Raising Insoy

I told Therese I wished Insoy did not grow up to be a teenager. As soon as he turned 13, he turned temperamental on me. He listens to migraine – inducing music -  the likes of Escape the Faith and other screaming songs. He certainly beats my brother in the weird music selection department.  Even with the headphones on, I could still hear them yelling the lyrics. And it does not help that he sings it when he takes his shower loud enough to make me think he was in a fight with Basti. (all this screaming does makes me praning). And so to put a stop to it, a new rule was created. No more singing in the shower, and no more listening to this band. He made a big fuss over this rule. He said we were unfair. I could hear myself 20 years ago (or was it 30)?

His room is in constant disarray. Socks, shirts, shoes and pants are all under his bed. We told him we would throw it away if he did not keep it inside his cabinet.  Now his cabinet is so messed up, I don’t know how he could find his school uniform under all the pile of clothes. There is not a single day that I dread entering his room.

He picked up skateboards from the streets. Fixed it up with sandpaper and painted it. I kept on telling him to stay away from our porch because there was a glass divider that could easily break if he hits it with his board but alas the inevitable happened. Mothers intuition worked. We woke up early one day to hear him crying like a carabao and saying his ‘i am sorry’ so many times it went from empathy to annoying. Now it was time for us to cry ‘unfair’.

He quickly put up a ‘for sale’ sign on our mail box selling all his boards for 10$. This was his own version of penitence I suppose and a way of paying for the glass. Boys from across our street came to view the boards that will be forever banned in our house.

1 month ago, he asked us to allow him to do paper runs so he could earn money. The idea was so he could buy his own mobile phone and prepaid load or an electric guitar for the school band.  We agreed so long as it did not interfere with his studies. And we thought, all will be fine and he will learn responsibility. Again, another disappointment. Papers are dropped in the house on Monday afternoon for Tuesday and Wednesday delivery. Friday papers are delivered for Saturday and Sunday delivery. Papers need to be sorted out and folded which needs to be done on the night of Monday and Friday.

I am the type of person who wants things done as soon as possibly can. He on the other hand procastinates and does his chores at the last minute. Just like how he studies for exams. (always cramming). And thus, it has been 1 month that we are in constant squabbles with each other. Me pounding on him the need to organize and him insisting that he has it all sorted out and I should just let him be. That I just trust him. woookay whatever!

And because I am as stubborn as him, I fold the papers and don’t wait for him to do it and I yap about it big time. He then tells me, he can do it by himself (and that I should not interfere) and so I allowed him to. It is the school holiday week. Monday night came, only 50 bundles done by himself, then Tuesday morning comes – nothing was done because he was biking all day. Tuesday evening, he does another 50 bundles which is only half of the 200 needed. Wednesday is the last day of delivery. He wakes up at 10 am and starts folding at 1:00 pm. He finished a 100 to complete the set around 4:30 pm and I was so close to jumping up on him. I had to restrain myself from ranting. He started delivery at 5:00 pm and finished around 6:30 pm. It was getting dark and I was scared. This cramming, this last minute tricks, it drives the hell out of me. I can feel my blood rising up to boiling point. Every hour that he is wasting his time, I feel I will go to a breakdown one day. And so, I fold the paper to keep my sanity in tact. I just cannot stop meddling. I need a major pray over. Everyone tells me to leave him alone. As long as I see him moving so slowly, I get palpitations. Waaahhh.

The only thing we would agree on is an ear piercing or a tattoo. But unfortunately, his Dad won’t allow it until he turns 18 and pays for it.

I am sure he would say it is difficult to raise a mom too. Roland has been the official referee around the house. When the going gets tough, I even get my mom to be my legal counsel and spokesperson just so he listens. He thinks I am so unfair. And I think he is so irresponsible and disorganized. But the problem is, he thinks he is responsible and can take care of himself using his own ways while I think I have always been fair. We both need happy pills around each other.

If I cannot stop him from growing up, can he just fast forward to the age of 20? I can’t wait for him to have a daughter as stubborn as he is. Oh, payback must be sweet. My son drives me crazy but I have never stopped loving him.