Homework for Elder Monkey has been good overall this year with the exception of two weeks ago Monday, when his cranium literally exploded and all sorts of screaming hatred blew out his ears.
I've heard some people say that words at their root are just words and should not hold power. I have a seven year old you might want to talk to.
It was the apocalypse of meltdowns. He hated homework. He hated Younger Monkey. He hated that Younger Monkey did not have homework. He hated his mom. More telling though, he hated living with them.
He did not, however, hate me. I was seemingly in his eyes, his only ally. Which probably quickly turned when I took away privileges upon hearing of all the spewing disrespect to his mom. However, I could smell something was festering and he wasn't ready to give it up. This was stewing rather than spewing.
Somewhere in the parenting manual there is a chapter still being written detailing maneuvers on how to speak to adults-in-training. I hardly ever have the right words to say. I stumble over them most of the time and I'm never sure which combination of words are scathing and which are healing.
Yesterday, one of his spelling words was "married". To the Elder Monkey, this word made his eyes burn. Tears began to streak his face and as they rolled out came words of his own.
It's not that he wants to just live with me, but all of us together. It's mom's fault completely that we aren't married anymore.
At this point we break out the words that are antidotes, the ones that soothe, the ones that try to break the resolve of a chaotic unfair life. But we still aren't sure of their effectiveness.
While I have the belief that our situation is probably as good as it can be, the verbal sucker punches along that path still know where it hurts the most.