do not call me ‘cutie’
Posted on March 15, 2007
Filed Under kids, parenting, suburban joys, snark, Judd Nelson from The Breakfast Club |
Just wondering who slipped in the night before last and replaced my seven year old son with the emotional equivalent of Judd Nelson’s character in The Breakfast Club? He’s got the whole snarly, sarcastic affectation down pat. This morning, while I tried to help him smooth out his spectacular bed head, I made the mistake of calling him “Cutie”. He growled, “I’m not Cutie, I’m O.” It was all I could do not to beat him with the brush. This after his acting out the elementary school version of the village idiot in class yesterday. (I attend his class once a week and attempt to help with Writing Workshop assignments.) While I was there Monday, O marched out all manner of rude remarks and funny noises and shouting out and falling out of his chair. So much so that a little girl in the class said, “Your Mom is going to beat your bottom when you get home.” Oh, she knows me so well.
Why now, after months of my attending Writer’s Workshops, after calling him “Cutie” several thousand times, does this not work anymore?
And then there was the incident about the book report that’s due Friday. The entire class has to fill out one sheet about a mystery they have read; nothing too taxing, author, title, main characters and a brief description of the plot. O informed me that this assignment was stupid. He phrased this with an admirable amount of sarcasm, “This is ridiculous because I’m not ever going to be a detective.” So there it is folks. A seven year old declares that he sees no reason to pursue class assignments if they don’t directly pertain to his future aspirations to be in waste management. O is still fond of garbage trucks and all things loud and smelly. Now I remember feeling similarly dismissive about calculus and chemistry but second grade book reports? Never.
Stay tuned, little G is still sweet and considerate and given to saying things like, “Mom, you make my heart happy.” (Usually when she wants a cookie or a piece of candy.) But this, too, is sure to change.
Right now I’m picturing O in Saturday detention, (it’s possible he could start this childhood form of incarceration any day now with the attitude he’s sparked) exchanging riffs with the Principal Vernon.
Vernon: You’re not fooling anyone, O. The next screw that falls out will be you.
O: Eat my shorts.
Vernon: What was that?
O: Eat… My… Shorts.
Vernon: You just bought yourself another Saturday.
O: Ooh I’m crushed.
Vernon: You just bought one more.
O: Well I’m free the Saturday after that. Beyond that, I’m going to have to check my calendar.
Soon he’ll be wearing the kind of t-shirts I associate with rednecks and teenagers. Something like…
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