The Tumultuous Teens

Since The Boy is now 17, almost 18, we have long since passed the Terrible Two’s stage. But, perhaps just as trying, we are in the throes of the Tumultuous Teens. Our boy is a combination of preschool-age innocence and wonder, and hormone-driven teenager with an endless appetite.

Even as he clings to childlike beliefs and actions, he has cottoned to the roller-coaster ride of hormone-driven emotions and behaviours. This child of ours still wants to be read to at bedtime, wants to see Santa in December, wants to collect eggs left by the Easter Bunny. He is funny, smart, charismatic. He knows what he wants, and very little will stop him from getting it. He has incredible perseverance and negotiating skills. He is also over 6 feet tall, weighing at around 270 pounds, and has adopted some of the sass and surliness that the teenage years often bring. Welcome to the Tumultuous Teens!

It seems that each day brings new adventure in one form or another. He now (usually) brings his dirty dishes to the sink. He picks up his dirty clothes and puts them in the hamper. He will even, on occasion, spontaneously bring us a treat … a fudgestick, a yogurt cup, a drink. We live for those moments. But at the same time, we can never be sure of “who” he is going to be at any given moment. There are certain “tells” that serve as warning signs, but we can never be sure of where the escalation will end. Like the last couple days.

The Boy has the Man Cold. Coughing, runny nose, sometimes stuffy, no doubt a sore throat. Fine, he doesn’t feel well. He woke up at 4 am the other day, fully expecting to be given his iPad and free run of the house. Ummm … NO! At 4 am, you should be in your bed sleeping, or at least trying to sleep. A dose of the store brand version of Nyquil and back to bed you go. Sorry, bud. And back to sleep he did go. Until 8:00. Yup, he is definitely not himself. Rush around, feed him, medicate him, get him dressed, send him off to school. Where he had the worst meltdown in his school career history.

It seems there was a program he wanted to play on the computer at school, and he was told he could not have it. There was some discrepancy among the staff (almost all who were subs that day) as to whether or not he allowed that particular program. Some said yes, some said no. The ultimate decision became No, which upset the already-tired and sick boy. Much tantruming, biting, pushing and shoving ensued, earning him a time-away. When I picked him up, the teacher who was filling in for the regular classroom teacher warned me of his explosive behaviour, showing me the bite marks that still stained his arms red. He REALLY did not have a good day. Thinking there must be more to that story, we headed for home while I tried to imagine what that could have been.

We didn’t see any sign of aggression when we got home. He was even accepting of the fact that his dad would be a little late picking him up to go for his “short visit” for the week. He ate a good supper, seemed in good spirits, didn’t seem to be out of character, given the circumstances.

The next morning, I had to go to the pharmacy to pick up one of his prescriptions. While I was there, I had a chat with the pharmacist. I explained that The Boy has a Man Cold, told him what medicine we had given him to treat the symptoms, and asked, “By any chance, would that cough syrup interact with any of his meds?” A little bit of investigating on his part revealed that, YES, it could. It’s not a typical reaction, but not unheard of. Apparently, the Zoloft that is prescribed for him to ease anxiety contains, or produces, serotonin, which has a calming effect. The DM in the Nyquil does the same thing. BUT, as the pharmacist said, too much of a good thing is not necessarily a good thing. Too much serotonin can cause a person to become agitated. Perhaps switch him to a cold medication that does not contain a DM. Sound advice. Thank you! We took the pharmacist at his word and stopped immediately.

Last night, The Boy went to Teen Social. There was no report of anything unusual for him, other than he didn’t eat all his popcorn. Not surprising, if his throat was sore. The second we arrived home, it all started. He wanted to sit in the porch to have his bedtime snack. He was told no, it’s getting to be too close to bedtime to sit outside (because he takes forever to eat when he’s out there). He could choose to eat in the kitchen, playroom, or den. Of course, he was insistent on the porch. That’s when the biting started. First it was his own hand, biting for all he was worth. He bit so hard he was shaking with the effort. Then he added the growling and snarling. We used our routine reaction: No biting. Hands down. No growling. That prompted him to stomp toward me, still biting and snarling (if this shouldn’t be considered aggressive, please tell me what is!

So, he is charging toward me, snarling, growling, and biting his hand violently (no blood drawn this time). I put my arm up to a) defend myself and b) back him up if need be. And there was a need to. Without realizing (adrenaline in my veins provoking that fight-or-flight reaction instinctive in all humans), my hand had balled into a fist, which I later realized was near his windpipe. I managed to back him up several feet, trying to get his attention so we could get through this incident without injury. But he was fixated on another target. Dave had stepped into the room, ready to provide backup if the need arose.

Some primal part of The Boy’s psyche kicked in, and he tried to charge at Dave. Meanwhile, my clenched fist is still in his throat as he strode toward Dave. I was about as useful as a bedsheet trying to stay between the two of them. I found my knee had actually come up, seemingly of its own volition, ready to connect with any part of The Boy’s body it could find. Zero effect. The Boy charged on.

