I am prone to earworms (this is when a song gets trapped in my head). Sometimes, rather than a melody, I’ll get a word stuck in there.
Last night, I woke with the word “recalcitrant” rolling ’round my brain. I tried to go back to sleep but that word kept repeating.
I was sure I’d remember this in the morning, but I wrote it down just in case, and this act seemed to release me from its grip; I slipped easily back to sleep.
I’d completely forgotten about the word and my wakefulness from last night until I saw the note this evening.
My youngest child has taken on a recalcitrant demeanor these days, especially when it comes to schooling.
I’m a very liberal, easygoing homeschooling parent, intent on fostering mutual respect and compassionate discourse.
I’m not sure my son got the memo.
And I’ve given him the memo many times, in different languages.
I’ve sung it.
I’ve painted it.
I’ve performed it through interpretive dance.
I’ve used hand puppets, and even wept (oh, I’ve wept).
But he is 15.
And 15 is a force greater than my desire for harmony.
Hormones are raging. Impulsivity is King.
15 has dampened his creative enthusiasm, strangled his general good will.
15 is NO.
This No takes several forms:
No proffered with excuses he believes might work, like mental or physical health issues, or other commitments which might take precedence – I call this, “No with Special Circumstances”;
There’s Obstinate No;
And then we have full-on snide bitchiness with a side of No. I think this one causes me the most pain.
My child seems to no longer have a taste for words like “sure”, “yes”, or “okay”.
Have you ever bathed a cat? This is what our schooling day feels like.
I’ve tried to remember what it was like to school my other two children.
I seem to have permanently sugarcoated my memory of those days.
Rather than suffer over my ailing memory, this fact gives me hope: one day, if I survive this, I’ll look back and remember none of it. And I’ll do so fondly.