That’s my name for today. My son Dylan is 6 years old, and he’s pissed at me, and he’s decided to call me Life Ruiner.
He’s not just saying, “You’re a life ruiner.”
He is literally addressing me as if my name were Life Ruiner.
“I’m going downstairs to watch TV, Life Ruiner.” “Will you make me some lunch, Life Ruiner?”
You’re probably thinking it’s funny. Okay, it’s definitely a little bit funny.
But we’ve been struggling the last few days, and he’s been expressing a lot of anger, and he’s been saying he doesn’t love me and that he doesn’t want to be around me. And so my feelings are hurt. Like, not just “tell him my feelings are hurt so he will understand the effect of his words.” My heart is legitimately heavy, and I feel like shit about the whole thing.
When Dylan does something I don’t like, I have a fork in the road ahead of me. I...
My son and I recently visited a Waffle House where it’s a lot of fun to watch your food being made right in front of you.
We decided to try some of the food at home.
Dylan shouted out his order, and I tried to make hash browns, cheesy eggs, and deep fried French fries (not an actual Waffle House food!) as good as you’d get at any greasy diner.
I’d even holler out “Order Up!” when the food was ready.
But I’m not a short order cook.
Dylan can’t drive, which puts me in the driver’s seat for helping get his out-of-the-house needs met. I take him to the grocery store, to recreational activities, to his friends’ houses, and to Walmart on allowance day.
But I’m not a chauffeur.
I do a lot of cleaning on Dylan’s behalf. I wash his dishes. I do his laundry. The older he gets the more he picks up after himself. But I still pick up after him quite a bit.
But I’m not a maid.
Usually when you hear a parent lament that they...
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