Yesterday afternoon, my oldest was in a pre-teen snit. Moody, but not wanting to discuss it. Moody, and getting on my nerves.
I mean, I understand the angst that comes with the tween category. Be as moody as you gotta be, just don't rain on everyone else's parade. You aren't the only child in the house. Go to your room, or something.
Ugh, his mood continued when we left for aikido...and seeing as there are bitchies swirling in my air at the moment, my tolerance was low. Shut up and leave him alone, I decided, don't make matters worse.
Tough for me, the touchy-feely, 'tell me' Mommy.
Anyway, he told us later he'd had a rough day. A rough day where the girls at his table (group of desks) were upsetting each other, and stressing each other out to the point of tears. Over math and the dictionary, of all things. The girls were throwing proverbial hormonal elbows, and he didn't realize it's best, in these situations, to duck.
I was at a loss. I mean, how can I tell him this is the tip of the iceberg of what he's about to be privy to? That the girls, from here on out, will be acting like a broken nail is cause for alarm?
I don't want to scare him, afterall. He's gonna have enough on his mind as it is just dealing with himself, much less dealing with the histrionics of his classmates.
"Sorry, son, that's rough," I said to him. "But you should expect some of that, from time to time, " I added. His Dad added a few words, too, and I couldn't hear them.
I'm sure they were along the lines of "I'm still dealing with it, now, and I'm a grown-up," as he gestured towards me with his head.
I glared at him anyway.
And he ducked.