Not worthy

Boy, do I have a doozy of a post to blog right now. My son just gave me a snowball to the face. A total knockout punch. A real hit outta left field.

He just told me that he has no one to look up to in his life. No one. And most definitely not me.

Yes, he was angry when he said it. Yes, he wasn't getting something he felt he deserved. Yes, he wanted to hurt me in hopes that I'd change my parenting style. (I guess that sitting on the bed, listening to everything he had to say was really interfering with his own personal style.)

Yet all in all - it stung. It hurt. It made me cry.

Not right there in front of him (thank Buddha), but once he'd walked stomped on out of the room, I was a puddle of tears. So I went for a walk. And cried some more.

His words spun round and round in my head. Me? Not worthy of his respect? Was there nothing about me worth looking up to? I felt so shitty that I was having a hard time coming up with a list myself. But for sure, at the top of the

Why I'm Not Worthy

list was definitely
1. Because I swear and write words like shitty on a blog that he doesn't even read. Nobody reads it, really. But he must know...if only because
2. Sometimes I say it out loud.
3. And "ass" too - like, "Move your ass!" That would be followed by
4. I'm not thin and beautiful, followed by
5. I didn't go to church today. I'm a horrible example, no WONDER he doesn't look up to me! Plus
6. My fun-quotient could be much higher - although, hey - I make him laugh every day! But
7. I do lose my patience and get grumpy with him. That sucks about me. And
8. I need a hair cut - that's definitely near the top of the list, too!

In fact, I could blog out an entire list of why I'm not worthy of any kind of accolade-bearing title. Maybe that's why it hurt so much, because deep down I believe it too. Funny, because not an hour earlier, I walked into the kitchen and looked at Travis, licked my thumb and sizzled it on my hot ass (oops! see, there's that word again.... Man! I gotta work on that whole profanity thing....) because I was able to put our daughter down for the night without her nightly ritual of warm milk and a rocking chair. Without tears! Yes, I was one Hot Mama!! Rrrrrrrrrowrrrr! I guess I sizzled too soon, because I really sucked at helping my almost-12-year old son to feel empowered enough to keep his earlier commitment and finished his project. His stupid Faith in [a] God [who rewards my efforts to raise a decent son who loves his mother, worships his father, and hopes to make millions in order to buy them that three-story home they've always wanted - with this??] Award.

It's not really a stupid award. In fact, I think it's wonderful. But I'm done. I'm done helping him with it. I'm done investing myself, trying to help him complete it. I now see that the time has arrived for me to back off. Let him do it. Fail or succeed, it's gotta be him.



Now, I think that earns some degree of respect, in and of itself!