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Post #12: Terrible Two's and Puberty

 

The hormones in my house right now are practically tangible. My two (almost three) year old is firmly in his Terrible 2’s. He has learned, fully understands, and does not hesitate to use the word “no”. While in one moment he is precious and kindhearted, giving me kisses and telling me I’m a great hero; in the next moment he can switch right over to flailing on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs, because I told him “man cannot live on bread alone.” This isn’t an exaggeration, it happened.

It’s all good though, I’ve dealt with this before, I know it’s a phase and I just have to survive it. 

 

On the other hand, on the opposite spectrum of my children, I now have two children in full blown, honest-to-God, Jesus take the wheel, puberty…

Holy. Living. Father! This is something new, and while the logical part of my brain knows that everything will be ok, the emotional part of my brain wants to go hide under my bed until it’s over. When my soon-to-be 12 and solidly 13 year old children look at me, there is this rage in their eyes that just screams “EFFFFFFF YYOOOUUUU!” every time I speak.

 

Me: Hey, do you have homework?

Them: *Glare of death*

 

Me: How was practice?

Them: *Glare of death*

 

Me: Want to go to the zoo this weekend?

Them: *Glare of death*

 

There is absolutely no winning. They’re interestingly similar; terrible two’s and puberty. Overly emotional, tantrum throwing, eye rolling, crying at the drop of a hat, and nothing I say is what they want to hear. It’s a nightmare and one I can’t wake up from because it’s all just part of growing up. 

 

Currently, my 10-year-old is the most emotionally stable kid in the house. He’s my rock. When I get up in the morning to have a little quiet time for myself before the chaos of the day kicks in, he’s right there. He never fails. Fifteen minutes after I get up and get settled in with my morning coffee, he is right there, ready for school and embracing the silence of our still morning. Sometimes we don’t even speak, we just sit there taking it all in. I know he needs those few minutes just as much as I do. 

 

I’m taking it in, reveling in these moments, I know in the next two years he will be just like the others, angry for no reason; tired even though he’s slept well; hungry, despite having just eaten; glaring at me for walking into the room.

 

By that time my youngest should be balancing out, taking up the mantle of the “calm child”. 

 

No wait, he’ll be four…. four is hell…

 

Pray for me!