Posted by: rocketbride | May 16, 2014

my son, my grudge

Now that my son is ten Since he learned how to talk, Blake can be mouthy. I always say that this, plus the constant reading when I need him to do something else, is God’s revenge on me for being the exact same when I was a lass. We often get into scraps about various issues important to moms and kids (do I have to wear boots, why can’t I shower in the upstairs bathroom, I don’t need to wear pants in bed), and never more than in the morning.

This morning, he pleasantly surprised me. I was writing a sizable cheque to my parents, covering this month’s babysitting fees plus an oil change and a dryer handle repair, when he noticed the amount. “Are you really giving Grandma and Grandpa all this money?!?”

I explained, smiling slightly at seeing my own lost argument reflected on his face, that Grandma asks for payment because she considers her time to be valuable. “Shouldn’t they do it for free because they love us?” he demanded indignantly.

“Why do you think I sent you to Montesorri school?” I replied. “I was fed up with paying my parents so much money to look after you. But it’s a lot better now that I don’t live with them. And there are some benefits. I don’t feel guilty about dumping you there on the weekend for free because I’m already paying during the week. And I don’t have to pack food for Maggie, which is good, because she eats all day.”

He refused to be mollified, and went off to go have “a long talk” with his grandmother. As I dropped him off this morning, I said, “I want you to know that I didn’t put him up to this.”

“It’s like you don’t love us!” he piped in from the basement. The emotional manipulation begins.

Just in case you didn’t feel like clicking through, here is a pixilated reminder of the former man in uniform:



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