Wow, I just learned from A&E’s The History of God that Jesus was just a guy. Man. What have I been thinking?

I have a gift card on my dining room table that says, “To Mom, Love Justin.” If he wrote it out today, I’m sure it would say, “To Mom, Drop dead. Love, Justin.” It’s not been the greatest day in the history of mother-son relationships.

We’ve been having trouble lately with him not listening to me. I can be controlling in other aspects of my life, but I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t do that with Justin. I generally only “lay down the law” when it’s important. Otherwise, he gets to make his own choices. It’s a freedom and an experience I want him to have - earlier than I had it.

This morning was fine. He got to spend some time with my parents because I had to go to work. When I picked him up, though, it was another story altogether.

He received a Star Wars light sabre from my parents for Christmas. He also received one from Santa, but today’s toy of the day was my parents’ gift, which is fine. When I came in, he was brandishing it about, but frustrated that to put the part that lights up back in the handle, he had to push each piece down individually. I knew there was a button on it that made the whole thing collapse, and I tried to point it out.

Mr. Independent wanted to do it himself. “Hang on” is his new catchphrase. He doesn’t say it, he spews it, and I’m tired of it. At first I let him try - again - to figure it out. Then I got frustrated and asked him to give it to me. His response was another, “Hang on.” Then there was a series of, “Just give it to me.” Hang on. “Just give it to me.” Hang on. “Give it.” Hang on!

As I reached for it, he swung it around. It landed solidly on my face, knocking my sunglasses off and poking me in my right eye - which was open.

I lost my temper and ordered him from the room. If I hadn’t, I’d have screamed at him or smacked him, and I knew it. At this point he went to one of the bedrooms, and my dad “helpfully” informed me that it was just an accident.

This was not the point. The point was, Justin had breached my threshold of patience in the disobeying department, and now I paid for my lax treatment of it. The boy is spoiled, and hates doing what he’s told to do - when he doesn’t want to do it.

I’m not saying I should be a big hardass. I’m just saying that if he doesn’t listen to me after ten attempts to get him to do something as trivial as hand me a toy, will he listen to me when he’s running out into the road when a car is coming? And I try to stop him?

I’m afraid the answer is no.

This puts me into a nasty position. I don’t like being the bad guy. I don’t like being the only disciplinarian in Justin’s family. (Don’t even get me started about his dad.) I don’t like it when Justin says he’d rather be with his dad than his mom, because he can do what he wants (his phrasing, not mine) at his dad’s. But what do I really know about raising a child of divorce? Hell, I’m lucky to know anything about raising a child.

I’ve heard that kids will play the parents against each other, so I was ready for that. My usual response to Justin’s comment that, “My dad lets me,” is “This isn’t your dad’s” or “That’s nice.” Since Justin’s lived with two separate households for five years, I’d think he’d be used to this by now.

Yes, I guess he is eight and all. Perhaps now he’s feeling his independence and pushing issues to test me, like he did the first time he felt his independence - around three. I’m just at my wit’s end as to what to do about it.

Sometimes I joke about being a better aunt than a mom. I know God gave me yet another perfect gift in Justin. Even with the Asperger’s and the frustrations there’s an unbelieveable amount of love there. This kid is so perfect for me - I just hope that I’m “perfect” for him. He’s taught me more about life in eight years than I deserve. I really think he’s my one true love.

When I was little I had friends who lived two houses away from mine. They were twins, just a year older than me. My mom and their mom became very good friends very early in our little lives. Mom says that they’d sit together, drinking tea and telling themselves that, “This too will pass.” Now she’s passing that wisdom down, as is her friend.

I think I’ll just smile tonight and chant that as my mantra. “This too shall pass.”

Shaking my head at the kid,
michelle