He stomped toward Dave, still biting, still growling, and still asking to be able to sit in the porch. Nuh uh. No way on this Earth was that going to happen, given his behaviour. Dave told him No, but we could try again on Friday. Wrong answer. The Boy reached out to put his arm around Dave’s neck. Definite aggression, and I didn’t want any part of that to happen. As I slid out from between them, Dave ducked to avoid the headlock that was imminent. He managed to duck, avoiding “capture,” and get The Boy’s arms behind him. Meanwhile, I was screaming at The Boy like I very, very rarely scream at him (I briefly wondered if I had ruptured a vocal cord. I am certain all the neighbours could hear me). It took both of us to do it, but we managed to get him to the floor, where he was not in danger of hurting himself or one of us. Or so I thought.

As most of you know, Dave has a medical condition called Ankylosing Spondylitis, which has begun to immobilize him. He has very limited range of motion in his neck and hips, and parts of his spine and ribs have begun to fuse. Wrestling a 6-foot tall, 270-pound enraged teenager is NOT good for him. Once we got The Boy to the floor, where he sat screaming, growling and demanding he be allowed to sit in the porch, I checked with Dave to see if there was any immediate sign of injury. He said there wasn’t, he was able to avoid it. Mostly. Once I knew there was no immediate need to help Dave, I turned my attention to The Boy.

He was given a timer set for 7 minutes. 5 is his usual time out, but we increase it when the situation calls for it. Timer set and handed out, I took a literal and figurative step back. I needed to calm myself, get my breathing under control, calm down. And check on Dave. Who, by the way, had made it to his computer chair and was taking stock of bodily harm caused. The Boy did not manage to pull on Dave’s neck (which very literally could have broken it), but did pull some muscles in his back. He, too, was taking a breather, getting his wind back, settling nerves and emotions.

7-minute timer goes off. The Boy is given choices as to where he can eat his snack. No, the porch is still not available to you. No, no porch. NO PORCH. NO!!! We did manage to prevent total escalation by having him sit on the couch with his iPad, and I told him I would go make his snack. Just as I was heading to the kitchen to do so, we heard the distinctive slurping sound of fountain pop (left over from a rare trip to the drive thru earlier) being sucked through a straw.

No way! PLEASE tell me, that after all THAT, he did not just finish the drink he was explicitly told NOT to touch. Yup, he sure did. That was the last straw. To add insult to injury, when I tried to take the cup away from him, he bit his hand, again, in my face, again, with a rather guttural growl. He brought him arm up to grab me around the neck. I took that opportunity to relieve him of the cup and step back, out of harm’s way.

“That’s IT! You are DONE! You can get changed into your pajamas and go to bed. END of discussion!” Of course, he fought this tooth and nail. He not only thought he should still have his snack, but that he should be able to eat it in… the … porch!! No freaking way, kid. After much yelling and screaming and crying, by all parties involved, he ended up going to bed, without snack, without being read to.

As the adrenaline wore off, I began to doubt myself, doubt my actions, my reactions. I felt like the worst parent on the planet. How could I send my “baby” to bed without food? That has NEVER happened before. Where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently? How did things get so out of control so quickly? What kind of parent am I?

Dave to the rescue, yet again. He held me as I cried, and talked to me. You did nothing wrong. Sometimes, when things heat up, we do things we would not normally do (screaming hard enough to make my throat raw, sending him to bed without snack …). You are the best mom in the world. He asked for something, you told him no, and you stuck to it. THAT is good parenting. He needs to be told no sometimes, and he needs to learn to accept that. He needs to know that are consequences for his actions. These are life skills that he needs to learn in order to navigate life. There are times he is not going to get what he wants, and he has to learn that it’s okay to not always get his own way. Had you given in to him, the lessons he would have learned are that if he pushes hard enough, he’ll get his own way, and the next time, he would have started at the point you gave into him. It’s so hard to do, but you made a decision and you stuck to it. Now he knows, for this time at least, that no does really mean no. He knows that you will follow through on what you tell him his consequences will be. He knows you won’t be beaten down or broken. And those are things he needs to learn. You are an amazing mom!

Then why do I feel like crap? Why do I feel that it would have been better to just let him sit in the porch in the first place? We could have avoided all of this craziness. Why do I feel that I have let him down, sending him to bed without food? Why do I feel like I’ve failed parenting?

Dave replied with, because you question your parenting skills, it proves that you have great skills. It would have been more of a tragedy all the way around if you had given into him. He needs boundaries. Boundaries make him feel safe. He will always test those boundaries, seeing how secure they are. He may seem like he is angry and hurt right now, but in the long run, he will always know he can count on Mom to be his rock, his advocate, his protector. He knows that you love him and that you will always look out for him. He needs that, too. Being a parent is never easy, and you will always second-guess your choices and decisions. But I know you’ll always make the right one. And even if he doesn’t see it right away, The Boy knows you will too. You are absolutely the best mom he could ever hope for. Don’t ever forget that.

Today, it seems, Dave was right. The Boy woke up smiling, happy, perhaps a little hungry. But he knows he’s safe. He knows I will always protect him, guide him, advocate for him. And if the need should ever arise again, I will also “jail” him. I’m his mom. That’s my job.