wrong.

Recently, however, things have changed. Max is eight-and-a-half and, in many ways, continues to be my rule-following, people-pleasing, self-motivating little boy that he has always been. Most of the time, that is. There are also a few other things that I’ve noticed. He doesn’t always wake up happy anymore; Max shuffles down the stairs with bed head and a grimace on his face. He’s downright surly – someone who looks like he’s pulled an all-nighter studying and is in need of a double espresso. When I joke about that, however, he doesn’t laugh. It’s not as easy to get a laugh out of him as it used to be either.

If his friends are around, his tone changes, the number of “dude” and “bros” tossed around the room too numerous to count. Pointing out that he might be tired at the end of the day is apparently the most offensive thing you can say to him, the mere suggestion that his little body is fatigued almost unforgivable in the mind of an eight-year-old (who gets argumentative when he’s tired, argues with you about whether he’s tired, and then falls asleep before the argument’s done). I embarrass him without meaning to, a side hug now on the level of hand holding; fist bumps, although acceptable, should only when done with acknowledgment that they are a bit silly and serve solely as an alternative to other more egregious public displays of affection. And, although he doesn’t want to be considered a little boy, he doesn’t want to be reminded that he’s growing, discussions about how our bodies work and the need for deodorant as we grow are about as well received as heart-filled note in his lunch box.

I have been told many times that the girl drama can make you go prematurely gray, but the truth is, eight-going-on-nine-going-on-eighteen is difficult for everyone. Their brains are processing things differently. There is a social network of subtleties and nuances that are difficult to navigate, much less explain over dinner (as if they would ever want to). Smaller groups of closer friends are being formed, some friendships from kindergarten now left behind with its finger paintings and handprint art. Although they want independence, they are too young to appreciate what that really means. My sweet little Max is still very much there, but he’s growing up, and I’m very aware that how we handle individual situations will pave the way for how our relationship develops going forward. I’m no expert, but here’s how I’ve handled these highs and lows in my house:

I simply ask him what he needs from me.

If Max is in a “mood,” overly tired, or expressing a level of frustration that doesn’t coincide with what a situation calls for, I take a step back and find a quiet moment to talk to him. I ask him what he needs in that moment. Sometimes, he needs a bit of alone time; other times, he needs a hug. If I suspect that his feelings have been hurt or his ego dinged in some way, I throw my suspicions out there to see what he says. Most of the time, he nods in agreement and appreciates that he didn’t have to find the words himself, reaching out to me so I know it’s time for a hug.

I’m as clueless as the rest of the parents out there trying to navigate our way. I don’t have all the answers and I don’t pretend to. My boys know that because I’ve told them. I’m honest.

To me, we’ll best survive adolescence in my house by remembering three important things:

  1. As their parents, we’re here for them no matter what and love them unconditionally (notwithstanding their eye rolls and all);
  2. Emotional roller coasters are just a part of growing up and the ride can get bumpy (insert discussion of colorful characters from Inside Out here); and, most importantly,
  3. We’ll all figure it out together. As bumpy as that trip on the roller coaster may be, it’s going to be a fun ride (with a few screams and stomach drops along the way).
tiffanyk
Tiffany spends her days trying to act like she’s organized. Behind the scenes, she’s usually practicing yoga breathing to curb the panic over throwing too many figurative balls in the air. She’s a lawyer, freelance writer, published author and, most importantly, a mom to two hilarious, creative, and spunky little boys – seven-year-old Max, and five-year-old Finn. Realizing years ago that writing allows her to find the humor in almost any situation, Tiffany writes whenever the opportunity allows and can often be found on the second floor of her favorite coffee shop pounding on her laptop after consuming her weight in vanilla lattes. Tiffany has been a regular contributing writer to local magazines, including M Magazine, 435, and North Magazine, and achieved a lifelong dream of becoming a published author with the 2013 release of her first novel, “Six Weeks in Petrograd.” Tiffany and her husband, Alan, can be found around Parkville trying to corral their two crazy boys and an equally crazy pound puppy named Maddie Lou. You can learn about her current novel (and her second novel in the works) at www.tiffanykilloren.com or drop by her Tiffany W. Killoren, Writer page on Facebook.