Jekyll and Hyde, you’ve met your match

There’s been a lot of moaning over here lately regarding my first born.  It’s been well-deserved moaning.  Over more than excessive amounts of whining.  More than general not-listening.  More than forgetting to be nice.  More than things that make my head actually lift off of my shoulders.  The sort of stuff that makes me pause and look around for the hidden camera, because it’s way more than conniption causing… it makes me sound like my Mother.*

Then yesterday evening, the Universe smiled down upon me and granted me the greatest wish, one that every parent longs to receive.  The one where we learn that other children are possessed by the same demons as your own.

A saw a friend whose child also attends an immersion school and she lamented on how hard the first few months were… how tired and cranky and difficult and unpleasant her child was for those first few months… AND HOW THE SCHOOL TOLD THEM THAT WOULD HAPPEN.  Yes, I understand it must have been an unpleasant back-to-school note: “Dear Parents, be warned that your child’s behavior over the next few months will turn you into an alcoholic.  In November, we will start an evening AA group with free babysitting to help you get past this hurdle and safely into the rest of the school year.”  Still, it’s a note that would have helped us tremendously as I contemplated how old a kid has to be before Boarding School.  At least I know now and can relish in the relief that my kid is not in need of exorcism, he is simply adjusting to a big transition.  For the record: acting the angel all day long, collecting girlfriends left and right covering 3 grade levels, and excelling everywhere — while coming home to pick fights, whine, refuse food, throw tantrums, miss bedtime, and insult family… THIS is what ‘adjusting to a big transition’ looks like.

Now that Will has set the bar, I have a much clearer picture about what I am going to do when I hit menopause.

*Incidentally, when I share these episodes with my Mom, she finds them HILARIOUS.  As in, snorting milk through her nose, a total riot.  Which I will remember when I pick her nursing home.  (Hi Mom!  I love you!)