I learned a long time ago that no matter what kind of a parent I am, my son will always remember the part of me I don’t want him too. I’ve accepted the fact that every parent scars their child and most of us should have had counseling when we turned adults. I could be the perfect Christian mom and some how, some way my good intentions will end up out the window. These are things I’ve accepted. I deserve the Mother of the Year award – every year – with these types of recognition of my shortcomings. Yet this last week of my son’s sophomore year I realize just how much like me my son is and wish I had someone else to blame…
Now before I am judged and stoned, let me explain. I am not and never will be a morning person. This is a trait my Mama passed on to my son. I’m not going to draw you a family tree but suffice it to say my adopted son is JUST like me through traits that were passed down through the family line. Weird things, like having to have your hands clean at all times or needing the last word of an argument, but I digress. My son has inherited this trait as well. He is not a morning person. Oh he’s learned to get up on time and function like a normal person (we live with the world’s biggest morning person so we have had to adapt) but neither of us are chatty, lovey dovey or particularly pleasant in the morning. So when this particular incident happened, it both scared me and made me laugh all at the same time!
He was, as is the normal now, critiquing my driving skills and made a goof ball joke that cracked me up. He was also eating a muffin as we were on our way to school. I reached up to pat his shoulder because it really was a funny joke (don’t tell him this, but he’s the funniest person I know) and you would have thought my hand was a hot branding iron. “Don’t touch me in the mornings!” he all but screamed. Luckily I was at a stop sign so I looked over at him…thinking what the heck just happened…I mean that’s how I feel before I am awake, but I’ve never said it quite like that before. He quickly backtracked because he knew he had been rude. “I’m sorry can you please not touch me when I’m eating?” I quickly said, “no problemo kiddo” and he turned the whole thing into yet another joke by saying, “I’m like a dog, don’t mess with me when I’m eating” to which I laughed at but deep down I was freaking out because I know he’s more like me than he will ever want to admit.
Unless I seek you out (and it has to be a good 10:30-11 before my brain is fully functional), don’t be touching me! Under any circumstances. I don’t want to cuddle. I don’t want a hug. I don’t want to hold your hand. I am angry that my sleep has been interrupted. I’m not mad at you, but at the world. My poor hubby…he’s learned over the years and now if he has to wake me up does so by touching my leg through the covers because I’ve been so grumpy to him about it. When I have to go wake the son up, I try and do the same thing…leg, through the covers, and it tends to be better than trying to touch his shoulder. I don’t know why we are like this…we just are…and I would love to ask my Mama, God rest her soul, if she was the same way.
What a legacy I get to leave my soon to be junior…Just. Don’t. Freaking. Touch. Me. In. The. Mornings!
Yep, sign me up for Mother of the Year!