You must know that my life is currently under attack. My very being is under fire. I'm not sure how things are going to work when all of this ends, assuming that it does end.
Here it is...Cole is trying to kill me.
No, he hasn't found firearms or how to discreetly give someone rat poison, that I'm aware of at least, but he is slowly but surely chipping away at every fiber of my sanity and my sense of self. He is crushing me.
Let's not tiptoe around it and say he's going through a rough phase or he's tired, let's just put it simply...he has some very serious issues that I am failing at figuring out. If I don't get our shit together I'm going to be saying things like, "Cole, did you remember to call your parole officer back?" or "Since Cole's license was suspended" or "Cole's an artist."
I am scared...mostly for him, but also for me.
Yes, there is a small, tiny chance that all of this has absolutely nothing to do with me and I am simply his Mom and therefore at the receiving end of his challenges and it's my role and alleged joy to be the one to help him through this.
Or he's trying to kill me.
This morning was very similar to most days around here, yogurt requests and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and some profound whining about having to go to swim lessons. Cole doesn't like swim lessons, but for the most part he goes and does it once we are there. I think he even likes it once he's in the water. Today though he was having no part of it.
After kicking and screaming for 10 minutes he was finally asked to leave for the day. Every time an instructor tried to talk to him he screamed louder, in their faces. He also kicked aggressively, at their bodies. There was zero swimming and all sorts of staring.
This was unpleasant all around.
(Yes Mom, I know Kyle and I never did anything like this.)
Doesn't he look sweet?
He is sweet, but lately it's buried under a pile of challenge and obnoxious that you have to routinely talk yourself out of punching in the face.
Cole is difficult. Recently he has been moody, excessively grumpy, verbalizing hatred for everything from his family to his pencils and screaming, a lot...about everything. He almost always pulls it together for other people, almost. He doesn't get in trouble at school and he cooperates at friends' houses according to the other Moms, but they could just be scared of him and lying to me so he won't lash out at them again, there's really no way of knowing.
Around me he's a mess.
A mean mess.
Today shouldn't have really surprised me, but it did. I still can't really believe my child did that. I have a difficult time wrapping my head around all our challenges with him lately. He is sweet and silly and cuddly...and then seemingly over night has become sullen and impossible to work with on even the most basic of tasks, like putting on shoes.
I fear I will soon find him smoking behind the garage, covered in obscene tattoos that say things like, "My Parents Blow." Is there anywhere a four year old can get a tattoo? Surely he'll need me to sign off on any permanent ink slander, right?
He hasn't been an easy child at any point, but the level of disrespect and defiance is so elevated recently that I actually feel frightened. How am I going to help him and save the rest of us from the toxicity of a child acting like this in our home?
The other night, after a particularly challenging exchange turned tantrum with Cole, I snapped at a simple question Aiden asked me. I was so flustered from trying to deal with Cole that I couldn't handle being kind for a moment to my other children.
This is where the fun compounding of Cole's issues displays itself.
I now felt wrecked with guilt on top of my exasperation.
Where the hell is that Nanny Jo lady to give us a Naughty Mat charged with magical powers that can solve all the ailments of the world?
The best/worst part is that shortly after Aiden retreated to his room due to my obvious frustration, he brought me this note.
Can you read his kindergarten writing? I'll translate.
Beer Mom, I know that you are having a hard time with Cole. Love Aiden. To Mom.
I assume he intended to write Dear Mom, but I prefer Beer Mom.
I love and appreciate that Aiden understood that I wasn't' angry with him, just frustrated with the situation with Cole, but it breaks my heart too. Cole unsettles the house.
I unsettle the house when I am wrapped in the chaos and draining nature of Cole.
We're doing charts and rewards and consequences out the wazoo and none of it appears to be making a dent. I am currently looking in to radical diet transformations and professional counseling and possibly even chiropractory, only because I keep hearing about all these random problems solved by someone cracking your back or casting a spell or whatever it is a chiropractor does.
Surely something will give, right?
In the mean time I guess I'll find peace rather than guilt that Aiden sort of gets how difficult things are and Stella is blissfully unaware. I'll keep doing charts and doling out the consequences and bracing myself for the cruelty of the unsympathizing and judging stranger as I wheel a restrained and screaming Cole through the grocery store....again.
I'll keep clutching him to me in parking lots and while crossing the street, obviously driven by some primal love that I currently can't even feel through all my frustration and anger toward him, and I'll pray that's still there when all of this ends because right now I mostly just don't to deal with him at all.
Linking up to Shell's Pour Your Heart Out. Go check it out!