The Tween Years are going to kill me.

reading time: 3 minutes

I wish I drank.  There are days when I think that a little shot of vodka in the morning java might do me a world of good.  This self-imposed rule of not drinking when stressed out sometimes sucks, especially when I seem to live in that state most of the time.

The Tween Years.  This is a period of time that could be more accurately described as…

the years during which mothers may be driven to drink/take Xanax/run away with a hot cabana boy/to go insane because of the sheer amount of disrespect and frustration perpetrated upon them by these children

These are also the years that make me want to scream and shake the sense into him.  O.M.G.  I do NOT have the patience for this!  I have three problems with the Tween Years as they are manifested by my current tween.

1. The overdramatic BS that comes with the age.  Whoever said that comes with girls and not boys LIED!
2. The interrupting.  Dear Goddess.  I cannot say a word without being interrupted or having a comment from the peanut gallery!
3. The lying.  Sweet Kesus.  The lies.  And they are never about the big stuff, but the little.  I supposed I should admire his persistance in standing behind the BS even when we all know he's full of the aforementioned BS, but damn!

Today's lie of the day.  He cleaned something up before breakfast.  I came into the room and asked him if he had washed his hands.  There was an instant freeze, his head snapped up, and his hands went spazzy as he over gesticulated while assuring me that he had, indeed, washed his hands.  Um, no, my little friend.  You didn't.  That's his tell… the freezing and the spazzy gesticulations.  The boy lies for shit.  Just sayin'.  I have been lied to by pros and he ain't one of them.  So, Mama went to the bathroom in which he supposedly washed said hands.  Bone dry.  Dusty even.  Not a single drop.  Supposedly it had been less than 10 mintues since he had washed them.  You know, before touching EVERYTHING in my kitchen.  So I asked how it was possible that the sink was dry.  He decided that it was because he didn't use much water.  See, this doesn't work for two reasons.  One:  There would be a least a bit of water around the drain in this short amount of time since washing.  Two:  There would be clear evidence of his presence because the child cannot do anything without a mess.  (See problem #1 in the list above.)  So I brought him in, made him swipe the sink with his hand, examine the results, and propose a theory for the arrid condition of the sink.  Nothing.  Time for an experiment.  He washed his hands.  20 minutes later (twice as long as the supposed time lapse of the previous washing), we examined the sink.  Clear evidence of washing existed.  No explanation.  30 minutes later, we examined it again.  Clear evidence still existed.  And the child still maintains his story.  I admire his persistance, although it annoys the freaking hell out of me.  But, geesh, really?  Why lie when it is so obvious?  And over something like this?  Save it for the big stuff, Grasshopper.  Besides, it has been proven time and time again that the honesty thing works a WHOLE lot better with the Mama.

I have come to a few conclusions about all of this.

1. I apparently come off as a dumb ass who will fall for anything.​
2. I need to reexamine my policy banning cocktails in times of stress.
3. I need to hasten my plans to reserve myself a padded room.

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