Wish it was a good thing. Today it’s not.
I apologize in advance. Feel free to leave right now. Or delete this blubbering piece of trash.
I love being a mother. Truly. But sometimes I just want to get off the ride.
My oldest son interviewed at Target in June. It was one of a handful of jobs he interviewed for but since he did not, under any circumstance, want to work in fast food, he had his hopes on Target.
Target, in fact, offered him a job. First, however, he had to take and pass a drug test.
With a LOT of water consumption, some excessive working out, a few days sitting in a sauna for an hour plus, he did, in fact, pass the drug test. First hurdle down.
Target wanted to wait until he graduated from high school (which, at the time was only a week or two out) before starting him. He informed them, however, at the initial interview that he had a ten-day trip planned to San Diego over 4th of July and they said, okay, you can start after that. Once “after that” arrived the person he would be working under had a family emergency and had to leave for a couple of weeks so his orientation/first day of work was put off yet again. When she returned the third week of July she told him the next orientation would be August 7th. Three weeks away.
He was frustrated. Really frustrated. He wants desperately to move out of his father’s house and into an apartment with two of his friends. They’ve even been looking. The other two boys have been working for over a year. My son has never worked. Never. So he’s anxious to start working so he can make and save money towards this new place to live. Nevermind he spends money like its water and will have to learn this new discipline of “saving” — possibly he only spends my money likes its water and with his own he’ll be a little more frugal. Who knows. What I do know is today is August 7th.
I sent him a text yesterday saying “Woo Hoo, you start your job tomorrow! I hope you have a great first day of work!” He wrote me back and told me he was excited. I knew that. I was excited for him.
He was supposed to start today at 4:00 p.m.
At 3 I was in a meeting. When I got out of the meeting at 3:20 I had an all caps (as in yelling at you) text from him that said “MOM PICK UP YOUR PHONE ITS IMPORTANT!” A check of my phone revealed he had called me approximately 18 times in the last 12 minutes. So I called him, because clearly he was in between hitting redial as my phone was not ringing at the moment. When he answered the phone he hollered at me “MOM! Where is my birth certificate, I need it now!” Um, wow. Okay.
Confession. I am not Suzy perfectly organized homemaker. Not even close. Yes, I’m a paralegal and I know my shit and I know HOW to be organized and I would even go out on the limb and say I am pretty amazingly organized at work — but catch me on the phone and ask me where a piece of paper is that I haven’t had a need for in the last two years and I can’t be sure I will know.
This child of mine, who reminded me today that he has a good many genes from the man I am no longer married to, was screaming at me. The screaming I could tolerate — children have a tendency to be irrational and overreact — but when he started in with the condescending comments like “How does someone lose a birth certificate?!” I snapped and lost my mind. “WTF?! I didn’t lose the birth certificate! I have it, I just can’t tell you where it is at this precise moment. If you had told me last night you needed it for today I would have had it for you.” He hung up on me.
It was a lovely afternoon.
He texted me and told me that he might need me to bring it to him at work after I got home. He was supposed to start at 4. I’m usually home by 4:30ish, it was an easy thing, assuming I could put my hands on the documentation as soon as I walked through the door.
As luck would have it I did walk into the house, up to my bedroom and within 30 seconds was holding his birth certificate and social security card. When I picked up my phone, however, he had sent me a text that said “Because of you I couldn’t start work today!”
Because of me.
He’s right on some levels and I feel badly.
I texted him and told him I’d hang them from the fridge and he could get them before he starts the next time. Which, he subsequently told me, is next Tuesday.
He came by the house to pick them up. I was upstairs. He came in, screamed at the dog, snatched the documents off the fridge and then left. When I heard him and realized he was not going to speak to me I went downstairs and opened the front door — to see him glare at me and back out of the driveway. It was a warm fuzzy feeling, let me tell you.
When I got back upstairs I had a text from him telling me that he didn’t think he’d ever been so angry at me before in his entire life. Warmer. Fuzzier.
While he can be an asshole, he comes by it naturally.
I’m upset tonight for a couple of reasons.
Yes, I’m all kinds of pissed off that my kid was as disrespectful as he was to me. We’ll be talking about that the next time he thinks he’s going to hang at my house with all his buddies on a night he’s supposed to be at his fathers. Shit, who am I kidding? We’ll be talking about that the next time he calls me for money. . . which, if my calculations are right, will likely be before week’s end.
But beyond that, I’m upset because the birth certificate and social security card were right where I thought they were, yet I didn’t tell him on the phone. I didn’t trust myself to tell him and be wrong. I didn’t want to be wrong and endure an even ANGRIER version of his father than I was already enduring. I didn’t want that. Didn’t think I could handle that, even though it was my child and I MIGHT have been right. That sucks. It’s been 3 1/2 years since I left that man and still I cower at his temper, even when it’s in the form of my child. I hate it.
I’m extremely upset that I picked an asshole as an example on how to be a man and treat the women in your life. I’m upset about this frequently even though I can’t change it. And I’ve said before that given the opportunity I would live my life the same way to be sure I got these same children, because I cannot imagine life without them, but damn.
It’s a priceless gift to know you’re worth more and then wait for it. At 19, sadly, I did not have that gift.
At (almost) 46, even though the game has changed, I finally do know I’m worth more.