Morning Sun, Morning Son

My fine young son is not doing well in the mornings lately.
My consumption is getting me up at dawn’s first crack and I am enjoying a little quiet time from about 4-5.30 a.m. Sipping on my twig tea with ginger.
I have eliminated all dairy, all animal products, all caffeine, I am living on twigs and lentils. Any minute now I will stop smoking. To be fair I have cut back my daily intake by over half. I am on 8 cigarettes a day, it’s amazing how gasping for breath like it’s your last will motivate one to giving up bad habits.
Anyway, onto my young son.
He just wakes up pissed off. I have tried talking to him about it over and over, but every morning is the same, this terminal bad mood, though he no longer eats his clothes, that has to be a good sign right?
Nothing goes right for him, he claims he prepares his clean socks the night before and then thieves break in and steal them. While I will admit, there isn’t much to steal here, and most theives would probably take pity and have a whip round before they left, taking his gnarly socks would be just silly, and pointless, it’s not like they’d fit, unless they are midget thieves, vertically challenged robbers.
This morning his breakfast of choice was a seaweed sandwich. I do not judge him. I like piccalili in my oxtail soup, I am partial to a Seabrook crisp sandwich, I eat marmite on my finger out of the jar, he was destined to eat weird, it’s genetic.
He was eating his ( lovingly prepared) sandwich and the great sock debacle began again.
I said, ‘Do not fear oh precious one, your socks are here, tightly wound into a little ball, just like every nerve in your body.’
Then I said ‘catch’, or maybe I didn’t. maybe I threw before I said catch. Either way, without warning, the socks landed on the sandwich.
By this time the Man was up as was Jim, four people in the room.
Three of us thought it was quite funny. One of us did not. Shall I start a quiz?
Who did not find the humour in the situation?

He had been up about 18 minutes by this point and already had boiled over.
Right! I’m not eating my sandwich, in fact I am not wearing my socks, I don’t need my socks because I’m not going to school, not today, not tomorrow, not ever, I am never wearing socks and never going to school again……’
I need more than twigs for this.
Am rethinking my whole non-violent strategy, am wondering at the wisdom of a bit of a smacked bottom, am rethinking the whole parenting thing……………

10 thoughts on “Morning Sun, Morning Son

  1. I sympathise. Our eldest, Ben (possibly aspergers) has a battle with his socks every morning. No matter what he or we do they do not feel right on his feet. Cue protests. Cue tantrums. Cue us, like you, considering the benefits of a smacked bum just to exorcise some of the frustration we feel as we try and organize everyone out of the house on time. I’m not sure what the answer is though we have threatened him with bare feet several times. Oddly he always goes to school with the socks finally on…

    • Oh dear.

      He sounds like a teenager before his time.

      We have been lucky; the moody reactions in both children and grandchild were all confined to the teenage years.

      Was that down to parenting or the genes?

      I tend to think it was genes mostly; my parents got such different reactions from me and my sister and, to start with anyway, we weren’t treated any differently.

      You must tell us what YOU were like as a child LOL.

      • Oh he’s been an absolute joy disguised as a hard road to hoe since he was a year old.
        There is a whole story to it actually which I may or may not blog at some point.
        I have been thinking about your blog a lot recently and you have really inspired me to think about digging a little deeper. It’s easy enough to just write down what happened, I’m contemplating taking the plunge and stepping out of my comfort zone.
        You manage to be luminous and at the same time, simple and succinct. I really admire that.

  2. As you know, young Kevvers, we’ve been told displays AS traits, and same here, he does always get the socks on and go, but why oh why do we have to have a 30 minute battle about it every damn morning.
    I have learned though, that if he is planning a sock embargo at 7.00am and he doesn’t leave until 7.30, there is little point me involving myself in it until about 7.25. That he is ranting for 25 and fighting me for 5, rather than us fighting the full 30 minute round.
    How things go can be as much up to how I feel up to handling his mood, as the mood itself.

  3. My husband is like that in the mornings. Genetically programmed not to work for at least an hour after he wakes. Doesn’t matter what time he wakes either.

    I choose to ignore it. No idea what the answer for a son is. I imagine I will have to work it out, son No. 1 is heading that way. Let me know if you hit upon a solution!

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