September

And so it begins.

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We are here. The end of Summer break, the end of vacation, and the start of something new. I love the Fall, with its’ crisp mornings and cozy sweater weather. I got married in September: fifteen years ago, on a day where it rained around the majority of the city, but miraculously, not on our waterfront slice of heaven.

On the cusp of Labour Day we turn our attention as a family to the coming weeks: football practice, swimming lessons, ultimate and more importantly, homework. We are working together as a family to set everyone up for success: nutritious meal planning, grab-and-go (GF)meal prep, and successful studies.

It’s going to be a full term. Our September calendar is already full, handled expertly by the good people at Google. It will be busy but fun, and full of new friends, new sports and new communities.

We are ready. Clothes are cleaned and re-stocked, the uniform is named, new shoes sitting at the door. We are blessed to be able to do this; I know many families are not able to approach back to school with the same shiny newness.

I look forward to the coming months, and all the new adventure that it will bring our family. I will also consciously remember to breathe deeply through the anxiety, take a minute to reflect and just enjoy the moment.

And so it begins.

And so it begins.

It’s complicated…

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I think I have mentioned before that parenting is like a slow water drip against the forehead, a quiet and incessant silent scream.  It is also a “V” for VICTORY, and a communal shout among us of winning a round: whether discipline, dietary, or watching our kids make the RIGHT choices at the RIGHT time.

We are hitting the Teen Years no harder nor softer than most:  for all the ten FUCKING AMAZING RIGHT DECISIONS my child makes, he makes two radical face-palm-what-were-you-thinking-wait-I-guess-you-weren’t decisions.

Sigh.

We are lucky, we really are.  So far, he still talks to me, and so far, I have a pretty good estimate of what is going on in his head/day/month/year/life.  More so than most.  I want to still believe we are close.

The stuff that matters, he is there.  He is with me.  He lets me in.  I live in terror of him growing silent and withdrawing.  I know from experience.  Silence is the worst.  Silence means you have lost them.  I went silent.  Then it went kinda sideways.

The stupid, inane, annoying, “please just listen to me and respect the rules ‘cause they are there for your protection” stuff is the stuff that he pushes boundaries on.    I should be thankful, but it still annoys the fuck out of me.  I have the latest tech.  I can shut down his phone.  I can block him from wifi.  I don’t want to, but I am a little bit at the end of my rope.

I just want him to understand that as parents go, I (like to think) I’m pretty cool.  Easygoing even,  as ‘cool’ is not a ‘cool’ word for parents to use any more.  I understand.  I really do.  I remember my earlier years vividly, and swore a personal promise to myself a long, long time ago to never ever end up like my parents.

That these stupid “boundaries-for-your-protection” things are annoying, but if we all play by the rules, then we get less and less and less boundaries.

Looking around at the peer group, I really, really am thankful.  There is no illegal, harming or habit-forming behaviours going on with him.  I am thankful.

But it’s complicated.

So tonight, off we go to bed, trying to right the wrongs of the fucked-up parenting decisions that came before us, wrestling with our own demons and previously well-laid paths,  aiming to stay tuned in to our kids, giving them an open dialogue and a platform to be them, all the while blocking the wifi signal, confiscating the TV, and threatening the Worst. Possible. Teenaged. Threat:

The flip-phone.

It’s complicated…