Shut Up, Suck It Up, and Move Along

In my unending effort to toughen up my sons and eliminate as much whining as possible, I'm going to admit I probably cross the line. I probably pole vault right over said line, actually. Before I became a mom, I used to picture myself trying cure every painful little scrape with a gentle mother's kiss. I saw myself hugging and holding, chasing tears away. Can I tell you, these kids are drama kings? I'm spent. I'll gladly come back on duty when true crisis strikes, but boys, for all these minor papercut level ouches, from now on, it's time to shut up, suck it up and move along.

As a mother to sons, I have spent my fair share of time in the ER. I've looked into frequent shopper cards, and recognize the night admission desk staff. Mostly, this is Son2's doing. While Son1 is a 12yr old tornado at every turn, he somehow stops short of pushing the injury limit. Son2 is agile, though. He's quick. He's quiet. I've said before, he's like a 10 yr old Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief. He also tends to get a little ahead of himself. There was the time he raced around the playground and monkey bars in the dark. He met the low bar, and subsequently was met by 6 stiches to the eyebrow. He decided to shimmy up the armoire. Why? Well to see what was on top of course. Then it tipped over. He flung himself sideways and thank GOD had it hit his foot only. Eight weeks of pediatric orthopedics ensued for that poor foot. A year later, same ER, same foot, same xray machine. The list goes on. Each time, he has screamed, then nearly hyperventillated the way kids do (and grown women), and been a trooper.

But see, so in lies the problem. If an armoire can nearly crush your toe and you're playing kickball on crutches the next day-- I'm not really buying the sympathy plea for day ten of the orthodontics. No, you're not having McD's milk shakes every meal for the month of October. No, I'm not getting you ice cream every six hours because "it helps your mouth" and, lastly, no, I am not going 3 towns over to the high end market/caterer and calling you with what soup selections they have.  E-NOUGH. I'm done. I'm gaining 20 pounds on the impulse ice for myself (pumpkin soft serve? yum). The McD's drive thru guy knows me by name now. I'm going need the tires rotated after non-stop schlepping for soup. And that noise you keep making that you say you can't stop? STOP. For all that is holy, STOP.

I really do sound like a heartless witch I'm sure. But has a child just ever abused your caring side to the point you see a pillow and think "smother" not "fluff?" The child has just worn me down, and I was a willing participant all along. Son2 is blessed with these cherubic features, and gets away with murder for it. He sucks everyone into his cuteness orbit, from grandparent to teacher to store clerk. And then he goes in for the kill. Because though he's small for his age, he's a crafty little bugger, like Benjamin Button on a sugar kick. A Sunday school teacher once said to me, "He is such a little angel." She was a little put off when I reminded her that was Lucifer's first gig.

Because I felt sorry for little imp, I started blurting out offers for every ice cream retailer I could think of in Northern NJ when the tears started rolling at the orthodontist. He has a contraption now that is expanding his palette, straightening teeth and realigning his bite all at once. It's got a lot of moving parts, I know. I also know they were making his mouth tender. But in between hitting me up for more ice cream and specialty soup, I spied him scarfing a piece of apple pie and candy. Funny~ no mouth pain. Huh. Cut back to our family dinner scene that night, and quiche was too "hard to chew." Uh huh. Busted, wee one. So busted.

At that point, once I saw that was absolutely being played, I absolutely had it. The overexaggerated breathing noise now grates on my nerves every time I hear it. My blond hair/ blue eyed child sounds straight out of a Fantasy Casting Star Wars search with the incessant suction/ rush of air routine. I feel like waking him each morn with the words, "Lord Vader, rise!" But that will give him a title with power. After being strung along on emotional heartstrings the last 10 days, I'm done with deference.

Son2 is now going to find out what happens when you get nabbed tricking Mommy. I fight dirty, and hold immense power over your daily life. Ah, Grasshopper, so much to learn you have. So until I find my optimal payback opportunity, please do not rush to me with minor or imaginary pains and drama. Unless it's bleeding, broken, or boasts impact of nuclear-scale, shut up, suck it up, and move along.