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Friday, February 27, 2009


Now that a couple of weeks have gone by and smoke is no longer billowing out of my ears, I am ready to write about my latest trials and tribulations of raising a tween son.  I know in the scheme of things this is not a big deal (I could have found much worse), but I can't even tell you how angry I was the day I found my son's lunch at the bottom of his backpack!    You'll understand why I went coo coo for Cocopuffs when you read the rest of my post.

Why was I digging around in my 11 year old's backpack?  Well, once again on a Sunday afternoon we found ourselves doing the homework fire drill.  My son had a big music project due the next day--one that he could not remember any details to (I swear the kid suffers from memory loss). He conjured up what little he could on what he was supposed to do, but I knew there were more pieces to the puzzle.  So I put on my Sherlock Holmes hat and started investigating.  

Unfortunately my go to gal's son was not in this class with my son, so I needed a new starting place.  First, I went on the teacher's website to see if he had the project posted--no luck!  I thought all of his teachers used the teacher's web but evidently not.  Next, I grilled my son, hoping that maybe one question would spark a memory--nada.  And then, I went to the backpack, figuring maybe there was a sheet crumpled up in there somewhere.   And of course THERE WAS!!!   AND  in addition to finding the assignment, I found not 1, not 2, not even 3 but 7 untouched peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (ah, ah, ah,--this is my Count from Sesame Street reference)!

I just about flipped my lid!  I couldn't believe it!  The fact that I had just found his non-existing assignment flew out the window and all I could focus on were the smashed, flattened PBJ's!  I was so angry, I thought I was going to cry (I'm still working on not letting my anger turn to tears--it is a long process).  I quickly yelled for my husband (I needed back-up) and son.  I then gave my son a thorough tongue lashing that went something like this---How could you let me make you sandwiches day after day and not eat them?  Don't you know there are children starving in _______!  How come you didn't tell me you'd rather eat something else?  Don't you respect my time and efforts enough to eat your lunch? My ranting went on and on until finally my husband calmed me down. Man was I angry!

When I finally was able to speak, in a voice that more than dogs could hear, I told him that not only was ditching his lunch wasteful but disrespectful of my time.  I also threw in a dose of guilt by telling him that my feelings were hurt.  And when asked the inevitable question
 "Why?"  he answered that he was now a peanut butter only man.  Evidently it was his new aversion to jelly that made him turn his nose up to his sandwiches--who knew??

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