Last Monday afternoon, I picked the boys up from school as normal. The elder, Boudreaux, was unusually sullen in the car. This sudden and unexplained moody behavior has been relatively common lately. Hello? He's only NINE!?! I am supposed to be entitled to at least two more years of in-home training before I have to deal with this?!? But the Moms of his friends warned me that theirs were acting more difficult, too. All I know to do now is give him some space. So I didn't say anything.
Upon arriving home, he stomped to his room, took off his shoes and socks, and then started pacing around the house huffing and puffing and griping in a progressively louder voice. I still had no clue what was going on, so I tried to listen in. He was going on about "UNFAIR!...Not worth being here...Go somewhere else...Don't DESERVE it..." I dared to ask, "What are you upset about?" He glared at me and stomped away, slamming the door to his room. As I stood in wonder before turning around and laying my finger aside of my nose and giving a nod...Oh, I'm sorry, I got off track. Anyway, heard him mumble something about
leaving.So here it is, my first running away threat.
Again, I leave him alone but stand at the door listening. He is packing his backpack. Rufus is also standing around in the vicinity, watching this whole thing unfold. Goozie is blissfully picking her nose and feeding her boogers to the pigdog.
I wait a few minutes, knock, and open the door. He marches past me, backpack in hand and announcing loudly: "I am leaving! I don't deserve to live here! I'll go somewhere else!"
"Hello?" I say. "Is there something going on that I don't know about? Did something upset you? Do you care to speak to me like I'm a normal human being and not a door mat?"
"You don't care!" he yells. "I am running away, leaving, going somewhere ELSE!"
[Searching for how to handle this, I reminisce back to about 1978... my BIG MEAN MOTHER would not let me carry about cute little two week old kitties in the plastic, flowered basket of my purple bicycle with the bananna seat and chrome handle bars! Hello? Kitties just want to have fun! A healthy dose of adventure will make them happy! Who cares if their eyes aren't totally open! The wind through their fur! Like Easy Rider, south Texas style! What did I do to deserve this UNFAIR DICTATORIAL IMPOSITION, this INFRINGMENT UPON MY YARD-CAT HAVIN' RIGHT? I made a plan to break out of that oppressive prison, and I packed my Scooby-Friggin'-Doo backpack.Marching to the kitchen to wish that wicked witch of an unfair world goodbye, I remember anticipating that she would beg me to stay...even cry! I would BRING HER TO HER KNEES. "I am running A-WAY!" I announced. And you, my dear Yo Mama, calmly said, still facing the kitchen sink, "Would you like me to make you a peanut butter sandwich for the road?" DAMMIT! That is not what I wanted. I marched back up to my room and unpacked.]So upon Boudreaux's insisted (yet still mysteriously precipitated) declaration, I calmly reponded, "Well, if that's what you're going to do, then you'll want to put on your shoes and take a jacket."
I am not nice enough to offer food.
He stomped back to his room. I thought he was putting on his shoes, but instead he came out 5
minutes later--still barefoot, much calmer, even almost cheerful and no sign of the backpack--sat the kitchen table like normal and asked if he could have a snack...?!? The rest of the day proceeded as normal.
Now, every time Boudreaux gets mad over some domestic injustice, Rufus looks at him and says, "If you don't get what you want and decide to run away, then can I have your bed and extra DS games?"
The mystery is later solved: Finally, he told me that his issue was that Goozie Magoo had scribbled all over his homework. He had been "forced" to throw it away and then had to stay inside during recess to do it all over again. I don't buy the first part of that about being forced to throw it away...if he had been smart, he could have just copied the work onto a fresh sheet. I also don't buy it because if he had really looked at the sheet of girlchild scribbles, he would have seen that it actually wasn't his homework. His homework was on the counter where he left it the night before.
