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My Solution To Father-Son Conflict? Work It Out… ALONE!

 Before I go into this, there are a few things you need to know about me.

  • I am not perfect. Okay, so maybe you knew that already. Just puting it out there again.
  • You come here for the unvarnished truth and I take my responsibility seriously. It’s my job to give it to you, warts, wrinkles and all.
  • Writing is a form of therapy for me: It’s also cheaper than real therapy.
  • If you are in my life you run the risk of being written about. Please see above.

Because of that, the subject of today’s post will be about the men in my life, who, due to too much bluster, testosterone or both, drove Casey and me right on out of the house yesterday. And you know what? We had a great time.

A little back story. You know Buff. You know Cole. What you might not know is that there’s regular butting of heads going on there, as one tries to bend the other to his will and the other tries to exercise his. And you know what else? I’m friggin’ tired of breaking up fights over it. Especially when the answer is so easy.

Listen up parents, this is nothing new, in fact I talked about it on Anderson, and then was roundly criticized on The Internet. But I’ve said it before and will say it again. As a parent, sometimes you just have to MAN UP! There is no arguing, cajoling, pleading, begging, coercing, none of it. You simply go in and take their sh*t. Yeah I said it.

One of my universal truths, what I like to call GEMstones is that people don’t change unless they are motivated to do so. That motivation can come in the form of money or pain but it has to happen. In the case of my son, Buff and I pay for several things that boy holds dear, including but not limited to, an XBOX, cell phone and bedroom door. Any one of those things magically disappearing will do wonders when it comes to getting his attention. How do I know? Because I’ve done it before. And I’ll do it’ll do it again in a minute.

The other thing is I can’t take the fighting anymore. The screeching of two stallions (do stallions screech?) makes my chest tight and my heart hurt. So the last time this happened (and it’s happening more frequently) I told them I would scoop up the other innocent party (Casey) and leave. That’s just what happened last night.

Another of my GEMstones (and it’s not one I came up with; mothers have been saying this for centuries) is, “work it out.” I say it when Casey and Cole argue and I’m adopting the same strategy for those two. They need to come to some sort of mutual understanding, some way to handle their problems on their own. I don’t care if these two sit around in their boxers, scratching their butts and eating chicken wings or pound their chests and yell at each other, they will do it alone. Casey and I aren’t gonna hang around the battlefield, ducking shrapnel.

So when they started in, we headed out. Casey and I drove into the city where we had a lovely lunch, then played what Casey called “Hotel Roulette”, where you blind book a room on a travel website. We checked in, took a nap, and then found a little sushi restaurant, after an impromptu shopping spree. Post sushi, we walked around the city, searching for dessert before holing up for the night.

I don’t know what Buff and Cole did for the night nor do I care. Obviously the hope is that they took the time to figure out a workable solution between the two of them and how they’ll implement it going forward. I’ve spent too many years trying to help them and what did it get me? Chest pains and tear stains on my pillow. I’m done; it’s on them now.

I have to go now; I’m going to spend the rest of a lovely day with my daughter before heading back to the battle zone. But I would LOVE to hear from you how you would handle that situation. Would you have done the same? Do you agree that it’s time to let the “big boys” work it out? Suggestions are most welcome.

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Combing the aisles at Target in search of the best deal on Cheerios, it hit Rene Syler like the stench of a dirty diaper on a hot summer’s day. Not only is perfection overrated its utterly impossible! Suddenly empowered, she figuratively donned her cape, scooped up another taco kit for dinner and Good Enough Mother was born.

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