“Mom, I have something I want to discuss with you. And I don’t want you to say no. And I want you to hear me out. And I want you to keep an open mind, okay?”.
With these words, Fruit Loop #1 looked at me from the passenger seat of the car with his hazel eyes full of resolve.
As we all know, car conversations with him take a turn for the worse QUICKLY (remember our “You Give One, You Get One” conversation?) and I braced myself for his request. I also prayed it had nothing to do with buying more storage on the iCloud because, frankly, that hurts my head and I don’t know how.
“I want to write a post for your blog”, he said.
“Go on”, I said as I immediately planned ways to say AINT NO WAY and GET YOUR OWN DAMNED BLOG.
“I have a post I’ve been writing in my head and I think your readers would really find it funny”, he said sheepishly.
I don’t know if it was the way he asked, the fact that I know he loves writing or the fact that I was genuinely relieved that he didn’t ask me a question about sex but something made me tell him I’d consider it.
“But”, I told him, “It has to be actually funny, it can’t be mean and I’m going to edit it the same way an editor rips my stuff to shreds. Also, if it says anything other than the fact that I’m the World’s Best Mom, all bets are off”.
Little did I know what he had planned, rotten, hilariously funny, spot on child that he is.
Here is Fruit Loop #1’s FIRST EVER blog post.
And, if I may, he gets all of his witty humor FROM ME. Because his father has no idea how to run a blog.
FRUIT LOOP #1’s FIRST EVER BLOG POST
I’m going to come right out and say it: kids are hard. Really hard. Hard enough to reduce the most perfect, accomplished person to a raving train wreck. And it never really stops. With toddlers, it’s hours upon hours of crying and hysteria that leaves you wondering where in creation all that tear water is produced. With five to ten year-olds, it’s the initial stages of many ruined afternoons on homework that simply should not be allowed by the US government. With Tweens, it’s social drama and the absolute need to have those new shoes that might suck the college fund dry. And, since I’m only twelve, I have yet to see what kind of jazz the Teen years bring. However, the method of discipline by parents doesn’t so much change as it does evolve to fit the stages of raising children. So here I am, Fruit Loop #1, speaking to the children of the world to tell you that you are not alone when you experience the dreaded MOM FURY. I speak from experience and I give you:
THE FIVE STAGES OF MOM FURY
STAGE 1: THE ONE-AND-DONE
This is the method most kids receive weekly, if not daily. Reserved for the most trivial things such as “she pulled apart two of his Lego bricks,” and “he hurt her favorite stuffed animal,” this reprimand usually goes something along the lines of “Hey (Name of offender here)! Stop (Insert offense here) and be nice!” Followed by a text message on Mommy’s phone that requires immediate attention, and all is forgotten.
STAGE TWO: THE THREAT
When Stage One fails or something bad enough has occurred to bring things to the next level, Stage Two is engaged. This is the usual response to when a kid or kids have continued doing what they were told not to do, or a small fight (physical or verbal) has broken out. This Stage is normally presented through a threat to take a privilege away. Stage Two of Mom Fury changes slightly if there is a fun event within the next 24 hours to pull the plug on or if there is something in a child’s life that is important to their sanity (i.e: Computer, book, phone, etc;). Stage Two can be diffused by IMMEDIATELY emptying the dishwasher (trust me on this).
STAGE THREE: THE SUBTERFUGE
“That’s it! I’ve told you repeatedly to stop misbehaving, and now there will be consequences,” is what is the usual opening line to Stage Three of Mom Fury, also known as The Subterfuge. Normally, this is in response to mostly just general misbehaving, and results in a privilege (see above) actually being taken away. Or so the offending children think. Nine times out of ten, this technique is just so a mom can get her desired thirty seconds to hear herself think before proceeding to tell the kids that they were either allowed to have what they lost back, or go out to dinner as planned. However, the forgiveness is normally followed by a curt “This is not because of your behavior.”
STAGE FOUR: MINEFIELD
This is a bad place to be, any age, any time. Even after you have left the house and are living your life, there is always that lousy day Moms had that we don’t know about, and we walk right into this emotional “minefield”, hence the name. When your mother is in this stage, there is red nonverbal message flashing “GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE YOU SPEND THE REST OF YOUR DAYS IN YOUR ROOM!” above her head. Suddenly, everything you do is the exact opposite of what needs to be done, and things get…explosive…and they lead you down a one way train ride destination to the most dangerous of all levels of fury.
STAGE FIVE: DEFCON 6
This, right here, folks, is when you know you’ve done wrong. Like, you just were discovered hoarding Christmas cookies in a beanbag chair, or a huge sea of candy wrappers just fell out of the couch cushions. Completely hypothetical (ahem), of course, but it takes some serious firepower to cut deep enough into a mom’s soul to the fiery center, and those were some examples. Totally. Just. Examples. Stage Five can be recognized when your mom’s lips get really tight, her chin gets rough and bumpy, her head cocks at a slight 75 degree angle, and her legs spread apart into an ominous V shape. My friends, this is Stage Five. DEFCON 6. The “say hello to my little friend” of motherhood. And there is no stopping it WHAT-SO-EVAH. Therefore, there is only one way to survive this all encompassing stage of fury: get into the nearest vehicle that moves faster than a brisk walk, go to the holiest church on the planet, and claim sanctuary like your life depends on it. Because let me tell you something: it does. I speak from experience here, people.
So, there you have it, my companions: the feared, terrifying Stages of Mom Fury. They are a part of our waking hours as well as our nightmares, making them an inescapable curse. These stages can be slowed but never stopped, hindered but never halted. Like The Force, they are EVERYWHERE. So, think of this writing, fellow wrongdoers, the next time your mother asks you to clean your room. An afternoon wasted beats a week of screen time abolishment, trust me.
As of now, I write this in my attic, hiding from my mother, as she tears apart the house for me in a DEFCON SIX rage. Pray for me.
Keeper’s Note: Any and all opinions expressed here are solely Fruit Loop #1’s. He was smart to claim sanctuary at our church after I read this post. We will miss him.